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} - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>A MAID OF BRITTANY</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-06-25" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="H. M. Brock" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="49284" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1909" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="A Maid of Brittany" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="A Maid of Brittany" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="May Wynne" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.title" content="A Maid of Brittany" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.source" content="/home/ajhaines/maid/maid.rst" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.language" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.modified" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-06-25T18:23:38.603934+00:00" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.publisher" content="Project Gutenberg" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.rights" content="Public Domain in the USA." /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49284" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta name="MARCREL.ill" content="H. M. Brock" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.creator" content="May Wynne" /> -<meta name="DCTERMS.created" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-06-25" /> -<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width" /> -<meta name="generator" content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="a-maid-of-brittany"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">A MAID OF BRITTANY</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. 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.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: A Maid of Brittany -<br /> -<br />Author: May Wynne -<br /> -<br />Release Date: June 25, 2015 [EBook #49284] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>A MAID OF BRITTANY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="container plainpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>[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.]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="container coverpage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 72%" id="figure-21"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Cover art" src="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">Cover art</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container frontispiece"> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 59%" id="figure-22"> -<img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""Do your work knave, and quickly." (p. 282)" src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"Do your work knave, and quickly." (p. </span><a class="italics reference internal" href="#id1">282</a><span class="italics">)</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">A MAID OF BRITTANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A Romance</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">MAY WYNNE</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF -<br />"HENRY OF NAVARRE," "WHEN TERROR RULED," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">POPULAR EDITION -<br />with -<br />FRONTISPIECE BY H. M. BROCK</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">LONDON -<br />GREENING & CO., LTD. -<br />1909</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">(</span><em class="italics small">All rights reserved</em><span class="small">)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="container dedication"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">Dedicated -<br />TO -<br />MY MOTHER</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-i"><span class="bold x-large">MAID OF BRITTANY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER I</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."[#]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] 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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>There was a sparkle of indignation in the girl's -eyes as she turned to her father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they raised him the young man moaned, half -opening his dark eyes, then closing them again in -a fresh swoon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gwennola allowed her palfrey to draw even closer -to her father's steed as she raised a smiling face to his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER II</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A flush of anger deepened on the young man's cheek.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Parbleu!" he cried softly, "Breton justice indeed, -to hang an unconscious man because, forsooth! he -rides unattended and cannot speak for himself! This -monsieur——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gwennola," he whispered to himself, "Gwennola," -and fell to wondering when he might see the vision of -her beauty once more.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER III</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Demoiselle de Mereac drew herself up stiffly, -facing him with flashing eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do well, monsieur," she retorted coldly, "to -observe that they departed on your arrival."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Guillaume de Coray shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered and drew back from his proffered -arm as if he had stung her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, monsieur," she replied, "have done with -mockery; you know well my will with regard to our -betrothal—as for marriage——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> knights, whereat both -laughed and fell to picking the violets with light -hearts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except the new one be at the heart," smiled -d'Estrailles slyly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gwennola turned, answering the smile half shyly, -half coquettishly, as she replied: "But Monsieur's heart -is unscathed? The sword——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, monsieur," interrupted Gwennola gently, "we -of Mereac grudge no man our hospitality, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Nola, so there thou art. Comest thou -not with thy old father to-day a-hawking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A shadow fell across the bright face, and she drew -back with a sigh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur de Coray?" he gasped, and looked -eagerly behind the girls towards Job, who had hurried -up to his young mistress's side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-iv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Coray glanced sideways towards his uncle, then -downwards, whilst a sinister smile played round his -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Mereac's jaw closed with a snap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man's face paled. "St Aubin du Cormier?" -he murmured.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak," said de Mereac hoarsely, "I can ill brook -such preamble."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And?" groaned de Mereac.