"Brettison will be here directly," thought Stratton, and after watching for a few minutes a thought struck him: they would perhaps come along the path at the top of the cliff, and in the belief that this might be so he hurried out to warn the car driver to be ready. Hardly had he returned to his room when the landlady appeared to say that a boy was there to deliver a message to him alone, and, upon going out, a heavy looking peasant announced that he was to go on to the cottage. Stratton caught up his hat and started, full of anxiety, for it was evident that Brettison was having trouble with their charge, who was perhaps obstinate and fretful, while before he was half-way there he began to regret not bringing the car, so that they might have started at once. But he felt the next moment that it was folly to bring a wheeled vehicle down upon that heavy sand, and keeping a sharp lookout for those he wished to avoid, and taking advantage of every sheltering rock, he at length reached the cottage, at whose door he was met by the fisherman. Stratton saw at a glance that something was wrong; but before he could get out a word the fisherman's wife, who was evidently suffering from fear, stammered that she was desolated to have to send for the monsieur. "Where is my friend?" said Stratton sharply. "In his chamber, monsieur, exceedingly ill." Stratton hurried in, to find Brettison in bed looking pinched of cheek, his eyes sunken and blue beneath the lids, and perfectly insensible. "What does this mean?" cried Stratton. "We did not hear the gentleman moving this morning, but my husband heard him stirring in the night, sir; oh, yes; and when I went to call him he answered so strangely that I entered and gave a cry, for he looked as if he was going to the death, monsieur. "I wanted to send for you, but he forbade me. He said he would be better soon, and I made him tea, and gave him some cognac, and he grew better, then worse, then better again. It is something bad with his throat, monsieur. Look, it is--all worse, quite blue." Stratton gazed at the livid marks in horror. "Where is Mr Cousin, our invalid?" he said, beginning to tremble now. "Oh, he, monsieur, he insisted upon going out on the sands with his attendant Margot." "Which way?" gasped Stratton. "Yonder, monsieur," said the woman, pointing to the south-east. "Here, get cognac; bathe his face," panted Stratton, half wild now with horror; "and send someone for the nearest doctor. Quick. I shall be back soon--if I live," he muttered as he rushed off through the deep, loose sand to find and bring back their charge before he encountered the Jerrolds on the beach.