“It were, indeed, difficult to say, Mark. But, hark!—footsteps are in the court-yard.‘Tis unusual. But, see!—the door opens. Is it possible? Why, Cammaran! This is a late hour for a visit.”
“It is,” said the voltigeur; “but I have a presentiment that you and I are about to part.”
I felt the blood mount to my cheeks. Were then our plans known, and our intended escape discovered?
“What mean ye, my friend?” I returned, assuming an air of indifference. “No, no,” I continued evasively. “Warmly as, through your kindness, I may have been recommended to the War-Minister’s consideration, I must not hope the application will prove successful.”
“You mistake me. It is another chance that probably may end our acquaintance. I am on duty to-night.”
“And so are we,” observed the fosterer, in Irish.
“The fact is, we are going to try a sortie. The general has most handsomely put the detachment under my command. If I succeed, I shall gain promotion—and if Fortune favour me, I’ll sweep your works extensively before I re-enter the fortress. Well, these things are not effected without broken heads—and I have come to have a parting glass with two friends I estimate so dearly.”
The occasion of the visit relieved me from desperate alarm. The Frenchman sate for an hour and then took his leave, to make the necessary arrangements for the intended sortie, which was ordered to commence at two o’clock.
Before the voltigeur had cleared the court-yard, Rawlings, attended by La Pablos, presented themselves by a private door which communicated with the garden. The sailor’s looks told that affairs went prosperously.
“All is ready for our attempt. The French sally before daybreak—and in the noise and confusion on the land-side, we shall be enabled to lower ourselves from the curtain, and gain the beach. All depends upon ourselves—and for the fidelity of our associates, Senhor La Pablos holds himself responsible. You must shift your rigging, however—and here come your traps.”