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," faltered de Coray, paling before the storm he -had evoked. "Methought—the Lady Gwennola——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not reply, but turned, curtsying gravely to -her father as she quitted the hall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," said the boy softly, "I am monsieur's -slave; if I may be allowed to serve monsieur, -perchance I can do much."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">friend</em><span>, his </span><em class="italics">friend</em><span>, 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-v"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER V</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marie stared. "But, mademoiselle!" she gasped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gwennola laid both hands firmly on the other's -shoulders, looking down kindly but commandingly -into the frightened brown eyes upraised to hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," she replied, "listen, my father, and thou -shalt judge for thyself," and in a few hurried sentences -she told her tale.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Father Ambrose listened with bent brows, narrowly -watching the fair face of the narrator as she spoke.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And that, my daughter?" questioned the old -priest with a whimsical smile, well knowing the -coaxing tones with which she pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For a moment Father Ambrose was silent, eyeing -her gravely and thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With crimson cheeks but undaunted eyes Gwennola -faced the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, father," laughed Gwennola softly. "Fie on -thee! Am I not betrothed to my cousin?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Father Ambrose sighed as his keen ear caught the -ring of defiance in the last words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur," she whispered. "Ah, monsieur, think -me not unmaidenly, but it was your life that was in -danger, which is——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, mademoiselle?" said d'Estrailles in surprise. -"What is your will? The good father——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not speak," whispered Gwennola's soft voice in -his ear, "until I bid you, and keep close beside me, -monsieur, for your life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An amulet?" she questioned, looking with curious -eyes into his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," he replied softly, "the amulet, mademoiselle, -of a brave maiden's aid and the tender -memory of sweet eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay—because?" he questioned eagerly, as he bent -to look into the downcast face. "Because?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The power of his will overcame her, yet her red -lips pouted rebelliously under her hood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The shorter to return," he replied coolly. "As -for ill, there will, I ween, be less likelihood with me -beside you, mademoiselle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," sighed Marie lugubriously, "I thought, my -mistress, rather of the fate of the poor knight in -yonder turret room than of the sunshine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Coray's face grew more sullen than before at -her mocking words, as he glanced from one to the -other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do ill to jest, mademoiselle," he said sternly, -"seeing what hath chanced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," he retorted, scowling at her this time -without disguise. "But better the executioner of a -foul traitor and murderer than a——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She checked him with an imperious gesture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed aloud, though there was an ugly look -in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your opportunity has already come then, -mademoiselle," he replied sneeringly, "for your -father hath bidden me summons you to his presence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her foster-sister, with wide eyes of wonder, not -unmingled with dismay, echoed her last words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gwennola smiled, and though her colour rose, she -replied quietly—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," murmured Marie, abashed, yet persistent, -"but Madame the Duchess is the bride of the noble -King of the Romans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> with my very life, ay, though my lord verily -putteth me to the torture for so doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," murmured Gwennola, turning pale, "that -my father would never do, as well thou knowest, foolish -one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then monsieur lies yonder?" inquired Marie, eager, -now that her scruples and surprise were overcome, to -assist in this unexpected romance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mother of Help," she moaned, sinking once more -on her knees before the little shrine—"Mother of -Help, save him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Gwennola shook her head, laughing and -blushing as she replied—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-vii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bah," murmured d'Estrailles, devoutly crossing -himself, "'tis verily a spirit of evil, little one, that fled -at the glance of thy sweet eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, to-morrow," she sighed. "Alas! to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled sadly back into his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, my Henri," she murmured, "what lies -between those days and these? Verily my heart -groweth heavy in wondering whether they will ever be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-viii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER VIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Henri," she cried, and in the silence her voice -seemed to ring shrill and clear, "Henri!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>, to look -kindly on </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>; 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Gloire was little minded to obey the gentle -command, for he had already reached the open, and -his quarry was in view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mademoiselle?" he gasped with an upward look -of inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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...."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] 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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>He stared vaguely up at the moon—already the -finger of death was resting on his shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-ix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER IX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Attracted by his excitement, Gwennola ran to his -side, and, after some moments of desperate tugging -and pulling, succeeded in rolling the stone aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yvon," she called softly, her voice trembling as -she pronounced the long-unused name, "Yvon—brother—are -you there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the silence that followed she could hear only -the panting of Gloire's breath close to her ear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yvon," she cried again, "Yvon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then faint but clear came back the answer, in -the voice of a man who answers as in a trance—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gwennola."