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diff --git a/old/51468-0.txt b/old/51468-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7ea1299..0000000 --- a/old/51468-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6531 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Love of Monsieur, by George Gibbs - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Love of Monsieur - -Author: George Gibbs - -Release Date: March 16, 2016 [EBook #51468] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR *** - - - - -Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - _The_ - LOVE OF MONSIEUR - - - - - THE - LOVE OF MONSIEUR - - BY - - GEORGE GIBBS - - AUTHOR OF - - THE YELLOW DOVE, - SACKCLOTH AND SCARLET, - THE BOLTED DOOR, ETC. - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - GROSSET & DUNLAP - PUBLISHERS - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - Copyright, 1903, by Harper & Brothers - Copyright, 1903, by J. B. Lippincott Company - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - - THIS VOLUME IS - INSCRIBED TO - - M. H. G. - - THE “NORSE GODDESS” - - with all my heart and best endeavors in - tender appreciation of those sympathies - and encouragements which make a pleasure - of labor, and life a fruition of every - hope and dream - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. THE FLEECE TAVERN 1 - II. MISTRESS BARBARA DANCES THE CORANTO 11 - III. MONSIEUR MORNAY BECOMES UNPOPULAR 31 - IV. MONSIEUR WAITS UPON A LADY 47 - V. INDECISION 68 - VI. THE ESCAPE 87 - VII. BARBARA 113 - VIII. THE SAUCY SALLY 134 - IX. “BRAS-DE-FER” 146 - X. BRAS-DE-FER MAKES A CAPTURE 165 - XI. THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE 184 - XII. PRISONER AND CAPTOR 201 - XIII. MONSIEUR LEARNS SOMETHING 213 - XIV. THE UNMASKING 231 - XV. MUTINY 249 - XVI. MAROONED 268 - - - - - _The_ - LOVE OF MONSIEUR - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE FLEECE TAVERN - - -“Who is this Mornay?” - -Captain Cornbury paused to kindle his tobago. - -“Mornay is of the Embassy of France, at any game of chance the luckiest -blade in the world and a Damon for success with the petticoats, whether -they’re doxies or duchesses.” - -“Soho! a pretty fellow.” - -“A French chevalier--a fellow of the Marine; but a die juggler--a man -of no caste,” sneered Mr. Wynne. - -“He has a wit with a point.” - -“Ay, and a rapier, too,” said Lord Downey. - -“The devil fly with these foreign lady-killers,” growled Wynne again. - -“Oh, Mornay is a man-killer, too, never fear. He’s not named -Bras-de-Fer for nothing,” laughed Cornbury. - -“Bah!” said a voice near the door. “A foundling--an outcast--a man of -no birth--I’ll have no more of him.” - -Captain Ferrers tossed aside his coat and hat and came forward into the -glare of the candles. Behind him followed the tall figure of Sir Henry -Heywood, whose gray hair and more sober garb and lineaments made the -gay apparel of his companion the more splendid by comparison. Captain -Ferrers wore the rich accouterments of a captain in the Body-guard, and -his manner and address showed the bluster of a bully of the barracks. -The face, somewhat ruddy in color, was of a certain heavy regularity -of feature, but his eyes were small, like a pig’s, and as he came into -the light they flickered and guttered like a candle at a puff of the -breath. There were lines, too, at the corners of the mouth, and the -pursing of the thin lips gave him the air of a man older than his years. - -“Come, Ferrers,” said Cornbury, good-naturedly, “give the devil his -due.” - -Wynne laughed. “Gawd, man! he’s givin’ him his due. Aren’t you, -Ferrers?” - -The captain scowled. “I’ faith I am. Two hundred guineas again last -night. May the plague take him! Such luck is not in nature.” - -“He wins upon us all, by the Lord!” said Cornbury, stoutly. - -Heywood sneered. “Bah! You Irish are too easy with your likes--” - -“And dislikes, too,” returned Cornbury, with a swift glance. - -“Faugh!” snapped Ferrers. “The man saved your life, but you can’t -thrust him down our throats, Captain Cornbury.” - -“He’s cooked his goose well this time, thank God!” said Wynne. “We’ll -soon be rid of him.” - -“Another duel?” asked Heywood, carelessly. - -“What!” cried Downey. “Have you not heard of the struggle for -precedence this afternoon? Why, man, ’tis the talk of London. -To-day there was a fight between the coaches and retainers of the -Embassades of France and Spain. Thanks to Mornay, the French coach -was disastrously defeated by the Spaniards. There is a great to-do at -Whitehall, for the Grand Monarque thinks more of his prestige in London -even than in Paris. God help the man who thwarts him in this! It is -death or the Bastile, and our own King would rather offend God than -Louis.” - -“And Mornay--” - -“As for Mornay--” For an answer, Lord Downey significantly blew out -one of the candles upon the table. “Pf!--That is what will happen to -Mornay. The story is this: The coaches were drawn up on Tower Wharf, -waiting to follow the King. In the French coach were seated Mornay -and the son of the ambassador. In the Spanish coach were Baron de -Batteville and two ladies. After his Majesty had passed, both the -French and Spanish coaches endeavored to be first in the street, which -is here so narrow that but one may pass at a time. The Frenchman had -something of the advantage of position, and, cutting into the Spaniard -with a great crash, sent the coach whirling over half-way upon its -side, to the great hazard of the Spaniard and ladies within. Then -Mornay, who has a most ingenious art of getting into the very thick of -things, leaped upon the coachman’s seat and seized the reins of the -coach-horses. He was beset by the Spaniards and cut upon the head.” - -“And he hung on?” - -“What d’ye think the fellow did? Pulled the French horses back and -aside and let the Spanish coach down upon four wheels and out of -danger. Was it not a pretty pass? The rest was as simple as you please. -The Spaniard whipped, and though smashed and battered, won first -through the narrow passage.” - -“And Mornay?” - -“Does not deny it. He says it would have been impossible for a -gentleman to see such ladies thrown into a dirty ditchwater.” - -“And the ladies, man? Who were the ladies?” said Ferrers. - -“Aha! that is the best of it. The Spaniards relate that Mornay came -down from the coachman’s seat wiping the blood from his cheek. To -one of the ladies he said, ‘Madame, the kingdom of France yields -precedence only to a rank greater than Majesty. The honor France loses -belongs not to Spain, but to the beautiful Barbara Clerke.’” - -Sir Henry Heywood caught at a quick breath. - -“Mistress Clerke! My ward!” - -Captain Ferrers looked from Downey to Cornbury, only to see verification -written upon their faces. He pushed back his bench from the table, his -countenance fairly blazing with anger, and cried, in a choking voice: - -“Mornay again! To drag her name into every ordinary and gaming hell -in London! Coxcomb!--scoundrel!--upstart that he is! Mornay, always -Mornay--” - -The candles flickered gayly as Monsieur Mornay entered. His figure -and costume were the perfection of studied elegance. The perruque was -admirably curled, and the laces and jewels were such that a king might -have envied him. A black patch extending along the forehead gave him an -odd appearance, and the white brow seemed the more pallid by contrast. -His features in repose bore the look of settled melancholy one -sometimes sees on the faces of men who live for pleasure alone. But as -his eyes turned towards the table a smile, full of careless good-humor, -came over his features. He advanced, pausing a moment as Wynne and -Heywood pushed Ferrers down by main force into his seat. - -“Messieurs,” said Mornay, smiling quizzically, “your servitor.” He -stopped again. “I thought my name was spoken. No?” He looked from one -to the other. “My name I comprehend, but, messieurs, my titles--my new -titles! To whom am I indebted for my titles? Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine -Ferraire, _mon ami_, I am glad that you are here. I thought that I had -fallen among enemies.” - -He laughed gayly. It was rippling and mellow, a laugh from the very -cockles of the heart, full of the joy of living, in which there lurked -no suspicion of doubt or insincerity--the situation was so vastly -amusing. Cornbury laughed, too. He was an Irishman with a galloping -humor; nor was Downey slow to follow his example. - -For Heywood and Ferrers it was another matter. The elder man sat -rigidly, glaring at the Frenchman with eyes that glittered from lids -narrow with hate. Ferrers, disconcerted by the defenselessness of the -Frenchman, sat stupidly, his features swollen with rage, his lips -uncertain and trembling for a word to bring the quarrel to a head. But -before he could speak, Sir Henry Heywood, very pale, had thrust himself -forward over the table to Mornay in a way not to be mistaken, and said, -briefly: - -“Gad, sirrah, your laugh is the sign of an empty mind!” - -Mornay was truly taken by surprise. But as he looked up at this new -enemy he found no difficulty in understanding Heywood’s meaning. He -rose to his feet, still smiling, and said, coolly, with a sedulous -politeness: - -“I am empty of brains? It takes a wit like that of monsieur to discover -something which does not exist.” - -Captain Ferrers had floundered to his feet, blustering and maddened -at being cheated out of his quarrel. He burst violently upon the -colloquy, and, seizing Heywood by the arm, dragged him back to the -window-seat. - -“’Tis not your quarrel, Heywood,” he began. - -But Sir Henry shook himself free of Ferrers, and they both faced -Monsieur Mornay, who, somewhat languidly, but with a polite tolerance, -stood leaning against the table watching this unlooked for development -of the drama. - -“Messieurs,” he smiled, “an _embarras de richesse_. Never have I been -so greatly honored. I pray that you do not come to blows on my account. -_One_ of you might kill the _other_, which would rob _me_ of the honor -of killing you _both_.” - -Captain Cornbury until this time had been an interested and amused -onlooker. He dearly loved a fight, and the situation was enjoyable; but -here was the evening flying and his game of cards gone a-glimmering. - -“Zounds, gentlemen!” he broke in. “A pretty business--to fight at the -Fleece Tavern. Pleasant reading for the _Courant_--a fitting end to a -comedy begun upon the street.” - -“’Tis not your quarrel, Cornbury,” growled Ferrers. - -“Nor yours, Ferrers,” said Heywood, coldly. - -“You see, monsieur,” said Mornay to Downey, with mock helplessness, -“there is no help for it.” - -Cornbury swore a round oath: - -“I’ faith, I wash my hands of ye. If fight ye must, quarrel dacently -over the cards, man; but do not drag a lady’s name through the streets -of London.” - -Mornay turned to Cornbury. “It is true, _mon ami_--it is true.” Then, -in a flash, gayly, aloud, almost like a child, he shouted: “_Allons_, -time is flying. To-morrow we shall fight, but to-night--to-night we -shall play at quinze. Monsieur Ferraire, you owe me three hundred -guineas. We shall play for these. If you win, you will die to-morrow -with a clear conscience. If you lose, monsieur, I’ll be your -undertaker. Come, _maître d’hôtel_!--wine!” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -MISTRESS BARBARA DANCES THE CORANTO - - -Mistress Barbara’s deep-abiding dislike for Monsieur Mornay began even -before the struggle for precedence between the French and Spanish -coaches. Such an incident, grown to international importance, might -have turned the heads of ladies with greater reputations than hers. -Nor should it have been a small thing that a reckless young man had -risked his life to say nothing of his honor, in her service, and got -a very bad cut upon his head in the bargain. But Mistress Clerke -was not like some other ladies of the court. She had heard of the -gallantries of Monsieur Mornay, and had set him down as a woman-hunter -and libertine--a type especially elected for her abomination. His -recent attentions to the Countess of Shrewsbury and the engaging Mrs. -Middleton were already the common gossip of the court. She herself had -seen this man, perfumed and frilled, flaunting himself in Hyde Park or -the Mall with one or the other of his charmers, but the assurance which -made him successful elsewhere only filled her with disgust. What the -Englishwomen could see in such a fellow it was difficult for her to -determine. He was certainly not over-handsome. What strength the face -possessed she ascribed to boldness; what pride in the curve of the nose -and lips--to arrogance; what sensitiveness and delicacy of molding in -lip and chin--to puny aims and habits of fellows of his trade. She was -a person who divined rapidly and with more or less inaccuracy, and so -she had prepared herself thoroughly to dislike the man, even before -his own presumption had heightened her prejudice. Mistress Barbara -had first won and now held her position at court, not by a lavish -display of her talents and charms, but by a nimble wit and unassailable -character and sincerity, qualities of a particular value, because of -their rarity. This was the reason she could discover no compliment in -the gallantry of Monsieur Mornay on Tower Wharf. For beneath the mask -of his subservience she discovered a gleam of unbridled admiration, -which, compliment though it might have been from another, from him was -only an insult. - -Several days of deliberation had brought no change in her spirit. She -resolved, as she put the last dainty touches to her toilet, that if -Monsieur Mornay again thrust his attentions upon her that night at the -ball of the Duchess of Dorset, she would give him a word or two in -public which should establish their personal relations for all time. -And as she stood before her dressing-table, her mirror gave her back a -reflection which justified her every jealous precaution. The candles -shimmered upon the loveliest neck and arms in the world. The forehead -was wide, white, and smooth, and her hair rippled back from her temples -in a shower of gold and fell in a natural order which made the arts of -fashion superfluous. Her cheeks glowed with a color which put to shame -the rouge-pot in her toilet-closet. She was more like some tall Norse -goddess, with the breath of the sea and the pines in her nostrils, -than a figure in a world of luxury and pampered ease. Her eyes, clear -and full, were strangers to qualms and apprehensions, and the thought -of a possible scene with this impertinent Frenchman gave them a sparkle -which added to their shadowed luster. In the thinking, she did Monsieur -Mornay the honor to add just one more patch to her chin. And then, of -course, if trouble arose and the worst came, there was Captain Ferrers, -whom she might marry some day, or her guardian, Sir Henry Heywood, who -could be called upon. Little did she know of the meeting between Mornay -and Sir Henry, arranged for that very morning, which had miscarried -because of an untimely intervention by the watch. - -The Duke of Dorset danced well. When Mistress Clerke entered his -ballroom the tabors were sounding for a brawl. His grace espied her at -this moment, and, coming forward with an air of the _grand seigneur_ -which many a younger man might have envied him, carried her off under -the very noses of Wynne, Howard, Russell, and Jermyn, to say nothing -of Captain Ferrers, who had brought her there in his coach. - -It was a very merry dance, better suited to young legs than to old, -and Mistress Barbara, with a rare grace, put even his grace’s spryness -to the test. Monsieur Mornay, who had just come in, made to himself -the solemn promise that if it lay in his power she should favor him -upon that evening. If he suspected that she would receive him with an -ill grace, he did not show it, for he made no scruple to hide his open -admiration as she danced along the gallery. Twice she passed the spot -where he stood, and once she looked quite through him at the blank wall -behind. But, unabashed, when the dance was done he lost no time in -letting the Duke of Dorset know that he wished to be presented, in such -a manner that recognition would be unavoidable. - -“With all the good-will in the world,” said his grace. “Another moth -to the flame,” he laughed. “Another star to the constellation. Be -careful, Sir Frenchman. ’Tis not a lady pleased with frivolity.” - -“Monsieur, behold,” said Mornay, piously, “I am as solemn as a -judge--as virtuous as--_ma foi!_ as virtuous as the she-dragon duenna -of the Queen.” - -“Nor will that please her better,” said Captain Cornbury, who had -come up at this moment. “I’ faith, Mornay, she’s most difficult--as -full of whims as the multiplication table. At present she spends both -her time and her fortune--where d’ye suppose, Monsieur Mornay? In the -fire region and the prisons. Strange tastes for the heiress of half a -province in France and the whole of the fortune of the Bresacs.” - -“Ma foi! Une sérieuse!” - -“Ochone! she’s saucy enough--with a bit of a temper, too, they say.” - -“But the prisons?” - -“Are but her trade to-day--perhaps to-morrow--that’s all. What do ye -think? She has but just promised the coranto and an hour alone in the -garden to the man who brings her Nick Rawlings’ pardon from the King.” - -“The cutpurse?” - -“The very same. She says ’tis an old man and ill fit to die upon the -scaffold.” - -“_Pardieu!_” said Mornay, casting a swift glance at her train of -followers. “She’s more cruel to her lovers than to her poor.” - -Cornbury laughed. “I’ faith, so far as she’s concerned, they’re one and -the same, I’m thinking. A stroke of janius, Mornay! Have yourself but -thrown into prison, and you may win her, after all.” - -He moved away. Mornay looked around him for this scornful mistress, but -she had gone into the garden with Captain Ferrers. - -“_Mordieu!_” he growled. “There’s truth in that jest. In prison I’ll -be, soon enough, unless the King--” He paused, with a curious smile. -“The King--aha! I’ve a better use for Charles than that,” and he made -his way to the retiring-room, where his lackey, Vigot, resplendent in a -yellow coat and black waistcoat, was awaiting his orders. - -The night progressed. Came next the country dances--invented upon a -time by his grace of Buckingham’s grandmother to introduce to the court -some of her country cousins. Hoydenish they were, but the sibilance -of the silks and satins and the flaunt of laces robbed them of much -of their rustic simplicity. Mistress Clerke, her color heightened, -held her court up and down the gallery, until Mistress Stewart and my -lady Chesterfield, in turn, jealous of their prestige, called their -recalcitrant admirers to account. His grace of Dorset, somewhat red and -breathless, could contain himself no longer. “By my faith!” he said, -“Castlemaine and Hamilton had better look to their laurels. Nay, she -has a wit as pretty as that of my lord of Rochester.” - -“But cleaner,” put in Jermyn, dryly. - -In the meanwhile Monsieur Mornay had received a packet. - -“In God’s name, what have you done?” (it ran). “You juggle too lightly -with the affairs of nations, Monsieur Mornay. ’Tis a serious offense -for you, and means death, or the Bastile at the very least. Here is -what you ask. I have no more favors to give. Leave London at once, for -when the post from France arrives, I cannot help you.--C.” - -Mornay looked at it curiously, with pursed lips and loose fingers, and -then rather a bitter smile came over his features. “’Twas too strong a -test of his fellowship,” he muttered; “too strong for his friendship -even.” - -He shoved the document among his laces and moved to the gallery, where -the gentlemen were choosing their partners for the coranto. He sought -the Duke at once. His grace was standing near Mistress Barbara’s chair, -watching with amusement a discussion of the rival claims of the Earl of -St. Albans and Captain Ferrers upon her clemency for the dance. - -“Your grace,” said Mornay, “I claim your promise. I am for the coranto.” - -“With _la belle_ Barbara? My word, Mornay, you are incurable.” - -“A disease, monsieur; I think fatal.” Mistress Barbara beamed upon the -Duke. Ferrers made way; he did not see the figure at the heels of -Dorset. - -“Madame,” said his grace, with a noble flourish of the arm, “I present -to you a gentleman of fine distinction in Germany and England, a -gallant captain in the Marine of France--René Bras-de-Fer--Monsieur le -Chevalier Mornay.” - -During the prelude she had sat complaisantly, a queen in the center of -her court. But as Mornay came forward she arose and drew herself to her -splendid height, looking at the Frenchman coldly, her lips framed for -the words she would have uttered. But Monsieur Mornay spoke first. - -“Madame,” he said, quietly, his hand upon his heart, “I am come for the -coranto.” - -She looked at him in blank amazement, but for a moment no sound came -from her lips. - -“Monsieur,” she stammered at last in breathless anger--“monsieur--” - -Mornay affected not to hear her. - -“The coranto, madame,” he said, amusedly; “madame has promised me the -coranto.” - -“’Tis an intrusion, monsieur,” she began, her breast heaving. Mornay -had drawn from his laces the pardon of Nick Rawlings. Before she could -finish he had opened the paper and handed it towards her. - -“It is the pardon, madame.” - -That was all he said. But the crimson seal of the crown, dangling from -its cords, caught her eye, and, half bewildered, she glanced down over -the writing. - -“Clemency--thief--murderer--Nick Rawlings--pardon?--a pardon for _me_, -monsieur?” - -Monsieur Mornay showed his white teeth as he smiled. - -“Madame forgets her promise of the coranto. _Voilà!_ Here is the -pardon. There is the _musique_. Will madame not dance?” - -A silence had fallen upon those within earshot, and not a couple took -the floor for the dance. His grace of Dorset looked serious. Sir Henry -Heywood thrust himself into the circle. But the music tinkled bravely, -and Monsieur Mornay still stood there, awaiting her reply. - -The struggle lasted for some moments. She turned white and red by turns -as she fought for her self-control and pressed her hand to her breast -to still the tumult which threatened to burst from her lips. - -Captain Ferrers made a step as though to come between them, but -Monsieur Mornay did not notice him. Nor until then did Mistress Clerke -break her silence. - -“Stop, Captain Ferrers,” she coldly said. “I will dance with this--this -Monsieur Mornay.” Her tone was frozen through and through with the -bitterness of utter contempt. - -And then, giving Mornay her fingers, she went with him to the middle -of the gallery. While the company, too interested or amazed to follow -in the dance, stood along the walls of the ballroom, Mistress Barbara -Clerke and Monsieur Mornay ran through the mazes of the dance. - -Mornay moved with an incomparable grace and skill. It was a dance -from Paris, and every turn of the wrist, neck, or heel proclaimed -him master. From his face one could only discover the signal joy he -felt at being honored by so gracious and beautiful a companion. The -countenance of Mistress Clerke betrayed a less fortunate disposition. -In the bitterness of her defeat by this man whom she had promised -herself publicly to demean, she maintained her outward composure with -difficulty. The physical action of dancing gave her some relief, but -as she faced him her eyes blazed with hatred and her fingers, fairly -spurning a contact, chilled him with the rigidness of their antipathy. - -Twice they made the round of the room, when Ferrers, who had mounted -the steps into the loft, bade the musicians stop playing. A look of -relief chased the scorn for a moment from Mistress Barbara’s face, and, -as though half unconscious of Mornay’s presence, she said aloud, in a -kind of gasp: - -“Thank God, ’tis done!” - -They stood opposite an open window that led to the garden. Mornay -frowned at her. - -“And the hour alone?” he asked. “Surely madame cannot so soon have -forgotten?” - -Her gray eyes had turned as dark as the open window looking into -the night, and the lids which her scorn let down to hide her anger -concealed but in part the smoldering light of her passion. - -“It is preposterous, monsieur!” she said, chokingly. “I cannot! I will -not!” - -“And your promise, madame. Mistress Clerke will forget her promise?” - -She looked about helplessly, as though seeking a way to escape. But -Mornay was merciless. - -“Perhaps, madame, you fear!” he said, ironically. - -He had judged her aright. With a look that might have killed had Mornay -been made of more tender stuff, she caught her gown upon her arm and -swept past him out into the darkness of the terrace beyond. - -The air was warm and fragrant, full of the first sweet freshness of the -summer. The light of the moon sifted softly through the haze that had -fallen over the gardens and trembled upon each dewy blade and leaf. It -was so peaceful and quiet!--so far removed from rancor and hatred!--a -night for fondness, gentleness, and all the soft confidences of a -tenderness divine and all-excelling--a night for love! - -This thought came to them both at the same moment--to Mistress Barbara -with a sense of humiliation and anger, followed by the burst of passion -she had struggled so long to control. She stopped in the middle of the -garden-walk and turned on him: - -“You!” she cried, immoderately. “You again! Has a lady no rights which -a man, whatever he be, is bound to respect? Why do you pursue me? -Listen to me, Monsieur Mornay. I hate you!--I hate you!--I hate you!” -And then, overcome by the every excess of her emotion, she sank to the -bench beside her. Monsieur Mornay stood at a distance and occupied -himself with the laces at his sleeves. - -To a Frenchman this was surely an ill-requiting of his delicate -attentions. - -“Madame,” he began, calmly, then paused. - -“No, madame does not mean that.” He made no attempt to go nearer, but -stood, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword, his eyes, dark and -serious, looking quietly down at her. - -She made no reply, but sat rigidly, her arm upon the back of the bench, -the seat of which her skirts had completely covered. There was no -indication of the turmoil that raged within her but the tapping of her -silken shoe upon the graveled walk. - -“How have I offended, madame?” he continued. “Is it a fault to admire? -Is my tribute a sin? Is my service a crime? Have I not the right of any -other of your poor prisoners--to do you honor from afar?” - -“From afar?” she asked, coldly satirical. - -Mornay shrugged his shoulders with a pretty gesture. - -“_Ma foi_, madame. My mind cannot imagine a greater distance between -us--” - -“Monsieur’s imagination is not without limits,” she interrupted; and -then, after a pause, “In England a lady is allowed the privilege of -choosing her own following.” - -“In France,” he replied, with an inclination of the head--“in France -the following confers an honor by choosing the lady.” - -“Yes, _in France_, monsieur.” - -There was a hidden meaning to her words. - -He thought a moment before replying. - -“But madame is of a house of France. The English Mistress Clerke is -also the French Vicomtesse de Bresac.” - -She turned fully towards him and met his gaze steadily. - -“But, thank God! the part of me that is English is the part of me which -scorns such attentions as yours. To be the object of such gallantries -is to be placed in a class”--she paused to measure out the depth of -her scorn--“in a class with your Shrewsburys and Middletons. It is an -insult to breathe the air with you alone. My cavaliers are gentlemen, -monsieur, and in England--” - -She broke off abruptly, as if conveying too full an honor by conversing -with him; and then, woman-like, “Why did you save the Spanish coach?” -she cried, passionately. - -Monsieur Mornay smiled blithely. - -“Madame would not look half so handsome dead as she does alive.” He -took a step as though to go nearer, and she rose to her feet, turning -towards the house. - -“Come nearer, monsieur, and I--I leave at once.” - -Mornay’s brows contracted dangerously as he said: - -“The hour is mine”; and then, with an angry irony, “You need not fear -me, madame. I am no viper or toad that you should loathe me so.” - -She looked defiantly up at him. - -“There are things even less agreeable than toads and vipers.” The words -dropped with cold and cruel meaning from her lips. In a moment she -would have given her fortune to withdraw them. Monsieur Mornay stepped -back a pace and put the back of his hand to his head where a patch -still hid the scar upon his temple. He stammered painfully, and lowered -his head as though bowing to some power over which he had no control. - -“You--you mean the misfortune of my birth?” - -Mistress Clerke had turned her face away again; she put her hand to -her brow, her look steadily averted. Deep down in the heart she so -carefully hid, she knew that what she had done was malignant, inhuman. -Whatever his sins of birth or education, was he not built in the -semblance of a gentleman? And had he not jeopardized his life and good -repute in her service? It was true. Whatever his origin, his frank -attachment deserved a better return than the shame she had put upon -it. If he had not stood there directly before her she would have said -something to have taken the bitter sting from her insult. But as she -felt his eyes burn into her, she could not frame her words, and her -pride made her dumb. - -“Madame has heard that?” he stammered; and then, without waiting for a -reply, he said, with a quiet dignity, “It is true, I think. If madame -will permit, I will conduct her to the gallery.” - -Mistress Clerke did not move. Her eyes were fixed upon the swinging -lanterns at the end of the terrace. - -“Come, madame, I give you back your hour,” he said. “Nick Rawlings and -I will take our liberty together. If you will but allow me--” - -There was a sound of rapid footsteps upon the walk, and three figures -came into the glare of the shifting lanterns. In the colored light -Mornay could dimly make out Ferrers, Heywood, and Wynne. Heywood peered -forward into their faces. - -“Enough of this,” he said, sternly. “Mistress Clerke, be so kind as -to give your arm to Captain Ferrers. If you will but take her to the -Duchess, Ferrers--” - -Mistress Clerke had arisen to her feet and looked from her guardian -to Monsieur Mornay, who stood at his ease, awaiting their pleasure. -She opened her lips as though to speak, but the Frenchman, with an air -of finality which could not be mistaken, bowed low, and then, turning -coldly away, stood facing the darkness of the garden. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -MONSIEUR MORNAY BECOMES UNPOPULAR - - -The footsteps of Mistress Barbara and Captain Ferrers vanished into -the night. Sir Henry Heywood moved a step nearer Mornay, and the -Frenchman turned. His face shone with an unwonted pallor, and an air -of distraction had settled in the repose of his features which the dim -light of the swinging lanterns could not conceal. His eyes, dark and -lustrous, looked at Sir Henry from under half-closed lids, a little -_ennuyé_, but with a perfect composure and studied politeness. - -“It is unfortunate that we cannot seem to meet,” said Sir Henry, -struggling to control himself. - -“I am bereaved, Monsieur de Heywood. Perhaps to-morrow.” - -“To-morrow?” broke in Heywood, violently. “There may be no to-morrow. -I will meet you to-night, monsieur, here--now--at this very spot!” He -nervously fingered the laces at his throat. - -Mornay paused a moment. “Monsieur de Heywood would violate the -hospitality--” - -“Yes,” interrupted Heywood, “we shall have no constables here--” - -“But, monsieur--” - -“Enough! Will you fight, or shall I--” He made a movement towards -Mornay. There came so dangerous a flash in the Frenchman’s eyes that -Heywood stopped. Mornay drew back a step and put his hand upon his -sword. - -“At last,” sneered Heywood--“at last you understand.” - -Mornay shrugged his shoulders as though absolving himself from all -responsibility. - -“_Eh bien_,” he said. “It shall be as you wish.” - -There had been so many duels with fatal results in London during the -last few months that it was as much as a man’s life was worth to engage -in one, either as principal or second. But this affair admitted of no -delay, and Ferrers and Wynne had so deep a dislike for Mornay that -they would have risked much to see him killed. Wynne found Captain -Cornbury, who hailed with joy the opportunity of returning Mornay a -service the Frenchman had twice rendered him. The gentlemen removed -their periwigs, coats, and laces, and when Captain Ferrers returned, -the game began. - -It was soon discovered that Monsieur Mornay had a great superiority in -the reach, and he disarmed his elderly opponent immediately. It was -child’s play. Almost before the Baronet had taken his weapon in hand it -flew to the ground again. With this he lost his temper, and, throwing -his seconds aside, sprang upon the Frenchman furiously. A very myriad -of lunges and thrusts flashed about Monsieur Mornay, and before the -seconds knew what had happened the Baronet seemed to rush upon the -point of the Frenchman’s sword, which passed into his body. - -Ferrers and Cornbury ran forward and caught the wounded man in their -arms, while Wynne, seeing that he still breathed, ran without further -ado to the house in search of aid. Monsieur Mornay alone stood erect. -As Cornbury rose to his feet the Frenchman asked: - -“Well?” - -“Clear through. There’s a hole on both sides. Ye must be off. They will -be here presently.” - -“And you?” - -“I’ll stay. I can serve ye better here”; and as Mornay paused, “Come, -there’s no time to be lost.” He caught up the Frenchman’s coat, hat, -and periwig, and hurried down the garden towards the gate. Mornay cast -a glance at the figure upon the ground and followed. - -“I mistrust Ferrers,” whispered Cornbury. “If he will but tell a dacent -story, his grace may hush the matter. If not--” - -“_Eh bien_--I care not--” - -“If not, ’tis a case for the constables, perhaps of the prison; ’tis -difficult to say--a plea of chance-medley--a petition to the King--” - -Mornay tossed his head impatiently as he replied: - -“I have nothing to expect from the King, Cornbury.” - -“Tush, man! All will be well. But do ye not go to yer lodgings. Meet me -in an hour at the Swan in Fenchurch Street, and I’ll tell ye the lay of -the land. Go, and waste no time where ye see the lantern of the watch,” -with which he pushed the Frenchman past the grilled door at the garden -entrance and out into the street. - -Monsieur Mornay paused a moment while he slowly and carefully adjusted -his coat, cravat, and periwig. As he moved down the lane in the deep -shadow of the high wall in the darkness and alone with his thoughts, -his poise and assurance fell from him like a doffed cloak; his head -drooped upon his breast, as with shoulders bowed and laggard feet -he walked, in the throes of an overmastering misery. He passed from -the shadows of the walls of Dorset Gardens and out into the bright -moonlight of the sleeping street. Had he wished to hide himself, he -could not have done so more effectually, for in this guise he made -rather the figure of a grief-ridden beldam than the fiery, impulsive -devil-may-care of the Fleece Tavern. When he again reached the -protecting shadow he sank upon a neighboring doorstep and buried his -face in his knees, the very picture of despair. No sound escaped him. -It was the tumultuous, silent man-grief which burns and sears into the -soul like hot iron, but knows no saving relief in sob or tear. Once or -twice the shoulders tremulously rose and fell, and the arms strained -and writhed around the up-bent knees in an agony of self-restraint. -Ten, fifteen minutes he sat there, lost to all sense of time or -distance, until his struggle was over. Then he raised his head, and, -catching his breath sharply, arose. - -“If there were but an end,” he sighed aloud, constrainedly--“an end to -it all!” - -Then a bitter laugh broke from him. - -“It is true--what she said was true. I am a loathsome creature--a -thing, a creeping thing, that lives because it must, because, like a -toad or a lizard, it is too mean to kill.” There was a long silence. -At last he brushed his hand across his forehead and rose to his feet -abruptly. - -“Bah! a bit of womanish folly!” he laughed. “’Tis some humor or -sickness. The plague is still in the air. _Mordieu!