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-                           A MAID OF BRITTANY
-
-
-
-
-This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
-most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
-of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at
-http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United
-States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are
-located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: A Maid of Brittany
-Author: May Wynne
-Release Date: June 25, 2015 [EBook #49284]
-Language: English
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAID OF BRITTANY ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Al Haines.
-
-
-
-
-[Transcriber's note: Chapters 22, 23, and 24 are somewhat confusing.  In
-22, Guillaume de Coray is thrown from his horse and injured, but in 23
-he's OK, then in 24 he's dying.  I don't have access to another edition
-to see if perhaps there's something wrong with the source edition for
-this etext.]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: Cover art]
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: "Do your work knave, and quickly." (p. 282)]
-
-
-
-
-                          *A MAID OF BRITTANY*
-
-                              *A Romance*
-
-
-                                   BY
-
-                               MAY WYNNE
-
-                               AUTHOR OF
-             "HENRY OF NAVARRE," "WHEN TERROR RULED," ETC.
-
-
-
-                            _POPULAR EDITION
-                                  with
-                      FRONTISPIECE BY H. M. BROCK_
-
-
-
-                                 LONDON
-                          GREENING & CO., LTD.
-                                  1909
-
-                        (_All rights reserved_)
-
-
-
-
-                               Dedicated
-                                   TO
-                               MY MOTHER
-
-
-
-
-                           *MAID OF BRITTANY*
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER I*
-
-
-"A spy--a French spy! tiens, monsieur! but it is assured."  The speaker,
-a man of about thirty years of age, dressed in hunting costume, was
-standing by his horse's side, looking down, with flushed face and
-knitted brows, upon a figure which lay stretched on the ground before
-him, the figure of a man also young, but even in unconsciousness of far
-more prepossessing appearance than he who stood frowning over him.
-Gathered at a short distance and watching the scene with keen interest
-stood a hawking party, fresh from their chase, and consisting of a
-broad-shouldered, handsome old man of some seventy summers, a young
-girl, whose beautiful face wore a compassionate look as she bent forward
-on her palfrey to catch a glimpse at the unconscious stranger, and
-several attendants bearing trophies of the chase, and carrying hooded
-falcons on their wrists.
-
-"Nay, then, Guillaume," interposed the girl, before her father could
-reply, "but wherefore such assurance? Surely he is no spy, for see, the
-golden spurs upon his heels proclaim his knighthood."
-
-"Ay," replied her cousin mockingly, as he pointed to a horse standing
-with bent head and distended nostrils by the prostrate man's side.  "As
-plainly, fair cousin, as yonder steed's docked ears and mane proclaim
-him Brittany's enemy."[#]
-
-
-[#] It was the fashion at the time for French knights to cut off their
-horse's ears and manes, as also never to ride mares.
-
-
-There was a sparkle of indignation in the girl's eyes as she turned to
-her father.
-
-"At least," she urged, as if pleading against some unspoken verdict, "we
-judge no man unheard. See, my father, there may be many explanations of
-his presence here; it is surely so, for assured I am that he is no spy.
-Nay, cousin, your wits are too keen in this case, for a spy would not
-thus proclaim his nationality, if a horse's mane speaks so plainly."
-
-"Tush, Gwennola!" reproved her father with a smile.  "This is no matter
-for woman's interference that thou shouldst argue like a wandering
-scholar. Still, there is fairness in what thou sayest, and I would lief
-tender mercy with justice even to a Frenchman, though, if he be a spy,
-by the bones of St Yves, he shall hang as fast as any acorn to the
-nearest oak."
-
-So saying, and in spite of his kinsman's obvious disapproval, he ordered
-two of his servants to dismount and raise the unconscious object of
-their argument.
-
-It was clear that a fall from his horse had stunned the stranger, and
-the cause was not far to seek in the twisted roots of the trees partly
-concealed by grass and fern, which might well prove dangerous to an
-unwary rider.
-
-As they raised him the young man moaned, half opening his dark eyes,
-then closing them again in a fresh swoon.
-
-"He is hurt," said Gwennola compassionately. "See, he groans again: be
-careful how thou liftest him, Job.  Yes--on thy shoulders--so, and bid
-them prepare the eastern room for his reception: I will myself attend to
-his hurts when I return."
-
-"A good Samaritan, fair mistress," observed her cousin with a sneer, as
-he vaulted again into his saddle.  "Yet, be warned, lest the hand that
-nourishes it is bitten by the viper of treachery."
-
-"Nay," said her father, with a smile towards his daughter, "Gwennola is
-right, though over-forward for a maid, due, I fear me, to her old
-father's spoiling. Is it not so, my Nola?  Methinks the stranger were
-best left to Father Ambrose's ministrations, so there shall be the less
-fear of the truth of Guillaume's ill prophecies."
-
-Gwennola allowed her palfrey to draw even closer to her father's steed
-as she raised a smiling face to his.
-
-"Nay, my father," she said tenderly.  "'Tis but that I love justice as
-thou dost, and, moreover, my heart tells me that yon poor knight, even
-if he be a Frenchman, is no spy."
-
-"Nevertheless," said her father sternly, "a Frenchman is the enemy of
-the Breton; he comes not by chance to the forest of Arteze, my child,
-and, though I fail not in hospitality to a sick man, yet scant welcome
-will the servant of the King of France find under the roof of a soldier
-of the Duchess Anne."
-
-"Better the welcome of the halter for the spy, without more ado," said
-Guillaume de Coray with a malicious smile.  "Remember St Aubin du
-Cormier, monsieur, and be warned by one who tells you that yonder false
-caitiff is a spy, for all his golden spurs and fair looks," he added,
-with another meaning look towards his cousin, "which have gone so far to
-soften the heart of my sweet mistress here."
-
-"Nay," said the old man sternly, "I will abide by what I have said.  The
-Frenchman shall have justice, but no more--the nearest tree for the spy,
-and short shrift too, if he cannot bring good account of his presence
-here."
-
-Gwennola sighed.  "He is no spy," she whispered to herself, but to her
-father she dared return no answer, but bent low over the beautiful bird
-attached to her wrist by a slender golden chain, to hide perchance the
-tears in her blue eyes rather than from any desire to gaze at her pet's
-bright plumage, or count the tiny golden bells on its hood.  So in
-silence they rode through the forest glades and up through the long
-avenue of whispering oaks where the sunshine of a June evening shed
-slanting rays of golden glory through the rustling foliage overhead.
-
-The Château de Mereac stood on the outskirts of the forest of Arteze,
-not many leagues distant from the little Breton town of Martigue.  The
-country on this side of Rennes had from time immemorial been the
-debatable land between Brittany and her overweening sister France;
-countless feuds raged constantly between the peoples, such as were
-fought in the Middle Ages, and even later, along our own Scottish
-border, and every Breton eyed his French neighbour as a natural and
-implacable enemy.  But, in the year 1491, this natural animosity had
-grown from a smouldering antagonism into active flame of bitter hatred;
-for some years past the red angel of war had stood between the two
-countries with a blood-stained sword in her hand.  Ever since the
-accession of Charles VIII., the rich prize of Brittany had been coveted
-by his ambitious sister and gouvernante, Anne of Beaujeu, now Duchesse
-de Bourbon, in all but name mistress of France.  French armies had from
-time to time devastated the domain, but still Brittany, stubborn,
-gallant, untameable, had resisted the greedy hand outstretched to seize
-her.  With enthusiastic loyalty the Bretons had rallied round their
-little Duchess, left an orphan at the age of thirteen, to face the
-perils of her exalted position alone.  Her beauty, her helplessness, but
-above all her courage, appealed to the love and chivalry of her
-indomitable people.  It is true that amongst the great nobles there were
-traitors to her cause, waverers who proffered allegiance first to one
-side then the other, disappointed suitors, who, like the Comte d'Albret,
-vented his spleen at a child's scorn by betraying his country; yet
-amongst the vast majority of her subjects Anne was worshipped, and her
-name inspired deeds of chivalry and devotion which had hitherto kept the
-all too greedy foe at bay.  But her case was desperate, and well every
-Breton knew it; the armies of France might sweep across their borders at
-any moment, bringing destruction and devastation with them.  What wonder
-that a Frenchman's name was poison to a Breton's ear?  What wonder if
-those dwelling, as it were, under the shadow of the great and powerful
-enemy meted out scant mercy to their foes when opportunity arose?
-
-Yet for the moment a lull had fallen on the strife; the attitude of
-France seemed, for the present, to be quiescent, if not friendly.  It
-was rumoured that the Count Dunois, cousin to the French King, and
-friend of the Duchess Anne's, as he had been of her father, was striving
-to unite the two countries in bonds of peace.  Already he had succeeded
-in bringing about the release of his friend Louis of Orleans, the bitter
-enemy of the Duchess of Bourbon, and some said the lover of the Duchess
-of Brittany, for all her tender years, and the fact that he was already
-the husband of Yeanne, the deformed younger daughter of Louis XI., whom
-her royal father had forced him to marry.
-
-The air was, in fact, thick with rumours and intrigues, with the ominous
-thunder of war growling threateningly in the distance.  It was said that
-the bond Dunois proposed was the holy one of matrimony between France's
-King and Brittany's Duchess, yet the rumour ran vaguely and doubtfully,
-and was scarcely credited by those who remembered that Anne was already
-married by proxy to the King of the Romans, whose little daughter was
-also affianced, at the tender age of two, to Charles VIII.
-
-It was a time, therefore, when men went warily, mistrustfully, with eyes
-glancing to right and left for fear of enemies, and ears open to listen
-to the breath of treachery.  Above all, on the borders of Brittany was
-such watchfulness needed.  What wonder then if the Sieur de Mereac,
-riding homewards from the chase with his daughter and kinsman beside
-him, pondered first on the counsel of one and then of the other, finally
-deciding that the Frenchman's fate must be tempered with justice, but
-small mercy, and that the rope end was the best meed for the enemy of
-the Duchess Anne?
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER II*
-
-
-With the vague wonderment of returning consciousness, Henri d'Estrailles
-lay striving, at first feebly, then with growing clearness, to recall
-the events which had preceded his fall.  From out of the mists of
-elusive shadows, which seemed to paralyse his brain, he remembered how
-he had set out for Rennes in the train of the Count Dunois, who went on
-an embassy to the young Duchess from the King of France; of how he had
-lost his way on the preceding day, wandering aimlessly over vast heaths
-and landes, through valleys and forests, till the stumbling of his good
-horse Rollo brought a blank to his train of thought.  Then, as the mists
-cleared still more from his weary brain, came the further wonderment of
-his present situation.  He was lying on no mossy sward, with Rollo
-nozzling his face with dumb endearments, but instead, in a bed of which
-the fine linen and rich hangings bespoke a seigneur's castle rather than
-a peasant's hut, whilst, as the pain in his side caught his laboured
-breath, he became aware that he had been bandaged by no unskilled hand.
-Too weak to rise, he lay, still vaguely conning over those last hours of
-consciousness, and striving in vain to fit them in to the present, till
-at last, outwearied, he closed his eyes and would have slept, had he not
-been aroused by the soft withdrawal of the heavy curtain at the foot of
-the bed, and his eyes, in opening, fell, he told himself, on the fairest
-vision they had ever beheld.  It was the figure of a young maiden, slim
-and tall; the high, heart-shaped headdress, with its long dependent
-veil, framing a beautiful, childish face, for the bloom of early youth
-was on the soft colouring of her cheeks and rosy lips, and a look of
-innocent bashfulness in the great blue eyes which looked down, half
-smiling, into his wondering brown ones; the red gold of the curls which
-peeped beneath the stiff headdress contrasting with the dark green of
-her tight-fitting bodice and long hanging sleeves.  For full a minute
-the sick man gazed with all the boldness of one whose brain had yet
-scarcely realised whether it were vision or substance that he saw, and
-as the blue eyes met his eager glance they drooped, the colour rose in a
-wave of soft crimson to the girl's cheeks, and the curtain was allowed
-to slip to its place.
-
-He was alone once more, but no longer did Henri d'Estrailles desire
-sleep; his pulses still beat with the emotions created by the vision;
-more than ever he desired to know where fate had led him.  'Twas no
-unkindly destiny, he told himself, but verily the star of Venus herself
-which had so unwittingly guided him.  His restless excitement boded ill
-for his hurts, as he tossed from side to side, and his face was already
-flushed with fever, when again the curtain was drawn aside, and he
-caught back his breath with disappointment, as this time, instead of the
-beautiful face of his dreams, there appeared the wrinkled, kindly face
-of a priest in the black robe of a Benedictine.
-
-"Ah, my son," he murmured gently, as he drew back the curtain by the
-side of the patient's bed and seated himself by his side, "it is well.
-I see that you have already benefited by my salves and ointments, and
-perchance"--he paused, smiling, as he read the hundred questions in the
-eager face turned to him--"you are doubtless as anxious, my son," he
-added kindly, "to know under whose roof you are resting, as we are to
-inquire what brought a stranger to wander unattended in our forest of
-Arteze?"
-
-There was no hiding the anxiety in the old man's eyes as he awaited the
-answer to his question, and the sick man smiled as he replied--
-
-"Perchance you had e'en taken me for a spy of the King of France?  No,
-no, father, the d'Estrailles of d'Estrailles have never yet stooped to
-so vile a task, and, by our Lady's help, will never so soil one of the
-proudest scutcheons in France; my errand here in Brittany was the Count
-Dunois' business, for I rode in his train to Rennes on an embassy to
-your Duchess from my master, but losing my way in this so dreary and
-perilous country, I had nearly met my fate at the hand of an unruly tree
-stump, had it not been, I ween, for the unknown benefactor who has
-played the good Samaritan."
-
-Father Ambrose drew a sigh of relief.  "'Twill be good news to my lord,"
-he said heartily, "as also to the fair Demoiselle de Mereac, who pleaded
-so prettily with her father that you were no spy, that he was fain to
-spare you from the hanging which Monsieur de Coray deemed your fittest
-end."
-
-A flush of anger deepened on the young man's cheek.
-
-"Parbleu!" he cried softly, "Breton justice indeed, to hang an
-unconscious man because, forsooth! he rides unattended and cannot speak
-for himself!  This monsieur----"
-
-"Nay," interrupted the priest, laying a soothing hand upon the other's
-clenched fist.  "Calm yourself, my son, or I fear you will suffer ill
-from fever to your hurts.  Be patient, and I will tell you how it
-chanced, as the demoiselle herself told me," he added, smiling.
-
-"And the demoiselle?" questioned d'Estrailles eagerly, as the priest
-concluded his tale of the brief episode which had been so near to
-terminating his career.  "She is without doubt the angel who anon looked
-down upon me as I lay a-wondering, and who did so far entangle my
-thoughts that I deemed I must have reached Paradise itself?"
-
-"She is a good maid and a beautiful," said the old priest, with a touch
-of asperity in his tones. "Moreover," he added, with a smiling glance
-askance at his interrogator, "she is betrothed to her kinsman, Monsieur
-Guillaume de Coray."
-
-"De Coray?" echoed the young Frenchman with scorn.  "What! the hound who
-would have strung me to the first tree because, parbleu! I had not the
-honour of his acquaintance?  Nay, father, so sweet and gentle a maid
-would ill mate with so unknightly a spouse!"
-
-Father Ambrose sighed.  "It is the will of her father, monsieur," he
-said, "and therefore it is a thing that must be--though from small
-choice, I ween, on the part of the Lady Gwennola."
-
-"Gwennola," murmured d'Estrailles, lingering tenderly over the
-syllables.  "It is a name altogether suited to one so
-beautiful--Gwennola.  Ah, my father, although I have but seen her for a
-moment, my heart grows bitter when I think of her betrothed to one whose
-knightly instincts can well be no higher than a butcher's scullion; but
-tell me, if you can indeed spare the time to a stranger such as I, hath
-this Sieur de Mereac no other child but this fair maid?"
-
-The priest shook his head, sighing heavily.  "Alas!" he replied, "none
-now, monsieur; although scarce three years since he rejoiced in the
-possession of as gallant a son as father might desire; handsome,
-noble-minded and brave, it seemed impossible but that Yvon de Mereac
-should become a great knight whose name should resound throughout
-Brittany; but, alas! alas! the holy saints had not so willed it--he
-fell, monsieur, this gallant youth, scarce twenty years of age, in the
-bloody battle of St Aubin du Cormier, and the hopes which had gathered
-so fondly round the budding promise of his noble manhood were quenched
-in the darkness of the grave; not even was it possible to recover his
-body, though long and terrible search was made amongst the mangled slain
-on the battle-field, and since that day when Guillaume de Coray brought
-news of his death, the Sieur de Mereac has been an old and heart-broken
-man, ever cherishing his anger in wrath and bitterness against the
-French who thus worked the ruin of his hopes."
-
-"'Tis a sad tale," said d'Estrailles.  "Yet, my father, after all, 'tis
-the risk all soldiers must run; some are born to fight a hundred battles
-and come scathless through all, whilst another, like yon poor boy,
-perishes ere he had dyed his maiden sword in the blood of his enemies.
-Such is Fate, and we must fain abye it. For the rest, it appears to me
-that this Monsieur de Mereac might well mourn his living heir rather
-than his dead son, if he is to be succeeded by this poltroon knave who
-would hang noble knights in cold blood."
-
-"Yes," sighed the priest, "the inheritance falls indeed to this same
-Guillaume de Coray, and therefore it becomes plain to you, my son, that
-of necessity he marries Gwennola de Mereac; so the old inheritance comes
-back again to the child of her father, and in their turn his grandsons
-may yet rule over the lands of Mereac."
-
-But to this d'Estrailles replied not, seeing that to him it was a thing
-impossible to dream of, that poltroon lips should touch those rosy ones
-that had smiled down so short a while since into his heart. The very
-thought kept him tossing feverishly upon his bed long after the old
-priest had left him and he lay in darkness.
-
-"Gwennola," he whispered to himself, "Gwennola," and fell to wondering
-when he might see the vision of her beauty once more.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER III*
-
-
-The Château de Mereac stood on a slight elevation, overlooking, on one
-side, the forest of Arteze, whilst far away on the other stretched vast
-heaths and landes covered with patches of gorse and whin, briars and
-thistles, whilst here and there huge boulders of rock lay scattered
-about.  A very land of desolation this, yet grand and even beautiful in
-its rugged, mournful way, for there is a vein of poetry which runs
-throughout Brittany, even in its loneliest and most desolate parts, a
-poetry which finds its expression in the history of its people, set as
-it is to the music of its wild winds, waves, and rugged moorlands, music
-in a minor key wailing across wastes and through valleys and forests,
-music which sings of love and passion, the free untamable spirit of the
-Celt, with all its romance and love of the supernatural.  Like their
-Scottish brethren, they revel, these people, in legend, folklore, and
-hero-worship, over which for ever reign King Arthur and his fairy
-Morgana to inspire chivalry, passion, and love ideals.  The keen air and
-salt spray of their shores act, too, as an inspiration to these
-great-hearted men and women, bracing them up to deeds of heroism and
-glory--glory such as their ancestors fought for and won in the olden
-days.
-
-A river ran in front of the old Château de Mereac, with orchards and
-gardens sloping down to the water's edge, and it was here that, that
-June morning, walked the Demoiselle de Mereac with an attendant maiden,
-both, it would seem, intent on their devotions, seeing that they raised
-not their heads from their livres d'heures even when a man's shadow
-crossed the path of the young châtelaine.  But when the shadow became
-stationary substance, she was fain to look up, though with a frown on
-her smooth white brow, and a most decidedly unfriendly glance in her
-blue eyes. The accompanying maiden discreetly withdrew to the distance
-as the cavalier made his obeisance before the lady.
-
-"I crave thy pardon, sweet mistress," he observed, smiling, "for
-disturbing thy devotions.  Methought I heard the very rustle of angels'
-wings on the air as I approached."
-
-The Demoiselle de Mereac drew herself up stiffly, facing him with
-flashing eyes.
-
-"You do well, monsieur," she retorted coldly, "to observe that they
-departed on your arrival."
-
-Guillaume de Coray shrugged his shoulders.
-
-"Nay, sweet," he observed coolly, "I came not to discourse on angels,
-though I ventured to intrude upon one, but rather because I would fain
-speak with you anent the stranger who lies so sorely sick yonder," and
-he pointed towards the château.
-
-"My father, monsieur," replied Gwennola haughtily, "would, methinks,
-best reply to any questions concerning Monsieur d'Estrailles.  Doubtless
-he has already informed you," she added scornfully, "that he is
-satisfied that he is no spy, this French knight, but a noble gentleman
-of the train of the Count Dunois."
-
-"So I have heard," retorted her kinsman.  "But it is also my habit,
-sweet mistress, to believe little that is not proved.  Moreover, I am
-well assured that this fellow has less right than you dream of to your
-father's mercy.  Were I," he added in a low, menacing tone, "to tell him
-all I knew, the nearest branch and short shrift would be the hospitality
-extended to him by the Sieur de Mereac."
-
-"Indeed, monsieur," replied the girl, her face flushing crimson with
-anger, "you are very wise; but wherefore spare to strike so crushing a
-blow?--not for love, I trow, of the poor knight who lies sick yonder."
-
-"Nay," he returned, trying to soften his tones, till they resembled the
-angry purr of a cat, "but rather for love of thee, sweet Gwennola, for
-well I know how grieved thy tender heart would be to see yon miscreant
-meet his just doom."
-
-"Just doom!" she retorted, the crimson once more dyeing her cheeks.
-"Nay, monsieur, surely it comports not with knightly honour to hint at
-what it is difficult to assert or prove--nay, I will hear no more of
-your base insinuations against a brave man. Begone, monsieur, and leave
-me to my devotions."
-
-"Nay," he snarled, "surely, sweet, 'tis no time for devotions when the
-star of Venus is on high; let us walk together, and, since it pleases
-thee not to talk of sick traitors and spies, let us converse on sweeter
-themes: of our love, fair lady, and of the day when thou shalt be my
-bride."
-
-She shuddered and drew back from his proffered arm as if he had stung
-her.
-
-"No, monsieur," she replied, "have done with mockery; you know well my
-will with regard to our betrothal--as for marriage----"
-
-She checked herself, startled by a sudden change of expression on his
-face; instead of the suave, mocking smile it had grown grave and hard,
-whilst the cruel mouth tightened over his gums till his teeth showed
-white below them, but into the eyes had crept an unmistakable look of
-fear, as he gazed across the river towards the forest beyond; then, with
-a quick side glance at her and her maiden, he murmured some excuse for
-leaving them to their prayers, and with a hurried bow turned and walked
-swiftly towards the castle.
-
-"What can it be?  Saw you aught, Marie?" asked Gwennola, as her maiden,
-seeing her alone, hastened towards her.  "What was it that so startled
-Monsieur de Coray?--he turned as pale as if he had seen a spirit from
-the other world."
-
-Both girls crossed themselves, Marie adding that she fancied she had
-seen a man's figure amongst the trees, but it had disappeared so swiftly
-that she could not be sure.
-
-"At least it has rid us of an unwelcome intruder," smiled Gwennola.
-"See, Marie, let us gather some violets and then return to Mass; I would
-fain demand of the good father how his patient is this morning. Last
-night he feared fever from the wound in his side where the poor knight's
-own sword pierced him; only a hair's-breadth more and it would have
-entered his lung.  I must in truth offer three candles at the shrine of
-our Blessed Lady for sparing so gallant a knight. Think then, my Marie,
-a hair's-breadth and he had been no more!"
-
-The maid smiled slyly.  "The saints be praised, mistress," she replied,
-adding beneath her breath that the hair's-breadth might well have been
-passed had the accident befallen _some_ knights, whereat both laughed
-and fell to picking the violets with light hearts.
-
-It was indeed a fair dawn, and the fragrance and sweetness of it seemed
-to have entered the turret room where Henri d'Estrailles lay, with the
-presence of the young châtelaine of the castle..  No fleeting vision
-this morning, but verily a living presence, stately, smiling, beautiful
-as she stood by his side, inquiring of Father Ambrose how his patient
-fared.
-
-In spite of her childish appearance--she was scarce seventeen
-summers--Gwennola bore herself with all the stately airs befitting to
-the lady of a great house, for, since her mother's death, she had filled
-the post of châtelaine at Mereac, and had grown, it must be confessed,
-from a spoilt child to a wilful maiden, whose self-importance sat so
-sweetly upon her that her father could find no word of chiding for his
-oft-times wayward darling.  Only, alas! in one matter had he proved
-firm, and that concerned her betrothal to her kinsman, and even
-Gwennola, indulged as she was beyond the custom of those stern days of
-parental authority, dared not oppose herself against the decree, though,
-with all the strenuous force of her womanhood, she would fain have
-striven against it, had she dared, ever more too as the months showed
-her a lover so contrary to all her maiden dreams.  How well she knew
-that for all his empty phrases and mocking vows this kinsman of hers had
-no love in his heart for her; his very endearments were an insult
-against which her hot, impetuous young nature revolted. Bitter were the
-tears shed in secret, and none to see or comfort her but Father Ambrose
-and her maiden, Marie Alloadec, her trusted friend and companion. And,
-after all, it was surprising how ill they comprehended, these two.  The
-good father would strive to comfort her with a homily on the necessity
-of obedience and submission to Heaven, and would only shake his head
-gravely when she replied, weeping, that Heaven could have no share in
-breaking a maiden's heart, or else suggest, half hesitatingly, that
-perhaps her father might listen to her entreaties to enter the cloister.
-But this latter suggestion found small favour in the eyes of one whose
-warm young life shrank back appalled from the cold vocation of a nun's
-monotonous existence.  Surely, she told herself, there was some other
-way, some other loophole of escape from the fate in store for her.
-Marie Alloadec's consolations were more congenial than the worthy
-father's, but even they fell short of Gwennola's need; sympathy was all
-her foster sister held out to her, hope there seemed none.  With all the
-tragedy of youth and all the young girl's exaggerations of woe, Gwennola
-saw herself condemned to an early grave or broken heart.  But somehow,
-as she stood there, glancing shyly from time to time towards the sick
-man, the rosy finger of hope seemed busy at the locked door of her
-heart, which beat swiftly at the messenger's knock, for all her outward
-calm.  And so it came that she lingered in the turret-room, passing from
-questions of his wound to talk, hesitatingly at first, but with growing
-curiosity, of that distant home of his in fair Touraine, sunny, laughing
-Touraine, with its langorous breezes and fair meadows, its fruits and
-flowers, and the dancing waters of the Loire, so different to their own
-grey Vilaine.  Then, as if half ashamed of her eagerness, or because the
-brown eyes that looked up into hers brought the blushes to her cheeks
-and a sudden inexplicable thrill to her beating heart, or because she
-had caught a grave reproof in Father Ambrose's face which seemed to warn
-her of unmaidenliness, she became of a sudden the quaintly-stiff little
-châtelaine once more, speaking to the priest instead of to the patient
-concerning salves and ointments and such like with the air of a matron
-of fifty.
-
-"The wound heals favourably," said Father Ambrose, and for all his
-reverent estate there was a twinkle of amusement, or perhaps sympathy,
-in his kind old eyes as he glanced from the flushed, childish face, with
-its framing of red-gold curls and white headdress, to the eager one on
-the bed, which looked up with such an admiring gaze at the now averted
-face of his fair visitor.  "Monsieur will doubtless be able to continue
-his journey in a week's time, but he must be careful, for the reopening
-of an old wound is ever more dangerous than a new one."
-
-"Except the new one be at the heart," smiled d'Estrailles slyly.
-
-Gwennola turned, answering the smile half shyly, half coquettishly, as
-she replied: "But Monsieur's heart is unscathed?  The sword----"
-
-"Truly, mademoiselle is right; the sword spared my heart, but nathless I
-fear it has not gone unscathed, for what is a sword point compared to a
-maiden's eyes--if," he added softly, "those eyes be cold?"
-
-Gwennola's face flushed again, and the blue eyes in question drooped, to
-hide perchance a tell-tale light which shone in them, but Father
-Ambrose's gentle voice interrupted the conversation.
-
-"Nay, nay, monsieur," he urged reprovingly, "French compliments suit ill
-to a Breton maiden's ears; for the rest, it is not well that you should
-talk too long, lest the threatened fever of last night overcome you; if
-you would be again in the saddle before a week has passed you must e'en
-be obedient."
-
-"Verily," sighed Henri d'Estrailles with a faint grimace, "your words
-are doubtless golden, my father, though scarcely sweet to the ear, yet I
-must e'en obey, seeing that I do ill to grasp too greedily at
-hospitality which must needs be more pain than pleasure to bestow."
-
-"Nay, monsieur," interrupted Gwennola gently, "we of Mereac grudge no
-man our hospitality, but----"
-
-"Ay, the but," replied d'Estrailles wistfully. "Mademoiselle, believe
-me, my gratitude is unbounded, yet I cannot but comprehend how
-distasteful is the presence of a Frenchman to a family bereaved as the
-good father here has told me, nor would I linger one moment longer than
-it is necessary to my hurt; though," he added softly, "I must needs
-leave behind me for ever somewhat that I had dreamed to keep my own for
-all time."
-
-She did not reply, only met his pleading glance with one which was half
-wonder, half glad comprehension, the look of a child who sees before it
-joys hitherto undreamt of, yet gazes, doubting whether they be for him.
-The look lingered in her eyes even when she had left the sick man's
-chamber, and gone slowly down the winding stairway into the great hall.
-
-"Ah, my Nola, so there thou art.  Comest thou not with thy old father
-to-day a-hawking?"
-
-The Sieur de Mereac stood by the long table booted and spurred, his
-falcon on his wrist, his cloak flung over his shoulder, a gallant
-figure, in brave attire, his kindly, keen grey eyes fixed questioningly
-on his daughter.  She ran to him, curtsying and smiling, and slipped one
-slim arm round his caressingly.
-
-"I knew not that it was your pleasure, monsieur my father," she replied,
-smiling up at him with loving eyes.  He stroked back her ruddy curls
-fondly as he looked down into the beautiful face.
-
-"Thy father always wants thee, little one," he said tenderly, "as thou
-knowest very well, spoilt child as thou art.  And so thou dost not want
-to come and see me try my new gerfalcon!  Donna Maria? tiens! look then
-how beautiful a bird she is!"
-
-"She is altogether perfect," murmured Gwennola, stroking the bird's soft
-plumage, "and to-morrow thou shalt again take her hawking, my father,
-and I will accompany thee on my little Croisette.  Say, is it not so?"
-
-"But why not to-day, little bird?" he asked, half impatiently.  "See,
-the sun shines, and the air is glorious.  Fie, then! is it because
-Guillaume is not here?"
-
-A shadow fell across the bright face, and she drew back with a sigh.
-
-"No, my father," she said in a low voice; "that thou knowest very
-well,--oh, father!"--and once again she clung to him with a sudden,
-new-born tenderness--"thou knowest that I want none but thee,--only thee
-for always."
-
-"Nay, child," he replied, patting her cheek kindly "that would never do;
-but see, when thou art married to Guillaume we shall still be together;
-there will come no stranger lord to carry my little sunbeam away from
-Mereac, leaving it cold and grey for ever. Say then, little one, is that
-not well?--thou and Guillaume, and the old father here?  Tiens! give me
-a kiss, my Gwennola, for her Spanish Majesty waxes as impatient as my
-good Barbe without.  Adieu, petite, and be kind to the poor Guillaume
-when he returns."
-
-But Gwennola did not reply; perhaps her voice was too choked with tears
-just then to make answer to her father's words, but, if so, she quickly
-dashed the bright drops from her eyes as she met the curious gaze of a
-youth who sat perched on a stool by the side of the empty hearth: a
-narrow-faced, undersized lad clad in a fool's motley, his quick beady
-eyes roving restlessly from his young mistress to watch the gambols of a
-small ape, which, dressed in quaint imitation of his master, chattered
-and clambered about, first over the rush-strewn floor, then up the dark
-tapestries, finally alighting between the outstretched forms of two
-wolf-hounds, which lay dreaming doubtless of the chase, for, as the
-impudent little jester sprang to their side, they raised their heads
-with an ominous growl, and might in sleepy anger have terminated a
-mischievous career, had not the little creature with an agile bound
-sprung over their bodies on to the knee of his master, where he sat
-gibbering and chattering like some mocking imp of darkness, whilst the
-fool rocked himself backwards and forwards on his stool, chuckling
-shrilly.
-
-"Silence, Pierre!" commanded Gwennola, the more sharply because she had
-with difficulty regained her composure; "and go quickly, bid Marie and
-Job Alloadec come hither; tell them that I would have them accompany me
-to Mereac to see old Mère Fanchonic.  And bid Marie bring the warm wrap
-I promised the old woman."
-
-Pierre obeyed sullenly enough, for it displeased him to have his sport
-thus interrupted, but Gwennola paid no heed to his frowns, but stood
-awaiting her attendants with a little smile hovering around her lips,
-though why she smiled she could not have told, unless it were that she
-recalled to mind Father Ambrose's shocked face when the Frenchman spoke
-of maidens' eyes.  Tiens! what harm then was it?  It was true,--so she
-supposed,--but could it also be true that her eyes----?  She broke off,
-blushing crimson at the unmaidenly thought, then sighed as, instead of
-Henri d'Estrailles' handsome face, she recalled another face which had
-looked so mockingly into hers that very morn, yonder on the terrace, a
-cruel, evil face, with sallow cheeks and pale, cold eyes, the
-recollection of which started another train of thought.  What had it
-been that had so startled Guillaume de Coray?  Why had he been absent
-since that moment when he had parted from her so suddenly?  She was
-still wondering vaguely when the entrance of Marie and Job Alloadec
-broke in on her meditations.
-
-"Come," she said, a little impatiently, "I have been awaiting thee this
-long time, my Marie; it grows late, and I would fain be home before the
-twilight deepens; but, ma foi, what ails the good Jobik?"
-
-It certainly appeared as if somewhat greatly ailed the poor retainer;
-his usually ruddy cheeks were flabby and pale, and his blue eyes glanced
-from side to side, with the nervous stare of one who has been badly
-frightened.  Marie crossed herself, paling too as she replied--
-
-"Ah, mademoiselle, pardon, it is true that I delayed, but poor Job was
-at first so fear-stricken that I deemed he would verily have become
-crazed outright."
-
-Gwennola stamped her foot impatiently.  "Foolish one!" she cried, though
-there was a ripple of laughter mingled with the anger in her tones.
-"Say then what has befallen? has the poor Jobik seen the same vision
-that affrighted Monsieur de Coray this morning?"
-
-"Truly, I know not," replied Marie in a whisper. "But he says--nay,
-lady, he says--tiens, Job! tell the Lady Gwennola what thou sawest
-yonder in the forest."
-
-For reply the poor Breton poured forth a mumbled string of vows and
-prayers, from amongst which Gwennola at last extracted the startling
-fact that, as he stood by the river bank, he had seen amongst the trees,
-on the other side, a vision of Yvon de Mereac, his young lord, who had
-perished on the bloody field of St Aubin du Cormier nearly three years
-since.
-
-Even Gwennola grew pale as she devoutly crossed herself, murmuring a
-prayer to her patron saint before she faltered out an inquiry as to the
-manner of the vision.  It was this, it appeared, which had so puzzled
-the faithful Jobik, who had worshipped his young master with all a
-Breton's devotion: he had not stood before him clad in armour as he had
-fallen, but in ragged and poor attire, with wasted cheeks and eyes at
-once haunting and terrible, as if, so Job averred, the tortured spirit
-were in some great peril, from which it pleaded with Job to release it.
-
-In vain Gwennola strove to convince the poor fellow that the vision
-could be naught but some phantasy of the brain, or that the figure seen
-was that of some wandering madman who bore a likeness to her dead
-brother.  Job clung to his tale, at last breaking down utterly in his
-terror and perplexity, and sobbing out prayers to every saint in the
-calendar to enlighten him as to what the vision would have him do.
-
-It was some time before all were sufficiently calm to set out on their
-expedition, an expedition from which Marie in vain strove to dissuade
-her mistress. The thought of so immediately entering the now
-horror-haunted forest was agony to the poor waiting woman; but in spite
-of her own inward qualms, Gwennola was firm in her purpose.  Truth to
-tell, the young mistress was inclined to be of an obstinate and
-tenacious disposition, and, having decided on her plan of action,
-carried it through in spite of opposition, so that Marie, knowing well
-her wilful temper, was fain to yield to her wishes, and strive, if
-vainly, to conquer her fears.
-
-Gwennola, on the contrary, gave no outward sign of her misgivings; some
-strange elation seemed suddenly to have over-mastered them, and her
-merry laugh rang cheerily through the sunlit glades as she challenged
-Marie to a race.
-
-Mère Fanchonic's humble dwelling was reached at last, and the young
-châtelaine's gracious sympathy and kindly words brought many a blessing
-down on her head from the old woman ere they departed once more on their
-homeward way, Mère Fanchonic herself hobbling slowly to the door to
-scream shrill injunctions to Job to guard well his young mistress, for,
-though the way was short, there were perils on all sides.
-
-That such was the case in those lawless times Gwennola knew only too
-well, but she possessed the daring spirit of her race, and her father
-had ever yielded to her more licence than was deemed fitting for a young
-girl in those days.  Therefore Gwennola had been accustomed from
-childhood to wander in the woods around Mereac, accompanied only by the
-faithful Job and Marie, or perchance by her father, or brother.  The
-thought of that brother, so dear and so long mourned, brought a sadness
-afresh to her bright face as she turned her steps towards the château.
-The thrill of elation had gone, and a sudden gloom seemed to have
-plunged her from unaccountable mirth to melancholy; neither could she
-altogether explain what oppressed her, unless indeed it could be Job
-Alloadec's strange vision.
-
-Twilight was creeping with stealthy footsteps upon them, in spite of
-their haste, as they passed swiftly along the narrow woodland path, and
-Marie had shrunk closer to her mistress's side, when a sudden crackling
-of boughs in a thicket close by caused both girls to scream aloud in
-fear, as a man leapt out from the wood on to the path in front of them.
-Flesh and blood without doubt was the intruder, no hollow-eyed
-apparition of the dead, such as they had half dreaded: a man, short,
-thick-set, with a red stubbly beard and hard, reckless eyes, which
-stared now into theirs with a fierce, yet frightened defiance.
-
-"Monsieur de Coray?" he gasped, and looked eagerly behind the girls
-towards Job, who had hurried up to his young mistress's side.
-
-"De Coray?" questioned Gwennola, who was the first of the three to
-regain her self-possession, signing at the same time to Job to keep by
-her side.  "Is it then Monsieur de Coray with whom you desire speech?"
-
-"Yes--no," stammered the man, glancing from right to left.  "Pardon,
-mademoiselle, I feared--nay--methought----"  And then, with the gasp of
-one who sees safety but in flight, he sprang once more into the
-brushwood, and disappeared, as suddenly as he had come, amongst the
-trees.
-
-"Nay," said Gwennola de Mereac gently, as Job, with a suspicious grunt,
-made as though he would set off in pursuit, "there was no harm; the poor
-man is half crazed with fear or something worse.  Besides," she added
-with a smile, "thou wouldest not leave us alone, good Job, to find our
-way home through these twilight woods.  Parbleu! it was well that yon
-poor, frightened rogue had no business with us, for he wore an ugly
-look, and it is possible that he hath friends, beside Monsieur de Coray,
-in yon dark forest.  Come, my Marie, tremble not now danger is past, but
-let us return the more quickly, seeing that perchance my father even now
-grows anxious."
-
-"'Twas a strange knave," muttered Job as he followed his sister and her
-mistress on their way. "But, by the beard of the holy St Gildas!  I had
-liefer meet two such than----"  And the gallant Job crossed himself
-devoutly, though he did not complete his sentence.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER IV*
-
-
-The shadows fell heavily in the great hall of the Château de Mereac.  In
-one corner the fool Pierre had lain himself down on the rushes to sleep,
-clasping his smaller namesake to his narrow chest.  By the empty hearth
-Gaspard de Mereac leant back in his great chair, half dozing after his
-hawking, the gay gerfalcon perched on the back of the seat, preening
-herself with stately grace, as one who would say, "See one who has
-proved her worth and won the praises of all who beheld her prowess."  At
-their master's feet lay the wolf-hounds, Gloire and Reine, the former
-raising his stately head from time to time to softly lick the hand which
-hung over the oaken chair.  A step coming hastily across the hall roused
-the lord of the castle into a sudden, irritated wakefulness, for well he
-knew it was not the gentle tread of his little Gwennola, but instead, as
-one sleepy glance told him, his nephew Guillaume de Coray.  Something
-however, in the latter's disordered dress and pale face roused him from
-his dreams of gallant hawks and screaming herons to demand abruptly what
-had chanced.
-
-"Chanced?" echoed de Coray vaguely.  "Chanced, monsieur my uncle?  Nay,
-naught hath chanced, but----"  He paused, as if striving to collect a
-train of wandering thoughts, leaning his chin on his hand as he sat down
-on a bench opposite to his interrogator.
-
-"Where hast been all day?" demanded de Mereac, stretching out his legs
-with a sleepy yawn and pausing to pat Gloire's faithful head as he
-raised himself in his seat.  "Verily thou hast missed as fair a day's
-sport as I have had for many a day.  De Plöernic rated not his fair
-Spaniard too highly after all.  Seldom have I seen so straight a flight;
-but thou shalt judge for thyself on the morrow, for I have promised to
-take the little Gwennola with me, and thou, too, Guillaume, wilt
-doubtless accompany us?"
-
-"Doubtless," replied the younger man, but his listless tone and moody
-face drew fresh inquiries from his uncle as to his day's doings.  De
-Coray replied evasively, still preserving the same gloomy manner, whilst
-his knitted brow seemed to speak of perplexity and indecision.
-
-"What ails thee, man?" cried de Mereac heartily, "thou art as gloomy as
-any fat abbot on a fast day. Say then, has my lady been flouting thee?
-A plague on the little rogue, she hath scarce been near me this day!"
-
-De Coray glanced sideways towards his uncle, then downwards, whilst a
-sinister smile played round his mouth.
-
-"Perchance the French knight's wounds have needed too much of my fair
-mistress's care," he said maliciously, noting with satisfaction how the
-shaft went home, from the old man's sudden start and angry frown.  Then,
-dropping his hesitating manner, he leant forward, speaking slowly but
-emphatically. "Monsieur," he said softly, "it is in my mind that I
-should tell you clearly that which I alone have knowledge of; perchance
-you will blame me for not having spoken sooner, but knightly honour
-forbade me.  Now, however, the necessity seemeth to me greater even than
-any false sense of magnanimity, seeing that we cross not swords with the
-viper, but rather crush him under heel before he does us mortal ill, and
-so----"  He paused, to give perhaps greater weight to his words,
-narrowly watching the stern, set face opposite him, which seemed to have
-stiffened into an iron mask.
-
-"Speak thy mind, man," demanded the old noble curtly.  "If there is ill
-to tell, tell it me--the saints know I have borne such before--but cease
-to prate of that which is beside the purpose, as is the way with women
-and fools--not men."
-
-"Nay," said de Coray, flushing under the reproof, "there is that to tell
-which will be hard for you to hear, monsieur, and I would but prepare
-you for the tale; as you may well guess, it concerneth this Frenchman
-whom fate, by strange trickery, cast at your gates."
-
-De Mereac's jaw closed with a snap.
-
-"He hath satisfied me that he is no spy," he replied sternly.  "I have
-accepted his knightly word, and though it be bitter for me to extend
-hospitality to the enemy of my country and one of my son's slayers,
-still, by all the laws of knighthood and chivalry he goes free as soon
-as he is fit to travel."
-
-"So," said de Coray, "he hath satisfied you, monsieur?  That may well
-be, since he knew not the name of his victim, and yet I may well wonder
-how he trains his tongue to speak smooth words in a Breton's ear when he
-remembereth St Aubin du Cormier."
-
-The old man's face paled.  "St Aubin du Cormier?" he murmured.
-
-"Yes, St Aubin du Cormier," repeated de Coray, moving a little nearer,
-as if he feared his words might be overheard.  "Listen, monsieur, and
-you will understand why, at sight of yon dog lying under the greenwood,
-I cried to you to yield him no mercy, but to mete out to him the dog's
-death he deserved."
-
-"Speak," said de Mereac hoarsely, "I can ill brook such preamble."
-
-"The battle was a bloody one, as you may well remember," began de Coray.
