"Come, dearest girl, come; I'll explain it all by-and-bye. We have not
a moment to spare. Come, I'll lift you," and he stooped to raise her
from the ground.
"Thank you, M. Chapeau, thank you, Sir; but pray leave me. I shall be
better tomorrow morning; that is, if I'm not dead, or killed, or worse.
The blues are close behind us; ain't they, father?"
"Get up, Annot; get up, thou little fool, and don't trouble the man to
carry thee," said Michael. "If there be still a boat to take us, in
God's name let us cross the river; for the blues are truly in St.
Florent, and after flying from them so far, it would be sore ill luck to
be taken now."
Chapeau, however, would not leave her to herself, but took her up bodily
in his arms, and carrying her down to the water's edge, put her on the
raft. He and Michael soon followed, and the frail vessel was hauled for
the last time over into the island. The news that the enemy was already
in St. Florent soon passed from month to mouth, and each wretched
emigrant congratulated himself in silence that he had so far escaped
from republican revenge.
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