For myself, I was already, in my thoughts, clasping my mother and Carette in my arms once more, and then speeding across to Peter Port to rouse them there with the news of Torode's murderous treachery.
Le Marchant was the more practical man of the two.

As we passed some windmills, and came swinging down towards the western coast, soon after midnight, he gave a cheerful "Hourra!" and in reply to my stare, cried, "The wind, man! It's as dead as St.Magloire.Monsieur Torode will never get round La Hague like this." "It will come again with the sun, maybe," I said.
"Then the quicker we get home the better," and we hurried on.
When we came out at last on the cliffs the sea lay below us as smooth as a clouded mirror.

It would mean a toilsome passage, but toil was nothing compared with Torode.

We walked rapidly along till we came to a village, which we learned, afterwards, was not Carteret but Surtainville.

There were boats lying on the shore, and we slipped down the cliff before we reached the first house, and made our way towards them.