From that moment the hours seemed less wearisome; there was
less hopelessness in the waiting; and at last, at five o'clock in the
afternoon, Marguerite, closely veiled and followed by Sir Andrew
Ffoulkes, who, in the guise of her lacquey, was carrying a number of
impedimenta, found her way down to the pier.
Once on board, the keen, fresh sea-air revived her, the breeze
was just strong enough to nicely swell the sails of the FOAM CREST,
as she cut her way merrily towards the open.
The sunset was glorious after the storm, and Marguerite, as
she watched the white cliffs of Dover gradually disappearing from
view, felt more at peace and once more almost hopeful.
Sir Andrew was full of kind attentions, and she felt how lucky
she had been to have him by her side in this, her great trouble.
Gradually the grey coast of France began to emerge from the
fast-gathering evening mists. One or two lights could be seen
flickering, and the spires of several churches to rise out of the
surrounding haze.
Half an hour later Marguerite had landed upon French shore.
She was back in that country where at this very moment men slaughtered
their fellow-creatures by the hundreds, and sent innocent women and
children in thousands to the block.
Pages:
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281