author - "Baroness Emmuska Orczy"
perchance to hear again that mirthful, happy laugh.
Then game a gust of wind, the sun retreated, the soldiers gasped, and lo! before Mr. Inch or Mr. Corporal had realized that the picture was made of flesh and blood, horse and rider has disappeared, there, far out across the Heath, beyond the gorse and bramble and the budding heather, with not a handful of dusk to mark the way they went.
Only once from far, very far, almost from fairyland, there came, like the echo of a sliver bell, the sound of that mad, merry laugh.
"Beau Brocade, as I live!" murmured Mr. Inch, under his breath.
Chapter II
The Forge of John Stich
John Stich too had heard that laugh; for a moment he paused in his work, straightened his broad back and leant his heavy hammer upon the anvil, whilst a pleasant smile lit up his bronzed and rugged countenance.
"There goes the Captain," he said, "I wonder now what's tickling him. Ah!" he ad
gates.
"What cart?" asked Bibot, roughly.
"Driven by an old hag. . . . A covered cart . . ."
"There were a dozen . . ."
"An old hag who said her son had the plague?"
"Yes . . ."
"You have not let them go?"
"MORBLEU!" said Bibot, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.
"The cart contained the CI-DEVANT Comtesse de Tourney and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned to death." "And their driver?" muttered Bibot, as a superstitious shudder ran down his spine.
"SACRE TONNERRE," said the captain, "but it is feared that it was that accursed Englishman himself--the Scarlet Pimpernel."
CHAPTER II
DOVER: "THE FISHERMAN'S REST"
In the kitchen Sally was extremely busy--saucepans and frying-pans were standing in rows on the gigantic hearth, the huge stock-pot stood in a corner, and the jack turned with slow deliberation, and presented alternately to the glow
perchance to hear again that mirthful, happy laugh.
Then game a gust of wind, the sun retreated, the soldiers gasped, and lo! before Mr. Inch or Mr. Corporal had realized that the picture was made of flesh and blood, horse and rider has disappeared, there, far out across the Heath, beyond the gorse and bramble and the budding heather, with not a handful of dusk to mark the way they went.
Only once from far, very far, almost from fairyland, there came, like the echo of a sliver bell, the sound of that mad, merry laugh.
"Beau Brocade, as I live!" murmured Mr. Inch, under his breath.
Chapter II
The Forge of John Stich
John Stich too had heard that laugh; for a moment he paused in his work, straightened his broad back and leant his heavy hammer upon the anvil, whilst a pleasant smile lit up his bronzed and rugged countenance.
"There goes the Captain," he said, "I wonder now what's tickling him. Ah!" he ad
gates.
"What cart?" asked Bibot, roughly.
"Driven by an old hag. . . . A covered cart . . ."
"There were a dozen . . ."
"An old hag who said her son had the plague?"
"Yes . . ."
"You have not let them go?"
"MORBLEU!" said Bibot, whose purple cheeks had suddenly become white with fear.
"The cart contained the CI-DEVANT Comtesse de Tourney and her two children, all of them traitors and condemned to death." "And their driver?" muttered Bibot, as a superstitious shudder ran down his spine.
"SACRE TONNERRE," said the captain, "but it is feared that it was that accursed Englishman himself--the Scarlet Pimpernel."
CHAPTER II
DOVER: "THE FISHERMAN'S REST"
In the kitchen Sally was extremely busy--saucepans and frying-pans were standing in rows on the gigantic hearth, the huge stock-pot stood in a corner, and the jack turned with slow deliberation, and presented alternately to the glow