_” he shouted. -“There is money to win and bright eyes to gleam for Monsieur Mornay. I -can laugh and jest still, _mes amis_--” - -The closing of doors and the clatter of a coach upon the cobbles -surprised him into a sense of the present. A footstep here and there -and the sound of shouts close at hand recalled him to himself. He saw -from the garden gate of Dorset House the flashing of a lantern and -heard the shooting of the bolts and the rasp of a rough voice. The -spirit of self-preservation rose strong within him and put to rout -every thought but flight. He peered cautiously from his doorway, and, -finding that the gate was not yet opened, he went forth and hurried -down the street and around the corner until all the sounds of pursuit -were lost to hearing. - -By the time Monsieur Mornay had reached the Swan in Fenchurch Street, -he was so far in possession of his senses that, with a manner all -his own, he roused the master of the house from his bed and bade him -set out a cold pâté and two bottles of wine in the back room upstairs -against the coming of the Irishman. Nor had he long to wait, for -Captain Cornbury, flushed and breathless, soon burst into the room. -When he saw Mornay his face relaxed in a look of relief. - -“Egad! ye’re here,” he said. “’Twixt this and that I’ve had a thousand -doubts about ye. For the present, then, ye’re safe.” - -Mornay pushed a bench towards him. - -“Then Ferrers has--” - -“Ferrers and Dorset--I’ faith, between them they’ve raised the divil. -And Captain Ferrers--by the ten holy fingers of the Pope! there was a -fine notary spoiled when Ferrers took service with the King. For all -the lyin’ scoundrels--” - -“He accused me?” - -“Egad! he swore _you_ were the head and foot of the whole business--” - -“_Tonnerre de Dieu!_ And the Duke?” - -“I raged and swore to no purpose. Dorset believes Ferrers. He says you -began it in the gallery.” - -The Frenchman looked towards the ceiling with hands upraised. “The -unfortunate _politesse_ of Monsieur Mornay! The English I cannot -understand.” - -“Ferrers swears it was a plot hatched in the Fleece Tavern, and that I -was a party to it.” - -Mornay arose and grasped the Irishman’s shoulder. - -“_You!_ My poor friend, YOU!” he exclaimed; “and I disarmed him twice. -It is too much--let us go at once and face them.” - -Cornbury pushed him down. “Ye’ll do no such thing. ’Twould be arrant -suicide. The streets are full of men looking for you by this--and me, -too.” - -“They cannot--you didn’t even know.” - -“’Tis true, or I’m Dutch. Look ye, man, we’re safe here, and snug. -Four-and-twenty lances couldn’t get through Tom Boyle downstairs if -he’d set his mind to stop them. Rest awhile and compose yer mind. -Besides--” He broke off abruptly and reached for the bottle. “Give me -a drink--I can talk no more. The words are all--parchin’ in my throat.” - -Mornay sank back upon his bench, while the Irishman filled and drained -his cup. At last he gave a great grunt of satisfaction, and with -smiling face set the vessel down upon the table with a clatter. - -“Ochone! Talking is but a dry thrade.” - -“_Allons_, Captain,” said Mornay, “tell me all.” - -He drew the platter over and helped himself liberally from the pâté. - -“Well, monsieur, when I went back, Heywood was making a kind of -statement to Ferrers--something in the nature of a dying confession. -It appears that this fellow Heywood is a thieving rascal, and if ye’ve -killed him ’tis good riddance, say I.” He paused a moment to pour his -wine. “As ye know,” he continued, his mouth full--“as ye know, the man -is the guardian of Mistress Barbara Clerke. He has the disposition in -the law of her fortune. Well, from what he confesses, ’tis not her -fortune, after all.” - -Mornay’s eyes opened wide with astonishment and interest. He set down -upon the table, untasted, the cup he had raised to his lips, and leaned -intently forward. - -“Is it true?” he exclaimed; “and Mistress Barbara has nothing--nothing -at all?” He broke into a hard, dry little laugh. “_Pardieu!_ ’twill -lower her chin, I’m thinking.” Then his face clouded again. - -“Go on, monsieur,” he urged, impatiently--“go on.” - -“If I can remember it, there’s a bit of family history ye have -not heard, perhaps. Well, ye must know that the Chevalier Bresac, -great-grandfather of this Mistress Clerke, bore a most intolerant -hatred of Spain and the Spanish. His son René inherited this antipathy. -So when he married an English girl and settled in London, he vowed that -if any one of his three daughters married a Spaniard he would cut her -off with a louis.” - -He took a long draught of his wine. “Here is where the confession -begins. The eldest daughter disobeyed and married a Spaniard in Paris. -She kept the marriage from her father, and, going to Amiens, gave birth -to a boy. Before she could summon courage to tell old Bresac of her -disobedience, poor cratur, she died.” - -“Leaving an heir to the estate.” - -“Not so fast. Ye see, not a word of this was known in London; nor -is to-day. At her death the bulk of the fortune went to the second -daughter, who was the mother of this Mistress Barbara. The third -daughter married Heywood’s uncle. Of this there was no issue, but -that’s how the man came to be the guardian.” Cornbury pulled a pipe -from a rack and filled it. - -“Now here’s the villainy of the thing. This Spaniard came of gentle -birth, but _au fond_ was a sodden beast. Heywood went to Paris as the -envoy of Wilfred Clerke--Barbara’s father--and, after a shrewd bargain, -bought all the secret papers in evidence of this Spanish marriage.” - -“And the real heir?” - -“As much alive as you are.” - -Monsieur Mornay contemplated the bottom of his bowl. - -“_Mille tonnerres!_” he growled. “’Tis the very refinement of perfidy.” - -The Irishman drank deep. “A lucky stroke of yours, Mornay, I say. I -would it had been mine.” - -“What became of the papers?” - -“That’s why Heywood confessed, I suppose. Ye see, he loved his ward, -and wanted Ferrers to destroy them. This he will do, I’m thinking, for -he loves the lady himself.” - -“And Mistress Clerke?” - -“Hasn’t a notion of it.” - -Mornay folded his arms and sat looking at the floor, a strange smile -upon his lips. “_Pardieu!_” he said; “’twould touch her pride--’twould -wring her proud heart to have the heir come back to his own.” The -bitterness of his tone caused Cornbury to look at him in surprise. - -“Oh, there’s never a chance of it,” he said. “You see, this Spaniard, -D’Añasco, put the boy upon a ship. Why, what ails ye, man? What is it? -Are ye mad?” - -Mornay had seized him by the arm with a grip of iron and leaned forward -with eyes that stared at him like one possessed. - -“The name, monsieur?” he said, huskily--“the name--the Spanish name you -said--?” - -“Gawd, man, don’t grip me so! You’ve spilled the tobago. ’Twas -D’Añasco, I think, or Damasco, or some such unspeakable thing.” - -“Think, man--think!” cried Mornay, passionately. “’Tis a matter of life -and death. Was the name Luis d’Añasco, of Valencia?” - -It was Cornbury’s turn to be surprised. He looked at Mornay in -amazement. - -“I’ faith, now you mention it, I think it was. But how--” - -“And the name of the boy became Ruiz? The ship was the _Castillano_?” - -Cornbury’s eyes were wider than ever. - -“It was--it was!” - -Cornbury paused. Mornay had arisen to his feet and stumbled to the -dormer-window, where he fell rather than leaned against the sill. The -Irishman could see nothing but the upheave of the shoulders and the -twitching of the hands as the man straggled for his self-control. -Cornbury was devoured with curiosity, but with due respect for the -Frenchman’s silence sat smoking vigorously until Mornay chose to speak. -As the Frenchman looked out at the quiet stars across the roof-tops -of London he became calmer, and at last turned around towards the -flickering candles. - -“Monsieur,” began Cornbury, with a touch of sympathy. - -But Mornay raised his hand in quiet protest. “D’Añasco was my father, -_voilà tout_,” he said slowly. And as the Irishman arose, Mornay -continued: - -“I can finish the story, Monsieur Cornbury,” he said, lightly, but with -a depth of meaning in his tone that did not escape the other. “When the -boy Ruiz grew old enough to know, the Spaniard told him that he had no -mother--nor ever had--that he was no-woman’s child. He put him on the -_Castillano_ and sent him out into the great world, without a thought, -without a blessing, without a name--the very shuttle and plaything of -fortune. That child, Cornbury, was myself.” - -The Irishman put his arm upon Monsieur Mornay’s shoulder and clasped -him by the hand. - -They stood thus a moment until Cornbury broke away and, with a shout -that made the rafters ring, again filled the drinking-bowls upon the -table. - -“A health, monsieur!” he cried. “You’ll never drink a better. To the -better fortunes of René d’Añasco, Vicomte de Bresac!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -MONSIEUR WAITS UPON A LADY - - -Captain Cornbury was no fledgling. He was the younger son, none too -highly esteemed by the elder branch, of a hard-drinking, quick-fighting -stock of ne’er-do-wells. He knew a trick with a sword, and for twenty -years had kept a certain position by his readiness to use it. His last -employment had been in the King’s service as captain in a regiment -of dragoons, but he lived, of a preference, upon his wits. There was -never a game of dice or cards at which he could not hold his own at -luck or skill. Skill at the Fleece Tavern, too, often meant dexterity -in manipulation; and where every man with whom he played took shrewd -advantage of his neighbor there was little to cavil at. - -But of late fortune had turned a wry face upon the man. His regiment -was disbanded for lack of money, his pittance from the Earl, his -brother, ceased altogether; and, with a reckless manner of living, -a debtors’ prison stared him in the face. He sat upon the couch in -Mornay’s new room at the Swan Tavern, watching with a somewhat scornful -expression of countenance Vigot help his master to make his toilet. His -eyes blinked sleepily at the light, for it was high noon; and his wig -having been removed for comfort, the light shone brilliantly upon a -short crop of carroty-red hair which took all the colors of the rainbow. - -Mornay wore a splendid silken night-gown, little in keeping with the -dinginess of the apartment. While Vigot dressed his master’s perruque, -Mornay told the Irishman of the note from the King and of the arrival -of the post from France, with the news of the anger of the Grand -Monarque and of his promise of death or imprisonment should Mornay be -brought to France. - -Cornbury pursed his lips in a thin whistle. - -“Viscount,” he said, frowning, “ye’re skatin’ on thin ice.” - -Mornay had completely recovered his good spirits. He tossed his -night-robe to Vigot and snapped his fingers. - -“_Mais, monsieur_,” he smiled. “’Tis an exercise so exhilarating.” - -“D--n it, man, ’tis no time for jesting,” growled the Irishman, rising. -“The post from France to-day says ye are to be put in the Bastile or -have your head chopped off; in London ye’re a fugitive from justice -for killing; and, lastly, yer good friend Charles has turned a cold -shoulder on ye. And ye talk of exhilaration!” Cornbury’s disgust was -illimitable. - -Mornay dusted a speck from his sleeve and smiled gayly. “It is -not every day, my good Cornbury, that a man may become possessed -of a family, a fortune, and, _ma foi_, such a beautiful, scornful -she-cousin--” - -“Zoons, man! How can ye prove it without the papers? The mere word -‘D’Añasco’ will not open their ears or their hearts. I believe it, but -who else would?” - -“I can prove that I am the boy Ruiz, I tell you.” - -“And ye’re fleeing for your life?” - -Mornay’s face grew stern. “Yes, I am fleeing for my life,” he cried, -“but they have not caught me yet. Last night I would not have cared -if they had sent me back to France. To-day it is different. They have -robbed me of my estates, of my name; they have made me a mere creeping -thing--a viper. _Morbleu!_ they shall feel the viper’s sting. Monsieur -de Heywood is dead. Mistress Barbara Clerke--” - -Cornbury leaned forward in his chair. “Surely you don’t mean--” - -“Oh, put your mind at rest, _mon ami_. I shall do my pretty cousin no -violence. I shall see her--that’s all. But first--first, about the -papers with this Capitaine Ferraire--” - -Cornbury smiled dryly. - -“Why, ye have but to poke a nose an inch beyond the door to be carted -to the Tower. How will ye see Captain Ferrers, then? ’Tis the height of -absurdity. Take my advice and keep close till ye find a ship. Then set -your course for the Plantations till yer matter is cooled. I’ve a debt -or two myself, and I’m inclined to accompany ye.” - -Mornay looked at him in surprise. “Why, Cornbury, you have but a faint -heart!” - -“It is this news from France--ye have no backing--” - -“Come! have done!” cried Mornay. “You sap my will. If you cannot look -the situation gallantly in the face, why, then--” He stopped and -lowered his voice, casting a glance at the Irishman. “_Mon ami_, I -expect too much. More than I can claim.” Mornay walked towards the door -and took Cornbury’s cloak and hat. “_Allons!_ You shall leave me at -once. Your only danger is in my society. Go at once upon the street, -and they can prove nothing; stay with me, and you harbor an enemy of -the state and a fugitive from justice.” - -Cornbury threw a look at him and rose to his feet with an oath. “D--n -ye, man, d’ye think I’d quit ye now? Ye give me credit for a smallish -sense of dacency.” He walked to the window and looked down upon the -street. Mornay followed him at once and took him by the hand. - -“I have offended you? Forgive me. This matter is the turning of gall to -honey for me, Cornbury. I cannot leave it without a struggle. I pray -you, bear with me.” - -Cornbury was smiling in a moment. “What do ye plan?” he said. - -“Listen. Vigot is clever. He shall discover for me when Captain Ferrers -will wait upon madame, _ma cousine_. I, too, will call upon her.” - -“And ye’ve just killed her guardian!” said Cornbury, dryly. “She’ll not -receive ye with kisses.” - -Mornay smiled and slowly answered: - -“You will think it strange that a gentleman should intrude upon a -woman. But to-morrow, perhaps to-day, I may go from this city and -country forever. Before that I shall make one effort to establish my -good name. I shall not succeed; but I shall have done my duty to myself -and the mother who bore me. As for the Capitaine Ferraire--” Mornay’s -eyes flashed ominously. “If I knew where he had put the papers--if I -could but get him to fight--” - -“Fight! Ye couldn’t coax a fight from Ferrers with the flat of yer -hand. He’d rather see ye in the Bastile or the Tower. He’s too sure -to take any risks. Besides, if ye’d kill him the papers would be -lost forever. No, he’ll not fight. He owes ye money, and while the -constables can cancel the debt ye may be sure that _he_ will _not_.” - -Mornay passed his hand over his brow. “’Tis true. But I must see them -together. That is the only chance. I will go to-day.” - -“But how, Mornay?” asked Cornbury, dryly. “In a coach and four?” - -Mornay sprang to his feet in delight. “_C’est ça!_” he cried, joyfully. -“Oh, monsieur, but you have the Irish wit. Vigot shall bring me a -coach. I shall ride in state.” - -Cornbury rose to his feet angrily. - -“What nonsense is this?” he cried. Mornay smiled on him benignly. - -“Can you not see, Monsieur le Capitaine? While they are looking for me -at the Fleece, in Covent Garden, in the Heaven Inn, or in the Hell -Tavern, here will I be riding along the Mall to the very place they -would be least likely to look for me--in my lady’s boudoir!” - -Cornbury at once saw the value of the plan, but he never looked more -sober. - -“And after?” he asked. - -“After?” replied Mornay, lightly. “After? Monsieur, you leave too -little to the imagination. I think but of the present. _Le bon Dieu_ -will provide for the future.” - -Vigot was given his orders to make shrewd inquiries of the servants of -the neighbors of Mistress Clerke as to the hour of Captain Ferrers’s -daily visits. He was also told to get a coach for monsieur. He stood -puzzled a moment. - -“Monsieur wishes a haquenée?” he asked. - -“A haquenée? No, sirrah!” said Mornay, brusquely. - -“A pair, then?” he asked, scratching his head. - -“A pair?” roared Mornay. “No, sirrah! _Foi de ma vie!_ I wish a coach -and four. Twenty guineas at the very least. If I wait upon madame at -night, a dozen links. Be off with you!” - -Cornbury shook his head hopelessly. - -“Ye’re going to your funeral in style,” he said. - - * * * * * - -Mistress Barbara sat alone, looking out upon the quiet street. -While she looked she saw nothing, and every line of her figure, in -abandonment to her mood, spoke of sorrow and distraction. Her eyelids -were red, and the richly laced _mouchoir_ which fell from the hand -beneath her chin was moist with tears. Upon a tray were the dishes of -a luncheon, untouched, and a number of papers, some of them torn, fell -from her hand upon the floor. A dish of roses, a few French romances, -a _manteau_ girdle, a copy of the _Annus Mirabilis_ of Dryden, a pair -of scented gloves of Martial, and a cittern in the corner completed the -gently bred disorder of the room. - -True, Sir Henry Heywood was no blood relation of hers, and had only -been her guardian. A man of the world in the worst rather than the -better sense, there had been little in his life to appeal to her. But -he loved her in his own way and had been good to her in all matters -that pertained to her estate, and so she mourned him as one would mourn -the loss of one whom nearness had made dear. There was some bond which -seemed to bind them more closely than their mere surface relations of -ward and guardian--an undercurrent of devotion and servitude which she -felt, though she could not understand the meaning. His death wrung her -mind, if it did not wring her heart. - -And by this Frenchman! There had been a moment or two of regret the -other night that she should have used this Mornay so cruelly, a moment -when the bitterness, the grief, the utter loneliness and longing she -had seen in his face had filled her rebellious soul with compassion -for his misery. For she had a glimpse--the very first--of his pride -overborne and beaten to earth in spite of its mighty struggle to rise. -But now! Now, whatever regret had sprung into her heart, whatever -kindliness, had been engulfed again in a bitterness which cried out -for justice. While the woman in her had shrunk from the thought of him -and wished him well away from London, a sense of the fitness of things -called for retribution for the wrong that had been done her and hers. -They had not caught him yet. Oh, he was cunning and skillful; that -she knew. But Captain Ferrers had assured her that to oblige Louis of -France, the King had directed all the constables of London to be upon -the watch for him. It could not be long before they would have him fast -behind the walls of the Tower, with God knows what in store for him -there, or at the Bastile if he were taken back to France. The Bastile? -She shivered a little and put her kerchief over her face. - -“God forgive me,” she murmured, “if I have misjudged him!” - -There was a commotion below in the street--the sound of galloping -horses and the rumble of a fast-flying vehicle. A plum-colored calash -with red wheels and splendid equipments was coming at a round pace -up the street. There were four sorrel horses, a coachman, footman, -and two outriders. With a whirl of dust and the shouting of men the -horses were thrown upon their haunches and the coach came to a stop -directly before Mistress Barbara’s door. She peered out of the window, -curiously agape, to know the identity of her visitor. From the way in -which he traveled abroad it must be a person of condition--she felt -assured a minister or dignitary of the city, come perhaps to beseech -her influence. There was a glimmer of bright color in the sunlight. A -splendid figure, periwigged and bonneted in the latest mode, sprang out -and to her front door. She had barely time to withdraw her head before -there was a knock and her lackey opened in some trepidation. - -“Madame, ’tis Monsieur the Vicomte de Bresac--” - -“Did I not give orders--” she began, and then stopped. “De Bresac! De -Bresac! What can it mean?” - -“Madame, ’tis a matter of importance and--er--” - -She stood debating whether she should call her governess or deny -herself to her visitor, but before she could do the one or the other -footsteps came along the hallway and the lackey stepped aside as -Monsieur Mornay entered. - -Mistress Clerke turned a pallid face towards him. She stepped back a -pace or two, her hands upon her breast, her eyes glowing with fear. -Monsieur Mornay turned to the lackey, who still stood doubtful upon the -threshold. The look he gave the man sent him through the doorway and -hall, where the sound of his footsteps mingled with those of others -without. Mistress Clerke cast a fleeting glance towards the boudoir, -but Monsieur Mornay had taken his stand where he could command both -entrances to the room. She scorned to cry aloud for assistance, nor -would she risk his interference by trying to pass him. He read her -easily. She made no motion to leave or speak to him, but stood against -the wall of the fireplace, her muscles rigid and tense with fear and -her eyes regarding him with all the calmness she could command. - -“Madame,” he said, solemnly, looking out at her from under his dark -brows, “before God, I mean you no harm!” He said it as though it were -a sacrament. “In half an hour or less I shall be gone from this room, -from your life forever. But you must hear what I have to say.” He -paused. “No, no, madame. It is not that which you suppose--you need -have no fear of me. It is not that--I swear it!” - -Mistress Barbara moved uneasily. - -“I pray that you will be seated, madame. No? As you please. What I have -to say is not short. Shall I begin?” - -“’Twere sooner over,” she said, hoarsely. - -He bowed politely. “I will endeavor to be brief. Many years ago, your -great-grandfather went to Florida with the expedition of Jean Ribault. -Perhaps you have been told of the massacre by the Spanish and how the -Seigneur de Bresac escaped to France? _Merci!_ You also doubtless know -his and your grandfather’s great hatred of the Spanish people as the -result of this massacre? _Eh bien._ Your grandfather told his three -daughters--one of whom was your mother--that if one of them married a -Spaniard he would refuse her a part of his fortune and deny her as a -child of his--” - -“I pray you, monsieur--” - -“I crave your patience. Lorance, your mother, married Monsieur Clerke, -and Julie, the younger sister, married Sir George Maltby. That is well -known. The elder sister was Eloise.” His voice fell, and the name was -spoken with all the soft tenderness of the name itself. “Perhaps you do -not know, madame, that she, too, was married--” - -“There was a mystery,” she muttered. “I heard--” Then she stopped. - -“Madame heard?” he asked, politely. But she was silent again. - -“Eloise was married,” he continued, “while visiting at the château -of the Duc de Nemours, near Paris, to Don Luis d’Añasco, who was -a Spaniard. Fearing her father’s wrath and disinheritance, this -unfortunate woman concealed the facts of this marriage, the record of -which was the acknowledgment of the priest who married them and the -statements of a nurse and another witness who had accompanied her to -Amiens, where in or about the year 1635 she gave birth to a son--” - -If Mistress Clerke had allowed herself to relax a little before, her -interest now had dominated all feeling of fear and suspense. She leaned -a little forward, breathless, her hand upon the chair before her, her -eyes fixed upon the lips of the Frenchman, who spoke slowly, concisely, -and held her with an almost irresistible fascination. - -“The saddest part of the story is to come, madame. The mother was -grievously ill--she suffered besides all the pangs of solitude at a -time when a woman needs consolation and sympathy the most. Her mother -had died, her husband was worse than useless, and she feared to let her -father know the truth, lest his stern and pitiless nature would wreak -some terrible vengeance upon the Spanish husband, whom she still loved, -in spite of the fact that he had married her for her fortune and not -for herself. She had almost made up her mind to tell her father all -when--she died.” He paused a moment to give her the full import of his -words. And then, looking at her steadily and somewhat sternly, “Her -son, René d’Añasco, Vicomte de Bresac, is still alive.” - -Mistress Barbara stood looking at him. He met the look unflinchingly. -At last her eyes fell. When she lifted them she did so suddenly and -drew herself up at the same time, all instinct with doubt and suspicion -of this man, who had first insulted, then injured her, and was now -seeking to rob her of her birthright. - -“And you?” she asked, bitterly, her scorn giving wings to her fear. -“And _you_? Can I believe _you_?” - -It was as though she had expressed her thought in words. Monsieur -Mornay felt the thrust. But where the other night it could wound him -mortally, to-day it glanced harmlessly aside. He still looked calmly at -her, and the least perceptible touch of irony played at the corners of -his lips. - -She mistook the smile for effrontery--for the mere impudence of a man -without caste who recks nothing for God or man. She flung her back -towards him with a sudden gesture and turned towards the window. - -“You lie,” she said, contemptuously. - -Monsieur Mornay knit his brows, and his eyes followed her angrily, but -he did not even take a step towards her. His voice was as low as before -when he spoke. - -“Madame has a certain skill at hatred,” he said. “Insults fall as -readily from her lips as the petals from a flower.” He paused. “But -they do not smell so sweet. I do not lie, madame,” he said, with a -gesture as though to brush the insult aside. When he raised his voice -it was with a tone and inflection of command which surprised and -affrighted her. She turned in alarm, but he had not moved from his -position near the door. - -“Hear me you shall, madame. Listen.” And rapidly, forcefully, -masterfully even, he told the story of the fate of the young D’Añasco, -called Ruiz, the perfidy of the drunken father in sending him away upon -the ship _Castillano_, and the bargain by which his inheritance had -been sold. She heard him through, because she could not help it, but -as he proceeded, and the names of her father, Sir Wilfred Clerke, and -Sir Henry Heywood were mentioned, she arose to her full height, and -with magnificent disdain threw fear to the winds and said, coldly: - -“Stop! I have heard enough.” And with reckless mockery, “You, monsieur, -I presume, are René d’Añasco, Vicomte de Bresac?” - -Monsieur Mornay bowed. - -The door of the room opened suddenly and Captain Ferrers entered. A -look of bewilderment was on his features as he glanced at Mistress -Clerke. - -“Why, Barbara--these men without-- What--?” Monsieur Mornay had turned -his head, and the flowing curls no longer hid his countenance. - -“I was expecting you, Capitaine Ferraire,” said the Frenchman. - -Ferrers stepped back a pace or two, astonishment and consternation -written upon his features. Had Sir Henry Heywood come back to life, -the Captain could not have been put into a greater quandary. He looked -at the Frenchman and then at Mistress Clerke for the solution of the -enigma. But Mistress Barbara had sunk upon the couch in an agony of -fear. A moment before she had prayed for this interruption. Now that it -had come she was in a terror as to its consequences. She made no reply, -but looked at the two men who stood a few feet apart with lowering -looks--the Englishman flushed red with anger, the Frenchman cool, -impassive, dangerous. - -Ferrers spoke first. He stepped a pace or two towards the Frenchman, -his brow gathered, his shoulders forward, menace in every line of his -figure. - -“You have dared to force your way into this house?” - -The elbow was bent and the fist was clinched, and an exclamation burst -from Mistress Barbara, who was gazing horror-struck at the impending -brutality. But the Frenchman did not move. The only sign of anything -unusual in his appearance was the look in his eyes, which met those -of the Englishman with an angry glitter of defiance. If Ferrers had -meant personal violence to the Frenchman, he did not carry out his -intentions. He cast his eyes for a moment in the direction of Mistress -Barbara, and then, drawing back again with a muttered exclamation, made -straight for the door. Before he could place his hand upon the knob -Mornay interposed. - -“One moment, Ferraire. My men were told to let you in--_not_ to let -you out.” And as Ferrers paused a moment, “Have patience, Monsieur le -Capitaine. Presently I will leave madame and you; but first you must -listen.” Ferrers had grown white with rage, and his hand had flown to -his sword hilt. He looked at the quiet figure of the Frenchman and at -Mistress Barbara, whose eyes were staring at him widely. He bit his lip -in chagrin, and then struggled to control his voice. - -“Your reckoning is not far distant, Monsieur Mornay,” he said, -hoarsely. “If there is justice in England, you shall hang this day -week.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -INDECISION - - -Mornay waited while the Englishman smothered his rage. Then, with a -sudden motion, he brushed his kerchief across his temples, as though to -wipe the clouds from his forehead. - -“If madame will but bear with my brutality a little longer”--he -smiled--“a little longer--then she will have done with me forever.” -The gesture and the air of contrition were rather racial than personal -characteristics. But, as one sometimes will in times of great stress, -Mistress Barbara could not but compare Mornay’s ease and sang-froid -with the heavy and somewhat brutal bearing of Captain Ferrers. She -hated herself for the thought, and, as Monsieur Mornay spoke, turned -her face resolutely to the window and away from him. - -“If madame will remember what I have had the honor to tell her, she -will now discover how Monsieur Ferraire becomes concerned.” He glanced -at Ferrers, who stood to one side, his arms folded, his features sullen -and heavy with the impotence of his wrath. The Frenchman was playing a -desperate game, with every chance against him. To unmask the secret, -he must take the somewhat heavier Englishman off his guard. Of one -thing he felt sure, Ferrers knew little more as to the papers than did -Cornbury and himself. He began abruptly, without further preface: - -“Madame has just learned from my lips of certain matters, Monsieur -le Capitaine, which bear strongly upon her interests in the estate -of Bresac. She has yet to learn how much a part of it all you have -become. She has been told of the fortunes of Eloise d’Añasco and of -the rightful heir to the estates. What she wishes most to learn is the -contents and purport of the papers in your possession.” - -Mornay had spoken slowly, to give force to his words, and the effect -of his information upon Ferrers was remarkable. The lowering crook -came out of his brows, and his hand made an involuntary movement to his -breast, the fingers trembling a moment in the air. His face relaxed -like heated wax, and he stared at the Frenchman, his mouth open, the -picture of wonderment and uncertainty. - -Mistress Clerke, who had been about to speak, paused bewildered. -Ferrers stammered awkwardly, as though gathering his wits for a reply. - -“The papers!” he gasped at last. “The papers!” And then with a futile -attempt at sang-froid, “What papers, monsieur?” - -If the Englishman had not been so completely off his guard he would -have seen a flash of triumph in the Frenchman’s eyes. Mornay narrowly -watched his discomfiture; then continued, quietly: - -“Monsieur le Capitaine Ferraire, René d’Añasco has been found. The -son of Eloise de Bresac has come to life and is to-day in London. He -knows of the sale of his birthright. He has discovered the proofs of -his mother’s marriage and of his birth at Amiens. He but awaits a -favorable opportunity to bring the matter before a court.” By this time -Captain Ferrers had recovered a certain poise. He swaggered over to the -mantel, where he turned to Mistress Clerke. - -“A fine tale!” he sneered. “A pretty heir, Mistress Barbara, to send -a hunted man as his ambassador.” Then the presence of Cornbury at the -dying confession came to his memory, and the situation dawned upon him -for the first time. He laughed aloud with real blatant merriment. - -“I see!” he cried. “It is you--_you_, Mornay, the outcast--Mornay, the -broken gambler, the man without a creed or country, who is now become -the Vicomte de Bresac. It is a necromancy worthy of Dr. Bendo.” - -He was firm upon his feet again. The very absurdity of the claim had -restored his heavy balance--somewhat disturbed by the announcement of -his possession of the papers. He turned to Mistress Clerke and found -her eyes, full of wonder and inquiry, still turned upon him. She was -sensible of an influence which the Frenchman’s words had wrought, -and felt rather than saw the surprise and alarm which underlay the -somewhat blustery demeanor of Captain Ferrers. During the dénouement -not a word had passed her lips. When she had tried to speak it seemed -as though she had been deprived of the power. She had sat looking from -the one to the other, fear and doubt alternating in her mind as to the -intentions of the Frenchman. What did it all mean? Captain Ferrers, -at the best of times, was not a man who could conceal his feelings; -but why had he lost countenance so at the mention of papers? Why had -he not done something at the first that would prove the Frenchman the -cheat and impostor that he was? Why did the irony of his words fall -so lightly upon the ears of Monsieur Mornay that he seemed not even -to hear them? Why were the Frenchman’s eyes so serious, so steady, so -clear to return her gaze? With an effort she slowly arose, struggling -against she knew not what--something which seemed to oppress her and -threaten the freedom of her speech and will. A feeling that she had -allowed herself, if even only for a moment, to be influenced against -her better judgment, filled her with resentment against this man who -had broken past her barriers again and again, and now offended not only -the laws of society but the laws of decency by brutally pushing past -her servants and holding her against her will a prisoner in her own -apartments. As she stood upon her feet she regained her composure, and -when she spoke her voice rang with a fearlessness that surprised even -herself. It was the exuberance and immoderation of fear--the sending of -the pendulum to the other end of its swing. - -“For shame, sir, to make war upon a woman! Is there not left a spark -of the gallantry of your race that you should break into a woman’s -house like a cutpurse, a common pirate and outlaw? Have you no pride -of manhood left--no honor? No respect for the sanctity of the sex that -bore you? Would you oppress and hold a helpless woman in restraint? -Monsieur, you are a coward!