The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy (ereader for comics .TXT) 📕

that was the whole story. It seemed so simple! and Marguerite could but marvel at the wonderful ingenuity, the boundless pluck and audacity which had evolved and helped to carry out this daring plan.

“But those brutes struck you!” she gasped in horror, at the bare recollection of the fearful indignity.

“Well! that could not be helped,” he said gently, “whilst my little wife’s fate was so uncertain, I had to remain here by her side. Odd’s life!” he added merrily, “never fear! Chauvelin will lose nothing by waiting, I warrant! Wait till I get him back to England!⁠—La! he shall pay for the thrashing he gave me with compound interest, I promise you.”

Marguerite laughed. It was so good to be beside him, to hear his cheery voice, to watch that good-humoured twinkle in his blue eyes, as he stretched out his strong arms, in longing for that foe, and anticipation of his well-deserved punishment.

Suddenly, however, she started: the happy blush left her cheek, the light of joy died out of her eyes: she had heard a stealthy footfall overhead, and a stone had rolled down from the top of the cliffs right down to the beach below.

“What’s that?” she whispered in horror and alarm.

“Oh! nothing, m’dear,” he muttered with a pleasant laugh, “only a trifle you happened to have forgotten⁠ ⁠… my friend, Ffoulkes⁠ ⁠…”

“Sir Andrew!” she gasped.

Indeed, she had wholly forgotten the devoted friend and companion, who had trusted and stood by her during all these hours of anxiety and suffering. She remembered him now, tardily and with a pang of remorse.

“Aye! you had forgotten him, hadn’t you, m’dear?” said Sir Percy merrily. “Fortunately, I met him, not far from the Chat Gris, before I had that interesting supper party, with my friend Chauvelin.⁠ ⁠… Odd’s life! but I have a score to settle with that young reprobate!⁠—but in the meanwhile, I told him of a very long, very roundabout road, that would bring him here by a very circuitous road which Chauvelin’s men would never suspect, just about the time when we are ready for him, eh, little woman?”

“And he obeyed?” asked Marguerite, in utter astonishment.

“Without word or question. See, here he comes. He was not in the way when I did not want him, and now he arrives in the nick of time. Ah! he will make pretty little Suzanne a most admirable and methodical husband.”

In the meanwhile Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had cautiously worked his way down the cliffs: he stopped once or twice, pausing to listen for whispered words, which would guide him to Blakeney’s hiding-place.

“Blakeney!” he ventured to say at last cautiously, “Blakeney! are you there?”

The next moment he rounded the rock against which Sir Percy and Marguerite were leaning, and seeing the weird figure still clad in the Jew’s long gaberdine, he paused in sudden, complete bewilderment.

But already Blakeney had struggled to his feet.

“Here I am, friend,” he said with his funny, inane laugh, “all alive! though I do look a begad scarecrow in these demmed things.”

“Zooks!” ejaculated Sir Andrew in boundless astonishment as he recognized his leader, “of all the⁠ ⁠…”

The young man had seen Marguerite, and happily checked the forcible language that rose to his lips, at sight of the exquisite Sir Percy in this weird and dirty garb.

“Yes!” said Blakeney, calmly, “of all the⁠ ⁠… hem!⁠ ⁠… My friend!⁠—I have not yet had time to ask you what you were doing in France, when I ordered you to remain in London? Insubordination? What? Wait till my shoulders are less sore, and, by God, see the punishment you’ll get.”

“Odd’s fish! I’ll bear it,” said Sir Andrew with a merry laugh, “seeing that you are alive to give it.⁠ ⁠… Would you have had me allow Lady Blakeney to do the journey alone? But, in the name of heaven, man, where did you get these extraordinary clothes?”

“Lud! they are a bit quaint, ain’t they?” laughed Sir Percy, jovially, “But, odd’s fish!” he added, with sudden earnestness and authority, “now you are here, Ffoulkes, we must lose no more time: that brute Chauvelin may send someone to look after us.”

Marguerite was so happy, she could have stayed here forever, hearing his voice, asking a hundred questions. But at mention of Chauvelin’s name she started in quick alarm, afraid for the dear life she would have died to save.

“But how can we get back?” she gasped; “the roads are full of soldiers between here and Calais, and⁠ ⁠…”

“We are not going back to Calais, sweetheart,” he said, “but just the other side of Gris Nez, not half a league from here. The boat of the Daydream will meet us there.”

“The boat of the Daydream?”

“Yes!” he said, with a merry laugh; “another little trick of mine. I should have told you before that when I slipped that note into the hut, I also added another for Armand, which I directed him to leave behind, and which has sent Chauvelin and his men running full tilt back to the Chat Gris after me; but the first little note contained my real instructions, including those to old Briggs. He had my orders to go out further to sea, and then towards the west. When well out of sight of Calais, he will send the galley to a little creek he and I know of, just beyond Gris Nez. The men will look out for me⁠—we have a preconcerted signal, and we will all be safely aboard, whilst Chauvelin and his men solemnly sit and watch the creek which is ‘just opposite the Chat Gris.’ ”

“The other side of Gris Nez? But I⁠ ⁠… I cannot walk, Percy,” she moaned helplessly as, trying to struggle to her tired feet, she found herself unable even to stand.

“I will carry you, dear,” he said simply; “the blind leading the lame, you know.”

Sir Andrew was ready, too, to help with the precious burden, but Sir Percy would not entrust his beloved to any arms but his own.

“When you and she are both safely on board the Daydream,” he said to