-"We of Brittany fought gallantly, as we ever do, and the English archers
-of Lord Woodville yielded only to the French with their lives; for
-myself, I had escaped throughout the fight, and towards evening found
-myself driven back, close to a wood, by the side of the Prince of
-Orange, who, seeing the chances of the day had gone against us, tore
-from his breast the black cross of Brittany, urging us, his followers,
-to do the same, for that nothing remained to us but flight.  His words
-were true, but, for all that, no true Breton amongst us tore the cross
-from his tunic, though we sought flight readily enough amongst the
-trees, and in so doing it chanced that I became separated from the rest,
-and, wandering alone through the wood, came suddenly in sight of a man
-clad in the armour of a Frenchman, who walked stealthily; for an instant
-I paused, and, alas! monsieur, before I could conceive the meaning of
-the situation, it was too late.  A Breton knight, whom I recognised on
-the instant as my cousin Yvon, was standing spent and weary by his
-horse's side, whilst the animal drank greedily of the water from a brook
-which ran hard by.  Yvon's vizor was up, and I could see he was pale
-with excitement and exhaustion, though methinks unwounded.  His back was
-turned towards his enemy, and before I could cry a word of warning, the
-cowardly traitor had sprung forward and cloven him from brow to chin, so
-that he fell dead by his horse's side.  I sprang forward also, with a
-cry, but the Frenchman was true to his colours; for one instant he
-looked at me, then, fearing doubtless that friends of mine and the dead
-man's might be near, he drove fiercely at me with his sword, and fled,
-so that in the twilight I missed him, though, so thirsty grew my own
-good blade for his blood, that I searched till darkness fell and all
-hope of finding him was gone."
-
-"And?" groaned de Mereac.
-
-De Coray smiled pensively.  "Monsieur," he added, "the French traitor's
-vizor was also raised, so that I read well the features which I saw not
-again till I beheld them yonder in the forest."
-
-With a bitter curse the old man sprang to his feet with such vigour that
-Gloire and Reine raised their great heads with a short bark of
-excitement.
-
-"He?" cried de Mereac, his voice quivering with fury, "he?--the man
-whose life I spared? the man who has partaken of my hospitality and
-eaten my salt?  He? the base murderer of my Yvon?--my boy--my boy!"  In
-spite of his anger his voice broke over the last words; then a fresh
-tempest seized him. "Fool!" he cried, gripping de Coray by the shoulder,
-"wherefore didst thou not tell me this when we found him yonder?
-wherefore prolong by an hour the life of so foul a thing?"
-
-"Nay," faltered de Coray, paling before the storm he had evoked.
-"Methought--the Lady Gwennola----"
-
-"Gwennola!" shouted the old man.  "Thrice double fool! thinkest thou
-there would be one throb of pity in her pure maiden's heart for such an
-one as the murderer of her brother?  Ay, murderer he is, and as such
-shall die.  Hie thee, varlet, bid come hither on the instant Job and
-Henri.  Ay! and bid them drag down yon foul thing from the chamber where
-he lieth so softly, and he shall learn what Breton justice is.  Bah! the
-rope that should hang him would be for ever a thing dishonoured; rather
-would I give him to my good hounds yonder to tear limb from limb;
-though, by the bones of St Yves, such death even were too gentle and
-easy a thing for him."
-
-Pierre the fool, thus roughly roused from slumber to be sent in search
-of Job and his comrade, stood gaping and gasping before his master's
-anger, whilst the ape from his shoulder grinned and gibbered in mocking
-imitation of its lord's wrath; but before de Mereac's fury could burst
-forth again upon the head of his witless retainer, a voice beside him
-turned the swift current of his thoughts into another channel. It was
-his daughter Gwennola who stood before him, pale but resolute, with no
-look of fear in her blue eyes as they met his stormy frown, but rather
-returning look for look, boldly and bravely.
-
-"My father," she said steadily, laying one white hand upon the sleeve of
-his long furred gown, "I have heard what"--her voice trembled--"what
-Monsieur de Coray has been saying, and," she added, turning a blazing
-face of indignation towards the younger man, who stood leaning against
-the tapestry near, "I call him coward and liar to his face!"
-
-There was an instant's pause, de Mereac's brows drawn ominously down as
-he glanced from his daughter to de Coray, whose mocking smile seemed to
-sting the girl to fresh anger.
-
-"Liar and coward!" she cried, stamping her little foot, her blue eyes
-still ablaze.  "Ah, monsieur my father, it is incredible that you
-believe him."
-
-"Incredible?" said the old man slowly, "and wherefore, child?  More
-incredible to me that my daughter should take the part of a foul
-murderer, an enemy to her country and house, rather than the word of her
-betrothed husband."
-
-De Coray's smile deepened.  "Monsieur," he said, with a mocking bow,
-"you asked me why I told a traitor's secret now rather than
-yesterday--perhaps monsieur is answered."
-
-De Mereac's eyes sought his daughter's face sternly, but again she met
-them with a glance almost defiant, then softening, as she read a dumb
-agony behind the anger, till her own blue eyes brimmed with tears.
-
-"Oh, my father!" she cried, drawing nearer to his side with outstretched
-hands, "in the name of justice listen to me, and heed not the words of
-yon cruel man.  See, my father, if Monsieur d'Estrailles has done this
-thing, willingly would my hands tie the knot which bound the rope round
-his coward's throat, but, my father, is it justice? is it a thing of
-honour to strike like the adder in the dark?  I, yes, I, Gwennola de
-Mereac, challenge you, Guillaume de Coray, to repeat your lying tale
-before the man you accuse, and let my father judge between true knight
-and false."
-
-De Coray's smile faded as he met her fearless gaze, then glanced
-sideways towards de Mereac, who stood hesitating, eagerly, it seemed,
-awaiting his answer.
-
-"So be it, my fairest law-giver," he said at last, with a forced smile.
-"To-morrow will be as good a hanging day as to-night, and perchance, as
-you suggest, the office shall fall to your own fair hands."
-
-She did not reply, but turned, curtsying gravely to her father as she
-quitted the hall.
-
-Not another word was spoken between the two men left standing there
-amongst the shadows.  De Mereac, whose transport of rage seemed to have
-died down, since his daughter's interference, into a sullen moodiness,
-soon strode away, leaving Guillaume alone.  The young man's meditations
-seemed perchance to be scarcely of a soothing nature, for, till darkness
-fell, he continued pacing up and down the hall, lost in thought, till a
-hand touching his roused him with a startled curse, and, looking down,
-he saw to his surprise the thin, shrewd face of Pierre the fool looking
-wistfully up into his.
-
-"Monsieur," said the boy softly, "I am monsieur's slave; if I may be
-allowed to serve monsieur, perchance I can do much."
-
-Guillaume de Coray looked thoughtfully down into the oblique, uncanny
-eyes, then he smiled.  "A friend," he quoth lightly, "is at times a
-necessity, and should not be refused, mon Pierre, even when the friend
-is but a fool.  Yes, I will accept, and," he added, drawing a piece of
-money from his pocket, and placing it in the lad's outstretched palm, "I
-will pay the price of true friendship, mon ami.  See, there is already a
-service you can render me."  He drew Pierre as he spoke into a recess,
-dropping his voice, as if fearing that the pictured figures on the
-tapestry had ears to hear.  "Yonder in the forest," he said softly,
-"there wanders a man whom I would fain have speech with, a man, short,
-thick-set, with a red beard and black eyes; tell him," he added,
-speaking slowly and impressively, with both hands on Pierre's shoulders,
-"that his _friend_, his _friend_, mark you, boy, Guillaume de Coray,
-would have speech with him; that there is naught to fear and much to
-gain, and that to any rendezvous he may appoint I will come alone."
-
-Pierre's black eyes shone as he looked up into de Coray's pale face,
-nodding slowly.  "Pierre understands," he muttered.  "Monsieur has
-trusted to Pierre the fool, who is now the friend of monsieur, and
-therefore it is understood that the man with the red beard shall be
-found.  Is it not so, mon choux?" he added, caressing the ape, which he
-still carried in his arms.  "Tiens! it is clear that Pierre the fool
-will soon be rich and great, and the little Gabrielle far away in the
-forest shall no more weep for hunger."  And as he turned away, the boy
-looked lovingly down at the piece of leather money with its small centre
-of silver which de Coray had given him. "Without doubt monsieur has a
-great heart," he murmured softly.  "As for the Lady Gwennola, I have no
-love for her, though she be fair as the dawn, for she has no love for
-monsieur, and none also for petit Pierre.  Is it not so, mon petit?
-Bah! we shall be great soon, thou and I, mon Pierrot, very great."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER V*
-
-
-"Ah, Marie, Marie, what shall I do?  Tiens! petite, canst say no word to
-comfort me?  Bah! with thy great eyes thou hast no more sense than the
-owls which cry all night in the forest yonder. Nay! forgive me, Marie,
-and comfort me, because, because----"
-
-"Nay, lady," sighed the waiting-maid, "I fear me there is little to be
-said, for see, you tell me that on the morrow Monsieur de Mereac----"
-
-"Ah, listen then, Marie, and I will explain all to thee," said Gwennola,
-clasping her hands as she looked piteously across into Marie's
-sympathetic face.
-
-"Monsieur de Coray, viper that he is, has for some reason I know not
-conceived a hatred for Monsieur d'Estrailles, therefore he has told to
-monsieur my father many false lies, saying that Monsieur d'Estrailles
-foully murdered the poor Yvon, whose soul rest in peace, at the battle
-of St Aubin du Cormier, three years since; but Marie, it is false
-Monsieur d'Estrailles could do no such unknightly deed--nay, I am
-assured of it."
-
-"But wherefore, mistress?" demanded Marie stolidly.  "We know nothing of
-this French monsieur; it may be that his tongue is no smoother than his
-heart false.  Jobik hath ofttimes bid me beware if a Frenchman cross my
-path, for they are altogether children of the devil in their deceitful
-ways."
-
-"Jobik is a fool!" declared his young mistress tartly, "and thou also
-art lacking in all sense, my Marie, to listen to him.  See then how many
-noble Frenchmen have been true friends to Brittany; think of Monsieur
-d'Orléans and Monsieur the Count Dunois, who even now seeks to aid our
-sweet Duchess; but all such talk is foolishness.  Be assured, Marie,
-that I, thy mistress, am convinced that Monsieur d'Estrailles is a good
-and true knight, and yet, alas! alas! to-morrow morn it may well chance
-that he will hang as if he were some cowardly traitor or foul
-murderer--for see then, Marie, it is the word of a Frenchman against a
-Breton, and though the latter be thrice times a traitor knave, yet well
-I know he hath the trick of lying with as smooth a brow as any guileless
-babe, and so--and so--my father will believe him.  Alas! alas!" and the
-young girl broke down into a flood of tears.
-
-Marie stood watching her mistress's distress, tears brimming in her own
-brown eyes, although in her heart was still some doubting of the
-Frenchman's honour.  But, after all, what maid of any age is proof
-against romance? and the fact that Gwennola was deeply interested in the
-handsome stranger was apparent enough to the waiting-woman's eyes.  And
-what wonder, seeing that fate had hitherto offered naught but so sorry a
-lover as Monsieur de Coray? There was no love for the latter in Marie's
-heart, which went the farther in his rival's favour.
-
-"Alas! my lady," she murmured, with a sob, "'tis grievous to think of,
-and that he should die, this poor monsieur, at dawn, on the word of such
-an one as Monsieur de Coray!  If it had been that he were not injured,
-we might even have helped him to escape, but alas----"
-
-"Alas!" sobbed Gwennola, "with such a wound 'twere death to attempt it.
-No, Marie, he will die, and I, it may be, will find shelter in a
-convent, as Father Ambrose hath ofttimes suggested, for well I wot I
-would marry no murderer, liar and coward, such as Guillaume de Coray."
-
-The passion of her hatred against her betrothed husband for the moment
-had roused Gwennola from her grief.  Now she dried her tears, and,
-rising, began slowly to pace the room, her head thrown back, and a light
-gradually dawning in her blue eyes.  The wild untamable spirit of daring
-which had raced so madly through the veins of countless generations of
-ancestors had lifted her from the weak and unavailing grief of
-womanhood.
-
-"I will save him," she said slowly, as she faced Marie Alloadec; "yes,
-it is possible.  See, little one," she added, pointing reverently to a
-small figure of the Madonna placed on a table near, "it is the Holy
-Mother herself who has shown me how to do it; but go, my Marie, for
-there is little time to lose, even in prayers, go, tell Father Ambrose
-that I would see him now, quickly, if may be, in the chapel."
-
-Marie stared.  "But, mademoiselle!" she gasped.
-
-Gwennola laid both hands firmly on the other's shoulders, looking down
-kindly but commandingly into the frightened brown eyes upraised to hers.
-
-"Listen, Marie," she said quietly; "thou must obey without questioning.
-A noble knight's life hangs perchance in the issue, therefore 'tis no
-time for woman's fears or weakness; but what I purpose doing I tell
-neither to thee nor any other, seeing that it were ill for any save
-myself alone to refuse to answer when my father commands; only this
-thing I ask thee: go, tell Father Ambrose that I await him in the
-chapel, see that he fails me not, and, for the rest, be silent.  Nay,"
-she added, as tears rose in the girl's eyes, "'tis not that I doubt thy
-faithfulness, child, but that I would spare thee pain, ay, and myself
-too, though one thing more there is I would ask of thee which I had
-well-nigh forgotten.  Bid Job lead the stranger's horse from the stables
-in an hour's time and tether him within the wood close by the river's
-bank; let none see him do it, neither let him speak of what he does.
-Also, should he fancy he seeth a figure pass him by whilst he standeth
-on guard at the outer postern, let him cross himself and deem 'tis a
-spirit, such as he already dreamt to see to-day, and take heed that he
-goeth not to inquire too closely as to whether there is aught of flesh
-and blood about it, for to-morrow mayhap it will have been well for him
-to have been somewhat blind and deaf."
-
-Marie curtsied, not daring to reply, as she saw the determination in her
-mistress's face.  Nevertheless, as she sped on her errand, she muttered
-many an ave to her patron saint, knowing well what the fury of the lord
-of the château would be did his daughter succeed in her daring
-intention.
-
-It may have been that even Gwennola's heart half failed her as she sank
-on her knees in the dimly lighted chapel of the castle.  Wrapped in a
-long hooded cloak, she might well have passed for a shadow amongst the
-shadows which the moonlight flung around.  Involuntarily the young girl
-crossed herself as she watched the cold, clear beams which fell long and
-pale across the altar, streaming down in flickering waves of light
-towards where she knelt in one of the stalls; for, high-born as she was,
-the superstitions of the day ran riot in her mind, and well she knew the
-baneful influence of the moon on the destiny of the Breton, and yet--as
-she argued to herself--the evil omen of the ghostly light might be
-averted, seeing that he whom she would fain succour was no Breton; and
-with the thought came others, more mocking and bewildering.  Why did she
-thus dare brave her father's anger, and outrage her maiden modesty for
-the sake of a stranger and an enemy? The burning blushes which
-overspread her cheeks at the thought of the plan she had conceived might
-have convinced her, but the mad whirl of her mind refused to be analysed
-too closely.  In vain she argued with herself that it was but her own
-keen sense of justice, so certain was she that the tale of Guillaume de
-Coray was false.  But why should it be false?  That she could not reply
-to, except by the illogical, but all-convincing, sense of her woman's
-intuition.  A false quantity that in a hall of justice.  Gwennola
-shuddered as she felt the frailty of such an argument, shuddered as she
-saw how fast the net of fate had immeshed this stranger.  There was a
-little sob in her throat as she bowed her head in her hands, a sob
-which, like her deeper thoughts, she refused to analyse.  Surely it was
-but a note of pity for an innocent man whom jealous hatred or some
-passion she could not divine was condemning to death?  A hand laid on
-her shoulder roused her, and with a little frightened cry she sprang to
-her feet, but it was only Father Ambrose, that good father who had known
-and loved her ever since she had first lisped out baby confessions of
-infantine sin and wickedness at his knee.  Yes, it had been a happy
-thought to send for him, though for his own good she must deceive him as
-to her intentions.
-
-"The hour is late, my daughter," said the old priest gently.  "What
-wouldest thou with me, child?  Surely 'tis no time," he added with a
-smile, "even for confessions?"
-
-"Nay, my father," she said softly, "'tis no confession, but perchance
-more of pity for one unjustly condemned to death that moves me to crave
-thy help."
-
-"To death?" he echoed, glancing keenly at her. "Nay, daughter, but what
-hath chanced? and who in the château of thy gallant father may dare to
-condemn unjustly?"
-
-"Nay," she replied, "listen, my father, and thou shalt judge for
-thyself," and in a few hurried sentences she told her tale.
-
-Father Ambrose listened with bent brows, narrowly watching the fair face
-of the narrator as she spoke.
-
-"Yes," he said gently, when she had finished, "I too am of thy opinion,
-my child, for I have watched by this sick man's side for many hours, and
-methinks truly he is a brave and loyal knight, with no such cruel smirch
-of treachery lying at his heart; but for all that, daughter, we have
-scarce known him for two days, and it may well be that we are deceived,
-for wherefore should Guillaume de Coray conceive so terrible a tale in
-falseness?"
-
-"Nay, that I know not," replied Gwennola, sighing, "except that he is
-false, father, false to the heart's core, and speaketh lies as easily as
-he who is the father of them.  Nay, father, reprove me not, for never
-husband of mine shall he be, by the grace of St Enora herself I swear
-it; rather would I die, far, far rather bury myself behind convent walls
-than marry a traitor and coward."
-
-"Nay, daughter," rebuked Father Ambrose, "talk not so wildly, though in
-the life of the convent there be much peace and happiness for those who
-find little without; but thou, my child," he added with a shrewd smile,
-"wert no more born to be a nun than to be the wife of a traitor.  But
-see, the night grows apace, and methinks we do little good in speaking
-ill of thy kinsman; better it were to pray for the soul of this poor
-gentleman who dies with the morrow's sun, or rather, that if it please
-the holy saints to alter so sad a destiny, to send succour to one whom
-we, at least, do look upon as innocent of this black crime whereof he is
-accused."
-
-"Pray for his soul?" murmured Gwennola with a sigh; then a half smile
-parted her lips.  "Nay, father," she murmured, "surely 'twill be a
-fairer division between us if thou prayest for his soul and I for his
-body.  But nay, look not reprovingly, dear father, but listen to the
-prayer of thy little Gwennola, who called thee hither to crave a favour,
-besides telling thee of this sad work of the morrow."
-
-"And that, my daughter?" questioned the old priest with a whimsical
-smile, well knowing the coaxing tones with which she pleaded.
-
-"That," she whispered, whilst the colour surged back into her pale
-cheeks, "is to bring hither Monsieur d'Estrailles, that I myself may
-tell him of his danger and--and bid him farewell, for I will not be
-present on the morrow to see a noble knight suffer such cruel
-injustice."
-
-For a moment Father Ambrose was silent, eyeing her gravely and
-thoughtfully.
-
-"Child," he said at last, "this knight is but a stranger who scarcely
-knoweth thee.  Deemest thou it be seemly or maidenly on thy part thus to
-crave audience with such an one, alone, at night?"
-
-With crimson cheeks but undaunted eyes Gwennola faced the old man.
-
-"Nay, father," she said steadily, "deem me not unmaidenly.  Hast ever
-found thy little Gwennola aught but discreet and jealous of her honour?
-Nay, father, had I known this poor knight better, I could not have
-craved such an interview, but seeing he is but a stranger whom--whom I
-pity, surely there were no harm!"
-
-"But wherein the good?" questioned the priest. "Surely it were best for
-me to seek Monsieur d'Estrailles' chamber and tell him all; then, when I
-have shriven him, we may well pass the night in prayer for his soul, and
-that the saints may give him fortitude for the morrow."
-
-"Nay, father," whispered Gwennola pleadingly, "I too am praying for the
-good knight's body, as thou didst agree, and I would fain give him one
-word anent the preserving of it, which can be but for his ears alone.
-Nay, dear father, thy little Gwennola pleads with thee not to deny so
-trifling a boon. What ill can befall?  A few simple words of comfort and
-farewell to a poor stranger who to-morrow must die, and then for the
-rest of the night thou mayest wrestle alone with him in needful prayer
-for his soul."
-
-"Nay, child, but 'tis scarce seemly," sighed Father Ambrose.  "And didst
-thy father hear of it, methinks my office of confessor would be held but
-a brief space. Still----"
-
-"Still," urged Gwennola softly, "thou wilt not deny me so small a
-boon--but ten minutes, my father, and then thou and he may spend the
-hours that remain in making peace with Heaven."
-
-"I fear me," sighed the priest heavily, "that thou hast inherited the
-spirit of our first mother, my daughter, and temptest man with fair
-words as she did with pleasant fruit.  Yet--well I wot thou art
-discreet, child, and thy heart is soft and warm with pity,
-doubtless,--nay, there can be no warmer feeling in thy breast for this
-poor knight.  'Twere impossible that love can find an entrance in so
-brief a space."  He looked curiously into the flushed, smiling face as
-he spoke.
-
-"Nay, father," laughed Gwennola softly.  "Fie on thee!  Am I not
-betrothed to my cousin?"
-
-Father Ambrose sighed as his keen ear caught the ring of defiance in the
-last words.
-
-"I pray our Blessed Lady that I do no harm," he murmured, crossing
-himself devoutly.  "Methinks there can be little ill in so kind a
-thought of pity, and it may be that the poor monsieur will regard more
-thy words than mine.  Mary, Mother, have pity on his soul!"
-
-"And his body," whispered Gwennola.  "See, father, we say amen to both
-petitions; and now, haste thee quickly, for the time, as thou sayest,
-draws on apace."
-
-Slowly shaking his head, as if still beset with doubts as to his wisdom
-in thus yielding to what he considered a wild, if generous whim, Father
-Ambrose went his way, leaving Gwennola to pace the chapel with eager
-steps, finally flinging herself down before the great crucifix which
-stood upon the little altar. But even prayers at that moment were little
-better than a wild, incoherent cry, so great a turmoil raged in the
-young girl's heart.  Now fears beset her as to the folly of an
-undertaking as perilous as it was daring; only the thought of de Goray's
-cruel triumph on the next day goaded her forward to persevere in what
-had been the impulse of a moment, and even this thought scarcely held
-her to a purpose which of a sudden seemed to grow impracticable,
-unmaidenly, almost unseemly.  Girt round as the young girls of the
-period were with a host of restrictions and proprieties, the part she
-now proposed to play seemed almost impossible; only the daring blood of
-a Breton maid would have made such a thought conceivable, and now
-outraged modesty rang a host of warnings in her ears.  This stranger
-knight, what would he think of such a suggestion?  What would he deem
-her, thus boldly to seek an interview, herself unsought?  She had been
-mad to have thought of such a possibility of escape, and now perhaps he
-would scorn her for her unmaidenly forwardness.
-
-The burning blush which swept over her cheeks had scarce had time to
-cool when her quick ear caught the sound of footsteps, halting and slow,
-as if their owner walked with difficulty, and at the sound her woman's
-pity forgot the false sense of shame which had agonized within her.  Ay,
-and she forgot too to question wherefore she took such interest in a
-stranger, as he stood before her, and her quick heart throb told her
-swiftly that it was more than pity and love of justice which had brought
-her to dare risk so much for his sake.
-
-Only ten minutes, and a life weighing in the balances!  Parbleu! was it
-a time for maiden coyness and false bashfulness?  He stood still in the
-moonlight, looking towards her with an eager, questioning glance in his
-dark eyes.  How handsome he was and noble, and yet how pale!  Ah! that
-unhealed wound in his side--doubtless he suffered much, and yet----
-
-She was at his side now, her hood slipping back from her flushed face;
-for even at that moment she was a woman, and the ill-omened moonlight
-had no grudge against the gleaming tresses of her hair.
-
-"Monsieur," she whispered.  "Ah, monsieur, think me not unmaidenly, but
-it was your life that was in danger, which is----"
-
-"Unmaidenly?" he interrupted gently.  "Nay, mademoiselle, to me, though,
-alas! I have known you so short a space, you must always be the
-embodiment of all that is most fair and lovely in womankind; but," he
-added, seeing that though the colour on her cheeks deepened, she had too
-much to say to listen to tender words, "you would fain have speech with
-me, mademoiselle, on a matter of much gravity, the good father saith?"
-
-Rapidly she told the tale, with every now and then a catch in her breath
-of sheer excitement, but when she would have gone on to what was deepest
-in her heart, he checked her with a little imperative gesture of
-command.
-
-"Nay, mademoiselle," he said firmly, "before aught else let me clear
-myself of this foul calumny.  Ma foi! that this accursed wound prevents
-me from driving the lie down the dog's throat.  Pardon, mademoiselle,
-but it is hard for a d'Estrailles to listen to so deep an insult and yet
-wear his sword sheathed; but no--well I understand how matters lie--the
-word of a Frenchman is naught against that of a Breton whose face hath
-not yet been unmasked. Nay, mademoiselle, with your father there rests
-no blame save blindness of sight perhaps in not reading traitor in false
-eyes; but to you, whose pure heart hath read so truly, it were but right
-to tell the tale as it stands, though methinks 'tis no easy one to read
-in all its blackness.  Yet at the battle of St Aubin du Cormier I saw
-that chance of which your kinsman has made so tangled a story; 'tis for
-you to help me to spell its meaning.  The battle was over, and, as yon
-villain truly saith, the Prince of Orange was taken prisoner in a
-neighbouring wood, whilst Louis of Orleans was found wounded amongst the
-slain. It chanced, as we searched for other prisoners of less note, that
-in this self-same wood I lighted on a man who wore the black cross of
-Brittany struggling with a soldier of France, but as I came near the
-Frenchman was overcome, and the Breton knight was about to turn aside,
-when another, wearing the same black cross as himself, stole swiftly up
-behind and smote him a foul blow which caused him to fall, methinks a
-corpse, almost at my feet.  Enraged at such treachery, I strove mightily
-with the murderer, inflicting, however, but a flesh wound on his left
-arm, and another of less import which clove his lower lip, his vizor
-being raised; but before I could slay or take him prisoner he dealt me a
-caitiff's blow which stunned me for a moment, and before I could recover
-he had fled through the trees."
-
-Gwennola's face had grown white to the lips, as d'Estrailles told his
-tale, but her blue eyes blazed, as she cried with a sob--
-
-"Monsieur, it is plain, the murderer was de Coray himself.  Oh, mon
-Dieu! mon Dieu! and I might even have married him."  Then, drawing her
-cloak round her, she signed to the young man to follow her.  "There is
-no time for further speech," she whispered softly; "all explanations,
-monsieur, I must tell you afterwards; for though it is clear to me that
-your story needs must be true, yon viper with his crooked tongue may
-well ensnare my father's wit and cruel injustice be done.  Yet it shall
-not be; I, Gwennola de Mereac, will save you, monsieur, because--because
-I love justice, and will not see foul murder done again by yon false and
-evil man."
-
-"But, mademoiselle?" said d'Estrailles in surprise. "What is your will?
-The good father----"
-
-"The good father knoweth not everything," she replied imperiously; "for
-the rest, monsieur, you may ask questions later, but at present we have
-but four minutes ere the too anxious father returns to bear you off to
-confession."
-
-She smiled up at his questioning face, and the beauty of it, seen but
-dimly from under the now close-drawn hood, set his pulses tingling and
-his heart throbbing in a way to which even the sense of his present
-perilous position had failed to stir them.
-
-Silently, however, in obedience to her command, he followed the slender,
-cloaked figure, though his surprise deepened as the raising of a piece
-of heavy tapestry disclosed a small postern door.
-
-"Do not speak," whispered Gwennola's soft voice in his ear, "until I bid
-you, and keep close beside me, monsieur, for your life."
-
-Out into the moonlight they crept as she finished speaking, a waning
-light now as the great silver orb sank westwards, flinging more fickle
-shafts of pale glory over the shadowed landscape.  Yet treacherous and
-fickle though she was, the Queen of Night smiled kindly for once on the
-two fugitives, and sent no searching rays to inquire wherefore those
-blacker shadows amongst shadows moved so haltingly down the broad
-terraces and across the little bridge which spanned the river.  How
-still the night was and how beautiful!
-
-So fascinating indeed had Job Alloadec found the contemplation of the
-starry heavens overhead that he had no eyes for shadows, stationary or
-otherwise, and so enchanting were the low, weird cries which filled the
-forest yonder, where bird and beast sought their nightly prey, that the
-good Job's ears were equally deaf to the sound of stealthy footsteps
-which passed him by, though, as the tail of one vaguely innocent eye
-glanced sideways towards the river, Job crossed himself, murmuring: "By
-our Blessed Lady, it cannot be that it is the little mademoiselle
-herself?"  And thereafter his faithful ears listened the more keenly for
-any sound other than the distant cries of the wolves and low melancholy
-note of the owl which rose from time to time from the neighbouring
-woods.
-
-"Tiens! monsieur," murmured Gwennola, as they paused at last under the
-safe shelter of the thicket. "Let us pause; your wound--ah, monsieur,
-it, I fear me, causes you much pain."
-
-"Nay," muttered d'Estrailles with white lips. "'Tis only a passing
-spasm; but, mademoiselle, the pain is naught compared to my wonderment,
-my gratitude, yet----"  He hesitated, as Gwennola, throwing back her
-hood, laughed merrily up into his astonished yet doubting face.
-
-"See, monsieur," she cried, the dare-devil light of triumph dancing in
-her blue eyes.  "You doubt! you wonder!  You say to yourself, 'She is
-mad, this demoiselle of Brittany, who brings a sick man into a desolate
-forest, from whence it is impossible to flee from his enemies'; and yet,
-monsieur, though doubtless it is mad, this scheme of mine, it is more
-sensible than it appears.  Yonder then is your horse, whom we must
-approach cautiously, for I would not that he proclaimed his master's
-presence.  'But,' you say to yourself, 'what use is even my good horse
-to me in this present plight? for, did I attempt to mount, my wound
-would give me such pain that I should fall swooning to the ground.'
-Doubtless monsieur is right. But, see, I do not say, 'Mount, ride,
-monsieur, it is finished, my scheme.'  No, I say instead, 'Let us hasten
-a little way through this dreary forest, you and I and the good steed,
-and it will chance that we come in time to a spot more lonely and
-desolate than any in all the region round; here we shall find
-shelter--poor and strange it may appear, but the gracious saints will
-have monsieur in their fair keeping, and so it shall be that he will be
-safe from his enemies until such time as he is able to mount and ride on
-his way.'"
-
-"Mademoiselle," stammered d'Estrailles, as he raised her little hand to
-his lips.  "Ah, mademoiselle, I am overwhelmed at such goodness, such
-generosity! Surely it is an angel in the garb of fairest womanhood whom
-the Blessed Mother hath sent to aid me from so black a snare!"
-
-"Nay, monsieur," she cried softly, smiling through the tears which
-filled her soft eyes, "'tis no angel, but only a poor Breton maid who
-loveth justice and bravery, and who hateth a lie and a false coward.
-But," she added with a glance half coquettish, half doubtful, "monsieur
-thanks me too soon; it may be that he will find his refuge less to his
-liking than his prison, for truly if monsieur hath the fears of
-many----"  She paused, smiling still as she looked at him, hesitating;
-but as his smile met hers the indecision in her manner passed.  "See,
-monsieur," she said, "I will explain; though let us not delay, lest
-darkness fall too soon.  This refuge to which I take monsieur is but a
-ruin at best, a ruin of what once was a chapel, very renowned, very
-beautiful, but for many years, ah! very many, it has ceased to be
-visited, save by the bats and owls, by reason of a very evil legend,
-which tells how one of the monks of a monastery hard by committed there
-a very evil and terrible deed, in punishment of which, seeing he escaped
-the justice of men, he is condemned to wander for ever in ghostly shape
-around the chapel where in his days on earth he served as the good God's
-servant, and so terrible is the sight of the poor brown friar that none
-dare pass within sight of the chapel walls, nay, not even in the broad
-light of day, for fear of encountering so dread a spectre; therefore
-monsieur will be safe if, if----"
-
-"I fear the monk's spectre less than thy kinsman's treachery and thy
-father's rope," smiled Henri d'Estrailles.  "Nay, mademoiselle, how can
-the sight of so harmless a spirit affright when I wear so sweet an
-amulet?"
-
-"An amulet?" she questioned, looking with curious eyes into his.
-
-"Ay," he replied softly, "the amulet, mademoiselle, of a brave maiden's
-aid and the tender memory of sweet eyes."
-
-"Nay," she said hastily, drawing her hood over her hair again, with a
-shy bashfulness, to hide perchance her blushes, "monsieur must remember
-that I but aid him, because--because----"
-
-"Ay--because?" he questioned eagerly, as he bent to look into the
-downcast face.  "Because?"
-
-"See, monsieur," she said hastily, pointing towards an opening in the
-path which they were treading; "yonder is the place.  Mary, Mother,
-protect us!" and she crossed herself rapidly as, with half-scared looks,
-she pointed to the rugged outline of a half-ruined chapel which stood on
-the very outskirts of the forest, sheltered only by a thick belt of
-trees from a wide stretch of moorland which lay, scarcely visible from
-where they stood, on their left.  Behind them, in the rapidly darkening
-thicket, rose the murmurous cries of the forest creatures; but in the
-open space around the ruin the flickering rays of the waning moon shone
-clear.  Wild and desolate was the spot, ghostly and weird the hour, yet
-Henri d'Estrailles smiled as he turned from scanning the refuge thus
-found to the trembling girl at his side.
-
-"Mademoiselle," he said, "what can I say to tell you of my gratitude?
-how prove my devotion for one who has at such risk sought to save me
-from my enemies?  Truly, methinks, I may safely abide in such a shelter
-without fear of too bold intruders; the very presence of monsieur the
-good priest, my friend, seems to haunt such a fitting dwelling-place.
-Nay, I do not jest, though I thank the saints I have not the fears which
-prove so strong a safeguard against my foes, for who could fear, I again
-demand, with such an amulet as you have given me?"
-
-"Nay," she whispered fearfully, "speak not lightly, monsieur, for though
-I--I have little fear, seeing that the saints ever have the innocent,
-Father Ambrose saith, in their keeping, still, 'tis ill speaking thus at
-midnight of the spirits of the dead, be they good or ill, and, and," she
-continued, trying to speak more bravely, "I have yet to show you your
-lodging, monsieur."  She stepped forward as she spoke, glancing back for
-him to follow, with a look in her blue eyes which might well have
-haunted those of martyr times, so brave yet so fearful it was.
-
-"See," she whispered, as she led the way towards the ruin, "Yvon and I
-discovered the secret in our childhood's days, and none other know it, I
-ween, for Yvon, ever fearless of aught, would ofttimes make me play here
-with him against my will, and so it chanced one day that we lighted on a
-chamber beneath the ruined altar.  'Tis but a narrow, evil place,
-monsieur, but at least a safe one."
-
-"And the horse?" questioned d'Estrailles eagerly, for now for the first
-time hope seemed verily to be opening a way of escape before him.
-
-"Nay," sighed Gwennola, "'tis our chiefest difficulty; but there is
-beyond the chapel yonder a small shed, monsieur, a shed also ruined, it
-is true, as the chapel, but 'twill serve as shelter, and, should the
-poor beast be discovered, still you may well lie hid in safety and
-security."
-
-The underground chamber, perchance in bygone days the chapel crypt, was,
-as the girl had said, small and ill lodging, but a man in extremity
-needs not to lie softly, and to Henri d'Estrailles it was more welcome
-in his need than a palace chamber might have been.  Yet the young man
-found it difficult with so full a heart to stammer forth his gratitude.
-
-"Nay," smiled Gwennola, her courage returning as he held her hands in
-his and she met the glance of his dark eyes, "'tis small thanks I need,
-monsieur, seeing I owed it to my father to save him from a crime of
-which he wots little; but now, monsieur, I must say farewell, do I
-desire to return ere the moonlight fades from the forest," and she made
-a laughing grimace of misgiving as she pointed towards the gloomy path.
-"To-morrow e'en," she added, "food shall be brought to you, monsieur, if
-not by my hand, then by that of a faithful servant; till then I fear me
-your fare must be frugal, for Marie could bring me no more than this,"
-and with an apologetic smile she laid upon the ground a small basket
-containing bread and a flask of wine, which she had carried beneath her
-cloak.
-
-"Nay," exclaimed d'Estrailles vehemently, "mademoiselle, I cannot permit
-that you shall return alone and unattended through yon dark forest.
-Shame would it be on my knighthood and my honour to allow one who has
-already dared for me far beyond my deserts to run so terrible a risk."
-
-"Indeed," she pleaded, "I have no fear.  Nay, monsieur, I lay my
-commands upon you not to advance one step; already you faint with the
-pain of your wound, also it would be impossible that you should retrace
-your steps to this place.  Adieu, monsieur, I shall have reached the
-château ere ten minutes have passed."
-
-"Pardon, mademoiselle," he replied gently, but resolutely, holding her
-little hand so firmly in his that she could not escape him, "but it may
-not be; weak though I am, and but poor protection, I have at least my
-sword; as for finding my way, I have hunted too often in my own woods of
-d'Estrailles not to be able to follow any trail; for the rest,
-mademoiselle, I shall accompany you."
-
-The power of his will overcame her, yet her red lips pouted rebelliously
-under her hood.
-
-"I would fain return alone, monsieur," she reiterated with the
-persistence of a wilful child.  "'Tis but a short distance, and little
-ill is likely to betide."
-
-"The shorter to return," he replied coolly.  "As for ill, there will, I
-ween, be less likelihood with me beside you, mademoiselle."
-
-She yielded with an ill grace, though glad, as women ever are, to be
-mastered, for all her rebellion, and so, till they came to the river
-bank once more, there was silence between them.
-
-"And now perchance it may be your pleasure to let me go forward alone,
-monsieur," she cried with a toss of her pretty head, as they halted
-within the shadow of the trees, "seeing that the good Job awaits me
-yonder by the bridge.  Au revoir, therefore, monsieur, though methinks I
-had better say adieu, for small likelihood is there, I fear, that you
-will chance to retrace your footsteps in safety through yon black
-darkness."
-
-"I have no fear, mademoiselle," replied d'Estrailles, bowing low over
-her hand, "seeing that the light of your eyes would guide a man safely,
-however gloomy his path.  Nay," he said gently, still holding her hand
-in his, "pardon me, mademoiselle, if I allow the gratitude of an
-overfull heart too free a speech, or that I speak to the betrothed of
-another of what should remain for all time the secret of my heart."
-
-"Nay," she said, "monsieur has already spoken too much of gratitude for
-a service which after all was but a duty; though," she added softly, as
-she withdrew her hand, "as for being betrothed to Monsieur de Coray, it
-is a thing no more to be spoken of; a de Mereac mates not with a
-murderer, monsieur, least of all the murderer of a brother; methinks
-rather the convent walls shall find shelter for one whose life seems
-destined to be shrouded in so much of sorrow."
-
-"Nay," said d'Estrailles, still detaining her hand, "fairest lady, speak
-not of convent walls; too much of sunshine dwells in those tender eyes
-to be quenched in the gloomy grave of a convent life. Believe me,
-troubles are but as passing clouds, which come but to make the sun more
-joyous when it shines again, and methinks that very surely behind the
-clouds the sunshine of true love awaits one so gracious and beautiful;
-happy knight is he who shall inspire it: nay, could I but dream that
-such destiny might be mine for but one instant, it would be verily the
-opening of the gates of Paradise."
-
-"Nay, monsieur," she laughed softly, a roguish dimple deepening in her
-cheek, though her eyes grew tender as they looked half shyly into his.
-"The gates of such a Paradise are ever on the latch for the gallant and
-the brave."  And before he could reply, she had slipped her hand away
-and was gone, flitting like some dark shadow from out of the forest
-shade and across the little bridge which led through the orchard to the
-outer postern of the château, where Job still gazed in vague fascination
-towards the darkening sky with watchful ears and an anxious heart.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER VI*
-
-
-Again at early morn Mademoiselle de Mereac walked in the château gardens
-with her maiden by her side. It was the same book of hours over which
-her head was bent in seeming devotion, whilst one hand strayed
-listlessly over the black rosary she wore; but the devotions were, alas!
-but in the seeming, the words and illuminations which danced before her
-eyes conveyed not the slightest intelligence to the reader's mind.
-
-How strange it was that only yesterday she had paced up and down this
-very path, read the same words, viewed the same flowers, breathed the
-same air, and yet between that day and this a whole lifetime seemed to
-yawn!
-
-"Ah, Marie," the girl sighed, as at last, giving up the impossible task,
-she closed her book and flung herself down on the grassy sward which
-sloped riverwards, "I cannot read, nor certainly pray, to-day, except to
-say the same words which run like chariot wheels through my head, and
-which I fear me will shock poor Father Ambrose when I confess them. But
-come, let us talk!--sing!--laugh!--do somewhat! for if thou sittest with
-so grave a face I shall deem--nay, I know not what I shall deem," and,
-unclasping her hands, Gwennola began picking the pink-tipped daisies
-from the grass beside her, threading them into a fantastic chaplet with
-feverish fingers.
-
-Marie Alloadec eyed her mistress with solemn, curious eyes.  Of a
-temperament less excitable and impetuous, the slower train of her mind
-was seeking vainly to find a clue for this eccentric and wayward mood.
-Of her mistress's nocturnal adventure she had not ventured a question,
-though ever since Job's whispered hints concerning the shadow which had
-flitted by him in the moonlight, she had been devoured with curiosity.
-But for once Gwennola was reticent, and only gave evidence of the
-anxious stirrings of her mind by her variable and uncertain moods: now
-plunged in melancholy, now bursting forth into a wild hilarity which
-surprised, if it did not shock, her staid handmaiden.
-
-"See!" cried Gwennola, holding up her chain for admiration.  "Is it not
-altogether charming?  I must e'en make another.  Gather me some more
-flowerets thou idle wench, seeing that thy tongue seemeth somewhat tied
-this gay morn."
-
-"Nay," sighed Marie lugubriously, "I thought, my mistress, rather of the
-fate of the poor knight in yonder turret room than of the sunshine."
-
-"And wherefore shouldst thou think of him?" laughed Gwennola teasingly,
-as she bent forward, either to gather a more deeply-tinted daisy which
-caught her fancy, or to hide a sudden wave of colour which flushed her
-cheeks.  "Fie on thee, Marie! heardest thou not that he is a foul
-traitor and murderer to boot?"
-
-Marie gaped, but ere she could open her mouth for a reply, a shadow
-falling athwart the grass between them warned her of the reason for her
-mistress's high-pitched words of virtuous reproof.
-
-"Ah, my cousin, a fair morrow to thee," cried Mademoiselle de Mereac, as
-she sprang lightly to her feet to face the new-comer.  "What! another
-gloomy brow?  'Tis certain that you and Marie both must have walked on
-the weed of straying yesternight and seen more unwelcome visions in
-yonder forest."
-
-De Coray's face grew more sullen than before at her mocking words, as he
-glanced from one to the other.
-
-"You do ill to jest, mademoiselle," he said sternly, "seeing what hath
-chanced."
-
-"Chanced?" she echoed innocently, cutting short his speech with a gay
-little laugh.  "Nay, mon ami, naught hath chanced to my knowledge this
-morn, save that I have made this chaplet of flowers to crown the head of
-wisdom, justice, and mercy."  And she made as though she would have
-flung him the daisy wreath.
-
-"A truce to such folly," he snarled.  "Well enough you know, maiden, of
-what is in my mind, and dost strive therefore to hide knowledge behind
-the mask of foolery."
-
-"Nay," she cried again, her blue eyes flashing at him, though she still
-smiled.  "Truly, I forgot my reverence to so illustrious a personage.
-Marie, my child, thy best curtsy to monsieur, the high chief executioner
-and hangman of Mereac."  And she swept a deep and mocking obeisance, her
-eyes still on his face.
-
-"Ay," he retorted, scowling at her this time without disguise.  "But
-better the executioner of a foul traitor and murderer than a----"
-
-She checked him with an imperious gesture.
-
-"Have a care, monsieur," she said in a low voice, which trembled
-nevertheless with anger as she read the insult in his eyes.  "Have a
-care lest I tell my father your words, ay, and not only of words,
-monsieur, but of deeds done in that dark wood at St Aubin du Cormier."
-
-He laughed aloud, though there was an ugly look in his eyes.
-
-"Your opportunity has already come then, mademoiselle," he replied
-sneeringly, "for your father hath bidden me summons you to his
-presence."
-
-Again she swept him a curtsy, but this time with statelier grace, as she
-turned and walked onwards alone towards the château, ignoring altogether
-his proffered arm.  Her face had grown paler, but her blue eyes were
-bright and undaunted as her spirit rose to the ordeal before her;
-perhaps it was steeled as she glanced wistfully towards, the forest and
-stood once more in fancy under yonder oak tree, looking up with swiftly
-beating heart into dark eyes which told their tale so far more
-eloquently than their owner's halting words.
-
-The Sieur de Mereac stood erect in the midst of the great hall, his tall
-form towering there like some giant figure of old as he swept an eagle
-glance over the little group of retainers who stood, scared and
-panic-stricken, in the background, and whom he waved aside with an
-imperious gesture as his daughter, as erect as himself, with her face
-upraised, pale, but proud, came slowly forward, curtsying silently as
-she stood before him, but without attempting to embrace or smile at him,
-as she had ever done before.
-
-Unconsciously the old man sighed as his stern glance met hers.  Was this
-his little Gwennola?--the child with the ruddy curls and laughing eyes,
-who so short a time since would scramble up on to his knee, and, laying
-her shining head against his breast, plead with all a spoilt child's
-boldness for a tale of his battles with the cruel French.