--a coward! I repeat for the last time, I -do not believe you. I would not believe you if you gave me your oath.” - -Ferrers said nothing, but the curl of his lips told the volume of his -pleasure. - -They were dreadful words to Mornay, but he looked at her with a -calmness that gave no sign of hidden discomfiture. His eyes did -not drop under her lashing sneers. Instead, as she paused he began -speaking, with a quiet insistence in which there was the least touch of -patronage. - -“Madame, hear me out, I pray you. I have come brutally into your house. -I have been the bully with you and yours. I have held you prisoner. -To ask your pardon would be still further to insult you. But I leave -London to-night and--” As Ferrers interposed, he raised his hand. -“Pardon, monsieur, a moment and I have done. I leave London to-night, -and I shall not trouble you more.” - -“Thank God for that!” she said, bitterly. - -Mornay continued as though he did not hear her: “I have broken in -upon you because it was the only way that I could see you--the only -way that I could tell you what I had to say. That I have sinned is -because--well, because I had hoped that, after all, madame, perhaps the -blood could flow warmly from your heart.” He tossed his chin defiantly. -“You have scorned me for one who bears false witness, though you have -seen your English captain go pale at the mention of those papers. You -will believe what he says and scorn me, in whom runs the blood of the -same grandparents as yourself. You have looked upon me as an impostor. -_Eh bien._ Think what you will. Impostor I am not.” He drew himself up -and said, clearly, in a full measure of pride and dignity, “I am René -de Añasco, Vicomte de Bresac.” - -He moved to the door, looking not at her or even noticing the -contemptuous laugh of Captain Ferrers; then, slowly, “I leave you, -madame. To-morrow I will be but a memory--an evil dream, which soon -passes away. You have chosen to be my enemy and to send me away from -you in scorn, hatred, and disbelief. Let it be so. But remember, -madame, when I am gone every pretty sweetmeat you put in your mouth, -every dainty frock you put upon your back, every slipper, every glove, -every ring and spangle that you wear, is mine--all mine.” - -She shrank back with horror at the thought, and Ferrers broke in with -an illy suppressed oath: - -“One moment, sirrah!” he cried. “If the play-acting’s done, I’d have a -word with you. Will you permit Mistress Clerke to withdraw?” - -Mornay took his hand from the knob of the door and turned, while a -gleam of satisfaction crossed his features. In that look Mistress -Barbara read a sinister intention. She thrust herself before Captain -Ferrers. - -“No! No!” she cried. “You shall not! There shall be no more--no more -blood-shedding, Captain Ferrers! Let the man go. Let him go, I tell -you! Let him go! As you love me, let him go!” - -Captain Ferrers disengaged her arms from about his shoulders, while -Mornay watched them, half amused, half satirical. - -“Fear nothing for him, madame,” he interrupted, dryly. “There will be -no fight with Capitaine Ferraire. ’Tis only a touch of irritation and -will speedily pass when I am gone.” He opened the door and called into -the hall, “Vigot!--the coach!” - -But Captain Ferrers had put Mistress Clerke aside. - -“You must go!” he cried, furiously, almost jostling the shoulder of the -Frenchman. - -“Tush, monsieur!” said Mornay, sternly. “You forget yourself. I will -be at the Fleece Tavern to-night at eleven. If you would see me before -I leave England, you will find me there. Madame, your servitor.” In a -moment he had closed the door and was walking down the hallway. - -Monsieur Mornay knew that Ferrers would lose but little time in -arousing the servants of Mistress Clerke, and that before he should -have gone very far upon his way there would be a hue and cry after him. -But he had great confidence in Vigot, and the coachman and outriders -were rogues with comfortable consciences, who, if they were well paid, -could be depended on. He entered the coach and waved his hand. The -coachman snapped his lash over the heads of the leaders. The fire flew -from the cobbles as the animals clattered into a stride. - -The vehicle had not moved its own length before Ferrers and two lackeys -came running out of the house, shouting at the top of their bent. But -Vigot had his instructions. The lash came down again and the horses -broke into a brisk trot. One of the lackeys sprang for the bridle of -the nearest outrider, but the horseman gave the man a cut across the -face with his whip, and he fell back with a scream of pain. Ferrers was -absolutely helpless. There were not half a dozen people in the street. -Monsieur Mornay thrust his head out of the window of the coach and took -off his hat. - -“The Fleece Tavern at eleven,” he said. - -Ferrers hurled a curse at him and renewed his shouting, to the end -that men by this time came running from the houses and shops farther -up the street, through which the coach must pass. But the horses were -moving at a full gallop. It would have been easier to stop a charge of -cavalry. Most people simply looked back at Ferrers and stared. One or -two venturesome fellows rushed out, but a sight of the resolute faces -of the outriders, who guarded the leaders’ heads, was enough to make -them pause, and the coach clattered on to safety. There were twenty -plum-colored calashes in the city, and Mornay knew that detection would -be difficult if not impossible at this time of the evening, when the -streets were cleared and the coach could wind deviously to the distant -purlieus of Fenchurch Street. Soon the clamor they had made was lost -in the turns of the winding streets, and the coach was brought by a -distant route to the spot at which Monsieur Mornay had entered it--not -a stone’s-throw from the Swan. - -Cornbury was awaiting him upstairs. He had puffed the room full of -smoke, and a look of relief passed over his face as Mornay entered. -“Well, monsieur?” he asked. - -Mornay did not answer. He tossed his hat down and threw himself into a -chair. - -“I’ve lost,” he muttered at last. He said no more, and Cornbury did not -press him for information. But presently, when the supper was brought, -and his eye alighted upon the face of his servant, he broke into a -smile. - -“Ah, Vigot!” he cried. “Did my honest rogues get back to their stable?” - -“In perfect safety, monsieur. ‘Scaldy’ Quinn and Tom Trice are not -the ones to be caught napping. They only wish another venture in your -service.” Mornay sadly shook his head. “Vigot, I shall need no further -service in England. You, too, shall go back to France--and I--” He -paused as a sudden thought came to him. He brought his fist down upon -the table. “_Parbleu!_ Wait, Vigot! Perhaps we may yet have need for -these fellows. Tell them to come here quietly by ten of the clock.” - -Cornbury had been watching him narrowly. Now he broke out angrily. - -“Can ye not be satisfied? Why must ye go forever risking yer neck -in the noose? Ye’ve escaped this time. How, God knows, save by that -presumption which ye wear as a garment. Come, now, I’ve made up my mind -to go to the Plantations. Take ship with me, man. I know of a venture -there that is worth the pains of the trouble twenty times over. Come -at least for the present, until yer peril is grown less.” - -Mornay was holding his chin in his hand, lost in thought. - -“_Mon ami_,” he said at last, “I’ve shot my bolt and lost. There was -never so heartless a maid since the world began.” - -“Tush, dear man! Must ye be forever thinking of the girl? A wench is a -wench in England or Ameriky.” - -Mornay arose and put his hands frankly upon the other’s shoulders. - -“I’ll go with you, my good friend, where you please--after to-night.” - -“Ay, and to-night--ye may go to the devil--” - -“’Tis so. I have an appointment with Captain Ferrers at the Fleece for -eleven.” - -Cornbury’s face fell. - -“Egad, man, ye’re incorrigible! And d’ye think he’ll meet ye?” - -“I don’t know. He may not, alone. But I think that he will, in company. -If he does, I’ll not fail him.” - -“Don’t ye go. It will be a trap. The man will not fight, I tell you, -while the law of England can do his vengeance for him. Ye’ll run afoul -of an army of constables.” - -“I know it, but I’ll risk it.” - -“And if ye kill him ye destroy the last proof of yer birth,” sneered -the Irishman. - -“I don’t know,” replied Mornay, coolly. Cornbury stormed up and down -the room in a rage. - -“Ye’ll have your will,” he cried, “for the sake of a little fight. -Go to your death, rash man that ye are, but don’t say that I haven’t -warned ye.” - -“Cornbury, listen. I’ve a desire to look into the pockets of this -Capitaine Ferraire.” - -“And what do ye think ye’ll find there--the blessing of the Pope?” - -Mornay laughed outright. “Perhaps, but not for me. An idea has grown -upon me, and now possesses me body and soul. It is that these papers -are in the coat of Monsieur Ferraire.” - -Cornbury sent out a sudden volume of smoke to signify his disgust. - -“P’sh! Do ye think the man has but one suit? Ye’ll lose your labor, -sir. He has hidden yer proofs most secretly by this.” - -“None the less, _mon ami_, I’m going to pick his pocket!” - -There was a thin skim of storm over the face of the moon as Mornay and -Cornbury left the Swan Tavern. The wind was fitful in the streets, -and, though the season was June, as they passed a corner now and then -a heavy gust, full of the dampness and rigor of October, flew full in -their faces and caused them to pull their summer cloaks more closely -about them. Following in their footsteps were three men, one of whom -was Vigot. The other two were the rascals who had served as outriders -to Monsieur Mornay in the afternoon: Tom Trice, a tall and slender, -stoop-shouldered man, who peered uneasily to left and right, and -“Scaldy” Quinn, who was short, with a most generous breadth of leg and -shoulder. The Frenchman had paid them liberally before leaving the -Swan, and the understanding was that they should follow instructions -without question, and if necessary be prepared to strike a sturdy -blow or two for monsieur, who was going into the camp of his enemies. -The Fleece Tavern had lately gained a bad name by reason of the many -brawls and homicides that had occurred within its walls. The place was -not inaptly named, for its master, Papworth, took money when and how he -might, and bore the name of one who would not stop at a sinister deed -if it would avail him to achieve his end. But in spite of its disrepute -among the more careful of its gamesters at the court, the Fleece was -still frequented by a larger following than any other gaming-house in -London. There was more money to be seen there. Most of its rooms were -filled at all hours with a motley crowd of men of the town, noblemen, -and soldiers of fortune, who would play at dice, basset, and quinze for -days and nights at a time, dropping out only when the lack of food and -sleep made it necessary. - -Cornbury strode along, muttering in his cloak. - -“Why go on this d----d fool’s errand?” he said, at last. “Why will -ye not take ship comfortably, like a gentleman? Like ye the look of -a prison that ye must be prying and poking yer head inside the bars? -Ye’re a fool, man.” - -Mornay paused to look at him curiously for a moment, and then he -laughed. - -“I am. And you’re another, _mon ami_, for going with me.” They walked -along for a moment in silence before the Frenchman spoke again. “Here -is what we shall do, Cornbury: Vigot shall go into the house next to -the Fleece, which is upon the corner. It is a mercer’s shop, with -lodgings above, to let. He will choose a room, and so gain his way to -the roof. He will then steal over the leads to the dormer of the Fleece -and down into the hall, making all clear for our escape. The other two -rascals will enter by the cook-room, and, gaining their way upstairs, -await our signal there. We will then meet Capitaine Ferraire and his -friend with an eye in the back of our heads for any signs of his -followers.” As Mornay proceeded he could see the eyes of the Irishman -flash with delight in the moonlight. - -“’Tis a good plan,” he returned, “and but for one thing--” - -“What?” - -“They may be too many for you. Ferrers will have half of the watch with -him, for by this there’s a pretty premium upon your head.” - -“The more credit, then, in outwitting them”; and then, sinking his -voice, “Silence, monsieur, we are already in the shadow of St. Paul’s.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE ESCAPE - - -They walked quickly along under a wall, keeping in the shadow. Vigot -received his orders and went forward alone. When last they saw him he -was swaggering and staggering by turns up to the mercer’s, where he -began pounding lustily upon the door for admittance. Trice and Quinn -Mornay despatched by a side street to approach the tavern from another -direction. - -At the Fleece there was no unusual sign. From an open window came the -rattle of dice, the clink of the counters, and the laughter of men. -The night being still young, many people were passing to and fro upon -the streets, and Mornay and Cornbury, wrapped in their cloaks, looking -neither to the right nor left, pushed open the door at the front -and walked boldly into the room. Several drinkers lounged upon the -benches, and there was a game of basset in the corner, but the players -were so intent that they had no eyes for the new arrivals. Cornbury -drummed loudly upon the floor with his foot, and one of the fellows, a -pigeon-breasted ensign in a dragoon regiment, cast a loser’s curse over -his shoulder, but failed to recognize them. They ordered a drink and -the room on the second floor at the head of the stairway. - -Mornay’s reasons for this were obvious. He wanted a narrow passage, -where more than two men would be at a disadvantage, and where all -opportunity for outside interference would be obviated. The host -himself brought their lights and bottles. When he saw that it was -Monsieur Mornay who was his guest, he started back in amazement. - -“Monsieur!” he cried. “You? I thought--” - -“Sh-- Yes, it is I. But keep your tongue, Papworth. Is Captain Ferrers -here?” - -“No, sir. Two notes have arrived for him, but--” - -Mornay glanced significantly at the Irishman. - -“You think he will come?” - -“I should be sure of it, sir.” - -“Very good. When he comes tell him Captain Cornbury and I are awaiting -him.” - -“But, sir, if you’ll pardon me, the Fleece Tavern is no place for you, -sir. There’s been constables watching for you all yesterday and to-day.” - -Mornay laughed a little to himself. - -“’Tis plain I’m too popular. Listen, Papworth. I did you a good turn -with the King when Captain Lyall was killed in your garden. Now you can -return me the compliment.” - -“Yes, monsieur, but--” - -“I’ll have no refusal.” - -The man rubbed his chin dubiously while Cornbury told him their plans. -When the Irishman had finished, Mornay slipped a handful of coins into -his palm, which worked a transformation in his point of view. - -“I’ll do what I can, monsieur,” he said, jingling the money. “But if -there’s to be fighting, the Fleece will lose its good repute forever.” -Mornay and Cornbury both laughed at the long face and hollow note of -virtuous regretfulness and resignation in his voice. - -“Ochone! If there has been a duel in yer garden once in forty years, -I’d never be the man to suspect it,” said the Irishman. The landlord -raised a deprecating hand and disappeared. - -“The garden?” growled Mornay. “I hope it may not be necessary to carry -this matter there.” - -“But have ye thought? He may not come up to yer room?” - -“He must--” - -There was a cautious knock at the door, and Vigot entered, despair and -distress written upon his features. - -“Monsieur! Ill news! There was no room to let at the mercer’s. -To-morrow is market-day, and the house is full to the garret. He would -not let me even inside the door.” - -“_Tonnerre de Dieu!_” - -“And worse yet, monsieur--this place is watched. A number of black, -silent figures are regarding it from the shadows--” - -“Ye have read the man aright, Mornay,” said Cornbury. - -“_Mille diables!_ We _must_ go by the roof. It is our only chance. -Listen, Vigot. Do you go up those stairs and out upon the leads. Curse -the fellow! if you cannot get into his house at the bottom you must get -in at the top.” - -Vigot was off again as the landlord entered. - -“Monsieur Mornay, Captain Ferrers awaits you below.” - -A quick glance passed between the two men. Mornay paused a moment -before replying. - -“Tell him, Papworth,” he said, coolly, “that Monsieur Mornay has a -quiet room upstairs where matters can be privately discussed. I will -await him here.” - -The man departed. - -Cornbury drained his bowl. - -“The man’s an arrant coward. Ten guineas that he doesn’t come. Why, -monsieur, he couldn’t have entrapped us better himself. Ye’ve made the -bait too tempting. He’ll smell a rat.” - -“Pouf! Cornbury, he has it all his own way. Twenty guineas that he -comes.” - -Cornbury did not answer; he was bending towards the door, his mouth and -eyes agape, as though to make his hearing better. But only the clatter -of the game and the sound of the coarsened voices of the players -came up the dimly lighted stairway. Upon the coming of this man hung -Mornay’s only chance for success. - -Five minutes they waited in silence, but at last there was a sound of -footsteps upon the stairs, and in a moment Captain Ferrers and Mr. -Wynne stood before them. The exuberance and confidence of Captain -Ferrers’s smile found no echo in the face of Wynne, who looked sullenly -and suspiciously at Cornbury and the Frenchman, as though the adventure -were little to his liking. Mornay arose from his bench with great -politeness, the perfection of courtesy and good-will, and waved Captain -Ferrers to a seat. Cornbury sat puffing volumes of smoke, with an -appearance of great contentment and unconcern. - -Captain Ferrers was clearly taken off his guard, and his smile became -the broader. He had at first thought Monsieur Mornay’s promise to come -to the Fleece a mere French flippancy. Surely, after what had happened -he could expect no clemency from Ferrers. Monsieur Mornay would have -been flattered had he known how much of Captain Ferrers’s thoughts he -had occupied during the last few hours. The Frenchman’s demeanor in -the house of Mistress Clerke, his earnestness, his self-confidence, -his assurance and poise, outdid anything that Ferrers remembered of -that presumptuous person. A man with one leg in the grave or a lifetime -of imprisonment staring him in the face would only play such a part -because of one or two circumstances: he was using a desperate resort to -gain some great end--perhaps to influence Mistress Barbara for clemency -in the case of the death of Sir Henry Heywood; or else he was the real -heir of the estate which Mistress Barbara was enjoying. To tell the -truth, Ferrers did not care what he was. If the Frenchman came to the -Fleece Tavern, he would be in the Tower by midnight. The prison would -know no distinctions. He hated this man as one hates another to whom he -is under obligations and who has done him a great injury. And if he was -the real heir, come to dispossess Mistress Barbara and balk him in a -marriage that meant a fortune beyond the wildest dreams, the worse for -him. He should suffer for it! - -All of these things passed again somewhat heavily through his mind. -The air of unconcern and assurance which he met in the faces of both -Mornay and the Irishman disarmed him. He thought how easy it had been -to gain his ends, and comfortably fingered the whistle in his pocket -with which he should presently call in his hounds upon his enemy. Nor -would his pistols be required. If he had wished he could have sent his -constables up from below to take these men in the trap they had made -for themselves. But he enjoyed the situation. It was as easy as a game -of quinze with the mirror behind your opponent’s back. - -“Monsieur Ferraire,” began Mornay, pleasantly, “I am meeting you -to-night at great risk of my life. I thank you that you have kept my -plans and this rendezvous a secret.” - -Ferrers’s small eyes blinked as though they had been liberally -peppered, but the smile did not disappear. - -“What I have to say is to your great advantage. If after I am through -you still wish to meet me, I shall be at your service below in the -garden, or elsewhere. Will you sit down?” - -The Captain’s lip twitched a little and his fingers left the whistle -and moved to a chair-back. - -It was apparent that Mornay’s mind was a thousand miles from all -thought of distrust or suspicion. He was as guileless as a child. -Cornbury had filled another pipe and crossed his legs. - -“It will be useless to sit or talk, monsieur,” said Ferrers, coldly. -“I have brought Mr. Wynne with an object which cannot be mistaken. If -you are agreeable, Mr. Wynne will talk with Captain Cornbury as to the -arrangements.” He folded his arms and walked to the window with an air -of rounding off a conversation. - -Mornay arose from his seat and walked around the table to the side -nearest the door. - -“You must hear me, monsieur,” he said, calmly. “I offer you friendship -and a proposition which cannot but be to your advantage.” Ferrers had -turned, but his head shook in refusal. - -“There can be but one proposition between us, Mornay.” - -Mornay shrugged his shoulders. - -“Captain Cornbury,” he said, “will you have the kindness to arrange -with Monsieur de Wynne?” - -He stopped, bit his lip a moment, then turned to Ferrers once more. “I -entreat you to listen to me. I have told you that I was the Vicomte de -Bresac. No, it is no jest. I am René d’Añasco. _Eh bien._ One day I -shall prove it. What I ask is only to save a little time.” - -He moved nearer to the Englishman, until he could have touched him with -his outstretched arm. - -“Listen, monsieur. If you will but give me the papers--” - -There was a motion--if ever so slight--of the fingers of Ferrers’s -right hand. Only Mornay saw it. But it was enough. He sprang forward -upon the man, and Ferrers’s whistle never reached his lips. In his -wish to give the alarm he did not attempt to draw his fire-arm until -Mornay’s hands and arms had pinioned him like a vise. All the fury of -a life of longing was in that grasp. It seemed as though the years -of sweat and privation had wrought upon his will and energy for this -particular moment. He bore the Englishman back until his head struck -the wall, and they came to the floor together. At the first sign of -trouble, Wynne had started for the door, but Cornbury was there ahead -of him. Not until then had there been a word spoken, a cry uttered; but -now, almost at the same instant that Mornay and Ferrers crashed to the -floor, Wynne set up a loud cry, which resounded down the corridor and -stairs. In a moment there was a sound of tumbling furniture, and the -cries of men seemed to come from every part of the building. But Vigot -and his two fellows from above were first upon the landing, and set -so vigorously upon the men mounting the stairs that their ascent was -halted and they were thrown back in confusion. - -In the meanwhile the struggle between Mornay and Ferrers continued. The -Englishman had found his voice, and between his cries and curses and -the clashing of the steel of Cornbury and Wynne the room was now a very -bedlam of sound. Either the blow of his head at the wall or the sudden -fury of Mornay’s assault had given the Frenchman the advantage, for -Ferrers lay prone upon the floor, and, though he shouted and struggled, -both of his wrists were held helpless in one of Mornay’s sinewy hands. - -Suddenly Monsieur Mornay sprang away from the Englishman and to his -feet, waving in his hands a packet of papers. He rushed past Cornbury -and Wynne to the table, his eyes gleaming with excitement. With -a fascination which made him oblivious to everything but his one -overmastering passion, he tore the cover from the packet and examined -the papers in the glare of the candles. In one of them he saw the name -D’Añasco. It was enough. - -None but a desperate man would have done so foolhardy a thing at -such a time. Captain Ferrers was not slow to take advantage of his -opportunity. He struggled painfully to his knee, and, drawing his -pistol, took a careful aim and fired at the Frenchman. Mornay’s wig -twitched and fell off among the candles. He staggered forward and -dropped like a drunken man, his elbows on the table. Ferrers reached -his feet, and, drawing his sword, made for the door. But Mornay was -only stunned. - -“Vigot! Vigot!” he shouted, rising. “Prenez garde, Vigot!” - -But before Vigot could turn, Captain Ferrers had rushed out and thrust -the unfortunate servant through the back. As Mornay saw Vigot go down -he sprang after the Englishman into the corridor. Ferrers had set upon -one of the fellows in the passageway at the same time that another and -more determined attack was made from below. For a moment it seemed as -though the constables had gained the landing. They would have done so -had not Mornay, with an incomparable swiftness, engaged Ferrers and -driven him step by step to the stairs, where at last he fell back and -down into the arms of the men below. At this moment Cornbury, having -disabled Wynne, came running to Mornay’s assistance with two heavy -benches, which were thrown down the stairs into the thick of the men -below, so that they fell back, groaning and bruised, to the foot of the -stairway. Then, without the pause of a moment, Mornay dashed out the -lights, and, carrying Vigot, ordered a retreat up the second flight of -steps. - -Vigot had a mortal wound and was even then at the point of death. - -“Monsieur,” he said, faintly, “c’est fini! Laissez-moi!” - -There were some heavy chests of drawers in the corridor above, and -Mornay directed that these be piled for a barricade. The stairway was -here very narrow and but one man could come up at a time. So two chests -were balanced on the incline of the stairs and two more were ready at -the top to replace the others. When this was done, Mornay sent Quinn -and Trice up to the next floor to gain the roof and find a way to the -street. - -When they were gone, Mornay leaned over the dying man upon the floor. - -“My poor Vigot,” he said. - -“Laissez-moi, monsieur,” whispered Vigot. “C’est fini. They cannot hurt -me. Over the roof a window is open into the garret of the mercer’s. Go, -but quickly, monsieur--quickly.” - -Mornay tried to lift him, but a deep groan broke from his breast. - -“Non, monsieur, non.” - -Mornay and Cornbury lifted him, and, placing him on a bed in one of the -rooms, quietly closed the door. - -By this time the men below had reached the landing. Mornay had one -advantage. While the movements of the figures below were plainly to -be seen, there was no light above, and the Frenchman knew that the -constables could not tell whether his party were one or six. It was -plain that they did not relish an attack on the dark stairway. If they -had not been able to gain the landing below, how could they expect -to fare better here? They caught a glimpse of the dim outline of the -chests of the barricade, but beyond that all was black and forbidding. - -Mornay and Cornbury only waited long enough to give the fellows above a -chance to get over the roof, when they, too, quickly followed. As they -crawled out of the window they heard the voice of Ferrers cursing the -men for laggards, and at last a clatter of feet and the fall of one of -the chests down the stairs. - -They made their way stealthily but quickly across the leads to the -dormer-window of the mercer’s shop, where they saw Trice beckoning. -With a last backward glance they stole into the room. Its inmate was -sitting upright in bed. Quinn was binding and gagging him with a -kerchief and a sheet. They shut the window and took the key from the -door, and passing into the hallway, locked their man in his room. It -was none too soon, for a sound of shouts above announced that their -escape was discovered. Upon this Cornbury threw discretion to the -winds, and with drawn sword went down the stairs three steps at a -time. The rickety stairs swayed and groaned under this noisy invasion, -doors opened, and nightcapped heads with frightened faces peered from -narrow doorways. There was a lantern burning in a sconce upon the wall. -This Mornay seized as he passed. At the head of the first flight the -mercer came out. But Cornbury stuck him in the leg with the point of -his sword, and, seizing him by the back of the neck, pushed and dragged -him down the stairs. - -“The way out, ye vermin!” he said. “Quick! No. Not the front--the back -door.” - -The man was sallow with terror. - -“The b-back door?” he chattered. “There is no back door.” - -“A window, then,” jerked out Cornbury. “Quick!” There was a warning -prod of the sword. The man cried out, but staggered through the -mercer’s shop into a passage. Mornay and Cornbury thrust ahead of him. - -“Which way?” they cried, in unison. - -He indicated a window. When it was opened they saw it was not six feet -from the ground. - -By this time the whole neighborhood was aroused, and cries and shouts -resounded in all quarters. Mornay had put the light out, and, pausing -not a moment, stepped over the sill and let himself down into a kind -of roofed alley or court which ran between the rear portions of the -buildings. While Mornay covered the landlord to keep him silent, -Cornbury and the others quickly followed. Without waiting a moment, the -four men gathered themselves into a compact body and dashed down the -alley as fast as they could run. It was a case now for speed and stout -blows. There was a turn in the alley before it reached the street. It -was on rounding this that they came full into the midst of a party of -men who were running in to meet them. The surprise was mutual. All the -commotion had been on the roof and in the main street, and there was -so much noise that the constables had not even heard the footfalls -around the corner. But Mornay’s men had the advantage of being on the -offensive. There was a hurried discharge of firearms, and a shout broke -from Bill Quinn, but he kept on running. Cornbury fired his pistol at -one man and then threw the weapon full at another who cut at him with a -pike. In a moment they were through and in the street. A scattering of -shots sent the dust and stones flying from a wall beside them, but the -moon was gone and aim was uncertain. The shouting had increased and the -sound of footfalls was just behind. - -“Which way?” said Mornay. - -“Straight ahead,” replied Cornbury. “To the river afterwards. Our -chances with a boat are best.” - -They turned into a dark street, and Trice, who was slender and -nimble-footed, led the way into the darkness with the speed of a deer. -He wound in and out of alleys and narrow streets where the shadows -were deeper, closely followed by Mornay and Cornbury. The pace was so -rapid that Quinn was nearly spent. Seeing that if he were not heartened -he would be taken, Mornay slackened and came back beside him. As he -glanced around he saw that two men were approaching rapidly not a -hundred yards away. - -“There’s nothing for it,” panted Cornbury. “If I had a pistol I could -wing the man in front.” Mornay drew his own from his pocket and handed -it to him. Cornbury leaned against a wall and carefully fired. With a -shout the man clapped his hand to his leg. He hobbled a few paces, and -then fell head over heels into the gutter. With singular discretion the -other man slackened his speed and stopped to await his fellows, who -were coming up in a body not far behind. - -Tom Trice had disappeared, but the river was not far distant. Cornbury -saw the shimmer of it and said so to poor Quinn. This plucked up his -courage, and with a hand at either arm he managed to make so good a -progress that they had crossed the wide docks and tumbled into a boat -before the first of their pursuers had emerged from the darkness. Quinn -fell like a gasping fish under the thwarts, but Cornbury and Mornay -pulled at the oars with such vigor that before a single black figure -appeared upon the coping of the dock they had put fifty feet of water -between themselves and the shore. There was a splash of light--and -another--and the bullets spat viciously around them. But they kept on -pulling, and made the lee of a barge not far away in safety. When they -heard the constables clatter down into one of the boats, they took -off their doublets and pulled for their lives. The tide was running -out, and they shot the bridge like an arrow, but they could see the -black mass of the boat of their pursuers as it stole, like some huge -black bug, from the inky reflection into the gray of the open water. -There was a patch of light under the bows, and the frequent glimmer -of the wind-swept sky upon the oars was far too rapid and steady for -their comfort. A fellow stood up in the stern, giving the word for the -oarsmen, and, hard as the fugitives pulled, the boat gained steadily -upon them. Bill Quinn was useless, and, even had he been able to row, -there were only two pairs of oars. So they set him to loading the -pistols, while they cast their eyes over their shoulders in search of a -place of refuge. They knew if they made immediately for the shore they -would fall too probably into the hands of the watch, for the streets -here were wider and there were fewer places for concealment than in the -thickly settled part of the city which they had left. Their course was -set directly across the bows of a large vessel getting under way. The -anchor had clanked up to the bows, and there was a creak of halyard -and sheet-block as her canvases took the wind, a clamor of hoarse -orders mingled with oaths and the sound of maudlin singing. But the -boat of the constables was every moment splashing nearer and nearer, -and Mornay, seeing escape by this means impossible, determined to lay -aboard the ship and take his chances. Accordingly they stopped rowing -and waited until the vessel should gather way enough to come up with -them. When the black boat-load of men saw this they gave a cheer, for -they thought themselves certain of their game. For answer there was a -volley from three pistols, which sent one man into the bottom of the -boat, so that the oars upon one side caught so badly in the water that -the boat slewed around from her course and lost her way in the water. - -At the sound of the shots a dozen heads appeared in the bows of the -ship, which was coming up rapidly. - -“What ho, there!” yelled a heavy voice. “Out o’ the way, or I’ll run ye -down!” - -Cornbury and Quinn arose to their feet, but Mornay sat at his oars, -keeping the boat broadside to the approaching vessel. - -“Jump before she strikes, man--the fore-chains and spritsail-rigging.” - -The huge fabric loomed like a pall upon the sky, and they could see two -long lines of foam springing away from the forefoot, which was coming -nearer--nearer. - -“Look alive there!” shouted the gruff voice again. - -There was a grinding crash as Cornbury and Quinn sprang for the -rigging. Quinn struck his head upon a steel stay, and had not the -strength to haul himself clear of the water. With a cry he fell back -into the submerged boat. Mornay waited a moment too long, and the -vessel struck him fairly in the body. He, too, fell back into the -water, but as he was tossed aside he fell as by a miracle into the -friendly arms of the anchor, which, not having been hauled clear, -dragged just at the surface of the water. With an effort he pulled -himself up, and at last climbed upon the stock, and so to the deck -unharmed. - -A cluster of dark faces surrounded him, and a short, broad man, with a -black beard and rings in his ears, thrust his way through. He looked at -the shivering and dripping figures before him with a laugh. - -“Soho! Soho! Just in the very nick of the hoccasion, my bullies. ’Ere -be three beauties. Ha! ha! Jail-birds at a guinea a ’ead!” - -There was a sound of cries and the clatter of oars; but the vessel was -moving rapidly through the water, and the constables were rapidly left -astern. - -“In the King’s name,” shouted the voice of Captain Ferrers, “let me -aboard!” - -The man with the black beard ran aft and leaned over the rail towards -the boat which was struggling in the water. - -“An’ who might _you_ be!” he roared. - -“I represent the law,” cried Ferrers, and his voice seemed dimmer in -the distance. “These men are officers of the King, to arrest--” The -remainder of the sentence was caught in the winds and blown away. - -The black-bearded man slapped his leg. “The law! The law!” he shouted. -Then he made a trumpet of his hands to make his meaning clear, and -roared, “Go to ’ell!” He clapped his hand to his thigh and laughed -immoderately. - -Monsieur Mornay, who had been looking aft over the bulwarks, saw the -figure of Ferrers stand up in the stern-sheets and shake his fist at -the vessel. Then the boat pulled around to the half-sunken craft which -the fugitives had abandoned. All in dark shadow they saw Quinn pulled -out of the water by the constables, and then the figures leaned over -again and lifted something out of the water and passed it to the figure -in the stern. - -The Frenchman took Cornbury wildly by the arm. - -“God, God!” he cried. “My doublet! The papers were in my doublet!” -He put a hand upon the rail and would have jumped into the water if -Cornbury had not seized him and held him until the fit was past. