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diff --git a/old/54598-0.txt b/old/54598-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3a6d041..0000000 --- a/old/54598-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9912 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Sign, by S. R. Keightley - -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 Crimson Sign - A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime - Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot - -Author: S. R. Keightley - -Release Date: April 24, 2017 [EBook #54598] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRIMSON SIGN *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. - -Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please -see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - -[Illustration] - - [See page 288. - “GERVASE DROPPED NOISELESSLY INTO THE WATER” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - THE CRIMSON SIGN - - _A Narrative of the Adventures of - Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime - Lieutenant in Mountjoy´s - Regiment of Foot_ - - - - - BY - S. R. KEIGHTLEY - AUTHOR OF “THE CAVALIERS” - - - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS - - -[Illustration] - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS - 1898 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - --- - -THE CAVALIERS. A Novel. By S. R. KEIGHTLEY. Illustrated. Post 8vo, - Cloth, Ornamental, $1 50. - -“The Cavaliers” is healthy in tone, spirited in treatment, and written -in a manner calculated to attract lovers of historical adventure.... A -capital book.--_Academy_, London. - - --- - - PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. - - - - - CONTENTS - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. OF WHAT BEFELL ON THE ROAD TO 1 - ENNISKILLEN - - II. OF THE ENTERTAINMENT THEY HAD AT THE INN 28 - - III. OF THE WAY MY LORD GALMOY SAT IN 44 - JUDGMENT - - IV. OF HOW THE VICOMTE PAID HIS DEBT 54 - - V. OF A MAN´S MEMORY 69 - - VI. OF HOW THE HEROINE COMES UPON THE STAGE 81 - - VII. OF THE RESCUE FROM GREAT PERIL 101 - - VIII. OF THE RETURN TO THE CITY 130 - - IX. OF HOW CAPTAIN MACPHERSON FULFILLED HIS 151 - TRUST - - X. OF THE STAND IN THE TRENCHES 159 - - XI. OF A SERIOUS COMMUNICATION 184 - - XII. OF A WARM MORNING´S WORK 195 - - XIII. OF A STRATAGEM OF WAR 208 - - XIV. OF A GAME OF CHANCE 222 - - XV. OF HOW THE VICOMTE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO 245 - LIFE - - XVI. OF A DEED OF TREACHERY 259 - - XVII. OF A GREAT ADVENTURE 280 - - XVIII. OF HOW GERVASE REACHED THE SHIPS 304 - - XIX. OF A STORMY INTERVIEW 313 - - XX. OF HOW THE GREAT DELIVERANCE WAS WROUGHT 325 - - XXI. OF HOW THE VICOMTE MADE HIS GREAT 336 - RENUNCIATION - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - --- - - "GERVASE DROPPED NOISELESSLY INTO THE WATER" _Frontispiece_ - - "THE STRANGER CAUGHT HIS HORSE BY THE REIN" _Facing page_ 62 - - "SHE STOPPED SHORT AND LOOKED ROUND HER ” 188 - CAUTIOUSLY" - - “JASPER BUCKLING HIS SWORD ABOUT HIM” ” 254 - - - - - THE CRIMSON SIGN. - - - - - CHAPTER I. - OF WHAT BEFELL ON THE ROAD TO ENNISKILLEN. - - -In the year of grace 1689 men were not a whit more long-suffering nor -more patient than they are to-day. The choleric captain who had been -pacing the guard-room for a quarter of an hour showed evident signs that -he was fast losing what temper he possessed. As he marched with a hasty -stride up and down the oaken floor, and wheeled with military abruptness -on the broad stone that formed the hearth, the rafters of black oak rang -with the clank of his sword and the jingling of the spurs on his heavy -jack-boots. He pulled with a gesture of impatience at the grizzled white -moustache that concealed his mouth, and muttered anathemas which, had -they been heard in the pious city of Londonderry, would have been deemed -little in keeping with his reputation. Nor did he seem a man with whom -others would take unwarrantable liberties, or keep dangling upon their -careless will and pleasure. - -At first sight there was no mistaking him for anything but a soldier, -and one who had seen lengthened service where hard blows had been struck -and long marches had to be made. His lean face was brown and seamed with -lines, each of which had in all likelihood its history; and a great -scar, half concealed by his broad beaver, ran from the temple almost to -his chin. His mouth was firm and resolute, giving its character to a -face that did not seem apt either to lighten in humour or to soften in -pity. He wore his own hair, which was nearly white, and, though he must -have been close on sixty, his carriage was upright and soldierly, with a -certain stiffness, probably learnt in early life from the drill-master. - -The Town clock struck five. Halting suddenly in his walk he turned to -the door, and his hand was on the latch when a young man entered -hurriedly and stumbled against him. When they recovered themselves, they -stood looking at one another inquiringly for a moment. Then the young -fellow, who wore a military uniform, drew back a step and saluted -gravely. “You are Captain Macpherson, I think?” - -“I was Captain Macpherson, sir,” the other answered, “a moment since, -but what I am now I hardly know till my wits come back. You have a -strange way of forcing your company on your neighbours.” - -“Such sudden acquaintanceship was wholly unexpected, I assure you, sir,” -the young man answered, with a pleasant smile that lit up his handsome -face. “I was directed to meet you here. My name is Orme.” - -The old soldier, without speaking, retired into the embrasure of the -window followed by the younger man, and then turned round sternly. - -“Mr. Orme, you must know it hath struck five by the Town clock. A -soldier´s first duty is discipline, and here have I, your commanding -officer, for such I take myself to be, been awaiting your coming a full -quarter of an hour. I have been in countries where the provost-marshal -would have known how to deal with such offences. Cities have been sacked -and great battles lost and won, by less delay than that.” - -“I have left the Colonel but now, sir. He said nothing of the time, but -told me that I should meet you here.” - -“Very like, very like,” growled the other. “I know the breed of old. -Feather-bed soldiers who need a warming-pan in camp. They take no heed -of time. I was brought up in a different school, and would have you know -that while you keep me company, you must learn my ways. How long have -you served?” He asked the question abruptly, bending on his companion a -keen and penetrating look that nothing seemed to escape. - -“I have carried the colours for nearly two years in Mountjoy´s -regiment.” - -"And never seen man