pick up at some dealer in old clothes a suit which will enable me to pass as a wounded soldier making his way home.  Then we will strike off from the main road and follow the lanes and get on some other road.  They will inquire all along the road and will hear of a gentleman and two youths, and will for a while have that in their minds.  No one will particularly notice us, and we shall get into Tours safely enough.

“We must never enter a house or town together, for they will be on the lookout for three people, and neither a soldier with his head bound up, nor two peasant girls, will attract attention.  At Tours I will get a farmer’s dress, and will buy a horse and cart, and a load of hay, and will pick you up outside the town.  You can get on the hay, and can cover yourselves over if you see any horsemen in pursuit.  After that it will be all easy work.”

“Why could you not get the cart at Orleans, Rupert?” Adele asked.

“I might,” he said; “but I think that the extra change would be best, as they would then have no clue whatever to follow.  They will trace us to Orleans, and you may be sure that there will be a hot hue and cry, and it may be that the fact of a horse and cart having been sold would come out.  They will not know whether we have made east, west, or south from there, so there will be a far less active search at Tours than there will at Orleans.”

So the journey was carried out, and without any serious adventure; although with a great many slight alarms, and some narrow escapes of detection, which cannot be here detailed.  The party arrived at the spot where the lane leading to the little farm occupied by Margot’s mother left the main road.  Here they parted, the girls taking their bundles, and starting to trudge the last few miles on foot.

Margot discreetly went on a little ahead, to give her mistress the opportunity of speaking to Rupert alone, but she need not have done so, for all that Rupert said was: 

“I have been in the light of your brother this time, Adele, as your father gave you into my charge.  If I ever come again, dear, it will be different.”

“You are very good, Rupert.  Goodbye;” and with a wave of the hand she ran after Margot; while Rupert, mounting the cart, drove on into Poitiers.

Here he sold his load of hay to a stable keeper, drove a mile or two out of the town, entered a wood, and then took the horse out of the cart, and leaving the latter in a spot where, according to all appearances, it was not likely to be seen for months, drove the horse still further into the wood, and, placing a pistol to its head, shot it dead.  Then he renewed his disguise as a soldier, but this time dispensed with the greater part of his bandages, and set out on his return, in high spirits at having so successfully performed his journey.

He pursued his journey as far back as Blois without the slightest interruption, but here his tramp came to a sudden termination.  Secure in the excellence of his French, Rupert had attempted no disguise as to his face beyond such as was given by a strip of plaister, running from the upper lip to the temple.  He strode gaily along, sometimes walking alone, sometimes joining some other wayfarer, telling every one that he was from Bordeaux, where he had been to see his parents, and get cured of a sabre cut.