El Dorado by Baroness Orczy (if you liked this book .txt) 📕

whom they believe to be a band of inveterate smugglers. Ffoulkes and all the others know these people and know the house; Armand by the same token knows it too. Marie de Marmontel and her brother are there, and several others; the old Comte de Lézardière, the Abbè de Firmont; their names spell suffering, loyalty, and hopelessness. I was lucky enough to convey them safely to that hidden shelter. They trust me implicitly, dear heart. They are waiting for me there, trusting in my promise to them. Dear heart, you will go, will you not?”

“Yes, Percy,” she replied. “I will go; I have promised.”

“Ffoulkes has some certificates of safety by him, and the old clothes dealer will supply the necessary disguises; he has a covered cart which he uses for his business, and which you can borrow from him. Ffoulkes will drive the little party to Achard’s farm in St. Germain, where other members of the League should be in waiting for the final journey to England. Ffoulkes will know how to arrange for everything; he was always my most able lieutenant. Once everything is organised he can appoint Hastings to lead the party. But you, dear heart, must do as you wish. Achard’s farm would be a safe retreat for you and for Ffoulkes: if⁠ ⁠… I know⁠—I know, dear,” he added with infinite tenderness. “See I do not even suggest that you should leave me. Ffoulkes will be with you, and I know that neither he nor you would go even if I commanded. Either Achard’s farm, or even the house in the Rue de Charonne, would be quite safe for you, dear, under Ffoulkes’s protection, until the time when I myself can carry you back⁠—you, my precious burden⁠—to England in mine own arms, or until⁠ ⁠… Hush-sh-sh, dear heart,” he entreated, smothering with a passionate kiss the low moan of pain which had escaped her lips; “it is all in God’s hands now; I am in a tight corner⁠—tighter than ever I have been before; but I am not dead yet, and those brutes have not yet paid the full price for my life. Tell me, dear heart, that you have understood⁠—that you will do all that I asked. Tell me again, my dear, dear love; it is the very essence of life to hear your sweet lips murmur this promise now.”

And for the third time she reiterated firmly:

“I have understood every word that you said to me, Percy, and I promise on your precious life to do what you ask.”

He sighed a deep sigh of satisfaction, and even at that moment there came from the guardroom beyond the sound of a harsh voice, saying peremptorily:

“That half-hour is nearly over, sergeant; ’tis time you interfered.”

“Three minutes more, citizen,” was the curt reply.

“Three minutes, you devils,” murmured Blakeney between set teeth, whilst a sudden light which even Marguerite’s keen gaze failed to interpret leapt into his eyes. Then he pressed the third letter into her hand.

Once more his close, intent gaze compelled hers; their faces were close one to the other, so near to him did he draw her, so tightly did he hold her to him. The paper was in her hand and his fingers were pressed firmly on hers.

“Put this in your kerchief, my beloved,” he whispered. “Let it rest on your exquisite bosom where I so love to pillow my head. Keep it there until the last hour when it seems to you that nothing more can come between me and shame.⁠ ⁠… Hush-sh-sh, dear,” he added with passionate tenderness, checking the hot protest that at the word “shame” had sprung to her lips, “I cannot explain more fully now. I do not know what may happen. I am only a man, and who knows what subtle devilry those brutes might not devise for bringing the untamed adventurer to his knees. For the next ten days the Dauphin will be on the high roads of France, on his way to safety. Every stage of his journey will be known to me. I can from between these four walls follow him and his escort step by step. Well, dear, I am but a man, already brought to shameful weakness by mere physical discomfort⁠—the want of sleep⁠—such a trifle after all; but in case my reason tottered⁠—God knows what I might do⁠—then give this packet to Ffoulkes⁠—it contains my final instructions⁠—and he will know how to act. Promise me, dear heart, that you will not open the packet unless⁠—unless mine own dishonour seems to you imminent⁠—unless I have yielded to these brutes in this prison, and sent Ffoulkes or one of the others orders to exchange the Dauphin’s life for mine; then, when mine own handwriting hath proclaimed me a coward, then and then only, give this packet to Ffoulkes. Promise me that, and also that when you and he have mastered its contents you will act exactly as I have commanded. Promise me that, dear, in your own sweet name, which may God bless, and in that of Ffoulkes, our loyal friend.”

Through the sobs that well-nigh choked her she murmured the promise he desired.

His voice had grown hoarser and more spent with the inevitable reaction after the long and sustained effort, but the vigour of the spirit was untouched, the fervour, the enthusiasm.

“Dear heart,” he murmured, “do not look on me with those dear, scared eyes of yours. If there is aught that puzzles you in what I said, try and trust me a while longer. Remember, I must save the Dauphin at all costs; mine honour is bound with his safety. What happens to me after that matters but little, yet I wish to live for your dear sake.”

He drew a long breath which had naught of weariness in it. The haggard look had completely vanished from his face, the eyes were lighted up from within, the very soul of reckless daring and immortal gaiety illumined his whole personality.

“Do not look so sad, little woman,” he said with a