stricken in fair fight, I warrant; that is before -you and will come speedily. Hath Colonel Lundy spoken of the work we are -about to take in hand?" - -“Only that I was to receive my instructions from you, and place myself -under your orders.” - -“That is well, at any rate. You are green and tender for the business, -but you may show the right stuff when the time comes. Things are going -crookedly here in Londonderry and elsewhere, Mr. Orme. We go neither -back nor forward, but stand swaying like men who know not whether to -turn to the right hand or to the left. We would fight but we dare not; -we would flee but we cannot. And all the while there are stout fellows -here who would handle a musket or trail a pike with the best troops in -Europe, if there were a man to lead them. These cursed councils and -divided plans breed nothing but failure. You will see Hamilton with his -levies across the Bann and round the wall of Londonderry, before the -month is out.” - -“I humbly trust not, but if we do never fear but we shall give a good -account of ourselves.” - -The old soldier smiled dubiously. “There is plenty of talk and -furbishing of weapons, but little of the strict drill and discipline -that makes soldiers; I am but a plain man myself and I have spoken out -plainly. The city is open as a village. There are ramparts to be -strengthened, ravelines and fascines to be constructed, supplies to be -furnished, and arms to be collected. We talk of standing a leaguer, as -if these things would do themselves. But needs must when the Devil -drives, and I know whither that carries. These councils have many -tongues and no head. They put forth declarations and think all is done -when they set their hands to paper with much spluttering of ink. I -remember when Francesco de Mello and de Fuentes----But that is an old -story and may be told again.” - -“I doubt not,” said Orme, “you have ripe experience, but I would do my -own work like a simple gentleman, and leave these things to those whose -business they are.” - -“Fairly rebuked. You are right, my lad, and I am an old fool to stand -prating of what hath no concern for you. But ´tis an old trick of mine -to find fault where I cannot mend. Natheless, the onfall at the castle -of Carrickfergus and the break of Dromore give me cause to grumble, and -Rawdon and Beresford and the rest of them might have taken a lesson from -a plain soldier like myself, that they might have profited by. They -think me only good enough to fetch and carry, spaniel-like--and you say -that Colonel Lundy hath told you nothing?” - -“Merely that I should place myself at your disposal; nothing else.” - -“We ride pell-mell for Enniskillen; you and I and some dozen troopers, -less or more, without drawing bridle or tarrying by the way. There is a -precious cartel these Enniskilleners must digest forthwith, inviting -them to leave the safety of their water-walls and, as I hear, good store -of provender, to take their chance with us and fight it out behind these -petty dykes and fences here. If they ask counsel of mine--but it is our -business to see that it carries safely.” - -“I had hoped,” said Orme, “that we might have seen some service; this -doth not hold out much hope of that.” - -“Hear how these young cockerels are given to crowing!” cried Macpherson; -“I promise you this means no evening stroll upon the battlements, but a -work of danger which may try your mettle. I mean not the gathering of -the desperadoes who make war upon the defenceless, though these have -stood to their half-pikes and other outlandish weapons ere now, but I am -much mistaken if the royal troops be not on the roads and give us play -enough. In this barbarous country we do not look for the courtesies of -war, or even the interchange of prisoners; my Lord Galmoy and others, -whom I hope to remember, have shown that a gentleman can play the -hangman, and a soldier hath other trades than fighting. The journey is -like to prove adventurous though it end in nothing. See that your horse -be sure and fresh, and your pistols such that a man may place his life -on them. I remember me when my life was placed in jeopardy once by a -rotten girth. It was in Flanders in sixty-nine--but this gossip hath no -interest for you. It were more to the purpose that I told you we set out -at three in the morning with what secrecy we can observe, and that you -meet me at the Bishop´s gate. Hackett, who is, I am told, a sergeant of -your company, and knows the country, will bring our horses to the gate. -You know the man; of what character is he?” - -“As true and loyal as any in the city--the best man, I think, in the -regiment.” - -“And discreet? these good men are ofttimes inconsiderate.” - -“He is no babbler, sir,” Orme answered, somewhat nettled by the tone of -his companion, “though a pious man and God-fearing.” - -“I, Ninian Macpherson, like him none the worse for that, young -gentleman,” answered the other gravely. “Our religion hath placed you -and me, I humbly trust, in arms this day, and sends us forth on this -embassage to the no small peril of our lives. But the ways of grace are -not always the ways of worldly prudence, and it behoves me who am -answerable for our safety to act with diligence. Now, look you, Mr. -Orme, I have watched you carefully, and I think you honest--dull it may -be but honest, and I speak you plainly. I am suspicious of your -colonel--I do not understand his ways. There is treason in the air, -though who is free and who is touched I hardly know, but I who have -lived among designing men for nigh on seven-and-fifty years think I know -somewhat of honest work, and I was fearful this was but another trap.” - -“I think, sir, Colonel Lundy is honest and devoted to Their Majesties.” - -“I do not doubt you do, but we shall see. The citizens will give him a -short shrift if they find him a rogue. But I had liked to see such zeal -as befits one who commands a city, and would not be taken unprepared. -When the regiments arrive from England they will find their -entertainment of the poorest. If empty magazines and disordered -companies are evidence of loyalty you might find a sign to hang up -before every house in the city. But Ulster hath a proud heart and a -stiff neck and will fight when she is pushed.” - -“The Kingdom´s safety and the Protestant religion depend upon her -stoutness; she will die hard.” - -“It may come to that. Now, young gentleman, get you gone. He that would -be early afoot should be early abed, and see that you get to rest -betimes. Let there be no late revelling. We meet at three.” - -Gervase Orme who had been lately an ensign in Mountjoy´s regiment of -foot, had been quartered with his company in Londonderry, when his -Colonel was appointed Governor of the