his time--the hour when the duel was to have been fought--and
somewhere near here on the southern ramparts... and we always have
strict orders to mix with the crowd if there happens to be one. When we
saw Blakeney raise the candlesticks we guessed what was coming, and we
each went to our respective posts. It was all quite simple."

The young man spoke gaily and lightly, but through the easy banter of
his tone, there pierced the enthusiasm and pride of the soldier in the
glory and daring of his chief.

Between the city walls and the harbour there was much bustle and
agitation. The English packet-boat would lift anchor at the turn of the
tide, and as every one was free to get aboard without leave or passport,
there were a very large number of passengers, bound for the land of
freedom.

Two boats from the "Day-Dream" were waiting in readiness for Sir Percy
and my lady and those whom they would bring with them.

Silently the party embarked, and as the boats pushed off and the sailors
from Sir Percy's yacht bent to their oars, the old Abbe Foucquet began
gently droning a Pater and Ave to the accompaniment of his beads.

He accepted joy, happiness and safety with the same gentle philosophy
as he would have accepted death, but Marguerite's keen and loving ears
caught at the end of each "Pater" a gently murmured request to le bon
Dieu to bless and protect our English rescuer.

Only once did Marguerite make allusion to that terrible time which had
become the past.

They were wandering together down the chestnut alley in the beautiful
garden at Richmond. It was evening, and the air was heavy with the
rich odour of wet earth, of belated roses and dying mignonette. She had
paused in the alley, and placed a trembling hand upon his arm, whilst
raising her eyes filled with tears of tender passion up to his face.

"Percy!" she murmured, "have you forgiven me?"

"What, m'dear?"

"That awful evening in Boulogne... what that fiend demanded... his awful
'either--or'... I brought it all upon you... it was all my fault."

"Nay, my dear, for that 'tis I should thank you..."

"Thank me?"

"Aye," he said, whilst in the fast-gathering dusk she could only just
perceive the sudden hardening of his face, the look of wild passion in
his eyes, "but for that evening in Boulogne, but for that alternative
which that devil placed before me, I might never have known how much you
meant to me."

Even the recollection of all the sorrow,