"If you do not proceed on the journey," cried Heron with savage fury,
"I'll strangle that woman with my own hands--now!"

Blakeney looked at him for a moment or two through half-closed lids, and
it seemed then to those who knew him well, to those who loved him and
to the man who hated him, that the mighty sinews almost cracked with
the passionate desire to kill. Then the sunken eyes turned slowly to
Marguerite, and she alone caught the look--it was a mere flash, of a
humble appeal for pardon.

It was all over in a second; almost immediately the tension on the
pale face relaxed, and into the eyes there came that look of
acceptance--nearly akin to fatalism--an acceptance of which the strong
alone are capable, for with them it only comes in the face of the
inevitable.

Now he shrugged his broad shoulders, and once more turning to Heron he
said quietly:

"You leave me no option in that case. As you have remarked before,
citizen Heron, why should we wait any longer? Surely we can now go."

CHAPTER XLIII. THE DREARY JOURNEY

Rain! Rain! Rain! Incessant, monotonous and dreary! The wind had changed
round to the southwest. It blew now in great gusts that sent weird,
sighing sounds through the trees, and drove the heavy showers into the
faces of the men as they rode on, with heads bent forward against the
gale.

The rain-sodden bridles slipped through their hands, bringing out sores
and blisters on their palms; the horses were fidgety, tossing their
heads with wearying persistence as the wet trickled into their ears, or
the sharp, intermittent hailstones struck their sensitive noses.

Three days of this awful monotony, varied only by the halts at wayside
inns, the changing of troops at one of the guard-houses on the way, the
reiterated commands given to the fresh squad before starting on the next
lap of this strange, momentous way; and all the while, audible above
the clatter of horses' hoofs, the rumbling of coach-wheels--two closed
carriages, each drawn by a pair of sturdy horses; which were changed at
every halt. A soldier on each box urged them to a good pace to keep up
with the troopers, who were allowed to go at an easy canter or light
jog-trot, whatever might prove easiest and least fatiguing. And from
time to time Heron's shaggy, gaunt head would appear at the window of
one of the coaches, asking the way, the distance to the next city or
to the nearest wayside inn; cursing the troopers, the coachman, his