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gwennola felt the shudder that ran through the -gaunt frame, and the thought of Gloire's vengeance -seemed to her less terrible than heretofore.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah, go not," cried her brother in despair, "lest -thou return not, but instead that evil one with his -cruel eyes and sharp dagger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gazed round vaguely, shivering as his glance -fell on the forest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Job—ah! my good Jobik," cried Gwennola joyfully. -"See, Yvon, we are saved—we are saved!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," said Yvon, smiling faintly, "'tis I myself, -good Job, though more in the bone than the flesh, I -warrant me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he is not dead?" whispered Gwennola, with -a quick gasp for breath, as she hurried forward. -"He is not dead?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was the only point which remained in her -memory of all the honest Breton's preamble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, my father," interrupted de Coray with a -sneer, "you speak well, but, bethink you, it was </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> who -saw this man strike the very blow which he so glibly -denies; </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> 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; </span><em class="italics">I</em><span>——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Liar!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-x"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER X</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yvon! Yvon! my boy! my boy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father," cried Yvon with a sob, as he staggered -forward to meet him. "Father, at last!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The lad shrank back as if struck by a lash, putting -up his thin hands as though to protect himself from -a blow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 -</span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Coray's brow cleared, though he looked doubtfully -into the puckered, upturned face, as if still -suspicious.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur, I too am a Breton."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lead on," said de Coray peremptorily—-"for the -rest, we shall see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And for yourself?" demanded de Coray sharply, -even now distrustful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The jester shrugged his shoulders and spread out -his hands with a gesture of self-importance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Pierre shook his head with an air of superior -wisdom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," said de Coray gallantly, "methinks, fair -maid, one of the sweetest saints hath already -undertaken my deliverance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him innocently, not comprehending -the compliment he intended to convey, seeing that -her thoughts were not of herself, but for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the forest?" questioned de Coray eagerly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Coray smiled, casting a side glance towards -Gabrielle, who had entered the hut to prepare supper, -as he added in a lower key—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Pierre glanced up to meet his patron's inquiry -with a look as shrewd as de Coray's own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Dead?" echoed de Coray, with a long-drawn -sigh of relief. "Thou art sure of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The girl smiled from one to the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, rather, 'au revoir,' sweet," he replied tenderly, -"though I trow that be hard enough to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My son," said a gentle voice at his side, "saith -not the Holy Script, 'Forgive, as we forgive to -others their trespasses'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Mereac turned swiftly with outstretched hand -towards the black-robed figure standing by his -chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ambrose!" he cried softly. "Nay, it does me -good to hear thee speak of forgiveness, seeing how -much I need at thy hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Benedictine smiled as he laid his slender hand -on the other's broad shoulder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Father Ambrose's smile was somewhat whimsical, -for from his window he had seen the two figures by -the river side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Mereac stared across at the priest for a moment -with knitted brow, then, as he divined his meaning, -he frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old Breton noble bade his guest a characteristic -adieu, bluff, hearty, yet in no way concealing his -satisfaction at his departure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled at him through her tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou hast given me no guerdon," she whispered -softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In place?" he echoed, bending still lower.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some travellers doubtless who have lost their -way," suggested Marie. "But see, lady, here cometh -Job, with his foolish face all agog with news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay," replied Yvon with growing uneasiness. "I -pray you, my Gwennola, of your courtesy, greet the -lady graciously, for——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The name?" repeated Gwennola wonderingly. -"In sooth, brother, I take not thy meaning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Mademoiselle de Coray," he muttered -hurriedly. "Nay, sister, look not so angrily; she -hath come, poor maid, on an errand of peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps Yvon did not hear the last few words, in -his eagerness to convert his sister to a more amenable -mood concerning their guest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Loving kinsmen!" murmured Gwennola, plucking -at the girdle round her waist. "Bah! I would have -little of such love, I trow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so," continued Yvon, heeding her not, "she -hath come to Mereac, and told me her story."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Which thou hast believed with all the simplicity -of a yearling babe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As was the hearer," whispered Gwennola. "And -the story, brother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they turned to face her, Diane dropped the -tapestry and with a deep curtsy towards her young -hostess advanced with outstretched hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And one that we shall hope to keep for long," -responded Yvon courteously, as he placed a seat for -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed up at him, showing a set of small, -pearly teeth as she did so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thy sister would not too warmly echo thy words, -fair kinsman," she replied with a sly glance towards -Gwennola.