At the approach of Lord Beachcombe, the duke had pulled his hat lower over his face and drawn his mantle more closely about him. With a sign to Robin, he glided away among the trees, and only the sound of hoof-beats on the road marked his retreat. Percival, who had been too much engrossed in hunting out a water-tight boat to take notice of what was passing within a few yards of him, now approached, but stopped short at the sight of so many unexpected figures. "This is my wife, Percival, who has decided at the last moment, to accompany me to France," said Robin. "Is there room for her in that boat or shall we need a bigger one?" "Plenty of room," cried Percival, taking in the scene with eyes bulging with bewilderment. "But, Lady Prudence! ’tis impossible for you to brave the night in an open boat and the perils of crossing the Channel in a fishing smack!" "Why, there ’tis!" she laughed, with saucy confidence; "if ’twere possible, ’twould scarcely be worth the doing! Steve, will you help Sir Geoffrey’s varlets carry my valises on board? Within the carriage you will find my jewel-box and other trifles! ’Tis not much in the way of wedding-equipage for a court-lady, but ’tis more than I had when I was waylaid on Bleakmoor and the highwayman could find nothing—at least, nothing portable—to rob me of," and she threw Robin a glance of irresistible drollery. "This will indeed be a racy dish of scandal for your friends, madam," said Sir Geoffrey, from the inn-door. "It will lose none of its spice in passing through your hands, Sir Geoffrey," she retorted, with asperity. "Pray do not forget to give yourself full credit for your share in the escapade." "I will take good care of your reputation, Lady Prudence, and also of Sir Geoffrey’s," interposed Beachcombe. At his voice, Sir Geoffrey started and turned livid. "’Od’s Death!’" he exclaimed. "What brings you here of all men?" "Why, just a trifling wager; I think you’ll own I’ve won it fairly!" returned the earl, as Sir Geoffrey strode away, and calling to his men with curses, flung himself into his carriage and drove off at a gallop. Lord Beachcombe, scarcely waiting to press a hurried kiss on Prue’s hand and wish her long life and happiness, followed him with no less speed. "The sail is hoisted and the baggage aboard," Steve announced. "Will it please your ladyship to hasten; we should be halfway to Rochester by now." Robin carried his bride over the rough causeway and made her as comfortable as circumstances would permit, in the stern of the boat. With his ample cloak he covered her from the chill night air, and taking his place beside her, gave the word to push off. Steve guided the boat into mid-stream, then set himself to steer by the sail that pulled and strained from the mast under a favoring wind. Percival, in the bow, kept a keen watch for any sign of danger to his precious freight, and behind, in the darkness, Prue lay in the arms of her lover-husband.