He had hobbled and tethered his horse, and stretched himself out at full length under the cart.

Now and again he had crawled out from under this uncomfortable shelter and walked up and down in ankle-deep mud, trying to restore circulation in his stiffened limbs; now and again a kind of torpor had come over him, and he had fallen into a brief and restless sleep.

He would at this moment have given half his fortune for knowledge of the exact time.
But through all this weary waiting he was never for a moment in doubt.
Unlike Armand St.Just, he had the simplest, most perfect faith in his chief.

He had been Blakeney's constant companion in all these adventures for close upon four years now; the thought of failure, however vague, never once entered his mind.
He was only anxious for his chief's welfare.

He knew that he would succeed, but he would have liked to have spared him much of the physical fatigue and the nerve-racking strain of these hours that lay between the daring deed and the hope of safety.