would be to go to St. Malo, and take the first
boat to England. It left in the evening about seven, so that by next
morning he would be safe at Southampton.

Then Barbara said, in the way she had been wont to advise Donald, "I
think you should go straight to your sister, and take counsel with her as
to what you should do. I will lend you money enough for what you need."

"You _are_ kind," the boy said, with tears in his eyes. "I'll pay you
back as soon as I get any money--as soon as ever I can, I do promise
you--if only I get safely to England." He had such a pitiful, frightened
way of looking over his shoulder, as if he expected to see his father
behind him all the time, that Barbara's wrath against the man arose anew,
and she felt she could not be sorry, whatever his punishment might be.

"Good-bye," she said kindly. "I must go away now. I think, when you
arrive in England, you might write to Mademoiselle Vire, and say you
arrived safely. I shall be anxious till I hear."

The boy almost embarrassed Barbara by the assurances of his gratitude,
and she breathed more freely when she got into the open air.

"How glad I ought to be that Donald isn't like that," she thought, the
remembrance of her frank, sturdy brother rising in vivid contrast in her
mind.

When she got back, Mademoiselle Therese was enjoying herself thoroughly,
recounting the adventure to her own household and to the widower and his
sons whom she had called in to add to her audience. She described the
whole scene most graphically and with much gesticulation, perhaps also
with a little exaggeration.

"The anger of the man when he found he must accompany the officers was
herculean," she said, casting up her eyes; "he stormed, he raged, he tore
his hair" (Barbara remembered him as almost quite bald!), "he insisted
that his son must come too."

"How mean!" the girl cried indignantly.

"But the son," mademoiselle paused, and looked round her audience--"the
son," she concluded in a thrilling whisper, "had gone--fled--disappeared.
One moment he was there, the next he was nowhere. Whereupon the papa was
still more angry, and with hasty words gave an exact and particular
description of him in every detail. 'He must be caught,' he shouted, 'he
must keep me company.' Such a father!" Mademoiselle rolled her eyes
wildly. "Such an inhuman monster repelled me, and--I fled."

Barbara, feeling as if they should applaud, looked round vaguely to see
i