I longed to comfort her by telling of the faint prospect of good fortune that lay in Le Grand's letter, but I hesitated raising a hope which might never be realized.
At the end of five minutes I went to her and said: "Let me ask the duchess to excuse you for to-night, and in the morning I'll meet you on Bowling Green stairs, at, say, seven o'clock." "I'll be there," she answered, smiling through her tears.
The next morning we took boat, and the tide running out, made good speed to the Bridge, hastened to the Old Swan, and found George in his printing shop awaiting us.

I remained in the old tapestried room, leaving Frances and George to say their farewells.

In the course of a few minutes he called me in.

He had donned his Quaker disguise, and on the floor near him was a small bundle of linen.

Frances was weeping, and George's voice was choked with emotion.
"Well, at last, Baron Ned, you are to be rid of me," he said, glancing toward the bundle at his feet.
"What are your plans of escape ?" I asked.
"I shall work my way down to Sheerness, where I hope to find a boat for The Hague or the French coast.