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -BARBARA - - -After Monsieur Mornay’s coach had rumbled away, Mistress Barbara -excused herself to Captain Ferrers and threw herself upon her couch -in poignant distress and indecision. Why she had hated this Monsieur -Mornay so she could not for her life have told herself. Perhaps it -was that she had begun by hating him. But now, when he had killed -her friend and counsellor and had used violent means to approach -and coerce her--now when she had every right and reason for hating -him, she made the sudden discovery that she did not. The shock of it -came over her like the sight of her disordered countenance in the -mirror. The instinct and habit of defense, amplified by a nameless -apprehension in the presence of the man, had excited her imagination -so that she had been willing to believe anything of him in order to -justify her conscience for her cruelty. But now that he was gone--in -all probability to the gallows--and she was no longer harassed by -the thought of his presence, she underwent a strange revulsion of -feeling. She knew it was not pity she felt for him. It would be hard, -she thought, to speak of pity and Monsieur Mornay in the same breath. -It was something else--something that put her pride at odds with her -conscience, her mind at odds with her heart. She lay upon the couch -dry-eyed, clasping and unclasping her hands. What was he to her that -she should give him the high dignity of a thought? Why should the -coming or the going of such a man as he--scapegrace, gambler, duelist, -and now fugitive from justice--make the difference of a jot to a woman -who had the proudest in England at her feet? Fugitive from justice! -Ah, God! Why were men such fools? Here was a brave man, scapegrace -and gambler if you like, but gallant sailor, soldier, and chevalier -of France, a favorite of fortune, who, through that law of nature by -which men rise or sink to their own level, had achieved a position -in which he consorted with kings, dukes, and princes of the realm, -and boasted of a king for an intimate. In a moment he had rendered at -naught the struggles of years--had tossed aside, as one would discard a -worn-out hat or glove, all chances of future preferment in France and -England--all for a foolish whim, for a pair of silly gray eyes. She hid -her face in her arms. Fools! all fools! - -She hated herself that she did not hate Monsieur Mornay. Struggle as -she would, now that he was gone she knew that the impulsive words -that she had used when she had spurned him had sprung from no origin -of thought or reflection, but were the rebellious utterings of anger -at his intrusion--of resentment and uncharity at the tale he told. -But what if it were true? She sat upright, and with a struggle tried -dispassionately and calmly to go over, one by one, each word of his -speech, each incident of his bearing, as he told his portentous story -of the secrets of her family. How had Monsieur Mornay come into -possession of all this information? She knew that Eloise de Bresac -had died in France and that the Duke of Nemours had sent the body -to be buried on the estates in Normandy, where it lay in the family -tomb. She knew that Sir Henry Heywood’s intimacy with the Duke was of -long standing, and that there was a mystery in regard to the death of -this daughter of the house which had never been explained to her. Her -grandfather had been ill at the time, she remembered, and had died -before Sir Henry Heywood and her father--who had gone to France--had -returned. The story of the Frenchman tallied strangely with the facts -as she knew them. How did Mornay know of the unfortunate woman’s death -at Amiens? Was the story of the Spaniard D’Añasco invented to comport -with the family’s traditionary hatred of the Spanish? Were the names -_Castillano_, of the ship, and Ruiz, of the boy, mere fabrications, -to achieve an end? How did he know these things? The family history -of the Bresacs was not an open book to all the world. No one but Sir -Henry Heywood and herself had known of the visits to Paris and the -death-place of Eloise. - -And Captain Ferrers! How could she explain his loss of countenance -when the tale was told? What papers were these the very mention of -which could deprive him of his self-possession? And what reason had he -for keeping papers referring to her estate from her knowledge? They -were matters which put her mind upon a rack of indecision. She should -know, and at once. The Frenchman had planned well. He had proved that -Captain Ferrers was concealing something from her--of this she was -confident; although in her discovery she had scorned to show Mornay -that she believed him in anything. If Sir Henry Heywood had intrusted -matters pertaining to the estate to Captain Ferrers, she was resolved -that she should know what they were. She judged from his actions that -Captain Ferrers had reasons for wishing these papers kept from her; -she therefore resolved to learn what they contained. If he would not -give them to her--and this she thought possible--she would meet him in -a different spirit and try with art and diplomacy what she might not -accomplish by straightforward methods. - -“What if Mornay’s tale were true?” she asked herself again. “What if -these papers _were_ the secret proofs of the marriage of Eloise de -Bresac and of the birth of a son and heir to the estates in accordance -with her grandfather’s will? What if Monsieur Mornay could prove that -he was Ruiz, son of D’Añasco, and had sailed from Valencia upon the -_Castillano_?” In the cool light of her reasoning it did not seem -impossible. She recalled the face of Monsieur Mornay and read him again -to herself. It seemed as though every expression and modulation of his -voice had been burned upon her memory. Had he flinched--had he quivered -an eyelash? Had he not borne the face and figure of an honest man? -Argue with herself as she might, she had only to compare the bearing -of the Frenchman with that of Stephen Ferrers for an answer to her -questions. - -She arose and walked to the table by the window. The sun was setting in -an effusion of red, picking out the chimney-pots and gables opposite -in crimson splendor, glorifying the somber things it touched in -magnificent detail. - -She looked long--until the top of the very highest chimney-pots became -again a somber blur against the greenish glow of the east. - -“I shall know,” she murmured at last. “At whatever cost, Captain -Ferrers shall tell me.” - -And before the captain arrived the next day she had resolved upon a -plan of action. In justice to Monsieur Mornay, she would give his tale -the most exhaustive test. For the sake of the experiment she would -assume that it was true. But if it were, and she believed it, the -difficulty lay in getting Captain Ferrers to acknowledge anything. -She must deceive him. If her deception did not avail, she would try -something else; but of one thing she was resolved--that tell he should, -or all the friendship she bore him should cease forever. - -Captain Ferrers wore a jubilant look as he came in the door. - -“My service, Barbara. You are better, I hope.” - -She smiled. “Well?” - -“He’s gone. Escaped us last night and got to ship in the river. By -this time he is well into the Channel.” - -Mistress Barbara frowned perceptibly. - -“You have allowed him to get away?” she asked, her eyebrows upraised. - -“Yes,” he muttered; “a very demon possesses the man. If I had my way -the fellow should never have left this room.” - -She motioned to a seat beside her. - -“Tell me about it,” she said. - -He sat and told her such of the happenings at the Fleece Tavern as he -thought well for her to hear, but he omitted to mention the rape of the -papers from his pockets. Of this attack he said: - -“After all, the fellow is but a common blusterer and bully. He waited -for his chance and then set upon me like a fish-monger.” - -Her eyes sparkled. “And you?” she asked. - -“He had me off my guard, but as he broke away from me I shot at -him”--he paused for a word--“as I would at a common thief.” - -“And you did not kill him?” The words fell cold and impassive from her -lips. - -He looked at her in some surprise. She had set her teeth, and her hands -were tightly clasped upon her knees, but her eyes were looking straight -before her and gave no sign of any emotion. - -“Why, Barbara,” he said, “’tis truly a mighty hatred you have for the -fellow! I thought if you were rid of him--” - -“I despise him!” she cried, vehemently. “I hate him!” - -Captain Ferrers paused a moment, and the smile that crossed his lips -told her how sweet her words sounded in his ears. - -“Ever since he has been in London,” she went on, coolly, “he has -crossed my path at every rout and levee. Wherever I’d turn I’d see his -eyes fixed upon me. From such a man it was an insult. His attentions -were odious.” She gave a hard, dry little laugh. “Why could he not have -been killed then--before he told me this fine tale of his right to my -fortunes and estates--” - -“But surely you don’t believe--” Ferrers broke in. - -“I do and I do not,” she said, carefully considering her reply. “It is -a plain tale, and he tells it well, whether it be likely or unlikely.” - -“Why, Barbara, ’tis a palpable lie! Can you not see--” - -“I can and I cannot,” she said, evenly. Then she turned around, so that -she looked full in his eyes. “I care not whether he be the heir or -no--I would not listen to his pleadings were he my cousin thrice over.” - -Captain Ferrers laughed. - -“’Tis plain he has not endeared himself, mistress mine”; and then, with -lowered voice and glance full of meaning, “Do you really mean that you -hate him so?” - -It was the first time that his manner had given a hint of a secret. She -turned her head away and looked at the opposite wall. - -“I do,” she replied, firmly. “I do hate him with all my heart.” - -Ferrers leaned towards her and laid his hand upon one of hers. She did -not withdraw it--her fingers even moved a little as though in response -to his touch. - -“Barbara, this man”--he paused to look down while he fingered one -of her rings--“is an impostor. But if he were not, would you--would -you--still wish him dead?” - -She looked around at him in surprise. - -“Why, what--’tis a strange question. Is there a chance that it is -true--that he is what he says?” - -He halted at this abrupt questioning and did not meet her eye. “No, -Barbara, I have not said so. But suppose he were the real Vicomte de -Bresac, would you still wish him dead?” - -It was her turn to be discomfited. She averted her head, and her eyes -moved restlessly from one object upon the table to another. - -“Have I not told you that I hate him?” she said; the voice was almost -a whisper. Ferrers looked at her as though he would read the inmost -depths of her heart. She met his eyes a moment and then smiled with a -little bitter irony that had a touch of melancholy in it. - -“Can I find it pleasant thinking,” she went on, “that the houses, the -lands, the people who owe me allegiance, my goods, my habits, my very -life, are not mine, but another’s?” - -A look of satisfaction crossed Captain Ferrers’s face. He relinquished -her hand and arose. - -“What nonsense is this, Barbara, to be bothering your pretty head about -such a matter! Zounds, dear lady, it is the silliest thing imaginable!” - -“Nay,” she said, with a gesture of annoyance and a woful look that -was only half assumed--“nay, it is no nonsense or silliness. Should -Monsieur Mornay come back, my quandary becomes as grievous as ever.” - -Ferrers had been pacing up and down, his hands behind his back. “He -will not come back. Besides, what could he prove?” He stopped before -her. - -She did not answer, but, trembling, waited for him to continue. - -“Listen, Barbara. There has been something I have had in my mind to -tell you. The Frenchman’s story has made some impression upon you.” - -She looked up almost plaintively. “How could it fail?” Then she went -on, for his encouragement: “It would make no difference to me whether -he is the heir or no. So why should it make a difference to you?” - -“That decides me. The fellow is gone forever. He will never cross your -path again. You think your quandary is grievous. Even if the fellow -came back, what could he prove? Nothing. I will tell you why. Because -the only proofs of another heir to the estate are in my possession.” - -It was out at last. The thing she half hoped yet most dreaded to hear -rang in her ears. She got up, making no effort to conceal her emotion, -and, walking to a window, leaned heavily upon the back of a chair. - -“The proof--the papers--are in your possession?” And then, with an -attempt at gayety which rang somewhat discordantly, “’Tis fortunate -that they still remain in the hands of my friends.” - -“I have been through fire and water for them, dear Barbara, and will go -again if need be. Last Wednesday night these papers were given me in -sacred trust to safely keep or destroy. It were better had I destroyed -them. As you know, my regiment is about to take the field. I have but -just changed my lodgings, and had no place of security for them. So -since then I have carried them upon my person, until I could place -them safely.” And then he told her how they had been taken from him by -Mornay, and how he had recovered them, to his surprise and delight, -somewhat moist but perfectly legible, from the doublet in the boat -which was sunk by the vessel in the river. She listened to him with -eyes that spoke volumes of her interest and wonder. When that was done -she asked him more of the secret. And he told her how her guardian had -so long kept it from her, and how Captain Cornbury had carried the -story to Mornay. He broke off suddenly and went over to where she stood. - -“Barbara, can you not put this matter from your mind? Will you ruin -our day with this silly business? Have you no word for me? Have you no -thought for me--no answer to the question that is forever on my lips, -in my eyes and heart?” - -She looked around at him, her clear eyes smiling up with an expression -he could not fathom. The level brows were calm and judicial--the eyes, -though smiling, were cognizant and searching. - -“The lips--yes, Stephen,” said she, in a tantalizing way; “the eyes--a -little, perhaps; but the heart”--she dropped her eyes and turned her -head away--“the heart of man is a mystery.” - -But Captain Ferrers was undaunted. He took in his the hand that hung at -her side. - -“Why, Barbara,” he said, “have I not given you all my devotion? Can you -not learn--” - -She drew a little away from him. - -“I am but a dumb scholar.” - -“Then do not add deafness to your failings. Listen to me. I have asked -you again and again the same question. Answer me now, Barbara. Promise -me that you will--” - -She had turned around and faced him, looking him full in the eyes. - -“What would you do for me if I promised you what you wish?” - -“By my love! anything--anything in my power to win, anything in my gift -to bestow.” - -She smiled gayly. “Very well,” she said, “I shall begin at once. First, -I shall want the papers in your possession.” - -His face clouded; he dropped her hand and fell back a pace or two. - -“The proofs--” - -“The very same,” she said, coolly. - -“My trust!” he exclaimed. “I have sworn to keep them secret or destroy -them!” - -She turned away pettishly. - -“So much for your love, Captain Ferrers. You swear to give me anything. -The first favor I ask, you refuse.” - -“But my honor, Barbara. You would not have me break oath with the dead?” - -“Will you give me the papers?” she asked again, imperturbably. He -looked at her uncertainly. - -“And if I do not give them to you?” - -“Then you may go.” She pointed imperiously to the door. - -“You are cruel. And if I _do_ give them?” - -Her face lighted. - -“Ah. If you give them, perhaps--” - -He leaned forward. “Well?” - -“Perhaps--perhaps--you may have an answer.” - -When he took her hand again she gave it to him unresistingly. “If I -give you these papers, will you promise me--to be my wife?” - -She had attained her end and at the price she had expected to pay. And -yet she hesitated. She dropped her head and her figure seemed to relax -and grow smaller under his touch. He leaned over her, expectancy and -delight written upon his features. - -“Will you promise, Barbara?” he repeated. - -She straightened her head, but did not draw away as she answered, at -last: - -“I will.” - -He put his hands in his breast, and, drawing out the packet, laid it -before her upon the table. - -“There is my honor, Barbara. Take it. I give it to you willingly--as I -give you my life.” - -She took the packet of papers and looked at the blurred writing upon -the outside. Captain Ferrers made a step towards her, and, taking her -hand again, would have drawn her towards him. But as he approached and -she felt his breath warm upon her cheek, a change came over her and she -drew back and away from him to the other side of the table. - -Captain Ferrers could not understand. His brows knit angrily. - -“How now, Barbara--” he began. - -“Not to-day, Stephen. Not to-day, I pray you.” She was half smiling, -half crying. “Can you not see I am overwrought with my grief and -worries? Leave me for the day. I will requite you better another time.” - -She fell upon the couch and buried her face in her hands. Captain -Ferrers looked at her quizzically for a moment, but the smile at his -lips was not a pleasant one. Then he tossed his chin and walked towards -the door. - -“Very well, then! Until to-morrow.” He took his hat and was gone. - -For some moments Mistress Barbara lay there as one stricken and unable -to move. But at last, with a struggle, she broke the seal of the -packet which she had held tightly clutched in her hand. Then, while -the sun gilded again the chimney-pots opposite her, one by one she -read over the papers before her--the attestation of the nurse, Marie -Graillot, and the witnesses, Anton Gratz and Pierre Dauvet; the last -testament of Eloise de Bresac, and her confession; the statement of the -priest who had confessed her, and the description of the child; all -sworn and properly subscribed to before an official of the parish of -Saint-Jacques. Then there were some letters from Juan d’Añasco, clear -proof of Henry Heywood and Wilfred Clerke’s complicity in the plot. The -tears came to her eyes and made even dimmer the blur of the ink in the -faded documents. At last the letters became indistinct, and she could -read no more. - -Far into the night she lay there. Her duenna would have entered, but -she sent her away. Servants came with food, but she refused to eat. -At last, when the reflection from the passing links no longer flashed -in fiery red across her ceiling, and the sounds of the street were no -longer loud or frequent, she arose, and, putting her head out of the -window, looked up at the quiet stars. The cool air bathed her brow, and -the tranquillity and all-pervading equality of peace helped her to her -resolution. - -The next day, as Captain Stephen Ferrers presented himself at Mistress -Clerke’s lodgings, he was given a letter. - - This is the cry of a soul that suffers [it ran]. I have read - one by one the papers you have given me, and from them an iron - resolution has been forged--forged with the warmth of passion - and tempered with the wet of tears. Yesterday I was your - promised wife. Unless you wish to be released, I am the same - to-day. But this morning every estate that I possess, every - revenue--all my fortune, in fact, down to the last penny--has - been placed under the Crown, where it will remain until the - rightful heir of the estates of De Bresac is found. Believe me, - this decision of mine is irrevocable. If you would claim me for - yourself under these new conditions, I shall still be the same - to you. - - BARBARA. - -Captain Ferrers left the house in some haste. A week later he went to -France upon a commission to purchase guns for the Royal Artillery. And -Mistress Barbara Clerke sailed as duenna to Señorita de Batteville, the -daughter of the Spanish Ambassador, to visit the señorita’s uncle, who -was governor of a castle at Porto Bello, upon the Spanish Main. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE SAUCY SALLY - - -Monsieur Mornay and his companions made but a sorry spectacle upon -the decks of the vessel aboard of which the hand of destiny had so -fortuitously tumbled them. The Frenchman had lost his doublet, hat, -and periwig, the blood flowed freely from a wound in his head, and his -bowed figure was slim and lean in his clinging and dripping garments. -The Irishman stood near, with one hand upon the Frenchman’s shoulder, -watching him narrowly, fearful that in another mad moment he might -throw himself overboard after his lost heritage. But Monsieur Mornay -made no move to struggle further. He stood supine and subordinate to -his fate. The light of battle which had so recently illumined them -shone in his eyes no more. And the head which by the grace of God had -been raised last night so that he could look every man level in the -eyes was now sunk into his shoulders--not in humiliation or abasement, -but in a silent acquiescence to the whelming sense of defeat that was -his. - -Cornbury, his red poll glowing a dull ember in the moonlight, stood by -the side of his friend, erect, smiling--his usual inscrutable self. -Presently, when a lantern had been brought, the man with the black -beard came forward again and placed himself, arms akimbo, before the -bedraggled figures of the fugitives. His voice was coarse and thick, -like his face and body. As he leaned sideways to accommodate the squint -of one eye and looked at them in high humor, an odor of garlic and -brandy proclaimed itself so generously that even the rising breeze -could not whip it away. - -“Soho!” he said again. “Soho! soho!” while he swayed drunkenly from one -foot to the other. “Queer fishin’ even for the Thames, mateys. Soho! -If there be luck in hodd numbers, then ’ere’s the very luck o’ Danny -McGraw, for of all the hoddities-- Ho, Redhead, whither was ye bound? -Newgate or Tyburn or the Tower? The Tower? Ye aren’t got much o’ the -hair o’ prisoners o’ state.” - -Cornbury looked him over coolly, and then, with a laugh, “Bedad, my -dear man, we’d had a smell of all three, I’m thinking.” - -By this time half the crew of the vessel were gathered in a leering and -grinning circle. - -“Pst!” said one; “’tis the Duke o’ York in dishguise.” - -“The Duke o’ York,” said another. “Ai! yi! an’ the little one’s the -Prince o’ Wales.” - -Blackbeard thrust his nose under that of the Irishman. “Well, Redhead,” -he cried, “wot’s the crime? Murder or thieving or harson?” To lend -force to his query he clapped his hand down upon Cornbury’s shoulder. -The Irishman’s eyes gleamed and his hand went to his side, but he -forgot that his weapon was no longer there. He shrugged a careless -shoulder and drew away a pace. - -“Whist!” he said, good-humoredly; “’tis the King I’ve just killed.” - -“Yaw! ’Tis the red of the blood-royal upon his head,” said the -drunkard, amid a wild chorus of laughter. - -Here a tall figure thrust through the grinning crowd, which gave back a -step at the sound of his voice. - -“Nom d’un nom!” he cried. “They shiver with the cold. A drink and a dip -in the slop-chest is more to the point--eh, captain?” Blackbeard swayed -stupidly again, and, with a growl that might have meant anything, -rolled aft and down below. The tall man took the lantern and led the -way into the forecastle, whither the fugitives followed him. But it -was not until they got within the glare of the forecastle lantern -that they discovered what manner of man it was to whom they owed this -benefaction. He was tall and thin, and his long, bony arms hung heavily -from narrow shoulders, which seemed hardly stout enough to sustain -their weight. From a thick thatch of tangled beard and hair, a long, -scrawny neck thrust forward peeringly, like that of a plucked fowl; -and at the end of it a smallish head, with a hooked nose, black, beady -eyes, and great, projecting ears was bonneted in a tight-fitting -woolen cap which made more prominent these eccentricities of nature. -This astonishing figure would have seemed emaciated but for a certain -deceptive largeness of bone and sinew. His nether half ended in a pair -of long shanks attired in baggy trousers and boots, between which two -bony knees, very much bowed, were visible. By his manner he might have -been English, by his language French, by his ugliness anything from a -pirate to an evil dream of the Devil. - -Monsieur Mornay had reached the forecastle in a kind of stupefaction, -and it was not until the ugly man returned from below with some dry -clothing and a bottle of brandy that he came broadly awake. Then, wet -and shivering, he threw aside his shirt and drank a generous tinful of -grateful liquor, which sent a glow of warmth to the very marrow of his -chilled bones. For the first time he glanced at his benefactor. - -“_Mille Dieux!_” he cried, in joyful surprise. “Jacquard!” The tall man -bent forward till his neck seemed to start from its fastenings. - -“By the Devil’s Pot! why, what--wh--? It cannot be--Monsieur le -Chevalier! Is it you?” - -In his surprise he dropped the bottle from his hand, and the liquor ran -a dark stream upon the deck; but, regardless, he made two strides to -Mornay’s side, and, taking him by the shoulders, looked him eagerly in -the face. “It is! It is! Holy Virgin, Monsieur le Capitaine, how came -you here?” - -Cornbury had never looked upon so ill-assorted a pair, but watched them -stand, hand clasped in hand, each looking into the face of the other. - -“A small world, Jacquard! How came you to leave Rochelle?” - -“Oh, Monsieur,” said the other, wagging his head, “times are not what -they have been. The sea has called me again. My flesh dried upon my -bones. I could not stay longer ashore. And a profitable venture--a -profitable venture--” - -“Honest, Jacquard! Where do ye go?” - -“Monsieur, the _Saucy Sally_ is no proper ship for you.” He moved -his head with a curious solemnity from side to side. “No place for -you--we go a long voyage, monsieur,” and he broke off abruptly. “But -tell me how came you in such straits as these?” Then Monsieur Mornay -told Jacquard briefly of the fight in the Fleece Tavern and of their -escape, and after this Cornbury learned how Jacquard had been the -Chevalier Mornay’s cockswain upon the _Dieu Merci_ in the Marine of -France. But through it all Jacquard preserved a solemn and puzzled -expression, which struggled curiously with his look of delight at the -sight of Mornay. At last, unable longer to contain himself, he glanced -stealthily around to where the men were swinging their hammocks, and -said, in a kind of shouting whisper: - -“Monsieur, you cannot stay upon the _Saucy Sally_. To-morrow, before we -leave the Channel, you must get ashore.” - -Mornay looked curiously at the man. “Why, Jacquard! You, too? Your -_Sally_ is none so hospitable a lass, after all. Upon my faith, ’tis -too bad in an old shipmate. I had but just coaxed myself into a desire -to stay, and--here--” - -Jacquard’s face was a study in perplexities. He drew the fugitives to -a small room, or closet. When the door was shut he sat down, his mouth -and face writhing with the import of the information he could not bring -himself to convey. - -“Ods-life, man,” growled Cornbury, “have ye the twitches? Speak out!” - -“Monsieur le Chevalier,” said Jacquard, “’tis no cruise for you. We go -to the Havana and Maracaibo and--” He hesitated again. - -“Out with it before ye get in irons. Ye hang in the wind like a -fluttering maid.” - -“Well, monsieur, we are a _flibustier_--no more, no less,” he growled. -“_Voilà_, you have it. I had hoped--” - -To his surprise, Monsieur Mornay broke into a wild laugh. “You, -Jacquard--honest Jacquard--a _farbon_, a _pirato_?” - -“Well, not just that, monsieur--a _flibustier_,” he said, sulkily. -“There is a difference. Besides, the times were bad. I went to the -Spanish Main--” - -“And became a _boucanier_--” - -“Monsieur, listen. We are not a common _pirato_. No, monsieur. This -ship is owned by a person high in authority, and Captain Billee Winch -bears a warrant from the King. Under this we make a judicious war upon -the ships of Spain and none other. We have taken their ships in honest -warfare, with much mercy and compassion.” - -“A very prodigy of virtue. Your _Sally_ is too trim a maiden to be -altogether honest, eh?” Mornay paused a moment, looking at his old -shipmate, then burst into a loud laugh. - -“Bah, Jacquard! sail with you I will, whether or no. I am at odds with -the world. From to-night, I, too, am a _flibustier_. If I cannot go in -the cabin, aft, I will go in the forecastle; if not as master, as man. -_Pardieu_, as the very lowest and blackest devil of you all--” - -“You, monsieur--you!” - -“Yes, I. I have squeezed life dry, Jacquard. I have given my best in -the service of honor and pride. They have given me rank and empty -honors, and all the while have kept me from my dearest desire. From -to-night virtue and I are things apart. I throw her from me as I would -throw a sour lemon.” - -“A _pirato_!” Cornbury came around and placed a hand upon each of -the Frenchman’s shoulders, while he looked him straight in the eyes. -“Monsieur le Chevalier,” he said, soberly--“_Monsieur de Bresac_--” - -At the sound of that name he had staked so much to win, the Frenchman -dropped his eyes before the steady gaze of the Irishman. But if his -poor heart trembled, his body did not. Slowly but firmly he grasped the -wrists of his friend and brought his hands down between them. - -“No, no, Cornbury,” he said; “it must not be. That sacred name--even -_that_--will not deter me. It is done. May she who bears it find less -emptiness in honor and life than I. I wish her no evil, but I pray that -we may never meet, or the fate which makes men forget their manhood, -as I forget mine to-night, may awake the sleeping God in me to living -devil, and demand that I make of her a very living sacrifice upon its -very altar--” - -“René, I pray you!” cried Cornbury. Mornay did not even hear him. - -“I yield at last. From the time I came into the world I have been the -very creature of fate. I have struck my colors, Cornbury. I have hauled -down my gay pennons. I have left my ship.” He leaned for a moment -brokenly upon the bulkhead. But before Cornbury could speak he started -up. “No, no. Vice shall command here if she will. She will be but a -poor mistress can she not serve me better than Ambition and Honor. -Come, Cornbury. Come to the Spanish Main. There’ll be the crash of -fight once more and a dip into the wild life that brings forgetfulness. -Come, Cornbury.” - -Jacquard, who had been listening to this mad speech with his mouth as -wide agape as his eyes and ears, rose to his feet. - -“Monsieur,” he asked, joyfully, “you will go with us to the Spanish -Main?” - -“Yes, yes!” - -“And be a common _boucanier_, a cutthroat?” said Cornbury the ironical. - -“Ay!” - -“But, man, you have no position here; ye’ll be cuffed and -beaten--maybe shot by yon drunken captain--” - -“I’ve been beaten before--” - -“Monsieur,” gladly broke in Jacquard, upon whom the light had dawned -at last--“monsieur, I am second in command here, and half the crew are -French. I’m not without authority upon them. Set your mind at rest. -With these men you shall have fair play.” He paused, scratching his -head. “With the captain it is another matter--” - -“Bah, Jacquard! I’ve weathered worse storms. Your captain is a stubborn -dog, but I’ve a fancy he barks the loudest when in drink. Come, -Cornbury, I’m resolved to start from the bottom rung of the ladder once -more. Will you not play at pirate for a while?” - -“Unless I mistake,” said Cornbury, coolly, “I have no choice in the -matter. The walking is but poor, and I’ve no humor for a swim. My -dear man, ye may rest your mind on that--ye’re a madman--of that I’m -assured. But I’ll stay with ye awhile.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -“BRAS-DE-FER” - - -And so for the present it was settled. Monsieur Mornay sought rest -vainly, and crept upon deck at the first flashing of the sun upon the -horizon. The _Sally_, dressed in a full suit of cloths upon both her -masts, went courtesying upon her course with a fine show of white about -her bows and under her counter. The brig was not inaptly named, for -there was an impudence in the rake of her masts and in the way she wore -her canvas which belied her reputation for a sober and honest-dealing -merchantman. There was a suggestion of archness, too, in the way her -slender stem curved away from the caresses of the leaping foam which -danced rosy and warm with the dawn to give her greeting, and a touch -of gallantry in the tosses and swayings of her prow and head as they -nodded up and down, the very soul of careless coquetry. But now and -then an opalescent sea, more venturesome and intrepid than his fellows, -would catch her full in the bluff of the bows and go a-flying over her -forecastle in a shower of spume and water-drops, which in the golden -light turned into jewels of many hues and went flying across the deck -to be carried down to the cool, translucent deeps under her lee. But -she shook herself free with a disdainful, sweeping toss and set her -broad bows out towards the open, where the colors were ever growing -deeper and the winds more rude and boisterous, as though she recked not -how impetuous the buffets of the storm, how turbulent the caresses of -the sea. - -Something of the exhilaration of the old life came upon Monsieur -Mornay as he sent a seaman-like eye aloft at the straining canvases. -The _Sally_ was leaving the narrows and making for the broad reaches -where the Channel grew into the wide ocean. Far away over his larboard -quarter, growing ever dimmer in the eastern mist of the morning, -was the coast of France, the land where he was born, where he had -suffered and struggled to win the good name he thought his birth -had denied him. On his right, slipping rapidly astern, was England, -where he had come to crown his labors with a new renown, and where -he had only squandered that favor he had passed so many years of -stress in winning--squandered it for a fancy that now was like some -half-forgotten dream. It seemed only yesterday that he had been -standing there upon a vessel of his own, looking out to sea. A year -had passed since he had given up the command of the _Dieu Merci_ and -gone to Paris--a year of reckless abandon to pleasure at the gay court -of Charles, a year in which he had lived and forgotten what had gone -before, a year in which he had been born into the life that was his -by every right. A dream? Yes, a dream. It was a rough awakening. He -looked down at his rough clothing--his baggy, red trousers, with the -tawdry brass buttons, his loose, coarse shirt and rough boots, the -rudest slops that the brig provided; he felt of his short hair under -the woolen cap, and he wondered if this could be himself, the Chevalier -Mornay; the cock of the bird-cage walk, friend of princes and the -intimate of a king! Astern, across the swirling wake, lay the city of -pleasure, but the bitter smile that came into his face had none of the -rancor of hatred. It spoke rather of failure, of disappointment, of -things forsaken and unachieved. - -From these reflections he was surprised by the sound of a voice at his -elbow. There, beside him, stood a fat man munching at a sea-biscuit. -His face, in consonance with the body, was round and flabby, but -there the consistency ended, for in color it was gray, like a piece -of mildewed sail-cloth. The distinguishing feature of his person was -his nose, which, round and inflamed, shone like a beacon in the middle -of his pallid physiognomy. His voice was lost in the immensity of his -frame, for when he spoke it seemed to come from a long distance, as -though choked in the utterance by the layers of flesh which hung from -his chin and throat. The pucker which did duty for a frown upon his -brow became a fat knot. - -“You vhos a passenger upon dis schip, hey?” he said, with well-considered -sarcasm. “You vhos a passenger? You t’ink you make dis voyage to America -und do noding, eh? By Cott! we’ll see about dot.” And all the while he -kept munching at the sea-biscuit, and Monsieur Mornay stood leaning -against the rail watching him. “You vhos a French duke or someding, -ain’t it? Vell, ve vant none of de royal family aboardt de _Saucy Sally_. -Und vhen I, or de capdain, or Shacky Shackart gif de orders, you joomp, -or, py Cott! I’ll know vy not!” - -But still Mornay looked at him, smiling. He was in a reckless mood, and -welcomed any opportunity that took him out of himself. - -“Vell,” the Dutchman asked, his little, thin voice grown shrill with -rising temper, “vy don’t you moofe? Vy you standt looking at me?” And, -rushing suddenly forward, he aimed a blow of his heavy boot at Mornay, -which, had it reached its destination, must have wrought a grave injury -to the Frenchman. So great an impetus had it that, not finding the -expected resistance, the foot flew high in the air. But the Frenchman -was not there. He had stepped quickly aside, and, deftly catching the -heel of the boot in his hand, threw the surprised Dutchman completely -off his balance, so that he fell, a sprawling mass of squirming fat, -upon the deck. The commotion had drawn a number of the crew aft, and -the captain, reeling uncertainly to the roll of the vessel, came -blinking and puffing up the after-ladder. By this time the Dutchman had -struggled to an upright posture and came rushing upon Mornay again, all -arms and legs, sputtering and furious. - -But the captain, no matter how deep in drink, was a person with the -shrewdest sense of his importance upon a ship of his own. He was -jealous of all blows not aimed by his own sturdy fist, and it was his -fancy that none should strike any but himself. It was therefore with a -sense of his outraged office that he rushed between the two men, and -with his bulky body and long arms averted the windmill attack of the -burly Dutchman. - -“Mutiny, by ----, and not hout of soundings! Stand fast, Gratz! Stand -fast, I say! Hi’ll do the billy-coddling on this ship. Stand, I say! -Now, what is it?” - -Gratz stepped forward a pace and spat. “Yaw! I gif her orders. And she -stumpled me packwards upon de deck.” - -“What!” roared the captain. “Soho! we’ll see!” and he seized a pin from -the rail. The situation was threatening. Winch was already striding -forward, and his upraised pin seemed about to descend upon the luckless -Mornay when Jacquard interposed a long, bony arm. - -“Fair play, Billee Winch! You’ll slaughter the man!” - -“Out of the way!” - -“Fair play, I say, Billee Winch!” Jacquard stood his ground and only -gripped the captain the tighter. “Fair play, Billee Winch, I tell you! -Gratz fell over his own feet. I saw it. Listen to me.” - -The captain paused a moment. The lie had distracted him, and in that -pause Jacquard saw safety. The captain looked blearily at Mornay, who -had made no move to defend himself, but stood with little sign of -discomposure, awaiting the outcome of the difficulty. - -“If Monsieur le Capitaine will but allow me--” - -“By Cott,” broke in Gratz, “you shall not!” and made a wild effort to -strike Mornay again. But this time Jacquard caught him and twisted him -safely out of the way. - -“By the Devil’s Pot!” roared Winch, “am I in command, or am I not?” He -raised his weapon this time towards Gratz, who cowered away as though -he feared the blow would fall. - -“If Monsieur le Capitaine will allow me,” began Mornay again, politely, -“I would take it as a pleasure--” - -“You!” sneered the captain, with a kind of laugh. “You! Why, Frenchman, -Yan Gratz will make three of ye. He’ll eat ye skin an’ bones.” - -Jacquard smiled a little. “_Voilà!