City. Like other gentlemen of his -faith he had not wavered in his allegiance or dreamed of taking up arms -against the House of Stuart, till loyalty had become a crime and -resistance an imperative duty. His own slender patrimony was in peril; -his faith was threatened and in danger of being proscribed; his friends, -whose safety and honour were his own, were placed at the mercy of their -bitter and hereditary foes. Civil war was imminent and he could not -hesitate as to the course he should adopt. James had broken faith with -his people; the native Celtic population, steadfast in this, while they -were wayward and fickle in all else, were determined to drive the -English garrison into the sea, and the instincts of religion and of race -intensified their hatred of the dominant caste. - -When Colonel Lundy took the oath of allegiance to William and Mary, -Gervase Orme willingly followed the example of his Colonel, and embarked -with enthusiasm on the impending struggle. To him it was the one course -left open, and he felt, like the other simple gentlemen of his time, -that when he drew his sword it was for fatherland, for faith, and even -for life itself. Nor did he very much doubt the result. The descendent -of a Saxon colonist he looked down on the men of Munster and of -Connaught as a race fit only for hewing wood and drawing water, for -Fontenoy and other stricken fields had yet to be fought in which the -Irish proved their splendid qualities as fighting men. And he had the -Saxon´s profound faith in himself and his people. - -Therefore it was when Colonel Lundy had directed him to place himself -under Macpherson´s orders, with some prospect of service, he had obeyed -with alacrity, hopeful that their destination might be one of those -towns upon the Bann where the Protestant forces were awaiting the coming -of the Irish army which was rapidly advancing north. In this he had been -disappointed, but he was glad to forsake for a time the comparative -inactivity of garrison life, and almost hoped that Macpherson´s -anticipation of danger might be realized. - -The night was raw and cold when he arose unwillingly from his bed, and -his preparations being complete overnight, hurriedly dressed and -endeavoured to partake of the meal his careful landlady had provided the -evening before. When he reached the gate Macpherson was already there -before him. The old soldier, wrapped in a long military cloak, was -standing with his back to the wall, reading from a small volume in a -loud monotonous tone, and the men were drawn in a circle round him, -holding their horses by the bridle. One of the troopers held a lantern -for the reader, who closed the book as Orme came up, and thrust it into -his breast. - -“You are close on your time, Mr. Orme. We have just been having our -stirrup-cup from the Word, that, mayhap, will put us in heart for our -cold ride. ´Tis an excellent morning dram. The sergeant hath seen to the -arms and tells me they will serve.” - -“Both arms and men, sir,” said Hackett, in a low tone, “I will answer -for them with my life.” - -“´Tis well. Now open the gate and get to horse, for we must put many a -mile between us and the city before daybreak. A mile at the start is -worth two at the end.” - -Macpherson leapt with surprising activity on the grey charger that -Hackett had brought down to the gate, and the little troop sat patiently -on their horses waiting till the drawbridge had been lowered and the -great gate swung open. With a solemn “God speed” from the men on duty, -they rode silently out into the darkness, Hackett leading at a round -trot over the rough and broken road. - -For three hours they pursued their way in a silence broken only by an -occasional word of command, or by a cry of warning from one of the -troopers who had stumbled over some obstacle, or had floundered deep in -the bog by the road side. They were all rejoiced to see the first grey -streak of light that gave promise of the coming day. - -The morning had broken red through the mists that lay thick along the -valley as they gained the top of the hill up which they had been -climbing. The road was already visible, winding through a deep gorge, -and skirted by great masses of rock, green with ferns and bramble. Here -and there scattered through the uplands lay a farm steading, surrounded -by its stretch of tilth and orchard close. But no sound of morning -labour could be heard. The fields were lying waste and untilled, and the -homesteads stood deserted. The clank of the horses hoofs made a -melancholy music in the silence. The life and movement of the little -troop brought into still greater relief the desolation round them. - -Macpherson halted on the top of the hill, and dismounting loosened his -horse´s girths. Then he removed the saddle and taking off his gloves, -began to rub down the charger. - -“That is my prince of steeds,” he said, contemplating his task and -caressing the glossy neck with pride and affection; “nearly four hours´ -hard riding and never turning a hair! An old soldier, my young friend,” -he continued, turning to Gervase, “learns a good many things on his -rough journey through the world. He learns to weigh a prince´s promises -and favours, the strength of friendship and the worth of love. And he -finds they are all vanity, even the vanity of vanities, as the Hebrew -hath it. But he grows to love his horse. Together they have faced the -scathe of the battle, and the privations of the march. Often and often -this sleek skin hath been my pillow, and but for him these useless bones -had been whitening on the sandy plains of Utrecht, or the rolling -uplands of the Maas. And for beauty--you youths go mad for beauty--is -there aught in the world to compare with him for comeliness? That little -head and graceful neck, those swift strong legs and deep shoulders -fashioned as if by a cunning sculptor--there is perfect beauty. And he -is faithful even to death. He will carry me till he drops and leave a -royal stable at the whistle of his homeless master. I tell you, young -sir, there is nothing in the world like a noble horse and the joy of -battle in a righteous cause.” - -“In truth,” said Gervase, “you are proud of your horse with reason, but -I trust there are other things in the world one may love with as good -cause.” - -“Aye,” answered the other bitterly, “you are young, and youth is full of -hope and trust. The man you call your friend cajoles and tricks you, and -the woman whose favour is the breath of your nostrils, deserts you at -the first whisper of misfortune. These things are of the world and they -endure for an hour; the son of perdition baits his traps with them, but -the man whose hope is fixed, learns to shun them as a snare.” - -“I have been