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Monsieur de Coray were innocent, why did he -fly?" demanded Gwennola inexorably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has been for some days past at the hut of -Henri Lefroi," muttered the lad, eyeing his -interrogator curiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For some days?" echoed Diane in surprise. -"Nay, 'tis strange; to what purport should he -linger thus?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xiv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So thou hast succeeded?" inquired Guillaume, -scanning with curiosity, not unmixed with admiration, -his sister's beautiful face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beyond our expectations."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a mocking intonation in her words which -did not escape him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As warmly as his sister hates me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Equally to their own destruction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed a trifle uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The idea causes you amusement?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone was not pleasant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amusement," she said vaguely. Then, changing -her tone, "Is it after all so necessary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Altogether necessary. Remember your oath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She changed colour, but clung to her point.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, but seeing—seeing he loves me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Scarcely with such devotion that he would give -up his inheritance to the brother of his adored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She winced under the sneer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her words were rapid, and rang with a note of -pleading, but Guillaume de Coray only frowned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered involuntarily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I cannot do it," she moaned. "Nay, brother, I -sicken at the very thought. 'Tis not in truth that I -love him, but—but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her hazel eyes grew hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Courage," mocked Guillaume, leaning closer to her -across the table—"courage, little sister. After all——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He paused, watching her eyes dilate with sudden -dread as she filled in the unspoken words.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am no witch," she cried passionately, "as thou -knowest well, liar and coward that thou art."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The significant pause was sufficient, and the -unfortunate girl covered her face in her hands as she -moaned out—</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A fair friend," he sneered, "truly a fair friend; but -enough. That thou didst flee is known to me; that -thou wert </span><em class="italics">there</em><span> 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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is thy will?" she whispered mechanically, -as she read no sign of relenting in the hard face before -her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled triumphantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou wilt obey?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I will obey."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is well, but for the rest, thou knowest very -well my will, and wherefore thou camest hither."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shuddered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Still," continued her brother, "if thou wilt hear it -again I will repeat our plan, </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> plan, thou mindest, -Diane, which thou helpedst me to form so cleverly at -Pontivy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had not known him then," she cried with a little -sob, "and—and he loves me well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">means</em><span>," he -emphasized, "of its fulfilment lie here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You comprehend?" he asked softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I comprehend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled pensively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No wonder, therefore, that Gwennola's heart was -heavy as she sat, perforce, alone and solitary, amidst -the revelry around.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stranger bowed as he accepted the cup and -glanced towards the speaker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My name, monsieur," he replied in the Breton -tongue, "is Jean Marcille, and my birthplace near to -Cape Raz."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 -</span><em class="italics">crierien</em><span>, or ghosts of the shipwrecked, clamouring for -burial.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] See Michelet's </span><em class="italics small">History of France</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But of Touraine?" persisted Marie. "If thy -mother is of that country, thou knowest perchance -much—almost as much as of thy native Brittany?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Marcille spread out his hands with a careless -gesture of indifference.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Monsieur asked me only of my name and -birthplace," he replied with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But if perchance mademoiselle fears I am a -spy——" He paused, watching her face as she -turned it to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not ever for Breton ballads," slyly replied -Marie, with a coquettish side-glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I cannot believe it," murmured Marie, her -eyes still round with wonder. "It is impossible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For reply Marcille slipped his hand into his vest -and brought forth a small ring which lay safely -shrouded in his brown palm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because?" he questioned, holding her hands in -his. "Because, little one?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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 </span><em class="italics">au revoir—au -revoir</em><span> until the morrow, with, perchance, -Father Ambrose's approval, if not his blessing, on -their flight from troubles and shadows, suspicions -and jealousies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xvii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She repeated his name over softly many times as -she stroked the thin hand which lay listlessly at his -side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou wilt be better anon," she said gently at -length, in reply to his weary sigh. "See, Yvon, for -my sake thou </span><em class="italics">must</em><span> be better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Angry?" he questioned, smiling; "angry with -thee, Diane?