-
-Alas! the child had gone.  For the first moment he realized it, and in
-her place stood this pale, defiant woman, who, he bitterly told himself,
-had deceived him so cruelly.
-
-Perchance it was the memory of the blue-eyed child running to meet him,
-hand in hand with that tall, handsome youth, his lost Yvon, which
-steeled his proud, passionate heart against her; or perhaps it was that
-he read the reflection of his own indomitable will and dauntless courage
-in her clear eyes.  To him it seemed more meet that womankind should
-bend, humbly and submissively, to his sovereign will, little dreaming
-that this slim girl from her cradle had, instead, bent him to hers, till
-the two imperious tempers had chanced to clash on so dire a field.
-
-"Child," said the old man hoarsely, "what is it that thou hast done?
-that thou--daughter of mine--hast dared to do?  Nay," he cried, his
-voice breaking in a cry of almost piteous entreaty, "'tis impossible
-that thou hast done so treacherously, my Gwennola, my little Gwennola!
-Tell me then, child, and I will believe thy word, though all the angels
-in heaven, ay, and the devils in hell witness against thee--tell me that
-thou hast not done this thing; that the escape of this thrice accursed
-murderer of thy brother is not known to thee; that thou hast had naught
-to do with so evil a deed."
-
-"Father," cried the girl, clasping her hands, whilst her blue eyes
-brimmed with tears at the note of pleading anguish in his voice.  "My
-father, listen to me.  Verily, I have had naught to do with the escape
-of my brother's murderer, seeing that he standeth here, yet will I not
-deny that I, and I alone, aided the escape of a noble and gallant
-knight, whose life might well have been forfeit to the foul slander of
-his enemies."
-
-As she spoke she would have drawn nearer to her father's side, have
-taken the trembling hand which played with the girdle of his long robe,
-but that he motioned her back with a fierce gesture, half despair, half
-loathing.
-
-"A noble knight!" he cried furiously.  "A noble knight indeed to blacken
-the honour not only of my daughter, but of his just accuser, for well I
-can guess the lies with which his viper's tongue hath filled thy foolish
-ears.  Nay, girl, speak no more, but rather go from my presence ere my
-hand strike down the child who hath stooped so low to save the murderer
-of her only brother, and a lying traitor."
-
-"Nay, monsieur," murmured de Coray smoothly, as he stepped forward,
-"surely you would not thus leave so grave a matter, painful as it must
-be to your noble heart to unveil so black a story; but it may be," he
-added softly, glancing towards the young girl's bowed figure, "that the
-righteous wrath of a just parent hath brought remorse to a daughter's
-heart; perchance her eyes are opened to what may well have been but the
-foolish impulse of a generous heart, and now that she seeth her act in
-its true light, she may be able to guide us in our search for the
-traitor."
-
-At the words, through whose silky softness it were easy for a keen ear
-to detect the note of bitter mockery, Gwennola flung back her head with
-a gesture of angry pride; her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes
-sparkled with an indignant fury.
-
-"Liar and traitor!" she cried bitterly, "viper, monsieur, that you are,
-thus to strive to poison the fame of a noble knight, because, forsooth!
-he chanced to witness the foul deed whereof you accuse him; but be
-warned, monsieur, sin wings its homeward way to the heart that brought
-it forth, and foully shall perish the hand that sought thy kinsman's
-life, and the tongue that strove to tarnish his sister's name."
-
-"Peace, woman!" snarled de Coray angrily, though his face grew pale as
-her words rang in the rhythm of a curse; then, turning to de Mereac with
-a shrug of his shoulders, "Monsieur my uncle sees," he said, his voice
-trembling with suppressed anger; "verily it would seem as though this
-Frenchman had bewitched the poor lady; perchance a little solitary
-confinement would best bring her to see the error of her ways, whilst
-we, monsieur, strive to undo what at worst might well be a foolish
-maiden's mad whim, by seeking in yonder forest for the murderer, who
-doubtless could scarce ride far, if it be true that his wound was so
-sore."
-
-"Go to thy chamber, girl!" commanded de Mereac of his daughter sternly,
-"and seek repentance of thy waywardness and sin in prayer; it may be
-that if thy heart still remaineth obdurate, a convent cell shall be made
-to cure it."
-
-"Nay," interrupted de Coray with a smile; "methinks 'twere wiser, mon
-oncle, to give to me the sweet task. When I have the felicity to call
-mademoiselle my wife, be assured that I shall take good care to teach
-her how much foolishness there is in such acts which leave even the
-shadow of reproach upon so fair a fame."
-
-He looked for a tempest of anger or scorn doubtless from the girl beside
-him; but this time he was mistaken. White to the lips, Gwennola curtsied
-silently to her father, and without so much as a glance towards de
-Coray, walked with head erect and proud step down the long hall and up
-the narrow winding stairway which led to her own apartment.  But
-coldness and pride vanished as, in a tempest of tears, she flung herself
-into Marie's arms.
-
-"Would I were dead," she sobbed passionately. "Oh, Marie, Marie, such
-cruel words my father flung at me, and he scorned me, Marie--me, his
-little Gwennola, till I thought my very heart would break; and oh! the
-bitterness of it when that foul traitor, my kinsman, stood near, pouring
-forth his venomous lies into my father's open ears; and he believed him,
-Marie. Ah! the shame of it, he believed him rather than trusting the
-fair honour of his daughter."
-
-"Ah, mademoiselle," cried Marie, whose rosy face was pale also with
-fear, and whose eyelids were swollen with the tears of sympathy she had
-already shed for her young mistress, "how terrible a mischance is here!
-But, mademoiselle, 'tis, I warrant me, much the doing of that evil imp,
-Pierre the fool, for Job hath been telling me what chanced whilst we
-were out yonder plucking daisies and dreaming little of the ill in store
-for us."
-
-"Pierre the fool?" echoed Gwennola, drying her tears and looking at her
-handmaiden in surprise. "Nay, what hath the saucy varlet to do in the
-brewing of such pickle?"
-
-"He loveth well Monsieur de Coray," said Marie, nodding her head wisely,
-"and hath as little liking for thee, sweet lady, as he hath for aught
-that is good and true and unlike his own crooked person and soul; and so
-it chanced that last night, instead of sleeping beside Reine and Gloire,
-as any well-ordered Christian fool should have done, he poked and pryed
-into what concerned him not, and, creeping softly in the darkness down
-the chapel steps, because, forsooth! he thought to hear voices, he
-cometh so suddenly upon Father Ambrose--who, for some purpose of which
-the saints alone wot, was waiting there near the chapel door--that the
-poor priest fell backwards in his alarm down the two steps that
-remained, and so cracked his head that he hath lain unconscious ever
-since, and cannot be questioned, which perchance is well for him, as it
-may be that my lord's anger against him will have time to cool, as he
-suspects him of aiding you also, dear lady, seeing that the mischievous
-Pierre, not content with well-nigh killing the good father, goeth into
-the chapel, where, failing to find aught to account for voices, he
-further pryeth till it seemeth he picked up your kerchief on the very
-steps of the altar, and this with his lying tale he carries to his
-master at dawn, whereupon Monsieur de Coray laid his accusations upon
-you for the escape of the French monsieur."
-
-"Nay," said Gwennola quietly.  "That were a tale I must needs have told,
-were it but for the saving of the poor Father Ambrose, of whose sorry
-plight I grieve to hear.  Fain would I to his side, Marie, but that even
-is forbidden me, for here must I bide a prisoner, whilst, alas! alas! it
-may be that even now they discover the hiding-place of--of----"  She
-checked herself, meeting Marie's curious eyes. "Nay, wench," she said
-sharply, "heed not my foolish words; and yet, oh, Marie, Marie! my heart
-breaks with fears and sorrow.  Was ever maid so unhappy as thy poor
-mistress?"
-
-"Nay, dear lady," said the girl affectionately, laying her hand softly
-on her mistress's.  "Courage! it may yet be that all will be well.  See,
-we will pray to our Blessed Lady, whose protection and aid will most
-surely be vouchsafed to the persecuted and innocent."
-
-But in her distress and excitement even prayer proved small solace to
-the impatient spirit of the unhappy maiden.  To and fro she paced with
-all the restless agony of a newly caged, wild creature, now weeping, now
-crying to Marie to aid her, though in what she neither said nor seemed
-to know.  But presently the paroxysm of her passion passed, and after
-kneeling for a lengthy space before the carved figure of her patron
-saint, she rose and smiled more calmly into Marie's anxious face.
-
-"I was distraught," she said simply, "methinks with very weariness as
-well as grief.  Now go, Marie, leave me to compose myself in sleep; last
-night I rested little and my eyes are heavy for need of slumber. Go
-then, little one, and glean for me what news thou canst anent the return
-of my father; 'twill be a fruitless quest, I wot well, on which they
-ride, seeing that the holy saints have him I love in their keeping."
-
-Her foster-sister, with wide eyes of wonder, not unmingled with dismay,
-echoed her last words.
-
-Gwennola smiled, and though her colour rose, she replied quietly--
-
-"Nay, Marie, thou art over-bold, wench, and yet, ah! there is none other
-to whom I may confess it, and by the love we bear each other, my Marie,
-well I know my secret is safe with thee.  Yes," she added softly, whilst
-a glad light stole into her tired eyes; "yes, it is true, my Marie, I
-love him, this noble Frenchman, who is a true and noble knight, neither
-traitor nor murderer, but my faithful servant and lover."
-
-"But," stammered Marie, forgetful of aught in her sheer amazement, "he
-is a Frenchman, mademoiselle! an enemy! one who would take away liberty
-from us of Brittany and bend our necks in the yoke of servitude."
-
-"Tush, little foolish one!" replied her mistress severely.  "Thou
-pratest of that of which thou knowest naught.  Indeed," she added, with
-an air of knowledge which sat quaintly on her childish head, "the love
-of Breton maid to French knight may well be, since men say our Duchess
-herself would fain have given her heart to the Prince of Orleans, had he
-not been already wed."
-
-"Nay," murmured Marie, abashed, yet persistent, "but Madame the Duchess
-is the bride of the noble King of the Romans."
-
-"That goeth not to say that she loveth him," retorted Gwennola wisely;
-"indeed, poor Duchess! how can she, seeing she hath never seen him?  And
-ill is it to wed without love, be a maid queen or peasant wench; and
-verily I will have none of it on such terms, though my father command me
-to take the veil in choice.  Ah, Marie!" she cried, stretching out her
-hands towards the hesitating girl, "thou wilt help me, wilt thou not?
-For I love him, this poor, persecuted knight, Frenchman though he
-be--ay, and shall love him and none other for all time: and love is
-sweet, my Marie, though as yet mayhap thou hast not tasted of its
-sweetness; but when it cometh----"
-
-"Nay," retorted Marie tossing her head, "small love have I for any man,
-save only for my father and brother Job, for well I wot, as my mother
-hath oft told me, that they are but poor creatures at best, and little
-worth the tears and pains they put us foolish women to.  Yet, sweet
-mistress," she added, laying her hand affectionately on Gwennola's, "I
-would aid _you_ with my very life, ay, though my lord verily putteth me
-to the torture for so doing."
-
-"Nay," murmured Gwennola, turning pale, "that my father would never do,
-as well thou knowest, foolish one."
-
-"As for that," replied Marie with a shrug of her buxom shoulders, "I
-know little of the kind, for my lord is a terrible man in passion, and
-for the torture--did not my Lord of Quimperel so do to death one of his
-wife's maidens who refused to confess her mistress's secrets?"
-
-"Nay," sighed Gwennola with a shudder, "my Lord of Quimperel is a man of
-bloodthirsty moods and evil repute, ever loving to inflict pain; but my
-father, changed though he be to his little Gwennola, by the poisoned
-tongue of lies, would never so forget his honour."
-
-"Be that as it may, sweet mistress," replied Mane, smiling, "I am yours,
-to do your will, even to the death; command me then, and blithely will I
-obey!"
-
-"I must e'en think," murmured Gwennola, pressing her hand to her
-forehead, "for well I can guess that at least my kinsman will leave no
-unguarded door of escape from his watchful eye.  Yet methinks we may
-outwit even him, my Marie, with caution and daring, if so be that my
-father's search to-day is fruitless."
-
-"Then monsieur lies yonder?" inquired Marie, eager, now that her
-scruples and surprise were overcome, to assist in this unexpected
-romance.
-
-"Hush!" whispered her mistress with raised finger. "Better it were not
-to speak on such matters, seeing that even walls have ears; but hie
-thee, Marie, below, and see what news thou canst bring me of how matters
-go."
-
-Those were days when the romance of love indeed reigned paramount in
-every woman's heart, from the lady who, from her casement, smiled down
-at her knight riding by with her favour in his helmet, to the serving
-wench who watched her swain go from her to the wars with a tear in her
-eye and a choking pride in her throat at sight of his gallant bearing
-and the bunch of bright ribbons she had herself pinned to his breast.
-And, alone now in her chamber, Gwennola was dreaming tenderly of the
-romance which had been borne so swiftly and unexpectedly into the grey
-gloom of her young life, flushing it with all the rosy dawn of love and
-beauty.  She told herself, as her heart throbbed gladly to her thoughts,
-that she had loved him from the moment she had seen him lying all
-unconscious in the forest.  And what wonder, seeing how empty of such
-dreams her heart had been before?--and yet how hungry for them, with the
-hunger for such romance as is dear to seventeen summers in any century!
-And she had found him, her knight, noble, handsome, surrounded with the
-glamour of strange and thrilling circumstances, chivalrous and devoted.
-Ah! it could not be that a foul lie and a hempen rope of shame should,
-rudely terminate so sweet an idyll?  Her heart seemed to beat to
-suffocation as she strove against the thought, listening with anxious
-ears for the return of Marie.
-
-How long the time seemed, and yet all too short, ere she heard the swift
-sound of returning feet!  Was it possible that even now the news would
-be that all was over, and that guile had triumphed bloodily over
-innocence and truth?
-
-"Mother of Help," she moaned, sinking once more on her knees before the
-little shrine--"Mother of Help, save him!"
-
-"Nay, lady," whispered Marie's voice behind her. "Have no fear, I have
-no news but what is good to hear, although I fear me that my lord and
-Monsieur de Coray have returned in no holy frame of mind from their
-bootless search, and resignation to failure sits not placidly on either
-brow.  I had speech with Jobik, poor fool! who, it seems, would fain
-have been cursing yon poor French monsieur for killing his young master,
-and perchance might have spoken evil words of you, had I not twitted him
-for a moon-faced oaf and told him all the truth."
-
-"Mother of Mercies, I thank thee!" cried Gwennola softly, as she bowed
-her head in thanksgiving.  Then, raising a radiant face to Marie, "Now,"
-she cried softly, "cometh the time for brave hearts and wise heads, my
-Marie, for we must e'en find some mode of taking to monsieur both food
-and drink, for starvation were little better than the rope, though
-perchance more honourable."
-
-"Nay, mademoiselle," said Marie earnestly; "you must leave such work to
-Jobik or to me.  Tell me but where the noble knight lies, and, I warrant
-me, he shall not die of starvation."
-
-But Gwennola shook her head, laughing and blushing as she replied--
-
-"Nay, Marie, be not too ready with thy offers, for, alas! what would the
-poor Job say"--she dropped her voice to a whisper--"did I bid him go by
-moonlight to the Chapel of the Brown Friar?"
-
-"Merciful saints!" gasped Marie, paling as she crossed herself.  "Nay,
-lady, you do but jest; it is not possible that a noble knight could find
-so fearful a resting-place?"
-
-"I say nothing," smiled Gwennola, "because, little curious one, it is
-better for thee not to be too wise; but verily it is truth that I must
-to the forest, this night, alone, to take food and wine to this gallant
-knight."
-
-Marie hesitated; the thought of her young mistress going alone into the
-dark and lonely forest was terrible, but honest and steadfast as was the
-girl's devotion, she would a hundred-fold rather have faced death itself
-than the grim spectre of the haunted chapel.
-
-"I beseech you, sweet mistress," she murmured through rising
-tears--"nay, I implore you--it is not possible that you, Mademoiselle de
-Mereac, should go alone, at midnight, through yon forest, for the sake
-of--the sake of----"
-
-"One whom I love," whispered Gwennola, half shyly, half defiantly.
-"Nay, maiden, chide me not; the name of Gwennola de Mereac shall lose
-none of its honour by so daring; and for cruel tongues, see you, my
-Marie, there will be none.  Fie on thee, child! dost not know yet, or
-hast listened to minstrel lays in vain, that love hath no fear so long
-as it reigns in purity and virtue?--and therefore such love shall be my
-amulet, did the Brown Friar himself strive against me."
-
-Again Marie crossed herself, with pale cheeks and frightened eyes, yet
-silenced by her mistress's glance more than her words, for well she knew
-by the compression of those small, rosy lips, and the sparkle in those
-bright eyes, that there was no resisting the proud young will.
-
-"An this be love," murmured the handmaiden as she turned aside, "may the
-holy St Catherine protect me from such spells! for verily my lady is
-distraught with it to dream of so mad an enterprise.  The saints
-preserve us from the wrath of my lord should some evil chance reveal
-it!"
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER VII*
-
-
-Softly the moonlight stole through the interlacing branches of the
-trees, like white-robed fairies who come earthward to kiss the sleeping
-flowers into fresh beauty for the morrow's sun.  Darkly against the
-silver sheen stood out the rugged, ivy-grown walls of the forest chapel.
-It was a spot sufficiently romantic for the youngest and tenderest of
-lovers, and yet not without its thrill of that gloom and foreboding
-which seems to haunt the land of Brittany, where such stern shadows seem
-indissolubly mingled with the wild beauties of poetry and romance.
-
-But, for the moment at least, shadows had fled into the darkness of the
-surrounding forest, and romance reigned clear and beautiful as the Queen
-of Heaven, who shed her silver beams down so softly on the two lovers
-sitting there amongst the ruins which superstition had clad with such
-terror and awe.
-
-It was the third night that Gwennola had successfully stolen out from
-her father's château, leaving two faithful hearts to beat in anxious
-fear for her safety until her return.  So little dreamt any of such an
-undertaking, that the task had been less difficult than she had
-supposed, and so, night after night Job had watched with gloomy fear the
-dark, hooded figure slip past him and vanish like some grim shadow into
-the grimmer blackness of the forest, and there, divided betwixt love and
-the overpowering fear of superstition, he had been fain to watch for her
-return, whilst the moments dragged by leaden-footed, till more than once
-love overcame fear, and he started from his post in search of his young
-mistress, only to come to a halt midway down the terrace path, whilst
-the beads of perspiration stood thickly on his brow as he muttered aves
-and paters, and finally with a groan of terror fled back to his place as
-he recalled the dread vision which had already looked at him,
-hollow-eyed and beseeching, from amongst the trees, till his knees
-knocked together in a perfect frenzy of terror.
-
-But no such fears now troubled Gwennola, for love had bidden such
-phantom terrors a mocking adieu. Yes, they were lovers now, not bowing
-and curtsying to each other, with eyes more bold and eloquent than the
-stiff phrases of their tongues; there was no more speech of gratitude or
-duty, or the many foolish subterfuges by which love must first hide
-himself, but instead all the glamour and passion of first love, which
-exaggerates itself and its dreams of sentiment and finds in itself so
-sweet a delirium that it forgets all else and mocks gaily at staid
-middle age, which shakes its head so wisely at such quaint fantasies and
-preaches truisms against its tender madness which are listened to with
-deaf ears; for youth must have its way and dream its dreams of love and
-fair ideals, which clothe it in all its springtide of beauty, little
-recking of the winter that must perchance disperse all, or sober them
-down to greyer tints.
-
-"Ah, sweet," whispered d'Estrailles as he bent down to look into the
-blue eyes raised so happily to his; "what shall I say to prove to thee
-the devotion with which thou hast inspired me, or thank thee for the
-tender heroism which brings thee thus to me through such perils?"
-
-"Nay," she replied gaily, "speak not of thanks, my Henri, but rather of
-our love.  What fear have I, my beloved, save for thy safety?  Ah," she
-cried, clasping her hands with a sudden gesture of pain, "every time my
-father rides forth my heart beats with terror for fear that by some
-unlucky chance he should discover thy hiding-place, for his heart is
-still bitter against thee, my Henri, for de Coray still distilleth his
-poisoned words into his ears; neither will he so much as look on me, his
-daughter; whilst for the poor Father Ambrose, he hath sworn to send him
-back to his monastery in disgrace so soon as his sickness is healed."
-
-"Nay, weep not, little one," said d'Estrailles gently, as he drew her
-into his embrace, "but let us rather dream of the days when all this
-suffering and wrong be past, and when thou, sweet Gwennola, art my wife,
-and ridest with me to our château on the gay Loire, where I will give
-thee sunshine and mirth, beauty and laughter instead of these dreary
-forests and grey gloom, which seem fitting surroundings for traitor
-hearts and sad forebodings."
-
-"Nay," she said with a sigh, "it is of my Brittany thou speakest, dear
-heart, and I would not that thou shouldst find it so ill a place, for I
-love it dearly, ay, so dearly!" she whispered, clinging to him, "though
-perchance in time thy château of sunshine shall be more dear, my Henri,
-because of thy presence; but I would have thee also to love in some
-measure the Château of Mereac, and in time, it may be, my father, who is
-good--ah! so good, so noble, so brave!--although now it would seem his
-ears are closed and his eyes blinded by a treacherous foe."
-
-"Nay," said her lover tenderly, "I was wrong, sweet, to speak of gloom
-where I found such sunshine as hath before never lighted the fairest
-spot of fair Touraine.  See then, it shall be that which thou lovest, I
-love, and what thou hatest----"
-
-He broke off to turn swiftly in the direction of the forest, his hand on
-his sword, as though he had caught a sound other than the constant
-murmur of cries from bird and beast which arose in plaintive cadences
-around.
-
-"What is it?" breathed Gwennola, with a little gasp of fear, as she bent
-forward to gaze in the same direction as that in which his eyes were
-still turned.
-
-"Methinks 'twas but a fancy," he replied softly; "and yet--see, sweet,
-what is that which moves yonder?  Nay, 'tis naught, but some animal,
-or----"
-
-But Gwennola's face had grown white with terror, as with horror-stricken
-eyes she gazed across the open space towards where, in a bright patch of
-moonlight, sat a small, wizened creature perched on its haunches, the
-very impersonation of some imp of darkness, which, after pausing one
-brief instant to mouth at them in seeming mockery, fled nimbly back into
-the forest with a shrill cry.
-
-"Bah," murmured d'Estrailles, devoutly crossing himself, "'tis verily a
-spirit of evil, little one, that fled at the glance of thy sweet eyes."
-
-"Nay, rather," faltered Gwennola tremulously, "'twas the ape of Pierre
-the fool, and verily the spirit of evil was doubtless lurking unseen in
-the shadows behind," and in a few brief words she told her lover of
-Marie's tale and the devotion of the fool to Guillaume de Coray.
-
-"Fly, Henri, fly!" she pleaded.  "Surely there is yet time; thy wound
-heals well, and methinks even at some pain 'twere better to fly before
-discovery overtakes us.  Alas, alas, how evil grows our case when it
-seemed to promise so fairly!"
-
-"Nay," laughed d'Estrailles undauntedly, "'twere better first to strive
-to teach fools their foolishness," and without awaiting her reply he
-plunged into the forest, only to emerge some moments later crestfallen
-and indignant.  "Truly the knave is in league with de Coray's own
-master," he said with a grimace of discomfiture.  "Not a trace of him is
-to be seen.  But come, sweet, wear not so troubled a brow; methinks the
-danger is as little pressing as heretofore, seeing that none know of yon
-snug chamber, where I may well mock their vigilance for many days."
-
-"Nay, Henri," entreated Gwennola, as she clung afresh to him.  "Go, I
-beseech thee, whilst there is yet time.  Oh, what agony shall I endure
-till thou art in safety!"
-
-But for all her pleading he refused to be turned from his purpose of
-lingering another day, yet less, perchance, from selfish motives as from
-fear of what might befall her did the fool's tale move her father's
-anger more mightily upon her.
-
-"To-morrow eve," he cried, laughing at her fears, as he held her two
-white hands in his, and kissed her on her quivering lips.  "Courage,
-little one, 'tis but a terror that will pass with the dawn, and if thou
-fearest the malice of this crooked fool, why, smile upon him with thy
-sweet eyes, and thou must needs make him thy slave for ever."
-
-So, perforce, seeing he was a man and wilful, she was fain to yield,
-though her blue eyes still looked into his with wistful foreboding as
-she entreated him to be careful, and remain in the safe shelter of his
-hiding-place.  So back through the forest they went together till they
-caught sight of Job Alloadec's broad figure standing stiff and straight
-by the outer postern of the wall, when they bade each other once more a
-tender adieu.
-
-"Farewell, little one," whispered d'Estrailles, the more gaily as he
-felt his cheek wet with a stray teardrop which had fallen from her soft
-lashes.  "Fear not yon impish fool, who dared thus insolently to look
-within the gates of Paradise; seal his tongue with sweet looks, and
-perchance a silver piece, and to-morrow----"
-
-"Ah, to-morrow," she sighed.  "Alas! to-morrow."
-
-"Ay, alas indeed," he murmured, "since I must needs, it seems, bid
-farewell to my sweet lady, and yet not farewell, but only au revoir,
-dear love, for if thy father relents not, nor opens his eyes to
-treachery and falsehood, I shall very speedily return to steal thee
-away, since till thy coming there will be no sunshine in the Château
-d'Estrailles, and the hours will go slowly for the very weariness of the
-waiting."
-
-She smiled sadly back into his face.
-
-"Ah, my Henri," she murmured, "what lies between those days and these?
-Verily my heart groweth heavy in wondering whether they will ever be."
-
-"Nay," he cried boldly, with all a man's insistence and scorn of
-danger's shadows, "they must needs be, sweet one, since love demands
-it."
-
-"Our Lady grant it," said she, and passed on her way towards the gloomy
-château, leaving him to ponder on what lay so dimly and mysteriously
-before them on the path of life; for verily it seemed that the course of
-true love was little likely to run smoothly for Breton maid and French
-noble in those days of bitter enmity and danger.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER VIII*
-
-
-The next day was at last drawing to a close.  All through the long hours
-Gwennola had sat waiting in torturing suspense for what news Marie might
-bring her.  Still a prisoner in her chamber, she had seen none save her
-foster-sister and brother since the day of Henri d'Estrailles'
-mysterious disappearance.  Had it not been for de Coray's insistent
-suggestions of ill, the Sieur de Mereac's heart would long since have
-softened towards his cherished daughter, and he would, perchance, after
-the fashion of love, have found some excuse for conduct which his inmost
-heart told him had some other motive than those maliciously suggested by
-de Coray's evil tongue; as it was, the latter so successfully kept the
-warmth of his anger stirred within him that he fiercely shunned any
-suggestion either of seeing or being reconciled to Gwennola, whilst upon
-Father Ambrose's innocent head were heaped the bitterest invectives of
-his fury.
-
-But even the news of her father's unrelenting anger towards her failed
-to move Gwennola's heart.  All thought, all feeling, was for the time
-being centred on her lover, after the manner of foolish and wayward
-maidens who, in the awakening of such passion, forget the love which has
-sheltered them from childhood; and in the case of Gwennola de Mereac
-such forgetfulness might in some measure be excused, seeing that love
-had been born with her twin-sister pity for a sick and innocent man, and
-such pity roused to the depths the finer fibres of her woman's heart.
-The instinctive feeling of protection towards one who was helpless had,
-even more than the vague, unnamed whisperings of love, steeled her to
-her purpose and inspired her courage in defiance of what she felt to be
-foul injustice to an innocent man.  But now pity was
-forgotten--submerged, as it were, in her passionate love, for Gwennola
-was a true daughter of Brittany, strong to hate as to love, undaunted,
-brave with that powerful tenacity of purpose which seems inherent in
-these people whose whole lives are set, as it were, against the adverse
-forces of nature, which strive for the mastery of that grey, bleak
-shore.  She had given her love to Henri d'Estrailles, and for that
-love's sake all ties were swept aside, save only those which upheld her
-own pure young soul and guarded the honour which must ever be more
-cherished even than love itself in a noble woman's heart.  Yet honour
-itself seemed to call her now to act the part she had set herself,
-honour not only her own but her father's, who little knew the part that
-fate was striving to force upon him.
-
-So it was with a clear conscience that Gwennola knelt in prayer before
-the little shrine of the Virgin Mother, asking help in her secret
-enterprise.
-
-"And oh, Blessed Mother of Heaven," she cried with a sob, as she buried
-her face in her hands, "grant that all may be well, and that the saints
-may have him in their good keeping till we meet again."  But even with
-the words her heart grew chill as she pondered how that meeting might
-be, and how, even did he escape present danger, they, whom circumstances
-had called to enmity rather than love, might hope to meet to plight
-their troth in happier days.  Instead, there uprose before her eyes the
-mocking, cruel face of Guillaume de Coray, and when she turned with
-loathing from it, there seemed to meet her only the sunless gloom of
-grey, convent walls.
-
-"At least," whispered hope and youth, "there is still to-night; once
-more his arms shall hold thee in his tender embrace, and thou shalt read
-fresh vows of love in those dark eyes which speak only of faith and
-constancy; surely it will be that love hereafter shall find another way
-in the darkness of the future."
-
-So she comforted herself, and listened also to Marie's cheering words of
-confidence with a smile on her lips; but the smile faded as amongst the
-dark shadows of the trees gloomy forebodings gathered once more and
-pressed their weight of sad presentiment on her beating heart as she
-hurried along the narrow path.
-
-How foolish it was to pause with a fresh throb of fear as from the
-thicket near the rustle of a scurrying rabbit startled her ear!  And why
-should she tremble so violently when a great white owl almost swept her
-cheek with its soft wings as it vanished into the darkness with a low
-melancholy hoot?  So overstrung indeed were the poor girl's nerves that
-she must have fled homewards in sheer terror of she knew not what, did
-not a stronger emotion impel her forward.
-
-At last, however, the outskirts of the wood were reached; yonder through
-the trees she caught a glimpse of the grey, ivy-covered walls.  How
-still all seemed!  Even for the moment the distant cries of birds and
-beasts were hushed; the sound of her own footsteps alone broke the
-silence--a silence which had oppressed her ever since she had left the
-slumber-bound château.  Her heart bounded as she hurried forward,
-looking, with eager eyes, to see the tall figure standing there with
-outstretched arms and welcoming whispers of love.  It was strange that
-he had not heard her approach and hurried forth to greet her, as he had
-before, but still----
-
-The wondering thought was suddenly checked as she stepped from the
-shadow of the trees into the moonlit space surrounding the forest
-chapel.  All was as silent and untenanted as that first night when she
-and her lover had stood there glancing with half-scared looks towards
-the weird old ruin.
-
-"Henri," she cried, and in the silence her voice seemed to ring shrill
-and clear, "Henri!"
-
-A vague note of terror rang in the cry as she hurried with panting
-breath towards the ruin itself, telling herself that he might perchance
-have fallen asleep in his hiding-place.  But no; no answer was returned
-to her cries; the chamber under the altar was empty and deserted.  For a
-moment she stood there, paralyzed with fear, yet scarcely realizing what
-could have happened.  It could not be that he was taken?  She put the
-idea from her in agony.  No, no, not that! How foolish she was!--how
-could he have been taken without the knowledge of Job or Marie?  All day
-neither her father nor de Coray had left the castle, not even for their
-favourite hawking or boar hunting; no whisper of suspicion had been
-breathed in the hearing of either of her faithful servants; it had
-seemed, so Marie said, that all thought--if they thought at all--that
-the French knight had long since ridden away far beyond pursuit.  Then a
-hundred eager suggestions filled her mind: he had gone to meet her as
-she came, and had missed his way; or perhaps, learning of some new
-danger, had been forced to fly without awaiting her coming.  But a
-hurried search of the shed close by convinced her at least of the
-futility of this last idea, for Rollo still stood in his place, turning
-with a low whinny of inquiry to see if it was his master who had come
-with his evening meal.
-
-"Alas! alas!" moaned Gwennola, fresh fears assailing her, as she turned
-once more towards the gloomy ruin, "what hath chanced?  Oh, wherefore
-heeded he not my warning to fly yesternight?  Ah, if----"  She had
-stooped, with the last words on her lips, and, with the confirmation of
-her fears before her, raised from the ground a tiny cap decorated with
-one tiny bell--it was the cap of Petit Pierre, the fool's ape.  "He is
-taken," whispered the girl to herself in a dull, unrealizing tone; "he
-is taken."
-
-With dawning comprehension she gazed round with a shiver, picturing the
-scene which, like the vision of a crystal-gazer, began slowly but
-clearly to rise before her.
-
-Here he had waited for her, unconscious of danger, with a smile on his
-lips and the love-light in his eyes, perchance in his folly humming the
-air of a ballad, as he had yesternight.  Then through the trees
-treachery had stolen upon him, and where he had looked to see love,
-death himself had stalked grimly on the scene.  She shuddered, covering
-her face with her hands, as if to shut out the sight of some terrible
-phantom.  Yet for all that her restless brain conjured up before her
-unwilling eyes fresh scenes of terror; her father, stern, implacable,
-revengeful, as he remembered the fair-haired boy so cruelly done to
-death in that far-off wood of St Aubin, and beside him the true
-perpetrator of the deed, smiling, triumphant, full of cruel and evil
-suggestions and words, with the cunning, vacant face of Pierre the fool,
-gleeful at the part he had been doubtless paid to play, at his elbow;
-whilst the background was filled up with grim, curious faces, pitiless,
-for the most part, save where Job and Marie Alloadec stood fearful, and
-perchance weeping, yet not for his sake, but for hers.  Alas! not one
-there to pity _him_, to look kindly on _him_; he was alone, surrounded
-by cruel enemies, with death standing in the shadows beside him--death,
-in all its hideous garb, without even the golden glamour of glory to
-hide its mocking features. A resolve to hasten back to the château and
-to stand beside the man she loved overcame the sense of faintness which
-at first threatened her, but even as she rose, with that aching pain of
-sorrow, too deep for tears, at her heart, a cold touch on her hand sent
-the blood throbbing back with a sudden frenzy of fear.  The memory of
-the unrepentant friar who so grimly strolled around the earthly scene of
-his sins came vividly before her, and as she bent her eyes she fully
-expected to see them rest upon the shadowy cowl of the chapel's ghostly
-inhabitant.  Instead it was the lean, grey form of the wolf-hound Gloire
-on which her eyes fell, meeting the beast's dumb, affectionate gaze with
-the thrill which sympathy in distress ever brings, even if that sympathy
-is but a dog's--perchance at times a truer and more helpful one than his
-human master's.
-
-"Gloire," she whispered, bending down with a sudden impulse to kiss the
-shaggy, faithful head. "Ah, Gloire, how camest thou hither?  Was it
-because thou knewest--wise beast!--that thy mistress was in sore need of
-a comforter, and alone in this terrible place, with a heart which, I
-fear me, must break ere dawn?"
-
-The great animal whined as it licked her face, then suddenly drew back
-with a low, ominous growl as a rustle of branches near caught their
-ears.  In an instant Gloire was transformed from the sympathizer into
-the outraged guardian, his grey hairs bristling, his teeth gleaming
-white from drawn-back gums, his whole aspect one of angry antagonism.
-But the quick footsteps, instead of coming up the path towards them, had
-turned aside, as if their owner were hastening towards the open heath
-beyond the forest.  But Gloire was not minded to let even an unseen
-intruder go without his passport of approval, and, breaking loose from
-the gentle, restraining hand of his mistress, leapt forward, with an
-angry bay, in pursuit.
-
-"Gloire, Gloire, come back!" cried Gwennola softly, in much alarm, as
-she hastened forward in the direction which the great hound had taken.
-"Shame on thee, Gloire! return instantly."
-
-But Gloire was little minded to obey the gentle command, for he had
-already reached the open, and his quarry was in view.
-
-It was a wild, picturesque scene, with a weird grimness in it which was
-to remain ever imprinted on Gwennola's memory.  The clear moonlight
-shone over the vast tract of heath with the radiance of day, clumps of
-broom and gorse here and there casting black shadows in the white light.
-No sign of habitation was visible, naught seeming to flourish in this
-desolate region saving only briars and thistles.  Here and there piles
-of stone, almost druidical in shape, lay scattered about, these, the
-people of the country affirming to be the houses of the Torrigans or
-Courils, wanton dwarfs, who at night bar your road, and force you to
-dance with them until you die of fatigue, whilst others declare that
-they are fairies, who, descending from the mountains, spinning, have
-brought away these rocks in their aprons.  For the most part these
-shapeless monuments consisted of three or four standing stones with
-another laid flat on the top, and, seen by moonlight, presented a
-fantastic appearance, dotted as they were over the barren heath.
-
-From the forest, where Gwennola stood, the ground stretched away in a
-sharp declivity, to rise again beyond, thus forming a small valley.  It
-was down this valley that the figure of a man was seen flying, it would
-seem for very life, as indeed he was, though, perchance, scarcely yet
-aware of the fact, for behind him, swift upon his track, came Gloire, a
-gaunt, grey figure of doom, seen thus in the moonlight.
-
-For a moment Gwennola stood uncertain, swiftly weighing in her mind what
-she had best do, but the man's peril decided her, and in imperious tones
-she called the hound to return.  At the sound of her voice both man and
-dog paused, turning towards her for an instant, and with a throb of
-alarm the girl recognised in the clear moonlight the features of the man
-who had so suddenly sprung on to her path the day she returned through
-the forest from her visit to Mère Fanchonic.
-
-It was not a face to be easily forgotten, with its red, stubbly beard,
-broad, flat nose, and bold, insolent eyes, and Gwennola, with an
-instinctive cry, had stepped back towards the shadow of the forest, when
-Gloire, with a sudden bay of fury, leapt forward, and, before he had
-time to spring aside or draw his sword, had borne the man backwards upon
-the ground, with his mighty fangs fixed firmly into his flesh.
-
-Forgetful of herself at sight of the unexpected tragedy which was going
-forward before her eyes, Gwennola sped down the valley, crying
-frantically to Gloire to leave his unfortunate victim; but a very demon
-of rage seemed to have entered the great beast, and he continued
-furiously to rend his quarry, until, at Gwennola's approach, he crouched
-with a whine, which was half a growl, crept aside, and lay panting on
-the heath with gory jaws, and eyes which pleaded almost defiantly the
-excuse that he had done but his duty in defending her.
-
-Meantime, with a shudder of horror, Gwennola knelt beside the mangled
-figure, even then her thoughts flying back in agony to that judgment
-hall at the Château de Mereac.  But torn as she was with the desire to
-be beside the man she loved, her womanly pity forbade her to forsake the
-obviously dying wretch who lay panting out his life before her.
-
-With her dainty kerchief she softly wiped away the froth of blood upon
-his lips, and hastily fetched water from a pool close by to bathe his
-brow, for it was evident that, dying as the unfortunate man was, he
-fought stubbornly to regain power of speech before he passed out into
-the land of silence and mystery.
-
-It was a terrible sight to the poor girl, scarcely more than a child, to
-witness this death-struggle of a strong man, brought thus swiftly to his
-end, and the terror was enhanced by the eeriness of both time and place.
-But Gwennola was no nervous, timorous woman to start at her own shadow;
-born of a hardy, undaunted race, in rough and warlike times she did not
-shrink from the spectacle of death, grim and terrible as it was.  The
-nervous fears of superstition, too, which had haunted her an hour ago,
-had passed with this awful reality of suffering.
-
-Presently the man's gasping breath became calmer, and though the death
-sweat stood out thickly on his brow, he appeared to be capable of both
-thought and speech.
-
-"Mademoiselle?" he gasped with an upward look of inquiry.
-
-"De Mereac," she said gently, raising his head and resting it upon her
-knee, whilst she, wiped the sweat from his brow.  "Is there aught you
-would tell me, poor fellow? or shall we not rather pray together for
-your soul, since here is no priest to shrive you?"
-
-"My soul," muttered the man with a groan.  "He had that long since--my
-soul," and he smiled mockingly into the fair face bent over him.  "Nay,"
-he continued with another groan; "'tis ill to jest in death's own face,
-though I have laughed in outwitting him many a time before, but yon
-devil hath brought me to bay at last, though I'll not go without my
-revenge."
-
-He muttered the last words over several times, as if trying to recollect
-something, then continued to speak rapidly and pantingly, as one who,
-having raced, would fain deliver his message without delay; and, verily,
-it was a grim race he ran, with death swift on his heels to cut the tale
-short.
-
-"Guillaume de Coray," he muttered, "he was my master, I, his slave, body
-and soul, mistress--body and soul.  Ah! I could tell you stories, but
-there is not time, suffice to say that he was the tool--the thing--of
-the tailor of Vitré[#]--and I--well, no matter, the past is dead, but
-there is still revenge.....  It was the battle of St Aubin--the son of
-de Mereac was there--his heir--my master was the next in succession.....
-He slew young Yvon, as he thought, in the wood there .... by treachery,
-and came to Mereac to be welcomed as the heir, and to marry the sister
-of the slain youth.  Is it not so, mademoiselle? Ah!  I read it in your
-eyes that the bridegroom was not to your pleasing, for your eyes are
-true and his .... Well, Guillaume de Coray rode to Mereac, but before he
-did so, it chanced that he had found that he had no more occasion for my
-services, therefore he had bidden another to hasten my departure to
-another land, from whence no tales return to inconvenience monsieur; but
-he who was so clever made a mistake.....  The man was my friend..... He
-told me his mission.....  We drank to each other's health and the
-confusion of our master.  So it came to pass that when he fled from that
-wood at St Aubin with a murderer's fear in his heart, I sought the body
-of Yvon de Mereac.  He was not dead .... nay, he was not dead.  Merciful
-God! why then does he haunt me with those eyes?  Nay .... was it not I
-who saved him, and tended him for months?--aye years?--for, for long the
-blow on his head had rendered him little better than a fool.  Then, when
-understanding returned, he demanded many things......  Ah! but he was
-proud and impatient .... that youth .... perchance I pleased him not for
-a guardian..... He commanded to be set free .... he raved at times ....
-foolish one .... saying that I kept him prisoner to murder him .... I,
-who but bided my time till the fruit was ripe for the picking..... But
-he escaped from my safe shelter.  I was angry .... I followed him
-quickly.  What, mademoiselle, after these years was I to be robbed of my
-reward? Grand Dieu! not so, I arrived whilst he still wandered in the
-forest, so far still distraught that he had lost his way.  I found him
-.... but ere I did so was myself seen by ill fate by my enemy, Guillaume
-de Coray.  It became impossible that I should escape too hastily with my
-friend, therefore we concealed ourselves .... de Coray and his devil's
-imp seeking us all the time.....  To-night"--the blood in his throat
-well-nigh choked him as he spoke--"to-night--we--we...."
-
-
-[#] The nickname of Pierre Laudais, the hated and infamous minister of
-François II., Duke of Brittany.  The angry nobles at last took justice
-into their own hands, and hanged the miscreant who had ruined their
-country.
-
-
-He stared vaguely up at the moon--already the finger of death was
-resting on his shoulder.
-
-"But my brother--Yvon--he lives?  Oh, where--where is he?" cried
-Gwennola, whose emotions had scarcely been controlled during the gasping
-confession which seemed to foreshadow forth so grim a tragedy. "Speak!"
-
-But already death had sealed those lips with his cold kiss, only with a
-convulsive effort the man raised his arm and pointed towards one of the
-heaps of piled stones which gleamed white in the moonlight halfway up
-the opposite slope.  Then a spasm seized him, and he lay in the last
-dread struggle, with his black eyes fixed upwards in horror, as if
-around him he saw crowding the reproachful victims of a sinful life,
-gathering about to arraign him before the dread Judge Who awaited him
-beyond the veil.
-
-Falling on her knees, Gwennola whispered a prayer into the dying ears,
-till, with one last gasping groan, the jaws relaxed, the dark eyes,
-still terror-haunted, became fixed, and a soul fled forth in shame and
-awe into the silence of eternity.
-
-With a sob--the outcome of overwrought nerves--the young girl rose to
-her feet, and stood looking from the dead man at her feet towards the
-rude cairn which seemed to form so poor a clue to her search.  And yet
-her heart beat rapidly as she thought of what that search might mean,
-and recalled that not only a brother's but a lover's life lay as a
-guerdon for success. Then with a low breathed prayer she hastened to
-turn and scramble up the slope towards the spot indicated by the dead
-man's finger.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER IX*
-
-
-For a few minutes Gwennola's heart sank; in spite of a rapid but careful
-search, the possibility of a human presence anywhere in the
-neighbourhood of that rough pile of stones seemed impossible.  But once
-again Gloire was to come to her assistance, and retrieve his lost
-character, which he seemed to feel instinctively had seriously suffered
-in the late encounter,--though why he should be reproached for thus
-ridding the world of one whom canine sagacity had recognised as a
-black-hearted villain, he could not altogether realize.  Nevertheless,
-the sound of his mistress's reproving voice had damped poor Gloire's
-self-congratulations, and he had followed her with drooping tail and
-melancholy mien towards the reputed home of the mischievous dwarfs.
