“But how can we get back?” she gasped; “the roads are full of soldiers between here and Calais, and . . .”
“We are not going back to Calais, sweetheart,” he said, “but just the other side of Gris Nez, not half a league from here. The boat of the Day Dream will meet us there.”
“The boat of the Day Dream?”
“Yes!” he said, with a merry laugh; “another little trick of mine. I should have told you before that when I slipped that note into the hut, I also added another for Armand, which I directed him to leave behind, and which has sent Chauvelin and his men running full tilt back to the ‘Chat Gris’ after me; but the first little note contained my real instructions, including those to old Briggs. He had my orders to go out further to sea, and then towards the west. When well out of sight of Calais, he will send the galley to a little creek he and I know of, just beyond Gris Nez. The men will look out for me—we have a preconcerted signal, and we will all be safely aboard, whilst Chauvelin and his men solemnly sit and watch the creek which is ‘just opposite the “Chat Gris.”’”
“The other side of Gris Nez? But I . . . I cannot walk, Percy,” she moaned helplessly as, trying to struggle to her tired feet, she found herself unable even to stand.
“I will carry you, dear,” he said simply; “the blind leading the lame, you know.”
Sir Andrew was ready, too, to help with the precious burden, but Sir Percy would not entrust his beloved to any arms but his own.
“When you and she are both safely on board the Day Dream,” he said to his young comrade, “and I feel that Mlle. Suzanne’s eyes will not greet me in England with reproachful looks, then it will be my turn to rest.”
And his arms, still vigorous in spite of fatigue and suffering, closed round Marguerite’s poor, weary body, and lifted her as gently as if she had been a feather.
Then, as Sir Andrew discreetly kept out of earshot, there were many things said—or rather whispered—which even the autumn breeze did not catch, for it had gone to rest.