_ Billee Winch,” he cried, “the way -out of your difficulty: a little circle upon the deck, a falchion or a -half-pike--fair play for all, and--” - -“Yaw! yaw! Fair play! fair play!” yelled the crew, rejoicing at the -prospect of the sport. - -Billy Winch blinked a bleared and bloodshot eye at Jacquard and -Mornay, and then a wide smile broke the sluggish surface of the skin -into numberless wrinkles. - -“If ye’ll have it that way,” he grinned, “ye’ll be stuck like a sheep. -But ’twill save me trouble. So fight away, my bully, an’ be dammed to -ye!” - -Immediately a ring was formed, into which the combatants were speedily -pushed. Gratz laughed in his shrillest choked falsetto, while he threw -off his coat and leered at the Frenchman. The huge bulk of the man -was the more apparent when his coat had been removed, for in spite of -his girth and fat his limbs were set most sturdily in his body, and -though the muscles of his arms moved slothfully beneath the skin, it -was easily to be seen that this was a most formidable antagonist. That -he himself considered his task a rare sport, which would still further -enhance his reputation among the crew, was easily to be perceived in -the way he looked at Monsieur Mornay. And in this opinion he was not -alone, for even Cornbury, who had pressed closely to the Frenchman’s -side, wore a look which showed how deep was his concern over his -friend’s predicament. Only Jacquard, of all those who stood about, felt -no fear for Mornay. Upon the _Dieu Merci_ he had seen the chevalier -do a prodigy of strength and skill which had settled a mutiny once -and for all, and had earned him a title which had given him a greater -reputation in the Marine of France than all the distinctions which the -King had seen fit to bestow. And as Jacquard looked at him, slim and -not over-tall, but cool and deliberate, as upon his own deck three -years ago, the Frenchman became again “René Bras-de-Fer,” “René the -Iron Arm,” who fought for the love of fighting only, and who knew -nothing of fear on sea or land. - -That superiority in men which in spite of every adverse circumstance -will not be denied shone so conspicuously in the face and figure of -the Frenchman that the row of hairy faces about him looked in wonder. -There was a rough jest or two, for Yan Gratz had won his way from the -bowsprit aft by buffets and blows, and had waxed fat in the operation. -To them he was the very living embodiment of a fighting devil of the -sea. But many of them saw something in the cool, impassive expression -of the Frenchman--a something which had won him friends (and enemies) -before this, and were silent. - -The Frenchman, with a quiet deliberation, rolled the sleeves of his -shirt above his elbows and took the half-pike that was thrust into -his hands. It has been said that the Chevalier Mornay was not above -the medium height, nor, with the exception of an arm which might have -seemed a little too long to be in perfect proportion, gave in his -appearance any striking evidence of especial physical prowess. He -had been known in London for a graceful and ready sword, and in his -few encounters he had never received so much as a scratch. But even -Gratz was stricken with wonderment at the appearance of the forearm, -which his wide sleeves had so effectually concealed. The arm of the -chevalier, as he brought his pike into a posture of defense, showed a -more remarkable degree of development than he had ever seen before in -any man--Frenchman or Englishman--of his stature. The legs, strong and -straight as they were, with a generous bulge at the calf, betrayed -nothing of this wonderful arm, which, swelling from a strong though -not unslender wrist, rose in fine layers of steel-like ligament, -tangled and knotted like the limbs of an oak. And up above the elbow -the falling cotton shirt scarcely hid the sturdy bulk of muscle which -swelled and trembled as the fingers moved the weapon down upon guard -to resist the furious attack of the Hollander. Gratz prided himself no -less upon his use of the pike than upon his use of his fists and boots, -and, thinking to end the matter in a summary fashion, which might -atone for his somewhat awkward fall upon the deck, he began thrusting -hotly and with a skill which had hitherto availed his purposes. But -he soon discovered that with this Frenchman, whom he had so hardily -challenged, he was to have no advantage either in the reach or in -the knowledge of the game. Mornay’s play, he quickly learned, was to -allow him completely to exhaust himself. This, instead of teaching him -caution, only increased his fury, so that at the end of a few moments -of fruitless exertion he found himself puffing like a great grampus, -the perspiration pouring blindingly into his eyes and down his arms, -until his fat hands grew moist and slipped uncertainly upon the handle -of his weapon. - -The cloud that had hung upon Cornbury’s face at the beginning of the -combat had disappeared, and with a childish delight in the clash of -arms he watched his friend slowly but surely steal away the offensive -power of the Dutchman, whose look of confidence had been replaced by a -lightness of eye and a quivering of the forehead and lips which denoted -the gravest quandary of uncertainty. Monsieur Mornay was breathing -rapidly, but his brows were as level, his eye as clear, his hand as -steady as when he had begun. - -In a few moments the struggle which had promised such dire results -became a farce. The Frenchman had suddenly assumed the offensive, and, -beating down the guard of the other, began pricking him gently, with -rare skill and discrimination, in different conspicuous parts of his -anatomy. The chevalier’s weapon was sharp, and the skin of Yan Gratz -was tender, but so nicely were the thrusts of the Frenchman tempered -to the occasion that they did no more than draw a small quantity of -blood at each place, which oozed forth in patches upon his moist and -clinging shirt, so that he presently resembled some huge, spotted -animal of an unknown species which disaster might have driven from his -fastnesses in the deep. It would have been a remarkable exhibition of -skill with a cut-and-thrust sword or a rapier, but with a half-pike it -was little less than marvelous. - -Yan Gratz struggled on, his tired arms vainly striving against the -Frenchman’s assaults. Once, when the Dutchman had been disarmed, -Monsieur Mornay generously allowed him to regain his weapon, choosing -the advantage of Yan Gratz’s posture, however, to complete the circle -of his punctures by a prick in the seat of his honor, which quickly -straightened him again. - -When the game had gone far enough, and the pallid pasty face of Yan -Gratz was so suffused that it looked little less red than his nose or -the blood upon his shirt, and his gasps for breath were become so -short that they threatened to come no more at all, Monsieur Mornay -threw his weapon down upon the deck and, breathing deeply, folded his -arms and stood at rest. - -“Mynheer,” he said, “it was a mistake to have begun. I am the best -half-pikeman in France.” - -The Dutchman blinked at him with his small pig-eyes, out of which -the bitterness of his humiliation flashed and sparkled in a wild and -vengeful light. The Frenchman turned his back to pass beyond the -circle of grinning men who had not scrupled to hide their delight and -admiration at his prowess in vanquishing their bully. But Gratz, whose -exhaustion even could not avail to curb his fury, put all the small -store of his remaining energy into a savage rush, which he directed -full at the back of the retiring Frenchman. A cry arose, and Mornay -would have been transfixed had not Cornbury intercepted the cowardly -thrust by a nimble foot, over which the Dutchman stumbled and fell -sprawling into the scuppers. The point of his weapon grazed the arm -of Mornay and stuck quivering in the deck, a yard beyond where he -had stood. Jacquard rushed to the prostrate figure in a fury at his -treachery, but the man made no sign or effort to arise. - -“By the ’Oly Rood! A craven stroke!” cried the captain, fetching the -Dutchman a resounding kick, which brought forth a feeble groan. “Get -up!” he roared. “Get up an’ go forward. Hods-niggars! we want none but -honest blows among shipmates.” - -Yan Gratz struggled to his feet and stumbled heavily down into the -deck-house. Jacquard was grinning from ear to ear. If he had planned -the combat himself, the result could not have been more to his liking. -The favor of Billy Winch was no small thing to win, and Monsieur Mornay -had chosen the nearest road to his heart. The captain, after hurling a -parting curse at the Dutchman’s figure, slouched over to Mornay. - -“Zounds! but ye ’ave a ’and for the pike, my bully. ’Ave ye aught o’ -seamanship? If ye know your hangles, ye’re the very figure of a mate -for _Saucy Sally_, for we want no more o’ ’IM,” and he jerked his -finger in the direction taken by Yan Gratz. - -Mornay laughed. “I’ve had the deck of a taller ship than _Saucy -Sally_.” Billy Winch grasped Mornay by the hand right heartily. - -“Come, what d’ye say? Me an’ Jacky Jacquard an’ you. We three aft. -We’ve need o’ ye. Zounds! but ye’ve the useful thrust an’ parry.” Then -he roared with laughter. “An’ I’m mistaken if ye’re not as ’andy a liar -as a pikeman. I’ve seen the play of the best in the French Marine, and -Captain René Mornay would have a word to say with ye as to who’s the -best half-pikeman in France.” - -Jacquard held his sides to better contain himself; his mouth opened -widely and his little eyes were quite closed with the excess of his -delight. Mornay and Cornbury smiled a little, and the Frenchman said, -with composure: - -“Perhaps. Monsieur le Capitaine Mornay and I are not strangers. But he -holds his reputation so low and I mine so high, that I cannot bring -myself to fight him.” - -Here Jacquard could no longer contain himself. - -“Can you not see farther than the end of your bowsprit, Billee Winch?” -he cried; and while the captain wondered, “Can you not see, stupid -fish?--’tis Bras-de-Fer himself!” - -Blackbeard fell back a step or two in his amazement, while a murmur -swept over the crew, who, loath to leave the scene, had remained -interested listeners to the colloquy. - -“What! René the Iron Arm aboard the _Sally_?” said the captain, -approaching the Frenchman again. “Soho! Though, by St. Paul’s--ye’re -not unlike-- An’ with a wig an’ doublet-- ’Pon my soul, Jacky Jacquard, -but I believe ’tis the truth. Say, is it so, master?” - -“I am René Mornay,” said the Frenchman. - -“Soho!” he roared in delight. “Then _Sally_ shall give ye meat and -drink and make a bed to ye. An’ when ye will she’ll set ye ashore in -France. Or, if ye care for the clashin’ of arms, she’ll show ye the -path of the galleons o’ Spain. Come, let’s below and drink to a better -understanding.” - -It was thus that Monsieur Mornay sailed forth for the Spanish Main. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -BRAS-DE-FER MAKES A CAPTURE - - -The feat at arms of Monsieur Mornay at the expense of the luckless -Gratz had set the ship by the ears, and with little opposition -Bras-de-Fer became the third in command. Before many weeks were gone it -was discovered that he had his seamanship at as ready a convenience as -his pike-play, for in a troublesome squall in a windy watch on deck, -while Jacquard was below, he had not scrupled to take the command from -Captain Billy Winch, who was so deep in liquor that he didn’t know the -main-brace from a spritsail sheet, and who had had the _Sally_ upon her -beam-ends, with all his ports and hatches open. Mornay sprang to the -helm and gave the orders necessary to bring her to rights. Indeed, the -command had clearly devolved upon Jacquard; for the lucid intervals of -Captain Billy Winch were becoming less and less, until from that state -of continued jubilation which marked his departure from the port of -London he had passed into one of beatific unconsciousness, from which -he only aroused himself to assuage his thirst the more copiously. One -black morning in the wilds of the Atlantic he reached the deck, his -eyes wide with fever and his mouth full of oaths, swearing that he -would no longer stay below, but his legs were so completely at a loss -that, what with the wild plunges of the vessel and the assaults of the -seas which made clean breaches over her, he was thrown down into the -scuppers again and again, and all but drowned in the wash of the deck. -But the bruising and sousing in the saltwater, instead of rebuffing him -or abating a whit of his ardor, but served to sober him and make him -the more ambitious to take his proper place aboard the vessel. Jacquard -would have restrained him, but he threw the Frenchman aside, and, -while trying to descend the ladder at the angle of the poop, lost his -balance, and, catching wildly at the lee bulwark, disappeared in the -dirty smother under the quarter and was seen no more. - -After this mishap, Jacquard went below to the cabin with Mornay to -make his plans for the future of the _Saucy Sally_. There, among the -rum-reeking effects of the captain, he discovered the royal charter -and warrant under which the vessel sailed, together with the lists of -Spanish vessels which should have left port, their destinations and -probable values. Jacquard outlined the plans he had made for their -operations when they should have reached the waters he had chosen. -Cornbury, who had been reading abstractedly in the warrant, gave a -sudden cry. - -“Bresac,” he said, pointing a long forefinger upon the parchment. -“Faith, my dear man, your fortune is a silly, whimsical jade, after -all. Cast your eye hither for a moment of time.” - -Mornay took the document in amazement. - - Whereas it hath come to Our Notice [it began] that certain - Enemies of the State sailing in the Vessels of the Kingdom of - Spain have prepared, ordered, and levied war against Us, and - have molested and harassed Our lawful Commerce upon the Sea, - to the oppression of Our loyal Subjects carrying on the same, - by the advice of Our Privy Council we hereby grant to our good - and loyal subject Henry Heywood, Knt., that his vessel or - vessels-- - -“’Tis as plain as a pike-handle,” said Cornbury. And as Mornay still -scanned the document: “Faith, can ye not see?--ye’re a guest upon a -vessel of your own. The vessel and all she owns is yours, man--yours!” - -“_Parbleu!_” said Mornay, when the edge of his wonderment was dulled. -“I believe you. A rare investment, indeed, for the millions of the -Bresacs.” - -“A thousand per centum at the very least, with a modicum for the King. -Ye cannot wonder how Charles bewailed the man’s demise. Ye touched his -purse, René. And friendship has little to expect from the conscience of -an empty pocket.” - -“By my life, it is so!” said the wide-eyed Mornay. “Jacquard shall -know. Listen, my friend.” And, with a particular reticence with -regard to the name of Mistress Clerke, he told Jacquard of the great -secret, the rape of the papers, and the other things pertaining to -his discovery. It was learned that in the matter Jacquard knew only -one Captain Brail, a ship-chandler and owner, who had the finding -of all the sea appurtenances, the making of the contracts, and the -furnishing of the stores. The sympathetic Jacquard followed Monsieur -Mornay through a description of the duel, his face wreathed in smiles, -his eyes shining with delight. He wept at the tale of the mother, -commiserated the orphan, and, when he learned how Sir Henry Heywood had -taken possession of the proofs of the boy’s birth and lineage and had -kept him from his rightful inheritance, Jacquard rose upon his long -legs and swore aloud at the man’s perfidy. When Mornay had finished, he -sat silent a moment, clasping and unclasping his knotted, bony fingers. - -“It is a strange story, monsieur--the strangest I have ever heard. It -means, monsieur, that upon the _Saucy Sally_, at least, you have come -into your own. Besides, once my captain, always my captain. _Allons!_ -It shall be as before. Bras-de-Fer shall lead. Jacquard shall -obey. That is all.” He arose and took Monsieur Mornay by the hand. -“Henceforth,” he said, “it shall be Captain René Bras-de-Fer. Now we -will go upon deck, and I shall tell them.” - -Although the death of Billy Winch had caused much commotion aboard the -vessel, the crew in the main were tractable and compliant. Upon his -own great popularity, upon the reputation of Bras-de-Fer, and upon the -large portion of the crew who were Frenchmen like himself, Jacquard -relied to effect the necessary changes in the management of the vessel. -The Frenchman’s bearing since he had come aboard had been such as to -enhance rather than to remove the early impression that he had made, -and but a spark was needed to amalgamate him with the ship’s company. -That spark Jacquard dexterously applied. He called all hands aft, and -with a stirring appeal to their imagination, one by one, recalled the -feats of the chevalier--the fight in the open boat with the Austrian -pirate, the defiance of the Spanish Admiral under the very guns of the -_Bona Ventura_, the six duels upon the landing-place at Cronenburg, -the wreck of the _Sainte Barbe_, and the mutiny and ignominious defeat -of Jean Goujon upon the _Dieu Merci_. All of these things he painted -with glowing colors, so that as he stepped forth on deck they hailed -Bras-de-Fer with a glad acclaim. Then Bras-de-Fer told them what he -hoped to do, and read them (amid huzzahs) the list of Spanish shipping. - -When the matter of the captaincy had been duly settled beyond a doubt, -with a grace which could not fail to gain approval, he unhesitatingly -appointed Yan Gratz again the third in command, and this magnanimity -did much to unite him to the small faction which stood aloof. The frank -confidence he placed in the Hollander put them upon the terms of an -understanding which Gratz accepted with as good a grace as he could -bring to the occasion. A cask of rum was brought up on the deck and -the incident ended in jubilation and health-giving, which in point of -good-fellowship and favorable augury left nothing to be desired. At the -end of a week Bras-de-Fer had given still more adequate proofs of his -ability. With a shrewd eye he had discovered the natural leaders among -the crew. These he placed in positions of authority. Then, appointing -Cornbury master-at-arms, put the men upon their mettle at pike-play -and the broadsword with such admirable results that the carousing and -laxity engendered by the habits of Captain Billy Winch became less -and less, until the rum-casks were no more brought up on deck, except -upon rare and exceptional occasions. Of growls there were a few, and -here and there a muttering apprised him of dissatisfaction among the -free-drinkers. But he offered prizes from the first Spanish vessel -captured for those most proficient in the manly arts, to appease -their distaste for the sport, himself entering upon the games with a -spirit and a poise which were irresistible. The unrestrained life had -caught the fancy of Cornbury, too, and with nimble tongue and nimbler -weapon he won his way with the rough blades as though he had entered -upon this service by the same hawse-pipe as themselves. Once, when a -not too complimentary remark had been passed upon his beard, which -was grown long and of an ingenuous crimson, he took the offender by -the nose and at the point of his sword forced him upon his knees to -swear by all the saints that his life-long prayer had been that some -exclusive dispensation of nature should one day turn his beard the -very self-same color as the Irish captain’s; who then, in satisfaction -of the cravings of that reluctant delinquent, forced him below to the -paint closet, where he caused him to bedaub himself very liberally with -a pigment of the same uncompromising hue--so liberally that not storm -nor stress could avail for many weeks to wash clean the stigma. Indeed, -so strikingly did the combative characteristics of his race manifest -themselves in the performance of his new duties that but for Jacquard -the aggressive Irishman had been almost continually embroiled. But as -it was, Cornbury served his captain a useful purpose; and, though the -ready tact of Bras-de-Fer averted serious difficulties, there were -adventures aplenty for the master-at-arms--enough, at least, to satisfy -the peculiar needs of his temperament. - -In this fashion, learning a discipline of gunnery, arms, and -seamanship, and a little of discontent at the restraint besides, they -crept south and across the broad Atlantic. Gales buffeted them and blew -them from their course, but after many weeks they made northing enough -to cross the path of the Spanish silver ships from South America. The -first vessel they took was a galleon from Caracas. She was heavy with -spices and silks, but had lost her convoy in the night, and was making -for Porto Bello. A shot across her bows hove her to, and her guard of -soldiers gave her up without a struggle. The _Sally_ hove alongside, -and here came the first test of the discipline of Bras-de-Fer. The -fellows rushed aboard with drawn weapons, and, finding no resistance, -were so enraged at the lack of opportunity to display their new prowess -that they fell to striking lustily right and left, and driving the -frightened Spaniards forward shrieking down into the hold. ’Twas rare -sport for Cornbury, who went dancing forward, aiding the progress of -the flying foe with the darting end of his backsword. Only the best -efforts of Bras-de-Fer prevented the men from following the victims -below, where darker deeds might have been done. Yan Gratz, who had -made one voyage with an old _pirato_ named Mansfelt, made so bold -as to propose that the Spaniards be dropped overboard, that being -the simplest solution of the difficulty. But Bras-de-Fer clapped the -hatches over the prisoners with a decision which left little doubt in -the minds of the crew as to his intentions. There was a flare of anger -at this high-handed discipline, for they were free men of the sea, they -said, and owed nothing to any one. Captain Billy Winch had been none -too particular in this matter of detail. But, in spite of their curses, -Bras-de-Fer brought the prisoners and the prize to port in safety. - -It was the beginning of a series of small successes which filled the -_Sally’s_ store-rooms and brought three prizes for her into the harbor -of Port Royal, Jamaica. There, quarrelsome, bedizened, and swaggering -through the streets of the town, Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury saw many of -these gentlemen of the sea, who owed allegiance to no man, company, or -government. In the same trade as themselves, it might be, save only -that with a less nice discrimination these gentry robbed broadly, while -the _Sally_, in despite of her very crew, fought and took only from -the enemies of the English King. It was there, too, that the Frenchman -met the new English governor, and explained the freak of fortune by -which he had come to command the _Sally_. The governor became most -friendly, and (with a sly look of cupidity, which had but one meaning) -gave information of the sailing of the _San Isidro_ from Spain, bearing -the new governor of Chagres, several bishops and priests, and gold and -silver coin of inestimable value for the priests of the Church in the -Spanish colonies of America. - -Learning that the _San Isidro_ would stop at the Havana, Bras-de-Fer -filled his water-tanks and sailed boldly forth to intercept her. -It was untried water to the Frenchman, and charted with so little -adequacy that the booming of the surf upon the reefs sounded with a -too portentous frequency upon the ears. But Jacquard had eyes and ears -for everything, and they won their way to the Florida coast without -mishap. There a herikano buffeted them out to sea, and it was with many -misgivings that they won their way back to the channels of the Bahamas. - -The storm had blown itself out, and the ocean shone translucent as an -emerald. Low-hanging overhead, great patches of fleecy white, torn -from a heaped-up cloud-bank over the low-lying islands of the eastern -horizon, took their wild flight across the deep vault of sky in mad -pursuit of their fellows who had gone before and were lost in a shimmer -of purple, where the sea met the palm-grown spits of the western main. -The cool, pink glow upon the _Sally’s_ starboard beam filled the swell -of the top-sails with a soft effulgence which partook of some of the -coolness and freshness of the air that drove them. Far down upon the -weather bow, first a blur, then a shadow which grew from gray to silver -and gold, came the _San Isidro_. Jacquard sighted her, but it was -Bras-de-Fer who proclaimed her identity. She was a fine new galleon, -spick and span from the Tagus, with three tiers of guns, and masts of -the tallest. Her bright new fore-topsail bore the arms of Spain, and -the long pennons floating from her trucks and poles proclaimed the high -condition of her passengers. - -Bras-de-Fer cleared his ship for action and called his men aft. - -“There, my fine fellows,” he cried, “is steel worthy of your metal. -Let it not be said that _Saucy Sally_ takes her sustenance from the -weak and cowardly and flirts her helm to the powerful. Yonder is your -prize. She has thrice your bulk and complement--three gun tiers and -twenty score of men. So much the more honor! For in her hold are gold -and silver bright and new minted from the Spanish treasury, and wines -for fat priests, which shall run no less smoothly down your own proper -throats. Yonder she is. Take her. Follow where I shall lead and she is -yours for the asking.” - -A roar of approval greeted him, and the manner in which the rascals -sprang to their places showed that, if they growled at his discipline, -they were ready enough for this opportunity. - -If the Spanish vessel had aught of fear of the English brig, she did -not show it. The sound of trumpets had proclaimed that she had called -her gun-crews, but she shifted her helm not a quarter-point of the -compass and came steadily on. - -Bras-de-Fer lost no time sending the English colors aloft and firing -a shot from his forward guns, as a test of distance. This brought -the Spaniard speedily to himself, for he shortened sail and came -upon the wind to keep the weather-gauge. When he had reached easy -gunshot distance, the _Sally_ began firing a gun at a time with great -deliberation, and so excellent was her aim that few of these failed -to strike her huge adversary. Cornbury, who had taken a particular -fancy for great-gun exercise, practised upon the rigging to such -advantage that he brought the mizzen topsail and cross-jack yard in a -clatter about the ears of the fellows upon the poop. As the Frenchman -suspected, the Spaniards’ gun-play was of the poorest, and the -glittering hordes of harnessed men upon his decks availed him nothing. -Then the _San Isidro_, with true concern, and thinking to end the -matter, eased her sheets in the effort to close with her troublesome -antagonist. Bras-de-Fer kept all fast, and, braving a merciless -broadside which churned the ocean in a hundred gusts of water all about -him, went jauntily up to windward with no other loss than that of the -main top-gallant yard, the wreck of which was quickly cut away. - -For two hours the roar of the battle echoed down the distances. The -_Sally_ presented a forlorn appearance with her main topsail torn to -shreds. Two guns of her broadside had been dismounted and ten of her -men had been killed and injured; but upon the Spaniard the wreck of -yards and spars hung festooned with the useless gear upon her wounded -masts, like tangled mosses or creepers upon a dying oak. - -At last a lucky shot of the unremitting Cornbury carried away her -pintle, rudder, and steering-gear, so that she lay a heavy and lifeless -thing upon the water. Bras-de-Fer called for boarders, and, firing a -broadside pointblank, lay the _Sally_ aboard, and with a wild cry for -those who dared follow, himself sprang for the mizzen chains of his -adversary. In the light of the dying day, like a hundred wriggling, -dusky cats, they swarmed over the sides of the luckless _San Isidro_, -springing through the ports and over the bulwarks upon the deck with -cries that struck terror to the hearts of their adversaries, many -of whom threw down their weapons and sprang below. A few men in -breast-pieces, who gave back, firing a desultory volley, made a brief -stand upon the forecastle, from which they were speedily swept down -into the head and so forward upon the prow and into the sea. - -Bras-de-Fer and Cornbury sprang into the after-passage. Two blanched -priests fell upon the deck, raining their jewels like hailstones before -them and chattering out a plea for mercy from the _pirato_. Indeed, -Bras-de-Fer looked not unlike the pictures of the most desperate of -those bloody villains. A splinter-cut upon the head had bathed him -liberally with blood, and the wild light of exultation glowed from eyes -deep-set and dark with the fumes of dust and gunpowder. His coat was -torn, and his naked sword, dimmed and lusterless, moved in reckless -circles with a careless abandon which spoke a meaning not to be -misconstrued. - -The priests he pushed aside, and burst through the door into the cabin. -It was almost dark, but the glow in the west which shone in the wide -stern ports shed a warm light upon the backs of a dozen persons who -had taken refuge there, and were now gazing wide-eyed upon him. By -the table in the center two or three figures were standing, and an -old man with streaming gray hair drew a sword most pitifully and put -himself in posture of defense. Several women thereupon fell jibbering -prone upon the deck, and two figures in uniform crouched back in the -shadow of the bulkhead. But the shedding of blood was done. Cornbury -took the weapon from the patriarch, and Bras-de-Fer, seeing no further -resistance, bowed in his best manner and begged that the ladies be -put to no further inquietude. It was then for the first time that -he noticed the figure of one of them, tall, fair, and of a strange -familiarity, standing firm and impassive, her hand upon a small -petronel, or pistolet, which lay upon the port sill. The splendid -lines of the neck, the imperious turn of the head, the determination -in the firm lines of the mouth, which, in spite of the ill-concealed -terror which lurked in the eyes and brows, betrayed a purpose to defend -herself to the last. Bras-de-Fer stepped back a pace in his surprise -to look again; but there was no mistake. He had seen that same figure, -that same poise of the head, almost that same look out of the eyes, -and, deep as he had steeped his mind in the things which brought -forgetfulness, every line of it was written upon his memory. The lady -was Mistress Barbara Clerke. