s carry pencil
and paper with me wherever I go, and I hastily scrawled a few important
instructions on a scrap of paper; then I looked about me. I crawled up
to the hut, under the very noses of the soldiers, who lay under cover
without stirring, just as Chauvelin had ordered them to do, then I
dropped my little note into the hut through a chink in the wall, and
waited. In this note I told the fugitives to walk noiselessly out of
the hut, creep down the cliffs, keep to the left until they came to the
first creek, to give a certain signal, when the boat of the DAY DREAM,
which lay in wait not far out to sea, would pick them up. They obeyed
implicitly, fortunately for them and for me. The soldiers who saw them
were equally obedient to Chauvelin's orders. They did not stir! I waited
for nearly half an hour; when I knew that the fugitives were safe I gave
the signal, which caused so much stir."

And that was the whole story. It seemed so simple! and Marguerite could
be marvel at the wonderful ingenuity, the boundless pluck and audacity
which had evolved and helped to carry out this daring plan.

"But those brutes struck you!" she gasped in horror, at the bare
recollection of the fearful indignity.

"Well! that could not be helped," he said gently, "whilst my little
wife's fate was so uncertain, I had to remain here by her side. Odd's
life!" he added merrily, "never fear! Chauvelin will lose nothing by
waiting, I warrant! Wait till I get him back to England!--La! he shall
pay for the thrashing he gave me with compound interest, I promise you."

Marguerite laughed. It was so good to be beside him, to hear his cheery
voice, to watch that good-humoured twinkle in his blue eyes, as he
stretched out his strong arms, in longing for that foe, and anticipation
of his well-deserved punishment.

Suddenly, however, she started: the happy blush left her cheek, the
light of joy died out of her eyes: she had heard a stealthy footfall
overhead, and a stone had rolled down from the top of the cliffs right
down to the beach below.

"What's that?" she whispered in horror and alarm.

"Oh! nothing, m'dear," he muttered with a pleasant laugh, "only a trifle
you happened to have forgotten . . . my friend, Ffoulkes . . ."

"Sir Andrew!" she gasped.

Indeed, she had wholly forgotten the devoted friend and companion,
who had trusted and stood by her during all these hours of anxiety and
suffering. She remembered him how, tardily and with a