The message said simply in code: "Failure. Make your escape." It was
signed "M. A."--Marie Astaride.
Louis rushed, panic-stricken, down to the shore. He and the few men with
him paced the beach in the settling twilight with desperate anxiety. The
steamer seemed to creep in, snail-like, over the smooth water. Meanwhile
binoculars fixed on the pass showed a number of small specks sifting
like ants through the lofty opening. Troops were advancing. It was now
the life-and-death question of which would arrive first, the boats from
the ship that had stood off at sea a bit too long, or the soldiers
coming across the broken backbone of the mountains.
At last the ship had drawn near, and circled under full steam far enough
out to get away to a flying start as soon as the Ducal party had been
taken on board. Small boats were rushed toward the beach and Louis, the
Dreamer, with his party waded knee-deep into the water to meet the
rescuers.
At the same moment a bugle call announced the coming of Karyl's
soldiery.
As Louis Delgado went over the side, he turned quickly back and, leaning
over the rail, gazed through the settling darkness toward shore.
"Do we make for Puntal, Your Majesty?" inquired the captain, saluting.
Louis turned coldly. "No."
The officer looked at the Duke for a moment and read defeat in his eyes.
"Where then--Your Grace?" he inquired.
Louis winced under the quick amendment of title. "Anywhere," he said
shortly; "anywhere--except Puntal."