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE - - -In the first flood of his astonishment the Frenchman lost countenance -and fell back upon the entrance of the cabin. He forgot the efficiency -of his disguise. In London he had worn the mustachio, smooth chin, and -perruque; and the deft touches of poor Vigot had given him a name for a -beau which no art of the tailor alone could have bestowed. All of these -were lacking in the rough garments that he wore. When last my lady had -seen him it had been in the laces, orders, and all the accouterments -of a man of fashion, as befitted his station. Now the deep shadows -which the fog of battle had painted under his brows and eyes served a -purpose as effectual as the growth of his hair and beard. For no sign -passed the lady’s features, though she looked fair at him. A momentary -wonder there was, as the Frenchman paused; then a mute and pallid -supplication. Two Spanish women fell heavily upon their knees before -him, demeaning themselves in every conceivable manner for a look or a -word that would lull their apprehension and alarm. - -It was not until then that Cornbury saw Mistress Clerke. She looked at -him blankly; but he, swearing audibly, fled past Bras-de-Fer to the -door. - -“Bedad!” he muttered--“the lady in the play!” and vanished into the -passage. - -Cast upon himself, Bras-de-Fer halted and stammered again. He was -daunted by that cold, gray eye, and discovered an inquietude and -trepidation greater than he had felt in the presence of a company -of pikemen. He wiped his sword and thrust it into its scabbard with -something of an air of the blusterer, fumbled at the collar at his -throat, and with a gesture tossed back the curls from his brow, finally -taking refuge in the women at his knees from that chill glance which -seemed to read and reproach him. Then, learning that his identity was -still unrevealed, he plucked up courage, and, releasing himself, -coldly but with a certain gallantry bowed to the gray-haired Spanish -lady who had been the most timorous in her embraces. - -“Your fear, señora, pays neither me nor my ship a compliment,” he said, -coolly. “Your _San Isidro_ is of a nation that of late has proved -itself the enemy of my King upon the sea. I have taken her in honorable -battle, and--” - -Here Jacquard, leering wickedly, the personification of the very thing -the women most feared, with Yan Gratz and a dozen pikes, came rushing -in at the door, rendering at naught his amiable intentions, for the -women fell to screaming again, and Mistress Clerke raised her pistolet -to her breast, it seemed, in the very act of firing. With a hoarse cry -Bras-de-Fer quelled the turmoil and sent Jacquard and the men growling -back upon the deck; but it was some moments before the qualms of the -women were relieved and quiet and order brought out of the tumult. - -“Señor, what you say may be true,” said the patriarch who had sought -to defend himself, “but not all who bear the warrant of the King of -England have so honest a notion of warfare in these waters. What proof -have we of your integrity?” - -Bras-de-Fer tossed his head with a touch of the old hauteur. He looked -past the gray-beard to the casement window, where the last glimmer of -the western light was burnishing her hair to gold. He saw only the fair -head of the woman who had discredited him, scorned and spurned him as -though he had been as low as the very thing he now appeared. The lips -grew together in a hard line that had in it a touch of cruelty. - -“It is not the custom of officers of the King,” he said, “to give -proofs of integrity to prisoners of war. I offer no proof but my word. -I shall do with you as I see fit to do.” And stationing two pikemen at -the door of the cabin, he went upon the deck, filled with the thought -which almost drove from his mind the serious business of bringing the -wreck to rights and mending his own affairs. - -There was much to be done before the _Sally_ and her huge captive -could be brought out into the safety of the broad ocean, away from -this dangerous proximity to the Havana. But Bras-de-Fer set himself -resolutely to the task, and, putting beside him all but the matter in -hand, with a fine, seaman-like sense brought order out of the tangle -and wreck of rigging both upon his own vessel and the Spaniard. - -The night had come on apace, and with it a rising wind which ground the -vessels together in a manner which threatened to make them the more -vulnerable to the assaults of the sea. The business of shifting the -valuable part of the cargo was going swiftly forward under great flares -and ship’s lanterns, which were stuck in the bulwarks and hung from the -chains and rigging. Bras-de-Fer, a black shade against the lurid glow, -stood with folded arms and downcast eyes at a commanding eminence upon -the poop, watching the struggling, dusky, gnomelike figures below him. -A hoarse order rang from his lips now and then, which was echoed down -into the bowels of his own vessel and mingled with the cries and oaths -of the fellows below. Blocks creaked above, and the swaying bales -and chests, growing for a moment into fiery patches against the sooty -darkness behind them, swept over the bulwarks and into gray shadow -again, when they were speedily borne down into the gaping black maws of -the brig. - -A pale and sibilant presence rustled from the shadows of the -mizzen-mast behind Bras-de-Fer. Trembling in limb and more pallid even -than the white frock that enfolded her, Mistress Barbara, in a ferment -of uncertainty, unattended and unguarded, had crept resolutely and with -indomitable courage past the guard at the cabin door to the side of -the conqueror of _San Isidro_. So frail and slender a thing she was, -emerging pale and spectral into the glare of the torches, that at the -touch of her halting hand upon his arm he started with a quick intaking -of the breath and sought his weapon. But when the light glowed upon the -brow and hair, and he saw, his hand dropped to his side and he bowed -his head to hide his features. With a gesture of annoyance designed to -serve the same end, he turned away towards the bulwarks. - -“No, no,” she began, pleadingly; “you must hear me. I am English, like -the King you serve. At your hands I have every right to consideration.” - -“You sail in parlous times, madame,” he replied, coldly, striving to -disguise his voice. - -“Listen, sir. I have braved danger of insult, and worse, to come hither -to-night. But there is something--I cannot tell what--which says that -you will deal fairly.” - -“Your confidence, I trust, is not ill-placed,” with averted head. - -“Your manner of speaking betrays that you are French. Nay, do not turn -away, monsieur. If you are not English, you serve an English master, -and that should be the guarantee of all honesty.” - -“Honesty is as honesty does,” he replied, turning with more assurance -to address her. And then, “You come a cool dove of peace in time of hot -war, madame. You have no place in such a scene as this.” - -“Give me a word, sir, and I will go.” - -His gaze was fixed blankly upon the starless vacancy. “I can promise -nothing, madame. It is the fortune of war ... or fate.” The last he -murmured half below his breath. - -“You will take us to Jamaica, monsieur--not the Tortugas--say it will -not be the Tortugas!” - -“The Tortugas are the lair of the _piratos_. If I am such, it were -useless further to converse. A pirate has small stomach for mercy--much -for requital.” - -Puzzled somewhat, she grasped her wrap more closely and drew back in -dismay. “What do you mean? That you will have no pity, that--” She -paused as she saw his bitter smile, stepping a pace back from him in -horror. - -But the cruel pleasure he had in torturing her, at the sight of her -dread and fear was pleasure no longer. - -“Madame, forgive me,” he said, with a carefully studied frankness. -“I have only said I can make no promises. There are two vessels, and -I cannot be upon both. The wind even now is rising, and soon we must -be parting company. But I will do for you and for the Spanish lady, -your friend, what I may; and now”--bending over her with all his old -grace--“now, if madame will permit me, I will conduct her to the cabin.” - -The speech, the very words, the very gesture, the very modulations -of the voice--where had she heard them before? A hurried winging of -thought brought the swaying of colored lanterns--a garden--a graveled -walk--a perfumed night; and while she still looked in wonder, a -boisterous puff of wind flared up the torch on the mast and tossed his -wide-brimmed hat back upon his head so that she saw a scar upon his -temple. - -She peered straight forward and he turned his head in vain. - -“Good God!” she cried. “This! Is it this?” - -It was too late to continue the concealment, had he wished to do so. -Then, while he in turn was peering at her, startled at the lively -expression of horror in her eyes--a horror at his condition and plainly -not at himself--she covered her face with her fingers and bowed her -head into them, not shrinkingly in loathing as he might have expected -from the woman he had left in London, but in an anguish as of -penitence, the impotence of a child at the reproof of an angry parent, -in contrition, remorse, or humiliation. He could not understand. But, -straightening himself with a stern dignity, which sat well upon him, he -replied in a tone so low that its vibrant note barely reached her ears. - -“This, madame, ... even this.” - -When she looked up at him again it was with clear, level, unflinching -eyes. - -“Monsieur--” she began, haltingly. - -But he held up his hand. “I had hoped to have withdrawn ere this upon -my own ship and to have left you.” - -“Thank God that you did not. I would atone to you for many things. -Could you have deserted us? You owe me a greater debt of humiliation -and abasement than you can ever hope to pay. But would you abandon us -to that crew of demons below! Ah,” she shuddered; “it is a vengeance -worthy of the name.” - -“Madame, the sparks of such hatred as that you bear for me are best -unfed to flame. You shall be adequately guarded upon the _San Isidro_. -But before dawn I and my ship will have sailed--” - -“No, no,” she broke in. “You must not. You cannot leave--” - -The woman in her rebelled at the thought that he could find it possible -to do what he promised. - -“_Must_ and _can_ are strong words.” He smiled coldly. “There is no -_must_ or _can_ upon the _San Isidro_ but mine. The _convenances_ of -St. James’s Square are not those of the Spanish Main, madame.” - -But the evil she had wrought in this man’s life, though she had wrought -it unconsciously, gave her a new humility. She had done and dared much -already. She would not go back. - -“I pray you, monsieur, in the name of that mother you once swore by--in -the name of all the things you hold most holy--I pray that you will -heed my prayer. Take, at least, the Señorita de Batteville upon your -vessel. Take us from the faces of the men at the cabin door who leer -and grin at us with a too horrid import.” - -A frown crossed the Frenchman’s features. - -“These men will be upon the _Saucy Sally_.” - -“But you, monsieur, will be there--you will not permit--” - -“Madame has a too generous confidence in my competency.” - -“Ah, it is for you to be generous. A man who can win so great a victory -can afford to be kind.” She put her hands forward in the act of -supplication, and in doing so the wrap slipped from the shoulder and -arm it had so scrupulously hidden. A cloth, dull and blurred with red, -was wrapped half-way between the elbow and the shoulder. When he saw -that dark patch, his cool composure fell from him like a mantle and he -bent forward eagerly, all his perceptions aquiver with sensibility. - -“Sainte Vierge!” he whispered. “How came you by that?” - -“It is nothing,” she said, drawing back at his ardor. “A scratch of -broken glass. That is all.” - -He bent to the deck for the erring silk. “I did not know,” he -stammered, his voice mellow with sympathy. “I did not know. Forgive me, -madame.” - -“There is nothing to forgive. It is the fortune of war.” - -“Is it painful? I am something of a chirurgeon. Let me--” He looked her -in the face, and then drew back in a mingling of confusion and pride. - -“It is nothing, I tell you,” she broke in, with a stamp of the foot. -“Nothing. I do not even feel it.” And when she had enwrapped it again -she lowered her voice until it trembled with the earnestness of her -entreaty. “Have pity, monsieur--pity!” - -The Frenchman had turned away and was looking out into the moonless -night. The slender white hand stole faltering forward until it rested -upon the coarse sleeve of his coat. - -“Take me with you, monsieur. Take me aboard the _Saucy Sally_.” - -And still looking out to sea, he replied, in a voice gruff and rugged, -which did not avail to hide a generous courtesy beneath: - -“It shall be as you wish, madame. Bid the señorita prepare at once.” - -And in a moment, when he looked again, she was gone. - -How was it that the thread of this woman’s life had become entangled -again with his? Could it be that the hand which controlled his destiny -had wrought these miracles in his strange career in a mere sport or -purposeless plan? Could it be that, two grains of sand afloat on the -winds of life’s desert, they had met, parted, and come together again? -In the infinity of wide ocean he had gone adrift upon the tide of -another life with nothing but his memories to bind him to the old. But -sure as metal to its loadstone his vessel had been driven, in spite of -wind and the raging of the sea, with an unerring certainty into the -very path of the _San Isidro_. How was she, the toast of London, the -bright particular planet in that bright firmament, divested of all -the bright luster of her constellation, alone and all but friendless, -adrift in these wild waters? How came this gay paradise bird, despoiled -of its plumage, in so foreign a clime? Why had she left London? Had -some convulsion of her starry sky cast her down from her high seat? -Where was Captain Ferrers? Were they become estranged? What had come of -the papers? The enigma grew in complexity. Her speech had puzzled him. -Why had she been thankful to have found him? Was it the joy of learning -that her captor was one who had not sunk so low that he could do the -vile deeds she had feared of him? What atonement was it she offered? -And for what? His heart leaped wildly, only to shrink again to a dull, -drowsy beat. What did it mean? Nothing, or anything; conciliation, -mock humility--a sop to Cerberus. Bah! He was done with hope. There, -a shadow of disconsolation, he stood, fixed and nerveless, struggling -against the soft, cajoling hand-maidens of Virtue--Gentleness, Beauty, -Reverence, Love--personified in this woman, whom, try as he might, he -could not pluck from his life. - -The pale light of dawn found him where he watched until the transshipping -was done, and the cases of coin, the silks and plate, were stowed safely -below. The fitful wind, which had tossed up a restless sea, was now -become so boisterous that the grappling irons were cast off and the -_Saucy Sally_ drifted away from the Spaniard and hung with a backed -mainsail a half-cable’s length under her lee. The prisoners of the -_San Isidro_ had been carefully secured below and a prize crew of -Jacquard, Cornbury, and thirty men had been placed upon her to bring the -wreck into port. She was sound enough below. But the rigging, in spite -of all their endeavors, was still a mere tangle of useless gearing. The -sails drew on the jury-masts, and together, with gathering impetus, the -two vessels moved slowly out into the growing light of the East. - -The wisdom of the efforts of Bras-de-Fer in removing to the handier -vessel the most movable of the priceless freight was soon apparent. -For there, dull patches upon the southern sky, were the sails of two -large vessels bearing smartly up under the stress of the fine westerly -wind. Hoarse curses rang forth, and fists were wildly brandished -towards the approaching ships, which, as it was plainly to be seen, -were Spanish men-of-war, aroused to alertness by the cannonading at -sunset and the night-long flares. It would have been hopeless for -Bras-de-Fer to try and bring both vessels clear away, for the unwieldly -prize rolled heavily in the rising swell and made scarce a bubble -under the forefoot. And in her damaged condition, with crippled spars -and many guns out of service, the _Sally_ could hardly hope to repeat -her success over the _San Isidro_ with two war vessels fresh from the -Havana. The weight of argument lay upon the side of his defeat with the -loss of all that he had gained. There were two alternatives--to remain -with the _San Isidro_ and fight it out to the last, or take his prize -crew aboard the _Sally_ and abandon the _San Isidro_ and her prisoners -to her compatriots. - -Bras-de-Fer chose the latter. There was only time to effect the change. -He called Jacquard and his master-at-arms and the prize crew aboard -their own vessel, and, clapping all sail upon the _Saucy Sally_ that -she could carry in safety, sailed clear away and abandoned the huge -hulk to the approaching enemy. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -PRISONER AND CAPTOR - - -When the heels of the _Sally_ had put so great a distance between -herself and her pursuers that there was nothing to fear of their -overhauling her, Bras-de-Fer went below to the cabin. Exhausted by -the events of the night, leaning listlessly against the sill of the -stern-port, was Mistress Clerke, her lids drooping with weariness as -she struggled against tired nature to keep her lone vigil. Her eyes -started wide at the sound of his footsteps. She struggled to her feet -and stood, her face pallid and drawn, in the cold, garish light of the -morning. She scanned him eagerly, peering fearfully into his face for -any portentous sign. The dust of battle was still streaked upon it, and -the shadows under the brows which had made his countenance forbidding -in the mad flush of war upon the _San Isidro_ now only gave the -shadows a darker depth of settled melancholy. There was a fierceness -and wildness, too, but it was distant, hidden, and self-contained; at -bay, only with nothing of aggressiveness for immediate apprehension or -alarm. Instead, there was a reserved dignity and aloofness which spoke -of a nice sense of a delicate situation. He made no move to draw near -her, but stood in the narrow cabin door, hat in hand. - -“Madame is weary?” he said. “If you will permit--” And then he searched -the cabin, a question in his eyes. - -“The señorita, madame?” he asked. - -Mistress Clerke sighed wearily. “I am alone, monsieur. She came frozen -with terror--and fled again--” - -“You alone!” - -“I can only crave your pity.” - -He peered around at the dingy surroundings. “I am bereaved, madame. -This cabin is not the _San Isidro_. ’Twere better, more cleanly. I am -sorry. I had come to order it to your comfort. See. I have brought your -bedding and belongings from the _San Isidro_. In a moment, if you will -permit, I can do very much to better your condition.” - -A spark of gratitude at this evidence of his kindly disposition gleamed -in her eyes a moment and she signed an acquiescence. The Frenchman -conducted her to the half-deck, while two negroes set busily about the -place, removing his and Cornbury’s effects and making it sweet and -clean for its gentle tenant. - -The Frenchman would have left her, but Mistress Barbara stopped him at -the cabin door. - -“I cannot thank you, monsieur. To do so pays no jot of my great -obligation, which every moment becomes greater.” - -He bowed and would have passed out. “You owe me nothing but silence, -madame,” he said, coldly. - -“And that I cannot pay,” she cried. “Oh, why will you not listen to me, -monsieur? Have you no kindness?” - -“I have done what small service I could, madame. If I owe you more--” - -She clenched her small hands together, as though in pain. “Ah, you do -not understand. Why will you not see? It is not that. I wish you to do -me justice.” - -“Madame, justice and I are many miles asunder. I have no indulgent -memory. It is best that there should be no talk of what has been. Only -what _is_ and what is _to be_ has any power to open my ears or my lips. -And so, if you will permit me,” and once more he made the motion to -withdraw. - -“It _is_ the present and the future, Monsieur le Chevalier,” she began. -But at the sound of that name he turned abruptly towards her, frowning -darkly. - -“It cannot be, madame,” he cried, with a brusqueness which frightened -her. “I have no name but Bras-de-Fer aboard this ship. Please address -your needs to him.” - -She recoiled in dismay in the corner of the bulkhead to listen to -the tramp of his heavy sea-boots down the passage. For the first -time she feared him. She could not know that it was the sight of her -face and of something new he saw there which raised a doubt that had -entered, a canker, into his mind. She could not know what a struggle -it was costing him and at what pains he took refuge in the silence -he demanded. His brutality was but the sudden outward manifestation -of this battle, which, should it not take one side, must assuredly -take the other. He had decided. Nothing should turn the iron helm of -his will. But as he sought the deck, hot memory poured over him in -a flood. He recalled the times she had tossed her head at him, even -before the incident of the coach. That, too, he remembered, even with -a sense of amusement. The coranto! and how he had sought to patch -and mend his wounded pride by fruitlessly assailing hers, battering -abortively at the citadel of the heart he could never hope to win. -Ferrers! The precious papers he had had for a sweet half-hour in his -bosom and had thrown away! Where had Ferrers hidden them from her? The -priceless heritage with which he could have daunted this woman-enemy of -his whom he had loved and hated at the same time and from whom he had -received only scorn and misprision. Could he refuse her now that she -was a helpless captive, weak, frail, and unfriended among a crew of -rascals who stood at nothing and from whom only himself could preserve -her? Had he not secretly welcomed her wish last night to be carried -aboard the _Saucy Sally_, and the contingency which made it impossible -for her to be returned to the _San Isidro_? Was he not conscious of a -sense of guilt that he had not found an opportunity to send her back -to safety? She was completely in his power. His heart sang high; but -the cord was frayed, and the note rang false. It was impossible; no -matter how deeply he had seared his soul, no man born as he had been -born could refuse the mute appeal of a woman in distress. He thought of -his dishonor the night he had come upon the _Saucy Sally_, when in a -fury against the fortune which still denied him he had railed, madly, -impotently, against all virtue, and in a passion of vengefulness sunk -so low that he had loudly threatened, like a common street ruffian and -card-room bully, this woman, whom--God help him!--he loved and would -love throughout all time. The depth of his degradation cumbered him -about, remorse fell upon him, and anguish wrung his heart from his -body as nothing--not even the loss of the papers--had done. - -The old life in London, with its gaming, its carousing and gallantry--he -could see it all through new eyes, washed clean and clear by the purging -winds and storms of heaven. Himself he marked from a great moral -distance, almost as though from another planet--the silly, spoiled child -of folly that he had been. And it was this impotent creature who had -cried out against his fate, which, with a rare honesty, had only lowered -him from the high estate to which he had won, in accordance with the -same inexorable regulations of the human law which had raised him there. -The figures in that London life passed before him like a row of tawdry -puppets, serving the same martyrdom to folly as himself, at the -expense of love, charity, and all true virtue. Soft thinking for a -powder-blackened, bearded _flibustier_, with hands even yet red from his -last depredation! He smiled supinely to himself, that he could think -thus of the things that so recently had been his very existence. In that -London life, amid that throng of tinsel goddesses, one figure stood -eminent and conspicuous. It was that of the woman who in all companies -of men and women held her fame so fair that, whatever their reputations -for high deeds or ignoble vices, none was so great as she. In that great -court where virtue was a gem of so little worth that it was kept hid and -secret, Mistress Barbara had worn it openly, broadly, high upon her -brow, with a rare pride, as the most priceless of her inestimable -jewels. - -He loved her. Flaunted, scorned, despised, he loved her the more. The -past was engulfed and vanquished. He only saw her an actuality of the -flesh here aboard his very ship--the dove in the eagle’s nest, whom -every law and impulse, human and divine, impelled him to succor and -protect. The vibrant voice, the gentle touch, the soft perfume of her -presence provoked the covetous senses and stole away his will. It was -with mingled feelings of apprehension and alarm that he discovered to -himself the persistency of his attachment. He acknowledged it only -when he learned that nothing else was possible. And when that was done -he planned and resolved again, with a new fervency of determination. -The future should atone. She had thought him a wild, reckless gallant, -who had won his way and continued to win--by his wits--a worthless -creature who consorted with the worst men of the court and presented in -the world the characteristics she most despised. How he hated the thing -that he had been, the mask that he had worn! If she had cared, she -could have seen, she would have learned that he was not all that she -had thought him. The reckless gallant was become a rough _boucanier_ -and _pirato_. She had seen him in the red fever of battle. _Eh bien._ -He would not undeceive her. Red-handed _pirato_ he would remain. No -glimpse should she have of the struggle beneath. He would set her safe -ashore at Port Royal. He would sail away from her forever, and she -should enjoy her fortune. That was the price that he would pay. - -None the less, he found the occasion to wash away the stains of battle, -and in fresh linen and hose became less offensive to the sight. -When he sought the deck there was no sign of a vessel upon any side. -Cornbury he found at the after-hatch, puffing upon a pipe. - -“Ochone, dear Iron Arm,” the Irishman began, “ye’re the anomalous -figure of a _pirato_, to be sure. One minute your form is painted broad -upon the horizon with a cutlass in your teeth, an’ glistenin’ pikes in -both your fists. I’ the next ye’re playin’ the hero part of ‘Vartue in -Distress.’” - -Bras-de-Fer smiled. - -“Oh, ye may laugh. But in truth ’tis all most irregular. Ye violate -every tradition of the thrade. By the laws, ye’re no dacent figure of a -swashbuckler at all at all.” - -“What would ye have then, _mon ami_?” - -“Ah, he’s clean daffy! What would I have? Bah! ye know my misliking for -the sex, and ye ask me what would I have? Egad! a walk on the plank, -and a little dance on nothing would not be amiss for _her_. ’Tis the -simplest thing in the world. The least bit of a rope, three ten-pound -shot, a shove of the arm, and _spsh!_ your troubles are sunk in a -mile of sea. To England, a treaty of peace with Captain Ferrers, and, -_voilà!_ ye’re a French viscount, with a fortune beyond the dreams of -avarice, and an out-at-the-knees-and-elbows of an Irishman to help ye -spend it. Man, ’tis a squanderin’ waste of opportunity.” He growled, -and puffed upon his pipe, sending crabbed, sour glances at his captain. - -“Oh, ye may laugh. Instead of this, what do ye do? Ye have my lady -aboard the ship to the pervarsion of all dacent piratical society, give -her _my_ bed and board, and _my_ particular niggar for waiting-man. -Ye’re sowin’ the seeds of ripe mutiny, me handsome picaroon, an’ a -red-headed Irishman will be there to aid in the blossomin’.” - -“Nay, Cornbury,” said Bras-de-Fer. “We do but go a short cruise to Port -Royal. I’ve set my mind on seeing my lady safe in English hands.” - -“There ye are,” fumed the Irishman. “_There ye are!_ Ye’ll kill the -golden goose. Ye’ll jeopardize your callin’ again, all for that same -finical bundle of superficialities. Slapped once in the face, ye turn -your cheek with new avidity for more. Zoons! I’ve no patience with such -shilly-shallyin’.” And, as Bras-de-Fer was silent, he sent forth a -quick succession of smoke puffs which chased madly down the wind. - -“Ask Jacquard,” he growled again; “he likes it no more than I. There’s -a mutterin’ forward. ’Tis discipline--the lack of drink and an unequal -partitionin’ of the spoils--” - -“_Pardieu!_” interrupted the Frenchman at last, his eyes flashing in a -fury. “Do they growl? Let them do it in the forecastle. No man, no, not -even you, shall beard me on my quarter-deck!” - -Cornbury did not arise or show the least sign of a changed countenance. -“Ask Jacquard,” he repeated again. - -Bras-de-Fer swung hotly on his heel and went below. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -MONSIEUR LEARNS SOMETHING - - -When the night had fallen again, Mistress Barbara Clerke went -timorously upon the deck in search of Bras-de-Fer. His insensibility -and brutality in turning away from her when she would have spoken to -him in the cabin had tried her to the last extremity. But the thought -of the duty she owed herself and him stifled the impulses of her -spirit. And her pride, rebellious and insensate that the man who had -so frankly sacrificed himself in London should care so little here, -impelled her inevitably. Her fear of him was short-lived. In spite of -all she knew to his discredit and the bloody guise in which she had -found him, that look of humiliation and distress which she had brought -into his face a night so long ago remained ineffaceably written upon -her memory. It spoke better than all the proofs she had discovered of -the wrong that had been done him. - -She found him, by the light of a lantern, directing the repair of a -gun-carriage upon the poop. She addressed him timidly. - -“Monsieur--er--Bras-de-Fer--” she began. - -He raised his head and turned abruptly towards her, and the sense of -security from rebuke she had counted upon, in the presence of the men, -fled away at the sight of his frowning countenance. - -“What are you doing here, madame?” he said, harshly. “The deck is no -place for you. Go below at once or--” - -But with never a glance at the grinning fellows at her elbow, she -looked him steadily in the eyes as she replied, with a will and spirit -which surprised even herself: - -“I shall not, monsieur.” The voice was low and even. But the small -hands were clenched, her head was tossed a little upon one side, and -every line of her lithe body, which swung rhythmically to the motion -of the sliding deck, spoke of invincible courage and determination. -Bras-de-Fer scowled darkly a moment, and even took a step in her -direction, but she stood undaunted. With an assumption of carelessness -he waved his hands, and presently they were alone. - -“I thank you for that condescension,” she said at last. - -“Speak your will quickly, madame. I am in a press of business.” - -“You must hear me to the end, monsieur. No matter what--” - -“_Ma foi_, madame,” he sneered. “Is it you who command the ship or I? -If there is aught you require, say on. If not, you will go below at -once.” - -“You must hear me, monsieur.” - -“Madame”--he scowled and spoke with a studied brutality--“is it not -enough that I have done your will once? I am taking you to safety. Try -me not too far or--you may find reason to regret your presumption.” And -as she shrank a little away from him: “What have you to expect from me? -By what right do you seek me or ask me any favor?” - -“By the right of a gentle birth. If not by that, by the right of a -decent humanity.” - -He laughed with an assumption of coarseness which sat strangely upon -him. - -“And have you no fear, Mistress Clerke? Does your instinct teach you no -tremor?” He moved a pace nearer and glanced down upon her. “Do you not -see, proud woman? Have you no trembling, no terror at the sight of me? -Am I so gentle, so tractable, so ingenuous that you can defy me with -impunity? You are in my power. There is no one to say me nay. What is -there to prevent me doing with you as I will?” - -She had not moved back from him the distance of a pace. And it was his -eye that first fell before hers. - -“You will doubtless do your will,” she said, evenly. “But I cannot find -it in my heart to fear you, monsieur.” And the quietude of her reliance -paled his mock brutality into a mere silly effusiveness. - -“At the sight of you, monsieur,” she continued, “there is little room -for fear in my breast. No, even if you should strike me down here upon -this foreign, friendless deck, I believe that I could raise no hand or -voice in protest.” - -“Madame!” he said. - -“It is true. You are powerless to offend. Why, your threats are mere -empty vaunts, monsieur! Even in this dusky light I can see it in your -eyes. You are clean of evil intent as a babe unborn.” - -Bras-de-Fer bowed his head. - -“Oh, let me right the great wrong that has been done--” - -“It is impossible--” - -“When you learn-- Listen, oh, listen, monsieur!” she cried, passionately, -as he moved away. “When you learn that I have left London for you; that -I have given up all I possessed that a great wrong might be righted, a -great martyrdom ended, you will no longer refuse me.” The words came -tumbling forth any way from her lips in the mad haste that he might hear -before he was gone out of earshot. - -And as he paused to listen, fearfully: “Yes, yes, monsieur, I have -learned,” she cried again. “I know. It is yours--it is all yours.” - -Bras-de-Fer turned his body towards her again, but as he faced her -his head was still bowed in his shoulders and she could see no other -sign of any emotion. The revelation that he had longed for, and feared -because he longed for it so much, was made. The secret was out. However -he planned and whatever guise of unfriendliness he took, the relations -between himself and this woman were changed thenceforward. The struggle -for the mastery was fierce as it was brief. And in that moment, no -matter how changed his duty to himself and her, he resolved that -she should have no sign of it. When he raised his head again to the -lantern-light all trace of the storm that had passed over his spirit -was gone. - -“It is too late, madame,” he muttered. “Too late. I stand by the cast -of the die.” - -“You cannot know what you say, monsieur. If the estates do not go to -you, they will go to no one. It is the end of the house of De Bresac. -Your fortune, your titles, your honors--” - -“And my good name?” he asked, coldly. “Who will restore to me my good -name? No. I shall not return to London, madame.” - -“You _must_ return,” she broke in, wildly. “It is a sacred duty. If not -for yourself, for the blood that runs in our veins.” - -The phrase sang sweet in his ears. But he gave no sign. - -“Blood is thicker than water, but it seeks its level as surely. I have -made my bed; I shall sleep no less soundly because it is a rough one.” - -She struggled to contain the violence of her emotion. “No, no, it -cannot be, it must not be. You will learn how I have striven for you. -You cannot refuse. It would be cruel, inhuman, monstrous!” - -“Mistress Clerke has much to learn of the inhumanities,” he said. And -then, with cool composure, “What power availed to convince her, where -Monsieur Mornay was so unfortunate?” - -“You are cruel, cruel. What had you to expect of me? What had you done -in London to merit my favor? Why should I have believed in one of whom -I knew nothing--nothing but presumption and indignity? How should I -have known?” - -“Madame’s advisers--” - -“Do not speak of them,” she interrupted. “It is past. The proofs were -brought me. That is all. Why need you know more?” - -“Captain Ferrers?” he said, insinuatingly. - -“Yes, he!” She drew herself to her full height, and he could not fail -to mark the lofty look of scorn that curved her lips and brow. “All -London learned of the story of your escape. My agents were told that -the vessel upon which you had fled was in the American trade. And so I -sought service where I might best reach you. Thank God, my quest has -not been in vain!” - -“Madame sought service?” he said, in a wonder which vied with his cold -assumption of apathy. - -“I sought service with the Señorita de Batteville, monsieur,” she -continued, with a proud lift of the chin, “in the capacity of -waiting-woman and duenna.” - -The words fell with cruel import upon his ears. He could hardly -believe that he had heard aright. - -“You serve--?” he stammered. - -“Have I not said that every livre of my fortune--” - -“Yes. But, madame--to serve!--you!