Marguerite laughed. It was so good to be beside him, to hear his cheery voice, to watch that good-humoured twinkle in his blue eyes, as he stretched out his strong arms, in longing for that foe, and anticipation of his well-deserved punishment.
Suddenly, however, she started: the happy blush left her cheek, the light of joy died out of her eyes: she had heard a stealthy footfall overhead, and a stone had rolled down from the top of the cliffs right down to the beach below.
“What’s that?” she whispered in horror and alarm.
“Oh! nothing, m’dear,” he muttered with a pleasant laugh, “only a trifle you happened to have forgotten . . . my friend, Ffoulkes . . .”
“Sir Andrew!” she gasped.
Indeed, she had wholly forgotten the devoted friend and companion, who had trusted and stood by her during all these hours of anxiety and suffering. She remembered him now, tardily and with a pang of remorse.
“Aye! you had forgotten him, hadn’t you, m’dear?” said Sir Percy, merrily. “Fortunately, I met him, not far from the ‘Chat Gris,’ before I had that interesting supper party, with my friend Chauvelin. . . . Odd’s life! but I have a score to settle with that young reprobate!—but in the meanwhile, I told him of a very long, very roundabout road, that would bring him here by a very circuitous road which Chauvelin’s men would never suspect, just about the time when we are ready for him, eh, little woman?”
“And he obeyed?” asked Marguerite, in utter astonishment.
“Without word or question. See, here he comes. He was not in the way when I did not want him, and now he arrives in the nick of time. Ah! he will make pretty little Suzanne a most admirable and methodical husband.”
In the meanwhile Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had cautiously worked his way down the cliffs: he stopped once or twice, pausing to listen for the whispered words, which would guide him to Blakeney’s hiding-place.