“Remain patient, Leucha,” Claire said reassuringly. “One day you may be able to extricate yourselves—both of you. Who knows?”
But the girl with the dark eyes shook her head sadly, and spoke but little on their walk back to the house.
“Ah, Leucha,” sighed the pale, thoughtful woman whom the world so misjudged, “we all of us have our sorrows, some more bitter than others. You are unhappy because you are an outlaw, while I am unhappy because I am a queen! Our stations are widely different; and yet, after all, our burden of sorrow is the same.”
“I know all that you suffer, madame, though you are silent,” exclaimed the girl, with quick sympathy. “I have never referred to it, because you might think my interference impertinent. Yet I assure you that I reflect upon your position daily, hourly, and wonder what we can do to help you.”
“You have done all that can be done,” was the calm, kind response. “Without you I should have been quite lost here in England. Rest assured that I shall never forget the kindnesses shown by all of you, even though you are what you are.”
She longed to see the pair man and wife, and honest; yet how could she assist them?
Next evening, Guy Bourne, well-dressed in a grey flannel suit and straw hat, and presenting the appearance of a well-to-do City man on holiday, called upon her, and was shown up by the servant.
The welcome he received from both mistress and maid was a warm one, and as soon as the door was closed he explained,—
“I managed to get away from London, even though I saw a detective I knew on the platform at London Bridge. Very fortunately he didn’t recognise me. I’ve found a safe hiding-place in Brighton, in a small public-house at the top of North Street, where lodgers of our peculiar class are taken in. Roddy is due to arrive at Hull to-day. With Harry and two others, he appears to have made a fine haul in Hamburg, and we are all in funds again, for which we should be truly thankful.”
“To whom did the stuff belong?” Leucha inquired.