"To shore! To horse!" cried the raging monarch.
A quarter of an hour later, horsemen were clattering down the stony street along the water front of Marmora, pausing now and then to stare out into the sea mist, dashing on, stopping and staring, and on again. The foremost to reach the Castle of the Seven Towers left orders to scour the shore, and to set patrol to prevent any one landing. Some were ordered to dart across to the islands. Within an hour from the escape every inch of shore, and the great water course opposite the city, were under complete surveillance.
Just before this was accomplished a man arrived at the water's edge, close to the south side of the great wall of which the Castle of Seven Towers was the northern flank. He held two horses, saddled and bagged, as if for a distant journey. A second man appeared a moment later, who came up from a clump of bushes a little way below.
"In good time, Marcus!" said the new comer, who stooped close to the water and listened, putting his hand to his ear so as to exclude all sounds except such as should come from the sea above.
"Listen! an oar stroke! Yes! Keep everything tight, Marcus."
Darting into the copse, in a moment more the man was gliding in a kaik, with a noiseless stroke, out in the direction of the oar splash of the approaching boat. Nearer and nearer it came. The night and the mist prevented its being seen. The man moved close to its line. It was a light kaik, he knew from the almost noiseless ripple of the water as the sharp prow cut it. The man gave a slight whistle, when the stroke of the invisible boat ceased, and the ripple at its prow died away.
"Morsinia!"
"Ay, thank heaven!" came the response.
"Speak not now, but follow!" and he led the way cautiously toward the little beach where the horses were heard stamping. They were several rods off, piloting themselves by the sound.
"Hark!" said the man, stopping the boats. Hoofs were heard approaching, and voices—