Jean made no answer, but lashed his horse and pointed upward to the sky with his whip. Barebone rode in front to encourage the slower horse. At the village of Mortagne he signed to Jean to wait before the inn until he had taken his horse to the stable and paid for its hire. Then he clambered to the box beside him and they rattled down the long street and out into the open road that led across the marshes to the port--a few wooden houses and a jetty, running out from the shallows to the channel. When they reached the jetty, going slowly at the last through the heavy dust, the air was still and breathless. The rounded clouds still towered above them, making the river black with their deep shadows. A few lights twinkled across the waters. They were the lightships marking the middle bank of the Gironde, which is many miles wide at this spot and rendered dangerous by innumerable sandbanks. “In five minutes it will be upon us,” said Jean. “You had better turn back.” “Oh, no,” was the reply, with a reassuring laugh. “In the country where I come from they do not turn back.” CHAPTER XIV. THE LIFTED VEIL “Where is the boatman?” asked Marie, as she followed Juliette and Barebone along the deserted jetty. A light burnt dimly at the end of it and one or two boats must have been moored near at hand; for the water could be heard lapping under their bows, a secretive, whispering sound full of mystery. “I am the boatman,” replied Loo, over his shoulder. “Are you afraid?” “What is the good of being afraid?” asked this woman of the world, stopping at the head of the steps and peering down into the darkness into which he had descended. “What is the good of being afraid when one is old and married? I was afraid enough when I was a girl, and pretty and coquette like Mademoiselle, here. I was afraid enough then, and it was worth my while--allez!” Barebone made no answer to this dark suggestion of a sprightly past. The present darkness and the coming storm commanded his full attention. In the breathless silence, Juliette and Marie--and behind them, Jean, panting beneath the luggage balanced on his shoulder--could hear the wet rope slipping through his fingers and, presently, the bump of the heavy boat against the timber of the steps. This was followed by the gurgle of a rope through a well-greased sheave and the square lug, which had been the joy of little Sep Marvin at Farlingford, crept up to the truck of the stubby mast. “There is no wind for that,” remarked Marie, pessimistically. “There will be to spare in a few minutes,” answered Barebone, and the monosyllabic Jean gave an acquiescent grunt. “Luggage first,” said Barebone, lapsing into the curtness of the sea. “Come along. Let us make haste.” They stumbled on board as best they could, and were guided to a safe place amidships by Loo, who had thrown a spare sail on the bottom of the boat. “As low as you can,” he said. “Crouch down. Cover yourselves with this. Right over your heads.”