"No one blames you, my good woman," said Stratton as she burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing, while Brettison looked at her strangely. "If he had been here he could have helped my friend down to the sands." "And monsieur will forgive us," sobbed the woman; "we are poor, honest people, and it is so terrible for your good friend to be like that." "Quick!" said Brettison. "I am strong enough. Let's get it over before something happens." He clung to Stratton's arm, and, supporting himself with his stick, he made a brave effort, and, gaining strength out in the soft sea air, he walked slowly but pretty firmly along by the foot of the cliff. "If Jules would only return," sobbed the woman hysterically. "Oh, that such a misfortune should come upon our home! Poor gentleman! and he bears it like a lamb." CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR. BARRON-DALE HAS A RELAPSE. Brettison's progress was slow, but he refused to sit down and rest. "We must get there," he said; "we must get there." Stratton shuddered slightly, and for the moment felt that he ought to press on; but he knew that his words would have ten times the force with the admiral backed up by Brettison's presence, so he restrained himself and helped his companion along till they came in sight of the rocks, a good-sized boat keeping pace with them a couple of hundred yards out, its owners having hard work to stem the current which ran along the shore. "Is it much farther?" said Brettison at last. "I am weaker than I thought." "Seventy or eighty yards; just beyond those rocks," cried Stratton. "Hah, then I am strong enough," cried Brettison, with a sigh of relief; and after a few moments' pause he stepped out again; they passed the rocks, and the doubt which had existed in Stratton's mind as to whether the party would still be where he left them was set at rest. But he started as he saw that they were gathered together as if there were some cause of excitement. "Come along," he whispered quickly. They were hurrying along, when there was a joyful cry, and the sturdy Breton woman chosen for Dale's attendant cried out: "Ah, monsieur; quick! quick! Here--help!" Stratton quitted Brettison's side and rushed forward, to see, as the group opened, a sight that made his blood boil with rage. Dale was holding Myra's wrist with his left hand and struggling violently with the admiral and Guest, who were afraid to exert their strength for fear of injuring Myra, who was supported by Margot with one arm, while with her strong fingers she grasped her patient's wrist in turn. "Quick, monsieur!" cried Margot; "it is a fit. He is half-mad." Forgetting everything but the fact that Myra was in this scoundrel's grasp, Stratton sprang at him, catching him by the throat to try and make him quit his hold. "Mr Stratton!" cried Sir Mark in angry amazement.