taught otherwise,” said Gervase, “and I have had no reason -to question what I have learnt. I have no trick of speech, but I hold by -love and friendship.” - -“And I tell you they are but shadows. Here there is no abiding city, and -these things but wean our hearts from the eternal. Seven-and-fifty years -have been the days of my pilgrimage, and at eighteen I saw my first -battle. The blood of the youth is hot, the lusts of the flesh are strong -upon him, and he is slow to see the finger of God writing upon the -tablets of the heart. Mine was a wild youth and a wayward, and like -another prodigal I went forth to riotous living. Surely I dwelt in the -tents of Meshech, but God hath seen good to open the eyes of his -servant.” - -“Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase gravely, “I do not ask you to -vouchsafe me your confidence, and I leave theology to the parson. I -serve God after the fashion of the Church of England, and will do my -duty as becomes my name and manhood. In all other things I am at your -service, but in this we cannot walk together.” - -He turned away and left the old soldier gazing after him earnestly. - -The sun had already risen above the morning mists that had gathered -themselves into fantastic shapes and were dispersing slowly down the -valley--the promise of a lovely day in spring. The troopers had -dismounted, and were making a frugal meal of dry rye bread and cold -bacon, washed down by a draught of the spring water that trickled down -the rock by the roadside. Weary with their long march, covered with mud -and flaked with foam, the horses cropped the long grass that grew -luxuriantly under the hedge of thorn. Gervase threw himself down on the -grassy sward by the road-side, and watched the picturesque scene around -him. Then, tired as he was, a heavy drowsiness overtook him, and the -deep valley and the swelling uplands, and the horses, and the -travel-stained troopers became part of a broken dream. Over his head he -seemed to hear the jubilant notes of a thrush in the white thorn, and in -a little while a deep voice reading one of the psalms that glow with the -rapture of battle and thrill with the triumph of faith, followed by the -loud “Amen” of the troopers. - -Then he fell into a profound sleep. When he awoke the sunshine filled -the valley, and Macpherson was standing over him with a smile on his -rugged face. - -“Is it time to march?” cried Gervase. - -“It is time to be up and doing,” Macpherson answered solemnly. “This day -will try of what stuff the Lord hath made your sinews and fashioned your -heart. Yonder is the enemy.” - -Gervase leapt hastily from his resting-place. Already the men were in -their saddles and were examining the priming of their carbines. Far down -the valley he could see a small body of horse, the sunshine glancing on -their swords and steel head-pieces, and the dust rising thickly under -the hoofs of the chargers. A little in advance were riding two officers, -one of whom rode a grey horse and was conspicuous by the scarlet cloak -he wore over his armour. - -Gervase watched Macpherson with surprise and admiration. The old soldier -seemed like another man under the inspiration of the coming struggle; -his eyes flashed, his chest heaved, and his deep strong voice thrilled -like a trumpet. Leaping like a youth into his saddle and laying his hand -lightly for a moment on the restive charger´s neck, he drew his sword -from the scabbard. Then he placed himself across the road in front of -the troopers and pointed with his sword to the enemy, who had already -quickened their pace and were advancing at a sharp trot. - -“Yon are Galmoy´s Horse, gentlemen. They are nearly three to one, and I -am told they can fight. What say ye?” - -Already the troopers had caught the joyous spirit of their grim leader; -his voice stirred them like a trumpet. They had caught the contagion of -his hope, his faith, and his enthusiasm. - -“We are doing God´s work, sir,” said Sergeant Hackett soberly, as he -gathered up his reins and drew his hat tightly over his brow. “We will -follow you, Captain Macpherson, even to the mouth of the pit. Not one of -us will fail you.” - -“Then we will show the butchers what we can do. Remember, let ‘no -quarter´ be our word this day. Do not crowd together until we have drawn -their fire. Then give them a salvo steadily, and like brave men and -careful. Thereafter in God´s name, let them feel the sword´s edge and -the power of the true religion.” - -Macpherson had risen in his stirrups, his face glowing with the joy of -battle. Already the enemy had shortened the distance between them, and a -few minutes more would bring them within pistol shot. They could already -hear the heavy trampling of the horses as they came galloping up the -hill, the jingling of the bridles and the clank of the swords. As the -little troop swept up the hillside it made a gallant show. Gervase felt -his heart beat fast and loud; his hand trembled with excitement on the -hilt of his sword, and his breath came quick. He found himself longing -with feverish impatience for the word to charge, but Macpherson kept his -men well in hand, trying their temper, and watching them narrowly like a -wary soldier. Not a man showed sign of fear or indecision. - -“You are a young soldier, Mr. Orme,” said Macpherson, with a joyous -laugh, “and young soldiers are ever rash and heedless. Let us give yon -sons of Belial time to think of what they do. You will feel in good time -the thirst to trample down and slay, and the Devil driving you to rend -and to destroy. Wait till they come to where the road widens into the -marsh. Yon fellow rides like a gallant gentleman--a Frenchman too, I -think, and knows his work. Ha! here they come. Now, my children, follow -me, and may God defend his cause this day!” - -Macpherson put spurs to his horse, and his troopers followed in an -orderly array at a hard gallop. - -It was clear the enemy was uncertain as to their intentions, for -immediately Macpherson had put his horse in motion, they drew up short -and halted. But still the little troop kept on steadily, riding two -abreast along the narrow road, and holding their carbines in readiness -to fire. The young officer on the grey charger had thrown off his -scarlet cloak, and was giving directions to his men with the point of -his sword. Several of the troopers had dismounted and lined the roadside -where a fence of loose stones presented a sort of low screen, or -parapet. - -And now barely a hundred yards divided the combatants. Already a shot or -two had been fired, but as they came within range the dragoons, without -waiting for further orders, fired wildly. Gervase, who rode in advance, -turned to see if any of the men behind him had