it."

"He has not landed yet," she said, "we have an hour's start on him, and
Percy will be here directly. We shall be mid-Channel ere Chauvelin has
realised that we have slipped through his fingers."

She spoke excitedly and eagerly, wishing to infuse into her young friend
some of that buoyant hope which still clung to her heart. But he shook
his head sadly.

"Silent again, Sir Andrew?" she said with some impatience. "Why do you
shake your head and look so glum?"

"Faith, Madame," he replied, "'tis only because in making your
rose-coloured plans, you are forgetting the most important factor."

"What in the world do you mean?--I am forgetting nothing. . . . What
factor do you mean?" she added with more impatience.

"It stands six foot odd high," replied Sir Andrew, quietly, "and hath
name Percy Blakeney."

"I don't understand," she murmured.

"Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having
accomplished what he set out to do?"

"You mean . . . ?"

"There's the old Comte de Tournay . . ."

"The Comte . . . ?" she murmured.

"And St. Just . . . and others . . ."

"My brother!" she said with a heart-broken sob of anguish. "Heaven help
me, but I fear I had forgotten."

"Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with perfect
confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the Scarlet Pimpernel, who
has pledged his honour to take them safely across the Channel."

Indeed, she had forgotten! With the sublime selfishness of a woman who
loves with her whole heart, she had in the last twenty-four hours had
no thought save for him. His precious, noble life, his danger--he, the
loved one, the brave hero, he alone dwelt in her mind.

"My brother!" she murmured, as one by one the heavy tears gathered
in her eyes, as memory came back to her of Armand, the companion and
darling of her childhood, the man for whom she had committed the deadly
sin, which had so hopelessly imperilled her brave husband's life.

"Sir Percy Blakeney would not be the trusted, honoured leader of a score
of English gentlemen," said Sir Andrew, proudly, "if he abandoned
those who placed their trust in him. As for breaking his word, the very
thought is preposterous!"

There was silence for a moment or two. Marguerite had buried her face
in her hands, and was letting the tears slowly trickle through her
trembling fingers. The young man said nothing; his heart ached for this
beautiful woman in her awful grief. All along he