"Yes, or more likely sucked under by the quicksands, which extend themselves very much at times. There is hardly ever a great pilgrimage but some one is lost. Come, we must be going. My mother will wonder where we are." The storm I had predicted came on later in the day, just in time to catch many of the returning pilgrims, and several were drowned, among them, as we heard, the poor little Luchon and the nun who had her in charge. "One cannot be sorry for the child," remarked my father when he heard the news. "She has escaped a great deal." "Nor for her companion either, if there be any truth in looks," said Andrew. "I never saw a sadder, more hopeless face. Did you not notice it, Vevette?" "I did," I answered. "I noticed, too, that she looked compassionately on the poor child, and did not try to force her to tell her beads, like some of the others." "This storm is an unlucky thing for us," said my mother. "I can see well how it will be used to excite the people more and more against us. Armand, when shall we leave this place, and put our children and ourselves in safety?" "As soon as Mrs. Grace is able to travel," answered my father. "We could not leave her behind, or take her with us at present. I trust another month will see us in England. I would not leave my people so long as my presence was any protection to them, but I think, as things are now, they would be better without me." "Could not your brother in Paris secure you a protection from the king?" asked Andrew. "He seems to be a great courtier, and greatly in favor." "So great a courtier that he would not risk a frown from the king to save my whole family from destruction," answered my father dryly. "No, there is nothing to hope and everything to fear from attracting the notice of any one about the king. I have looked the matter all over, and tried to gain every light on the subject that I was able," continued my father gravely; "I have also asked counsel of such of our pastors as I have been able to meet with, and my mind is made up. So soon as Grace is able to travel we must endeavor to escape. So, my wife and daughter, you must pack up your valuables and necessaries in the smallest possible compass, and keep the bundles where you can lay your hands upon them at any moment." "But mind, the necessaries must be reduced to the lowest point," he added, with that sorrowful smile I had learned to know so well. "Vevette cannot carry her story books nor her carved wheel, nor madame her rose-bushes or her poultry, or Mrs. Grace her precious marmalade. A very few clothes and the jewels and a little money are all we can take with us."