been struck; not a man -moved in his saddle. Then Macpherson rose in his stirrups and shouted in -a voice of thunder---- - -“Now, my gallant fellows, fire! Aim at the horses and let every shot -tell.” - -For an instant, as it seemed, the little troop stood fast, and orderly -as on parade, took aim and fired. Several horses went down, and for a -minute all was confusion and disorder in the royal ranks. - -That minute was the turning tide of battle. With a wild shout and a deep -oath, Macpherson waved his sword above his head and gave the charge. -Instinctively Gervase drove his spurs into his horse´s flanks, and -grasped the hilt of his sword with a tighter clutch. In another moment -he was in the middle of the red-coats and almost without knowing how it -was done, he saw his blade buried in the body of the dragoon who had -first encountered him. As in a dream he saw the man catch convulsively -at the horse´s mane and fall in a heap to the ground. Macpherson was at -his side, hammering on sword and head-piece. His voice could be heard -above the clank and clash of steel and the shouts of the fighting men. -“No quarter to the men of Belial. Strike home for the true religion. -God´s wounds! you must have it.” - -Two troopers had thrown themselves across his path; one he had charged -so violently that his horse had stumbled and gone down, crushing his -rider; the other parried his thrust and then turned to flee. But his -doom was on him. Down came the deadly steel on the iron head-piece. -Nothing could withstand that blow, but the sword was shivered at the -hilt. - -“The curse of Heaven light on the hand that fashioned thee!” cried -Macpherson, hurling the hilt from him and drawing his pistol from the -holster. His men followed close upon his heels, hacking and hewing with -their heavy swords. No man failed in his duty that day. - -Gervase saw the young officer before him gallantly striving to rally his -men, and imploring them to stand. Quick as thought their swords were -crossed, and Gervase saw his eyes light up with inexpressible hate. “Ah! -canaille,” he cried, “you will see at least how a gentleman can fight.” - -It was not a time for nice tricks of fence, and Gervase saw in a moment -that his opponent was a more skilful swordsman than himself. He saw the -flash of his opponent´s blade and felt the warm blood streaming down his -face, but he did not give him time to repeat the blow. Throwing himself -upon him he caught him round the neck, and together they fell to the -ground. It was indeed a miracle how they escaped beneath the hoofs of -the trampling horses as they grappled with one another in the dust. Then -the tide of battle swept past them, and they were left alone to fight it -out. But the delicate Frenchman was no match for the stout young giant -whose arms were as strong as an oak sapling. Gervase placed his knee -upon his breast, and wrenched the sword from his hand. - -“It is enough, Monsieur; I yield myself prisoner.” - -Gervase leapt to his feet and reached out his hand to assist his -prisoner from the ground. But the other refused the proffered courtesy, -and when he had risen, nonchalantly began to arrange his disordered -dress, and to brush the dust from his clothes with an embroidered -handkerchief. “Your arms, monsieur, are very strong, but I do not -understand the fashion of your country. We do not fight thus in France. -It is my regret that you should not see the end of this gallant affair.” - -There was a covert sneer in the tone that there was no mistaking. - -“I have seen the beginning and the end, sir,” Gervase said simply. “Your -men do not seem to relish the fare we have provided for them.” - -“My men are not soldiers; they are poltroons. Let us dismiss them. May I -inquire into whose hands it has been my good fortune to fall?” - -“My name, sir, is Gervase Orme, sometime ensign in Mountjoy´s regiment, -and now in arms for the Protestant religion and the liberties of the -kingdom. I am very much at your service.” - -“You are very good, but Victor de Laprade, whom men call Vicomte of that -name, seeks favour from none. I think,” he continued, looking down the -road along which the pursuit had rolled, “we are likely to be better -acquainted.” - -“It is not to be doubted, sir: the skirmish is over and your men are -wholly broken.” - -“Nay, Luttrel was a brave man; I am sorry for him, but the rest--let -them go.” - -The moment that the Vicomte de Laprade had gone down in Gervase´s grasp, -the dragoons had broken and fled, followed hard by Macpherson and his -troop. The pursuers were in no mood to give quarter that day. The -atrocities of Galmoy some time before had filled their hearts with a -thirst for vengeance; it was a sacred duty not to spare, but to slay, -and slay without remorse or pity. Far down the road thundered the -headlong flight, pursuers and pursued mingled together. De Laprade had -seated himself on the fence by the roadside, and watched without -apparent interest the incidents of the pursuit. It was impossible to -tell from his face what his real feelings might have been. - -"_C´est fini_," he said lightly, as the troopers halted and turned to -retrace their footsteps to where the conflict had commenced. - -Macpherson came up, wiping the perspiration from his brow. - -“I saw you go down,” he said to Gervase, “and feared it was all over -with you. I should have been sorry to my dying day, for you have shown -the right soldier spirit,--you have been touched?” - -“A mere scratch, but we have gained a great success.” - -“A pretty affair. What popinjay have we yonder?” and he pointed to De -Laprade. - -“One of King James´s new French gentlemen,” said Gervase smiling, “who -is the first captive of my bow and spear.” - -“One of the accursed race,” said Macpherson grimly. “And the message -hath come to me; ‘no quarter,´ was our word this day. His blood be upon -his own head.” He drew his pistol from the holster, and dismounted from -his horse. Gervase saw the deep gloom gather on his brow. - -“What would you do?” Gervase cried, catching his arm and placing himself -between his Captain and the Vicomte. “In God´s name, you do not mean to -say that you would slay him in cold blood?” - -“In cold blood, no, but in righteous vengeance for the evil that hath -been wrought upon our people. Do you forget Dixie and Charleton? I have -taken a vow before the Lord this day that not one of them shall escape -me. The blood of Abel is crying from the ground, and shall I, the least -of his servants, suffer that cry to go unheard?” - -“While I live you shall not injure one hair of his head. The lessons -that you have learned in the school of Turenne we will not practise -here. No prisoner shall be slain in cold blood while Gervase Orme can -wield