-Here, however, his spirit of inquiry was freshly aroused, and with a
-short yelp of excitement he proceeded to investigate a hole, partly
-concealed by gorse, partly by a slab of stone which had apparently
-slipped from the pile near.
-
-Attracted by his excitement, Gwennola ran to his side, and, after some
-moments of desperate tugging and pulling, succeeded in rolling the stone
-aside.
-
-Yes! the dead man's clue was a true one; the opening obviously led into
-one of those natural caves so often found in Brittany.  Gloire, with
-cocked ears and wagging tail, stood by the side of the aperture,
-evidently only awaiting his mistress's bidding to continue his
-investigations.  But Gwennola waved him back, and, bending low, looked
-down eagerly into the darkness.
-
-"Yvon," she called softly, her voice trembling as she pronounced the
-long-unused name, "Yvon--brother--are you there?"
-
-In the silence that followed she could hear only the panting of Gloire's
-breath close to her ear.
-
-"Yvon," she cried again, "Yvon."
-
-Then faint but clear came back the answer, in the voice of a man who
-answers as in a trance--
-
-"Gwennola."
-
-"Mother of Mercies, I thank thee!" cried the girl, tears of joy
-streaming down her cheeks, as without hesitation she scrambled quickly
-through the aperture. All was darkness within, although she gathered
-from the faint glimmer of moonlight at the cave's mouth that she was in
-a small subterranean chamber. In breathless suspense she called her
-brother's name again, and this time the reply came from somewhere close
-beside her, almost, it would seem, at her feet. But still the voice
-which spoke upwards through the darkness was that of a man who speaks as
-one who replies rather to some inward call than answering to his name
-from the lips of a fellow-creature.
-
-"Where art thou, Yvon?" cried Gwennola, sinking on her knees and
-spreading forth her hands vaguely in the darkness.  "Brother, brother,
-is it indeed thou?"
-
-"Gwennola--my sister."  This time the voice beside her rang with a
-sudden feeble exultation, as of one who, for the first time, realized
-that his name had verily been pronounced by a denizen of earth.
-"Gwennola, Gwennola! nay, it is impossible. Hence, mocking demon, and
-taunt me not in my last hours!"
-
-But already, groping in the darkness, guided by the feeble voice, the
-girl had found the object of her search, and bent over the prostrate
-figure, weeping and laughing in a very paroxysm of joy.
-
-"Yvon, Yvon!" she cried, as she clung to him, pressing her warm young
-lips to the damp brow. "Ah, my brother, whom for these past years we
-have mourned as dead, is it possible that thou livest? What mystery is
-here? what foul and terrible plot? But, what is this?--thou art bound
-and helpless? a prisoner!  Oh, tell me, Yvon, tell me all! and yet no,
-we must not linger one instant in this terrible place, for already a
-still fouler wrong is being done to one altogether innocent."
-
-"Nay," groaned Yvon de Mereac faintly, "in that thou speakest wisely,
-little sister, if it indeed be thou thyself, as these tears and kisses
-assure me, rather than one of the mocking fiends of delirium which ever
-haunt me, for truly the chief fiend himself will return anon, and
-then----"
-
-Gwennola felt the shudder that ran through the gaunt frame, and the
-thought of Gloire's vengeance seemed to her less terrible than
-heretofore.
-
-"He is dead!" she cried, divining swiftly of whom he spoke.  "Gloire
-hath killed him but now, on the heath without; but ere he died methinks
-he repented of the ill he did thee, which the rather took the form of
-vengeance to another, even blacker-hearted than himself, than from
-hatred to thee."
-
-"Dead?" echoed Yvon with a sob of sudden joy. "François Kerden dead? and
-thou here, little Gwennola, to save me?  Nay! tell me not it is a dream,
-but rather free me from these bonds, and let me breathe once more the
-pure air of heaven."
-
-"These bonds?" cried Gwennola in dismay, as her slender hands felt the
-tight thongs which bound the helpless man beside her.  "Nay, but how
-shall I unloose them, Yvon?  They are too strong for me to break, and,
-alas! I have no dagger."
-
-Yvon groaned.  "Can naught be done?" he sighed. "I faint for very
-longing of the cool night breezes; for days have I lain here, little
-sister, waiting for death, but he delayed; yon fiend suffered me not to
-die, though he kept me looking ever down into the abyss, and now----"
-His voice quivered, as with the feeble insistence of a child he repeated
-his plea to be liberated.
-
-"Ay, verily," cried Gwennola joyfully, a sudden inspiration coming to
-her, "and so thou shalt, my Yvon; tarry but one instant, and I wot well
-I shall find what we seek."
-
-"Ah, go not," cried her brother in despair, "lest thou return not, but
-instead that evil one with his cruel eyes and sharp dagger."
-
-"Nay," laughed the girl, stooping once more to smooth and kiss the
-clammy brow, "'tis indeed his dagger which lieth yonder on the hillside
-that I go to seek.  Peace, brother, have no fear; he will return no more
-to fright thee, and speedily shall thy cruel bonds be cut and we will
-return home."
-
-He echoed the last word softly, as one whose brain is too weary to take
-in its full meaning, but he did not again seek to detain her as she
-groped her way towards the glimmer of light which was already growing
-fainter as the moonlight faded.  To her surprise, Gloire stood not at
-the cave's mouth as she emerged, and for a moment she looked round her
-with a thrill of fear, wondering what new foes might not have arisen to
-fight against.  But Gloire's absence was not far to seek, seeing that
-the wolves from the forest had already scented their human feast, and
-had crept stealthily forth to rend it, and as Gwennola stood there in
-the dim light, she perceived two gaunt forms flit in swift pursuit of
-one another across the hill towards the shadow of the trees, and
-shuddered, well guessing what they meant.
-
-Daggers there were in plenty in the dead man's leathern belt, and
-Gwennola hastened to draw a small keen weapon forth and hurry back, for
-it was ill work to bend so over a dead man's body, and feel the close
-stare of sightless eyes.  But Gwennola's nerves were re-strung now to
-meet the desperate necessity of her case, for well she knew that the
-moments fled swiftly and already the sands of an innocent man's life
-were running low, and not only of one innocent of crime, but her own
-true lover, without whom life must be as dark and gloomy as yon forest
-from whence came the yelping howls of beasts of prey, kept back by fear,
-for the nonce, from their evening feast.
-
-One by one the tight leathern thongs were severed, and Yvon with a cry
-of thankfulness rose slowly to his knees, though so cramped were his
-limbs that even after the space of some minutes he could but crawl to
-the entrance of his prison on hands and knees.  But the cool night air
-revived him, like a draught of wine, as he sank down on the heath
-without.  Gwennola could ill repress a cry of dismay as the feeble
-moonlight revealed a face which, but for the eyes, it were difficult to
-recognise as that of the handsome boy who, but three short years ago,
-had left the château in all the pride and glory of youth and noble
-manhood.  The rosy cheeks were sunken, and so emaciated that the skin
-seemed but drawn over the high cheek-bones; the smooth chin was covered
-with a short, unkempt beard; and the fair golden curls were long,
-matted, and discoloured; but the eyes, blue as Gwennola's own, were the
-same as they looked up into hers, and yet, with a sob in her throat, she
-realized they were not the same, for the glad, merry light with which
-youth faces life had gone, and instead there seemed to lurk within them
-an almost vacant look of terror, such as one sees in a frightened child.
-It was a face which told its own tragedy without need of words, and with
-a shudder of pity his sister bent, raising him tenderly as he struggled
-vainly to his feet, passing a strong, protecting young arm around him,
-and softly bidding him lean on her.
-
-He gazed round vaguely, shivering as his glance fell on the forest.
-
-"It was there I wandered," he said faintly.  "I could not remember the
-way, but I had found it at last, and had stood already in sight of the
-château itself, when I saw him creeping upon me; then, like a mad fool,
-I fled once more into the forest, instead of crying for help from the
-soldier who stood sentry near the gateway."
-
-"And who took thee for a spirit of the dead," smiled Gwennola,
-remembering Job Alloadec's terror, "and small blame, I trow; but dwell
-not on past years, my brother; yonder lies the miscreant dead, in just
-reward for the evil he did, and we may not delay seeing what passeth at
-the château."
-
-The poor girl was indeed a prey to feverish emotion, the thought of what
-injustice might even now be doing weighing like lead upon her heart, and
-yet she might not speed on her way as she desired, seeing that salvation
-to the man she loved came only with halting and painful steps, stopping
-from time to time for very faintness and weakness.  And not only was
-their progress slow, but dangerous, as Gwennola knew well, for the
-yelping howls from the forest grew ever more importunate.  Did the
-wolves escape Gloire's vigilance and break in a pack into the open,
-death awaited them both, for Gloire, gallant hound as he was, could be
-no match against numbers on that bare heath side, whilst within the
-forest he could dodge and worry his enemies, thus keeping many times his
-number at bay.
-
-Yvon was walking more steadily as they came at length to the outskirts
-of the trees; his limbs were less cramped, his brain clearer, as the
-shadow of death, which had haunted him for so long, was dispelled by
-Gwennola's bright voice and tender care. Still, even so, he seemed
-little to realize their present danger, which grew ever more terrible.
-
-Already Gwennola could see through the nearly total darkness the gleam
-of cruel eyes shining on them from out of the thicket, and once a dark,
-wolfish form leapt out on to the very path before them, only to be
-driven back by the faithful Gloire, who, bleeding but undaunted, kept
-gallant guard around them. Many of the beasts had gone unrestrainedly
-now to fight for the meal awaiting them on the heath, but with appetites
-whetted they would return anon, and then----
-
-"Canst walk but a little faster, Yvon?" whispered Gwennola with a gasp,
-as the howls and yelps grew nearer and more insistent on every side.
-But Yvon shook his head; indeed, in the very attempt to obey her
-petition he nearly stumbled, and would have fallen, had it not been for
-her arm.  "Alas!" she cried, with a sob of terror, "Yvon, we are
-lost--the wolves----"
-
-A short bark of anger from Gloire changed suddenly into a glad yelp of
-welcome, and Gwennola echoed it with a little cry of surprise as a man
-bearing aloft a flaming torch came hurrying towards them, stopping
-indeed to echo her cry as he perceived the two figures standing before
-him.
-
-"Job--ah! my good Jobik," cried Gwennola joyfully. "See, Yvon, we are
-saved--we are saved!"
-
-"Yvon--Monsieur Yvon!" stammered Job, his eyes fixed in wonder, not
-unmixed with horror, on his young master's face.  "Monsieur Yvon!
-Mother of Heaven! it is impossible!"  And so violent was the fear that
-overcame the honest fellow, that he nearly let fall the torch, and with
-it their safety, for the wolves, scared, as they ever are, by the light,
-had fled, howling with disappointment, back into the forest.
-
-"Nay," said Yvon, smiling faintly, "'tis I myself, good Job, though more
-in the bone than the flesh, I warrant me."
-
-"Monsieur Yvon," still repeated Job, with undiminished wonder in his
-eyes--"Monsieur Yvon."  Then, as he realized that in some miraculous way
-it was indeed his beloved master who stood before him, he fell a-weeping
-for very joy, repeating the name over and over again, as though to
-convince himself of what was apparently beyond reason or understanding.
-
-"Nay, foolish fellow," cried Gwennola sharply, being in no mood just
-then, with nerves stretched to breaking, for idle tears.  "Cease such
-maundering, or wait till fitter time and place to give vent to thy joy.
-Wouldst have tears verily to take the place of laughter by delaying,
-when--when----"  She broke off abruptly, adding in a lower key, "And
-Monsieur d'Estrailles?--the French knight--what of him? Nay, stand not
-gaping, there, as if thou awaitest the moon to swallow thee up, as she
-did poor Pierre Laroc, but take the arm of Monsieur Yvon, who is weak,
-as thou seest.  There, support him well, good Job, and let us hasten
-onwards whilst thou tellest me."
-
-Her heart beat fast as she waited, all eagerly, for the answer which she
-so dreaded to know that she was fain to stop her ears or fly from
-hearing into the forest.  But Job's wits were still astray for very joy
-and wonder, as he felt Yvon's gaunt form lean against his stout arm, and
-read recognition in the great blue eyes, which had stared so
-despairingly into his, scarce a week back, from the forest shade.
-
-It was not till Gwennola had impatiently repeated her question that the
-former events of that strange night came back to his slowly revolving
-brain.
-
-"The French knight?" he repeated.  "Ah, yes, mademoiselle, it was Marie
-herself who sent me in search of you, because, forsooth! it would seem
-you had gone to bid farewell to one in the forest who came instead, but
-sorely against his will, to the château to bid farewell to life."
-
-"How chanced it?  How came he thither?  Who discovered his hiding-place?
-Nay, thou shalt not tell me he is already sped," cried Gwennola
-passionately.
-
-"How chanced it?" echoed Job, clinging to the first question.  "Nay,
-mistress, that I know not. I was on guard at the outer postern when,
-scarce two hours agone, Marie cometh to me, weeping. 'He is taken,' she
-cried.  'Alas! the poor monsieur is taken, and mademoiselle will die.'
-Thou knowest, mademoiselle, the foolish tongue of my sister.  At first I
-could comprehend nothing, but at last it appeared that Monsieur de Coray
-had learnt, by some means, of which I know naught, that the French
-knight lay hidden in the forest; he divined also his hiding-place, but
-of this no word did he say to my lord, only commanding six soldiers, as
-by my lord's order, to be ready shortly before midnight to accompany him
-secretly, and without telling their comrades one word of what they did.
-It would appear then that Monsieur de Coray led them to this so secret
-hiding-place and captured the poor knight, whom they brought back to the
-château.
-
-"The foolish Marie was distraught with grief, and for mademoiselle's
-sake, I will confess, my heart was also heavy, but a soldier hath his
-duty, and therefore I remained where I was until a short half hour ago,
-when Marie returneth to me, white and weeping still more sorely.
-'Alas!' she saith, 'the poor monsieur--the lover of mademoiselle--is
-condemned to death; only hath he been given time for the good father to
-shrive him of his sins, and then, alas! he will be hanged, even ere
-dawn.'  After which the foolish one wept upon my shoulder, and I--I also
-wept for the sake of mademoiselle, for of the sins of this monsieur I
-comprehended naught, except that he was falsely accused of murdering
-Monsieur Yvon.  But anon, Marie drieth her tears, and biddeth me light
-my torch speedily and go in search of you, mademoiselle, for she feared
-greatly for your safety, seeing that two hours had passed and you had
-not returned.  At first I refused, for I am a soldier, mademoiselle, who
-must think of his post, but when Marie represented to me your danger,
-and promised to guard well my post till my return, I hesitated no
-longer, for, for myself, I also had my fears as I listened to the
-howlings of the wolves.  And so, mademoiselle, I came, and the holy
-saints directed my footsteps in the way."
-
-"And he is not dead?" whispered Gwennola, with a quick gasp for breath,
-as she hurried forward. "He is not dead?"
-
-It was the only point which remained in her memory of all the honest
-Breton's preamble.
-
-"Nay!" said Job slowly.  "He was given time to be shriven, and Father
-Ambrose, being sick, had to be brought carefully from his bed, and
-methinks the good priest is little like to hurry over the last
-confessions of one who goes to death; nay, mistress, methinks he will
-surely yet live."
-
-"Merciful Mother of God, grant it!" cried Gwennola in agony.  "Ah, see,
-Yvon, we are near at last; there, yonder, is the château; a few
-minutes----"
-
-No more was spoken as the three hurried swiftly onwards.  Job almost
-bearing Yvon in his stalwart arms, whilst Gwennola held aloft the
-flaring torch. A strange trio truly the yellow light gleamed on: the
-sick man's thin, emaciated features and drooping form; the thickly-set,
-dark-browed Breton soldier with his honest, wondering eyes and bushy
-beard; and the slender, dark-robed figure with pale, agonized face,
-eager eyes, and a tumbled mass of red-gold curls, from which the hood
-had fallen.
-
-No word was spoken even as they passed the outer postern, where the
-wondering Marie still held impatient guard, but swiftly onwards they
-sped through the darkness of the little chapel, till they stood at
-length to pause and listen in the shadow of the tapestries which hung
-around the great hall.  The flaring light of the torches fastened in the
-iron cressets on the walls revealed a strange scene.  By the long table
-sat the Sieur de Mereac, and close to his side Guillaume de Coray, the
-former, stern, implacable judge, the latter, mocking, triumphant
-accuser; in the foreground, a small group of soldiers surrounding the
-tall, slender figure of the condemned man, his hands bound tightly
-behind him, even now on his way to execution, and by his side the
-black-robed form of the old confessor.
-
-Although d'Estrailles' back was towards them, those standing there in
-the shadows could see the proud bearing of his mien as he listened to
-his judges last words.
-
-"Henri d'Estrailles," said the old man sternly, "you are found guilty
-and condemned to die; murderer and traitor that you are, the death of a
-felon is fitting ending to such a life.  My son's life you spared not to
-take by foul and cruel means, and still more, in reward for the
-hospitality I all unwittingly bestowed upon you, you have robbed me of a
-daughter's soul.  Coward and villain! have you made your peace with
-God?--if so, it were well, for even in death the hand of every true and
-upright man shall be against you."
-
-"Nay, my son," interrupted Father Ambrose gently, "beware how you pass
-unjust sentence on a man whom my soul telleth me is innocent.  Nay,
-frown not, but listen to the warning of an old man, who from early youth
-hath learnt to read men's hearts. Have I not but now listened to the
-confessions of one about to pass to the judgment of One with Whom no
-deception is possible? and in the face of eternity itself would he look
-back upon his fellow-men with lies upon his lips?  I tell thee, no,
-Sieur de Mereac, no, a hundred times!  And so I tell thee, that having
-read the secrets of this man's soul, I find him innocent of the crime
-whereof he is accused."
-
-"Nay, my father," interrupted de Coray with a sneer, "you speak well,
-but, bethink you, it was _I_ who saw this man strike the very blow which
-he so glibly denies; _I_ who saw him creep so treacherously behind my
-poor kinsman--the noble young Yvon--and cleave him from brow to chin ere
-he could turn to see his foe; _I_----"
-
-"Liar!"
-
-The single word rang down the hall like the challenging blast of a
-trumpet, as all turned to see standing there against the tapestry the
-tall, gaunt figure of a man.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER X*
-
-
-For a few minutes there reigned a breathless silence. All eyes seemed
-indeed riveted on that strange, emaciated figure, which half leant, as
-if for support, against Gwennola's slender form as she stood beside him,
-her pale face flushed now rosy red with joy and triumph, as she glanced
-from the bound, helpless figure between the soldiers towards her father.
-
-The Sieur de Mereac had risen, and was standing, one trembling hand
-clutching the back of his chair, the other shading his eyes, as if the
-flickering torchlight blinded his sight, as he gazed in mute wonder
-towards the speaker.  Then, as the blue eyes met the black with an
-up-leaping light of recognition, another cry, more faltering, yet
-trembling with a very wonderment of joy, rang out in the silence--
-
-"Yvon!  Yvon! my boy! my boy!"
-
-For the time all were forgotten: prisoners, accusers, false and true; to
-the old man striding forwards with outstretched arms, the world, for the
-moment, contained nothing but that haggard, dishevelled figure, and the
-blue eyes of his long-lost, long-mourned son.
-
-"Father," cried Yvon with a sob, as he staggered forward to meet him.
-"Father, at last!"
-
-De Coray had sprung to his feet with an oath, half fury, half dismay, as
-Yvon de Mereac sent down his challenge through the hall.
-
-Little as he had dreamt that his blow had not been fatal in that dark
-wood of St Aubin du Cormier, he was sufficiently keen-witted to vaguely
-guess the sequel, his conclusion being more easily drawn from the fact
-of the unexplained presence of his old comrade and late enemy, François
-Kerden.  Without giving himself time or trouble to fit into its place
-every piece of the puzzle, he grasped the meaning of the whole, and
-realized that it was indeed Yvon de Mereac who stood before him, and
-also that his own position was one of imminent danger.
-
-These calculations passed like lightning through his ready mind as he
-looked eagerly round for means of escape.  None noticed him or his
-movements, all attention being fixed on the two central figures of the
-little drama.  All indeed but one, for, as he turned, he encountered the
-sympathetic and comprehensive gaze of Pierre the fool.  That the
-strange, dwarfed jester had evinced an unaccountable devotion for him
-had puzzled de Coray more than once, little used as he had ever been to
-be loved for his own sake, and he was more than half inclined to treat
-the little fellow's overtures with suspicion.  But in the present crisis
-it would be well to have even a fool for a friend rather than an enemy,
-and de Coray, obeying Pierre's obvious signs, crept unseen behind the
-tapestry.
-
-"Quick, monsieur!" whispered the boy in his ear. "You are as yet
-unperceived, but we must not delay. To your right, monsieur, so--there
-is a passage there which leadeth to the chapel.  Methinks few know it
-but I myself.  The outer postern is unguarded; we can escape to the
-forest."
-
-Not unwilling to be guided by so ready an ally, de Coray followed, his
-hand, however, on his sword, ready to draw it should he have cause to
-suspect treachery.  But Pierre had apparently no such intention, and ere
-many minutes had elapsed they had both reached the shelter of the
-forest.
-
-Scarcely knowing whither he went, de Coray hurried along by the boy's
-side, black rage in his heart as he recalled how swiftly the tables had
-been turned upon him by the girl whom he had intended to force into
-marriage with him, and how complete had been her triumph.  Only five
-minutes more, and at least one witness against him would have been
-removed from his path, the only witness indeed that he need have feared,
-trusting to his ready wit to weave some fresh fiction to account for his
-error in supposing Yvon de Mereac dead.  Now, he felt, even in the
-moment of flight, that by so escaping he was severing the last
-possibility of deceiving his uncle into disbelief of the Frenchman's
-word, coupled as it was by Yvon's reappearance.  Yet he dared not stay,
-for behind all lay the risk of Kerden's discovery and subsequent
-confession, which might well damn him beyond hope of redress, and
-perchance bring him within reach of the noose which he had hoped to see
-tightening round the neck of an innocent man.
-
-Well might de Coray feel blank despair clutching him as he began the
-more clearly to realize the hopelessness of his position were he
-captured--and yet such capture was imminent.  Once persuaded of his
-treachery, he was assured that de Mereac would leave no stone unturned
-to find and bring him to justice, and that such persuasion would be easy
-he doubted not, seeing that his own flight sealed his guilt.
-
-"Fool," he cried angrily, as he suddenly halted on the forest path which
-they were treading, "where dost thou lead me?  I tell thee that there
-will be pursuit, and I, wandering on foot here, alone, must needs be
-captured without hope of escape."  And in his fury he turned on the
-dwarfed lad, who stood looking up at him with a face on which cunning
-and fear were mingled with a strange, half-comic expression of dog-like
-devotion.
-
-"Nay, monsieur," said Pierre deprecatingly, as he spread forth his hands
-as if to arrest the movement which de Coray made to draw his sword.
-"Fool though I be, monsieur shall find that I have yet some wisdom in
-this thick skull of mine."  And he nodded his head gravely as he tapped
-his forehead.  "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "Pierre the fool has eyes,
-also ears, and he says to monsieur, 'Hasten, quickly, for there is
-safety only in flight.'"
-
-"Safety!" echoed de Coray bitterly; "ay, fool's safety, I trow, such as
-I merit for entrusting myself to thy guidance.  How, forsooth, Sir Wise
-Fool, wouldst have me escape de Mereac's fleet steeds and keen blades?
-Thinkest thou that he and his retainers are as dull of wit and sight as
-thou art, thou ape of iniquity?"
-
-The lad shrank back as if struck by a lash, putting up his thin hands as
-though to protect himself from a blow.
-
-"Ah, monsieur, listen," he moaned, "and be not angry with one who would
-die for you.  Nay!" he added eagerly, stung by de Coray's sneer,
-"monsieur _shall_ believe.  See, far in the depths of the forest is a
-hut, small but well sheltered; it is there that my sister Gabrielle
-dwells, who blesses monsieur's name nightly in her prayers for the money
-which saved us from misery when the hunger-wolf knocked loudly at the
-door but a few days since.  In this hut monsieur will be safely hidden
-for, perchance, a few hours only, whilst Pierre the fool watcheth to see
-whither his enemies ride; then, when danger lies with her back to him,
-monsieur will mount and ride to where he will be in safety."
-
-De Coray's brow cleared, though he looked doubtfully into the puckered,
-upturned face, as if still suspicious.
-
-"If thou betrayest me thou shalt die, boy," he said menacingly; then, in
-a kinder tone, "nevertheless, if all goes as thou sayest, and I escape,
-Guillaume de Coray shall be found neither an ungenerous nor forgetful
-master."
-
-With a shrewd smile the jester stooped to kiss the hand outstretched to
-him, then, drawing himself up, said, with the simple dignity of his
-race, be they noble or peasant--
-
-"Monsieur, I too am a Breton."
-
-"Lead on," said de Coray peremptorily---"for the rest, we shall see."
-
-The wolves, which still howled dismally in distant parts of the forest,
-did not molest the two travellers as they hurried on their way, though
-from time to time de Coray started with all the nervousness of a guilty
-man as a bough or twig snapped under their feet or a night bird brushed
-their faces in the darkness with her wings.
-
-Dawn was already faintly tinging the sky in the far east when Pierre
-halted before the door of a hut so quaintly built against an overhanging
-crag of rock as to be easily passed by unobserved.
-
-"See, monsieur," he said thoughtfully, "it will not be well to enter
-now; it may be that ere long the enemies of monsieur will think of the
-hut of Pierre the fool, for there are those who know not only of it, but
-of the love I bear you; therefore it were best to seek shelter till day
-arrives in a secure hiding-place. Tenez, monsieur, behold such an one as
-will mock those who pursue!"  And with pride the boy showed a deep
-fissure in the crag close by, so carefully concealed that a man might
-lie in perfect safety between the two high boulders without fear of
-detection. "Monsieur will rest here till danger has passed," observed
-Pierre, waving a lean hand towards the fissure of rock with the air of a
-host who invites his guest to partake of his sumptuous hospitality, "and
-afterwards the little Gabrielle will keep watch, as also she will tend
-to the needs of monsieur."
-
-"And for yourself?" demanded de Coray sharply, even now distrustful.
-
-The jester shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands with a
-gesture of self-importance.
-
-"For myself, monsieur, I return to the château, for it were not well
-that I should be missed.  Be assured, monsieur, that my ears and eyes
-will be open, so that in the evening when I return there may be news
-which will guide you on your journey."
-
-"Journey!" exclaimed de Coray bitterly; "a long and safe journey, I
-trow, with neither horse nor provision for the way; 'twill be a journey
-into the arms of my good uncle, I ween, and, by the beard of St Gildas,
-I trow his embrace will be scarce to my liking."
-
-But Pierre shook his head with an air of superior wisdom.
-
-"Monsieur misjudges me," he said reproachfully. "Pierre the fool is
-surely less fool than the words of monsieur imply.  This evening when I
-return I will bring a horse fleet and sure-footed, also news of the
-pursuit of monsieur's enemies; the rest, if monsieur rides with caution,
-will be altogether easy."
-
-The lad's words were reassuring, his manner simple and straightforward,
-and, in spite of the inward misgivings, which must ever haunt a man
-whose own ways are crooked when they are fain to entrust themselves to
-the honour of another, de Coray was forced, for very necessity, to
-accept Pierre's apparently honest promises of assistance.  Yet, shut up
-in his gloomy hiding-place, the traitor felt the inward qualms and fears
-growing rapidly, coupled as they were with the dread of capture.  A
-swift review of his broken schemes showed him how small a hope of mercy
-there must needs be did he fall into his outraged kinsman's hands.
-
-The tissue of lies which he had woven around d'Estrailles and Gwennola
-de Mereac would now wing themselves against him and prove fresh voices
-of accusation as his true motives and own deadly deeds were brought to
-view.  As he thought of all he could not but glance with some vague
-dread on that shrouded past of his.  Little did any guess the traitor's
-way he had trodden so blithely since youth.  With a shame which was yet
-half-mocking pride at his own shrewdness and cunning, he recalled how
-he, a noble of Brittany, had been content to become a tool in the hands
-of the infamous Landais, and yet, whilst earning a rich reward for his
-services, had escaped sharing his low-born master's fate, when an
-outraged and too long-suffering people had taken the law into their own
-hands and hanged the tyrant in defiance of their Sovereign Duke.  Then
-he recalled, lying there looking back over the past, how he had
-bethought him of his kinsfolk of Mereac, and, riding westward, had come,
-like some ill-omened bird, to prey on an inheritance which he found well
-to his liking.  The treacherous death of the young heir had seemed to
-him a master stroke of cunning, and no sooner had he deemed it safely
-accomplished than he set to work to ingratiate himself with the old
-Sieur and his daughter.
-
-But Gwennola had proved a stumbling-block to his ambitions, and
-conceiving that her father, who was devoted to this sole surviving
-child, would be likely to leave her whatever fortune it was possible to
-divide from the inheritance of his lands, he decided to wed her--not
-that he loved her; but, bah! what did that matter?  Neither did it
-concern him that the maiden took no pains to conceal her hatred of him.
-It pleased the inherent cruelty of his nature to cause pain, and it
-delighted him to watch the shudder that shook her when he alluded, with
-mock devotion, to their union.  For the scorn he endured at her hands he
-promised himself a charming and protracted revenge when she was his
-wife.  Now, to his chagrin, his dreams were in an instant shattered,
-and, instead of the presumptive heir and honoured guest, he found
-himself a hunted murderer, condemned already without trial, and all, he
-bitterly told himself, through the machinations of a puling girl and her
-lover--a lover whom he had been on the brink of consigning to a felon's
-grave as reward for his inopportune presence at Mereac.
-
-Thus pondering, de Coray fell into a heavy slumber, out-wearied by the
-events of a long and unpleasantly exciting day, nor did he awake till
-the warm rays of the sun struck downwards, sending long, bright shafts
-of light almost to the heart of the dark shadows of his hiding-place.
-
-Consumed with hunger and thirst, still it was some time before he could
-summons up sufficient courage to creep forth from his lair.  It was a
-day of dazzling sunshine, which illuminated even the depths of that grey
-and gloomy forest, and for a moment de Coray stood there, blinking, like
-some suddenly disturbed owl, before his sight grew accustomed to the
-brilliant glare. Presently, however, he became aware of a girl's slim
-figure seated in the doorway of the hut, beside her spinning wheel.  A
-pretty enough picture was thus formed--the dark background of forest,
-the quaint and dilapidated woodland hut, and stray rays of golden glory
-lighting up the figure in the foreground, in its picturesque dress and
-cap of a Breton peasant girl, a dress which set off to perfection the
-beauty of the face bent low over the humming wheel. It was in fact the
-face rather of a Madonna than a mere peasant, for the beauty lay not
-only, or chiefly, in the delicate oval of her cheeks, the regularity of
-her features, or the glossy luxuriance of the long plaits of black hair
-which fell over her shoulders, but in the soft and tender expression of
-her lips and dark eyes, which were swiftly raised to meet de Coray's
-curious gaze.
-
-A sudden flush of joy, rather than maidenly bashfulness, crimsoned the
-girl's cheeks as she rose hastily, and with a deep curtsy welcomed her
-visitor.
-
-To his surprise, de Coray found himself treated with a respect and
-gratitude wholly unlocked for. It was evident that her brother had
-breathed no word of his patron's true character or the reason of his
-present difficulties, but instead had sung such praises into his simple
-sister's ears that she looked upon de Coray in the light of some poor,
-persecuted saint.
-
-If is a strange experience thus to be taken for what one is too
-obviously not, and de Coray listened, half amused, half pleased, to her
-shy, faltering words of gratitude.
-
-The suspicions which had lurked around his heart as to the
-trustworthiness of his little ally faded away before the clear truth of
-his sister's dark eyes, and involuntarily he made an effort to assume
-the rôle which she had given him so innocently.  It was the wolf in
-sheep's clothing once more, but this time the wolf was more anxious to
-hide his own dark skin than to devour the trusting lamb.
-
-So, after the meal was over, they sat there together, those two
-ill-assorted companions, whilst in still shy but more confiding
-sentences Gabrielle related to her visitor the simple story of her life.
-It was so simple, so humble, yet, as he sat there by her side, watching
-the innocent beauty of her face and listening to her murmured words,
-interrupted as they were by an occasional burst of bird song from the
-whispering woodlands around, it seemed a very idyll of beauty.
-
-The glamour of an entirely new experience had crept over the cruel,
-scheming man of many crimes as he sat there waiting for the twilight to
-fall, the glamour which hangs around the days of early childhood and
-innocence, and seems to whisper of things holy and beautiful.  It
-thrilled him with a new sense of what life might be, and made him shrink
-back appalled from what his had already been.
-
-It was shame, and yet not without its sweetness, to see himself mirrored
-in this peasant girl's eyes as a noble knight whose goodness and
-untarnished honour had been already the theme of her girlish thoughts,
-and he almost shivered as he pictured how the light of reverence and
-admiration would fade from her sweet face did she know the truth.
-
-"Ah, monsieur," murmured Gabrielle as she paused in her busy work to
-look across to where he was sitting, "my heart aches to think of the
-cruelty of those who seek to do you harm, nor can I conceive how one so
-good and noble as the Sieur de Mereac could be so deceived by lying
-tongues."
-
-De Coray shrugged his shoulders.  "Nay, mademoiselle," he said
-carelessly, "doubtless in time the noble Sieur will find out his error
-and regret his hasty judgment; for the rest, if I can but ride in safety
-to my own château at Pontivy, I shall not forget the succour which you
-and your brother have bestowed."
-
-"Nay," cried the girl softly, "monsieur must not speak of reward for
-what it has been our joy to give; monsieur has already saved us from
-want, for, see, I was sick--I could do but little spinning--and my
-brother had but small money to bestow on me, until monsieur, in the
-generosity of his heart, gave him much silver, for which may our Lady
-and all the saints for ever bless you, monsieur, and deliver you from
-the hands of cruel men."
-
-"Nay," said de Coray gallantly, "methinks, fair maid, one of the
-sweetest saints hath already undertaken my deliverance."
-
-She looked at him innocently, not comprehending the compliment he
-intended to convey, seeing that her thoughts were not of herself, but
-for him.
-
-And so they sat there, talking softly, as the spell and glamour of the
-moment bade them, and she told him with the simplicity of a child how
-she lived here alone in the forest hut, all alone, spinning for the most
-part, for she was lame and could walk but little, and how her brother
-Pierre would come often to see her, when it was possible.  And at
-Pierre's name her eyes grew tender, for her love for him was great. Ah!
-the poor little Pierre!--he who would have been so gallant a soldier had
-it not been for his affliction. The poor Pierre!  It had been long ago
-that the Sieur de Mereac, hunting in his forests, had passed the little
-hut where François Laurent lived with his wife and two children, and
-alas! the little Pierre, playing out there in the sunshine, had paused
-to gaze at the gay trappings of the cavalcade rather than run to the
-safe shelter of his mother's arms, so that one of the horses had struck
-him down underfoot and injured his spine.
-
-That was the story of poor Pierre; that was why instead of a
-strong-limbed, gallant man, he must shuffle through life as the crooked,
-puny Pierre the fool.  It is true the Sieur de Mereac regretted what had
-happened, and when Pierre was old enough he had taken him into his
-service, and finding the sharp-faced lad had a wit of his own, had made
-him jester, with Petit Pierre the ape for company.
-
-But for herself? de Coray asked.  Had she no fear dwelling alone in so
-desolate a hut, with nothing but the howlings of wolves and the wailings
-of the wind to keep her company?
-
-The little Gabrielle smiled.  Surely not!  How could she fear, when the
-Blessed Mother of God and all the holy saints were near to protect her
-from evil?  So simple, childish innocence argued with guilt and crime,
-which go ever hand in hand with fear and terror; and again, de Coray,
-looking into her great, dark eyes, felt a thrill of joy that she did not
-know him for what he was; for truly, had he spent that long day of
-secret fears and suspense with an angel from heaven, no softer or more
-purifying hand could have been lain on the hardened blackness of his
-heart, causing it to leap with a sudden vague, yet momentary yearning
-towards what was pure, noble, and good.
-
-So the twilight fell, and neither Pierre nor his enemies had come; but
-as the dim, mysterious time of shadows passed into the darkness of
-night, the two watchers saw through the trees the approaching figure of
-a boy leading a horse by its bridle.
-
-"It is Pierre!" cried Gabrielle joyfully, and rose from her work, though
-she waited still in the doorway till her brother came towards her,
-smiling his welcome first into her flushed, glad face, before he turned
-to de Coray.
-
-"Monsieur," he said, bowing low with a sweep of his tall fool's cap,
-which seemed more mockery than deference, though perchance he meant it
-not--"monsieur, all is well.  The enemies of monsieur ride towards
-Nantes and Angers; it is evident that they have forgotten so humble an
-abode as that of Pierre the fool.  Moreover, methinks they scarce
-suspect me of assisting you, seeing that I was found sleeping this
-morning between the good hounds Gloire and Reine."
-
-"And the forest?" questioned de Coray eagerly.
-
-"That also they have searched, monsieur, though it is evident not yet
-with sufficient care; my lord indeed hath commanded that every corner of
-Brittany be searched till you are found, and hath offered a goodly
-reward for your capture, but for the present he himself is too much
-occupied with attending upon Monsieur Yvon to direct the search in
-person."
-
-De Coray smiled, casting a side glance towards Gabrielle, who had
-entered the hut to prepare supper, as he added in a lower key--
-
-"Heardst aught, my friend, of one Kerden?  In their search for me did
-they light, perchance, on a man who bears that name, who methinks might
-even now be haunting yon woods?"
-
-Pierre glanced up to meet his patron's inquiry with a look as shrewd as
-de Coray's own.
-
-"Monsieur," he said simply, "it appears that this Kerden will no longer
-haunt the forest of Arteze in the flesh, and if all be true of which men
-talk at the château, the devil will have been too swift in bearing off
-his spirit to its own place to leave it chance of roaming yonder at
-nightfall."
-
-"Dead?" echoed de Coray, with a long-drawn sigh of relief.  "Thou art
-sure of it?"
-
-"Verily," retorted Pierre, "if the word of mademoiselle, and the bloody
-jaws of Gloire are sufficiently to be trusted.  The hound killed him, so
-'tis said, out yonder on the heath, where the courils dance on moonlit
-nights; but monsieur will be wise to delay no longer.  See, the horse is
-a good one, and fresh too; there are also provisions for a journey,
-though methinks they were prepared for other jaws to consume than those
-of monsieur, but they will taste none the less sweet for that."  And the
-strange lad chuckled gleefully over his jest.
-
-"Nay, 'tis the steed of the Frenchman!" exclaimed de Coray, as his eye
-glanced over the bay horse which Pierre held by the bridle.  "Tiens! my
-friend, I know it by its white star and cropped ears.  But how came you
-by it, little knave?  Methinks monsieur yonder would scarce have such
-ardent desire for my escape as to lend me his own steed?"
-
-"Nay," replied Pierre wisely, "in that you speak truth, monsieur; but I
-will explain.  The horse of the French knight I discovered two days
-since, when Petit Pierre and I went at midnight in the footsteps of
-mademoiselle; it was stabled close to the chapel of the brown friar, and
-hath there remained till the present.  Methinks in his expected exit
-from the present life, monsieur's thoughts were too busy with the next
-to remember his poor steed; and so this morning, ere I returned to the
-château, I visited the shed and unloosed the poor beast, and, after
-giving him a meal, I led him to a distant part of the forest, where I
-tethered him, trusting in the saints that none should chance to pass
-that way. Also near the chapel I discovered a basket of provisions which
-the thoughtful care of the beautiful mademoiselle had prepared for her
-lover; these also I appropriated for the needs of monsieur, therefore
-methinks that for a fool I have done right well.  Is it not so,
-monsieur?"
-
-"Nay," said de Coray warmly, "thou hast done right gallantly, my friend,
-and great shalt be thy reward in due time, though for the present an
-empty gratitude must be thy guerdon; but when fortune smiles once more
-on me, then there shall be golden smiles for thee too, my manikin, as
-also for thy sweet sister here."
-
-"Ay," replied Pierre, drawing himself up proudly, as he led the way into
-his humble abode, "peasants though we be, monsieur, still there is
-nobility too in the blood of the Laurents of Arteze, for truly in the
-veins of our ancestors ran the blood of King Arthur himself, and the
-renowned Morgana.  Is it not so, Gabrielle?"
-
-The girl smiled from one to the other.
-
-"Nay, my brother," she replied softly, "so our parents told us, but I
-wot well that there is better truth in the words of our father, that
-nobility is of the soul rather than the body, and it little matters who
-our ancestors were, so long as we ourselves wooed honour and virtue for
-our spouses."
-
-"Mademoiselle is wise," said de Coray smoothly, as his glance met hers.
-And, to his shame perchance, his own fell not beneath the steadfast
-gaze, but met it, as if he too cherished the ideals imprinted on her
-pure young brow.
-
-Nevertheless, perhaps his heart, false though it was, reproached him as
-he rode away into the darkness of the night, bearing with him the memory
-of an upturned face full of sweet, confiding trust and reverence, and
-eyes which hailed him by a name he had never known.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER XI*
-
-
-"And so we say farewell, my Henri?" sighed Gwennola mournfully, and
-there were tears in the blue eyes raised to Henri d'Estrailles' dark,
-handsome face.
-
-"Nay, rather, 'au revoir,' sweet," he replied tenderly, "though I trow
-that be hard enough to say."
-
-They were standing, those two, on the terrace path close by the river
-side.  Beyond them lay the grey gloom of the forest, with its air of
-tragedy and mystery, and behind them the château, standing on the
-outskirts of a dreary heath, grim and forbidding. But around them life
-took a gladder note; the sunshine of summer played amongst flowers and
-orchard blossoms, and birds sang sweetly in the boughs overhead.  Above
-all youth and happiness smiled the glad story, old and for ever new, of
-love and devotion, into each other's eyes.  Yet, even in the tender
-beauty of the present, the music of joy struck a minor note in the sad
-word of farewell.
-
-It was hard--so hard--to part, when love was but newly born, and yet
-part they must.  The Sieur de Mereac was inflexible in his decision.
-
-Convinced of d'Estrailles' innocence, he had offered his injured guest
-the courteous apologies due to him, apologies as sincere as they were
-hearty, though perchance small blame could be attached to his conduct,
-seeing what had passed; whilst apologies would have been of small value
-had Yvon de Mereac appeared in the hall of judgment a few moments later.
-
-Great and bitter had been the old noble's anger and mortification at
-finding that his own kinsman should have played so base a part, and
-terrible was the retribution which he swore to repay him with.
-
-But even in his desire to offer amends for an injustice so nearly
-consummated, Gaspard de Mereac turned a deaf ear to d'Estrailles'
-pleadings concerning his daughter.  To him it was a thing altogether
-beyond comprehension that a Mereac should mate with the natural enemy of
-her country, for here, on the borderland of the distracted dukedom,
-hatred of France was drawn in with the first breath of life.
-
-Only at last, yielding most unwillingly to his cherished darling's
-entreaties, did he agree to temporize.  Did the mission of the Count
-Dunois meet with success, and the bond between mutual enemies be
-cemented in one of love and marriage, then perchance, if Gwennola were
-still unchanged, natural prejudice should give way and a betrothal
-between the two be permitted.  Yet even this temporizing would scarce
-have been, had not de Mereac convinced himself of the certainty of his
-Duchess's rejection of any offer of union betwixt herself and the man
-whom she must needs regard as her bitterest foe, in defiance of the
-troth she had already plighted to the King of the Romans.
-
-So the wily old Breton, yielding no whit in his purpose to mate his
-daughter to none but her own countryman, outwardly consented to
-conditions little likely of fulfilment, and so silenced the
-importunities of the child he adored and the man whom he had so nearly
-condemned unjustly to death.  But to Yvon he confided his secret
-purpose.
-
-"'Tis but the passing whim of a foolish maid," he said lightly, "and one
-not to be regarded seriously, my son; yet 'tis wisest to yield in
-outward seeming, for, did I oppose her will, the little Gwennola would
-sigh and weep as any love-lorn maiden of romance, such as our minstrels
-picture wherewith to turn the heads of other silly maids; but if she
-have her way, she will soon forget a stranger when another noble lover
-comes a-wooing.  Nay, nay, the child is too true a Mereac to long love a
-French lover; another shall soon steal the fancy from her heart and
-leave a truer one in its place.  Alain de Plöernic seeks a bride, and
-where shall he find a fairer or a sweeter than the demoiselle of
-Mereac?"
-
-So the old father built his schemes, all unwitting of his daughter's
-mind, dreaming; that maids, forsooth! must needs be all of one pattern,
-and ready enough to change lovers at a father's command, or because,
-perchance, the name of one sounded ill in a father's ear, little recking
-that here was a slip from his own stern, iron-willed stock, which,
-having found its mate, responded not to the call of any other, even at
-the command of a parent, however beloved.
