Sally arranged a simple supper of cold meat, wine, and fruit

on the table, then with a respectfulcurtsey, she retired" target="_blank" title="a.退休的；通职的">retired, wondering
in her little mind why her ladyship looked so serious, when she was

about to elope with her gallant.
Then commenced a period of weary waiting for Marguerite. She

knew that Sir Andrew--who would have to provide himself with clothes
befitting a lacquey--could not possibly reach Dover for at least a

couple of hours. He was a splendid horseman of course, and would make
light in such an emergency of the seventy odd miles between London and

Dover. He would, too, literally burn the ground beneath his horse's
hoofs, but he might not always get very good remounts, and in any

case, he could not have started from London until at least an hour
after she did.

She had seen nothing of Chauvelin on the road. Her coachman,
whom she questioned, had not seen anyone answering the description his

mistress gave him of the wizened figure of the little Frenchman.
Evidently, therefore, he had been ahead of her all the time.

She had not dared to question the people at the various inns, where
they had stopped to change horses. She feared that Chauvelin had

spies all along the route, who might overhear her questions, then
outdistance her and warn her enemy of her approach.

Now she wondered at what inn he might be stopping, or whether
he had had the good luck of chartering a vessel already, and was now

himself on the way to France. That thought gripped her at the heart
as with an iron vice. If indeed she should not be too late already!

The loneliness of the room overwhelmed her; everything within
was so horribly still; the ticking of the grandfather's

clock--dreadfully slow and measured--was the only sound which broke
this awful loneliness.

Marguerite had need of all her energy, all her steadfastness of
purpose, to keep up her courage through this weary midnightwaiting.

Everyone else in the house but herself must have been asleep.
She had heard Sally go upstairs. Mr. Jellyband had gone to see to her

coachman and men, and then had returned and taken up a position under
the porch outside, just where Marguerite had first met Chauvelin about

a week ago. He evidently meant to wait up for Sir Andrew Ffoulkes,
but was soon overcome by sweet slumbers, for presently--in addition to

the slow ticking of the clock--Marguerite could hear the monotonous
and dulcet tones of the worthy fellow's breathing.

For some time now, she had realised that the beautiful warm
October's day, so happily begun, had turned into a rough and cold

night. She had felt very chilly, and was glad of the cheerful blaze
in the hearth: but gradually, as time wore on, the weather became more

rough, and the sound of the great breakers against the Admiralty Pier,
though some distance from the inn, came to her as the noise of muffled

thunder.
The wind was becoming boisterous, rattling the leaded windows

and the massive doors of the old-fashioned house: it shook the trees
outside and roared down the vast chimney. Marguerite wondered if the

wind would be favourable for her journey. She had no fear of the
storm, and would have braved worse risks sooner than delay the

crossing by an hour.
A sudden commotion outside roused her from her meditations.

Evidently it was Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, just arrived in mad haste, for
she heard his horse's hoofs thundering on the flag-stones outside,

then Mr. Jellyband's sleepy, yet cheerful tones bidding him welcome.
For a moment, then, the awkwardness of her position struck

Marguerite; alone at this hour, in a place where she was well known,
and having made an assignation with a young cavalierequally well

known, and who arrived in disguise! What food for gossip to those
mischievously inclined.

The idea struck Marguerite chiefly from its humorous side:
there was such quaintcontrast between the seriousness of her errand,

and the construction which would naturally be put on her actions by
honest Mr. Jellyband, that, for the first time since many hours, a

little smile began playing round the corners of her childlike mouth,
and when, presently, Sir Andrew, almost unrecognisable in his

lacquey-like garb, entered the coffee-room, she was able to greet him
with quite a merry laugh.

"Faith! Monsieur, my lacquey," she said, "I am satisfied with
your appearance!"

Mr. Jellyband had followed Sir Andrew, looking strangely
perplexed. The young gallant's disguise had confirmed his worst

suspicions. Without a smile upon his jovial face, he drew the cork
from the bottle of wine, set the chairs ready, and prepared to wait.

"Thanks, honest friend," said Marguerite, who was still
smiling at the thought of what the worthy fellow must be thinking at

that very moment, "we shall require nothing more; and here's for all
the trouble you have been put to on our account."

She handed two or three gold pieces to Jellyband, who took
them respectfully, and with becoming gratitude.

"Stay, Lady Blakeney," interposed Sir Andrew, as Jellyband was
about to retire, "I am afraid we shall require something more of my

friend Jelly's hospitality. I am sorry to say we cannot cross over
to-night."

"Not cross over to-night?" she repeated in amazement. "But we
must, Sir Andrew, we must! There can be no question of cannot, and

whatever it may cost, we must get a vessel to-night."
But the young man shook his head sadly.

"I am afraid it is not a question of cost, Lady Blakeney.
There is a nasty storm blowing from France, the wind is dead against

us, we cannot possibly sail until it has changed."
Marguerite became deadly pale. She had not foreseen this.

Nature herself was playing her a horrible, cruel trick. Percy was in
danger, and she could not go to him, because the wind happened to blow

from the coast of France.
"But we must go!--we must!" she repeated with strange,

persistentenergy, "you know, we must go!--can't you find a way?"
"I have been down to the shore already," he said, "and had a

talk to one or two skippers. It is quite impossible to set sail
to-night, so every sailor assured me. No one," he added, looking

significantly at Marguerite, "NO ONE could possibly put out of Dover
to-night."

Marguerite at once understood what he meant. NO ONE
included Chauvelin as well as herself. She nodded pleasantly to

Jellyband.
"Well, then, I must resign myself," she said to him. "Have

you a room for me?"
"Oh, yes, your ladyship. A nice, bright, airy room. I'll see

to it at once. . . . And there is another one for Sir Andrew--both
quite ready."

"That's brave now, mine honest Jelly," said Sir Andrew, gaily,
and clapping his worth host vigorously on the back. "You unlock both

those rooms, and leave our candles here on the dresser. I vow you are
dead with sleep, and her ladyship must have some supper before she

retires. There, have no fear, friend of the rueful countenance, her
ladyship's visit, though at this unusual hour, is a great honour to

thy house, and Sir Percy Blakeney will reward thee doubly, if thou
seest well to her privacy and comfort."

Sir Andrew had no doubt guessed the many conflicting doubts
and fears which raged in honest Jellyband's head; and, as he was a

gallant gentleman, he tried by this brave hint to allay some of the
worthy innkeeper's suspicions. He had the satisfaction of seeing that

he had partially succeeded. Jellyband's rubicund countenance
brightened somewhat, at the mention of Sir Percy's name.

"I'll go and see to it at once, sir," he said with alacrity,
and with less frigidity in his manner. "Has her ladyship everything

she wants for supper?"
"Everything, thanks, honest friend, and as I am famished and

dead with fatigue, I pray you see to the rooms."
"Now tell me," she said eagerly, as soon as Jellyband had gone

from the room, "tell me all your news."
"There is nothing else much to tell you, Lady Blakeney,"

replied the young man. "The storm makes it quite impossible for any
vessel to put out of Dover this tide. But, what seems to you at first