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yvon's blue eyes were fixed curiously on the -speaker's face, a vague horror growing in them as -she proceeded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hath all this never struck thee, my Yvon? Hast -thou not searched in vain for the cause of thy -suffering?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," he muttered, "I understand not what thou -speakest of, Diane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She crossed herself, shuddering as she saw the -horror deepening in the wide eyes so close to hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Witchcraft?" he echoed faintly. "But wherefore? and -by whose hand should such spells be wrought?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the cruel hand of Gwennola, thy sister!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instantly the blue eyes blazed, a red, angry flush -swiftly dyeing the pale, sunken cheeks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had expected his anger, and faced it coolly -enough.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Diane laid a soft, caressing hand on his clenched -palm; the eyes she turned to his sparkling and -indignant ones were full of tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So said I at first," said Diane softly; "yet -nevertheless it is truth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gwennola!" he echoed dreamily, as on the instant -all the old childish days seemed to surge forward in -his memory—"little Gwennola!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speak," muttered Yvon hoarsely, as once more -the fear crept into his eyes; "speak, Diane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again Diane looked steadily into Yvon's eyes, and -with a thrill of triumph marked the look of dread -which had stolen into them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xviii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XVIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] See </span><em class="italics small">Witches and their Craft</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] </span><em class="italics small">Depositions of Etienne Corillant</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Michelet's </span><em class="italics small">History of France</em><span class="small">.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is a witch, and as a witch she must die—for -thy sake, Diane,—for thy sake."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xix"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XIX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Thou, Marcille? In the name of the blessed -saints, what dost thou here?—and thus!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And mademoiselle?" muttered d'Estrailles hoarsely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xx"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XX</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lefroi peered curiously into the pale, beautiful -face which looked down so anxiously into his. Then -he nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still he eyed her furtively, hesitating to do her will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gold cannot purchase the secrets of life," he -muttered with a grin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The temptation was strong, yet its very strength -made him hesitate again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Innocent!" she cried, rising to her feet; then -changing her scornful tones, she turned a pleading -face towards her companion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed softly, turning a tender eye on the -gold, then on the face above it, finally on the closed -door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He repeated the last words softly, glancing again -from her face to the pile of gold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxi"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXI</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"He lives?" whispered a soft voice, which trembled -nevertheless with fear.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Diane shrank back no whit at the reproof, or -the priest's cold manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, ask me not," she cried passionately, "but -give it to him, now,—now! See, his eyes unclose, he -knows me! Yvon! Yvon!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Delay not, delay not, father!" cried the girl -imploringly, "or it will be too late. See, he gasps for -breath! he,—nay, he </span><em class="italics">shall</em><span> 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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter," he said slowly, "what hast thou done?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He will live!" cried Diane, clasping her hands; -"he will live, father!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Diane."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I may well see for myself," she laughed, but -the laugh flickered a little tremulously as her eyes fell -before his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is not dead," he said in a low, menacing tone; -"what means it, Diane?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed merrily and stood there defying him, -seeing that concealment of her act was useless.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She covered her face with her hands, shuddering.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Daughter," said the old man gravely, "what -meaneth this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How came you hither, father?" she questioned -faintly, staring from her unexpected visitor to the -closely barred door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To die!" whispered Diane slowly; "to die!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the priest shook his head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a sob, Diane yielded to the old man's will, -and with trembling fingers raised the curtain and -entered her lover's room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hush!" he whispered faintly, "thou shalt not say -such words, Diane, my adored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Diane!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Curse thee?" he muttered faintly, "nay, myself -the rather, seeing I love thee still, and as truly as -ever; and yet the little Gwennola——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In time?" faintly whispered the sick man; "in time?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All—all!" she cried passionately; "for thy sake, -Yvon, for thy sake—and for love's!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxiii"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The tolling bell, the roar of the crowd, came faintly -to them, and sent fresh shudderings through Marie's -frame.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext" id="id1"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Recognising the voice, Gwennola turned, and, from -her awful position looked into the face of Guillaume -de Coray.