For a moment Anne did not perceive the meaning of the missive, the ghastly idea never having occurred to her that if Charles had suffered, the gibbet would have been at Portchester.  Then, with an electric flash of joy, she saw that it meant relenting on Peregrine’s part, deliverance for them both.  She put on her clothes with hasty, trembling hands, thankful to Guennik for helping her, pressed a coin into the strong toil-worn hand, and with an earnest thrill of thankful prayer opened the door.  The driftwood fire was bright, and she saw Peregrine, looking deadly white, and equipped with slouched hat, short wrapping cloak, pistols and sword at his belt, dark lantern lighted on the table, and Hans also cloaked by his side.  He bent his head in salutation, and put his finger to his lips, giving one hand to Anne, and showing by example instead of words that she must tread as softly as possible, as she perceived that he was in his slippers, Hans carrying his boots as well as the lantern she had used.  Yet to her ears the roar of the advancing tide seemed to stifle all other sounds.  Past the other huts they went in silence, then came a precipitous path up the cliff, steps cut in the hard sandy grit, but very crumbling, and in places supplemented by a rude ladder of sticks and rope.  Peregrine went before Anne, Hans behind.  Each had hung the lantern from his neck, so as to have hands free to draw her, support her, or lift her, as might be needful.  How it was done she never could tell in after years.  She might jestingly say that her lightened heart bore her up, but in her soul and in her deeper moments she thought that truly angels must have had charge over her.  Up, up, up!  At last they had reached standing ground, a tolerably level space, with another high cliff seeming to rise behind it.  Here it was lighter—­a pale streak of dawn was spreading over the horizon, both on sky and sea, and the waves still leaping glanced in the light of a golden waning moon, while Venus shone in the brightening sky, a daystar of hope.

Peregrine drew a long breath, and gave an order in a very low voice in Dutch to Hans, who placed his boots before him, and went off towards a shed.  “He will bring you a pony,” said his master.

“Excuse me;” and he was withdrawing his hand, when Anne clasped it with both hers, and said in a voice of intense feeling—­

“Oh, how can I thank you and bless you!  This is putting the Evil Angel to flight.”

“’Tis you that have done it!  You see, I cannot do the wicked act where you are,” he answered gloomily, as he turned aside to draw on his boots.

“Ah! but you have won the victory over him!”

“Do not be too sure.  We are not out of reach of those rascals yet.”