"Yes," said Brettison. "I understand, but it is impossible." "Perhaps; but this is the time to perform impossibilities. It must be done!" "I tell you it is impossible," said Brettison slowly. "At the first attempt to rouse him there would be a scene. He would turn obstinate and enraged. He is restless, as I told you. I should have to awaken the people here; for I could not force him to leave by the window, and this would precipitate the discovery, perhaps bring Sir Mark and your friend Guest down from the place above." "I tell you it must be done," said Stratton, but with less conviction. "You know it cannot be," said Brettison firmly. "I am certain that he would have one of his fits. Think of the consequences then." "I do," whispered Stratton; "and the thoughts are maddening. What's that?" "Speak lower. It was Barron moving in his room. Look here; there need be no discovery if we are cool and cautious. It is absurd to attempt anything now. Wait till the morning. Let him get up at his usual time. He will be quiet and manageable then. I will keep him in, and wait till the Jerrolds are gone out--they are sure to go--most likely to sea for a sail--and then join you at the inn, where you can have a carriage or boat waiting. Then we must escape just as we stand; our luggage could be fetched another time. We can be going to take him for a drive." Stratton was silent. "It is the only way, I'm sure," whispered Brettison. "Yes," said Stratton, with a sigh; "I am afraid you are right." "I am sure I am." "Yes," said Stratton. "Hist! is that he moving again?" "And talking in his sleep. But you are sure there is no doubt?" "Doubt, man? No. Yes, it must be as you say; but, mind, I shall be a prisoner at the inn. I cannot stir out. You must give me warning when you will come." "And you must not speak or notice him." "Oh, we must risk all that," said Stratton more loudly. "Our only course is at all risks to get him right away." "Hush! Be silent. Now go." Stratton hesitated as he heard a low muttering again in the next room; but Brettison pressed his hand and thrust him away. "Go," he said, and softly closed the window, while, after standing listening for a few moments, Stratton moved away with a strange foreboding of coming peril, and walked back beneath the cliff to the inn, where the sleepy servant admitted him with a sigh of relief, and wondered how _les Anglais_ could be so strange and care so little for their beds. CHAPTER FIFTY TWO. THE CULMINATION OF DESPAIR. Stratton went to his room, put out his light, and threw open the casement to sit and listen to the wash and rush of the coming tide. It was darker than ever, for the sea fog had grown dense, and the water sobbed and moaned among the rocks, and splashed against the sides of the fishing boats in a way that in the silence of the night sounded mysterious and strange.