of
Gavrillac, led down to that ferry. By this lane some twenty minutes
later came Andre-Louis with dragging feet. He avoided the little cottage
of the ferryman, whose window was alight, and in the dark crept down to
the boat, intending if possible to put himself across. He felt for the
chain by which the boat was moored, and ran his fingers along this to
the point where it was fastened. Here to his dismay he found a padlock.

He stood up in the gloom and laughed silently. Of course he might have
known it. The ferry was the property of M. de La Tour d'Azyr, and not
likely to be left unfastened so that poor devils might cheat him of
seigneurial dues.

There being no possible alternative, he walked back to the cottage, and
rapped on the door. When it opened, he stood well back, and aside, out
of the shaft of light that issued thence.

"Ferry!" he rapped out, laconically.

The ferryman, a burly scoundrel well known to him, turned aside to pick
up a lantern, and came forth as he was bidden. As he stepped from the
little porch, he levelled the lantern so that its light fell on the face
of this traveller.

"My God!" he ejaculated.

"You realize, I see, that I am pressed," said Andre-Louis, his eyes on
the fellow's startled countenance.

"And well you may be with the gallows waiting for you at Rennes,"
growled the ferryman. "Since you've been so foolish as to come back to
Gavrillac, you had better go again as quickly as you can. I will say
nothing of having seen you."

"I thank you, Fresnel. Your advice accords with my intention. That is
why I need the boat."

"Ah, that, no," said Fresnel, with determination. "I'll hold my peace,
but it's as much as my skin is worth to help you.

"You need not have seen my face. Forget that you have seen it."

"I'll do that, monsieur. But that is all I will do. I cannot put you
across the river."

"Then give me the key of the boat, and I will put myself across."

"That is the same thing. I cannot. I'll hold my tongue, but I will not--I
dare not--help you."

Andre-Louis looked a moment into that sullen, resolute face, and
understood. This man, living under the shadow of La Tour d'Azyr, dared
exercise no will that might be in conflict with the will of his dread
lord.

"Fresnel," he said, quietly, "if, as you say, the gallows claim me, the
thing that has brought me to this extremity arises out of the shooting
of Mabey. Had not Mabey been murdered there would have been no need