The Lighted Match

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."