-
-So on the terrace walk the lovers, so ill assorted, yet so faithful,
-pledged undying constancy and truth, and in the hall of the château the
-Sieur de Mereac smiled at his new-found serpent's wisdom, then
-altogether dismissed from his mind the ill thought of Gwennola's
-unwelcome lover, to turn instead to think of the man to whom he had
-pledged his daughter's troth, and to swear vengeance on the subtle brain
-which had so nearly wrought the undoing of his house.  Even in his
-racial hatred he could not but admit that Henri d'Estrailles claimed his
-gratitude in striving, even though vainly, against the coward hand which
-had struck the traitor's blow on his Yvon.  And so, from thoughts of
-that scene in the wood of St Aubin, once more the old man's wandering
-reflections went back with a shuddering fury to the tale which Yvon
-himself had so haltingly told them as he stood there in the dim hall,
-with his father and sister beside him, his hands--such thin, trembling
-hands!--locked in theirs as he spoke.
-
-And the tale itself!  Ah! why had the chief actor in it gone so
-summarily from justice--his justice? Almost he could find it in his
-heart to quarrel with the faithful hound that had done its work of
-retribution so swiftly and so well.  At first it had been almost
-impossible to believe that this broken, feeble-minded man with Yvon's
-eyes could really be the gallant youth on whom his fond hopes had been
-set.  And then he had heard--yes, heard of the little cellar chamber in
-the old house at Rennes where his son had awaked from his long
-unconsciousness and found it so hard to struggle back through the
-shadowland of delirium into realization of where he was, and in whose
-keeping.  And the realization, too, when it came, how terrible and how
-bitter!  The father, conning over the tale, could well fit in the bare
-outline of it all, with lurid touches of imagination.  As he stared,
-leaning his elbow on the table before him, with unseeing eyes on the
-faded tapestries of the wall, he could picture that dark cell, the sick,
-fevered man, whose youth struggled so madly within him for life; then
-the mocking, jeering face of his captor as he told him the truth which
-there was no need to hide--the truth that he was to lie there as this
-villain's trump card, the instrument with which he was to work on
-another's fears; how indeed that he was to be kept there to pine and
-languish, but not to die, until his kinsman should enter upon his
-inheritance, when his captor would be able to use him as a constant
-menace to the unlawful Sieur de Mereac, wherewith to extort gold and
-favour for himself.  Oh, it was a cunning scheme! and how gleefully the
-originator of it would have laughed as he unfolded it to his victim!
-And then the long waiting time, the dragging by of month after month, in
-which death indeed must have been yearned for as the best good, and yet
-came not at his call.  Then the delirious fancy, born of that terrible
-captivity, that his gaoler was ever waiting an opportunity to come
-creeping into his cell with his murderous dagger.  And even though he
-had prayed for death and longed for her restful kiss, yet the terror of
-this swift and bloody end must have become unendurable.  Then, when hope
-seemed dead, the sudden fresh upleaping of it in the pity and friendship
-of the old crone who brought him food, and, on rare occasions, fresh
-garments--the resolve for flight, the breathless excitement of creeping
-up those long and winding flights of stairs, with the old hag muttering
-and sobbing out fears that her master would kill her when he heard the
-truth, then the mad joy of drawing in once more the pure draught of
-outer air, and finally the ill-timed escape--an escape so nearly
-successful, however, that he had reached the river side and stood in
-very view of the château, when the sight of his cruel captor had
-unbalanced the weak, cowed spirit once more, and he had incontinently
-fled into the forest, only to be easily overtaken and overpowered by
-Kerden, who with oaths and blows threatened torture and punishment for
-his temerity when once more he had brought him back to his prison.  But
-here the ruffian had been himself outwitted, for, in his search for his
-victim, he had himself been seen and recognised by his late master, and
-anxious, not only to elude, but put the latter off his scent entirely,
-he had determined to lie low until de Coray's suspicions were allayed.
-Accordingly he had carried Yvon to the cave he had found on the
-hillside, and had secreted himself beside him, only to steal out at
-night in search of provisions, which he procured from the peasants of
-Mereac and the little town of Martigue close at hand.  That very night
-he had told Yvon of his intention of fetching his horse and returning to
-Rennes, leaving his trembling prisoner in suspense as to his own fate.
-Whether he had changed his mind, or whether the vigilant search of
-Pierre the fool had alarmed him, it was impossible to say, seeing that
-death had so swiftly overtaken the heartless schemer; but as de Mereac
-recalled the terror-haunted face of his son as he told his story, he
-brought down his clenched fist on the table before him with a fierce
-curse on the soul of the man who had done this deed.
-
-"My son," said a gentle voice at his side, "saith not the Holy Script,
-'Forgive, as we forgive to others their trespasses'?"
-
-De Mereac turned swiftly with outstretched hand towards the black-robed
-figure standing by his chair.
-
-"Ambrose!" he cried softly.  "Nay, it does me good to hear thee speak of
-forgiveness, seeing how much I need at thy hands."
-
-The Benedictine smiled as he laid his slender hand on the other's broad
-shoulder.
-
-"Nay," he replied, "it is not for thee to crave my forgiveness, Gaspard,
-for in very truth methinks I was to blame for yielding to a maiden's
-whim, albeit a generous one."
-
-"Bah!" laughed de Mereac heartily, as he drew forward a chair and gently
-pushed the old priest into it.  "Thou wert not to blame for that, my
-friend. Gwennola, I fear me, is her father's own daughter, and when she
-setteth her mind to a thing there is no rest till it is performed.  But
-truly all was ordered for the best, and my little maid's judgment was
-not ill, though whether she defied her father from love of justice, or
-because she so hated the man whom in my folly I would have had her wed,
-I know not."
-
-Father Ambrose's smile was somewhat whimsical, for from his window he
-had seen the two figures by the river side.
-
-"Nay, old friend," he said gently, "perchance 'twas neither altogether
-justice nor hatred that made a heroine of romance of the child, but a
-stronger power than both, namely, love, which ever moveth a maid to
-strange deeds and fancies."
-
-De Mereac stared across at the priest for a moment with knitted brow,
-then, as he divined his meaning, he frowned.
-
-"A foolish whim," he retorted shortly, "and one that I trow well will
-fade fast enough when this Frenchman hath taken his departure, which,
-thanks be to Mary! he doth speedily.  I would sooner the maid became a
-dismal nun, all prayers and melancholy, than the wife of a French
-robber."
-
-"Truly to be a bride of Heaven is a happy and exalted vocation," said
-Father Ambrose reprovingly, "though," he added, with a twinkle in his
-keen old eyes, "methinks scarcely fitted for our Gwennola."
-
-"Nay," replied de Mereac bluffly, "the maid hath too high a spirit and
-too warm blood to endure the cramping life of a convent cell.  A noble
-maid, father, a noble maid, and one who shall be as nobly wed.  I have
-thought of young Alain de Plöernic or Count Maurice de la Ferrière, both
-worthy mates for the dove of Arteze, who, alas!" he added with a shrug
-of his shoulders, "was so nigh to falling a prey to yonder bloody hawk,
-whose neck I would fain wring ere the morrow's sun.  False caitiff!
-Nay, father, speak not to me of forgiveness, when I remember yon lying
-tongue and think that I might have given my daughter's hand into the red
-one which had thought to slay my son."
-
-"Peace, Gaspard," said the priest soothingly, as de Mereac leapt from
-his seat to stride wrathfully up and down the hall, "and rather than
-vengeance think of the mercies vouchsafed to thee in that thou hast son
-and daughter safely restored to thine arms."
-
-"Restored!" cried de Mereac bitterly.  "Nay, Ambrose, think of yon poor
-lad's face and drooping form, all haggard and terrible, and recall the
-morning when young Yvon rode forth so blithely across the bridge,
-calling back to me, as I lay, cursing my ill luck in being unable to
-move with rheumatic pains, that he would bring back our banner in
-triumph with fresh laurels twined around it."
-
-"It may yet be that he will recover," said Father Ambrose gently.  "But
-now, I left him sleeping peacefully; he is young, and life still runs
-swiftly in his veins; here at Mereac, with love and friends surrounding
-him, we may well hope to blot out those years which would altogether
-have crazed one less strong and courageous."
-
-"My poor Yvon! my poor son!" moaned the father. "My curses on these, his
-all but murderers.  Nay, father, reprove me not, for curse them I must
-and will; I grow verily weary of delay when I think of de Coray even now
-escaping my justice.  Nay, father, your pardon, for whilst I thus rave I
-forget to ask after thy hurts.  Thou art still pale and worn; methinks
-it were not well to rise so soon from thy couch."
-
-"Nay," said the priest with a smile, "'twas but a cracked pate, which
-truly somewhat acheth still, but which I trow will soon mend.  Better a
-pain in the head, my son, than one at the heart; therefore listen to thy
-old friend's advice, and pray rather for thine enemies' souls than for
-the destruction of their bodies."
-
-"Nay, that will I not," retorted de Mereac sturdily, "for I would not
-rob the devil of such choice morsels.--How now, Job, what news dost thou
-bring? Where is thy prisoner?"
-
-"Nay, my lord," faltered Job Alloadec, as he advanced, sweating and
-abashed, towards his irate master, "I fear me that he hath escaped, for,
-though we searched the forest from the château walls to Martigue itself,
-we could find no trace of the miscreant."
-
-"Curses on him!" growled de Mereac.  "But I know thy searchings, knave,
-with one eye shut and the other gazing upwards, as if thou expectest thy
-quarry to drop like a ripe nut from the boughs overhead.  Why, the
-fellow must needs be within reach, since he had no steed to carry him."
-
-"Nay, monsieur," replied the soldier with a perplexed stare at his
-master, "craving your pardon, methinks he found a steed awaiting him
-yonder in the forest, for when we rode to the ruined chapel" (Job
-involuntarily crossed himself) "to fetch hitherward Monsieur
-d'Estrailles' steed, which he told us was harboured close by, we found
-no trace of it, though we searched not only the shed but the ruins too."
-
-"By the beard of St Efflam, the villain hath escaped!" growled de Mereac
-furiously, "the fiends verily having assisted him, for else, how knew he
-where to find the Frenchman's horse?"
-
-Job scratched his head doubtfully.  It was to him altogether an affair
-of Satanic agencies, and as he left his lord's presence with fresh
-orders to continue the search, however hopeless, he again crossed
-himself, little dreaming that he and his fellow-searchers had been more
-than once that day within a stone's throw not only of the Frenchman's
-horse, but of de Coray himself, sitting quietly within the sheltered hut
-of Pierre the fool.
-
-It was a grief indeed to Henri d'Estrailles when he heard of the loss of
-his favourite horse--that the poor Rollo should be condemned to carry
-his master's would-be murderer out of reach of the hand of justice
-seemed a fate altogether unworthy of so gallant a beast, and one which
-filled d'Estrailles with so keen a sorrow as could not well be
-compensated by the generous gift of a splendid grey Arab from the Sieur
-de Mereac himself.
-
-The old Breton noble bade his guest a characteristic adieu, bluff,
-hearty, yet in no way concealing his satisfaction at his departure.
-
-But though Henri d'Estrailles found little encouragement from his host's
-evident, though courteously concealed antagonism, he still clung to hope
-as he bade a tender farewell to Gwennola.  That love must triumph over
-all obstacles is the gospel of youth, and so thought those two as they
-looked their last into each other's eyes.
-
-"I shall return," whispered Henri gently as he leant from his saddle bow
-to kiss the tears from the beautiful upturned face--"I shall return ere
-long, little one, to claim thy promises, and perchance remind thy father
-of his, and for troth I shall guard this ring which thou hast given me,
-and thy favour, which I shall bind in my helmet in the day of battle."
-
-She smiled at him through her tears.
-
-"Thou hast given me no guerdon," she whispered softly.
-
-"Have I not?" he replied tenderly.  "Nay, sweet, the only guerdon I have
-to give is myself, and the heart that thou hast already in thy keeping,
-and which I shall surely return anon to claim at thy hands."
-
-"Thou shalt not have it then," she retorted, smiling again as she raised
-her blue eyes to meet his dark ones.  "For thou hast given it me for all
-time, and in place--in place----"
-
-"In place?" he echoed, bending still lower.
-
-"Foolish one!" she cried, with a little laugh which ended in a sob,
-"thou knowest very well what heart thou hast in exchange--a heart of
-Brittany, monsieur, for whose sake thou must be tender of its
-countrymen."
-
-"I swear it," he replied--"I swear it, little Gwennola," and so rode
-away through the forest, and out over the wild heaths beyond, on the
-road to Rennes.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XII*
-
-
-The long-cherished dream of the astute and far-seeing François Dunois,
-Comte de Longueville, had apparently been brought to an untimely end by
-the imperious will of a young girl.  In spite of the representations of
-her guardian and trusted councillors, as well as those of her faithful
-friend, the Count Dunois himself, Anne remained firm in her rejection of
-the proposal to unite herself with the King of France, and thus form an
-indissoluble bond of union between the kingdom and duchy.
-
-"King Charles," she said, "is an unjust prince, who wishes to despoil me
-of the inheritance of my fathers.  Has he not desolated my duchy,
-pillaged my subjects, destroyed my towns?  Has he not entered into the
-most deceitful alliances with my allies, the Kings of Spain and England,
-endeavouring to overreach and ruin me?  And have I not, by the advice of
-all of you who now counsel the contrary, just contracted anew a solemn
-alliance with the King of the Romans, approved by you and all my people?
-Do not believe that I will so falsify my word, nor that I will burthen
-my conscience with an act which I feel to be so reprehensible."
-
-In vain her council urged upon her the necessity of yielding to their
-suggestions; in vain de Rieux, de Montauban, and the Prince of Orange
-joined with Dunois in pleading the state of Britanny, the impossibility
-of its defending itself, the certainty of its falling a prey to the
-first ambitious neighbour who attacked it, since their Duchess would be
-in a distant country, married to a man whose own subjects were
-continually in a state of rebellion.
-
-Anne haughtily refused to listen to these arguments. In spite of her
-tender years, her will was indomitable, and her mind clear as to what
-her actions should be.
-
-"Rather," she replied at length to her discomfited council, "than be
-found wanting in the honour and duty I owe to the King of the Romans,
-whom I look upon as my husband, I will set forth to join him, since he
-finds it impossible to come hither to fetch me."
-
-Such a reply was decisive, and Dunois was fain to ride back chagrined
-and discomfited, but not yet baffled, to give Anne's answer of defiance
-to her royal wooer.
-
-So also seemed to terminate the vague hopes to which Gwennola de Mereac
-had clung during those summer days--days which were bringing, alas!
-fresh sorrows to the lonely maiden of the old Breton château. For,
-scarce two months after her lover's departure, a fall from his horse
-during a boar hunt had left her to mourn a father who had ever been
-tender and loving to his daughter, although for the past few weeks
-somewhat sterner than his wont at her--to him--obstinate refusal to
-listen to the command he laid on her to accept the hand--if not the
-heart--of the young Comte de Laferrière, a betrothal which might indeed
-have been forced upon her had not death intervened to save her from an
-unwelcome lover, at the same time that he deprived her of a tenderly
-loved parent.
-
-The mourning of those days was long, and sufficiently trying even for
-those whose grief was the most sincere; etiquette demanding that a
-daughter should retire to bed for six weeks in a funereally draped
-chamber, at most only being permitted to rise and sit upon a couch, also
-hung with trappings of woe.
-
-Deeply as she mourned her father, Gwennola could not but breathe a sigh
-of relief as she stole out into the September sunshine at the conclusion
-of the stated period of retirement.  How dreary all seemed, she told
-herself, and yet,--why, the sun shone, and the birds sang, and after all
-life was young, and death,--she shuddered as she glanced down at her
-black robe; but even whilst the tears dimmed her eyes, her thoughts,
-with the inconsequence of youth, flew back to the lover from whom she
-had parted, and wondered when he would come again a-wooing, and what
-Yvon would say when he asked her hand of him.  Those months of rest and
-peace had wrought a great change in her brother.  Much of the lost
-beauty of youth had returned, and the attenuated limbs had regained
-their strength and vigour, but still in the blue eyes there lurked that
-vague terror which three years of haunting dread and suffering had
-indelibly stamped within them.  Neither would Yvon de Mereac ever be the
-noble, gallant knight his boyhood had foreshadowed.  Cruelty and
-mind-torture had crushed and enfeebled a strong, brave nature in their
-ruthless clutch, and Gwennola's own eyes would often fill with tears of
-sympathy as they met the restless, anxious glance of her brother's,
-which betokened a mind still clouded with nervous fears.  Yet, in spite
-of weakness, Yvon possessed an obstinate determination, when once his
-mind was set, from which neither argument nor entreaty would move him,
-and it was this vein of obstinacy which Gwennola trembled to evoke by
-mention of her lover's name, seeing that her brother inherited all his
-father's implacable animosity to their natural foes of France. Still,
-the love of brother and sister for each other was strong, and it would
-often seem as if Yvon would lean on the stronger nature of Gwennola for
-guidance and advice, whilst her own sisterly affection had, at times,
-the motherly instinct of protection for one whose mind still became
-shadowed with dread of an unseen, indefinable fear.
-
-Accompanied by Marie and the faithful Gloire Gwennola was returning some
-few days later from her weekly visit to the now bed-ridden old peasant
-dame, Mère Fanchonic, when she was surprised to note the signs of an
-arrival at the gates of the château. Two strange men-at-arms were
-leading away horses, on the backs of which were pillions.
-
-"See, Marie," Gwennola exclaimed, as she hurried forward, "what can it
-mean?  It is without doubt visitors who have but lately arrived, and
-look, pillions also!  Verily, what dames can so unexpectedly have
-honoured us, here at Arteze?"
-
-"Some travellers doubtless who have lost their way," suggested Marie.
-"But see, lady, here cometh Job, with his foolish face all agog with
-news."
-
-"Which we are as fain to hear as he to tell," cried Gwennola, laughing
-gaily, for her spirits had risen to hail any change which came to break
-the monotony of existence; besides, might this strange visit not be in
-some way connected with her absent lover?
-
-"Perchance 'tis the Dame of Laferrière come hither with her noble son,"
-suggested Marie slyly, as she watched the flush of annoyance which
-instantly rose to her young mistress's brow.
-
-"'Tis little likely," retorted Gwennola with some asperity, "seeing that
-the good dame hath been as bed-ridden as Mère Fanchonic these past two
-years. An thou hast no better suggestion to give, wench, 'twere wisest
-to bear in mind the good Father Ambrose's homily on the virtue of
-silence, which he delivered last Sunday."
-
-Marie did not reply to this rebuke, though she pursed her rosy mouth,
-round which the dimples played, and tossed her dark, comely head with an
-air of great sagacity, as one who knew well what lay in her mistress's
-thoughts behind the sharp speech.
-
-But the maidens' curiosity was in no way gratified by the worthy Jobik,
-who conveyed only the intelligence that a dame had but lately arrived at
-the château, and that his master had bidden him speedily seek his
-mistress and acquaint her with the news.
-
-"A dame?  Alone and unattended?" queried Gwennola eagerly.  "Tell me
-then, good Jobik, what name did she give? and what appearance hath she?
-Is she old or young? and hath knowledge of her features?"
-
-To which Job Alloadec responded that to his knowledge the lady had given
-no name, and that so closely was she hooded that he had not seen her
-features, but that she was tall and slender, and spoke with the air of a
-great lady, very haughtily and proudly.  For the rest, he knew naught
-save that she had come in company with a waiting damsel and three
-men-at-arms, and that the Sieur de Mereac had bidden him hasten.
-
-Seeing that it was useless to waste time in further questions, Gwennola
-hastened on, wondering greatly what such a visit portended, and who the
-lady might be who thus rode in such troublous times with so small an
-escort and unattended by any cavalier.
-
-The hall of the château was deserted, save for two men-at-arms who
-lounged near the lower end, and Pierre the fool, who lay on his stomach
-sporting with his ape, and emitting from time to time shrill screams of
-merriment in mimicry of his wizened little companion's cries of anger at
-being thus mocked, much to the amusement of little Henri, the page, who
-squatted opposite him.  In reply to his mistress's inquiries, the page
-informed her that his master was awaiting her coming in the solar room,
-whilst he ran before her to raise the tapestries which hung before the
-inner apartment.
-
-The solar room was one in which Gwennola most often sat with her maidens
-over her tapestry or embroidery work, and was more sumptuously furnished
-than the rest of the château; the floor being covered with a fine
-Flemish carpet, and the hangings of dark velvet, whilst in the corner
-stood a harp and embroidery frame.
-
-Standing by the high, narrow window, his head leaning against the stone
-work, as if he strove to see beyond into the courtyard, was Yvon de
-Mereac, and Gwennola noted the restless, uneasy expression of his
-handsome face as he turned to greet her.
-
-"Fair sister," he began nervously, as he bowed with the courtesy which
-in those days of chivalry even brothers paid to their sisters.  "Pardon
-me for so hasty a summons, but--but----"
-
-"Jobik bade me hasten to greet an unexpected guest," replied Gwennola,
-glancing round the room in surprise at seeing no other occupant saving
-her brother.
-
-"Ay," replied Yvon with growing uneasiness.  "I pray you, my Gwennola,
-of your courtesy, greet the lady graciously, for----"
-
-"Nay," retorted his sister with some haughtiness. "Am I then accustomed
-to treat guests so unbecomingly, that thou needest to school me in my
-manners, Yvon?"
-
-"Nay, nay," he replied anxiously.  "Again thy pardon, little sister, but
-methought,--methought perchance the name might strike unpleasingly upon
-thine ear, did I not first explain."
-
-"The name?" repeated Gwennola wonderingly. "In sooth, brother, I take
-not thy meaning."
-
-"It is Mademoiselle de Coray," he muttered hurriedly.  "Nay, sister,
-look not so angrily; she hath come, poor maid, on an errand of peace."
-
-"Peace!" echoed Gwennola, her face hardening into lines so proud and
-cold as to recall the stern look of her father, "a de Coray bound on
-peace?  Sooner would I trust the serpent who spoke soft words to our
-Mother Eve to have come on an errand of love to mankind than the sister
-of Guillaume de Coray to be bound on such a mission."
-
-"Nay, thy words are unjust," said Yvon hotly. "But stay, thou shalt not
-judge till thou hast seen her, for once look into her eyes and thou
-shalt read there such wells of innocence and truth as shall shame thee
-of suspicion."
-
-"Innocence and truth!" replied Gwennola scornfully. "So perchance
-thought Adam when he looked into Eve's eyes and plucked the apple from
-her hand; but tell me, then, what hath brought this paragon of beauty
-and perfection to our poor Château of Mereac? There must e'en be good
-reason to bring so fair a dame across Brittany in these times."
-
-"Thy mocking becomes thee not," retorted Yvon coldly.  "As for the
-errand of Mademoiselle de Coray, thou shalt judge for thyself whether it
-augurs more of deceit than of such sweetness of disposition as I fear me
-thou wilt scarce appreciate in thy present wayward mood."
-
-"Wayward mood!" echoed Gwennola indignantly, for a seventeen-year-old
-châtelaine could hardly thus calmly brook being chidden as a child.
-"Wayward mood, forsooth! but we shall see in good time who is the wise
-one.  Yet mayhap thou wilt tell me, most wise and well-discerning
-brother, of what import the story was?  Whereof it was made I wot I know
-already."
-
-Perhaps Yvon did not hear the last few words, in his eagerness to
-convert his sister to a more amenable mood concerning their guest.
-
-"She had heard," he said, "that our father was no more, and would, in
-spite of her brother's opposition, insist straightway on coming to
-Mereac, deeming the time a fitting one to heal a sore breach betwixt
-loving kinsmen, by an explanation which should have been made long
-since."
-
-"Loving kinsmen!" murmured Gwennola, plucking at the girdle round her
-waist.  "Bah!  I would have little of such love, I trow."
-
-"And so," continued Yvon, heeding her not, "she hath come to Mereac, and
-told me her story."
-
-"Which thou hast believed with all the simplicity of a yearling babe."
-
-"Tush! child, thou pratest of what thou knowest not; little like was I
-to be deceived.  Yet verily there was no deception in the eyes of
-mademoiselle; whilst, as for the story, it is simplicity itself."
-
-"As was the hearer," whispered Gwennola.  "And the story, brother?"
-
-"Truly for the most part I knew it before.  My sole enemy was François
-Kerden, who himself stole upon me in the wood, and would have killed me,
-for no reason but wanton cruelty, had not the fouler scheme entered his
-head.  Yet, even as it came to him, fate furthered the plot, for
-Guillaume de Coray, seeing in part what was chancing, sprang to the
-spot, and would have revenged my death, as he supposed, on my murderer,
-had not the Frenchman intervened and robbed him of his prey and me."
-Yvon stopped with a groan as the memory of those three years of
-imprisonment returned to him.
-
-"But," said Gwennola coldly, "the story scarce bears the light of truth,
-brother, seeing that Henri d'Estrailles saw the traitor blow struck;
-besides, if so innocent, why fled this so noble kinsman when he saw thee
-appear? and why did he strive to doom to death another, when he saw who
-had in reality struck thee down, according to this pretty fable?"
-
-"Nay," said Yvon, knitting his brows, "it is easily explained, didst
-thou but listen, girl.  It was in this way.  Guillaume had already been
-wounded, and, faint with loss of blood, could scarce distinguish betwixt
-Frenchman or Breton.  Both wore closed vizors, and both were near at the
-time of my fall; which had struck the blow Guillaume could scarce
-realize. The Breton fled, however, and whilst he turned to strike him
-down in the act, the Frenchman opened his vizor, and de Coray clearly
-saw his features. Methinks it was this that confused him in claiming
-that d'Estrailles had done the coward's act, for but one face was
-imprinted on his reeling memory, and surely 'twere easy thus to confuse
-which of the twain he had seen actually to perform the foul deed.  That
-it was Kerden himself is shown by the part he afterwards played in so
-torturing me."
-
-"Nay," said Gwennola shortly, "the story is false, my brother, and
-should not deceive a babe--false as the weaver of it.  Did I not kneel
-beside this Kerden and listen to his dying words, which fitted so aptly
-with those of Monsieur d'Estrailles?  It is impossible, Yvon, that for a
-moment thou couldest believe so lying a tale, or shelter beneath thy
-roof one who proves herself traitress with her first breath."
-
-"Nay, mademoiselle," said a laughing voice in the doorway, and, turning,
-brother and sister perceived the object of their conversation standing
-there, the tapestry curtain half raised by one arm, as she smiled from
-one to the other, as if aware of the dainty picture she thus formed.
-
-That Diane de Coray was beautiful there was no denying, but her beauty
-was not of the kind which perchance Gwennola had already imagined her to
-possess. No possibility of deceit seemed to lurk in her clear, hazel
-eyes, which shone with frankness and merriment. Her rosy cheeks, full
-red lips, and delicate features, all combined to give her an appearance
-of extreme youth, an embodiment of springtime, in truth, and a fair one
-to boot.  The hair under the white head-dress was soft and wavy, and of
-a rich, dark brown; her figure was slender and tall, set off to
-advantage in a sleeveless gown of crimson velvet, edged with lettice, a
-fur much in vogue then amongst the fashionable, whilst round her waist
-she wore a handsome girdle with jewelled tassels.
-
-As they turned to face her, Diane dropped the tapestry and with a deep
-curtsy towards her young hostess advanced with outstretched hands.
-
-"Nay," she cried, still laughing, "thou shalt not thus judge me unheard,
-little one.  Fie on thee! thy kinswoman a traitress?  I pray thee tell
-me wherein? See!  I come as a hostage for my brother's truth."
-
-"And one that we shall hope to keep for long," responded Yvon
-courteously, as he placed a seat for her.
-
-She laughed up at him, showing a set of small, pearly teeth as she did
-so.
-
-"Thy sister would not too warmly echo thy words, fair kinsman," she
-replied with a sly glance towards Gwennola.
-
-But Mademoiselle de Mereac was not to be moved by roguish glances,
-dimples, or sweet words. She had responded to her cousin's effusive
-greeting with a stiff curtsy, taking not the slightest notice of the
-outstretched hands.
-
-"Mademoiselle," she replied icily, in answer to Diane's rallying words,
-"is as welcome as the sister of Guillaume de Coray is likely to be at
-Mereac."
-
-Diane pouted her lips, with the sweet coquetry of a spoilt child; there
-would even seem to have been tears in the eyes which she raised first to
-Yvon and from him to Gwennola.
-
-"It is cruel," she murmured softly, "that thou wilt not believe my word,
-but it is as Guillaume warned me, for oft he hath told me with sorrow of
-the hatred you bear him, sweet Gwennola.  But no," she cried, springing
-from her seat and clasping her slim hands together with a pretty little
-air of supplication, "thou shalt be convinced, fair cousin.  See, I
-swear to thee it is true.  Wilt thou not believe me?"
-
-"If Monsieur de Coray were innocent, why did he fly?" demanded Gwennola
-inexorably.
-
-"Fly?" echoed Diane innocently.  "Nay, cousin, scarcely fly!  That he
-left in haste it is true; yet not so much from fear as from another
-sin--shall I confess it?"  Her arch smile was met by Gwennola's grave,
-set face, which, however, seemed in no way to abash her.  "It was
-jealousy," she murmured, glancing up towards Yvon and addressing him
-more than Gwennola.  "Fie! it is an evil passion.  Is it not, monsieur?
-but one to which poor mortals are prone. He had verily proved, as he
-thought, that Monsieur d'Es--d'Es--monsieur the Frenchman was guilty of
-his cousin's blood, and unworthy though it might be, he was the more
-glad to see him die as he fancied the lady of his love looked more
-kindly on him than he deemed befitting.  So, when he found that his
-rival was like to be restored to liberty, in a foolish fit of
-unreasoning rage he hurried homewards, little dreaming how ill a
-construction so weak an act could have placed upon it."
-
-"And how knew he of such construction, seeing he fled in such haste?"
-demanded Gwennola shrewdly; but Diane de Coray had suddenly become
-afflicted with deafness.
-
-"To such foolishness doth unrequited love lead us," she sighed,
-addressing Yvon solely now.  "Alas! 'tis a cruel passion at best, is it
-not, monsieur? and one better eschewed by the wise."
-
-"Nay," replied he slowly, looking down with undisguised admiration into
-her face.  "Not when it cometh in the guise of an angel of peace and
-love, mademoiselle."
-
-"Peace and love!" whispered Gwennola to herself as she withdrew.  "Mary,
-Mother, grant that it be not strife and bitter hate; for, alas! she is
-false, this demoiselle, false to the heart's core, for all her beauty."
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XIII*
-
-
-It would seem indeed that Diane de Coray had come,--if come for that
-purpose she had,--to play hostage for life against her brother's truth,
-for almost imperceptibly she slipped into her niche in the simple,
-family life at the Château of Mereac.
-
-Not that her presence brought peace in its train, for it seemed that
-where she found peace she would fain leave a sword, and many and bitter
-were the tears that Gwennola shed in the solitude of her chamber as she
-watched her enemy gaining daily more undisputed sway over her pliable
-and weak-minded brother.  Yes, it was tacitly agreed that it was to be
-warfare between these two kinswomen, yet such warfare as only women can
-play, the scratching of claws from velvet paws, and the sweet smile
-veiling bitter words.  Not that Gwennola was an adept at such fencing;
-her nature was too straightforward, perhaps also too tempestuous, to
-repay veiled insult with veiled insult.  She would reply hotly, even
-angrily, thus bringing the odium of a quarrel entirely on her own
-shoulders, leaving her rival to smile indulgently, as if at the stormy
-outburst of a child, till Gwennola could have wept for very
-mortification. These unequal trials of strength had, however, the effect
-at which Diane aimed; brother and sister grew gradually more estranged,
-for Yvon, hot with the infatuation with which his beautiful kinswoman
-had inspired him, hesitated not to rebuke his sister, ofttimes with
-anger, for replying indignantly to Diane's sugared taunts. So the days
-wore on, and Gwennola's heart grew ever heavier, and the hopes which
-summer had whispered in her ears faded before the shrill blasts of
-autumn.
-
-It had been rumoured that King Charles had taken ill the refusal of the
-young Duchess to listen to his proposals, and was even now assembling a
-mighty army to march into Brittany and demand by force what could not be
-his by pleading.
-
-In face of such rumours the bitter hatred of their overweening and
-powerful neighbours became intensified, and Gwennola knew that her rival
-would make use of such national indignation to crush her hopes that Yvon
-would allow of a betrothal between herself and Henri d'Estrailles.
-
-Indeed, that such was in truth the case, Yvon, all too soon, took no
-pains to conceal, telling his sister coldly that since she so resented
-the thoughts of a betrothal with Guillaume de Coray, she must choose
-between a nun's veil and the bridegroom her father had already designed
-for her, Maurice de Laferrière.
-
-In vain Gwennola pleaded her father's promise that, should peace at
-length bind the two countries together, her hand might follow the
-dictates of her heart.  With an obstinacy which, when once aroused, was
-immovable, Yvon refused to listen to tears or entreaties, bidding her
-choose without delay, seeing that it was time that her destiny should be
-settled, and at the same time announcing his own betrothal to Diane de
-Coray.
-
-Prepared as she was for this, still, the shock was terrible to the
-unhappy Gwennola.  The prejudice she had conceived against the sister of
-de Coray had ripened during those past weeks into something akin to
-hatred, a feeling she felt to be heartily reciprocated by Diane herself.
-That young lady, however, was sufficiently mistress of her emotions to
-conceal her dislike under a very pretty show of friendship, which
-entirely deceived the love-sick Yvon, who felt that his sister only was
-to blame in the dissensions which rose from time to time between
-châtelaine and guest.
-
-Thus matters stood that October morning, as Diane de Coray entered the
-hall of the château with her falcon on her wrist, and a smile of triumph
-in her hazel eyes.
-
-"Come, Pierre," she said softly, as the fool, who had been crouched
-shivering over the fire, at her entrance rose to his feet.  "I would
-talk with thee yonder, on the terrace path.  The Sieur de Mereac will
-not yet be ready for the chase, and meantime I have somewhat to say to
-thee.  Tell me," she added, still further lowering her voice, as she
-reached the broad terrace and stood facing her shivering companion,
-"hath thy master arrived?"
-
-"He has been for some days past at the hut of Henri Lefroi," muttered
-the lad, eyeing his interrogator curiously.
-
-"For some days?" echoed Diane in surprise. "Nay, 'tis strange; to what
-purport should he linger thus?"
-
-"I know not," replied Pierre moodily, "that being my master's business,
-and none of mine.  But what is your will, lady? for methinks I hear
-monsieur's voice yonder, calling your name."
-
-"No matter," said Diane lightly; "he can wait for the nonce.  But attend
-then, little knave: thou must go this day to the house of this Lefroi,
-and bid my brother ride hitherward as if he had come from a journey.
-Tell him that his welcome is assured from all, except perchance the
-little fool Gwennola de Mereac; but tell him on no account to delay
-longer, for I am at a loss how to proceed without him."  She repeated
-the last words emphatically, as if desirous of imprinting them on
-Pierre's mind, then with a brief nod she turned from him to welcome with
-sunny smiles the young lord of the château, who came striding towards
-her, his handsome face flushed with pleasure, his blue eyes aflame with
-love.
-
-"Nay, sweetheart," he cried reproachfully, "didst not hear me call?
-See, I grow jealous even of a fool, who is thus overwhelmed with honour
-at receiving one smile from those sweet lips."
-
-Perhaps Pierre the fool, slipping back to his corner by the fire, found
-the honour less burdensome than his lord supposed, seeing that he sat
-there chuckling at the merry flames that blazed and leapt on the open
-hearth.  It was manifestly an effort to drag himself away from the warm
-glow, out once more into the keen air, yet, so pleasant seemed his
-thoughts, that he still chuckled softly, as he trotted along the forest
-path with Petit Pierre perched on his shoulder, chattering and scolding
-in unison.
-
-The hut of Henri Lefroi bore almost as ill a reputation as the ruined
-chapel of the Brown Friar, for, folk said, this was the habitation of a
-wizard whose powers in the occult science were so great as to defy both
-heaven and hell, wherefore at the name men and women crossed themselves
-and repeated an ave, for very fear of incurring the wrath of so dread a
-personage.
-
-But it was not to the hut of old Lefroi that Pierre turned his steps,
-but rather to the little dwelling-place where Gabrielle, his sister,
-would be sitting spinning.
-
-It was two weeks since that her brother had also started spinning, but
-not in his case from flaxen thread, but the woof of romance, which had
-been born suddenly in his cunning mind.  Why should Monsieur de Coray,
-he asked himself, come so many days before the time appointed by his
-sister?  And why, instead of acquainting her with the fact of his
-presence, should he strive to conceal it?  And also, why should he daily
-steal away from Henry Lefroi's dismal abode to spend the long hours of
-the autumn days beside the pretty Gabrielle?  Aha! a pretty romance that
-was, which the little fool watched, safe hidden from prying eyes,
-amongst the undergrowth of the thicket.  Yes, he told himself, without
-doubt Monsieur de Coray had lost his heart to Gabrielle, his sister, and
-without doubt the day would come when Gabrielle should be the mistress
-of a noble château, and he, Pierre the fool, would for ever doff the
-motley and play the rôle of Monsieur Laurent.  Ah! how grand it sounded,
-how distinguished!  Yet for all that he kept jealous guard over those
-two, for not altogether did he trust the honour of Monsieur de Coray,
-although he marked shrewdly with what respect he spoke to the little
-sister, such respect as he had surely not even shown Mademoiselle de
-Mereac, the proud, haughty demoiselle of the château yonder.
-
-And Pierre, for all his foolishness, was right, for the passion of a bad
-and evil man had become purified in the presence of this child of the
-forest.  He loved her, not as he had loved others, but with a reverence,
-such as one has for saints, combined with the passion he felt for the
-woman, and, as he sat there, day by day, watching her as she span, or
-listening entranced when she sang to him a sweet, simple ballad of
-Brittany, filled with the romance and sadness of her land, in a voice
-such as the birds might have envied, he swore to himself that this
-peasant girl should be his wife, and that for her sake he would do all
-things. But the snake of old ever lurks in the fairest garden of dreams,
-and so the very purpose of his presence in these forests became one that
-he swore to fulfil, evil and cruel as it was, for the sake of this
-beautiful child, whose guileless glances had won his sin-hardened heart.
-So the devil tempts us.  For the sake, we say, of one we love, however
-pure and good, we will do evil so that we may lavish its fruits on the
-object of our devotion, who, forsooth! would shrink back appalled if it
-knew from whence those fruits came.
-
-So in the autumn woods three souls dreamed out their dreams.  Pierre the
-fool strutting, in his mind's eye, in a suit of velvet and chain of
-gold, no longer the jester or object of jest, but "Monsieur Laurent,"
-brother, honoured and esteemed, of Madame la Châtelaine.  Guillaume de
-Coray clasping in his arms the lovely girl whose image had blotted out
-so many and so varied dreams of ambitions, and leading her with proud
-and triumphant steps to his Château of Mereac, won at last by means to
-which he involuntarily closed his eyes.  And Gabrielle Laurent, seeing
-only the face of the man to whom she had given her heart, and whom she
-must love for all time, indifferent to whether he were great lord or
-simple peasant, with all the pure tenderness of her young heart.  Whilst
-at night, as she knelt in prayer within her lonely hut, she would thank
-the good God and all her guardian saints, with child-like simplicity and
-gratitude, for sending into her life one so noble and so good as
-Guillaume de Coray, repeating the name softly and reverently to herself,
-as though it possessed some charm to drive away all dreams of ill, as
-she lay in her wooden bed, watching the flickering moonlight as it fell
-across the threshold--the white, beautiful moonlight, which was no purer
-than her thoughts as she fell to sleep murmuring her lover's name.
-Alas! the poor little Gabrielle!
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XIV*
-
-
-It was some three hours after Pierre the fool had delivered Diane de
-Coray's message that the brother and sister sat together in her chamber
-at the Château de Mereac.
-
-"So thou hast succeeded?" inquired Guillaume, scanning with curiosity,
-not unmixed with admiration, his sister's beautiful face.
-
-"Beyond our expectations."
-
-There was a mocking intonation in her words which did not escape him.
-
-"So," he said, crossing his legs and leaning his elbow against the
-table, so that his eyes were bent nearly opposite to hers.  "Beyond our
-expectations? That is well.  And so the poor fool, Yvon de Mereac, loves
-you?"
-
-"As warmly as his sister hates me."
-
-"Equally to their own destruction."
-
-She laughed a trifle uneasily.
-
-"The idea causes you amusement?"
-
-His tone was not pleasant.
-
-"Amusement," she said vaguely.  Then, changing her tone, "Is it after
-all so necessary?"
-
-"Altogether necessary.  Remember your oath."
-
-She changed colour, but clung to her point.
-
-"Nay, but seeing--seeing he loves me?"
-
-"Scarcely with such devotion that he would give up his inheritance to
-the brother of his adored."
-
-She winced under the sneer.
-
-"But will nothing else content you, mon frère?  If I were his wife, I--I
-would arrange matters altogether to your will.  You shall be lord in all
-but name. Consider, he is, after all, but a poor, weak fool, who will
-ever do my bidding."
-
-Her words were rapid, and rang with a note of pleading, but Guillaume de
-Coray only frowned.
-
-"It is necessary that he shall be altogether removed, or, if plain
-speaking be necessary, he must die.  The means are already in our
-hands."
-
-She shuddered involuntarily.
-
-"Bah!" he said lightly.  "Thou surely dost not love this weakling lover
-of thine, Diane?  Grieve not for him, ma chère; the new Sieur de Mereac
-will wed thee to a nobler suitor when he comes to his own."
-
-"I cannot do it," she moaned.  "Nay, brother, I sicken at the very
-thought.  'Tis not in truth that I love him, but--but----"
-
-"A foolish fancy," quoth her brother mockingly. "Nay, Diane, thou art
-not wont to blanch so easily, and bethink thee of thy sweet revenge on
-yon proud and scornful maid."
-
-Her hazel eyes grew hard.
-
-"Yes," she said, "I hate her; yes, hate her with all my soul, for she
-scorns me, Guillaume, and flouts me too, for all her brother's anger.
-Ay, revenge is sweet, and yet----"
-
-"Courage," mocked Guillaume, leaning closer to her across the
-table--"courage, little sister.  After all----"
-
-He paused, watching her eyes dilate with sudden dread as she filled in
-the unspoken words.
-
-"No," she cried at length, and her voice rose in a quick, decisive tone,
-"I cannot do it, Guillaume; sooner than be thy tool in this work I
-will--I will----"
-
-"Die thyself belike," he said coolly, his eyes never leaving her
-changing face.  "Think well, Diane, yes, very well, before thou breakest
-thine oath--remember the fate that awaits thee, did I so much as breathe
-one word concerning thy dealings in matters which have brought many a
-fairer maid than thee to the stake, or the torture chamber.  Did I
-proclaim thee witch, what arm, even of love itself, would be strong
-enough in Brittany, ay, and in all France, to save thee?"
-
-"I am no witch," she cried passionately, "as thou knowest well, liar and
-coward that thou art."
-
-"No witch," he replied smoothly, "yet sufficiently akin to seal thy
-doom, were I to reveal thy secret dealings with one at whose name all
-Brittany shudders.  And thou thyself hast been no mean pupil, my
-sister--therefore----"
-
-The significant pause was sufficient, and the unfortunate girl covered
-her face in her hands as she moaned out--
-
-"Nay, spare me the taunt, Guillaume.  It is true I have sinned, and yet
-I am no witch, before Heaven I am no witch.  Did I not flee from the
-beldame's accursed dwelling in very terror from such deeds as they would
-have me do?  Nay, brother, little I knew with what black terror I
-played, I, a motherless girl, led astray by one whom I had deemed a
-friend."
-
-"A fair friend," he sneered, "truly a fair friend; but enough.  That
-thou didst flee is known to me; that thou wert _there_ shall be known,
-ay, and proved to the world if thou art obstinate, and thou shalt pay
-the penalty as surely as if thou wert as truly a servant of Satan as any
-hag who gathers nightly on the sands of Seville or around the nut tree
-of Benevento."
-
-Diane crossed herself, white to the lips, whilst her eyes crept to his
-face with the fear of a dog who looks up in very terror of the lash he
-knows he shall see descending.
-
-"What is thy will?" she whispered mechanically, as she read no sign of
-relenting in the hard face before her.
-
-He smiled triumphantly.
-
-"Thou wilt obey?"
-
-"I will obey."
-
-"That is well, but for the rest, thou knowest very well my will, and
-wherefore thou camest hither."
-
-She shuddered.
-
-"Still," continued her brother, "if thou wilt hear it again I will
-repeat our plan, _our_ plan, thou mindest, Diane, which thou helpedst me
-to form so cleverly at Pontivy."
-
-"I had not known him then," she cried with a little sob, "and--and he
-loves me well."
