In the midst of these preparations Mr. Fox was heard without, and was met at the door by Dorothy.  Two sentences sufficed her to tell him what had occurred, and two seconds for this man of action to make his decision.

“In an hour you shall have travelling chaises here, Dorothy,” he said.  “You must go to Portsmouth, and take ship for Lisbon.  And if Jack does not arrive, I will go with you.”

“No, Charles, you must not!” she cried, her emotion conquering her for the nonce.  “That might be to ruin your career, and perchance to lose your life.  And suppose we were to escape, what would they say of you!”

“Fish!” Charles retorted, to hide some feelings of his own; “once our rebel is out of the country, they may speak their minds.  They have never lacked for names to call me, and I have been dubbed a traitor before now, my dear lady.”

He stepped hastily to the bed, and laid his hand on me with affection.

“Charles,” I said, “this is all of a piece with your old recklessness.  You were ever one to take any risk, but I will not hear of such a venture as this.  Do you think I will allow the hope of all England to be staked for a pirate?  And would you break our commander of her rank?  All that Dorothy need do at Portsmouth is to curtsey to the first skipper she meets, and I’ll warrant he will carry us all to the antipodes.”

“Egad, but that is more practical than it sounds,” he replied, with a glance of admiration at my lady, as she stood so tall before us.  “She has a cool head, Richard Carvel, and a long head, and—­and I’m thinking you are to come out of this the best of all of us.  You cannot get far off your course, my lad, with her at the helm.”

It was there his voice belied the jest in his words, and he left us with precipitation.

They lifted me out of my sheets (I was appalled to discover my weakness), and bundled me with tender care in a dozen shawls and blankets.  My feet were thrust into two pairs of heavy woollen stockings, and Dorothy bound her own silk kerchief at my throat, whispering anxious questions the while.  And when her mother and mammy went from the room, her arms flew around my neck in a passion of solicitude.  Then she ran away to dress for the journey, and in a surprising short time was back again, with her muff and her heavy cloak, and bending over me to see if I gave any signs of failure.

Fifty and five minutes had been registered by the French clock, when the rattle of wheels and the clatter of hoofs sounded below, and Charles Fox panted up the stairs, muffled in a huge wrap-rascal.  ’Twas he and Aunt Lucy carried me down to the street, Dorothy walking at my side, and propped me up in the padded corner of one of the two vehicles in waiting.  This was an ample travelling-carriage with a lamp hanging from its top, by the light of which my lady tucked me in from head to foot, and then took her place next me.  Aunt Lucy filled most of the seat opposite.