a sword to defend him.” - -Macpherson turned away and replaced his pistol in the holster without a -word, and stooping down began to examine the forelegs of his charger. -While this scene was being enacted on which his life depended, the -Vicomte continued sitting upon the fence, flicking the dust from his -riding boots with his handkerchief and smiling an easy smile of apparent -indifference. He seemed to be the only one who had no interest in the -issue of the quarrel. Then he rose, and going over to Gervase held out -his hand. - -“However you may yet decide this trivial affair,” he said, “I thank you -for your courtesy. I declined to take your hand; I beg your pardon. You -are a brave man and a gentleman. But it is a matter of regret that you -should quarrel with your friend on my poor account.” - -“There is no quarrel, sir,” said Macpherson, who had overheard his -words, raising himself to his full height, and looking steadily as he -spoke. “This young gentleman was right, and I was wrong. He had given -you quarter, which matter he may yet live to repent, and you were under -his protection by the laws of war. I might have shot you down in the -melee but I left him to deal with you. He hath seen good to spare your -life, and in your presence, sir, I now ask his pardon, which will not be -denied me.” - -“I cannot pardon where there is no offence, Captain Macpherson,” said -Gervase. “It was my good fortune to fight on the side that can afford -protection, and had it been otherwise I am certain that M. de Laprade -would have rendered me the like service.” - -The Vicomte bowing low, raised his hat with a grand air. Then he said, -addressing Macpherson, “Monsieur le Capitaine appears to regret that he -did not shoot me. It is not yet too late to try his skill. By the -kindness of this gentleman I have still my sword, and if you, sir, do -not think it beneath your dignity to try a pass with a poor soldier and -gentleman like myself, I shall be happy to give you the opportunity you -desire. Here is a pretty piece of heath--how say you, sir?” - -“I say that I fight only in the way of my duty, but at another time when -public necessity may give way to private entertainment I shall have no -objection to oblige you either with sword or pistol, on foot or -horseback. No man that knows him will say that Ninian Macpherson -declined a duello because he feared the thrust of a rapier or the shot -of a pistol. When our journey is ended and the business now on hand -completed----” - -“Be assured I shall afford you what you are pleased to call your -entertainment. And now may I ask whither you purpose to carry me?” - -“We shall carry you, sir, as far as Enniskillen, and, mayhap, if you so -desire it back to Londonderry.” - -“I have no desires; I have learnt the uses of adversity.” - -“Then you have learnt the last lesson a man can learn,” answered -Macpherson, abruptly turning on his heel, and joining Hackett who was -looking after one of the men who had been wounded. - -The skirmish had in every sense been a complete success. Only one man -had been slightly, and another severely wounded, and these raw and -undisciplined yeomen had shown a wonderful steadiness and gallantry. -When the horses of the dragoons had been collected, for Macpherson -believed in gathering the fruits of victory, they were ready to start on -the march. - -“The prisoner is in your charge, Sergeant Hackett,” he said. “Shoot him -through the head if he tries to run away.” - -De Laprade shrugged his shoulders. “Bah!” he said, “your Captain eats -fire. Whither would he have me run?” - -“Not outside the reach of my carbine,” said Hackett drily. - -Gervase had fallen into the rear, where he was presently joined by -Macpherson, whose passion had apparently died away, and left his face -pale with an almost ghastly pallor. They rode side by side, neither -speaking a word. Macpherson´s head was bent on his breast, and Gervase -could hear him muttering to himself in a low tone, but he could not -catch the meaning of his words. He was evidently struggling with some -violent emotion. Then he seemed to wake up from the profound reverie in -which he had been sunk, and laying his hand on the arm of his companion, -said in a low voice, - -“Mr. Orme, thou art a well-conditioned and, I think, a godly young man, -and though it does not beseem one of my gray hairs and length of years -to open his heart to one young and lacking in experience as thou art, -yet the spirit within me prompts me to speak.” - -Gervase was silent. - -“There are times,” he continued, “when the Spirit of the Lord is upon -me. Then I can hear the strains of a rich and heavenly minstrelsy, and -my soul is possessed with the joy of everlasting hope. Alas! I do begin -to fear it is but the snare of the fowler. This day the evil one took -possession of me. I relapsed into the gall of bitterness and the bonds -of iniquity. I sware evil oaths; I rejoiced in the shedding of blood, -nor was it the cause of the Lord that I followed this day, but the -promptings of my own carnal heart. Can the Lord of Righteousness and the -Prince of the powers of the air dwell in the same breast?” - -“I do not know how these things may be,” Gervase answered, “but I know -that you have done your duty this day like a good and valiant soldier. -It may be that old habits are strong upon you, and an old warhorse like -yourself lifts his ears at the sound of the charge.” - -“The hearts of the elect are purified, and old habits cannot draw the -soul from God.” - -He looked at Gervase with a look of profound sadness in his eyes, and -there was an undertone of despair in his voice. It was impossible to -doubt his sincerity. Spiritual despair had seized upon him, and his -narrow creed had no word of consolation to offer him in his hour of -doubt. He had drawn aside the veil that concealed the workings of his -heart. - -“All the days of my youth were vanity,” he continued; “I squandered my -substance in riotous living, and spent my strength in the lap of -harlots. Then the Lord found me in the wilderness, and for ten years I -have walked in the narrow way, till now mine enemy has found me this -day; nay, not this day, but the hour I girt this sword on my side. I am -the same man that fought at St. Gothard, and walked up the breach at -Philisbourg.” - -“And may I never fight by the side of a better soldier,” cried Gervase -with assumed gaiety. "The Protestant cause could ill afford to lose an -arm like yours. But for you we had never charged this day. - -“Ah! it was a gallant onfall;” said the old soldier meditatively, “I -have seldom seen a brisker, but it is vanity, vanity.” He sighed, and -relapsed into silence, nor did Gervase venture to address him again till -they rode into the