--” - -“Is it so strange? Would you have me take that which is not mine? No, -monsieur, I am no thief.” - -Bras-de-Fer had turned resolutely towards the bulwarks with a mind more -turbulent even than the seething waters below him. In the turmoil of -his emotions he knew not which way to turn, what to say or what to do. -The plan that he had marked for himself was becoming every moment less -and less distinct. - -It was with an effort that he turned towards her, his resolution giving -him an implacability he was far from feeling. - -“Madame, your probity does you credit. Were your judgment as unerring -as your honesty, I had not left London. As it is, I’ve no mind to -return.” - -“Monsieur,” she faltered--“monsieur--” - -“If you please, madame. I would have you below. ’Tis a rough crew, and -I’ll not answer for them--” - -“But you will tell me--” - -“Madame, you’ve purged your conscience. There your duty ends. At Port -Royal it shall be arranged that you are sent to Porto Bello. As for me, -my will is made.” - -“Ah, you are malignant,” she cried, with a flash of spirit, his cold, -sinister eye sinking and piercing deep into her heart like cold steel. -“You are not he whom I have sought. He was frank, generous, kind. A -strange, bitter, monstrous creature has grown in his guise.” Her voice -trembled and broke as she moved to the hatchway. - -“May God help you,” she said, in a kind of sobbing whisper, “who have -so little kindness and pity for others.” And in a moment she had faded, -a slender, shrinking shade of sorrow, from his vision. - -When she was gone he fell upon the bulwarks and buried his face in his -hands. - -“Ah, _bon Dieu_!” he murmured; “how could I do it! She who has been -so kind--so kind.” The new delight that swept over him at the thought -of all that this rare, sweet woman had done for him came over him in -a delicious flush, which drove away the pallor of his distemper like -the warm glow of the tropics upon the frozen north. The heavy burden -of his melancholy was lifted. If he crept about with bowed head now, -it was because of some failing of the spirit or some craven dishonor -of his own. He and his were forever raised to high estate, and no -careless proscription of his inconsequent Mistress Fate could cast him -down again. The freedom of his soul from the blight which his birth -had put upon it lent it wings to soar gladly into the wide empyrean of -his imagination. And he gave himself up without stint to the new joy -in their motion. Did he wish, he could go at once to London and take a -place among the men of his kind, a place which no mere art could win -for him. - -To London! There was a time when that word was magic for him--when, -in careless bravado, he was challenging his fortune to deny him what -he wished. Now he wondered at the singular distaste which grew at the -very thought of the life that had been. With such a fortune and such -a name there were no favors or honors he could not buy. He would know -how to win his way again. But his spirit was listless at the thought. -With the joy at his freedom from the cloud of his birth his pleasure -ended. The estates, his titles and honors, dwelt so little in his mind -that he marveled again at his change of disposition. He _could_ go -to London. But at what cost! Summon the goddesses of his past as he -might, their essenced wiles and specious blandishing, distance gave -them no added charm. He could only see this pale, proud woman, with a -rare and imperturbable honesty which showed how justly she had worn -the honors she relinquished, in a pure nobility which brought a flush -to his cheek, giving up without a qualm or faltering the life and -habits, the high condition, to which she had been born and in which she -had been so carefully nurtured. Could he go back to London to leave -this woman a wanderer, a servant, whose only hope even for a bare -existence lay in the bounty of a Spaniard? The thought grew upon him -and oppressed him and drove all the joy from his heart. All this she -had done for him--_for him_. He rolled the thought over and over in -his mind, like a sweetmeat in the mouth, with a new taste of delicacy -and delight at every turn. She had given it all for _him_--that _he_, -the man she had affected so profoundly to despise, might be exalted. -It was not a triumph, but a quiet joy, the joy that the sick feel at -the touch of a ministering angel. It did not matter what the cause, -whether she had made this sacrifice for the principle or whether she -had made it for the individual. He was the cause of this great outflow -of human kindness and self-sacrifice from the deep, warm well-springs -of this wonderful woman’s heart, which he had so often sought to reach -and sought in vain. The glimmer of a single tear which had trembled a -moment upon her cheek in the lantern-light reached to the very quick of -the unrevealed secret depths of his nature, where no plummet had ever -before sounded. It had glistened a jewel more inestimable than all the -wealth she had brought him. Could he leave this woman upon the world, -at the mercy of every bitter occasion? He had chosen wisely. Red-handed -_boucanier_ he would remain. He would not undeceive her. The light in -which she held him removed all chance of an understanding. He would -set her safely ashore at Porto Bello; then, with the aid of Cornbury -and the English government, so dispose his affairs that the fortune -would revert to her in case of his death whether she willed it or no. -Then he would set to sea and take the precaution to die as speedily and -publicly as might be. So far as she was concerned that would be the -end. He would see England no more. It was here that his talents found -their readiest employment. Of all his fortune, he would take only the -ship upon which he sailed, and under another name, which would serve -his purposes as adequately as the one he now bore, he would continue as -he had begun, with a wider license only, a free-trader, a picaroon, a -_pirato_, if you will. - -It was Jacquard who broke, without ceremony, upon his meditations. - -“Monsieur le Capitaine,” he began, with an air of some brusqueness. - -“Oh, Jacquard,” he replied, abstractedly, “are we well repaired?” - -“Monsieur, it is not that. For some days I have wished to see you. -There is a muttering in the forecastle. Yan Gratz--” - -“Ah! Well--” - -“Monsieur, there is nothing upon the surface; from outward view ’tis -placid as a pond. But I know. I have ears upon all sides of my head. -’Tis Yan Gratz. You’ve set his value too low. Gratz will not forget -the leopard spots upon him. Like the leopard, he will bite, and as -stealthily he will crawl.” - -“_Pardieu_, Jacquard, is it so?” Bras-de-Fer lifted his brows. “And -what is the grievance now?” - -Jacquard scratched his great nose in perplexity before he replied. - -“It is the discipline,” he began, slowly--“the discipline which has -wearied them; they have little rum to drink: two tins yesterday, one -tin to-day, and, lastly--monsieur will pardon me--lastly, monsieur, -this matter of the lady prisoner. Monsieur, they say--” - -“Jacquard, it is enough,” he interrupted. “You need say no more. You -may tell them that upon the _Saucy Sally_ I command. If there is -grumbling, let them come to me openly at the mast and not skulk like -cats in the dark.” - -“If monsieur will permit, I would think it better--” - -“What! You, too, Jacquard? Why, ’tis a very honeycomb of faithlessness.” - -“Monsieur, monsieur!” cried Jacquard in an agony of awkward anguish. -“You know that it is not so, monsieur. It is not so; I am but giving my -opinion. It would be wise to notice them. There is yet time to set the -lady upon a vessel.” - -“It shall not be, Jacquard. We sail straight forth into the broad -ocean, and then by way of the wide passage of Porto Rico, west to Port -Royal, in Jamaica. That is my plan. It is unalterable. If we happen -upon Spanish prizes, so much the better. We shall take them. But we -shall seek none. And as for the lady, she shall be set ashore upon -Jamaica, and not upon any passing ship.” - -Jacquard, whose jaw had dropped, and whose face had been growing longer -and longer during this recital, burst forth at last. - -“_Mais_, monsieur,” he cried, “it is unwise to taunt them so. The -Spanish ships are thick about us. In another month the carrying will be -less. It is the time of times. Their blood is hot with victory.” - -Bras-de-Fer broke in with an oath. “It will be cold with death if they -balk me. If Yan Gratz has aught to say, let him come forth like a man,” -and then, with a smile, “Perhaps he has the stomach for a little play -upon the pike.” - -“Monsieur, he will not come. He fears you like the plague. He will do -his work the more effectively in quiet.” - -Bras-de-Fer paused a moment and then came to Jacquard and put both -hands upon his shoulders. - -“_Mon ami_,” he said, “what you ask is impossible. It is impossible. I -give you my word. If I could do what you advise I should do so; for -what you urge is wise. But I must try to do what I have planned to do. -If I cannot do it with you, I must do it without you.” - -“Oh, monsieur,” interrupted Jacquard, almost at the edge of tears, -“I would do for you always--speak for you, work for you, fight for -you--and now, do not doubt me, monsieur!” The appeal shone forth with -so true a light from his small, glittering eyes that Bras-de-Fer was -truly affected by the demonstration. - -“I believe you, _mon ami_. Go. Tell me all that happens. I will follow -your advice as I can.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE UNMASKING - - -Mistress Barbara reached her cabin door, free, save for that -rebellious tear which the Frenchman had seen, of any outward mark of -the turbulence of her emotions. But once within, and the key turned -in the lock, she buried her face in her hands, her frame racked by -hard, dry sobs which filled her throat and overwhelmed her. Fearful -that the sounds might reach the ears of him who had caused them, she -clenched her teeth upon her kerchief, wrapped her cloak closely about -her neck and face, and threw herself upon the bench in an agony of -mortification. God help her! Had it all been in vain? She had sought -the man, she had found him, and he had repulsed her unkindly, even -cruelly, as though she had been a foolish child or a dotard--a person -unworthy of consideration. Was this the one she had known in London, -the gallant Chevalier Mornay, who, however bold or daring, carried -forward his presumptions with a grace and courtesy which robbed them of -their offensiveness? She might acknowledge this now that he was grown -so different. What had come over him? Was he mad? He had repulsed her -as though she sought to do him an injury; had spoken to her as she -had heard him speak to the vile creatures about him, in a tone which -lowered her to their own low level. He had spurned her, scorned her -lightly, carelessly, coolly, as though even his scorn were too valuable -an emotion to squander upon one he held in such a low estimation. Never -had she been treated thus by man or woman, and her gorge rose at the -thought of it. The sobbing ceased, and in place of her distress came an -unreasoning, quiet fury--fury at herself, at him, at the world which -had brought her to such a pass. She rose and, angrily brushing the wet, -straggling hair from her eyes, threw wide the stern casement to look -out on the gray turmoil of waters which vanished into the unseen. Was -this the man for whom she had left London and sacrificed everything? -Was this fool who threw her favors aside like a tarnished ribbon, was -this the man who had followed her about from place to place in London, -seeking to win her by the same bold methods he had used with other -women, fawning--yes, fawning--for a look or a glance which he might -read to his advantage? She laughed aloud. Ah! he had found none. No -sign, not the faintest quiver of an eyelid had she ever given him; -nor even dignified him by her righteous anger until that night in the -garden at Dorset House, when by a trick he had taken her unawares, to -the end that her lofty disdain had given way to an active, breathing -hatred. Then, when she had learned that the man was no impostor, but -her own kinsman, of whose martyrdom she had been unwittingly the -cause, pity had taken the place of scorn, contrition the place of -vengefulness, compassion the place of hate. - -The damp night wind touched her cheek and brow, the luster died out -of her eyes, her lips parted, and the deep intaking of breath and -trembling sigh bespoke the passing of the emotion--a surrender. Was he -not moving strictly within the letter of his rights? Could she expect -him to come flying on wings of ardency at the mere crooking of her -finger? Search her heart as she might, she could find no anger there. -Of that she was sure, no matter how great the rebellion of her spirit -against his cool impenetrability. She knew better than any words could -tell that had he been precipitate in response to her news and her -petitions, she must have been as stone to his advances. But he wore his -armor so well that her woman’s weapons needed all their burnishing. She -was conscious even of a sense of guilt. The noble sentiments which had -sent her forth upon this wild chase across half the world were suborned -to the feminine appetite for tribute withheld. The woman in her saw -only her natural enemy, man, rebellious and declaring war, who must at -all hazards be brought into subjection. - -It might be possible. And yet she doubted. She could not understand. -One moment he was masterful in a way which thrilled her. In another the -eyes would reveal that which no tangling or knitting of the brows or -thinning of the lips could belie. Had she rightly read him? She could -not forget that she had surprised him in his subterfuges, that, in -spite of herself and him, she could not fear him. What if--? She dared -not think. Was the love which this man’s eyes had spoken to her so -great as this? Could it be that her fate was ever cruelly to misjudge -him? Was there something finer in his life than she had ever known in -another’s--something that she could not learn of or understand? - -She trembled a little and drew the casement in. The lantern was -flickering dimly, casting strange patches of shadow, which danced upon -the beams and bulkhead. If monsieur loved her she would learn it from -his own lips. If this were so, and she had not read him amiss, ’twas -but a paltry excuse for a man of his birth and attainments to throw -away his life at this wild calling, to the end that a silly person (who -merited nothing) might continue to enjoy the benefits he could thus -relinquish. He should not leave her again. At whatever cost he must -return to London. The estates were his, and nothing save his death -could give her any right to them. - -She was warm and cold by turns. She must gain time to win him -over, dissimulate, deceive him if necessary. It might, perhaps, be -accomplished; a look or a gesture, a speech with a hidden meaning -(however at variance with the fact) which might give him hope that she -was no longer indifferent to him. Then, perhaps, she might draw aside -the mask. He would be tractable and perhaps even pliant. Ah, she must -act well her part, with all her subtle woman’s weapons of offense; -conceal her feelings (however at variance with the actual performance), -that he might not question her integrity. He was clever and keen. It -would call for all the refinements of her arts. Were she not to throw a -depth of meaning into her play of the rôle he would learn of the fraud -and all her labors would be at naught. Despicable as the task would -be (what _could_ be more despicable than mock coquetry?), she must go -through it in the same spirit with which she had entered upon this -quest. There would be no need, of course, to promise anything (what -would there be to promise?), and, when the time was come, she could go -out of his life as speedily as she had come into it. Far into the night -she thought and planned, while she watched the guttering lamps and the -wavering shadows, until at last weariness fell heavily upon her eyelids -and she slept. - -The cabin was aflood with light when she awoke. There was a sound of -rushing feet overhead, the clatter of heavy boots, and the rattle of -blocks and spars. Hoarse orders rang forward and aft, and the very air -seemed aquiver with import. Deep down in the bowels of the vessel below -her she heard the jangling of arms and the jarring of heavy objects. -She started up, half in wonder, half in fear, and rushed to the port by -the bulkhead. - -There the reason for this ominous activity was apparent. Not a league -distant under the lee was a large vessel under full press of canvas, -fleeing for her life. ’Twas evident that the _Saucy Sally_ had crept -near her during the night; and the laggard Spaniard, unaware of the -nationality or dangerous character of his neighbor, had permitted her -to come close, until the full light of day had convinced him of his -error. That he was making a valiant effort to repair it was evident -in the way the vessel was heeling to the wind and the lashing of the -amber foam into which she frantically swam in her mad struggle to win -clear away. But even Mistress Barbara’s untutored eye could see that -the effort was a vain one. For the slipping seas went hurrying past the -_Sally’s_ quarter with a rush which sent them speedily astern to mingle -with the dancing blue line which marked the meeting of the sky and sea. - -The intention of the _Sally_ was soon apparent. A crash split Mistress -Barbara’s ears and set her quivering with fear. Flight was impossible, -and so, in a ferment of terror, yet fascinated, she watched the shot go -flying towards the luckless fugitive. It was not until then that the -real danger of her situation became apparent. A cloud of white floated -away from the Spaniard’s stern. She saw no shot nor heard any sound -of its striking, but she knew that monsieur had willfully gone into -action, and heedlessly exposed her to the shocks of war. Had he no -kindness, no clemency or compassion? Was it, after all, a mistake that -she should have given this man her solicitude and confidence? - -A knock at the door fell almost as loudly upon her ears as the crash -of ordnance had done. When a second and sharper knock resounded, she -summoned her voice to answer. - -“Madame, it is I,” came in low tones from without. “If you can find it -convenient to open--” - -At the sound of the voice she gained courage. Monsieur had come to her. -Trembling, yet still undismayed, she crept to the door and opened it. - -The face of the Frenchman was dark and impassive. If the night had -brought a new resolution to her, it was plain that monsieur was in no -wise different from yesterday. All this she noted while her hand still -clung falteringly to the knob of the door. - -“Madame,” he began, “the matter is most urgent. If it will please you -to follow me--” - -Mistress Barbara with difficulty found her tongue. - -“Where, monsieur. What--” - -“Madame, I pray that you will make haste. There is little time to lose. -I should be at this moment upon the deck.” - -“Monsieur would take me--?” - -“Below the water-line, madame. There will be a fight. Shots may be -fired. I would have you in safety.” - -Alas for Mistress Barbara’s crafty plans and gentle resolutions. In -a moment they were dissipated by the imperturbability, the tepid -indifference of his manner, which should have been so different in the -face of a situation which promised so much that was ominous to her. His -coolness fell about her like a bucket of water, and sent a righteous -anger to her rescue, so that her chill terror was driven forth for the -nonce by a flush of hot blood. When she spoke, her voice rang clear -with a certain bitter courage. - -“Safety!” she cried. “Monsieur is too kind. I shall prefer to be killed -here--here in the decent privacy of the cabin.” - -“Madame,” said he, in impatience, “it is no time for delay. There must -be no obstacle to your obedience.” - -She looked at him in an angry wonder. If this were mock insult, it had -too undisguised a taste to be quite palatable. - -“Monsieur,” she said, stamping her foot in a rage, “I go nowhere for -you. Nowhere. I will die before I follow you. Battle or no battle, here -I shall remain. Am I a lackey or a woman-of-all-work that you order me -thus! Safety! If you value my safety, why do you permit them to make -war over my very head? No, no. You are transparent--a very tissue of -falsities. I read you as an open book, monsieur.” - -She paused a moment for the lack of breath. - -“I do not believe in you. How do you repay me for what I have done? -Refuse me, deny me, and order me about like a willful child with your -insolent glare and your cool, puckered brow. What is my safety to you? -I do not believe--” - -“Madame, you must come at once.” - -“Never!” she cried. “Never! No power shall move me from the spot. -Nothing--” At this moment a crash ten times more dreadful than the -first shook the vessel like a hundred thunderbolts. Cornbury, in -blissful ignorance of the battle raging below, had opened the battle -above with the entire starboard broadside. - -Mistress Barbara stammered, faltered, and fell back towards the table, -trembling with fear. She put her hands to her ears as though to blot -out the sounds. And then, in a supplicating dependence which set at -naught all the hot words that had poured from her lips, she leaned -forward listlessly upon the table. - -“Take me,” she said, brokenly. “Take me. I am all humility. I will go, -monsieur.” - -A soft light she had seen there before crept into the eyes of -Bras-de-Fer. As though unconscious, she saw his extended arms thrust -forward to her support and heard as from a distance the resonant voice, -the notes of which, with a strange, sweet insistence, sang among her -emotions until, like lute strings, they sang and trembled in return. -And the chord which they awoke to melody rang through every fiber -of her being with a new-pulsing joy, a splendid delight, like the -full-throated song of praise of a bird at early morn. - -She felt his hand seek hers. She made no move to resist him. She could -not. Something in the break of his voice, the reverence in his touch, -sought and subdued her. In a moment she learned that the love of a life -had come and that all else was as nothing. - -“Barbara! Barbara!” he was saying. “Look at me, _chérie_. Tell me that -you are not angry. I have tried so hard to leave you--so hard. I have -spoken to you bitterly and coldly, that your mind might be poisoned -and frozen against me, that you might hate and despise me for the -unworthy thing that I am. Alas! it is my own heart that I have pierced -and broken. Look up at me, Barbara. I cannot bear to see you thus. -Ah, if you had only opposed me in anger, I could have continued the -deception. Your anger was my refuge. It was the only thing that made my -cruelty possible. It cried aloud like a naked sword. I welcomed it, and -set steel upon steel that I might shield my heart. But now, listless, -yielding, submissive, you disarm me, you rob me of my only weapon. I -am yours. Do with me what you will.” - -His voice trembled, and he bent his head upon her hand to hide the -excess of his emotion. As she felt the touch of his lips, she started -and moved ever so slightly, but with no effort to withdraw. When he -lifted his head it was to meet eyes that wavered and looked away. - -“Do not turn from me, Barbara. Do not add to the deep measure of -my contrition. The cup is full. Add to it but one drop and it will -overflow. Requite me with tenderness, madame, if you can find it in -your heart, for mine is very near to breaking. Look in my eyes, where -my love glows like a beacon. Listen, and you will hear it speak in my -voice like a young god. Can you not feel my very finger-tips singing -into your palms the cadences of my heart’s chorus? Is it not thus that -women wish to be loved? Search my heart as you will, you’ll find an -answer there to every wish and every prayer.” - -She trembled and swayed in his arms like a slender shrub in a storm. -It seemed as though, in his fervor, he were running the gamut of her -every vulnerable sensibility. But as she felt his breath warm upon her -hair and cheek she raised her eyes until they looked into his; then -drew away from him with a gentle firmness. She was perturbed and shaken -with the compounding of new emotions. She could not see all things -clearly. She only knew that what she had expected least had come to -pass. She had burnished her woman’s weapons in vain. She had sought -to delude and beguile, and had only deluded and beguiled herself. As -she had promised herself, she had drawn aside the mask, but she had -unmasked herself at the same time. She had sought and she had found so -many things that she knew not which way to turn. She must do something -to gain time to think and plan. It was all so different to London. In -spite of herself, she knew that he had conquered, and a suffusion of -shame that she had been so easily won mounted to her neck and forehead, -and she turned her head away. And then, in a last obedience to that -instinct of self-preservation which sets a woman upon the defensive -when she knows not what she would defend (nor would defend it if she -could), she broke away from him and stood alone, pulsing with the -effort, but triumphant. - -“Monsieur,” she breathed with difficulty, “it is unfair--to--to--press -me so.” - -But he was relentless. “Ah, madame, am I then despised, as on that -night in Dorset Gardens? Nay, I am as God made me--not the thing you -would have supposed--” - -“Monsieur, have pity.” - -“Ah, then look at me again, Barbara. Look in my face and deny. Look in -my eyes, _chérie_--deny me if you can.” - -She felt his arms encircle her, and she struggled faintly. - -“No, no. It is not so.” - -“Look me in the eyes, Barbara; I will not believe it else. If I am -nothing to you, look me in the eyes and tell me so.” - -“No! No! No!” - -She raised her face until her closed eyes were on a level with his own. -Then she opened them with an effort to look at him, as though to speak. - -A deafening crash again shook the _Sally_, so that the ship’s dry -bones rattled and quivered under their feet like a being with the ague, -and she seemed about to shake her timbers asunder. Mistress Barbara’s -answer was not spoken, for at this rude sound a fit of trembling seized -her again and she sank listlessly into the protecting shelter of his -arms, and hid her face upon his bosom in a commingling of terror and -wonderment that were only half real. - -“No, no,” she sobbed at last, “it is not true. It is not true.” - -Bras-de-Fer bent over her in a blind adoration and gently touched his -lips to her hair. She made no further effort to resist him. Then, when -the tear-stained face was raised to his own, in her eyes he read a -different answer to his pleading. - -“_Bien adorée!_” he whispered, kissing her tenderly--“Barbara!” - -The hand within his own tightened and the lissome figure came closer to -his own. “Take me away, monsieur,” she murmured. “Take me away. Oh, I -am so weary--so weary.” - -“Struggle no more,” he whispered. “Courage; all will yet be well. Come -with me below to safety, and it will soon be over.” - -He had moved away from her towards the door, and would have withdrawn -his hand, but she held it with both of her own while her eyes looked -into his with an anxious query. - -“Oh, _I_,” he said, with a smile--“I shall be in no danger, madame. -That I promise you. ’Tis but a Spanish merchantman, with little skill -in war. Why, _Sally_ will run her aboard in the skipping of a shot. And -now”--as they moved towards the door--“but a little while and I shall -be with you again, to keep guard over your door, to keep guard upon you -always--always.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MUTINY - - -She summoned all her courage, and Bras-de-Fer led her forward along the -passage upon the deck to the other hatch. Yan Gratz, Jacquard, and the -crew were crowded at the broadside guns, and at the sight of monsieur -the Dutchman’s face broke into a pasty smile as he sneered to his -neighbor. - -“Vos dis a schip or Vitehall Palace? _Pots blitz!_” And he spat -demonstratively. - -But Bras-de-Fer was handing my lady down the hatch into the after-hold, -with a gesture into which he put even more of a manner than the -occasion demanded. Jacquard had gone down before with a lighted -lantern, and had unfastened the hatch of the lazaretto, the opening of -which made a murky patch in the obscurity. Mistress Barbara shuddered -a little and drew back, but the strong arm of monsieur encircled her -waist, his firm hand reassured her own, and his low voice spoke in even -accents. - -“These are chests of gold and silver, jewels and silks, madame”; and -then, “It is here that we keep our priceless captures,” he whispered, -smiling. “Sit in comfort. The water-line is above, where you see the -beams o’erhead. In a little while I will come again, and all will be -well.” He pressed the trembling hand in both his own, and she saw him -follow the long figure of Jacquard, who with sympathy and discretion, -of which his glum demeanor gave no indication, had left the light -hanging to a timber and gone growling above. - -Alone with the swaying lantern, the beams and bulkheads, the boxes -and chests, she gave herself over to her own turbulent reflections. -There was a swish and hollow gurgle at her very ear as the seas -alongside washed astern, a creaking and a groaning of the timbers, -which made her tremble for the stanchness of the vessel. The boxes and -chests resolved themselves into great square patches of light which -thrust their staring presence forward obtrusively; and the vagrant -diagonal shadow took a new direction and meaning in the misty darkness -beyond the sphere of light at each new posture of the vessel. Strange -odors--musty, dry, and evil-smelling--afflicted her nostrils; and the -air, hot and fetid, hung about her and upon her offensively. Breathing -became a muscular exertion and an effort of the will. She bit her lip -and clenched her hands upon the chest where she was seated, to keep -from crying aloud her misery and terror. Suddenly there was a sound of -rending and tearing among the complaining timbers, and the guns above -renewed their angry threats. One, two, three, four single discharges -she heard, a scattering broadside, and then silence. Again that chorus -of unfamiliar sounds, each one of which spoke to her in a different way -of danger in some new and dreadful form. Presently the clamorous sea -sang a louder, wilder note, the timbers cried aloud in their distress, -the lantern swung sharply in abrupt and shortening circles, and the -shadows, like arms, thrust out at her from the unseen and filled -her with a new and nameless terror. The motion of the vessel was -sickening. And the black, noisome air, from which there was no escape, -seemed to fill her very brain and poison her faculties. - -With a blind effort she arose, and in affright at she knew not what -crept up the ladder to the hatch. It were better to die the death at -once than to be poisoned by inches. She drank gratefully of the purer -air above her and listened to the sounds of shouting from the deck. -There was a shock and a crash as the ships came together, and then all -sounds, save at intervals, were lost in the grinding of the vessels and -the roar of the sea between. She heard several shots as though at a -great distance, but these were as nothing after the noise of the great -guns, and she almost smiled as she thought how easily the victory was -accomplished. - -And he--had monsieur come off free of harm? She trembled a little at -the thought of it, and yet even the trembling had in it something of a -new and singular delight. With her eyes free to roam in the gray of the -half-deck, where there was air, if ever so faint, and the sweet smell -of the sea, she thought no more of herself. The silence above boded no -ill. She heard nothing but the wash of the sea alongside, the creaking -and clatter of blocks on the deck, and the craunch of the ships to the -roll of the sea. At last the sound of voices was nearer and louder, -whether in anger, fear, or pleasure she could not discover; then the -tramping of heavy boots and the rushing of men forward and aft; but -no sound of shot or clash of steel, to remind her of her continued -jeopardy. Five, ten minutes she listened, all her faculties alert for -the sound of his voice. The grinding of the vessels ceased, and when -the main-deck hatch was removed she could hear quite plainly the sounds -upon the deck. The voices of men in fierce disputation fell hollowly -down through a crack in the narrow aperture. One was thin and small, -like that of a child. Another was heavy and gruff, and cursed volubly -in French. Sharper tones rang between and through it all, the roar or -continuous murmur of a crowd. Something had fallen amiss, she was sure. -Suddenly, as though a spell had fallen upon their tongues, the clamor -was hushed, and in the brief second of desperation the sea noises about -her sang loudly in her ears, which strained to catch every sound. - -At last a single voice, slow, calm, dispassionate, began to speak; it -was his. She emerged upon the half-deck in order that nothing of what -was passing might escape her, and leaned upon the ladder, looking to -where the daylight flickered down. - -“Your humor is changed wondrously, _mes amis_. You ask many things, -not the least of which is this Spaniard’s death. You, Yan Gratz, and -you, Barthier, Troc, and Duquesnoy, you, Craik and Goetz, stand aside. -I grant nothing--nothing--where I see the gleam of a weapon naked. -Sheathe your cutlasses and stand aside. Then, maybe, we shall see.” - -There was an ominous movement of scraping feet, a clatter of weapons, -and then a hoarse turmoil, a very bedlam of sounds, a wild scratching -and scuffling upon the deck, and hoarse, dreadful cries, savage -and fierce, like the bark of hungry dogs, yet, with its ringing -accompaniment of clanging steel, infinitely more terrible. Half mad -with the terror at this struggle, of which she could see nothing, faint -and weak with the accumulation of her distresses, she hung more dead -than alive to the companion-ladder, in one moment shutting her ears -to the mad din above her, in another listening eagerly for the broken -fragments of sound, fearful that the end of all things might come in -one of those merciful moments in which she heard nothing. She thrust -her hand into her breast and pulled forth the slender petronel which -she had brought from the _San Isidro_. She looked at the shining barrel -and saw to the flint and charge. There should be no hesitation. If -monsieur-- - -But no! no! He was there yet. She heard his voice, strong, valiant, -ringing like a clarion above the medley: “Aha, Cornbury!” it cried. -“Point and edge, _mon ami_!... Your pupils are too apt, _Monsieur -le Maître d’Armes_.... Ah, Craik, would you?... _Voilà ... touché, -Duquesnoy ... touché, mais ... ce n’est rien!_... Well struck, -Cornbury!... Jacquard, help us, _coquin_!... To the rail ... back to -back ... we will drive them ... into the sea!” - -The rushing feet clattered over her head and she heard the sound of -his voice no more. She wondered whether it was because it rang no more -that she did not hear it, or whether her terror and her weakness had -deprived her of her senses. The seconds grew into hours. Broken cries -and curses in strange, harsh voices came to her again, and she knew -that she heard aright; the sound of blows, the hard breathing of men, -all swallowed in the many noises of the combat, and at the last the -fall of something muffled, heavy, and resistless upon the deck came -with a new and dreadful portent to her ears. She stifled the shriek -which rose to her lips and pressed her hands to her bosom to still its -tremors. That dull, echoless sound could have but one meaning. - -She stood inert, her mind and body things apart. She could not bring -herself into accord with the too obtrusive fact, and wondered aimlessly -that her ear caught at the cries of the complaining timbers and rush -of water alongside, rather than at the vortex of her life’s tragedy -which whirled just at her elbow. And thus, in a merciful tempering of -her spirit to the occasion she hung swaying to the ladder, her mind -gaining a cool and purposeful self-possession which was to nerve her -frail body to further efforts. If monsieur were dead, then she had -but to die also. She knew that she must keep her strength, for if she -lost consciousness they would come below and find her; and when she -awoke--alive and alone upon this horrible ship-- The thought gave a new -life to her energies, and she determined to put an end at once to the -uncertainty. Anything were better than the suspense which each moment -made the danger of weakness more imminent. Step by step she crept up -the staggering ladder until her head had reached the level of the hatch -above. Then she pushed aside the covering, and, the pistolet in her -nerveless fingers, peered forth upon deck. - -Joy gave her new strength and energy. There against the bulwarks, pale -and breathless, but erect and strong, with the light of battle still -undiminished in his eyes, was Bras-de-Fer; while around him in a wide, -snarling circle were a dozen of the wolves of the _Saucy Sally_, ready -to spring in upon him, and yet each fearful to be the first to bite. -There was a smell of rum in the air, and a broken cask told a part of -the cause of the difficulty. Upon the deck curious loose distortions -made a ghastly parody of the flesh which they had been. All these -things she noted in a glance, but her eyes fell instinctively upon -the figure of a tall man, the one who had lighted her below, who was -brandishing his arms, not at monsieur, but towards a stout man in -baggy breeches, who stood defiantly blinking at him, raising first -a pistol and then a sword towards Bras-de-Fer in a manner not to be -misinterpreted. Here was the key to the situation. He was not then -quite alone. But as she looked a thrill of horror came over her. Two -men fell upon the tall man from behind and seized his arms. Then the -fat man leaned forward towards monsieur, with an oily, vicious smile. -He said nothing at all, but, keeping his sword in front of him, with -his left hand, slowly and with a grim deliberation, raised his pistol -into a line. - -Barbara’s wild cry rang from one end of the deck to the other. -Regardless of her own danger and scarce responsible, she was flying -across the intervening space towards Yan Gratz. The startled Dutchman, -disconcerted for a moment by this unfamiliar sound, turned, his mouth -agape, his pistol pointing purposeless at the empty air. “_Stop!_” she -cried, supremely imperious, yet affrighted at the sound of her own -voice. “_Stop! You must not! I command you!