days--here, beneath that clear sky, within sound of the sea, and with
this balmy autumn breeze whispering to her a last lullaby. All was so

solitary, so silent, like unto dreamland. Even the last faint echo of
the distant cart had long ago died away, afar.

Suddenly. . .a sound. . .the strangest, undoubtedly, that
these lonely cliffs of France had ever heard, broke the silent

solemnity of the shore.
So strange a sound was it that the gentle breeze ceased to

murmur, the tiny pebbles to roll down the steep incline! So strange,
that Marguerite, wearied, overwrought as she was, thought that the

beneficial unconsciousness of the approach of death was playing her
half-sleeping senses a weird and elusive trick.

It was the sound of a good, solid, absolutely British "Damn!"
The sea gulls in their nests awoke and looked round in astonishment;

a distant and solitary owl set up a midnight hoot, the tall cliffs
frowned down majestically at the strange, unheard-of sacrilege.

Marguerite did not trust her ears. Half-raising herself on
her hands, she strained every sense to see or hear, to know the

meaning of this very earthly sound.
All was still again for the space of a few seconds; the same

silence once more fell upon the great and lonely vastness.
Then Marguerite, who had listened as in a trance, who felt she

must be dreaming with that cool, magneticmoonlightoverhead, heard
again; and this time her heart stood still, her eyes large and

dilated, looked round her, not daring to trust her other sense.
"Odd's life! but I wish those demmed fellows had not hit quite so hard!"

This time it was quite unmistakable, only one particular pair
of essentially British lips could have uttered those words, in sleepy,

drawly, affected tones.
"Damn!" repeated those same British lips, emphatically.

"Zounds! but I'm as weak as a rat!"
In a moment Marguerite was on her feet.

Was she dreaming? Were those great, stony cliffs the gates of paradise?
Was the fragrantbreath of the breeze suddenly caused by the flutter

of angels' wings, bringing tidings of unearthly joys to her, after
all her suffering, or--faint and ill--was she the prey of delirium?

She listened again, and once again she heard the same very
earthly sounds of good, honest British language, not the least akin to

whisperings from paradise or flutter of angels' wings.
She looked round her eagerly at the tall cliffs, the lonely

hut, the great stretch of rocky beach. Somewhere there, above or
below her, behind a boulder or inside a crevice, but still hidden from

her longing, feverish eyes, must be the owner of that voice, which
once used to irritate her, but now would make her the happiest woman

in Europe, if only she could locate it.
"Percy! Percy!" she shrieked hysterically, tortured between doubt

and hope, "I am here! Come to me! Where are you? Percy! Percy!. . ."
"It's all very well calling me, m'dear!" said the same sleepy,

drawly voice, "but odd's life, I cannot come to you: those demmed
frog-eaters have trussed me like a goose on a spit, and I am weak as a

mouse. . .I cannot get away."
And still Marguerite did not understand. She did not realise

for at least another ten seconds whence came that voice, so drawly, so
dear, but alas! with a strange accent of weakness and of suffering.

There was no one within sight. . .except by that rock. . .Great
God!. . .the Jew!. . .Was she mad or dreaming?. . .

His back was against the pale moonlight, he was half crouching,
trying vainly to raise himself with his arms tightly pinioned.

Marguerite ran up to him, took his head in both her hands. . .
and look straight into a pair of blue eyes, good-natured, even a

trifle amused--shining out of the weird and distorted mask of the Jew.
"Percy!. . .Percy!. . .my husband!" she gasped, faint with the

fulness of her joy. "Thank God! Thank God!"
"La! m'dear," he rejoined good-humouredly, "we will both do

that anon, an you think you can loosen these demmed ropes,
and release me from my inelegant attitude."

She had no knife, her fingers were numb and weak, but she
worked away with her teeth, while great welcome tears poured from her

eyes, onto those poor, pinioned hands.
"Odd's life!" he said, when at last, after frantic efforts on

her part, the ropes seemed at last to be giving way, "but I marvel
whether it has ever happened before, that an English gentleman allowed

himself to be licked by a demmed foreigner, and made no attempt to
give as good as he got."

It was very obvious that he was exhausted from sheer physical pain,
and when at last the rope gave way, he fell in a heap against the rock.

Marguerite looked helplessly round her.
"Oh! for a drop of water on this awful beach!" she cried in

agony, seeing that he was ready to faint again.
"Nay, m'dear," he murmured with his good-humoured smile,

"personally I should prefer a drop of good French brandy! an you'll
dive in the pocket of this dirty old garment, you'll find my

flask. . . . I am demmed if I can move."
When he had drunk some brandy, he forced Marguerite to do likewise.

"La! that's better now! Eh! little woman?" he said, with a
sigh of satisfaction. "Heigh-ho! but this is a queer rig-up for Sir

Percy Blakeney, Bart., to be found in by his lady, and no mistake.
Begad!" he added, passing his hand over his chin, "I haven't been

shaved for nearly twenty hours: I must look a disgusting object. As
for these curls. . ."

And laughingly he took off the disfiguring wig and curls, and
stretched out his long limbs, which were cramped from many hours'

stooping. Then he bent forward and looked long and searchingly into
his wife's blue eyes.

"Percy," she whispered, while a deep blush suffused her
delicate cheeks and neck, "if you only knew. . ."

"I do know, dear. . .everything," he said with infinite gentleness.
"And can you ever forgive?"

"I have naught to forgive, sweetheart; your heroism, your
devotion, which I, alas! so little deserved, have more than atoned

for that unfortunateepisode at the ball."
"Then you knew?. . ." she whispered, "all the time. . ."

"Yes!" he replied tenderly, "I knew. . .all the time. . . .
But, begad! had I but known what a noble heart yours was, my Margot,

I should have trusted you, as you deserved to be trusted, and you
would not have had to undergo the terrible sufferings of the past few

hours, in order to run after a husband, who has done so much that
needs forgiveness."

They were sitting side by side, leaning up against a rock, and
he had rested his aching head on her shoulder. She certainly now

deserved the name of "the happiest woman in Europe."
"It is a case of the blind leading the lame, sweetheart, is it

not?" he said with his good-natured smile of old. "Odd's life! but I
do not know which are the more sore, my shoulders or your little feet."

He bent forward to kiss them, for they peeped out through her torn
stockings, and bore patheticwitness to her endurance and devotion.

"But Armand. . ." she said with sudden terror and remorse, as in
the midst of her happiness the image of the beloved brother,

for whose sake she had so deeply sinned, rose now before her mind.
"Oh! have no fear for Armand, sweetheart," he said tenderly,

"did I not pledge you my word that he should be safe? He with de
Tournay and the others are even now on board the DAY DREAM."

"But how?" she gasped, "I do not understand."
"Yet, `tis simple enough, m'dear," he said with that funny,

half-shy, half-inane laugh of his, "you see! when I found that that
brute Chauvelin meant to stick to me like a leech, I thought the best

thing I could do, as I could not shake him off, was to take him along
with me. I had to get to Armand and the others somehow, and all the

roads were patrolled, and every one on the look-out for your humble
servant. I knew that when I slipped through Chauvelin's fingers at

the `Chat Gris,' that he would lie in wait for me here, whichever way
I took. I wanted to keep an eye on him and his doings, and a British

head is as good as a French one any day."
Indeed it had proved to be infinitely better, and Marguerite's