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"En avant—to Rennes!" cried d'Estrailles gaily, -as he rode forward with one arm round Gwennola's -slender waist. "To Rennes!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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 </span><em class="italics">thee</em><span>——" But he did not -allow her to complete her sentence.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxiv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXIV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Guillaume!" she said, and the soft utterance of his -name seemed to stir within him that which he had -thought already dead.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou knowest, Gabrielle?" he whispered, and for -answer she bent, kissing the trembling lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Diane who replied. Slipping from Yvon's -side, she knelt beside him, looking gladly into his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Forgiven?" he whispered in a faint, yet awestruck -tone, whilst with a last effort he strove to clasp his -hands in prayer. "Forgiven?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For love's sake, my Guillaume,—for love's sake!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="chapter-xxv"><span class="bold large">CHAPTER XXV</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">Printed at The Mercat Press, Edinburgh</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="bold italics large">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">Henry of Navarre</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">A Romance</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">May Wynne</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"HENRY of NAVARRE" is a swinging -and thrilling story of the</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>MASSACRE OF ST BARTHOLOMEW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>and is founded on the play by William -Devereux, PRODUCED WITH GREAT -SUCCESS by</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>MR FRED TERRY AND MISS JULIA NEILSON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">New and Forthcoming Fiction</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Greater Love</strong><span>. By Lucas Cleeve, author -of "Mascotte of Park Lane," etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Branded</strong><span>. By Gerald Biss, author of "The Dupe," etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Little France</strong><span>. By Cyrus T. Brady</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Workers in Darkness</strong><span>. By J. B. Harris Burland, -author of "The Financier"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Henry of Navarre</strong><span>. By May Wynne, author of -"A Maid of Brittany," etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Semiramis</strong><span>. By Edward Peple, author of "The -Prince Chap," and part author of "Richard -the Brazen"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Hoverers</strong><span>. By Lucas Cleeve, author of -"The Love Seekers"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">A Maid of Honour</strong><span>. The Story of a Losing -Hazard, by Robert Aitken, author of "The -Golden Horseshoe," etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Sin of the Duchess</strong><span>. By Houghton Townley, -author of "The Bishop's Emeralds," etc.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Blood Royal</strong><span>. By Maud Arnold</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Rose Campion's Platonic</strong><span>. By Adam Lilburn</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Mysterious Abduction</strong><span>. By G. S. Goodman</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">In the Days of Marlborough</strong><span>. By Geo. Long, -author of "Fortune's Wheel," etc. (Illustrated)</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">In the Shadow of the Peaks</strong><span>. By Stata B. Couch</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">A Bachelor's Love Story</strong><span>. By Anthony Grimm</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Love in a Maze</strong><span>. By Briton Lambert</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Artificial Girl</strong><span>. By R. W. Cole</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>LONDON: GREENING & CO., LTD.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold x-large">GREENING'S POPULAR SHILLING EDITIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Beau Brocade</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Scarlet Pimpernel</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">I Will Repay</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">A Son Of the People</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Tangled Skein</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Emperor's Candlesticks</strong><span> By BARONESS ORCZY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">Seen and Unseen</strong><span> By E. 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SHERARD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Girl and the Gods</strong><span> By CHARLOTTE MANSFIELD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">GREENING & CO., Ltd. -<br />91 St Martin's Lane, London, W.C.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">ROMANCES BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold x-large">May Wynn</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold large">A Maid of Brittany</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A stirring romance of the Fifteenth Century.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"It is an exciting tale, and is the sort of book -that once taken up cannot be laid down until -concluded. At no period is it heavy."—</span><em class="italics">Daily Express</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold large">Let Erin Remember</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A Dramatic Irish romance.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"An attractive romance which deserves a -cordial recommendation."—</span><em class="italics">Irish Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="bold large">When Terror Ruled</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A thrilling story of the French Revolution.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The book is one which will give pleasure to -all who know and love France, as it is seen about -Avignor."—</span><em class="italics">Aberdeen Free Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line"><span>*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>A MAID OF BRITTANY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="cleardoublepage"> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<span id="pg-footer"></span><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><span>A Word from Project Gutenberg</span></h2> -<p class="pfirst"><span>We will update this book if we find any errors.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This book can be found under: </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49284"><span>http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49284</span></a></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and -trademark. 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