"Will you hear me first?" she interrupted. "This is how the
matter stands. When the agent of the French Government stole your

papers that night in Dover, he found amongst them certain plans, which
you or your leader meant to carry out for the rescue of the Comte de

Tournay and others. The Scarlet Pimpernel--Percy, my husband--has
gone on this errand himself to-day. Chauvelin knows that the Scarlet

Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney are one and the same person. He will
follow him to Calais, and there will lay hands on him. You know as

well as I do the fate that awaits him at the hands of the
Revolutionary Government of France. No interference from

England--from King George himself--would save him. Robespierre and
his gang would see to it that the interference came too late. But not

only that, the much-trusted leader will also have been unconsciously
the means of revealing the hiding-place of the Comte de Tournay and of

all those who, even now, are placing their hopes in him."
She had spoken quietly, dispassionately, and with firm,

unbending resolution. Her purpose was to make that young man trust
and help her, for she could do nothing without him.

"I do not understand," he repeated, trying to gain time, to
think what was best to be done.

"Aye! but I think you do, Sir Andrew. You must know that I
am speaking the truth. Look these facts straight in the face. Percy

has sailed for Calais, I presume for some lonely part of the coast,
and Chauvelin is on his track. HE has posted for Dover, and will

cross the Channel probably to-night. What do you think will happen?"
The young man was silent.

"Percy will arrive at his destination: unconscious of being
followed he will seek out de Tournay and the others--among these is

Armand St. Just my brother--he will seek them out, one after another,
probably, not knowing that the sharpest eyes in the world are watching

his every movement. When he has thus unconsciously betrayed those who
blindly trust in him, when nothing can be gained from him, and he is

ready to come back to England, with those whom he has gone so bravely
to save, the doors of the trap will close upon him, and he will be

sent to end his noble life upon the guillotine."
Still Sir Andrew was silent.

"You do not trust me," she said passionately. "Oh God!
cannot you see that I am in deadlyearnest? Man, man," she added,

while, with her tiny hands she seized the young man suddenly by the
shoulders, forcing him to look straight at her, "tell me, do I look

like that vilest thing on earth--a woman who would betray her own
husband?"

"God forbid, Lady Blakeney," said the young man at last,
"that I should attribute such evil motives to you, but. . ."

"But what?. . .tell me. . .Quick, man!. . .the very seconds are precious!"
"Will you tell me," he asked resolutely, and looking

searchingly into her blue eyes, "whose hand helped to guide M.
Chauvelin to the knowledge which you say he possesses?"

"Mine," she said quietly, "I own it--I will not lie to you,
for I wish you to trust me absolutely. But I had no idea--how COULD

I have?--of the identity of the Scarlet Pimpernel. . .and my brother's
safety was to be my prize if I succeeded."

"In helping Chauvelin to track the Scarlet Pimpernel?"
She nodded.

"It is no use telling you how he forced my hand. Armand is
more than a brother to me, and. . .and. . .how COULD I guess?. . .

But we waste time, Sir Andrew. . .every second is precious. . .in the
name of God!. . .my husband is in peril. . .your friend!--your

comrade!--Help me to save him."
Sir Andrew felt his position to be a very awkward one. The

oath he had taken before his leader and comrade was one of obedience
and secrecy; and yet the beautiful woman, who was asking him to trust

her, was undoubtedly in earnest; his friend and leader was equally
undoubtedly in imminent danger and. . .

"Lady Blakeney," he said at last, "God knows you have
perplexed me, so that I do not know which way my duty lies. Tell me

what you wish me to do. There are nineteen of us ready to lay down
our lives for the Scarlet Pimpernel if he is in danger."

"There is no need for lives just now, my friend," she said
drily; "my wits and four swift horses will serve the necessary

purpose. But I must know where to find him. See," she added, while
her eyes filled with tears, "I have humbled myself before you, I have

owned my fault to you; shall I also confess my weakness?--My husband
and I have been estranged, because he did not trust me, and because I

was too blind to understand. You must confess that the bandage which
he put over my eyes was a very thick one. Is it small wonder that I

did not see through it? But last night, after I led him unwittingly
into such deadly peril, it suddenly fell from my eyes. If you will

not help me, Sir Andrew, I would still strive to save my husband. I
would still exert every faculty I possess for his sake; but I might be

powerless, for I might arrive too late, and nothing would be left for
you but lifelongremorse, and. . .and. . .for me, a broken heart."

"But, Lady Blakeney," said the young man, touched by the
gentle earnestness of this exquisitely beautiful woman, "do you know

that what you propose doing is man's work?--you cannot possibly
journey to Calais alone. You would be running the greatest possible

risks to yourself, and your chances of finding your husband now--where
I to direct you ever so carefully--are infinitely remote.

"Oh, I hope there are risks!" she murmured softly, "I hope
there are dangers, too!--I have so much to atone for. But I fear you

are mistaken. Chauvelin's eyes are fixed upon you all, he will scarce
notice me. Quick, Sir Andrew!--the coach is ready, and there is not a

moment to be lost. . . . I MUST get to him! I MUST!" she
repeated with almost savageenergy, "to warn him that that man is on

his track. . . . Can't you see--can't you see, that I MUST get to
him. . .even. . .even if it be too late to save him. . .at least. . .

to be by his side. . .at the least."
"Faith, Madame, you must command me. Gladly would I or any of

my comrades lay down our lives for our husband. If you WILL go
yourself. . ."

"Nay, friend, do you not see that I would go mad if I let you go
without me." She stretched out her hand to him. "You WILL trust me?"

"I await your orders," he said simply.
"Listen, then. My coach is ready to take me to Dover. Do you

follow me, as swiftly as horses will take you. We meet at nightfall
at `The Fisherman's Rest.' Chauvelin would avoid it, as he is known

there, and I think it would be the safest. I will gladly accept your
escort to Calais. . .as you say, I might miss Sir Percy were you to

direct me ever so carefully. We'll charter a schooner at Dover and
cross over during the night. Disguised, if you will agree to it, as

my lacquey, you will, I think, escape detection."
"I am entirely at your service, Madame," rejoined the young

man earnestly. "I trust to God that you will sight the DAY DREAM
before we reach Calais. With Chauvelin at his heels, every step the

Scarlet Pimpernel takes on French soil is fraught with danger."
"God grant it, Sir Andrew. But now, farewell. We meet

to-night at Dover! It will be a race between Chauvelin and me across
the Channel to-night--and the prize--the life of the Scarlet

Pimpernel."
He kissed her hand, and then escorted her to her chair. A

quarter of an hour later she was back at the "Crown" inn, where her
coach and horses were ready and waiting for her. The next moment they

thundered along the London streets, and then straight on to the Dover
road at maddening speed.

She had no time for despair now. She was up and doing and had
no leisure to think. With Sir Andrew Ffoulkes as her companion and

ally, hope had once again revived in her heart.
God would be merciful. He would not allow so appalling a

crime to be committed, as the death of a brave man, through the hand
of a woman who loved him, and worshipped him, and who would gladly

have died for his sake.
Marguerite's thoughts flew back to him, the mysterious hero,