early to get a view of my sweetheart, and found that she had warmly
robed herself in a fur-trimmed jacket, and that her hat was a sort of
turban as though chosen from her wardrobe with a view to her passage
through the hole in the hedge. I had her hand under my arm; and
pressed and caressed it as we walked. Caudel taking the earth with
sailorly strides bowled and rolled along at her right, keeping her
between us. I spoke to her in hasty sentences, forever praising her
for her courage and thanking her for her love, and trying to hearten
her; for now that the first desperate step had been taken, now that the
wild risks of escape were ended, the spirit that had supported her
failed; she could scarcely answer me; at moments she would direct looks
over her shoulder; the mere figure of a tree would cause her to tighten
her hold of my arm, and press against me as though starting.

"I feel so wicked--I feel that I ought to return--oh! how frightened I
am;--how late it is!--what will mam'selle think?--How the girls will
talk in the morning!"

I could coax no more than this sort of exclamations from her.

As we passed through the gate in the rampart wall and entered the Haute
Ville, my captain broke the silence he had kept since we quitted the
lane.

"How little do the folks who's sleeping in them houses know, Mr.
Barclay, of what's a-passing under their noses. There ain't no sort of
innocence like sleep."

He said this and yawned with a noise that resembled a shout.

"This is Captain Caudel, Grace," said I, "the master of the _Spitfire_.
His services to-night I shall never forget."

"I am too frightened to thank you, Captain Caudel," she exclaimed. "I
will thank you when I am calm. But shall I ever be calm? And ought I
to thank you then?"

"Have no fear, miss. This here oneasiness 'll soon pass. I know the
yarn--his honour spun it to me. What's been done, and what's yet to do
is right and proper, and if it worn't--" his pause was more significant
than had he proceeded.

Until we reached the harbour we did not encounter a living creature. I
could never have imagined of the old town of Boulogne that its streets,
late even as the hour was, would be so utterly deserted as we found
them. I was satisfied with my judgment in not having ordered a
carriage. The rattling of the wheels of a vehicle amid the vault-like
stillness of those thoroughfares would have been heart-subduing to my
mood of passionately nervou