The next moment she lay clasped in his arms. All was still around them, save for the gentle patter-patter of the rain on the trees of the ramparts: and from very far away the echo of laughter and music from the distant revellers.
And then the cry of the sea-mew thrice repeated from just beneath the window.
Blakeney and Marguerite awoke from their brief dream: once more the passionate lover gave place to the man of action.
“'Tis Tony, an I mistake not,” he said hurriedly, as with loving fingers still slightly trembling with suppressed passion, he readjusted the hood over her head.
“Lord Tony?” she murmured.
“Aye! with Hastings and one or two others. I told them to be ready for us to-night as soon as the place was quiet.”
“You were so sure of success then, Percy?” she asked in wonderment.
“So sure,” he replied simply.
Then he led her to the window, and lifted her onto the sill. It was not high from the ground and two pairs of willing arms were there ready to help her down.
Then he, too, followed, and quietly the little party turned to walk toward the gate. The ramparts themselves now looked strangely still and silent: the merrymakers were far away, only one or two passers-by hurried swiftly past here and there, carrying bundles, evidently bent on making use of that welcome permission to leave this dangerous soil.