A Blot on the Scutcheon

by Mabel Winifred Knowles

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CAVE OF LOST SOULS

If the riders paused to ask whence the cries came it was only for an instant. The next they were on the ground beside those who stood, laughing, sobbing, thanking Heaven, and crying welcome in a breath.

Was it possible? All safe. All.

Thank God for that! Again and again thank God.

At first it was Madame who required all their attention.

Joy, following the cruel strain of those past hours, had been too much for her, and she fainted with Jéhan's strong arms around her. But she revived shortly, for the hour of weakness must be put off yet again.

The danger was not over.

Marcel Trouet would see to that. By this time, doubtless, he had joined forces with some of his other friends from Paris, perhaps with Jean Floessel himself.

There had been delay in their ride from Varenac, since they had gone first to Kérnak, where Guillaume had kept them with a long-winded story of the flight.