Her level matter-of-fact tone seemed to Dickson most shocking, for
he could not treat it as mere melodrama. It carried a horrid
conviction. "We must get you out of this at once," he declared.

"I cannot leave. I will tell you why. When I came to this country
I appointed one to meet me here. He is a kinsman who knows England
well, for he fought in your army. With him by my side I have no fear.
It is altogether needful that I wait for him."

"Then there is something more which you haven't told us?"
Heritage asked.

Was there the faintest shadow of a blush on her cheek? "There is
something more," she said.

She spoke to Heritage in French, and Dickson caught the name
"Alexis" and a word which sounded like "prance." The Poet listened
eagerly and nodded. "I have heard of him," he said.

"But have you not seen him? A tall man with a yellow beard,
who bears himself proudly. Being of my mother's race he has
eyes like mine."

"That's the man she was askin' me about yesterday," said Dougal,
who had squatted on the floor.

Heritage shook his head. "We only came here last night. When did
you expect Prince--your friend."