the Bible, and prayed at length--for us, and
for peace and prosperity, and much more besides.

Then we had a smoke, and he showed us to the most comfortable bed I had
seen since I left home.

Le Marchant was not in the best of humours. He chose to regard the old
man's hospitality with suspicion, and even went the length of casting
doubts upon his piety. But I put it down to the heat of the herb lotion,
which had made his face like a full-blown red rose, and had doubtless got
into his blood.

I was very sound asleep when a violent shaking of the arm woke me, and Le
Marchant's whisper in my ear--"Carre, there's something wrong. Don't speak!
Listen!"--brought me all to myself in a moment, and I heard what he
heard,--the hushed movement of people in the outer room off which our
bedroom opened, the soft creak of a loose board in the flooring.

"Outside the window a minute ago," he murmured in my ear.

Then a sound reached us that there was no mistaking, the tiny click of the
strap-ring of a musket against the barrel, and a peaceful miller has no
need of muskets.

We had but a moment for thought. I feared greatly that we were trapped, and
felt the blame to myself. There would be men outside the window, but more
in the room, for they looked to catch us sleeping. I had no doubt, in my
own mind, that it was a pressgang, in which case their object was to take
us, not to kill us. And, thinking it over since, I have thought it possible
that the treacherous old miller may have signalled them by a light in the
top of the mill, which would be seen a very long way.

I peeped out of the window. Three men with muskets and cutlasses stood
there watching it. We were trapped of a surety. Carette and Sercq seemed
to swing away out of sight, and visions of the routine and brutality of the
King's service loomed up very close in front.

We had no weapons except my sailor's knife, which would be little use
against muskets and cutlasses. But there was a stout oak chair by the
bedside, and at a pinch its legs might serve.

We could do nothing but wait to see what their move would be, and that
waiting, with the gloomiest of prospects in front, was as long and dismal a
time as any I have known.

It was just beginning to get light when a tap came on the door, and the
voice of the villainous old miller--

"Your breakfast is ready. We should start in half an hour."

"Hel-lo?" I asked, in as sleepy a fashion as I could make it.

He repeat