-
-"So much the better; the less chance of suspicion falling upon us.  See,
-child, have done with these foolish vapourings, and mark how all falls
-in with our purpose. The Sieur de Mereac loves thee--a love which he
-will doubtless in time extend in some measure to me, thy brother, seeing
-that thou hast set his mind at rest concerning the affair at St Aubin.
-All then are at peace and filled with content, saving only Mademoiselle
-de Mereac, who, for some unknown reason, is consumed with hatred and
-jealousy against her brother's beloved friends, a hatred which, indeed,
-also estranges her from her brother.  Suddenly, without warning, the
-Sieur de Mereac falls ill, wasting away, in some strange and
-inexplicable sickness, till in due time it is apparent that death claims
-him for a comrade.  A whisper is rumoured throughout the house coupling
-the name of Gwennola de Mereac with witchcraft; the whisper grows to an
-outcry; proofs of guilt are discovered in the maiden's chamber; she is
-condemned to death, but it is too late to save her ill-fated brother,
-who perishes, a victim to an execrated sister's malevolence, and
-Guillaume de Coray, his cousin, reigns in his stead over the broad lands
-of Mereac.  Voilà, my sister, how charming and how simple a history!
-And the means, the _means_," he emphasized, "of its fulfilment lie
-here."
-
-As he spoke he handed her a small phial containing a dark liquid,
-watching her, as the cat does the mouse, as she took it in her trembling
-hand.
-
-"You comprehend?" he asked softly.
-
-"I comprehend."
-
-He smiled pensively.
-
-"That is very well, and in due course my delightful history will unfold
-itself.  For the whisper of mademoiselle's guilt it would be well to
-employ the services of the good Jeanne.  She is discreet, that girl, and
-worthy of reward."
-
-But Diane did not answer; she was still staring in horror at the tiny
-phial she held in her hand--the phial that was the price of a life.
-
-"A charming love potion, the dear Lefroi informed me," said de Coray,
-spreading out his hands with an airy gesture.  "Ah, what a man is that,
-and what a dwelling!--a very charnel-house; and yet not without its
-amusement.  Thou mightest have done worse, my Diane, than stay to listen
-to thy fair friend's discourse on the occult science, that night at
-Pontivy.  But thou dost not agree?  Bah! what foolishness!--'tis surely
-better to mix one's own potions rather than trust to the discretion of
-another.  But, as for Lefroi, he is no gossip, and, if one foresaw
-danger, a dagger thrust is a sure seal to unruly lips.  And now, my
-sister, I will bid thee au revoir, seeing that I go to greet the
-beautiful demoiselle who did me the honour not long since to become my
-betrothed bride.  Parbleu! it may well be that ere long she shall regret
-having scorned the hand which was once offered her in love and
-friendship."
-
-"Love and friendship!" echoed Diane drearily to herself, as with a bow
-her brother withdrew.  "Thy love and friendship!  Merciful heavens!
-methinks the love of such an one would but bring damnation in its train,
-and I----"  A sob choked her whispered words.
-
-"Ah, Yvon! poor Yvon!" she muttered softly, "and thou must die!"  Then,
-shaking back her hair, which had partly fallen across her face, she drew
-herself up defiantly.  "At least," she said softly, as she faced her
-mirror, and noted the haggard countenance reflected therein--"at least I
-shall have revenge on yon proud girl.  For her I have no pity--the
-scornful one!"
-
-Meantime, so strange is human nature, Guillaume de Coray was standing
-looking out from his turret chamber towards the forest with a look so
-softened and tender that his sister would have failed to recognise the
-man who but a short hour before had planned murder in mocking tones.
-Now he was dreaming of the time when he should lead his Gabrielle forth
-from those forest shades, a proud and happy bride.  In that dream of the
-future, when he saw himself at last at the summit of ambition, lord of
-the surrounding lands, husband of a woman already adored, it was strange
-that he saw himself also attaining to an honour and nobility which he
-could never possess.  The husband of Gabrielle Laurent, he told himself,
-should close for ever the gates of the past which shrouded Guillaume de
-Coray, the blood-stained, unprincipled villain who, from serving an evil
-master, had afterwards served, more evilly still, his own lusts,
-trampling underfoot on his way any who opposed his progress to his goal,
-only mindful of his ends, caring no jot by what villainy they were
-accomplished.  Yes, the gates should be shut on this man, and in the
-Sieur de Mereac should arise a new creature, upright, honourable,
-knightly, a phantom figure striving to be ever what the woman he loved
-had pictured him.  Strange freak of complex human nature, seldom found
-so lost as to be beyond the pale of redemption; cruel and sin-hardened
-as this man was, there must needs have been a heart somewhere buried
-deeply within him, which afar off worshipped goodness and truth,--a
-heart which had been roused into life, amidst corruption, by a woman's
-pure touch.  She had believed in him, this simple peasant girl, with the
-face and mind of a holy Madonna, and the trust had awakened within him
-that long silent chord of chivalry and honour from which love itself had
-sprung.  In her presence he was no longer the Guillaume de Coray whom
-the world knew, but one who strove to cloak that evil presence in a garb
-of honour and nobility.  And in the deception itself lay the very germ
-of a new-born nobler self, a desire to lay aside for ever that hidden
-being of sin and become that which he read himself to be in her pure
-eyes.  He shuddered as he pictured her realization of himself as he was,
-and swore that sooner than that this should be he would cast the old
-self aside.  Yet,--mark the insidious whisper of Satan,--such dreams of
-goodness and virtue were garments to be donned after he had accomplished
-his purpose. Sin was the necessary tool he must employ to win for his
-white dove the fair nest he coveted; therefore sin should be his boon
-companion till the work was done, and he almost forgot to shudder at her
-uncomely countenance or shrink from the foul whispers of her counsel in
-his haste to use her far his will. Afterwards he would spurn her--yes,
-afterwards, when Gabrielle reigned at Mereac--afterwards--but not now.
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER XV*
-
-
-The sound of revelry rose high in the great hall of Mereac.  On the dais
-at the head of the table the young Sieur, with flushed cheeks and
-sparkling eyes, raised his goblet of wine and drank deeply as he looked
-into the hazel eyes of the beautiful woman beside him.  The guests
-around the table whispered together that Yvon de Mereac's taste had not
-been amiss when he chose the lovely Diane de Coray for his betrothed,
-and toasts were freely drunk to the future châtelaine of the castle, and
-admiring glances flung towards the youthful beauty who sat there
-laughing and smiling so gaily and happily.
-
-Guillaume de Coray laughed too as he pledged the fair dame beside him
-and quaffed the choice hippocras which filled his cup.  All indeed went
-well with those castles in the air which he was so intent on building.
-The first seeds were already sown, and his keen glance noted with a
-thrill of pleasurable excitement that the flushed cheek and sparkling
-eye of his young host wore anything but the bloom of health.  His own
-eyes roamed slowly round the board as he followed the tenor of his
-thoughts, and fell at length on the face of Gwennola de Mereac.
-
-The young girl was sitting silent and pale amongst her brother's guests,
-her listless eyes and apathetic replies to the cavalier beside her
-telling how far away were thoughts and heart.  In vain the Comte de
-Laferrière whispered tender words in her unwilling ears.  She replied in
-accents so cold that they must necessarily have chilled the warmest
-admirer; and at length the Count, weary of repulses, turned his
-attentions and compliments to a more sprightly damsel on his left, who
-seemed only too willing to respond to his wit and gallantry.  If he had
-thought to chagrin his destined bride, the effect was quite contrary to
-his expectations, for Gwennola seemed entirely indifferent, if not
-oblivious, to his neglect, but sat in her place, pale, listless, and
-indifferent as before, except when for a moment's space she raised her
-blue eyes to encounter de Coray's mocking smile, when a flush of anger
-swept over her pale cheeks, and for a moment her eyes flashed with their
-old scorn and defiance.
-
-In spite of her passionate indignation and pleading, this man had been
-welcomed as an honoured guest by her infatuated brother, who listened
-with ready ears to the lame and feeble excuses with which de Coray
-strove to explain the past.  All was forgiven and forgotten to the
-brother of the lovely Diane, and it needed but a brief space for de
-Coray to attain a firm command over his future brother-in-law's weak and
-wavering will.  That she should be forced into some hateful marriage or
-condemned to a convent cell was Gwennola's daily expectation, but so far
-the blow had not fallen.  It is true that Maurice de Laferrière still
-wooed, but no formal betrothal had taken place.  Yet all hopes of a
-marriage with her lover were shattered for ever, not only by reason of
-France's threatening attitude towards the persecuted duchy, but because
-of the bitter enmity of de Coray, who had successfully persuaded de
-Mereac that the Frenchman had been the ally of François Kerden.
-
-No wonder, therefore, that Gwennola's heart was heavy as she sat,
-perforce, alone and solitary, amidst the revelry around.
-
-"A new minstrel!" cried Yvon with a gay laugh. "Nay, my friend, by the
-bones of St Yves, thou comest in a fortunate hour.  Thy name, good
-fellow? and a cup of wine to clear thy throat before thy song."
-
-The stranger bowed as he accepted the cup and glanced towards the
-speaker.
-
-"My name, monsieur," he replied in the Breton tongue, "is Jean Marcille,
-and my birthplace near to Cape Raz."
-
-"Good," replied the host.  "A true Breton; and a Breton ballad of Breton
-prowess is ever welcome at the Château de Mereac.  Eh, old Antoine?  A
-new strain will be as welcome to us as a rest is to thee; therefore sing
-us a stirring lay, Sir Minstrel, and see that its theme be of love and
-war, for of such things all true knights make their dreams and fair
-ladies welcome."
-
-Again the minstrel bowed, and, taking his vielle in his hand, swept the
-chords ere he began his song, glancing as he did so round the long
-board, though his eye seemingly rested on none.  He himself was a
-sufficiently striking figure to cause interest, especially at the lower
-end of the table, where the waiting-women eyed with appreciation the
-slight, well-formed figure in its corset of scarlet cloth and wide
-hanging sleeves, and the cap of velvet, nearly half a yard in height,
-set jauntily on the man's dark hair, which well matched his bronzed
-complexion and black, merry eyes, which seemed to promise a boon
-companion of a gay wit and keen tongue.
-
-The visit of such a vielleur was not uncommon to the châteaux of the
-great; for although nearly all possessed a minstrel of their own, a
-fresh repertoire was always welcomed, music and singing being an almost
-necessary accompaniment to the meal.
-
-Jean Marcille was evidently the possessor of a voice of no mean merit,
-and thunderous applause greeted song after song.  Wild ballads of
-ancient Brittany he sang, telling of the fate of the wizard Myrddyn,
-who, for all his wisdom, was beguiled to tell his secret to the
-treacherous Vyvyan, knowing all the while of her cruel intention, yet
-unable to withstand the siren wiles of her woman's tongue, and so lies
-sleeping for ever in his tomb in the forest of Broceliande, under the
-fatal stone where his false love has enchanted him.  Then, still
-pursuing the mournful themes with which Brittany seems to abound, and
-which her children hold so dear, he sang of the romantic loves of
-Abelard the sage and Helöise the beautiful--loves which, crushed and
-killed in sorrow and despair, bloomed immortally in poetry and song. But
-presently his voice rang with a more martial strain, as, sweeping the
-chords of his harp, he sang the inspiriting songs of valour--songs
-these, perchance, of his own weaving, for they told of the distresses of
-the fair young Duchess Anne, of her helpless condition amongst ravening
-enemies, of her gallant Bretons rallying around her, of the intrepidity
-of Breton heroes, of the siege of Gwengamp, where the brave Captains
-Chero and Gouicket defied the traitor Rohan's call, and declared that
-whilst there was a Duchess in Brittany they would not give up her towns;
-and of Tomina Al-Léan, the wife of Gouicket, who took her husband's
-place on the walls when he lay helpless and wounded below.
-
-Such ballads, at such a time, when deeds of chivalry were brave men's
-daily acts, and ladies had no smiles for recreant knight or coward
-lover, never failed to stir their listeners to a frenzy of enthusiasm,
-and knights drew their swords as they sprang to their feet, and, with
-goblets in their right hands, drank to their little Duchess, and flung
-the shivering glass to the ground.
-
-Only, perhaps, the enthusiasm of Guillaume de Coray was a little forced,
-and his lips curved more than once into a mocking smile as he watched
-the ring of flushed faces, and reflected how small a concern it was of
-his did Duchess or King rule in Brittany, provided his own schemes went
-well.
-
-The stranger minstrel needed little pressing to stay at the Château of
-Mereac, for truly it seemed that he fell almost naturally into his place
-in the household. A welcome addition, indeed, to enliven the shortening
-and gloomy days, for the voice of old Antoine was growing cracked and
-faltering, and his songs became wearisome by reason of oft repetition;
-nor had the elder man the facility in weaving new ones which his young
-rival seemed to possess--a fact which tended to jealousy, though Antoine
-was too wise to let such be apparent.
-
-Meantime, Jean Marcille proved to have as soft and winning a tongue in
-speech as in song, and so Marie Alloadec found, as she sat busily
-employed in her needlework, whilst the minstrel sat on the wide ledge
-beside her with crossed legs and a face bent perhaps a little nearer to
-Marie's swiftly flying needle than was judicious.
-
-He was telling her of his home, near the wild and mournful Cape Raz, and
-from time to time Marie would allow her work to fall as she listened to
-the graphic descriptions of that dreary and romantic coast.  The very
-name of Raz causes the trembling sailor to pray aloud to his patron
-saints as he thinks of the time when his boat must glide by the red
-rocks where the hell of Plogoff yearns for its prey.  No wonder the
-Breton proverbs say, "None pass the Raz without hurt or fright," and
-"Help me, great God, at Cape Raz;--my ship is so small, and the sea is
-so great."
-
-A terrible dwelling-place this, with a brooding fear in the air and a
-melancholy mingled with every legend and fancy which haunts the coast
-around.  Far away there beyond Dead Man's Bay lies the island of Sein, a
-desolate sandbank inhabited by a few compassionate families, who yearly
-strive to save the shipwrecked mariners.  This[#] island was the abode
-of the sacred virgins, who gave the Celts fine weather or shipwreck.
-There they celebrated their gloomy and murderous orgies; and the seamen
-heard with terror, far off at sea, the clash of the barbaric cymbals.
-Yonder, too, watchers may see two ravens flying heavily on the shore:
-they are the souls of the dread King Grallo and his daughter; whilst the
-shrill whistling, which one would take for the voice of the tempest, is
-the _crierien_, or ghosts of the shipwrecked, clamouring for burial.
-
-
-[#] See Michelet's _History of France_.
-
-
-"But see," Marie exclaimed, with great eyes grown even greater with
-wonder and awe as she listened to the wild tales which Marcille poured
-into her ears, "they are gloomy, these tales, and very terrible; and
-yet, how is it that you laugh and are gay, and have altogether the air
-of joy and happiness?"
-
-"A good conscience," quoth Jean lightly, as with absent fingers he
-twanged the strings of his vielle. "Also, mademoiselle, perchance the
-good gift of my mother, who came from laughing Touraine, where all sing
-and are gay, and where the waters of the Loire dance with the happy
-sunshine, instead of being grey with melancholy, as here in Brittany."
-
-"Of Touraine?" questioned Marie, dropping her voice, whilst her bright
-eyes searched curiously the dark, smiling face of the minstrel.  "And
-thy mother came from Touraine?  But that perchance was long since, and
-thou hast never journeyed so far?"
-
-"I?" laughed Jean Marcille.  "Nay, mademoiselle, a minstrel wanders oft
-in many lands, and I have seen not only the orchards and meadows of
-Touraine, but the blue skies of Italy, and the white mountains of
-Switzerland in my day."
-
-"But of Touraine?" persisted Marie.  "If thy mother is of that country,
-thou knowest perchance much--almost as much as of thy native Brittany?"
-
-"Verily," replied Marcille, with a shrug of his shoulders, "seeing that
-my father died long since, when I was but a little lad, and my mother,
-wearying of grey skies and the wails of lost spirits, was fain to return
-to the sunshine of her own land."
-
-"And so," said Marie, her colour deepening as her eager eyes again
-sought his, "you have long dwelt in the land of our enemies, Sir
-Minstrel? Aha! but you told not that to our lord yesternight when he
-asked from whence you came."
-
-Marcille spread out his hands with a careless gesture of indifference.
-
-"Monsieur asked me only of my name and birthplace," he replied with a
-smile.
-
-"But if perchance mademoiselle fears I am a spy----"  He paused,
-watching her face as she turned it to him.
-
-"Nay," she murmured, glancing around to be sure that they were unheard;
-"I asked,--I asked--because,--because I would have inquired of a noble
-monsieur from Touraine who journeyed hitherward in the early summer, and
-in whom my mistress took somewhat of an interest."
-
-"For that matter," said her companion, "there is scarce a château in all
-Touraine whose lord I do not know; for there is ever a flagon of wine
-ready for the minstrel bard."
-
-"But not ever for Breton ballads," slyly replied Marie, with a
-coquettish side-glance.
-
-"Nay," he laughed, "I suit my songs to my company, mademoiselle, for
-'tis a foolish bird that sings only on one note, and there are chansons
-and rondeaux of Touraine and Anjou with which I can woo the dimples to
-thy cheeks, sweet mistress, as well as ballads of Brittany, to bring
-tears to those bright eyes."
-
-"But," she said, shaking her head at him with a dimpling smile to
-moderate her rebuke--"but you are foolish, altogether foolish, and I
-want no compliments of France, but rather listen to what I would ask of
-you.  In this fair Touraine, where all laugh and are gay, have you
-perchance met one who is named Monsieur Henri d'Estrailles, whose
-château lies not far from the banks of the Loire?"
-
-"So well I know him," replied Marcille, eyeing her steadily, as if he
-would fain read her very heart--"so well I know him, that at his bidding
-I am here; pretty maiden, to bring his message to thy fair mistress."
-
-"A messenger from Monsieur d'Estrailles!" gasped Marie, whilst the work
-slipped from her hands and lay unheeded on the floor.  "A messenger from
-Monsieur d'Estrailles!"
-
-"Ay, verily," whispered the minstrel.  "But speak not so loudly,
-mademoiselle, for, from what I gather, there were short shrift for me
-did some here suspect me or my errand."
-
-"But I cannot believe it," murmured Marie, her eyes still round with
-wonder.  "It is impossible."
-
-For reply Marcille slipped his hand into his vest and brought forth a
-small ring which lay safely shrouded in his brown palm.
-
-"It is the token," he said simply.  "Do not fear, Mademoiselle Marie;
-all is as I say.  I am in truth the servant of Monsieur d'Estrailles,
-who hath a message for his mistress's ear, but knew too well that he
-might not come hither in his own proper person to tell it, seeing that
-even now the French army crosses the Breton border, and he feared that
-his presence at such a time might be less than welcome."
-
-"Less than welcome!" echoed Marie.  "Nay, at the moment I ween it would
-be death itself to the gallant knight.  But your message shall be
-delivered, monsieur, and at once.  See, I go with haste to my mistress's
-chamber, and it shall be that I will return anon to summon you to her
-presence."
-
-So saying, Marie Alloadec, without waiting to gather up her fallen
-embroidery, tripped quickly away, to return with haste in a few moments,
-softly calling to Marcille to follow her.
-
-Neither of them noticed that close to the embrasure in which they had
-been seated knelt the figure of a woman, who withdrew almost behind the
-heavy tapestry hangings as they passed.  But there was a smile on the
-face of Jeanne, the dark-browed waiting-woman of Diane de Coray, as she
-watched furtively their departing figures.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XVI*
-
-
-The Sieur de Mereac was sick.  No longer could there be any disguising
-of the fact; he had grown in the past week thin and emaciated, whilst
-his great blue eyes, so like his young sister's, looked out of his
-sunken face with a pathetic wistfulness which touched a chord of pity in
-the hardest heart.
-
-Yet what the reason of so strange and deadly a sickness might be it
-seemed impossible to say.  Vague suspicions, indeed, seemed to float
-like faint and evil breaths upon the air of the château; but so
-intangible were they, that men scarce dared to look into the thought
-which from time to time stirred within them. Gloom had suddenly seemed
-to fall upon the household which had before resounded with a mirth
-scarcely befitting, seeing that so short a time had elapsed since the
-death of the old Sieur.  And now it would seem that death again
-stretched forth his hand, but not this time to gather to his full garner
-one whose head was already white with the snows of age, but to snatch
-greedily at youth, with its swift pulsations of joy and life.  What did
-death here?  What place had he at the betrothal board?  What right had
-his shadow to fall between the sunshine of love and its fulfilment?
-Such questions were hard indeed to answer, and by reason of them the
-shadow of fear fell on those who pitied, whilst they loved, the young
-master, whose footsteps through life had led him in such tragic paths,
-and who now seemed, in the dawn of happiness, before unknown, to stand
-before the yawning chasm of a grave.
-
-Yet, strangest and most mysterious of all did it seem that Gwennola de
-Mereac--she who, in past days, had been so tenderly attached to her
-brother--should scarcely heed the fact of his altered appearance, and,
-from brooding melancholy, herself assume all suddenly an aspect of
-content and happy expectation.
-
-So the retainers of Mereac gazed at the mysterious march of events,
-whilst the whisper on the air grew clearer day by day.  But Gwennola
-suspected none of these things.  True, her heart ached for her brother
-as she noted his altered looks; yet so wide had grown the gulf which
-Diane de Coray had made between them, that her pride refused to allow
-her to show the anxious solicitude she felt; whilst Diane herself strove
-secretly to make such solicitude the more impossible by her attitude
-towards the girl she hated.  Yvon was made silently to know that he must
-choose between his sister and his lady-love; and there was no hesitation
-possible in his mind as Diane bent tenderly over his couch, whilst
-Gwennola held coldly aloof, allowing no one to guess the bursting grief
-and jealousy which raged in her heart.
-
-But it was not altogether pride alone which set Gwennola's lips into a
-calm and serene smile of seeming unconcern for her brother's sickness;
-for, setting apart her anxiety for him,--and youth is skilful in
-persuading itself that such fears are groundless,--she was rejoicing
-secretly in the message brought to her by the hand of Jean Marcille.
-
-Ah! what a joy it had been, and yet how fierce an anxiety brooded behind
-it!  As she sat by her window, watching the brown leaves of the forest
-trees caught and whirled away in the autumn wind, her heart was singing,
-yet shuddering, as she thought of the time, but three days hence, when
-she should creep forth as she had done months ago and find, under that
-forest shade, the lover, faithful and true, who laughed at perils for
-the joy of clasping her once more in his arms.  How sweet it was to
-rehearse over and over again that meeting--the terrors of the woodland
-path, the haunting dread of spying eyes, all forgotten and swallowed up
-in the glad moment when she should feel those strong arms holding her to
-him, and should look up to read the old, old story in eyes so full of
-love's deepest tenderness.  Then the exquisite joy of the picture faded,
-as fears crowded with jeering, mocking faces around the dream.  What if
-he should be discovered?  This time there would, she knew, be no escape.
-No shadow of suspicion would be too faint to seal his doom.  Revenge,
-she knew, was smouldering deeply in de Coray's heart, and the hatred and
-jealousy of his sister would but too eagerly seize upon this means of
-repaying her rival, whose influence, she knew, would fain have been
-exerted to drive her from the château gates.
-
-But Marie Alloadec had no such fears.  The faithful maiden rejoiced not
-only in her mistress's romance, but in one of her own which was being
-woven at the same time.  The handsome face of Monsieur d'Estrailles'
-messenger had already made its impression on the Breton girl's
-susceptible heart; and Jean Marcille had been no backward wooer, finding
-it altogether to his own pleasure, as well as his master's interests, to
-make love to the pretty waiting-woman whilst he attended to her
-mistress's commands.
-
-All three were keenly aware of the dangers that beset them; but love
-laughs at such dangers, and the happy optimism of Marie and Marcille
-comforted, if it did not convince, Gwennola.  For Marie it was easy to
-be gay, for her lover was beside her; but for her own part, Gwennola
-shivered even whilst she smiled, so fearful of ill was she.
-
-But at last the night had arrived, a night so calm, so peaceful, that it
-seemed as one born out of time in that wild month of November.  True,
-there was but a dying moon to light the way through the forest path, and
-from time to time even her wavering light was dimmed by the scudding
-clouds which obscured her.  But this time Gwennola went not to her tryst
-unattended; indeed, such a course was fraught with dangers, which had
-necessarily multiplied since the summer, for the hungry wolves grew more
-importunate than ever for their prey.  Shielded, however, by the strong
-arm of Jean Marcille, and accompanied by Marie, who pleaded to be
-allowed to follow her mistress on her dangerous errand, she felt little
-fear of these four-footed enemies; whilst behind, she knew, Job Alloadec
-guarded faithfully the open postern gate.
-
-It was, however, only discreet that Jean and Marie should remain behind
-in the shadow of the trees, whilst she advanced alone towards the ruined
-chapel.
-
-Ah! the memories that thronged around the spot!--memories of terror long
-past, as also of that father, so dear and yet so imperious, whose anger
-she had braved, and whose forgiveness she had won, all for the sake of
-the man who stood now once more before her.  No gallant knight was here,
-however, as in those other days when the warm summer breezes stirred the
-ivy round the grey walls, and the scent of the flowers was sweet on the
-night air.  The very moonlight seemed to shrink at sight of the tall
-figure whose brown cowl was drawn so closely round its head, as it stood
-waiting there alone.  But as Gwennola, with a little cry, ran forward,
-the cowl fell back from a dark head which was assuredly not that of any
-spirit of ill, and strong, human arms caught and held her in their warm
-embrace, whilst passionate kisses were pressed on the rosy, trembling
-lips which whispered over and over again his name.  No wonder that the
-white owl who sheltered herself amongst the ivy of the ruin fled
-shrieking dismally against the sacrilege which thus desecrated with
-human love the haunt of her ghostly friends; no wonder that the lizard
-which crept up the crumbling wall paused to peep with cunning,
-glittering eyes at the scene which his forefathers had watched in the
-garden of man's innocence.  But at that supreme moment what cared those
-two for watching eyes?--so oblivious were they of any other in the wide
-world than the ones into which each looked.
-
-True eyes, brave eyes, eyes in which the story of love and faithfulness
-was so easy to read!  And then once more down to earth and the perilous
-present they must come, and leave the all-absorbing joy of that first
-moment of oblivion to the past and to the dim, sweet future to which
-both were looking with eager longing, the more impatient for that brief
-moment of rapture.
-
-But it was no time for love dreams then, with the keen winter wind
-whistling around, and the still colder fear of danger which whispered of
-separation.
-
-There was so much to tell, so much to hear, so much to plan, and oh! so
-short a time for the speaking of it all.
-
-Together they sat there amongst the ruins of a dead past, and built
-golden castles for the future; shining, gorgeous castles, all
-love-illumined and beautiful.  But even as they built them, difficulties
-innumerable and insuperable blew them once more to their feet.  The
-situation was indeed one which well might dismay lovers so devoted.  The
-vast army of Charles was already advancing towards Rennes; and though it
-appeared to menace rather than to attack, still the danger to the duchy
-seemed imminent if the Duchess Anne held fast to her determination, as
-it seemed only too likely she would do.
-
-In faltering tones Gwennola told the story of the past months: of her
-father's death, of the coming of Diane de Coray, of Yvon's fatal
-infatuation, of the return of Guillaume de Coray and of the complete
-sway he and his sister held over her brother's weak mind; of Yvon's
-illness and her own estrangement from him; finally, of Diane's veiled
-persecution and her fears for her own future.
-
-A stormy picture, so dark that for the moment it held both lovers
-speechless; till, as he bent to look into the face half hidden on his
-shoulder, Henri caught sight of a bright tear which trembled on the
-drooping lashes.
-
-"Nay, weep not, my darling," he whispered passionately.  "Thou shalt not
-thus weep and fear such things; it shall not be permitted.  Sooner than
-that I will mount thee on good Charlemagne yonder, and ride with thee to
-Touraine, where we will laugh together at these vile plotters--ay, and
-at thy brother too for bringing such unhappiness to his little sister's
-heart.  Fie on him! hath he forgotten that but for thy bravery he would
-even now have been rotting in some foul dungeon?"
-
-"Nay," she whispered, smiling, "but that also was more for thy sake,
-Henri, than for his, though well I loved him--ay, and love him still for
-all his harshness, for I know that his eyes are, for the time, blinded
-by reason of this woman."
-
-"But, say," cried d'Estrailles pleadingly, "is it then so impossible to
-aid thee, little one?  Would I might go boldly to yonder château and
-claim thee for my bride, for it seemeth to me but a coward's part to
-hide like any evil-doer in such a manner."
-
-"Ah, Henri," she sighed, "what foolishness thou wouldest speak!  Surely,
-little couldst thou aid me by entering the lion's den, or save me from a
-dreary fate by dying as a spy, as thou wouldst surely be dubbed if thou
-camest hitherward in thy proper guise."
-
-"The lion's den!" he echoed scornfully.  "Rather I would term them
-jackals, seeing that their ways are cowards' ways, and their thoughts
-the thoughts of traitors.  But tell me, sweet, is then my plan so
-impossible?  or wilt thou fear to trust all,--even thyself,--to my
-honour?"
-
-"Fear?" she smiled; "fear!"--and she raised her lips to meet his caress.
-"Nay, Henri, 'tis no fear that causeth me to hesitate, but
-because--because----"
-
-"Because?" he questioned, holding her hands in his.  "Because, little
-one?"
-
-"Truly, I know not," she whispered softly; "only, perchance 'tis
-foolishness, but my mind misgiveth me as to what is best.  Let us wait,
-my Henri, till to-morrow, and I will ask the advice of dear Father
-Ambrose, who loves me well, and who, methinks, hath no more liking for
-these de Corays, brother and sister both, than have I.  Moreover, I am
-assured that he pitieth me, and would fain see me happy, which he
-wotteth well I could never be in convent cell or other arms than thine.
-So till to-morrow, Henri, let us wait, and it may be--it may be I will
-come."
-
-So again they sat there side by side, dreaming of all the bliss that
-coming would make, whilst he told her again of the happy, merry life of
-Touraine, so vividly that it seemed to Gwennola that she was already
-riding by his side through the laughing meadows and sunny orchards
-singing rondeaux and virelais gay and sweet as their surroundings, with
-no weird melancholy such as every song reverberated with in this grey,
-yet for ever dear, land of Brittany. But dreams must fade ofttimes
-before the dawn, and erelong they must say farewell, those foolish young
-lovers, who found the world so entirely made for them alone.  And yet
-not farewell, but _au revoir--au revoir_ until the morrow, with,
-perchance, Father Ambrose's approval, if not his blessing, on their
-flight from troubles and shadows, suspicions and jealousies.
-
-"Au revoir!  Au revoir!"  The very sweetness of the words made a melody
-in Gwennola's heart as she and her attendants hurried homewards, and her
-lips trembled in a smiling happiness, warm with the memory of his
-kisses.  As for Marcille and the rosy-faced little Marie, they also had
-found the waiting time less irksome than might have been supposed; for
-the example of one's betters, see you, is a fine thing to follow, and
-the atmosphere of love is so infectious that perchance it had even
-become wafted towards the shadow of the trees where the two waited; and
-that may explain, the reason why Marie's rosy lips dimpled too as she
-smiled in the darkness and a hand which should have been holding her
-cloak slid downwards to meet and be grasped by another hand, strong and
-tender, which held it so fast that the smile nearly overflowed into a
-merry laugh for the very happiness of youth.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XVII*
-
-
-"Alas, poor Yvon!  Nay, rest thy head so,--yes, that seemeth better; and
-place thy hand in mine. Ah! how cold it is! and how thou shiverest, even
-before this warm blaze!"
-
-"Ay, cold as grows my heart when I think of what this sickness
-portendeth," groaned Yvon, as he lay back wearily on his couch, looking
-up with loving yet wistful eyes into the glowing, beautiful face bent so
-close to his.  An angel of light and grace did Diane de Coray appear in
-her graceful, clinging gown of heavy white material, the long sleeves
-and throat edged with gleaming gold, whilst the high head-dress framed a
-face fair enough to soothe and gladden any man, and soft hazel eyes
-filled with sympathy, tenderness--and perhaps some other vague,
-undefined expression impossible to read.
-
-She repeated his name over softly many times as she stroked the thin
-hand which lay listlessly at his side.
-
-"Thou wilt be better anon," she said gently at length, in reply to his
-weary sigh.  "See, Yvon, for my sake thou _must_ be better."
-
-He shook his head sadly.  "Nay," he replied, "I fear not, little Diane;
-for me there is naught but the grave--the grave in which shall be buried
-all the hopes and the great love with which thou hast inspired me.  Yes,
-little one, weep not, for it is even so, bitter as it seemeth to say
-it,--and how bitter the holy saints only know; for death is a sorry
-guest when love has stepped in before him.  And I love thee, my Diane, I
-love thee, with all this poor heart of mine--not worthy of thee, sweet,
-nay, not worthy, for suffering and fear have left but a sorry wreck of
-the Yvon de Mereac who once was.  And yet, Diane, thou hast loved this
-poor, weak one, so unworthy of thee!  See, thou shalt hold my hands in
-thine and say it softly,--thus,--'I love thee, Yvon de Mereac, I love
-thee, although thou art but a poor, unworthy lover at best for the
-sweetest, fairest damsel that the good God ever made.'"
-
-"Nay!" she cried passionately, dashing away a tear, and bending to kiss
-the white, upturned face; "thou knowest well that I love thee, Yvon, the
-saints aid me!  But thou shalt not die!  Listen!--I will tell thee my
-secret thoughts, though I fear me thou wilt be angry."
-
-"Angry?" he questioned, smiling; "angry with thee, Diane?"
-
-"Yes," she said, turning a flushed, half-shamed face to him, and
-speaking in a hard, even voice; "thou wilt be angry, Yvon; and yet I
-will dare that anger for the love I bear thee."
-
-She glanced around as she spoke, but none were near; only the tapestried
-faces met hers as they looked calmly down from the walls as if, lifeless
-as they were, they scorned this woman who knelt there, knowing and
-hailing her as liar and traitress.
-
-But the swift pang of remorse and fear which held the words trembling on
-her lips passed, and, steeling herself to her task, the girl drew close
-to the sick man's side.
-
-"Listen," she said softly, "and judge, Yvon, my betrothed.  Hath it not
-caused thee wonderment, this sore sickness of thine?  None can tell its
-name; skilled leech as he is, Father Ambrose hath no knowledge of it;
-and yet, so deadly is its nature, that truly death seemeth near."
-
-Yvon's blue eyes were fixed curiously on the speaker's face, a vague
-horror growing in them as she proceeded.
-
-"Hath all this never struck thee, my Yvon?  Hast thou not searched in
-vain for the cause of thy suffering?"
-
-"Nay," he muttered, "I understand not what thou speakest of, Diane."
-
-"Of witchcraft," she said softly but very clearly. "Of witchcraft,
-dearest love, which hath been brought to work so evilly upon thee that
-death stands already awaiting thee."
-
-She crossed herself, shuddering as she saw the horror deepening in the
-wide eyes so close to hers.
-
-"Witchcraft?" he echoed faintly.  "But wherefore? and by whose hand
-should such spells be wrought?"
-
-"By the cruel hand of Gwennola, thy sister!"
-
-Instantly the blue eyes blazed, a red, angry flush swiftly dyeing the
-pale, sunken cheeks.
-
-"Gwennola! my sister Gwennola a witch!  Nay, Diane, thou ravest.  Unsay
-such words, maiden!  By my faith, they shall not be breathed again in my
-presence,--the honour of the house of Mereac may not lightly be bandied
-by careless lips."
-
-She had expected his anger, and faced it coolly enough.
-
-"I cannot unsay the truth, Yvon de Mereac, even when thy house's honour
-is at stake.  Nay! blame not me, but rather her who so cruelly hath
-dragged it in the mire."
-
-"But it is a lie," he cried passionately, "a foul and cruel lie.  Who
-dared speak such words to thee, Diane?  I will have him hanged to the
-nearest tree for thus smirching the fair name of a noble maiden."
-
-Diane laid a soft, caressing hand on his clenched palm; the eyes she
-turned to his sparkling and indignant ones were full of tears.
-
-"Alas! alas! my Yvon!" she whispered.  "Should I have dared thus to
-speak of thy sister had I not for myself discovered the truth of the
-accusation?"
-
-He lay back on his couch, panting and almost breathless with emotion;
-but his eyes dilated still with fear and horror as he listened to her
-smooth, softly spoken words.
-
-"But for the love I bear thee, Yvon, no word should have crossed my
-lips; but because even now it may not be too late to save thee, love
-hath unsealed my lips, and I hereby do solemnly declare to thee that thy
-sister Gwennola, and she alone, is answerable for this thy deadly
-sickness."
-
-"Nay, I cannot believe it," he cried with a quick sob.  "What!  Gwennola
-try to slay me? my father's little Gwennola a witch?  It is beyond
-reason, I tell thee, Diane."
-
-"So said I at first," said Diane softly; "yet nevertheless it is truth."
-
-"Gwennola!" he echoed dreamily, as on the instant all the old childish
-days seemed to surge forward in his memory--"little Gwennola!"
-
-He was seeing her, a tiny, lovely maiden of five innocent summers, being
-held up in his own strong young arms to kiss the forehead of his horse;
-and remembering how she turned from loving the black steed to fling a
-pair of soft, baby arms round his neck and kiss him again and again.
-Then other pictures stole back to him in the darkening room: pictures of
-the same child grown into a slim little maiden, beautiful as the flowers
-which bent their fair heads to the summer breezes; with great blue eyes
-which were always watching for father and brother, whom she must ever
-run to greet, if but for the excuse of slipping away from the embroidery
-frame and her mother's rebukeful eye.  But at the last the pictures
-faded, shrivelling up before a poisoned breath--and Diana's voice rang
-in his ears, "Gwennola is a witch!"
-
-"No," he cried fiercely, as if to drown the accusing voice; "it is no
-truth, but a lie--a lie fashioned in the blackest hell!"
-
-But Diane was not to be moved by his harsh words. She was playing for a
-stake, and knew she must win, though in her heart she was the more angry
-to find that the love she had hoped to have already destroyed had so
-strong a root.
-
-"It is for thine own sake I spoke, my Yvon," she pleaded, with a break
-in her soft voice.  "Alas! alas! I have but angered thee, and all to no
-purpose, seeing thou wilt neither believe nor strive to save thyself
-from her spells."
-
-"Nay, sweet one, thou must forgive my angry words," said her lover,
-melting to tenderness as his ear caught the sob in the gentle tones.
-"Well I know that it is but thy zeal for my welfare which hath led thee
-astray in believing such false words.  But bethink thee, my Diane, what
-proof can these evil tale-bearers bring? what knowledge have they?"
-
-"Ah, me!" moaned Diana, "I must anger thee again, Yvon; and yet, so
-cruelly has she deceived and wronged thee, that I will have no pity--no,
-for so foul a wrong deserves none, and her sin be on her own head!"
-
-"Speak," muttered Yvon hoarsely, as once more the fear crept into his
-eyes; "speak, Diane."
-
-"When my maid, Jeanne Dubois, told me the tale," said Diane softly, "I
-bade her be silent; for, for evil tongues there was sharp punishment,
-and slanderers, to my thinking, should have small mercy.  But the wench
-persisted, and so perforce I listened, merely at first to point to her
-the danger of such lying falsehoods.  Yet the story smacked so vividly
-of sincerity that I listened at length with more attention, whilst she
-told me that the Demoiselle de Mereac kept strange company, and that
-ofttimes passing her chamber door at nightfall she had had reason to
-cross herself for very fear of the weird chantings and voices she heard
-within.  Yet knowing it was naught of her business, the girl said
-nothing till, chancing one day to be conversing with Pierre the fool,
-the knave whispered somewhat in her ear of his own suspicions, and told
-Jeanne that he could also prove to her how that the young châtelaine not
-only gathered evil company under the very roof of the château, but also
-went into the heart of the forest at the midnight hour to celebrate
-terrible orgies with her foul friends, and converse with her dread
-familiar, who appeareth to her in the garb of a brown friar, who, for
-his evil deeds on earth, hath been condemned to haunt the shades of a
-ruined chapel and assist still further those whose sins are as black as
-those of his own lost soul."
-
-Again Diane looked steadily into Yvon's eyes, and with a thrill of
-triumph marked the look of dread which had stolen into them.
-
-"I myself," she said sadly, "have already proved the truth of Jeanne's
-words; it remains with thee, Yvon, to also convince thyself of a guilt
-which, alas! shineth as clearly as noonday.  In very truth, I beg thee
-thus to prove the words I have dared to speak, for little doubt is there
-in my mind that in this lost maiden's evil practices lies the secret of
-thy fatal illness.  And because I love thee, Yvon, with all my heart and
-soul I pray thee strive to save thyself from these cruel spells, and
-even, if need be, tear from its parent-tree this smitten branch and cast
-it into the fire."
-
-"Gwennola!--Gwennola!" moaned Yvon; "my father's darling,--his little
-Gwennola!  Is it possible that thou hast so fallen--art become so lost?
-Diane," he cried, turning almost fiercely upon her, "I accept thy word.
-Prove to me my sister's guilt, and I will myself light the faggots which
-shall purify the honour of the house of Mereac.  Yet I warn thee that if
-this tale be false, the very love I bear thee shall shrivel and burn
-away till nothing be left but the ashes of hatred."
-
-"I will prove it," said Diane, returning his look unflinchingly.  "This
-very night, with thine own eyes shalt thou behold thy sister clasped to
-the arms of one of hell's foulest shades, and with him plotting for thy
-destruction."
-
-
-
-
-                            *CHAPTER XVIII*
-
-
-It is difficult to realize how tremendous a hold the superstition of
-witchcraft had upon the minds of our ancestors from the earliest ages.
-And in the fifteenth century the fear of wizards and witches and belief
-in their supernatural powers was almost unlimited. Indeed, the repute of
-madness was not more fatal to dogs than that of witchcraft to human
-beings.[#]  So destructive was it, that there is scarcely a hamlet of
-ancient date west of the Carpathians wherein crowds of witches have not
-been massacred during the middle ages.  For a considerable period
-Cologne burnt four hundred of these wretches, Paris three hundred, and a
-multitude of second-rate towns two hundred a-piece every year.  To be
-stigmatised as a witch was to be condemned, sooner or later, to the
-stake; and so well was this understood, that the malicious had only to
-fix that evil name on their victims in order to secure their execution.
-A list remains of some hundred and fifty witches slain in three years by
-that insignificant place, Wurzburg; and among the sufferers we find
-half-a-dozen vagrants, children, and others; a scold, a learned judge, a
-skilful linguist, several popular preachers, and "Goebel Babelin, the
-prettiest girl in Wurzburg."
-
-
-[#] See _Witches and their Craft_.
-
-
-It was a fundamental axiom of the witch-codes, as explained by Bodin,
-that no witch might be acquitted unless her innocence shone "as clear as
-the noontide sun"; and every care was taken to render that impossible.
-But by far the most powerful means of effecting their
-conviction--surpassing false witness and torture by an infinite
-length--was the infamous scrutiny to which the miserable creatures were
-subjected.  The search for devil mark and amulet, as prescribed by the
-Church, was regarded as worse than death itself, and of the thousands
-who perished, a vast proportion died self-accused, preferring the deadly
-search of the flame to that of the monkish inquisitors.
-
-Considering how fearfully and inevitably witches were punished, it seems
-astonishing that any, much less such myriads, should have professed them
-of the craft.  But, on the other hand, it must be remembered that the
-acquisition of power to inflict storm and devastation, disease and
-death, was an irresistible temptation to the savage nature that then
-predominated in the lower classes.  For everybody sought the fraternity.
-Those who suffered, or apprehended suffering, bought their services
-equally with those who desired to have suffering inflicted.  The latter,
-however, were by far the more numerous, and the witches had a very
-singular way of gratifying them.  One of the strangest was to fashion an
-image of the hated individual during the celebration of certain infernal
-rites.  The simulacrum was usually of virgin wax; but when it was meant
-to make the work of vengeance thoroughly sure, the clay taken from the
-depth of a well-used grave was generally preferred.  The image being
-moulded according to rule, and baptized by a properly qualified priest,
-whatever injury was inflicted on the model was believed to have a
-similar effect on the original. Did they tie up a member of the effigy,
-paralysis attacked the corresponding limb of the person represented.
-Intense pain and fearful mutilation were thus assumed to be produced;
-nor was even death itself beyond the wizard's power.  To secure this
-fatal result there were several approved recipes. Some pierced the heart
-of the statuette with a new needle; others melted it slowly before a
-fire; a third set interred it at dead of night in consecrated ground
-with horrible burlesque of the burial service; and a fourth gathered the
-hair into the stomach of the model, and concealed it in the chamber--if
-possible under the pillow--of the intended victim. Such images were
-prepared by Robert of Artois for the destruction of his enemies.  In
-this way Enguerrand de Marigny was said to have slain Philip the Fair.
