rection came that cheerful
singer, who sang to God to save his King, whilst he himself was in such
deadly danger. Faint at first, the voice grew louder and louder; from
time to time a small pebble detached itself apparently from beneath the
firm tread of the singer, and went rolling down the rocky cliffs to the
beach below.

Marguerite as she heard, felt that her very life was slipping away, as
if when that voice drew nearer, when that singer became entrapped . . .

She distinctly heard the click of Desgas' gun close to her. . . .

No! no! no! no! Oh, God in heaven! this cannot be! let Armand's blood
then be on her own head! let her be branded as his murderer! let even
he, whom she loved, despise and loathe her for this, but God! oh God!
save him at any cost!

With a wild shriek, she sprang to her feet, and darted round the rock,
against which she had been cowering; she saw the little red gleam
through the chinks of the hut; she ran up to it and fell against its
wooden walls, which she began to hammer with clenched fists in an almost
maniacal frenzy, while she shouted,--

"Armand! Armand! for God's sake fire! your leader is near! he is coming!
he is betrayed! Armand! Armand! fire in Heaven's name!"

She was seized and thrown to the ground. She lay there moaning, bruised,
not caring, but still half-sobbing, half-shrieking,--

"Percy, my husband, for God's sake fly! Armand! Armand! why don't you
fire?"

"One of you stop that woman screaming," hissed Chauvelin, who hardly
could refrain from striking her.

Something was thrown over her face; she could not breathe, and perforce
she was silent.

The bold singer, too, had become silent, warned, no doubt, of his
impending danger by Marguerite's frantic shrieks. The men had sprung
to their feet, there was no need for further silence on their part; the
very cliffs echoed the poor, heart-broken woman's screams.

Chauvelin, with a muttered oath, which boded no good to her, who had
dared to upset his most cherished plans, had hastily shouted the word of
command,--

"Into it, my men, and let no one escape from that hut alive!"

The moon had once more emerged from between the clouds: the darkness on
the cliffs had gone, giving place once more to brilliant, silvery light.
Some of the soldiers had rushed to the rough, wooden door of the hut,
whilst one of them kept guard over Marguerite.

The door was partially open; on of the soldiers pushed it further, but
within all