"You are terrified, my Lucy," said Charles. "I think we had better go off as soon as possible. You will feel yourself more in security, when you are on board the ship."
"I shall never feel myself in security," replied Lucy, "till we have safely landed in France. You are going there direct, Charles, are you not?"
"No, miss," replied Hailes, "we must go first to Guernsey where the ship's going; but not because she's going there either, for she would go anywhere we liked; but at Guernsey, you see, we're just as safe as if we were in France, and my brother, poor Bill, has a number of friends there, and so has Captain Long, for the matter of that. But however we must go to get passports, or letters of license, or whatever they call them, to go into France, or we should risk being made prisoners, you know. The captain of of the ship, indeed, has a letter[[1] of license for Bourdeaux, where he often gets a good cargo of claret wine."
Charles Tyrrell whispered a word or two to Lucy, which brought the colour again into her cheeks; but she looked at him with the full, confiding glance of love, and replied at once,
"Oh, Charles, I have no fear on earth in those respects. I would trust myself anywhere--everywhere with you. I have not a doubt--I have not a hesitation. But we had better make haste, had we not, for I thought I saw the day beginning to dawn?"
"There is one thing, however," said Charles Tyrrell, "which I have to do before we go. Morrison, it concerns you. In the first place, you must beg my mother to take especial care of Hailes's wife and family, and to see that they want none of those comforts which they would have had, if he had remained to supply them by his industry. In the next place, Morrison, let me speak one word of yourself."
"Oh, there is no fear of me," replied Morrison, with a smile, mistaking his meaning. "I am a lawyer, you know, Tyrrell, and accustomed to tricks of all kinds; so that I have taken such precautions as quite to secure myself. They can prove nothing against me."
"You mistake me, Everard," replied his friend. "It is a matter of even greater importance I wish to speak of. It is a matter on which depends your happiness for life."
Morrison made a sign, as if he would have stopped him, and turned away his head, but Charles Tyrrell continued, without heeding the distaste he evinced for the subject.
"Nay, nay, Morrison," he said, "you have shown me great and disinterested friendship--you have rendered me a most important service, and so also must I act to you. Let me ask you one question, Morrison."