ht, and from the moment
the papers are in your hands your life belongs to the Admiral. If you
fail to reach Tanlay in time, the death of the noblest gentleman in
France will lie on your shoulders."

"I will do my best."

"He is young," remarked my father, "but he can bear fatigue. He has a
sure seat in the saddle, and he is more thoughtful than most boys of his
age. With Jacques at his elbow the venture is not as desperate as it may
seem."

Since nothing better offered, Devine at length agreed to the proposal,
and having informed Jacques that we should start at dawn I went straight
to bed, in the hope of getting a couple of hours' sleep before beginning
the journey.

The morning had scarcely broken when Jacques wakened me; I sprang up
quickly, dressed--my mother had sewn the precious papers securely
inside my doublet--and made a hearty meal.

My mother, who had risen in order to bid me farewell, was full of
anxiety; but, like the brave woman she was, she put aside her fears; for
the Admiral's safety was at stake, and we of the Religion were well
content to make any sacrifice for our beloved leader. I embraced her
fondly, assuring her I would be careful, and proceeded to the chamber
where Ambroise Devine lay. He had not slept, but was eagerly awaiting
the time of my departure.

"You have the papers?" he asked. "Give them into the Admiral's own
hands, and remember that a single hour's delay may ruin the Cause."

"He carries a full purse," said my father, "and can buy fresh horses on
the road."

Wishing the sick man good-bye, and bidding him be of good courage, I
descended to the courtyard, where Jacques awaited me with the horses.

"Do not be sparing of your money, Edmond; if need arises, spend freely,"
my father advised. "And now, may God bless you, and bring you safely
through. Do not forget, Jacques, that a shrewd brain will pay better
than a strong arm in this venture."

"We will be as prudent as the Admiral himself, monsieur," declared
Jacques, as he vaulted into the saddle; and, with a last word of counsel
from my father, we crossed the drawbridge and rode down the hill to the
high road.

"'Tis a long journey before us, monsieur, and an unexpected one,"
observed my companion, as, turning sharply to the left, we rode through
the still sleeping village. "'Tis odd what a chance encounter may bring
about; but for the Sieur's meeting with the wounded man we should still
be snug abed. There is some one stir