it seemed to her as if, supposing he truly desired it, whatever
he might say, he must be able to deliver her and Charles; but that a
being such as she had always known him should sacrifice both his
love and his hate seemed beyond all hope, and "Change his heart!
Turn our captivity, O Lord," could only be her cry.

Only very late did Burford come back, full of the account of the
wreck and of the spoils, and the struggles between the wreckers for
the flotsam and jetsam. There was much of savage brutality mated
with a cool indifference truly horrible to Anne, and making her
realise into what a den of robbers she had fallen, especially as
these narratives were diversified by consultations over the Dutch
letters and bills of exchange in the wrecked East Indiaman, and how
to turn them to the best advantage. Barclay and Burford were so
full of these subjects that they took comparatively little notice of
the young lady, only when she rose to retire, Burford made a sort of
apology that this little business had hindered his going after the
parson. He heard that the Salamander was at the castle, and
redcoats all about, he said, and if the Annick could be got out to-
morrow they must sail any way; and if Pil was still so squeamish, a
Popish priest could couple them in a leash as tight as a Fleet
parson could. And then Peregrine demanded whether Burford thought a
Fleet parson the English for a naval chaplain, and there was some
boisterous laughter, during which Anne shut herself up in her room
in something very like despair, with that one ray of hope that He
who had brought her back from exile before would again save her from
that terrible fate.

She heard card-playing and the jingle of glasses far into the night,
as she believed, but it seemed to her as if she had scarcely fallen
asleep before, to her extreme terror, she heard a knock and a low
call at her door of 'Guennik.' Then as the Bretonne went to the
door, through which a light was seen, a lantern was handed in, and a
scrap of paper on which the words were written: "On second
thoughts, my kindred elves at Portchester shall not be scared by a
worricow. Dress quickly, and I will bring you out of this."

For a moment Anne did not perceive the meaning of the missive, the
ghastly idea never having occurred to her that if Charles had
suffered, the gibbet would have been at Portchester. Then, with an
electric flash of joy, she saw that it meant relenting on
Peregrine's