_” - -Yan Gratz paused, uncertain for a moment. He looked at this gentle -adversary as though he did not know whether to scowl or laugh. Then -his lumpy face broke into a smile and his lifted brows puckered his -forehead into innumerable wrinkles. The pistol dropped to his side. - -“Aw--yaw--you _commandt_ me?”--he began wagging his head--“but who in -de name o’ Cott vhas _you_?” - -Then for the first time his eye fell upon the pistolet which Mistress -Barbara still held tightly clutched in her extended hand. In her -solicitude for monsieur she had forgotten herself and the weapon, -which now, still unconsciously, she pointed directly at the portly -person of Yan Gratz. He stammered and fell back a pace in amazement. -The diversion was sufficient. For by this time Jacquard had struggled -to his feet, and, throwing aside the fellows who were holding him, had -rushed in and seized the pistol from the hand of the Dutchman before he -could use it. At the same moment Bras-de-Fer, with a fierce cry, had -sprung forward among the amazed mutineers and had taken Barbara under -the cover of his weapon. - -“Listen, _mes camarades_!” roared Jacquard above the confusion, waving -the pistol in wide, commanding circles. “Listen, _mes braves_, and -you will not regret. Listen, I say. It is I, Jacquard, who speaks. -Wait but a moment and hear me. Listen. And when I am done you will say -old Jacquard is wise.” His ungainly figure towered before them--the -swinging arms like great wings, the hooked brows and curved beak -making him look not unlike some gigantic bird of prey ready at a moment -to fall upon any who denied him. At last, such was his influence -that they were brought to a measure of calmness. Then with crafty -deliberation he began to speak. - -“Ah, _mes galants_, we have hunted together long, you and I, and we -have hunted well. Last year you drank or spent or gamed a thousand -pounds away. To-day the hold and lazaretto of old _Sally_ are full of -Spanish silks and laces and plate for the selling. In Port Royal are -other ships which will yield ye more. And you will sacrifice these -ships and these cargoes and all the money they’ll bring to you.” - -Many cries arose, the loudest of which was that of Yan Gratz. -“Sacrifice de schips, Shacky Shackart! Py Cott! It is a lie, verdomd!” - -“It is so, mateys, I will swear it. Kill monsieur, yonder, and not -one shilling from the ships do you get. Why? In Port Royal monsieur -showed his warrant to the governor. The governor has a certain share -in the takings from the _Isidro_. ’Twill be a strange tale ye’ll tell -if Bras-de-Fer comes not back with the ship. The master-at-arms ye’ve -killed, if I mistake not. He’s captain in his Majesty’s Guards. Perhaps -ye can explain that.” - -Anxious glances passed among the rascals as they looked first at -monsieur and then at Jacquard. But Yan Gratz was not to be deceived or -robbed of his vengeance. - -“Donner vetter!” he cried. “Ay, yai. Vhat tifference it makes? De -varrant is de varrant of Pilly Vinch; no odder--I am as goot a man as -him. Tunder of der Teufel! I vill make a call mineself upon de covernor -of Chamaica.” - -In answer to this sally, Jacquard burst into a loud laugh. “Ha, ha! -Ye’re swelled out of all proper dimensions, Yan Gratz. Ye forget that -Monsieur the Governor and Monsieur Bras-de-Fer are friends. Listen, -then, to what I propose. Bras-de-Fer will write us a letter saying that -you or I may receive the ships for our owners. In return we will give -monsieur and madame the pinnace and let them go whither they will.” - -“No, py Cott!” roared Gratz, furious at being balked of his vengeance. -“He shall not get avay from me!” - -There was a mingling of opinions, loudly and profanely expressed, and -it looked for the moment as though the strife would be renewed. Yan -Gratz’s Dutchmen stood by him to a man. And while the gleaming sword -and pistolet of monsieur held them at a safe distance, they sought by -their shouting of wild threats to make up for their other deficiencies. -Barbara, hid behind Bras-de-Fer, sought valiantly to match her courage -to his, but with pale face and quaking limbs she awaited the decision -upon which rested his life or death, and hers. It mattered little which -it was to be. She had suffered so much that anything--anything which -brought rest--would be welcome. But monsieur had lost no whit of his -aggressiveness. If he was silent, it was because silence was best. With -a keen eye he noted the effect of the speech of Jacquard. He saw that -his compatriot had chosen wisely in leaving his sword undrawn. Thus -Jacquard retained his influence with the crew, whose sympathy and arms -he could not have swayed alone against Yan Gratz. Had Jacquard drawn -his weapon, all would have been lost. As it was, Bras-de-Fer noted that -the larger number of the crew were wagging and nodding their heads in a -propitious deliberation. Frenchmen, many of them, they were willing to -forget the discipline and restriction of their liberties. Only one of -them, Duquesnoy, had joined in the conflict against their compatriot. -Duquesnoy was dead. They would be satisfied now if the cause of -their grievances was removed. There was a way which offered complete -compensation. With Bras-de-Fer marooned with his lady and his imperious -notions, they would be free to lead the life which Billy Winch had not -scrupled to deny them. - -Barthier, gray-haired, pock-marked, earringed, shoved his huge frame -before Yan Gratz. - -“We have deliberated, Yan Gratz,” said he. “Jacquard has spoken the -truth. Monsieur has fought well. He has bought his life, and that of -his lady. San Salvador is distant but twenty leagues to the south. We -will give them provisions for a week, weapons, and the pinnace, and -set them free.” - -Gratz glared around at him and past Barthier at the row of grim, hairy -faces; and he knew that he was defeated. With an ill grace he sheathed -his sword, thrust his pistol in his belt, and, muttering, waddled -forward into the forecastle with his following. - -When they were gone, Bras-de-Fer fell upon his knees beside a figure -upon the deck at his feet. He lifted Cornbury’s head upon his knee, -and, calling for a pannikin of rum, forced a small quantity of the -fluid between the lips of the Irishman. Jacquard felt for his heart, -and Barbara tore a bit of her skirt to stanch the flow of blood. They -bathed his forehead with water, and in a moment were rewarded by a -flicker of the eyelid and a painful intaking of the breath. Presently, -resting upon Jacquard’s knee, he opened his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. - -“I am near spent,” he muttered. And then, as his eye caught those of -Bras-de-Fer, a smile with the faintest glimmer of professional pride -twitched at his lip. - -“Ah, monsieur,” he said, “did I not teach them well their thrust and -parry?” - -“Too well, indeed; Destouches himself could not have done better. I -would you had given them less skill, _mon ami_.” - -“’Twas Craik--my favorite stroke--in tierce,” he gasped, and then his -head fell back against Jacquard. Presently he revived and looked at -Barbara and Bras-de-Fer, while another smile played at the corner of -his blue eye. - -“Madame,” he whispered to Barbara--“madame, he has loved ye long -and well. Take him to London and there serve him as a _boucanier_ -and _renegado_ should be served. Take him prisoner to yer house and -yer heart, and keep him there for as long as ye both shall live.” A -spasm of pain shot across his features, and he clutched at his wound. -“Bedad,” he said, “but the plaguy thing burns at me like an ember. -It’s nearly over, I’m thinking. René,” he cried, “my dear man, if ye -tell them at the barracks that I was brought to my death by the low -thrust in tierce in the hands of such a lout, I’ll come from my grave -and smite ye. An’ if ye see my brother, the Earl, ye may tell him for -me--to send my pittance to--” - -The effort had been too much for his waning strength. His eyes closed -again. And this time they did not open. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -MAROONED - - -Jacquard conducted Mistress Barbara aft to the cabin until the boat -could be prepared. And Monsieur silently followed, his eyes dim with -tears at the loss of this friend to whose helpful skill both he and -Mistress Barbara owed their lives. When they were safe within, Jacquard -blurted forth: - -“It was the best I could do, monsieur, the very best I could do. The -danger is not yet past. There is no safety for you or madame upon the -same ship with Yan Gratz.” - -Bras-de-Fer silently wrung his hands. - -“It is a desperate journey for a lady tried already to the point of -breaking, Jacquard. If they would but land us--” - -“Ah, monsieur. It were madness to try them again. Have you not seen -their temper?” - -“No, no, monsieur, I am strong!” cried Barbara. “See! I am strong. Let -us leave this dreadful charnel-ship. If I must die, let it be alone -upon the broad ocean. That at least is clean of evil intent.” - -“Nay, madame,” continued the Frenchman. “If they would but sail us--” - -“No, no. Let us go at once. I can meet death bravely if need be, but -not here.” - -“Monsieur, it will not be so bad,” broke in Jacquard. “The sea has gone -down, and, although a long swell is running, it is low and smooth. A -fair breeze draws from the west. The pinnace is stanch. The day is -young. By the morrow you should raise the palms of Guanahani above the -sea. I shall see you well provided with food, water, and weapons. Upon -San Salvador are friendly Caribs, and in due course--” - -“_Mon ami_,” said Bras-de-Fer at last, “you are right. Were it not -for madame, perhaps, I should yet make some small effort to establish -myself upon the _Sally_. They have beaten me, but I am grieving little. -I have no stomach for this life, my friend. The letting of blood in -any but honest warfare sickens me and turns me to water. I leave the -dogs without regret. But you, you and my gallant Cornbury.” He paused a -moment, his hand to his brow, then raised his head with a glad smile. - -“Jacquard, will you not come with us? If we get safe ashore I can -perhaps give you a service which will requite you.” - -But Jacquard was wagging his head. - -“No, no, monsieur. It is too late. I am too old a bird. Would ye clip -the eagle’s wings? Would ye pen the old falcon in a gilded humming-bird -cage? I’ve chosen to fly broadly, and broadly I’ll fly till some stray -bullet ends my flapping. And now make ready, madame. A warm cloak -against the night air, a pillow--for boat-thwarts are none too soft; -and when ye are ready I shall be at the door.” And he vanished, his -bullet head, with its round wool cap, scraping at the door-jamb as he -passed. - -When he had gone, Barbara sank upon the bench at the table. Had it not -been for the strong arms of Bras-de-Fer she must have fallen to the -deck. Tired nature, overwrought nerves, rebellious, refused to obey. - -“But a little while, Barbara, dear, and we will be alone. Courage, brave -one! Courage! We will soon gain the shore. Then, a ship--and--life!” - -“Ah, monsieur, I am weary. So weary that I fear for this journey in the -open boat. God grant we may reach its ending.” Her head fell forward -upon his breast and she breathed heavily as one in a deep sleep. - -He laid her gently so that her arms rested upon the table. Then he -quickly prepared a package of articles which would be most necessary -for her. Jewels there were and a packet of his own money. He found a -flask of _eau-de-vie_, and when he had aroused her he gently forced her -to drink a half-tumbler of it mixed with water. - -Presently Jacquard and Barthier came with the papers for him to sign. -When this was done they all went upon the deck. The Spanish prize -lay at a distance of several cables’ lengths, and, from a movement -among the spars, was getting under way in charge of the prize crew. -Alongside, at the starboard gangway, rode the pinnace. It looked so -small, so masterless and helpless, by the side of the larger vessels in -that infinity of ocean, that Mistress Barbara shivered as she looked -down into it. But one glance around the decks to where the prostrate -figures had lain reconciled her to her lot. - -Between Bras-de-Fer and Jacquard there was but one hearty hand-shake. -The very lack of more effusive demonstration between them meant more -than many words could have done. And as monsieur passed over the -gangway and down into the vessel there was little in his demeanor -to show the sting of his defeat at the hands of these devils of the -sea, whom he had sought, and unsuccessfully, to bring into the domain -of a proper humanity. A scornful laugh broke from among the men as -he disappeared over the side, and Yan Gratz, waving a pistol, piped -obscene threats and criticism from the quarter-deck. But presently, -when Mistress Barbara had been slung over the side in a whip from the -main-yard, Jacquard disappeared from the rail, and the falsetto of the -Dutchman was no longer heard. - -The mast in the pinnace had been stepped, and the sail, strong and -serviceable, but none too large, flapped impatiently in the breeze. -And so when Barbara was seated, white and dark-eyed, showing with a -painful effort a last haughty disdain to the rascals at the portholes -and bulwarks, Bras-de-Fer shipped his tiller and hauled his sheet aft -to the wind. The little vessel bounced in a sprightly, joyous fashion, -the brown sail bulged stanchly, and in a moment a patch of green water, -ever growing wider, flashed and trembled between the pinnace and the -_Saucy Sally_. Among the row of dark heads along the rail Bras-de-Fer -looked for only one, and to him he presently turned and raised his hat -in salute. Jacquard replied; and then his long arms went flying and his -hoarse voice cried aloud the orders to set the vessel upon her course. -Presently the yards flew around, the vessel squared away, and the -_Saucy Sally_ was but a memory. A vessel nameless, without identity, -was sailing away from them upon the sea, and they were alone. - -Barbara looked no more. She had seated herself upon the gratings at the -bottom of the craft, her arms resting upon the stern thwart. But now -that all immediate danger had passed and she sat safe and at peace, -the wonderful spirit and courage to which she had nerved herself in a -moment failed her. Her head fell forward upon her arms and she sank -inert and prone at the feet of the Frenchman. Scarce realizing what had -happened, yet fearful that some dreadful fate had intervened to take -his love from him, he dropped the tiller and fell upon his knees by -her side, his mind shaken by the agony of the moment; for her face had -taken a kind of waxen, leaden color more terrifying than mere pallor, -and the lips, save for a faint-blue tinge, became under his very -eyes of the same deathly hue. He dashed handful after handful of the -sea-water into her face and rubbed her chill arms and hands. He poured -a draught of the rum between her cold lips. But she moved not. Beseech -her as he might, there was no response to his petitions. He sought the -pulse; he could feel nothing. The breath had ceased. Oh, God! Had the -cup of happiness been placed at their lips only to sip? Was it to be -poured out before his very eyes? He cried aloud in his agony and raised -the face to his own, kissing it again and again, as if by the warmth of -his own passion he could awaken it to life. - -“My love! my love!” he cried. “Come back to me! Come back to me again! -Open thine eyes! Breathe but my name! Come back to me, my love!” - -He had waited an eternity. At last, as he put his ear to her breast, a -sound, ever so faint, but still a sound, told him that the heart was -pulsing anew. He forced a generous draught of the rum through her lips -and madly renewed his efforts to arouse the blood. Several moments -more he struggled in pitiful suspense, and then a gentle color flowed -under the marble skin, a touch of pink rose to the blue lips, the -eyelids quivered a moment and then opened. He hauled the sail to shield -her from the glare of the sun, and held a cup of fresh water to her -lips. She looked at him, but no words came from her lips. Instead, she -breathed a sigh and with a faint smile relinquished herself and fell -back peacefully into his arms. Once or twice she opened her eyes in -an effort to speak, but each time he soothed her and bade her rest. -He was but a man, and it needed a gentler hand to cope with such an -emergency; but now that the danger was past he felt instinctively that -nature would seek in her own ways to restore, and he let her lie quiet, -pillowed in the curve of his arm against his breast. And so, presently, -her breathing was regular, and she slept. - -He could not know how long it had been since they left the _Sally_, -but by the sun he saw that there was yet an hour or two of the day. -The ships were become mere dull blotches upon the sky, and from his -position the lower tier of guns seemed just at the line of the sea. -Time was precious, for the land lay a full day’s sail, even should -the breeze continue to favor them, and he could not tell how long it -would blow thus steadily. Fearful of awakening Barbara and yet anxious -to take advantage of every favorable opportunity, he reached for the -sheet and tiller and set the little vessel upon her course. She heeled -gladly to the wind, and the coursing of the water beneath her long -keel made a sound grateful to his ears. He had taken the _Sally’s_ -position upon the charts before leaving, and steered a course which -should surely fetch a sight of the land upon the morrow. If the breeze -held and the night were clear, he could steer by the stars. He blessed -the habits of his training, in which he had studied the heavens in -his night watches, wherever he might be. There was no sign of any -disturbance of the elements. The heavy swell now and then shook the -wind out of his tiny sail, but not a cloud flecked the sky above him, -and the sea which glittered and sprang playfully at the sides of the -pinnace seemed to beckon to him gladly in hopeful augury for the hours -to come. - -The apprehensions that he had felt were dissipated in the mellow glow -of the southern sun. Had he been alone, this voyage in an open boat -over an unknown sea would have filled him with delight. But the slender -figure at his side, which lay pale and silent in the shadow of the -gunwale, filled him with vague alarms. - -On, on into the void, the tiny vessel crept. The sun sank low in the -sky and dropped, a red ball, behind the disk of sea. The dusk swept up -over the ocean like the shadow of a storm, and night drew a purplish -curtain across the smiling heaven. The stars twinkled into sudden -life, and night fell, clear, warm, spangled, while the soft, stealthy -seas crept alongside and leaped and fawned at the shearing prow of -the pinnace. An arching moon arose and sailed, a silver boat, high -into the heavens. But Bras-de-Fer moved not and Barbara still slept. -Continually his keen eyes swept the dark rim of the horizon for a blur -of sail or the sign of any portentous movement of the elements. He -knew the horrors of this southern ocean, and the catlike purring of -the silken seas did not deceive him; for in the swaying deep he could -feel the great rhythmical pulse of the heart of the sea, which spoke a -continuous, sullen, ominous threat of resistless might, ready at the -turn of a mood to rise, engulf, and devour. - -By midnight the wind fell, and with the flapping of the idle sail -Barbara awoke. - -She lay for some moments, her eyes winking at the swinging stars, then -pushed the cloak aside, lifted her head, and looked wide-eyed around -and into the face of Bras-de-Fer. - -“I have slept?” she asked, bewildered--“I have slept in this boat?” He -bent forward over her eager delight. - -“The clock around, Barbara, dear. You were so weary, so weary, I have -let you rest.” - -“Ah, yes, I remember. The _Saucy Sally_--” - -“An evil dream, a nightmare. See; we are borne upon a fairy sea. All -the world is at peace. This infinity of beauty is ours--it is for us -alone.” - -She shuddered a little and drew closer to him. “Oh, it is so vast, so -inscrutable, this treacherous, pitiless water! Have we come nearer to -the land?” - -“Fifteen leagues at least. The wind has failed us but this half-hour. -After you have eaten and drunk you shall sleep again, and when you -awake I promise you land under the very lid of the eye.” - -“And you--have you not slept?” - -“Madame, I am a very owl of birds. But I have the hunger of a lynx.” - -Then while she took the helm he set before her the food which Jacquard -had provided. There were sea-biscuit, boucan, preserved fruits from the -store of the _San Isidro_, and a pannikin of rum-and-water. - -It was not until she ate that she discovered how hungry she was; -Bras-de-Fer had eaten nothing for eight-and-forty hours. And so like -two children they sat and supped hungrily. When the meal was done, -Bras-de-Fer arranged the bread-bags and the pillow so that she might -sleep in greater comfort, but she would not have it so. - -“No, no,” she insisted, “I am well again and strong. If you do not -sleep I shall not.” And so resolute was her tone that he forbore to -press her further. - -But sleep was the furthest from his own eyes. He felt not even the -faintest touch of weariness. She leaned back upon his arm again, and -so, hand in hand, they sat in their little vessel, mute and spellbound -at the completeness of their happiness, which even the presence of -grim danger was powerless to steal away from them. The air was sweet -and balmy and brushed their cheeks like the breath from an angel’s -wing. The first pungent aromatic odor of the land reached their -nostrils, mingled delicately with the salt of the sea. In silence they -watched the planets burn and glow red like molten iron against the -star-bepowdered sky, across which the placid moon sailed down upon its -promised course. Flying stars vied with each other in the brightness -of their illuminations in their honor. And presently, shaming them -into darkness, a giant meteor shot like a flaming brand across the -spacious sky, spurning and burying in its splendid pathway a myriad of -the lesser embers; which, when it was done, peeped forth again timidly -upon the velvet night, ashamed of their small share in its glory. All -of this they saw reflected doubly on an ocean of gray satin, which sent -the bright reflections in wriggling rays like so many snakes of fire -to mingle and play amid the glow of the caressing surges, which gushed -languidly at their very feet. - -To have spoken would have been to break the spell which bound them to -the infinite. And so they sat enthroned in these wonderful dominions of -which for the nonce they were prince and princess. - -“Thou art content?” he asked at last. - -She did not answer him at once. When she did, it was softly and with -eyes which sought the distant horizon away from him. - -“If to be content means to breathe freely, deeply, the pure air of -heaven, to thank God for the present, to care not what evil has been -or what evil may be, to be engulfed in quiet delight, to be swathed in -peace, then, monsieur, I am content.” - -He flushed warmly, and the arm about her tightened. He sought her lips -with his own. She did not resist him. And so before the high, effulgent -altar of God’s heaven, with the surges for choristers, the stars for -candles, and the voices of the sentient night for company, he plighted -her his troth. - -It was then that she swept away the only shadow that remained upon -their love. With head bowed, in deep contrition he told her of his -madness that first night upon the _Saucy Sally_, when he had wildly -railed at fate, at all things, and promised to wreak upon her he knew -not what dire vengeance. - -“Our accounts are balanced, then,” she smiled. “We shall begin anew. -For I, too, have many times denied you in my heart and on my lips. And -I know that I have loved you always.” - -“_Adorée!_” he whispered. - -It was Barbara, as if to belie her own happiness, who first broke -the spell of witchery that had fallen upon them. Her eyes, which had -aimlessly sought the horizon, stopped and dilated as she fixed her gaze -upon one spot which trembled and swam in the light. Bras-de-Fer started -up, straining his eyes to where she pointed. - -“Look!” she cried. “Is it--” - -There, her rigging and sails clearly drawn in lines of ice, a phantom -of the thing that she was, hung a vessel. She had crept up on some flaw -of wind, her sail in the shadow, and now upon another tack had thrown -her white canvases to the reflection of the sky. - -“It is no phantom,” cried monsieur, in delight. “A ship, Barbara, -_chérie_! By her build a man-of-war, not two leagues distant.” - -“Will she have seen us, do you think?” - -“If she has not, it will be but a matter of moments.” - -He ran forward to where the provisions and weapons had been put under a -piece of pitched canvas. He drew forth a musket, and loaded it with an -extra charge of powder. Barbara put her fingers to her ears as the gun -roared forth its salute. - -The silent night was split and riven asunder by the mighty echoes; -the robe of enchantment fell, the prince and princess were prince and -princess no longer. Barbara sighed. Their throne was but a rugged boat -and themselves but castaways wildly seeking a refuge. The dream of an -hour was over. But none the less she helped monsieur load the muskets, -and cried gladly when a flash and a puff of smoke came from the side of -the stranger, and the low reverberation of the echoes of the shot told -her that they were rescued. - -The ship came slowly down. ’Twas evident she brought the wind with -her, for about the pinnace all was a dead calm. Barbara’s qualms that -she, too, might be a _boucanier_ were speedily set at rest; for as she -came nearer they discovered that she sat tall upon the water, and the -glint of her ordnance along her larboard streaks proclaimed her trade. -No sign of her nationality she gave until she had come within long -earshot. Then a round, honest English voice rang heartily: - -“Ahoy the boat! Who are ye? Whence d’ye come?” - -To this Bras-de-Fer replied that they were castaways, marooned, and in -sore need of help. The ship, they learned, was his Majesty’s _Royal -Maid_, war brig of his excellency the governor of Jamaica. - -“See, madame,” he murmured as the ship drew near. “’Tis manifest you -are my destiny. While you have frowned, Dame Fortune would have none of -me. And now she is benignity itself.” He paused, sighing. “And yet I -could almost wish she had not smiled so soon.” - -Her hand under cover of the cloak sought his. “Insatiable man, can you -not be content?” - -“It was too, too sweet an enchantment to be so soon ended.” - -“Nay,” she whispered. “It is but just begun.” - - -THE END - - - - -“_The Books You Like to Read at the Price You Like to Pay_” - - -_There Are Two Sides to Everything_-- - ---including the wrapper which covers every Grosset & Dunlap book. -When you feel in the mood for a good romance, refer to the carefully -selected list of modern fiction comprising most of the successes by -prominent writers of the day which is printed on the back of every -Grosset & Dunlap book wrapper. - -You will find more than five hundred titles to choose from--books for -every mood and every taste and every pocketbook. - -_Don’t forget the other side, but in case the wrapper is lost, write to -the publishers for a complete catalog._ - - -_There is a Grosset & Dunlap Book for every mood and for every taste_ - - - - -THE NOVELS OF TEMPLE BAILEY - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - -“Although my ancestry is all of New England, I was born in the old town -of Petersburg, Virginia. I went later to Richmond and finally at the -age of five to Washington, D. C., returning to Richmond for a few years -in a girl’s school, which was picturesquely quartered in General Lee’s -mansion.” - - -PEACOCK FEATHERS - -The eternal conflict between wealth and love. Jerry, the idealist who -is poor, loves Mimi, a beautiful, spoiled society girl. - - -THE DIM LANTERN - -The romance of little Jane Barnes who is loved by two men. - - -THE GAY COCKADE - -Unusual short stories where Miss Bailey shows her keen knowledge of -character and environment, and how romance comes to different people. - - -THE TRUMPETER SWAN - -Randy Paine comes back from France to the monotony of every-day -affairs. But the girl he loves shows him the beauty in the common-place. - - -THE TIN SOLDIER - -A man who wishes to serve his country, but is bound by a tie he -cannot in honor break--that’s Derry. A girl who loves him, shares his -humiliation and helps him to win--that’s Jean. Their love is the story. - - -MISTRESS ANNE - -A girl in Maryland teaches school, and believes that work is worthy -service. Two men come to the little community; one is weak, the other -strong, and both need Anne. - - -CONTRARY MARY - -An old-fashioned love story that is nevertheless modern. - - -GLORY OF YOUTH - -A novel that deals with a question, old and yet ever new--how far -should an engagement of marriage bind two persons who discover they no -longer love. - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -MARGARET PEDLER’S NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -RED ASHES - -A gripping story of a doctor who failed in a crucial operation--and had -only himself to blame. Could the woman he loved forgive him? - - -THE BARBARIAN LOVER - -A love story based on the creed that the only important things between -birth and death are the courage to face life and the love to sweeten it. - - -THE MOON OUT OF REACH - -Nan Davenant’s problem is one that many a girl has faced--her own -happiness or her father’s bond. - - -THE HOUSE OF DREAMS-COME-TRUE - -How a man and a woman fulfilled a gypsy’s strange prophecy. - - -THE HERMIT OF FAR END - -How love made its way into a walled-in house and a walled-in heart. - - -THE LAMP OF FATE - -The story of a woman who tried to take all and give nothing. - - -THE SPLENDID FOLLY - -Do you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets from each -other? - - -THE VISION OF DESIRE - -An absorbing romance written with all that sense of feminine tenderness -that has given the novels of Margaret Pedler their universal appeal. - - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - THE NOVELS OF - GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL - (MRS. LUTZ) - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - BEST MAN, THE - CITY OF FIRE, THE - CLOUDY JEWEL - DAWN OF THE MORNING - ENCHANTED BARN, THE - EXIT BETTY - FINDING OF JASPER HOLT, THE - GIRL FROM MONTANA, THE - LO, MICHAEL! - MAN OF THE DESERT, THE - MARCIA SCHUYLER - MIRANDA - MYSTERY OF MARY, THE - OBSESSION OF VICTORIA GRACEN, THE - PHOEBE DEANE - RED SIGNAL, THE - SEARCH, THE - STORY OF A WHIM, THE - TOMORROW ABOUT THIS TIME - TRYST, THE - VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS, A - WITNESS, THE - -_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -RUBY M. AYRES’ NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - THE LITTL’ST LOVER - CANDLE LIGHT - THE MAN WITHOUT A HEART - THE ROMANCE OF A ROGUE - THE MATHERSON MARRIAGE - RICHARD CHATTERTON - A BACHELOR HUSBAND - THE SCAR - THE MARRIAGE OF BARRY WICKLOW - THE UPHILL ROAD - WINDS OF THE WORLD - THE SECOND HONEYMOON - THE PHANTOM LOVER - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - THE NOVELS OF - GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL - (MRS. LUTZ) - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - BEST MAN, THE - CLOUDY JEWEL - DAWN OF THE MORNING - ENCHANTED BARN, THE - EXIT BETTY - FINDING OF JASPER HOLT, THE - GIRL FROM MONTANA, THE - LO, MICHAEL! - MAN OF THE DESERT, THE - MARCIA SCHUYLER - MIRANDA - MYSTERY OF MARY, THE - OBSESSION OF VICTORIA GRACEN, THE - PHOEBE DEANE - RED SIGNAL, THE - SEARCH, THE - TRYST, THE - VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS, A - WITNESS, THE - -_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - THE MIDLANDER - THE FASCINATING STRANGER - GENTLE JULIA - ALICE ADAMS - RAMSEY MILHOLLAND - THE GUEST OF QUESNAY - THE TWO VAN REVELS - THE MAGNIFICENT AMBERSONS - MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE - SEVENTEEN - PENROD - PENROD AND SAM - THE TURMOIL - THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA - THE FLIRT - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD’S - STORIES OF ADVENTURE - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - THE COUNTRY BEYOND - THE FLAMING FOREST - THE VALLEY OF SILENT MEN - THE RIVER’S END - THE GOLDEN SNARE - NOMADS OF THE NORTH - KAZAN - BAREE, SON OF KAZAN - THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM - THE DANGER TRAIL - THE HUNTED WOMAN - THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH - THE GRIZZLY KING - ISOBEL - THE WOLF HUNTERS - THE GOLD HUNTERS - THE COURAGE OF MARGE O’DOONE - BACK TO GOD’S COUNTRY - -_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -ZANE GREY’S NOVELS - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap’s list. - - THE CALL OF THE CANYON - WANDERER OF THE WASTELAND - TO THE LAST MAN - THE MYSTERIOUS RIDER - THE MAN OF THE FOREST - THE DESERT OF WHEAT - THE U. P. TRAIL - WILDFIRE - THE BORDER LEGION - THE RAINBOW TRAIL - THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT - RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE - THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS - THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN - THE LONE STAR RANGER - DESERT GOLD - BETTY ZANE - THE DAY OF THE BEAST - - -LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS - -The life story of “Buffalo Bill” by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with -Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey. - - -ZANE GREY’S BOOKS FOR BOYS - - KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLE - THE YOUNG LION HUNTER - THE YOUNG FORESTER - THE YOUNG PITCHER - THE SHORT STOP - THE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - -KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES - -May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list. - - -SISTERS. - -Frontispiece by Frank Street. - -The California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful story -of sisterly devotion and sacrifice. - - -POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. - -Frontispiece by George Gibbs. - -A collection of delightful stories, including “Bridging the Years” and -“The Tide-Marsh.” This story is now shown in moving pictures. - - -JOSSELYN’S WIFE. - -Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. - -The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for happiness -and love. - - -MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. - -Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers. - -The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions. - - -THE HEART OF RACHAEL. - -Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. - -An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a -second marriage. - - -THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. - -Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert. - -A sympathetic portrayal of the quest of a normal girl, obscure and -lonely, for the happiness of life. - - -SATURDAY’S CHILD. - -Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. - -Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through -sheer determination to the better things for which her soul hungered? - - -MOTHER. - -Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. - -A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of every -girl’s life, and some dreams which came true. - - -_Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_ - - GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes: - - --Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). - - --Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. - - --Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. - - --Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. - - --The Author’s em-dash style has been retained. - - --Two slightly different advertisement book lists for author Grace - Livingston Hill were both retained. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Love of Monsieur, by George Gibbs - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LOVE OF MONSIEUR *** - -***** This file should be named 51468-0.txt or 51468-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/4/6/51468/ - -Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. 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