She wanted to sing and dance and scream her joy aloud. They had not
found him.
"What is this, John Drillot?" asked Julie, alongside her, black with
anger, as she pointed to the body.
"Ma fe--a ghost, they say. John Trevna shot him, but he had been dead a
long time before that, though he was alive last night, for Peter had
hold of his leg as he ran."
"And where is the other--the one you went for?"
"He's not on L'Etat, anyway, ma fille," and they lifted the body on to a
piece of sailcloth, and carried it off through the tunnel for the
Senechal to look into.
So Stephen Gard's hiding-place had proved effective, and they had not
found him. But, of a certainty, he must be starving, and so away home
sped Nance, to prepare a parcel of food to take across to him. And
Julie, her black brows pinched together and her face set in a frown of
venomous intention, never once let her out of her sight.
It was after midnight when Nance stole across the fields, carrying her
little parcel and her swimming-bladders, and made her way to Breniere
point.
It was a still night, with a sky full of stars, and her heart was high
for the moment, though when her thoughts ran on, in spite of her, it
fell again.
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