At last came Friday night. Friday, June 26, 1774, Davies had brought us word that the uncles had gone down to the boats, taking all the available men with them, save an old broken-down ship's carpenter, who lived with the keeper in the gate tower, and the husband of one of the sluttish women, who lay sick of the quinsy in the outhouse containing the offices. Only, only, Hubert remained! Had his suspicion been awakened? Was he detained on business? Was he ailing? Methought it was the first of these possibilities. For on Friday morning he came to my apartments, which was not his wont, early in the day and offered to pay me a visit. But Davies had the presence of mind to answer that I was sick, and lest he should doubt it, to force me to bed at once, and borrow certain medicines from him. After this he sought for Eustace, and finding him busy among his chemical instruments, his suspicions, if he had any, were quieted; and, having dined, he went down to his own small boat, a very fast sailer, and which he managed alone, often outstripping the heavier boats of his brothers and nephew. The ground was now clear. My husband remained, I believe, in his laboratory; Davies went down to supper with the maids, whom she had undertaken to drug; we were to meet again in my room at daybreak. I cannot say for sure, but I believe I spent that night trying to pray and waiting for daylight. The month was June and day came early;... a dull day, thin rain streamed down continuously, hushing everything, even the sea on the rocks becoming inaudible; only, I remember, a bird sang below my window, and the notes he sang long ran in my ears and tormented me. I had sewn some diamonds and some pieces of gold into my clothes, and those of my husband and of Davies. I stuffed a few valuables, very childishly chosen, for I took my diary, some of Eustace's love-letters, and the little cap I had knitted for the baby who was never born, into my pockets. And I waited. Presently Eustace came; he had a serviceable sword, a large knife, and a pair of pistols in his great coat; he handed me a smaller pistol, showed me that it was primed, and gave me at the same time a little folded white paper. "You are a brave woman, Penelope," he said, kissing me, "and I know there is no likelihood of your using either of these things rashly or in a moment of panic. But our enterprise is uncertain; we may possibly be parted, and I have no right to let you fall alive into the hands of those villains." Then, he sat down at my work-table and began drawing on a sheet of paper, while I looked out of the window and listened to the unvarying song of that bird. Davies did not come, and it was broad daylight. But neither of us ventured to remark on this fact or to speak our fears. Then, after about half an hour's fruitless waiting Eustace declared that we must have misunderstood Davies's instructions, and insisted, much against my wishes, upon going down to see whether she was not waiting for us below.