"Tell me nothing; let us both go and repent," he rejoined, laughing, and
he hurried her away. She had lost her opportunity.

Next morning she was married. The day was glorious. The town was
garlanded, and there was not an English merchant or a Dutch burgher but
wore his holiday dress. The ceremony ended, a traveller came among the
crowd. He asked a hurried question or two and then edged away. Soon he
made a stand under the trees, and, viewing the scene, nodded his head and
said: "The abbe was right."

It was Perrot. A few hours afterwards the crowd had gone and the
governor's garden was empty. Perrot still kept his watch under the tree,
though why he could hardly say--his errand was useless now. But he had
the gift of waiting. At last he saw a figure issue from a door and go
down into the garden. He remembered the secret gate. He made a detour,
reached it, and entered. Jessica was walking up and down in the pines.
In an hour or so she was to leave for England. Her husband had gone to
the ship to do some needful things, and she had stolen out for a moment's
quiet. When Perrot faced her, she gave a little cry and started back.
But presently she recovered, smiled at him, and said kindly: "You come
suddenly, monsieur."

"Yet have I travelled hard and long," he answered.

"Yes?"

"And I have a message for you."

"A message?" she said abstractedly, and turned a little pale.