Part 147 (1/2)
Milady held out her arms; her wrists were bruised.
”Alas!” said Felton, looking at those beautiful hands, and shaking his head sorrowfully.
”Oh, it's nothing, nothing!” cried Milady. ”I remember now.”
Milady looked around her, as if in search of something.
”It is there,” said Felton, touching the bag of money with his foot.
They drew near to the sloop. A sailor on watch hailed the boat; the boat replied.
”What vessel is that?” asked Milady.
”The one I have hired for you.”
”Where will it take me?”
”Where you please, after you have put me on sh.o.r.e at Portsmouth.”
”What are you going to do at Portsmouth?” asked Milady.
”Accomplish the orders of Lord de Winter,” said Felton, with a gloomy smile.
”What orders?” asked Milady.
”You do not understand?” asked Felton.
”No; explain yourself, I beg.”
”As he mistrusted me, he determined to guard you himself, and sent me in his place to get Buckingham to sign the order for your transportation.”
”But if he mistrusted you, how could he confide such an order to you?”
”How could I know what I was the bearer of?”
”That's true! And you are going to Portsmouth?”
”I have no time to lose. Tomorrow is the twenty-third, and Buckingham sets sail tomorrow with his fleet.”
”He sets sail tomorrow! Where for?”
”For La Roch.e.l.le.”
”He need not sail!” cried Milady, forgetting her usual presence of mind.
”Be satisfied,” replied Felton; ”he will not sail.”
Milady started with joy. She could read to the depths of the heart of this young man; the death of Buckingham was written there at full length.