And they're certain to
stop here. And, furthermore, we may be able to do something ourselves.
The river is open, and if it comes to the worst, escape would be
another way out; and escape is the last thing they would dream of."
"No, no; impossible. What are you and I against the many?"
"But there's my father and Baron Courbertin. Four determined people,
acting together, may perform miracles, Gregory, dear. Trust me, it
shall come out well."
She kissed him and ran her hand through his hair, but the worried look
did not depart.
Jacob Welse crossed over the back-channel long before dark, and with
him came Del, the baron, and Corliss. While Frona retired to change
her clothes in one of the smaller cabins, which the masculine owners
readily turned over to her, her father saw to the welfare of the
mail-carrier. The despatches were of serious import, so serious that
long after Jacob Welse had read and re-read them his face was dark and
clouded; but he put the anxiety from him when he returned to Frona.
St. Vincent, who was confined in an adjoining cabin, was permitted to
see them.
"It looks bad," Jacob Welse said, on parting for the night. "But rest
assured, St. Vincent, bad or not, you'll not be stretched up so long as
I've a hand to play in the rumpus. I am certain you did not kill Borg,
and there's my fist on it.
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