village where they intended to pass the night. - - - - - CHAPTER II. - OF THE ENTERTAINMENT THEY HAD AT THE INN. - - -At the door of the inn Hackett dismounted, and unfastening the latch -with some difficulty entered the kitchen. A fire of peat was smouldering -on the hearth, and the remains of what was evidently a hurried meal were -scattered on the table. A number of pike heads and scythe blades were -piled in a corner. There was no one in the room. He rapped loudly with -the hilt of his sword on the table and presently a woman made her -appearance from one of the inner rooms. She seemed greatly alarmed at -the unexpected arrival of her guests, and as she entered she cast a look -of fear and expectancy round the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the weapons -in the corner and she stopped short. - -“We want food and lodgings for the night,” said the sergeant, who had -been examining one of the pewter mugs carefully, “lodgings for the men -and horses. Bacon, I see, you have in plenty. Is there hay in the -stable?” - -“Ay,” she answered nervously, “but my man is from home and I cannot -serve you.” - -“Oh, for that we will just wait upon ourselves and be beholden to ye all -the same. Your man, I doubt not, has taken to another trade, and belike -it were as well we did not fall across him. And for what do ye keep -these toys?” he asked, kicking the heap of weapons with his jack boot. -“These are not tools an honest man would willingly handle, but we will -inquire further thereinto.” - -So saying he went out to make his report to Macpherson, who was awaiting -his return with undisguised impatience. “Things have an ill look, sir,” -he said, with a stiff salute, “and I doubt not there is mischief brewing -hereabouts; but there is a can of ale for ourselves and fodder for the -beasts.” - -“We can go no further if we would,” said Macpherson, “there is not -another mile in the horses. And,” he continued, glancing at the -capability of the house to withstand an attack, “we can make good this -place against a hundred. Let the horses be looked to carefully. I myself -will examine the stable. Come, sweetheart, thou hast done a good day´s -work and hast well earned a night´s repose.” - -Gervase and the Vicomte entered the house together. The woman had -replenished the fire and was busily engaged making her preparations for -the reception of her unwelcome guests. As De Laprade came in she gave a -start of surprise, but the look of recognition, which for a moment -lighted up her face, immediately gave place to the dull, stolid -expression she had worn in her interview with the sergeant. She -continued her work apparently unconscious of the presence of the two -strangers. The Vicomte threw his hat and sword on the table and sat down -on a stool close to the hearth. - -“I am destined to see Madame again,” he said, stretching out his hands -towards the warmth of the hearth, for the evening had grown chilly. “And -how is la belle Marie?” - -As he spoke a tall girl of eighteen, barefooted and bareheaded, entered -the door, tall and straight as a young poplar, lissom and graceful, with -the deep blue black eyes and low broad brow that one meets again and -again among the peasants of the West country. Here is the pure Greek, -instinct with life, but touched with a certain grace of sad and pensive -beauty. She also started with surprise when her eyes fell on the young -Frenchman. - -“I thought, mother,” she said hesitating--"I thought--" - -“Have done thinking and help me with the supper,” her mother answered, -with a glance of warning. “The gentlemen have ridden far and will stay -the night.” - -“Madame does not recognize her old friends, ma belle,” said De Laprade -lightly, “but you will not be so cruel. When we parted this morning, I -did not dream that we should meet so soon, but it is the fortune of -war.” - -“And the rest,” cried the girl eagerly, “are they also--” - -The woman looked up anxiously for a moment. "Poof!--they are -gone--_ecrasés_; they need no roof over their heads to-night, nor a -pretty maiden to wait on them. They drank too deep last night to have -cool heads this morning, and now they will never hear the reveille sound -again. It is a great pity, but the fortunes of war--" - -“I don´t understand,” said the girl. “What has become of them?” - -“They are lying yonder by the roadside and will waken never again.” - -The woman threw up her hands with a loud cry and fell on the floor. - -“These barbarians have then some touch of humanity,” said De Laprade -softly, while Gervase ran forward and raised her head upon his knee, and -the girl seized a water can which stood on the table and bathed her -cheeks and forehead. In a few minutes the woman recovered consciousness -and looked round her wildly. - -“It is not true,” she cried; “´tis a lie. My beautiful boy that left me -singing this morning with the lovelight dancing in his eyes is not dead. -The sword was never sharpened that could slay him. I care not for King -James or King William and for--why should they not leave me in peace? -Tell me, for the Holy Virgin´s sake, that it is not true.” She rose and -staggering forward threw herself at De Laprade´s feet and caught him -round the knees, with streaming eyes and a look of wild entreaty in her -face. - -He endeavoured ineffectually to disengage himself, but she clung to him -with desperate earnestness. His look of placid indifference gave way to -one of profound pity. “It may be,” he said, gently endeavouring to raise -her to her feet, “it may be that I was wrong and your son is not dead. I -remember me he was our guide and did not carry arms. He may have escaped -the fate that befell the others, but one of these gentlemen will tell -you.” - -At this moment Macpherson, accompanied by the sergeant, entered the -house. - -“What pother is this?” he said roughly. “If you are unwilling to serve -us we will even wait upon ourselves. We do not make war on women, but -they must not hinder us.” - -Gervase drew him aside by the sleeve, hastily explaining how matters -stood; but there was no comfort or hope in his answer. He had not seen -the boy, but there might be good reason for that; the woman should have -kept the lad at home if she was unwilling he should take his chance, and -no one could be blamed if he went down with the rest. One more or less, -what did it matter? - -The girl stood listening to their brief conversation with flashing eyes, -and then took her mother by the arm, and drawing her into the inner room -closed the door behind them. - -Macpherson was in the enemy´s country and accordingly made himself at -home. Under his direction a meal was soon prepared, and a cask of -home-brewed ale that had been discovered in a recess, was rolled into -the