"On l'a triche donc, apres tout," he muttered; "Sang Dieu! les absens ont diablement tort." Sunk as she was at that moment in gloomy meditations, Cecil never forgot that the last object on which her eyes lighted in Dorade was the blasted wreck of the crippled Algerian. Molyneux and his wife stood silent till their friends were quite out of sight, then Harry turned slowly round and gazed at his _mignonne_. He knew that the same thought was in both their minds, for her sweet face was paler than his own. (Neither of them guessed at the truth, and they saw in Mark Waring nothing more than an old acquaintance of the Tresilyans.) "Royston will be here in four hours," he said, "and who will tell him this? _I_ dare not." Fanny feigned a carelessness that she was far from feeling. "I don't know how that is to be managed, but I believe it is all for the best. He can't kill either of us; that is some comfort." Harry did not smile; his countenance wore an expression of grave anxiety, such as had seldom appeared there. "No, he will not hurt us, but I fear he will have _some one's_ blood before all is done." CHAPTER XXI. It was past nightfall when Major Keene returned to Dorade. As he drove past the hotel where the Tresilyans lodged he looked up at the windows of their apartments, and was somewhat surprised to _see_ no light there; but no suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He had made all preparations for the intended flight with his habitual skill and foresight. The Levantine steamer left Marseilles early on the third morning from this, and relays were so ordered along the road as to prevent the possibility of being overtaken, and just to hit the hour of the vessel's sailing. So far every thing seemed to promise favorably for the accomplishment of his purposes, and Royston could not have explained even to himself the reason of his feeling so moody and discontented. He went straight to his own rooms, without looking in at the Molyneuxs'; for he was heated and travel-stained; and, under such circumstances, was wont to postpone the greeting of friends to the exigencies of the toilet. This was scarcely concluded when his servant brought him Mark Waring's card, with a request penciled on it for an immediate interview. Even the Cool Captain started perceptibly when he read the name. He was well acquainted with the episode connected with it; for Cecil had kept back none of her secrets from him, and this was among the earliest confidences. _Then_ he had felt no inclination to sneer; but now his lip began to curl cynically. "_Coramba!_" he muttered; "the plot begins to thicken. What brings the old lover _en scene_? I hope he does not mean to make himself disagreeable. I haven't time to quarrel just now; and, besides, it would worry Cecil. Well, we'll find out what he wants. Tell Mr. Waring that I am disengaged, and shall be happy to see him."