"
"What in the world do you mean?--I am forgetting nothing. . . .
What factor do you mean?" she added with more impatience.
"It stands six foot odd high," replied Sir Andrew, quietly,
"and hath name Percy Blakeney."
"I don't understand," she murmured.
"Do you think that Blakeney would leave Calais without having
accomplished what he set out to do?"
"You mean. . .?"
"There's the old Comte de Tournay. . ."
"The Comte. . .?" she murmured.
"And St. Just. . .and others. . ."
"My brother!" she said with a heart-broken sob of anguish.
"Heaven help me, but I fear I had forgotten."
"Fugitives as they are, these men at this moment await with
perfect confidence and unshaken faith the arrival of the Scarlet
Pimpernel, who has pledged his honour to take them safely across the
Channel.
Indeed, she had forgotten! With the sublime selfishness of a
woman who loves with her whole heart, she had in the last twenty-four
hours had no thought save for him. His precious, noble life, his
danger--he, the loved one, the brave hero, he alone dwelt in her mind.
"My brother!" she murmured, as one by one the heavy tears
gathered in her eyes, as memory came back to her of Armand, the
companion and darling of her childhood, the man for whom she had
committed the deadly sin, which had so hopelessly imperilled her brave
husband's life.
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