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The Scarlet Pimpernel
The Scarlet Pimpernel
By Baroness Orczy
DOVER: ‘THE
FISHERMAN’S REST”
THE REFUGEES
MARGUERITE
AN EXQUISITE OF ‘92
THE OUTRAGE
Sir Percy’s BON MOT had gone the round of the brilliant
reception-rooms. The Prince was enchanted. He vowed that
life without Blakeney would be but a dreary desert. Then,
taking him by the arm, had led him to the card-room, and
engaged him in a long game of hazard.
Sir Percy, whose chief interest in most social gather-
ings seemed to centre round the card-table, usually allowed
his wife to flirt, dance, to amuse or bore herself as much
as she liked. And to-night, having delivered himself of his
BON MOT, he had left Marguerite surrounded by a crowd
of admirers of all ages, all anxious and willing to help her
EITHER—OR?
DOUBT
RICHMOND
FAREWELL
THE FRIEND
SUSPENSE
I t was late into the night when she at last reached ‘The
Fisherman’s Rest.’ She had done the whole journey in less
than eight hours, thanks to innumerable changes of horses
at the various coaching stations, for which she always paid
lavishly, thus obtaining the very best and swiftest that could
be had.
Her coachman, too, had been indefatigible; the promise
of special and rich reward had no doubt helped to keep him
up, and he had literally burned the ground beneath his mis-
tress’ coach wheels.
The arrival of Lady Blakeney in the middle of the night
caused a considerable flutter at ‘The Fisherman’s Rest.’ Sally
jumped hastily out of bed, and Mr. Jellyband was at great
pains how to make his important guest comfortable.
Both of these good folk were far too well drilled in
the manners appertaining to innkeepers, to exhibit the
slightest surprise at Lady Blakeney’s arrival, alone, at this
extraordinary hour. No doubt they thought all the more,
but Marguerite was far too absorbed in the importance—
the deadly earnestness—of her journey, to stop and ponder
CALAIS
HOPE
THE DEATH-TRAP
sang the voice more lustily than ever. The next moment
the door was thrown open and there was dead silence for a
THE JEW
ON THE TRACK
THE PERE
BLANCHARD’S HUT
TRAPPED
S he did not know how long she was thus carried along,
she had lost all notion of time and space, and for a few
seconds tired nature, mercifully, deprived her of conscious-
ness.
When she once more realised her state, she felt that she
was placed with some degree of comfort upon a man’s coat,
with her back resting against a fragment of rock. The moon
was hidden again behind some clouds, and the darkness
seemed in comparison more intense. The sea was roaring
some two hundred feet below her, and on looking all round
she could no longer see any vestige of the tiny glimmer of
red light.
That the end of the journey had been reached, she gath-
ered from the fact that she heard rapid questions and
answers spoken in a whisper quite close to her.
‘There are four men in there, citoyen; they are sitting by
the fire, and seem to be waiting quietly.’
‘The hour?’
‘Nearly two o’clock.’
‘The tide?’
THE SCHOONER
THE ESCAPE