"Your business will be attended to in the garden at dawn," he observed, blinking about the room, for the bright lamp-light dazzled him.

Speed, who had been standing by the window with Jacqueline, wheeled sharply, took a few steps into the room, then sank into a chair, clasping his lank hands between his knees.

The Countess did not even glance up as the sentence was p.r.o.nounced; she looked at me and laid her left hand on mine, smiling, as though waiting for the moment to resume an interrupted conversation.

"Do you hear?" demanded Buckhurst, raising his voice.

There was no answer for a moment; then Jacqueline stepped from the window and said: "Am I free to go?"

"You!" said Buckhurst, contemptuously; "who in h.e.l.l are you?"

"I am Jacqueline."

"Really," sneered Buckhurst.

He went away, slamming and locking the door; and I heard Mornac complaining that the signals had gone out on the semaph.o.r.e and that there was more treachery abroad.

"Get me a horse!" said Buckhurst. "There are plenty of them in the stables. Mornac, you stay here; I'll ride over to the semaph.o.r.e. Gut this house and fire it after you've finished that business in the garden to-morrow morning."

"Where are you going?" demanded Mornac's angry voice. "Do you expect me to stay here while you start for Paris?"

"You have your orders," said Buckhurst, menacingly.

"Oh, have I? What are they? To stay here when the country is roused--stay here and perhaps be sh.e.l.led by that d.a.m.ned cruiser out there--"

His voice was stifled as though a hand had clutched his throat; there came the swift sound of a struggle, the banging of scabbards and spurs, the scuffle of heavy boots.

"Are you mad?" burst out Mornac's strangled voice.

"Are you?" breathed Buckhurst. "Silence, you fool. Do you obey orders or not?"

Their voices receded. Speed sprang to the door to listen, then ran back to the window.

"Scarlett," he whispered, "there are the lights of a vessel at anchor off Groix."

I was beside him in an instant. "It's the cruiser," I said. "Oh, Speed, for a chance to signal!"

We looked at each other desperately.

"We could set the room afire," he said; "they might land to see what had happened."

"And find us all shot."

Jacqueline, standing beside Speed, said, quietly: "I could swim it.

Wait. Raise the window a little."

"You cannot dive from that cliff!" I said.

She cautiously unlocked the window and peered out into the dark garden.

"The cliff falls sheer from the wall yonder," she whispered. "I shall try to drop. I learned much in the circus. I am not afraid, Speed. I shall drop into the sea."

"To your death," I said.

"Possibly, m'sieu. It is a good death, however. I am not afraid."

"Close the window," muttered Speed. "They'd shoot her from the wall, anyway."

Again the child gravely asked permission to try.

"No," said Speed, harshly, and turned away. But in that instant Jacqueline flung open the window and vaulted into the garden. Before I could realize what had happened she was only a glimmering spot in the darkness. Then Speed and I followed her, running swiftly toward the foot of the garden, but we were too late; a slim, white shape rose from the top of the wall and leaped blindly out through the ruddy torch glare into the blackness beyond.

We heard a soldier's startled cry, a commotion, curses, and astonished exclamations from the other side of the wall.

"It was something, I tell you!" roared a soldier. "Something that jumped over the cliff!"

"It was an owl, idiot!" retorted his comrade.

"I tell you I saw it!" protested the other, in a shaking voice.

"Then you saw a witch of Ker-Ys," bawled another. "Look out for your skin in the first battle. It's death to see such things."

I looked at Speed. He stood wide-eyed, staring at vacancy.

"Could she do it?" I asked, horrified.

"G.o.d knows," he whispered.

Soldiers were beginning to clamber up the garden wall from the outside; torches were raised to investigate. As we shrank back into the shadow of the shrubbery I stumbled over something soft--Jacqueline's clothes, lying in a circle as she had stepped out of them.

Speed took them. I followed him, creeping back to the window, where we entered in time to avoid discovery by a wretch who had succeeded in mounting the wall, torch in hand.

One or two soldiers climbed over and dropped into the garden, prowling around, prodding the bushes with their bayonets, even coming to press their dirty faces and hands against our window.

"They're all here!" sang out one. "It was an owl, I tell you!" And he menaced us with his rifle in pantomime and retired, calling his companions to follow.

"Where is Jacqueline?" asked the Countess, looking anxiously at the little blue skirt on Speed's knees. "Have they harmed that child?"

I told her.

A beautiful light grew in her eyes as she listened. "Did I not warn you that we Bretons know how to die?" she said.

I looked dully at Speed, who sat by the window, brooding over the little woollen skirt on his knees, stroking it, touching the torn hem, and at last folding it with unaccustomed and shaky hands.

There were noises outside our door, loud voices, hammering, the sound of furniture being dragged over stone floors, and I scarcely noticed it when our door was opened again.

Then somebody called out our names; a file of half-drunken soldiers grounded arms in the pa.s.sageway with a bang that brought us to our feet, as Mornac, flushed with wine, entered unsteadily, drawn sword in hand.

"I'm d.a.m.ned if I stay here any longer," he broke out, angrily. "I'll see whether my rascals can't shoot straight by torch-light. Here, you!