“I don’t know,” she murmured helplessly. “Of course, when he wrote the letter he could not guess that they would hold us as hostages. He may have thought that under cover of darkness and of an unexpected attack he might have saved himself had he been alone; but now—now that you and I are here—Oh! it is all so horrible, and I cannot understand it all.”
“Hark!” broke in Armand, suddenly gripping her arm more tightly.
“Halt!” rang the sergeant’s voice through the night.
This time there was no mistaking the sound; already it came from no far distance. It was the sound of a man running and panting, and now and again calling out as he ran.
For a moment there was stillness in the very air, the wind itself was hushed between two gusts, even the rain had ceased its incessant pattering. Heron’s harsh voice was raised in the stillness.
“What is it now?” he demanded.
“A runner, citizen,” replied the sergeant, “coming through the wood from the right.”
“From the right?” and the exclamation was accompanied by a volley of oaths; “the direction of the chateau? Chauvelin has been attacked; he is sending a messenger back to me. Sergeant—sergeant, close up round that coach; guard your prisoners as you value your life, and—”
The rest of his words were drowned in a yell of such violent fury that the horses, already over-nervous and fidgety, reared in mad terror, and the men had the greatest difficulty in holding them in. For a few minutes noisy confusion prevailed, until the men could quieten their quivering animals with soft words and gentle pattings.
Then the troopers obeyed, closing up round the coach wherein brother and sister sat huddled against one another.