“So now we are free,” said Law, dully.  “I could swear there were shackles on me.”

“Yes, we are free,” said Mary Connynge, “and all the world is before us.  But saw you ever in all your life a man so dumfounded as was Sir Arthur when he discovered ’twas I, and not the Lady Catharine, had stepped into the carriage?  That confusion of the carriages was like to have cost us everything.  I know not how your brother made such mistake.  He said he would fetch me home the night.  Gemini!  It sure seems a long way about!  And where may be your brother now, or Sir Arthur, or the Lady Catharine—­why, ’tis as much confused as though ’twere all in a play!”

“But Sir Arthur cried that my ship was for France.  Yet here they tell me that this brigantine is bound for the mouth of the St. Lawrence, in America!  What then of this other, and what of my brother—­what of us—­what of—?”

“Why, I think this,” said Mary Connynge, calmly.  “That you do very well to be rid of London jail; and for my own part, ’tis a rare appetite the salt air ever gives me!”

Upon the same morning tide there was at this very moment just setting aloft her sails for the first high airs of dawn the ship of McMasters, the Polly Perkins, bound for the port of Brest.

She came down scarce a half-dozen cable lengths behind the craft which bore the fugitives now beginning their journey toward another land.  Upon the deck of this ship, even as upon the other, there were those who waited eagerly for the dawn.  There were two men here, Will Law and Sir Arthur Pembroke, and whether their conversation had been more eager or more angry, were hard to tell.  Will Law, broken and dejected, his heart torn by a thousand doubts and a thousand pains, sat listening, though but half comprehending.

“Every plan gone wrong!” cried Sir Arthur.  “Every plan gone wrong, and out of it all we can only say that he has escaped from prison for whom no prison could be enough of hell!  Though he be your brother, I tell it to your face, the gallows had been too good for John Law!  Look you below.  See that girl, pure as an angel, as noble and generous a soul us ever breathed—­what hath she done to deserve this fate?  You have brought her from her home, and to that home she can not now return unsmirched.  And all this for a man who is at this moment fleeing with the woman whom she deemed her friend!  What is there left in life for her?”

Will Law groaned and buried his own head deeper in his hands.  “What is there left for any of us?” said he.  “What is there left for me?”

“For you?” said Sir Arthur, questioningly.  “Why, the next ship back from Brest, or from any other port of France.  ’Tis somewhat different with a woman.”

“You do not understand,” said Will Law.  “The separation means somewhat for me.”

“Surely you do not mean—­you have no reference to Mary Connynge?” cried Sir Arthur.

Will bowed his head abjectly and left the other to guess that which sat upon his mind.  Sir Arthur drew a long breath and stopped his angry pacing up and down.