-Thus, too, Eleanor Cobhan, wife of Duke Humphrey, was said to have
-attempted the life of Henry VI.
-
-Many and varied were the powers and mischievous contrivances of the
-witches and wizards for every possible purpose.  A decoction made of a
-toad baptized by the name of John, and fed on consecrated wafers, was
-thrown under a farmer's table by a witch at Soissons, and all who sat
-round the board died immediately.  Every witch possessed her agent, or
-familiar imp, who on her inauguration into the sisterhood sucked her
-blood, thus leaving the fatal "devil-mark."
-
-In Brittany, not more than fifty years before the opening of our tale,
-the far-famed and execrable Gilles de Retz had been led to the stake,
-there to pay the penalty of his horrible career as wizard, murderer, and
-devil-worshipper.  The crimes of this fiend of iniquity are too many and
-too terrible to bear repetition.  His chief delight, however, was to
-lure children to his castle by the agency of an old hag named la
-Meffraie, who went about the country enticing any children she met, with
-false promises, to her master's abode; and from that moment they were
-heard of no more.  When, after fourteen years, his horrible practices
-were disclosed and search was made, there was found in the tower of
-Chantoce a tunnel of calcined bones--of children's bones in such number,
-that it was supposed there must have been full forty of them.[#]  A like
-quantity was found in the castle of La Suze and in other places; in
-short, wherever he had been.  The number of children destroyed by this
-exterminating brute was computed to be a hundred and forty, the motive
-of the destruction of these unfortunate innocents being more horrible
-than the manner of death.  He offered them up to the devil, invoking the
-demons Barren, Orient, Beelzebub, Satan, and Belial to grant him in
-return gold, knowledge, and power.  He had with him a young priest of
-Pistoia in Italy, who promised to show him these demons; and an
-Englishman, who helped to conjure them.[#]  It was a difficult matter.
-One of the means essayed was to chant the service for All Saints' Day,
-in honour of evil spirits.  And yet this blood-stained villain, who
-revelled in listening to the piteous death-cries of little children and
-gloated over their suffering, who from worship of demons had himself
-become more devil than man, commended his evil assistant and magician,
-who was condemned with him, to the grace of God--Whose living image he
-had murdered--in the following terms, "Adieu, François, my friend; may
-God grant you patience and knowledge, and rest assured, provided you
-have patience and hope in God, we shall meet in the joys of Paradise."
-The horror inspired by this blasphemous wretch still lingered in the
-hearts of the Bretons, and small wonder was it that wizardry or
-witchcraft found little mercy at the hands of an ignorant and fanatic
-people; although often wizards or witches were allowed to practise their
-craft unmolested for many years, the fear of suffering from their
-vengeance, even in death, keeping their enemies at bay, whilst they
-drove a profitable business with those patrons who desired their aid.
-
-
-[#] _Depositions of Etienne Corillant_.
-
-[#] Michelet's _History of France_.
-
-
-It will be the more easily understood from these foregoing remarks how
-skilfully Diane de Coray had woven the web of her plot around her
-unfortunate victim, who remained in total ignorance of her danger, the
-retainers of the château having been before instructed by the wily
-Jeanne to breathe no word of their suspicions into the ears of those
-likely to warn her.  Therefore it was with no presentiment of coming ill
-that Gwennola de Mereac stole forth to her lover's trysting-place once
-more, full of happy thoughts and a heart the lighter by very contrast
-with its weary heaviness of so many weeks past.  Little did she or her
-attendants guess what sharp eyes had been watching their movements, or
-what stealthy feet had already crept after them through the forest
-shade.
-
-It was the maid Jeanne Dubois who had been the first to discover the
-identity of the wandering minstrel whose advent had been hailed with so
-much joy by the young Sieur de Mereac.  Hiding in the shadow of the
-heavy tapestries, she had heard what had passed between Marie Alloadec
-and her would-be lover, and had hastily carried the news to her
-mistress.  The clue thus given had been carefully followed up, but it
-was Pierre the fool whose cunning had discovered the fatal rendezvous
-and pierced the disguise of the cowled figure.  So the threads of the
-web were gathered more surely around the weavers' fingers, and now the
-time drew near to prove their strength.
-
-A cold wind whistled through the bare trees overhead, but so close grew
-the undergrowth of the thickets around the ruined chapel as to shelter
-any watchers not only from the keen blast but from curious or inquiring
-eyes.  But Gwennola's eyes and thoughts were far from suspicion of
-treachery or evil. She was thinking, as she hurried on her way, of
-Father Ambrose's kind and tender counsel.  He had promised, the good old
-man, to use his influence to the utmost with Yvon to persuade him either
-to allow his sister to wed the man she loved, or at least to leave her
-unmolested by unwelcome suggestions of betrothal till it could more
-clearly be seen how matters fell out between the two contending
-countries.  If Yvon were still obdurate--well, it might be that Father
-Ambrose would be willing to risk the anger of his lord for the sake of
-the little maid he loved so tenderly; but she must be patient--very
-patient--whilst he prayed that his way might be made clear before his
-eyes.
-
-So gentle, so loving had the old man been, with such tears of fatherly
-fondness had he besought her, that Gwennola had listened to his
-pleadings, and had promised to wait with patience for his further
-counsel, instead of lending an all too willing ear to her lover's
-importunity in urging the hasty flight which had appeared in so
-favourable a light to her eyes as he whispered eloquent reasons to the
-heart which readily responded to his entreaties.  Yet her step grew
-slower as she neared her trysting-place, as if she found her promise
-weighing almost too heavily upon her as she pictured the disappointment
-in the dark eyes which would look down their eager inquiry into hers.
-
-Marie and Jean Marcille lingered behind their mistress as they had done
-yesternight.  They had their own concerns, these two, which perhaps--and
-who may blame?--dulled their ears and clouded the watchfulness of their
-eyes.  Very certain it is that neither of them saw amidst a clump of
-trees not far from where they stood, four cloaked figures bending low,
-as if furtively watching those who already stood in the waning moonlight
-close by the ivied ruins.
-
-"It is enough," whispered Yvon de Mereac in a low, stifled voice as he
-raised himself and stood facing the woman at his side.  "It is enough."
-
-Yes! he had been convinced where he felt conviction to be impossible, by
-the evidence of his own eyes; for, stooping there, he had seen,
-shuddering in horror, the shadowy outline of a tall, monkish figure, and
-even as he crossed himself in fear, he had seen another figure, slender
-and hooded, steal from amongst the trees to be clasped in the close
-embrace of the Brown Friar himself; and, as the feeble moonlight
-straggled downwards from behind a passing cloud, the hood had slipped
-back, revealing the red-gold curls and pale face of Gwennola.
-
-Diane de Coray was a skilful conspirator.  To linger there might
-speedily reveal to the agonized brother that his sister's lover was
-verily in the flesh and no ghostly agent from the unseen world; and so,
-with murmurs of sympathy, she hastened back with him towards the
-château, followed by her brother and Pierre the fool.  But to her
-whispered words Yvon de Mereac answered not at all; the blow had been so
-sudden, so overpowering, that his weak spirit reeled under it.  To a
-Breton honour stands even before love itself, the Duchess Anne voicing
-the sentiments of her people in her chivalrous motto, "Death is
-preferable to dishonour."  And now dishonour in its blackest form was to
-fall on the fairest flower of his house!  No wonder that the poor, weak
-brother groaned in helpless bewilderment at such a fate. Paralysed with
-the horror of what he had seen, his failing brain refused at first to
-realize what his outer senses told him, and he allowed himself to be led
-back to the château by his apparently sympathizing friends; nor, till he
-sank down once more on his couch and drank from the goblet of wine which
-the tender Diane raised to his lips, did his mind become sufficiently
-clear to understand the full meaning of that midnight adventure.
-
-"Gwennola a witch!" he whispered, with a hoarse sob, at length.  "The
-little Gwennola a witch!  Holy Mother of God! what shall I do?  Alas!
-what shall I do?  The little Gwennola!--the little Gwennola!"
-
-"Nay," said Diane, speaking in a low, clear voice, as she bent over him
-where he lay moaning out his sister's name again and again, "she
-deserves no pity, Yvon.  She is lost,--ay, lost,--bethink thee of her
-sins,--of the awful sin against thee, my Yvon. For my sake, since I live
-but for thee, she must pay the penalty of her crime, so that thou mayest
-once more be restored to health."
-
-Her beautiful face was close to his; he could feel her warm breath stir
-his hair, which lay damp with sweat on his forehead; her hazel eyes
-seemed to burn her very will into his numbed brain and to force him to
-it as if with magnetic power.  Weak and helpless, he was as utterly in
-her hands as if he had been indeed but a yearling babe; and as his eyes
-followed hers he slowly repeated her words as if she drew them from him.
-
-"She is a witch, and as a witch she must die--for thy sake, Diane,--for
-thy sake."
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XIX*
-
-
-"Thou, Marcille?  In the name of the blessed saints, what dost thou
-here?--and thus!"
-
-The grey dawn of a November day was creeping slowly upwards in the east,
-but the air was damp and chill with frost and dew, and the men who stood
-there looked into each other's faces through a vaporous mist.  The face
-of Jean Marcille was blanched with fear, and his dark eyes looked into
-his master's with an expression of terror and dismay.
-
-"How now, varlet!" cried d'Estrailles anxiously, "hath aught of ill
-befallen the demoiselle?  Why hast thou come thus with such fear in thy
-looks?"
-
-"Alas, my master!" gasped the man.  "Alas! how can I tell you? ill
-indeed has befallen the noble lady, such ill as men dread to speak of
-and Marie saith----"
-
-"Peace, fool," cried d'Estrailles angrily, "what care I for the words of
-Marie or any other; tell me only, and instantly, what ill hath chanced
-to mademoiselle, or I will go without wasting more words on thee to the
-château."
-
-"It was thus," muttered Marcille, as he stood, still panting for breath,
-and with head thrust forward, as if he were awaiting a blow.  "We
-journeyed in safety through the forest, but as we neared the château,
-who should come running towards us, with wide eyes and mouth agape, but
-the honest fool, Job Alloadec, brother to the pretty Marie.  'Nay,
-mistress,' he cried, barring our progress, 'go no step forwards, for
-naught but evil awaits thee,' and, so saying, he fell a-sobbing like any
-foolish maid, so that his sister was fain to upbraid him roundly, and
-bid him tell his news in brief. But that was more than the good Jobik
-could essay, and it was some time ere we could gather from his tale what
-had chanced, and even then 'twas but a tale's shadow.  The Sieur de
-Mereac, it appeared, had been ill at ease all day, but towards nightfall
-he had seemed calmer and bade all a good night's rest as he retired.
-But scarcely had the midnight hour struck than the great bell pealed
-forth a summons for all to assemble, and behold, there, in the hall,
-stood Monsieur de Coray, dressed and cloaked, with his sister, Pierre
-the fool, and Jeanne Dubois beside him. His face, the good Job added,
-was bent in a terrible frown, and as he spake to those around it grew
-still sterner.  But for his words, monsieur, Job saith they were ten
-thousand times more terrible than his face, for he bade the retainers
-hear of how their master, whose sickness they had all watched with so
-much dread, had been seized with a fit, and that Father Ambrose, who was
-with him, despaired of his very life; then with smooth words and
-well-simulated horror and indignation, he told of how this sickness was
-the work of witchcraft, and of how such witchcraft, to the incredible
-dismay of his sister and himself, had been proved beyond all doubt to
-have been practised by Gwennola de Mereac, their mistress and
-châtelaine. And at his words there was a confusion of voices, for some
-cried this, and some that, and some called for death to the witch who
-had slain their master, and some that it was false and that the
-demoiselle was an angel of light and not of darkness.  But the answer of
-Monsieur de Coray--or rather I will say, Monsieur le Diable--was that
-all should be proved, and bade two of the maidens go with Jeanne Dubois
-to their mistress's room and fetch thither the lady and her
-waiting-woman, Marie Alloadec.  On hearing which, Job came in haste to
-tell the news and to warn us of the danger ere we set foot in the
-château."
-
-"And mademoiselle?" muttered d'Estrailles hoarsely.
-
-Marcille groaned.  "Alas, monsieur!" he said. "Mademoiselle has the
-courage of a man.  She stood there, in the darkness, so that we who were
-near could scarce see her face; but her voice was steady and calm as she
-replied that, though she thanked the good Job with all her heart, her
-place was there, in the hall of the Château, to prove her innocence of
-the foul crime of which she had been so maliciously accused, and if
-possible to save her brother from the cruel clutches of his false
-friends.  In vain Marie entreated her, whilst I also could not refrain
-from showing the many dangers to which she might be exposed; but she
-would not be shaken from her purpose by tears or warnings, protesting
-that a maid's innocence and honour were dearer to her than life itself,
-and that she would uphold them before the bitterest foes, knowing that
-God would not forsake her cause.  Nevertheless, monsieur, she did not
-forget you, but bade me conceal myself in safety and return with the
-first streak of light to bid you escape before the cunning of your
-enemies discovered you; for well did she guess that soft-footed
-treachery must have long crept in her shadow.  Also did she strive to
-persuade Marie to seek safety in flight with Job; for if the charge of
-witchcraft were truly brought against her, there might be much danger
-for her too, seeing that such fiends would be little likely to spare the
-torture they were at liberty to inflict in the hopes of wringing a false
-confession from lips which writhed in agony till twisted to their will.
-But the brave Marie was also firm, declaring that if her mistress were
-to die she would die with her, for it would be impossible that she
-should forsake her; but, as at length we went forward, she bade me wait
-close there by the river side, and that before dawn she would contrive
-to bring or send me news of her lady's case and her own.  Therefore,
-monsieur, in much fear I waited, for it is little to an honest man's
-liking to thus skulk in safety behind trees when perchance the maid he
-loves is in danger of her life; but I knew it was no work then for
-muscles, but for wisdom, and so with sore heart I lay watching for dawn;
-and in due time from the shadow of the Château walls there stole forth a
-man who came swiftly to where I waited, and I perceived that it was once
-more the good friend Job, though by his distraught appearance I augured
-ill even before he spake.  And ill it was, such ill that methought hell
-itself must be already yawning for the plotters of such villainy; for it
-appeared that they were clever, these devils, so clever that the plight
-of mademoiselle and the little Marie was terrible indeed.  It was
-already rumoured throughout the Château that Monsieur de Mereac was
-dead; and whether that were the case or not, Monsieur de Coray assumed
-very speedily his place, whilst the false demoiselle his sister, with
-the black-browed wench her maiden, and Pierre the fool, whose neck
-should long since have been wrung, told their lying tale.  Ah! how he
-wept, the poor Job, monsieur, as he repeated it!  Such a ring of evil,
-cruel faces, said he, full of Satan's own malice, and opposite them the
-Demoiselle de Mereac, beautiful, calm, innocent as an angel, looking at
-these her accusers with the proud scorn of a noble lady who sees the
-canaille howling execrations at her from below. And yet, calm and
-innocent as she was, even she blanched to hear the foul lies with which
-these slanderers blackened her fair name, and to see with what skill
-they had plotted for her life.  It was the lying wench Jeanne Dubois who
-brought the first false statements against her, speaking of voices she
-had heard talking at midnight in mademoiselle's closet, of weird
-laughter and chantings and such-like foolishness, till even de Coray
-himself cut her short, seeing the discontent on the faces of the men
-around, who looked, Job said, little pleased to see their young mistress
-in such a plight, and on such slender grounds. But the next to speak was
-the devil's imp Pierre the fool; and when he told of the Brown Friar
-with whom the lady talked and walked at midnight by the chapel, there
-were many who looked askance and crossed themselves.  But no word spoke
-mademoiselle herself, only standing there in all the purity and pride of
-her innocence, facing her accusers with contempt. But it was now the
-turn of Mademoiselle de Coray herself, and, as she spoke to those
-gathered around, even the heart of Job himself sank, for the very tones
-of her voice possessed the fascination which engenders belief.  In
-mournful tones she dwelt on the love she had possessed not only for
-Monsieur de Mereac, but for his sister also; of how sorrow had filled
-her heart at the sudden and mysterious sickness which had laid so low
-the one to whom she was already betrothed; of Mademoiselle Gwennola's
-strange behaviour; of her own suspicions; of her scorn, however, of
-Jeanne's allegations and the story of Pierre the fool until she had
-proved the truth for herself.  In a few vivid words she pictured the
-meeting of mademoiselle with you, monsieur, declaring you to be the
-agent of evil by whose aid she worked her hideous spells; the horror of
-her lover at discovering also for himself the infamous dealings of his
-sister; his fierce denunciation of her, and command that she should be
-brought to death, ere a fresh seizure robbed him of speech and, she
-feared, of life. Finally, amidst the murmured execrations from those
-around, she produced a small waxen figure, bearing a vague resemblance
-to Monsieur de Mereac, which had apparently been partly melted before a
-fire, and which she declared had been discovered in the accused's own
-chamber.  Yet in spite of the loud murmurs of horror and loathing which
-now rilled the hall, Mademoiselle Gwennola flinched not at all.  'I am
-innocent,' she said once, loudly and clearly.  'May our Lord and Lady
-forgive you, Diane and Guillaume de Coray, for the false tale you have
-brought against me.'  But Mademoiselle Diane only laughed, pointing to
-the black hood and cloak which were damp with night dews.  'A lie!' she
-cried in mockery, so that Job would fain have struck her down as she
-stood there, mouthing and grinning.  'A lie, sayest thou?--witch and
-murderess that thou art.  Whence comest thou, then, honest maiden, with
-the dews of night around thee, instead of from thy slumbers?  Thy
-chamber was empty when they went to search for thee, and anon thou
-comest to us fresh from thy unholy revels, and darest thus to upbraid me
-with a lie!  Nay! thou canst not thus hope to hoodwink justice, girl,
-with the signs of thy guilt clinging around thee, or turn outraged love
-from its righteous vengeance!'  But mademoiselle replied not at all,
-only drawing her cloak more closely around her, as if to guard her
-secret the safer; and truly, as Job said, the words of Mademoiselle de
-Coray savoured of truth to those who knew not the sequel."
-
-"Alas! alas!" cried d'Estrailles passionately, "why was I not there to
-proclaim that truth? Better a hundred deaths than that one breath of
-such shame should soil the purity of such a maiden's honour!  But it is
-not too late,--fool that I was to delay!  Let us hasten then, quickly,
-Jean, and tell to these foolish ones the truth."
-
-"Nay, master," said Marcille, laying a detaining hand on his master's
-arm; "methinks 'twould little benefit the lady to run your head into a
-sure and certain noose.  Moreover, even so the charge would still stand
-good, so craftily have they contrived it. Besides, already are the poor
-demoiselle and the pretty Marie on their way to Martigue under the
-escort of Monsieur de Coray himself, who declared that ere dawn they
-should be delivered to justice."
-
-"To justice?" echoed d'Estrailles, whilst his eyes stared in horror
-before him, as if he were indeed viewing already the dread picture which
-the significant words brought before him.  "To justice?"
-
-"Ay," groaned Marcille with a sob; "they would fain burn her as a witch,
-my master; and alas! perchance also the little Marie beside her,--devils
-that they are!"
-
-But Henri d'Estrailles had as yet scarcely grasped the full import of
-the stunning blow which had fallen so swiftly upon the sweetness of
-love's dream.  As vaguely as Yvon de Mereac himself he repeated the
-words to himself, "Gwennola a witch!--to be burnt as a witch!--She!"
-His voice choked in a sudden wild rush of emotion and fury, as his
-imagination conjured up the terrible picture of his beloved standing
-alone and helpless amongst her enemies. He could see her, ah! so
-vividly, with her proud, girlish figure drawn to the utmost of its
-slender height, and the great, blue eyes challenging haughtily her false
-accusers,--those eyes which had so short a time ago looked with love and
-tenderness into his, and which--Holy Mother of God shield him from the
-thought!--might ere long be staring in the agony of death from amidst
-the smoke and flames of the cruel stake.
-
-But, though his blood leapt madly in his veins to ride in all the
-strength of his love and anger and wrench her single-handed from her
-enemies' hands, he knew the thought was too hopeless, such a scheme so
-impossible that it would but seal afresh her doom. Yes!--doom!  For full
-well he knew how inexorably it was written already; well he knew that
-with such evidence to hand there would be short shrift for the noblest
-or the fairest, more especially with the powerful hand of the new Sieur
-de Mereac behind to push his victim forwards to the flames awaiting her.
-The situation was indeed desperate.  So closely were the threads of the
-web woven that there was no breaking them.  Did he come forward and
-reveal the identity of the Brown Friar, there would still be the deadly
-evidence of the waxen image and the unaccountable and mysterious death
-of Yvon de Mereac. Clear as the plot of de Coray was to him, its very
-boldness rendered the plotter's position impregnable, and all
-d'Estrailles might expect to gain by attempting to disclose his rival's
-perfidy and murderous schemes was the death of a French spy caught
-wandering in disguise within the borders of Brittany.
-
-Only one last desperate hope there seemed, and to this hope he turned
-with the energy of despair.  He would ride to Rennes with all speed,
-where, close to the city, lay the passive armies of the King of France.
-Seeking his master, the Count Dunois, he would pray to be allowed to
-take a body of French troops wherewith to ride to Martigue in the hopes
-that by threats, backed with military power, he might induce the
-authorities to deliver up their prisoners.  A wild hope, so wild that he
-dared not glance too closely at its shadowy outline; yet the only one to
-which he might cling in his extremity.
-
-"Farewell, Marcille," he cried, as, doffing robe and cowl, he sprang
-into his saddle.  "Nay, my friend, I will not take thee, and short time
-I ween is there for instructions.  All I can bid thee is to watch, and
-should immediate peril threaten thy lady, ride with loose rein towards
-Rennes.  Thou shalt find me on the road, I warrant; and can I not beg a
-company from Dunois, I will e'en steal one, for, by the faith of a
-French knight, I swear to save her!"
-
-But there were tears in the eyes of Jean Marcille as he watched his
-impetuous young master's retreating form, as with spurs struck deep into
-his horse's sides Henri d'Estrailles galloped madly away, over the heath
-where the morning mists still hung heavily.
-
-"Alas!" he sighed, as he turned back towards the forest, "it is of no
-avail; and not only mademoiselle, but also the little Marie will perish;
-and for me there will be nothing left but revenge."
-
-
-
-
-                              *CHAPTER XX*
-
-
-The wizard Lefroi lived alone in his little hut in the forest of Arteze.
-It was very lonely, that hut, and within it had an appearance altogether
-execrable. But that was the purpose of his trade; for, what! you would
-not go to inquire into mysteries from the grave, or seek means of
-conveying your enemies to the latter, in a parlour clean and bright and
-orderly, with the pure sunshine of heaven pouring in through the
-windows, and perchance flowers of purity and innocence blooming within?
-No! the abode of sorcery and evil must necessarily be dim and gloomy,
-with the usual accessories of the trade surrounding one.  The hut of old
-Lefroi was not lacking in this way.  The light of a taper burnt low and
-dim indeed that wild November night, as the wizard bent, absorbed, over
-his nocturnal incantations.  He was wise, this old man, with the wisdom
-of many ages, learnt, some said, from his master the devil, and others
-that he had been taught by some of those wandering Bohemians and
-sorcerers who were so often to be met with at that time in France.
-These sons of Egypt had been kindly treated in the little forest hut,
-and for reward they had imparted to the owner, it was affirmed, not only
-knowledge of the stars, but the secrets of many wonderful and deadly
-drugs which were found often so useful by old Lefroi's customers, and
-did not always partake of the nature of love-philtres.  Perhaps he was
-even now decocting some of his noxious draughts as he bent over his
-crucible, for his wizened old face was drawn together into a twisted
-mockery of a smile, which gave it still more the appearance of crinkled
-parchment. His costume was effective, being a long, loose wrapper
-embellished with numerous quaint cabalistic signs and hieroglyphics.  On
-his head he wore the usual skull-cap; whilst by his side perched the
-familiar black cat, whose purrings played a suitable accompaniment to
-the bubbling of the pot into which a huge black raven peered with
-curious eyes from her master's shoulder.  Altogether the picture was a
-familiar one, such as might have been seen in any abode of those
-jugglers and quacks of the age who practised the occult science and grew
-rich on the superstitions of the ignorant.
-
-A tap at the wooden door roused the old man from his absorbing
-occupation, and with a muttered curse he hobbled across to withdraw the
-bolt and peer out into the darkness.
-
-The visitor, however, waited for no invitation to enter, but pushed in
-almost rudely, as if fearing that the owner of the hut might wish to
-refuse admittance. It was a woman, who lost no time in flinging back her
-hood and facing her companion.
-
-"I am Diane de Coray," she said briefly, "and have been sent in haste by
-my brother, whom you know, old man, to ask of you the antidote for the
-poison you gave to him some time since."
-
-Lefroi peered curiously into the pale, beautiful face which looked down
-so anxiously into his.  Then he nodded.
-
-"It is very well," he observed shrewdly, "it is very well; but how am I
-to know, fair mistress, that you are indeed she whose name you give, for
-in truth you resemble monsieur, your noble brother, not at all?"
-
-"Fool!" she cried impatiently, "I swear to you I am Diane de Coray--is
-that sufficient?  Give me the antidote quickly, else it will be too
-late."
-
-Still he eyed her furtively, hesitating to do her will.
-
-"Indeed, I know not of what you speak, mistress," he whined at length.
-"Poison?  I know of no poison.  A love-philtre, mistress--a love-philtre
-or the prediction of the horoscope now----"
-
-"Have done!" she cried angrily, and he noted the gleam of despair in her
-eyes.  "Have done, old foolish one; I have no time to lose, and well
-thou knowest of what I speak: the poison that was to be administered
-drop by drop, which was so slowly yet so surely to do its work.  What!
-should I know all this were I not indeed the sister of the man to whom
-you gave it?"
-
-"But wherefore," he questioned, half convinced and yet still doubtful,
-"wherefore doth the noble lord require an antidote?  Was the draught too
-slow, or too quick? did it not fulfil its purpose as I predicted?"
-
-"Ay! but too surely," cried the girl, with a shudder.  "But there is yet
-time, old man; quick, give me the antidote, and thou shalt have
-gold--yes, gold."
-
-She drew forth a bag as she spoke, and in the dim light the wizard's
-keen eyes sparkled as he caught the gleam of the glittering coins.  Yet
-still he held back another instant.
-
-"Gold cannot purchase the secrets of life," he muttered with a grin.
-
-"Can it not?" she pleaded, and in a moment was kneeling on the grimy
-floor pouring forth a stream of golden coins on to the seat near her.
-
-The temptation was strong, yet its very strength made him hesitate
-again.
-
-"But wherefore dost thou need the antidote?" he persisted.  "And how
-know I that it is thy brother who sent thee?  If there be a trick in
-this, he will have his revenge upon me, who am but a poor, innocent old
-man who----"
-
-"Innocent!" she cried, rising to her feet; then changing her scornful
-tones, she turned a pleading face towards her companion.
-
-"I swear to thee that there is no trick, I swear by all the saints in
-heaven, or"--she added bitterly as she noted the suspicion in his
-eye--"by all the devils of hell, if that be an oath more in keeping with
-this abode."
-
-He laughed softly, turning a tender eye on the gold, then on the face
-above it, finally on the closed door.
-
-As if divining a menace in the glance, the girl placed her hand within
-her dress, and the ominous glitter of steel warned the man that this was
-no occasion for foul play, did he meditate such.
-
-"Nay," he said, as if suddenly yielding to the temptation which lay
-glittering before him, "I will trust thee, maiden; thou shalt have the
-phial.  But the price is high."
-
-He repeated the last words softly, glancing again from her face to the
-pile of gold.
-
-"Gold!" she cried, flinging the word from her in scorn; "yes, you shall
-have gold--see, more gold than this,--much more; I have it here,--only
-hasten, hasten, else it will be too late."
-
-He watched her with greedy eyes as she poured forth more money upon the
-already goodly pile.  No leather money this, the impoverished coin of an
-impoverished land--but good gold,--French gold, warm-hued and
-glittering.
-
-"And so he still liveth," quoth the wizard slowly, as he bent once more
-over his crucible.  "I had heard--nay, what matter what I heard?  The
-wind singeth strange songs in yon sere branches, and the night owls
-bring many a false tale.  And so he lives?--and you, fair lady, are glad
-that death hath not yet taken him from your warm embrace?  Ah! it is
-good to love in youth.  See, once also I was young too, and I remember;
-that is why I prepare here my love-charms for the young and joyous,
-although for me the branches of the forest bear no green leaves and my
-arms are empty."
-
-But Diane de Coray made no reply to the mocking words, only standing
-there, pale and fear-stricken, yet with a defiance in her dark eyes
-which seemed to challenge death itself to mortal combat.
-
-"Love and hate," maundered the old man, half to himself, as he stirred
-the drugs he held in a tiny crystal bowl; "love and hate, love and hate,
-they are strong masters, mistress, strong masters, and lead by strange
-paths.  It is I who know--aha! who so well?  There have been secrets
-whispered in these ears--have they not, my Pedro?  Yes, such secrets as
-might well blanch those fair cheeks yonder; but she shall not hear--no,
-no, for secrets have their price. Yes, a goodly price!"
-
-The raven croaked dismally, as if in reply to its master's words, and
-rubbed its beak against the skull-cap in weird caress; whilst the cat,
-as though jealous, rose, purring, to push her sleek body against his
-legs.  But Diane's eyes were fixed only on the dark drops of liquid
-which, with steady hand, were being slowly poured into the phial.
-
-"It is ready," said Lefroi, as he handed it to her. "Tell thy noble
-brother that I send it with my most humble salutations.  Also, if later
-thou requirest a love-potion for thine own use, sweet maiden, thou wilt
-not forget Henri Lefroi, the magician."
-
-"Forget," muttered the girl hysterically.  "Forget!"  She said no more,
-but seizing the phial eagerly, drew her cloak around her, quitting the
-hut with no further word of thanks or farewell.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XXI*
-
-
-"He lives?" whispered a soft voice, which trembled nevertheless with
-fear.
-
-Father Ambrose raised a grave, anxious face, looking with some surprise
-into the pale one bent close beside him.  But Diane de Coray's eyes were
-looking not at him for answer, but at the drawn, white face which lay
-back amongst the cushions of the great bed.  There were ominous blue
-lines round the closed mouth and under the sunken eyes, whilst one
-burning spot of colour on each cheek but intensified their pallor.  It
-was the face of a man who hovers on the brink of death, and already the
-curls which lay thick on the white forehead were damp with the death
-sweat, whilst the thin hands which strayed aimlessly over the coverlet
-plucked at it from time to time, as if some spasm contracted them.
-
-"He lives," replied the Benedictine mournfully; "but already, daughter,
-is his soul winged for flight. Leave him in peace, so that, if
-consciousness return ere the last, his thoughts may be fixed rather on
-the confession of his sins and the eternal love to which he goes forth
-than to the perishing flame of human passion."
-
-But Diane shrank back no whit at the reproof, or the priest's cold
-manner.
-
-"Nay," she cried piteously, "he shall not die, father; see, I,--I have
-prayed to the holy saints, and it shall be that they will save him."
-
-"Hush, my daughter," said Father Ambrose, in a sterner tone.  "Rebel not
-at the Divine Will, nor bring in opposition to it thine own unavailing
-and perishing love.  Yvon de Mereac is dying, and no power of thine
-shall prevail to drag him back from the grave to which he hastens."
-
-"Will it not?" she cried softly, and the light of challenge and defiance
-which had shone in her eyes in the wizard's hut brightened them again,
-as they met the rebukeful glance of the priest.  Then, changing her tone
-to one of gentle pleading, "Father," she cried, "forgive one who is mad
-belike for very grief; and yet I pray thee not to say that Yvon shall
-die by the will of Heaven; for, see, he shall live in answer to my
-prayers.  I----" her voice faltered--"I,--I have here a draught given me
-by a skilled and learned leech--a very elixir of life, father;--give it
-to him now,--now, ere it be too late, and truly thou shalt prove the
-truth of my words."
-
-The old man took the tiny phial, gazing suspiciously the while from it
-to the pale, agonized face near his own. "Daughter," he said solemnly,
-"what meaneth this? Whence came this phial?"
-
-"Nay, ask me not," she cried passionately, "but give it to him,
-now,--now!  See, his eyes unclose, he knows me!  Yvon!  Yvon!"
-
-The blue eyes of the sick man shone faintly with the light of
-recognition; then, even as she sank on her knees beside the bed, closed
-heavily again.
-
-"Delay not, delay not, father!" cried the girl imploringly, "or it will
-be too late.  See, he gasps for breath! he,--nay, he _shall_ have it,"
-and snatching the phial from the Benedictine's fingers, she raised
-Yvon's head and poured a few drops of the contents down his throat.
-Then, with a sigh, she let the sick man sink back amongst the supporting
-cushions, and turned with flushed face to meet the priest's stern look.
-
-"Daughter," he said slowly, "what hast thou done?"
-
-The accusing note rang out sharply in the quiet chamber, and
-involuntarily Diane glanced towards the bed; but the sufferer stirred
-not--even the restless fingers were still, his breathing came already
-more easily.
-
-"He will live!" cried Diane, clasping her hands; "he will live, father!"
-
-But Father Ambrose replied not; instead, he was looking with curious,
-thoughtful eyes into the half-emptied phial which the girl had yielded
-into his outstretched hand.  But whatever the thoughts that stirred in
-the old man's brain, they were at present too intangible to resolve into
-words; the shadow of suspicion was too vague, his mind in too chaotic a
-whirl, for him to realize what this strange happening portended.  He,
-the friend of the little Gwennola, who had loved her from a child with
-an affection almost paternal, had long watched with concern and
-suspicion the machinations of this woman against his darling. But with
-regard to her dealings with Yvon he was more perplexed; from the first
-he had doubted her love for the young Sieur de Mereac, and readily
-guessed that she acted a part under the influence of her brother. As for
-that brother, it is to be confessed that there was little of the spirit
-of charity in the gentle old man's breast towards this man whose
-presence had proved ever so baneful to those under whose roof he lived,
-and who had won his love.  It was the same natural repulsion of a human
-creature to some gliding, treacherous snake, which he watched in fear
-and suspicion, knowing that where the reptile coils most lovingly around
-its object it is but in preparation to strike a fatal blow.  And now the
-blow had fallen, but so unexpectedly that it seemed impossible that it
-should have been struck by the serpent in question. That Gwennola was
-innocent Father Ambrose would have staked his soul; but who was the
-guilty, if guilty one there were?  Was not this illness, perhaps, rather
-the finger of Heaven?  Puzzled and bewildered by the very contrariety of
-his thoughts, this fresh development completely mystified the good man.
-If this woman were guilty of the apparently wanton act of poisoning her
-lover, wherefore this distress, this simulated agony of love and
-devotion?  As for the draught, what was it?  A fresh potion from the
-sorcerer?  A love-philtre? or what?  Did it bring death or healing with
-the quaffing?  His experienced eye saw, to its infinite surprise, that
-already a change had stolen over his patient.  The drawn, pinched look
-had gone; the blue lines, around lips, nose, and eyes, were fading into
-a more healthful white; the breathing was more regular and less
-laboured.  And, whilst still wondering at the apparent miracle, Father
-Ambrose turned to speak to his strange visitor, behold! her place was
-empty, and he heard the soft swish of the tapestry curtain as it fell
-again into its place.
-
-There was a smile on the lips of Diane de Coray as, a few hours later,
-she stood gazing out of her window in the chamber which had been set
-aside for her use.  She was meditating deeply, it would seem, on things
-pleasant and joyful, for she did not hear the door softly open, nor was
-she aware that she was no longer alone till a hand grasped her shoulder.
-
-"Guillaume!" she cried, facing him with the rich colour surging swiftly
-to her cheeks; but it had faded again, leaving them the paler by
-contrast, before he spoke.
-
-"It is I, Diane."
-
-"So I may well see for myself," she laughed, but the laugh flickered a
-little tremulously as her eyes fell before his.
-
-"He is not dead," he said in a low, menacing tone; "what means it,
-Diane?"
-
-"Means it?" she echoed vaguely.  "What should it mean?  Perchance the
-drug was less potent than Lefroi told thee, or Yvon too strong to
-succumb beneath its power."
-
-"Thou knowest it is neither," he hissed.  "Traitress and fool that thou
-art, but now Father Ambrose told me, with shrewd looks of suspicion,
-that the noble Sieur lay at the point of death, but that, since he had
-partaken of a draught given him by the lady, my sister, he had rallied
-in a manner truly miraculous."
-
-She laughed merrily and stood there defying him, seeing that concealment
-of her act was useless.
-
-"And the old man speaks truth," she cried gaily; "I have saved
-him--saved him!  Ah! thanks be to the holy saints that I have done
-so!--saved him, Guillaume, my brother!  And wherefore? askest thou.
-Why, because I love him--love him with all my heart and soul; because
-riches, greatness--all--would be nothing to me if he lay cold and silent
-in the grave.  Dost thou not understand?  Cannot thy cold heart learn
-what such love is?--what fires it kindles in the breast, what passion it
-arouses? Nay!  I care little for thy anger--I love him, I tell thee."
-
-"Fool!" he snarled, "and thrice times fool for thy pains!  Dost think
-that I shall be balked by thy puling fancy, now, on the eve of all my
-plans' fulfilment?  Love! ay, perchance I also know the flame that burns
-within, and which shall consume all else which stands as barrier to its
-fulfilment.  But to compare my love with thine----!"  He broke off with
-a scornful laugh, changing his tone to one of cold sarcasm.
-
-"And so thou lovest him, this weak fool whom thou plottedst to destroy?
-Nay, blanch not, but picture to thyself how great will be his love to
-thee when he knoweth the truth!  Picture to yourself his rage, his
-despair, his agony, when he learns that his sister perished in
-innocence, and the woman who dragged her to the stake, the woman whose
-arms clung around his neck, whose warm kisses were passed to his lips,
-whose siren tongue whispered of faith and devotion, was also the one to
-pour into the betrothal cup the deadly drops that should send the proud
-bridegroom to keep festival with Death!"
-
-She covered her face with her hands, shuddering.
-
-"Would he love thee?" mocked Guillaume de Coray; "would his arms again
-seek to clasp so foul a bride to his heart?  Would he woo thy kisses to
-his lips when the death-cries of his sister rang in his ears?"
-
-"But it is not yet too late," cried Diane passionately. "Alas! alas! my
-sin hath been great,--the sin which thou didst conceive, cruel demon
-that thou art; but I will yet save her--I will tell all,--all; and it
-may be that he will forgive me, even though he cannot love me again."
-
-"Not so," replied de Coray softly, as with a sudden spring he caught her
-in his arms; "not so, fair lady. Nay, struggle not with me, else will it
-be the worse for thee."  And, clasping her with one arm, he placed his
-hand before her mouth, bearing, or rather dragging, her towards the bed
-as he did so.  She was powerless in his grasp, and after a few vain
-attempts to free herself lay passive as he gagged and bound her.
-
-"So," he said softly, as he stood over her, meeting the helpless glare
-of her eyes with a mocking smile, "thy wings are clipped for the
-present, my bird.  So thou thoughtest to cross the path of thy dear and
-well-beloved brother, didst thou, sweetest maiden? Alas!  I fear me
-'twas rash--too rash.  Adieu, little one, adieu!  All will, I am
-assured, regret to hear of the sudden and dangerous sickness of
-mademoiselle; it will be altogether clear to them that she has been
-bewitched--alas! poor maid!  In the meantime I must bid thee rest,
-Diane; thou art weary--so weary. 'Tis too long and too perilous a walk
-for one so tender and so innocent, to Henri Lefroi's hut,--fie on thee
-for so forward and unmaidenly an undertaking! What wouldst have done
-hadst thou met the Brown Friar himself?  Nevertheless, I will not
-distract thee with reproaches, but will leave thee to thy orisons, or
-perchance to still sweeter meditations,--of thy lover, it may be, or of
-thy brother.  In the meantime, have no fear that the dear Yvon shall
-miss thy tender care; I will myself usurp thy place for very love's
-sake. Ah!  I will tend him right well, my Diane; he also shall have
-rest, such peace and rest!  Slumber is good for the sick, say the
-leeches; therefore he shall sleep--so long, so well, I fear me it will
-need warmer kisses than thine, my sister, to rouse him again.  But I go
-at once, for it seemeth that thou carest little for my presence.  Take
-comfort, for I swear none shall disturb thee, not even the worthy
-Jeanne, and anon I will myself bring thee food and wine; for if in truth
-thou art bewitched, the evil spirit may not leave thee till the hot
-flames have devoured her who had so ill a will upon thee."
-
-With a sinking and agonized heart the unhappy girl saw the mocker turn
-away, heard the bolts shoot back into their places, and knew that she
-was as close a prisoner as any who languished in dungeon cell.
-
-"Yvon!--Yvon!--Yvon!"  It was the dumb cry of pain and terror which
-surged within her so helplessly, so passionately.  Bound and gagged as
-she lay, she could neither move nor cry aloud; and, in the midst of all
-her agony, came the fatal intuition that even now, once again, death
-would be awaiting her lover.  Terrible hours those; the limits of human
-endurance stretched to their utmost on the rack, not only of love's
-fears but the crudest torture of remorse. Vividly there came before the
-eyes of Diane de Coray the picture of her life,--a picture so sad, so
-melancholy, so pathetic, that the tears of self-pity and sympathy
-splashed down her pale cheeks.
-
-An orphan from earliest youth, she had been left under the guardianship
-of a brother little fitted to govern so tender a maid.  Himself the tool
-of an infamous scoundrel, his friends were little likely to be fitting
-companions to a young girl of gentle birth; and so Diane had grown up
-amidst wild and reckless surroundings, courted and flattered for her
-beauty and sparkling wit by men with whom she should never have been
-associated.  For friends of her own sex she had neither taste nor
-inclination; and, of the few she possessed, one had so ill an influence
-over her as had successfully placed her in her brother's power.
-Ignorant girl that she was, she had yet shrunk back appalled from the
-practice of the black art of which she was invited to be a devotee; but,
-even in escaping from the peril, the smirch of contamination had
-sufficiently soiled the whiteness of her honour to lead her to believe
-that her brother, if he chose, might denounce her as a witch.
-
-And so terrible had been the thought, that she had been willing to
-accede to any command of his which would insure his silence.  Brought up
-to regard lightly all sorts of treachery, the plan conceived by de Coray
-for his own enrichment and revenge struck her with no pangs of horror,
-and she had started on her journey comparatively light of heart.  But
-all had fallen out so strangely beyond her expectations.  The gentle,
-tender Yvon de Mereac, with his weak, wavering will, but chivalrous
-heart, had by degrees inflamed her with a passion hitherto unknown. From
-contempt at first had sprung pity, and, from pity, love itself; not the
-calm, sweet love of the smoothly-flowing stream, but the mad, tumultuous
-rush of the mountain torrent, which sweeps aside all obstructions, and
-dashing blindly over rocks and boulders flings itself with exhausted
-passion into the deep, still pool below.  The mutual dislike between
-Gwennola and herself had risen, on her own part, from inborn jealousy.
-She hated instantly this proud, pure girl who had never looked on
-temptations such as had beset her path, or been lured into such danger
-as had nearly ended in her own destruction; and as she met the glance of
-the clear, blue eyes it seemed that Gwennola must read, perforce, her
-guilty secret.  Yet she had hardened herself against shame or the first
-mysterious whisperings of her own heart.  Goaded by Gwennola's cold
-contempt, she had for long continued to do her brother's will, and it
-was only the rush of the last few days' terrible events that had opened
-her eyes to the intensity of her passion, and inspired her with the
-resolution to save her lover at all risks--ay! even at the price of her
-own life; even,--and this was hardest of all,--even at the risk of
-losing for ever the love which had grown so precious a thing.  And
-now,--now when she had seen hope burst radiant and glorious upon the
-darkness of night--hope, love, and life itself seemed as suddenly
-quenched; and all that she could do was to moan forth short, agonized
-prayers for succour, in her despair, to Him Who alone could still
-protect the doomed house of Mereac.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XXII*
-
-
-The chamber in which Diane de Coray lay had grown light at last,--light,
-at least, as the grey dawn of a November day could make it as it crept
-through the narrow slits which served as windows.  Yet there were
-shadows everywhere; she could see them as she moved her weary eyes to
-look through the opening where her brother's hand had rudely torn aside
-the bed hangings.  Half-fainting with suffocation and the strain on her
-over-burdened heart, she felt no throb of surprise or fear as she saw
-the feeble light swiftly blotted out by a dark-robed figure.  Yet, as
-the figure moved, coming quickly to her side with a low exclamation of
-horror, her senses began to return to her, and her eyes looked up in
-joyful recognition to meet the stern but puzzled glance of Father
-Ambrose.
-
-"Daughter," said the old man gravely, "what meaneth this?"
-
-He had severed her bonds and removed the gag, helping the poor girl,
-whose limbs at first were cramped and useless, to raise herself into a
-sitting posture.
-
-For reply Diane stared vaguely into the troubled eyes bent upon her; her
-brain was cramped too with the long agony of those terrible hours, but
-at last comprehension slowly returned as the stinging blood began once
-more to circulate in her numbed members.
-
-"How came you hither, father?" she questioned faintly, staring from her
-unexpected visitor to the closely barred door.
-
-"Suffice that I am here," was the enigmatical reply.  "Yet time presses,
-daughter, and I must have an answer to my question.  Alas! it may even
-now be too late!"
-
-"Too late?" she echoed, a fresh fear striking its chill to her heart.
-"Nay, tell me, father--he lives?--he is better?--he will recover?"
-
-"I spake not of Yvon de Mereac," said the priest in a stifled tone, "but
-of the pure and innocent maid, his sister, who hath been condemned
-falsely by wicked men, to suffer death at noon; and yet," he added
-slowly, fixing a piercing glance on Diane's pale face,--"I can see
-already that there lieth much behind this.  Speak, maiden, without
-delay--confess all thou knowest of this plot, and save thy soul from the
-blood of the innocent."
-
-"To die!" whispered Diane slowly; "to die!"
-
-On the instant the whole picture of her guilt flared before her eyes,
-and the words of her brother rang in her ears: "Picture to yourself his
-rage, his despair, his agony, when he learns that his sister perished in
-innocence, and the woman who dragged her to the stake, the woman whose
-warm kisses were pressed to his lips, whose siren tongue whispered of
-faith and devotion, was also the one to pour into the betrothal cup the
-deadly drops that should send the proud bridegroom to keep festival with
-Death."
-
-"To die!" she cried again, flinging out her hands as if in supplication
-to the priest, who stood there stern, grave, and immovable.  "To
-die!--and for my sin!  Merciful Virgin, Mother of Help! save her!--save
-her!--for she is innocent!"
-
-She had sunk on to the ground at the old man's feet, at the last words,
-and, clinging to his robe, sobbed out her terrible confession.  In the
-remorse and shame of her agony she hid nothing; and as he listened,
-Father Ambrose's stern face relaxed into a softer expression of pity.
-
-"Daughter," he said gently, as he raised the weeping girl from the
-floor, "Daughter, be of good comfort; to one also who had greatly sinned
-were words of pardon spoken for love's sake, and it may be that
-repentance hath not come too late.  But," he added, his face hardening,
-"we may not delay; come, child--see, I will trust thee to play thy part
-in the salvation, not only of the innocent, but of the man whom thou
-lovest.  Come speedily, for it may be that that man of blood and
-treachery,--upon whose soul shall rest the curse of God and whose
-damnation shall be quick,--may come hither to bring thee food.  But we
-shall yet escape the snare and pluck the innocent lamb in time from the
-cruel death prepared for her."
-
-As he spoke he was supporting the weeping Diane across the room,
-pressing back an unseen door, cunningly secreted from view in the shape
-of a sliding panel, through which he passed, still guiding her carefully
-as they descended a winding, spiral stair which led downwards to another
-part of the château.
-
-"Child," he said again softly, as they paused, close to the tapestry
-curtain which separated them from Yvon's room--"child, the way of
-repentance is no easy one.  Confession must be made, not only to God,
-the Judge of all, but to him whom thou hast so injured, and against whom
-thou plannedst this ill.  I leave to thee this task, so terrible yet so
-necessary, weak and sick though he be, for the sake of one whose life I
-go to save, if the will of the Lord and our Lady permit it, as I well
-wot shall be, seeing that they ever guard the innocent from the snares
-of the evil-doers."
-
-"But it will kill him," moaned Diane; "it will kill him, father!  Oh!
-say that I may wait until he grows stronger,--then I will confess
-all--yes, all, even to the uttermost!"
-
-But the priest shook his head.
-
-"Confession must be made without delay," he said gravely.  "Thou thyself
-mayest well see the necessity, daughter; for, weak and sick though he
-be, Yvon de Mereac must know the truth of his sister's innocence, and
-also the guilt and evil intentions of the man who hath thus plotted
-against his life and who hath but used thee, poor maid, as his tool.
-But delay not, for I may not linger with the sweet voice of Gwennola
-calling me to hasten to her deliverance."
-
-With a sob, Diane yielded to the old man's will, and with trembling
-fingers raised the curtain and entered her lover's room.
-
-He was lying there, still, amongst his cushions; but even in those few,
-short hours the change in the emaciated face was marvellous.  It was no
-longer the face of a dying man, drawn, blue-hued, and pinched with
-suffering.  Haggard and gaunt still, yet the eyes which met Diane's were
-bright with recognition.
-
-"Diane!  Diane!" he whispered; "fairest love, with what an aching heart
-I have awaited thy coming! She is condemned, Diane--the little Gwennola
-is condemned to death; and yet so fair a dream I had of her but
-yesternight, for methought she was a child again, lily-crowned and
-laughing, and that she ran to me, crying my name in joy, and, clinging
-to my neck, pressed her flowers upon me, saying she had gathered them
-for love's sake; and her eyes looked into mine with so sweet a
-tenderness that I awoke sobbing, calling to remembrance that she was a
-witch who had striven for my death."
-
-"No witch!" cried Diane, as she knelt, weeping, at his side; "no witch,
-Yvon, but pure and innocent as the child of thy dreams.  Alas! alas!
-that, for the sake of thy love for her, thy love for me must die; and
-yet I am unworthy of it, unworthy of aught but thy hatred, thy loathing,
-and thy scorn!"
-
-"My hatred?" he whispered tenderly, whilst his feeble hands strayed
-fondly towards the tresses of her bowed head.  "My hatred, little Diane?
-That could never be, wert thou--wert thou--ah! all that thou art not, my
-sweetest one!"
-
-"Alas! alas! thou knowest not!" sobbed the girl. "Ah! the bitterness of
-telling thee, Yvon!  Why may I not die the sooner, so that I shall not
-look into thine eyes and see the scorn and loathing which thou must
-needs feel towards a thing so foul?"
-
-"Hush!" he whispered faintly, "thou shalt not say such words, Diane, my
-adored."
-
-The very tenderness of his speech, the quiver in his voice, made the
-task more terrible; yet it had to be essayed, and with bowed head and
-sobbing breath she faltered it forth.
-
-When it was finished there was silence in the room. Outside the wind
-moaned and shrieked; reproachful voices, they sounded, calling to those
-within that that very day innocence was suffering for the guilty.  The
-raindrops that splattered against the grey walls without seemed to be
-fingers knocking for admittance, ghostly fingers which mocked and gibed
-whilst the wind voices wept and lamented the louder.  And as she
-listened, Diane de Coray crouched the lower in a very agony of
-self-abasement and remorse, not daring to look up and find the eyes she
-had learnt to love so passionately grow hard and cruel as love died
-within them.
-
-"Diane!"
-
-The voice roused her, and in spite of her forebodings she slowly raised
-her head.  The face on the pillows was deathly pale, and the poor lips
-quivered piteously in their pain and horror; but the eyes--ah! those
-eyes! love was not dead there, but so mortally wounded that his agony
-was the more terrible to witness.
-
-"Yvon!  Yvon!" she moaned.  "Ah! why may I not die?  Why may I not die?
-I may not ask thee to forgive me, but oh! for the sake of our sweet Lady
-of Pity, curse me not!"
-
-"Curse thee?" he muttered faintly, "nay, myself the rather, seeing I
-love thee still, and as truly as ever; and yet the little Gwennola----"
-
-A smothered sob choked him, and Diane knew that though love stood there
-calling to her with outstretched arms of forgiveness, there lay between
-them the irrevocable shadow of a sister's blood.
-
-"Oh, merciful heavens!" she cried, clasping her hands, wringing them
-together in a paroxysm of grief and entreaty, "grant that they may be in
-time!"
-
-"In time?" faintly whispered the sick man; "in time?"
-
-"Ay," she sobbed, "ay, Yvon, there is yet a hope, for Father Ambrose and
-Alain Fanchonic ride at full speed to Martigue to proclaim her
-innocence."
-
-"And--and thou hast told Father Ambrose all?" he murmured, and the thin
-hand on the coverlet strayed once more nearer to the bent figure at his
-side.
-
-"All--all!" she cried passionately; "for thy sake, Yvon, for thy
-sake--and for love's!"
-
-                     *      *      *      *      *
-
-"For love's sake!"  Yes, that was the goad which added wings to the good
-horse's feet as Alain Fanchonic, with Father Ambrose, seated on a
-pillion behind him clasping the stalwart man-at-arm's waist, rode forth
-into the tempest which shrieked raging through the forest.  A wild ride,
-with the wind beating in their faces, and dead leaves whirling in a very
-hurricane around them; but neither of the two had thought for wind or
-weather, for ever before their eyes stood the slender figure of a young
-girl bound to a burning stake with arms outstretched in pleading, whilst
-her voice cried to them to hasten to her aid.  It is true that Alain
-Fanchonic, grandson of the old dame upon whom Gwennola so often bestowed
-her bounty, had crossed himself in devout horror when he heard the story
-of the Brown Friar and the waxen image; but so severely had his
-grandmother upbraided him for his credulity in believing such slander
-against one of Heaven's own angels, that he had lived in a state of
-doubt and horror during the few days which had elapsed since Gwennola's
-arrest and condemnation.  So that when Father Ambrose had come to him,
-telling him to saddle Barbe, the fleetest mare in the stables, and ride
-with him to Martigue to save his mistress and proclaim her innocence, he
-had lost little time in complying, muttering curses and prayers alike,
-whilst the tears ran down his brown cheeks as he sprang into the saddle,
-and, with the good priest clinging on for dear life behind, dashed out,
-across the drawbridge and away through the forest so madly that surely
-Providence only could have upheld the grey mare's feet as she sped along
-the narrow, dangerous path. But not once did she stumble as she galloped
-swiftly along, and Father Ambrose felt his heart beat with joy and
-gladness as they gradually neared their goal. Yet not without
-interruption were they thus to journey, for, as they rode, they were
-startled suddenly by another horseman who leapt unexpectedly on to the
-path before them.  It was Guillaume de Coray; and even as their glances
-met, the old priest felt a thrill of wonderment as he saw the traitor's
-face.  It was not indeed that of a man who hastens from the scene of his
-triumph, and the consummation of his hopes and plots, but rather that of
-baffled hatred and anger.  His fierce gaze met the Benedictine's for an
-instant only, as he reined back his horse, which trembled as it stood
-there, as if its master had spared it little in his ride.  Then, even
-before either had time to speak, a blast of wind, sweeping through the
-forest, brought one of the mighty trees close by to the ground with a
-terrific crash.  The noise so near and so unexpected startled de Coray's
-horse; rearing on its hind legs, it pawed the ground in terror, then,
-with a snort of fear it leapt forward so wildly as to unseat its rider,
-who, flung heavily against one of the trees, lay senseless and bleeding
-on the ground.
-
-In a moment Father Ambrose was beside him; yet, even before he stooped
-to examine the injured man's hurts, he paused to address the
-man-at-arms.
-
-"Ride on with speed, Alain Fanchonic," he cried authoritatively; "spare
-not thy steed, but ride for thy life, or rather for hers whom thou
-lovest; save thy mistress, ere it be too late."
-
-Without hesitation, the man plunged his spurs into the good horse's
-sides, quickly disappearing amongst the trees; and Father Ambrose was
-left alone beside his unconsious enemy, struck down in the hour of his
-vengeance by what, to the simple faith of the priest, was nothing less
-than the finger of the Eternal Judge.
-
-
-
-
-                            *CHAPTER XXIII*
-
-
-It was a great day in the little town of Martigue, for they were out of
-the world, here on the borders of the forest of Arteze, and life was
-inclined to grow monotonous.  True, there were the festivals and
-such-like mild excitements; but they could not bear comparison with the
-burning of a witch in the marketplace.  And she was no ordinary witch,
-see you, but a beautiful and high-born demoiselle, whose evil practices
-no one had even dreamt of till they had been brought to light in so
-wonderful a manner. And she had murdered her own brother!  Was it to be
-conceived?  But it was terrible!--nevertheless, very interesting.  Some
-said they did not believe it, and, that the new Sieur de Mereac was a
-foul fiend himself, and Pierre the fool his attendant imp; but these
-were only the foolish ones, for had it not been quickly proved, and
-beyond all doubt, that this beautiful young witch had ofttimes attended
-Satanic meetings yonder in the forest, and had been seen dancing with
-the Brown Friar himself, whilst she and her dread partner chanted
-incantations so deadly that it was a wonder that all in the Château de
-Mereac had not fallen under their spell instead of only the unfortunate
-young Sieur?
-
-It had been easy work, that condemnation of so terrible a malefactor;
-there had been no need of search or torture to prove the guilt both of
-mistress and maid.  Justice moves quickly when there is a powerful arm
-behind to arrange the machinery, and Guillaume de Coray was already
-looked upon as Sieur de Mereac, seeing that Yvon was reported to have
-died in agonies, shrieking for vengeance against his guilty sister.  And
-vengeance he should have; the good folk of Martigue and Mereac were
-determined on that, promising themselves a day's holiday and enjoyment
-into the bargain.
-
-That the day itself should be so tempestuous was but another proof of
-the witches' guilt and malevolence; clearly it had been raised by demon
-power to arrest the course of justice.  But justice should not be
-arrested. Pile high the faggots!--yes! higher,--higher! Parbleu! what a
-blaze there would be!--how they would shriek and curse!--how they would
-writhe and groan!  The prospect, appealing to the savagery of ignorant
-natures, thrilled all with pleasurable excitement and delight. Some
-wondered if the fiend himself would appear to carry his devotees away;
-others looked forward to hearing hideous confessions wrung from writhing
-lips by the torture of the flames.  Altogether there were few to pity
-two young and beautiful girls who were going forth to die a cruel death,
-so fiercely ran the passions and superstitions of the peasantry of the
-age. Yet there were those in the little town whose hearts beat in the
-agony of horror and suspense, and whose eyes were turned, not on the
-grim spectacle preparing in the market-place, but upon the wild heath
-which stretched away westwards, half hidden by the blinding rain and
-wind.
-
-Close to the gates stood Job Alloadec and a small knot of men of Mereac
-who were loyal to their unfortunate young mistress.  Even if the help
-for which they looked came not, Gwennola de Mereac and Marie his sister
-should not die alone that day in the market-place,--so Job had sworn,
-with hands held fast in the hands of those who promised to stand side by
-side with him.  But out yonder, through the mist and rain, a man rode
-hastily along the road to Rennes.  The peasants tramping towards
-Martigue wondered amongst themselves as they watched him gallop by.  It
-was urgent business, they said one to another, which sent a man away
-from Martigue that day! and therewith they fell afresh to speculations
-on what would occur when the witches of Mereac met their doom.  But on
-galloped the horseman, with spurs in his horse's flanks and his mouth
-tight set as if he rode on a matter of life and death.  Yes! and life
-and death it was to be for some that day in the little town behind him.
-
-The hour of noon was approaching, already a bell tolled forth from the
-church close by, and in the market-place the people thronged so closely
-that they trod one on another in their eagerness to behold. By the gate
-Job Alloadec and his men waited, with an eye towards the market-place as
-the minutes crept by.  In their prison cell two girls knelt in prayer.
-Marie was weeping, her head resting on her mistress's shoulder; but
-Gwennola was calm, a shadowy smile even seemed to flicker around her
-mouth as she raised her face towards the faint light which struggled in
-through the narrow slit above them.
-
-The tolling bell, the roar of the crowd, came faintly to them, and sent
-fresh shudderings through Marie's frame.
-
-"Courage, child," whispered Gwennola; "remember we are innocent, and the
-Holy Mother will not forsake us even in this our extremity.  For myself
-I have no fears; if death indeed be our lot, grace shall be sent to
-strengthen us for the trial, and I will pray to die as Gwennola de
-Mereac should die, defying her accusers to the last.  But I have hope so
-strong within my breast that it seemeth I can take little thought for
-death.  Dry then those tears, my Marie; look into my eyes and fear
-not;--I tell thee it is life, not death, before us."
-
-But though her foster-sister struggled bravely with her emotions, sobs
-of terror still shook her as at length their prison door was flung open
-and their guards appeared.  A yell of fury greeted them as, a little
-later, the two unfortunate girls, tightly bound, were led forth to their
-doom.  Yet, even as the outcry died, a fresh and more compassionate
-murmur arose from many at sight of the captives.
-
-Innocence indeed seemed written on every lineament of the faces turned
-towards their enemies, and men and women pressed forward with
-exclamations in which pity mingled with admiration and indignation
-against the sentence about to be executed.  But the guards around kept
-back the populace as the victims were fastened to the stakes prepared
-for them.  Yet, even as the executioner stepped forward with lighted
-torch, a loud shout arose, the thunder of horses' hoofs was heard at the
-gate, and, turning, all beheld a strong body of soldiery riding at full
-speed towards the market-place.
-
-"Do your work, knave, and quickly!" shouted a horseman, who, with his
-hat drawn closely over his eyes, had stood close to the centre of the
-crowd, near to the stakes.  "Delay not an instant--fire the faggots!"
-
-Recognising the voice, Gwennola turned, and, from her awful position
-looked into the face of Guillaume de Coray.
-
-"Fire the faggots!" cried he again imperatively to the man, who stood,
-with flaming torch, hesitating as he watched, first the changing faces
-of the populace, and then the soldiers who were advancing at a gallop.
-
-"The French! the French are upon us!" shouted a voice from the crowd,
-and in an instant panic reigned. Yet still the guard around the stake
-drew close, the executioner still hesitated,--it was not too late.
-
-With white face and furious looks de Coray, whose swift instinct had
-told him what the diversion meant, sprang to the ground and, snatching
-the brand from the executioner's hand, rushed forward.  For an instant
-he stood opposite his victim, glaring at her with baffled hatred and
-malice as he stooped to thrust the flaming torch into the brushwood
-piled around her; but even as it seemed that his purpose was
-accomplished, a strong arm intervened, and Job Alloadec, with an oath,
-had snatched the torch from his grasp, and would have hurled de Coray to
-the ground had not one of the guard come quickly to his rescue.  But the
-opportunity had gone, and de Coray knew, that, for the present at least,
-safety lay only in flight.  He had seen that the French soldiers, with
-d'Estrailles at their head, far outnumbered the soldiers of the town
-guard; also he had watched the changing mood of the crowd, and foresaw
-that their rage might be quickly turned against him, the principal
-witness in procuring the sentence against the supposed witches.
-Therefore with creditable discretion the gallant knight leapt upon his
-horse's back, and by dint of some hard blows and many curses succeeded
-in struggling out of the seething crowd and gaining in safety the
-shelter of the forest.
-
-But Gwennola had no thought to bestow on her enemies.  Bound and
-helpless as she was, she had caught a glimpse from afar of a bronzed,
-flushed face under a raised vizor, had heard the shouts that arose on
-all sides, and knew that deliverance had indeed come.
-
-Job Alloadec was sobbing at her side as he cut the bonds that bound her
-still to the cruel stake; whilst, close at hand, she was aware that
-Marie was already in her lover's arms.  In a dazed, half-unconscious way
-she wondered why Henri delayed, and even as she did so she was aware of
-a tall, knightly form at her side, felt herself lifted into a close
-embrace and heard a voice whispering her name again and again in her
-ear: "Gwennola, Gwennola, thou art saved!"
-
-Yes, he had come, this faithful lover--come, by the Providence of God,
-in time to save her from the death which had appeared so inevitable, and
-even now, as he held her in his arms, still loomed all too dangerously
-near.  The garrison of the little town might indeed have proved a
-stubborn foe had it not been for Job Alloadec's presence at the gate;
-and d'Estrailles full well knew the peril he ran in thus snatching
-reputed witches from death, and that even his own men might turn against
-him for so doing.  But one thing was in his favour: the peasantry had
-changed from their savage mood of the morning, and had welcomed at first
-the rescuers.  It was an appeal to the romantic side of their natures,
-but an appeal which d'Estrailles knew would not last.  All too soon
-their slow reasoning would put a different complexion on the affair.
-That the enemies of their country should thus summarily snatch from them
-their lawful prey would not commend itself to stubborn Breton pride.
-The brief pity which the beauty of their victims had inspired would fade
-away as they remembered their dreaded vocation, and the pleasurable
-excitement they had anticipated from their sufferings.  Therefore there
-was no time for delay; one brief kiss, one word of joyous assurance, and
-Henri d'Estrailles had raised Gwennola to his horse's back, and swinging
-himself into the saddle, turned to force his way back through the crowd,
-which already began to murmur as a pack of hungry wolves may howl when
-they see their prey borne from them into safety.  Murmured execrations
-on the hated Frenchmen rose to a clamour, which, however, was partly
-subdued by the formidable array which gathered around their leader.  At
-the gate the Breton captain of the guard called them to a halt. He could
-not understand what had occurred, poor man, so unexpectedly and so
-suddenly had this intervention of justice taken place.  How had it been
-possible that the gates had been so readily opened? Why was it that
-these French desired to save a witch from her well-merited punishment?
-Altogether the mind of Captain Maurice d'Yvec was as chaotic as the
-crowd behind him.
-
-It was easily explained: the demoiselle and her woman, whom the French
-captain carried away, were no witches; they were falsely accused, as
-doubtless monsieur would soon be informed.  In the meantime, Monsieur
-d'Estrailles had commands to carry the demoiselle, and also her woman,
-to Rennes; surely Monsieur le Capitaine would raise no objection when he
-heard it was the command of Madame la Duchesse herself.
-
-"Vive la Duchesse!"  That was a cry that these Breton soldiers could
-understand.  "Vive la Duchesse!"--and confusion to her enemies!  Well,
-it was a thing most extraordinary that the Duchess should send enemies
-as her messengers to rescue reputed witches from burning; and
-yet--Captain Maurice d'Yvec hesitated, but there was a soft corner in
-this heart, which was not all of grey Breton flint-stone, and perchance
-the beauty of Gwennola de Mereac had found it out, and perchance also
-the gallant captain had no great love for the new Sieur de Mereac.
-Moreover, the Sieur had unaccountably disappeared; and even did he
-himself oppose this fair-speaking, gallant enemy, it was probable that
-he and his soldiers would be out-numbered and killed. So at length the
-hesitation came to an end, and Henri d'Estrailles rode out of Martigue
-with Gwennola de Mereac clinging to his saddle-bow and the wild landes
-before them, where the wind howled its welcome and the rain beat in
-their faces as if laughing at their triumph over its rival element.  But
-what cared Henri or Gwennola for wind or rain? Behind them lay their
-enemies, vanquished and overcome, and before them through the mists of
-wind and rain shone the sunshine of love and life--love, life, and each
-other.
-
-"En avant--to Rennes!" cried d'Estrailles gaily, as he rode forward with
-one arm round Gwennola's slender waist.  "To Rennes!"
-
-"To Rennes!" echoed Jean Marcille, and stooped with a merry laugh to
-kiss the rosy lips of little Marie, which pouted up at him from under
-the hood drawn tightly about her face.  "To Rennes, little
-sweetheart--where thou and I wilt wed."
-
-"Wed!" whispered Marie coyly, as she nestled closely to him.  "How
-knowest thou that, great foolish one?--perchance I have no mind to wed
-at all; and as for wedding _thee_----"  But he did not allow her to
-complete her sentence.
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XXIV*
-
-
-Back through the vague shadowland of unconsciousness, back once more to
-a still vaguer, more terrible realization of life--life all drawn into
-one great and hideous contraction of pain, where thoughts became at
-first impossible, till, the mists clearing aside, recollections of the
-past claimed fresh tortures of the mind.  It was so that Guillaume de
-Coray crept back once more into conscious existence, to find himself
-lying on a couch in a chamber of the Château de Mereac. What chamber it
-was his weary brain refused to realize: all he was aware of was the
-agony which shot through his body with the first attempt to move. Then
-swiftly came the unerring intuition that this was death--death,
-terrible, unrelenting, inexorable, come to claim him all unready,
-sin-stained, fear-stricken. A shudder passed through the quivering,
-broken body, which suffered now less than the man's soul.  Clearly they
-stood out, those sins,--hideous sins, arraigning him before the judgment
-seat of One Whose Eyes must needs search deep to the heart's core.  Was
-it all black within?--all black, irredeemable guilt? Far back in the
-secret chambers of his heart there flickered a feeble light; it was the
-inner shrine, so long empty, but filled now with the image, not of its
-Creator, but of His creature.  Gabrielle Laurent, the humble
-peasant-girl of Arteze--it was she who alone had found that sanctuary
-and filled it so strangely.  Cruel, evil, treacherous to all, his love
-for her had been the one pure spot in a shameless life.  For her sake
-indeed he might have striven to become other than he was, had it not
-been for the devil-whisper which prompted him to win for her by foul and
-wicked means what she, had she known, would have shrunk from in horror.
-So the powers of evil twist us to their will, and Guillaume had plotted
-with no thought for the undoing of his soul, even whilst he felt
-stirring within him the birth of a pure love.  And now----?  Again the
-shiver ran through him.  He had played for a high stake, and he had
-lost.  Death was the penalty.  In solitude his lost soul must steal
-forth to its doom, and even in so going leave behind it a memory of
-shame which should be read in grief and horror by eyes from which he had
-striven so carefully to hide so horrible a story.  What would she think
-of him when she knew him for what he was?  What would she say when she
-learnt that her noble lover was but the phantom of her own pure spirit,
-and that the thing she had loved was that from which all true and
-upright men and women must turn shuddering away? Even in death the
-thought tormented him above all bodily sufferings.  If only he could
-have explained,--if only he could have told her that his love at least
-was true,--if only he could have had time.  But it was too late, all too
-late; never again would he see her as he had seen her that summer
-morning, innocent and beautiful, sitting there in the sunshine beside
-her spinning-wheel.  The destiny she might have woven for him with those
-tender hands had been snapped by his own reckless touch, and love, life,
-and hope,--that purer life and hope of which he had vaguely
-dreamt,--were quenched in the utter gloom of death and sin.
-
-With a groan his eyelids flickered and unclosed, staring out into the
-whirling darkness.  But even as life seemed rushing from him in a mad
-agony of mind and body, a hand was laid on his, and a face bent close to
-his twisted, death-distorted one.  Was it the face of an angel come to
-taunt him in those last moments with a glance into the Paradise he had
-lost?  Somewhere near he fancied he heard a low, monotonous voice
-chanting prayers, but the words were lost in the tumultuous surgings of
-his brain.
-
-Then suddenly mental vision and recollection became clear, with that
-strange, unearthly clearness which comes to the dying, and reveals past
-and present in the intense, mysterious light of summer moonlight.  He
-remembered all, realizing that he lay a-dying in the great hall of the
-Château de Mereac. He realized that he was stretched on a low couch
-close to the blaze of the fire, although the heat failed to warm the
-chill of his body; as in a dream he saw Pierre the fool crouched at his
-feet, sobbing as if in pain, as he knelt there.  He had often wondered
-what had made this strange, uncanny lad evince such affection to him; he
-wondered vaguely now as his languid eyes gazed into the wizened face of
-the ape, perched on the boy's shoulder.  Then he became aware that there
-were other figures around him; that close by, gazing down at him in awed
-and pitying silence, were his sister and Yvon de Mereac--Yvon de Mereac,
-the man whose life he had so often and so vainly sought. He tried to
-wonder why he had sought it, tried to wonder why he looked at him so
-curiously,--was he spirit, or flesh and blood?  He had heard that Yvon
-was dead, but that had been a lie--his own lie, perchance; but he was
-not dead, although he stood there so gaunt, so pale, so reproachful; he
-was alive, and it was he himself who was to die--not Yvon de Mereac.
-The chanting voice of the priest was clearer now--were those the prayers
-for the dying he was saying?  What mockery it was!--prayers for a lost
-soul--lost beyond redemption! Then the hand that held his closed again
-over his cold fingers in a warm, strong clasp.  Whose was it? Once again
-his eyes fell on that other face which had floated before his
-half-conscious gaze.
-
-"Gabrielle!"  It was a cry of anguish, of pleading, of despair, though
-it rose little above a whisper.  But she understood, for there is a
-language of the soul which but one other pair of eyes beside our own can
-read.
-
-"Guillaume!" she said, and the soft utterance of his name seemed to stir
-within him that which he had thought already dead.
-
-"I love thee," said the eyes that looked into his. "Yes, I know all,
-poor, broken, sin-stained soul, and yet I love thee--for love is of God
-and changeth never."
-
-He was looking up into those eyes, reading all their message of pity and
-tenderness, till in his own there dawned something less than despair.
-
-"Thou knowest, Gabrielle?" he whispered, and for answer she bent,
-kissing the trembling lips.
-
-How fast rushed the voiceless chaos in his brain! Whirling faces long
-dead looked into his as they passed, voices were crying in his ears of
-the memories of old sins; and yet, through the mists and vanishing forms
-those tender eyes looked down into his; and beyond, far away in the
-distance, a Voice Which had calmed that other tempest of wind and waves
-called softly his name.
-
-A lost soul!--a lost soul!  What use was it to call?  He had sinned too
-deeply for aught but damnation, swift and terrible, damnation to which
-he must turn his shuddering eyes as the hand of Death claimed him.  And
-yet, those eyes which looked into his still spoke their message of hope.
-She, this angel of purity and goodness, knew all his guilty secrets, and
-yet--she loved him; her kiss of tender love and forgiveness still
-lingered on his parched lips.  Was it then so impossible that he should
-find a forgiveness greater than that of earth?  His eyes wandered
-involuntarily from the face above him to the pictured image of a
-Figure,--a Figure thorn-crowned, suffering, dying,--a Figure of Love
-incarnate, with wide-stretched Arms which seemed to invite him to Their
-embrace. The voice of Father Ambrose rose clearer and sweeter, but it
-was not the Latin prayers which held the dying man's attention, but a
-Voice, more sweet, more clear than all, which seemed to soothe the
-tempest of his soul.
-
-Then with a lightning flash another memory stole upon him.  Gwennola de
-Mereac,--the girl he had tried to wrong more cruelly than he had her
-brother, the innocent girl who perhaps had already suffered the last
-agony of death through his sin and treachery.
-
-"Gwennola?" he whispered faintly, and the peace which had stolen over
-him seemed for the moment shaken to its foundation as he listened for
-the answer.
-
-It was Diane who replied.  Slipping from Yvon's side, she knelt beside
-him, looking gladly into his eyes.
-
-"She is safe," she whispered, with a happy sob. which told the tale of
-the great joy that deliverance had brought to her; "she is safe!"
-
-Guillaume de Coray's eyes closed.  Yes! she was safe, and the golden
-gates of mercy which he had fancied to see slowly opening were not shut
-against him by reason of this deadly sin.  And so the mocking, cruel
-voices sank slowly to rest--those voices which cried in his ears that
-terrible sentence of eternal death.  And though the bodily pains grew
-ever more agonizing, he could smile once more into the beautiful face so
-close to his.
-
-"Forgiven?" he whispered in a faint, yet awestruck tone, whilst with a
-last effort he strove to clasp his hands in prayer.  "Forgiven?"
-
-He saw her lips move in prayer too, as together they turned to look
-towards the great crucifix Father Ambrose held aloft.  It was growing
-dark to the dying man--dark and cold; he did not hear the words of
-absolution which freed his penitent soul from its load of sin; he did
-not feel the purifying touch of the holy oil.  All he saw was the bowed
-Head of a crucified Saviour; all he heard was the voice of the woman he
-had loved with so strange and passionate a devotion, as into the Unknown
-his soul passed forth, with the echo of her words to guide him on his
-last journey.
-
-"For love's sake, my Guillaume,--for love's sake!"
-
-
-
-
-                             *CHAPTER XXV*
-
-
-Dark and gloomy had been those November days to the young Duchess of
-Brittany.  Her defiant reply to her over-bearing Suzerain had brought
-the banners of France within the sight of the castle walls of her town
-of Rennes, and great had been not only the terror of Anne herself, but
-apparently that of her councillors and ladies.
-
-But Charles had seemed strangely disinclined to show any hostilities,
-but instead had sent a deputation proposing a treaty.  To this Anne had
-perforce to agree, and at the dictation of the King twelve persons were
-appointed on each side to examine the claims each had on the duchy of
-Brittany.  Meanwhile, the city of Rennes was placed in sequestration, in
-the hands of the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, to be governed for the
-time by the Prince of Orange. The King, on this being agreed to,
-promised to withdraw his troops, and allow passage and safe conduct to
-the Duchess and ambassadors of Maximilian to Germany, where she might
-join the husband who had been too impecunious to come in person for his
-bride.
-
-All arrangements having been thus settled, the King had ordered his
-troops to retire from Brittany, and had, it was reported, himself
-returned to Touraine, whilst the Duke of Orleans, as
-Ambassador-Extraordinary, was despatched to the Duchess to confirm the
-treaty and compliment her on its conclusion.
-
-Whilst these events of historical interest were occupying the minds of
-the chief actors in the destiny of Brittany, the lesser destinies of
-Gwennola de Mereac and Henri d'Estrailles were trembling in the
-balances.
-
-To ride with his rescued bride to his château by the Loire was the first
-impulse of the young knight; but there is a power stronger even than,
-love, and duty called him inexorably to his master's side. The Count
-Dunois was not a man lightly to be disobeyed, and Dunois had bidden him
-take the Demoiselle de Mereac, if he succeeded in saving her from her
-threatened fate, to be placed under the care of the Duchess Anne.  That
-in so doing Dunois had his own schemes at work, d'Estrailles did not
-doubt, for Dunois was one to hold carefully in his hand every thread of
-the slenderest fibre which might further the weaving of his darling
-scheme. Debarred by his enormous bulk from following in the warlike
-footsteps of his gallant father, there was no man in the kingdom of more
-service to Charles than François Dunois, Comte de Longueville, and for
-the present the heart of Dunois was set upon the uniting of his royal
-master to the heiress of Brittany, or, in other words, the binding of
-the refractory duchy by indissoluble bonds to its parent kingdom.
-
-Anne had indeed welcomed to her persecuted little court one whose perils
-and misfortunes had been, in a different manner, even greater than her
-own.  In former years Gwennola de Mereac had ofttimes stayed with her
-father and brother at the court of Francis II., and the little Anne had
-learnt to know and love the playmate who was scarcely three years her
-senior. Therefore it was with ready and sympathetic ears that she
-listened to Gwennola's tale of her misfortunes, and promised that when
-her own affairs gave her leisure she would not spare trouble in clearing
-her fair subject's fame and bringing to justice the wrongdoers, little
-knowing that justice had already been administered by a higher Power
-than even the Duchess of Brittany's.
-
-But the kindly and generous protection of Anne meant for a time
-separation from her lover, and bitter such separation must needs be,
-seeing that neither knew when they should again meet; and Gwennola
-readily mingled her tears with those of the disconsolate Marie, who wept
-unrestrainedly at the thought of parting from the faithful Marcille. But
-duty was imperative, and it needs had to be that Henri d'Estrailles and
-Jean Marcille must follow the retreating lilies of France, vowing to
-return as soon as it should be possible.
-
-The possibility came sooner, indeed, than it was expected, seeing that
-Henri d'Estrailles, to his infinite delight, was chosen to accompany the
-Duke of Orleans himself on his mission to Rennes. Yet another
-disappointment awaited him, for, to his surprise, he was bidden to
-remain outside the city walls whilst Louis proceeded alone to his
-interview.
-
-The Duchess Anne received her Ambassador but coldly, with all the proud
-haughtiness of one who feels herself to have been treated unjustly and
-tyrannically.  Whatever her feelings were, when Louis of Orleans,
-apparently ignoring the fact that he had once pleaded his own cause into
-the same ears, urged with all the persuasive eloquence of which he was
-so complete a master that she should yield to the King's desire and the
-wishes of her most trusted councillors in becoming Queen of France, she
-was outwardly the same cold, inflexible girl who had refused to listen
-to the pleadings of Dunois and others, finally referring him, with a
-lofty and indifferent air, to her council, "who," she informed him,
-"were acquainted with her pleasure."
-
-Seemingly defeated, Louis of Orleans quitted the presence chamber, but
-not before humbly begging, as a special favour, that his young attendant
-might have speech with his mistress, the Demoiselle de Mereac. The
-request was granted, and Louis went on his way more elated than
-apparently his audience had given him cause for.
-
-That evening two interviews took place in the old Castle of Rennes, one
-of which only is recorded in history, and even that in so vague a way as
-to leave its purport and sequel shrouded for ever in mystery. Henri
-d'Estrailles did not enter the castle gates alone; neither was his
-companion, whose face was partly concealed by a cloak, the faithful
-Jean, for whose coming the little Marie looked in vain.  And so it
-chanced that all unexpectedly there appeared before Anne the man whom
-she had pictured as a monster of cruelty--the man whom she had fondly
-thought to be in far-off Touraine.  It was indeed Charles himself, the
-gentle, kindly king whom his people had nicknamed "le Petit Roy."  Not
-perhaps the ideal lover to woo a beautiful but refractory maiden.
-Handsome, Charles was certainly not.  His head was large,--as was also
-his aquiline nose,--with large, prominent eyes, round dimpled chin, thin
-flat lips, compressed body and long, thin legs; whilst his slow speech,
-nervous movements, and constantly open mouth added to his appearance of
-foolishness.  His great charm, however, lay in a singularly sweet voice
-and an expression of gentle amiability which appealed instantly to the
-generous side of those around him. Such was the royal wooer, the very
-opposite indeed of the bride he so vainly sought.  Scarcely more than a
-child in years, Anne had already proved herself of a high-spirited,
-resolute disposition.  In outward appearance she was undoubtedly
-beautiful, with black eyes, well-marked brows, dazzling complexion,
-dimpled chin, long, black hair, and fine features.  Her carriage was
-majestic in spite of a slight lameness, and her manner somewhat haughty;
-but in spite of her pride and love of vengeance, she had many fine and
-noble qualities, being generous, truthful, and faithful to her friends.
-
-Of what passed during that secret interview little has ever transpired;
-but it would seem that though Anne may have been softened to kindlier
-feelings towards the man she had formerly hated, she still remained firm
-in adhering to her resolution in considering her marriage to Maximilian
-binding, and Charles, perforce, had to retire as unsuccessful as his
-ambassadors.  But the King did not go far; his friends in Rennes were
-many and powerful, or assuredly he would never have so dared to enter a
-hostile city practically alone and in disguise.
-
-Meanwhile, the second interview was fraught with more happiness.  There
-was so much that Gwennola had to tell--so much of joy and gladness, for
-a messenger had arrived from Mereac itself, a messenger who was no other
-than the faithful Job, who had watched his young mistress ride away
-through the mists and rain on that winter's day, across the wind-swept
-landes--away from the dangers and perils which had surrounded her, into
-safety.  And yet the faithful Breton had sometimes misdoubted even that
-safety, for his jealous heart had rebelled against the fact that the
-protectors who surrounded her were Frenchmen--for it takes long to
-convince the obstinate nature of the Breton, whose ideas travel slowly,
-and all his life Job Alloadec had read "Frenchman" as "enemy."
-Therefore he had been glad enough to carry Father Ambrose's messages and
-letter to his mistress, and see how it fared with her and his sister,
-and whether they were truly safe under the protection of the Duchess.
-But the coming of Job was of less import to Gwennola than the good news
-he brought.  Her innocence was proved.  Diane had confessed, and the
-guilty brain that had planned all the evil against her and her brother
-was still for ever from such plots. Then, too, her brother was
-better,--far better; and though the betrothal between him and Diane de
-Coray had been cemented afresh by new bonds of a deeper and truer
-devotion, still there was no more to fear from such a love.  Indeed, as
-Father Ambrose said, the unfortunate girl seemed only too eager to make
-reparation for the past and plead forgiveness from those she had
-injured.  And so it had come to pass that, owing greatly to her
-influence, Yvon had given his sanction to his sister's marriage with
-Henri d'Estrailles.
-
-How happy were the lovers as they sat together whispering of what joy
-and happiness this good news brought to them both!  Yes, the dream was
-near to realization now; the tempest was past, and the sunshine shone
-across the path of youth and love without the shadow of a cloud between.
-But when would the time come when they should ride together, as they had
-so often done in fancy, and see the grey walls of the Château
-d'Estrailles rise close to the laughing waters of the Loire?  Ah! when?
-Perhaps even sooner than she thought--it was possible.  Only, there was
-one word of whispered counsel for her ears ere he bade her farewell:
-should the Duchess claim her attendance for a sudden and unexpected
-journey, she must not hesitate to comply, strange as it might
-seem;--that was all that he might say.  And so, with fresh vows of love,
-they parted, though Gwennola little guessed that neither lover nor
-cloaked attendant went so far that night as the city walls.
-
-A deputation of her councillors waited the following morning upon the
-young Duchess.  It would seem that they were filled with anxiety; in
-fact, truly a new danger appeared to have arisen.  That they were
-cognizant to the secret interview of the night before they made no
-attempt to hide, pleading that in their Duchess's interests they had
-permitted it to take place.  Finding her inexorable with regard to the
-French marriage, they apparently yielded to her wishes, yet urged her,
-by reason of the dangers of her position, to make at least a compromise.
-Charles was set upon a betrothal, by some means or other; and the
-councillors hinted that there would be small scruple in taking by force
-what was not yielded to request.  He had sworn to make Anne his bride.
-The armies of France were at no great distance; Maximilian was far away.
-What they would suggest was that Anne should in fair seeming yield
-acquiescence to the importunities of the King and allow herself to be
-secretly betrothed.  Then, his suspicions lulled to rest, Anne would,
-with the greater ease, escape from her town and fly with a small
-retinue, including the ambassadors of Maximilian, to her husband's
-protection.  Such craft and duplicity were little suited to Anne's
-straightforward nature; but, beset as she was with enemies and
-difficulties, she yielded at length, and that very night, in the utmost
-secrecy, was celebrated in the church of Notre Dame, this strange and
-romantic betrothal of the King of France to the Duchess of Brittany,
-witnessed by the Duchess of Bourbon, the Count Dunois, Philippe de
-Montauban, and Louis of Orleans, who thus saw consummated the match he
-had both desired and dreaded.
-
-The betrothal over, Anne retired in haste to her castle, with scant
-ceremony, there to await the development of events promised her so
-glibly by her Chancellor and council.
-
-All had impressed on the young Duchess the strict necessity of making
-her flight secret--so secret, indeed, that it had been communicated to
-no one; in fact, the Chancellor told her that the ambassadors themselves
-would only be acquainted with her plans at the last moment.
-
-In due time, however, the hour arrived, and, attended by Gwennola de
-Mereac, Marie Alloadec, and Madame de Laval, her gouvernante, Anne stole
-from her castle to commence a journey which she could not but foresee
-would be both arduous and dangerous; and yet we are told, in minute
-detail, that the Duchess's travelling dress was of cloth of velvet,
-trimmed with one hundred and thirty-two sable skins, whilst her palfrey
-was adorned with three ells of crimson velvet!
-
-But who can tell the anger and terror of this unfortunate girl, to find
-how craftily she had been duped, and how, instead of the ambassadors of
-Maximilian, the man who rode at her bridle rein, so closely cloaked and
-disguised, was no other than King Charles himself!
-
-Morning had broken when the Duchess made the fatal discovery and
-perceived how hopeless was her case.  To return, to explain, would be
-useless.  The midnight betrothal, taken in conjunction with the secret
-flight, would appear in a light impossible to explain away to the
-outraged ambassadors of the husband to whom she had thought to go.  To
-the high-spirited Anne even death itself were better than dishonour, and
-surely to return to Rennes after such an adventure would give rise to
-countless surmises and ill talking.  Moreover, by her side rode one who
-could well plead his own cause; and though she wept and upbraided both
-him and the Breton nobles who surrounded her, Anne perforce had to yield
-to the exigencies of her position.  And so forward they rode, a strange
-bridal party: a weeping bride, and a groom divided, perchance, 'twixt
-shame and triumph; whilst behind them came the men who had betrayed
-their mistress for the sake of their country--or for some more ulterior
-motive, amongst them being the Chancellor de Montauban, the Sieur de
-Pontbrient, and the Grand-Master Coetquen.  A strange party indeed, but
-four at least of the company heeded it little.  Close by the bridle of
-Gwennola de Mereac rode Henri d'Estrailles, whilst in the background
-Jean Marcille had already discovered the bright eyes of Marie Alloadec.
-
-The clear, chill dawn of a December day was breaking in the east, as in
-the distance rose the grey turrets of Langeais, where Anne of Brittany
-was to become Queen of France.
-
-"Touraine!  Touraine!" whispered Henri d'Estrailles, as he bent his
-dark, handsome face down to meet the fair, flushed one so close beside
-him.  "Welcome, my bride, welcome home!"
-
-The sun rose high, illuminating a cold and cheerless world.  Before them
-lay France and happiness; but above all, shining cloudless and
-imperishable in their hearts, rose the star of love.  It was surely her
-welcome to his heart that Henri d'Estrailles whispered as their lips met
-in a lingering kiss.
-
-
-
-                 Printed at The Mercat Press, Edinburgh
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