middle of the floor, and the men helped themselves. They were too -tired for much speech and devoted themselves to their repast in silence, -addressing one another occasionally in undertones, and making huge -inroads on the rashers and coarse bread that rapidly disappeared before -them. Macpherson sat moodily apart, eating and drinking but sparingly--a -marked contrast to De Laprade who seemed to forget that he was a -prisoner, and laughed at his own conceits with light-hearted gaiety. He -had divested himself of his peruke and riding boots, and stretched -himself along the rude settle that stood near the hearth. He appeared to -pay no attention to the stern leader who scowled more and more deeply as -the Vicomte´s laugh grew louder, and the tone of his conversation -assumed a more unbecoming levity. Gervase could not help feeling -interested, for the type was altogether new to him--there was a life and -colour about the stories to which he was a stranger; it was a little bit -of Versailles, brilliant and careless, set down in the wilds of -Fermanagh. - -“Pardieu!” said the Vicomte, “it was play that did it; there was nothing -else left. My creditors will miss me, I do not doubt, but they were -troublesome and I hate trouble; so I hastened to seek glory--bah! it is -a greater trouble than the other. Where is the glory when your soldiers -will not fight, and your king is a poltroon? There is no music like the -rattle of the dicebox, when fortune, the beautiful goddess, is smiling -like a lover. Love and play are the two things that make life worth -living.” - -“Of love,” said Gervase, “I know nothing, but for play--I leave that to -the fool and the knave. Nay, I mean not to say that men of honour have -not ere now given themselves up to its strange fascination, but it was -their weakness. For me, I like rather to hear the yelp of the otter -hounds when the morning is young and the spring woods are full of life -and beauty, or the cry of the beagles when the scent is lying strong. -You have never seen the brown trout in the freshet?” - -“There were no fish in the ponds at Versailles,” said the Vicomte drily, -“but when a great lady dropped her fan--” - -Macpherson rose to his feet and drew out the small leather-bound volume -that Gervase had seen him use before. “There has been enough of this -untimely jesting,” he said. “These are not manners that suit our station -or our work, and if you, sir, care not to join in the devotions of -Christian men, I shall not compel you to remain, but you may retire to -your repose. But as for us, we will thank God for His watchful care this -day.” - -“Your devotions, sir, will interest me beyond measure.” - -“Hackett, give me the light,” said Macpherson, looking for a moment -sternly at the speaker from under his heavy eyebrows. The sergeant went -to the hearth and taking up a blazing piece of resinous fir held it up -to his leader, who opened the book and began solemnly to read one of -those Psalms that breathe forth vengeance and savage triumph. - -“Plead my cause, oh Lord, with them that strive with me, fight against -them that fight against me. Take hold of shield and buckler and stand up -for my help.” - -Then he closed the book and dropping on his knees (an example which was -followed by all the company except the Vicomte, who was apparently fast -asleep) he prayed loudly and fervently. His prayer was to some extent a -repetition of the verses he had been reading, clothed in more homely -language. He prayed that God would lead His people forth in safety -through the perils and dangers that encompassed them; and that the -wicked oppressor might be taken in his own toils and destroyed utterly. -Then from the language of supplication he passed to the enthusiasm of -prophecy. The day was at hand when a great deliverance would be wrought -for the people of God. The scarlet woman, sunken in her adulteries and -witchcraft, would pass into the darkness of Tophet; they who lived by -the sword would perish by the sword, and the Protestant cause would -triumph over all its enemies. When he had finished, and his loud Amen -was repeated by the kneeling men around him, he remained for some time -on his knees apparently engaged in private prayer. Then he rose to his -feet with the prompt alacrity that distinguished him, and gave the few -necessary instructions for the night. - -“We march at three,” he said abruptly. “Ralston will do duty at the -Bridge, and Given will take the church at the upper end of the village. -In three hours they will be relieved. There must be no sleeping on -sentry duty, my lads,” he added, with additional sternness in his tone, -“for we do not want our throats cut while we sleep. This is not child´s -play, and if you fail in aught be assured you have a man to deal with -who knows how to punish laggards.” - -With these words he left the room abruptly and the men, with the -exception of the two who had been selected for duty, settled themselves -on the earthen floor of the kitchen to snatch a brief repose. Gervase -had secured for himself a small room at the end of the house in which -there was a rude bed, and which he had proposed to share with the -Vicomte who, however, had declined his offer. The door of the room, -which was of oak, was secured by a heavy bolt and this he fastened -carefully behind him when he entered the apartment. The moon was shining -bright and the sky was full of stars. From the little window Gervase -could see the church tower standing square and black in the soft yellow -moon-light, and the little river winding down the valley like a tangled -silver thread. Placing his sword within reach and his pistols under his -pillow, he threw himself on the pallet. But for some time his mind was -too busy with the events of the day to allow him to settle himself to -sleep. Half dreaming, half awake, he saw again and again in its deadly -agony and unspeakable terror, the face of the man whom he had run -through in the skirmish. He heard ringing in his ears the wild shouts of -the charging horsemen, and his sword was raised aloft to strike, when -his strength seemed suddenly to become as the strength of a little -child, and his heart to die for fear within him. At length, worn out -with the labour of the day, he fell into a profound and dreamless sleep. - -It was long past midnight when he was awakened by the sound of the -crashing and splintering of wood, the clash of weapons and the glare of -blazing lights. Leaping, dazed and bewildered, from his bed, he caught -up his sword, and placing his back against the wall, prepared to sell -his life as dearly as possible. Already the stout oak panels had given -way under the heavy blows that were being dealt from the outside. In -another minute the door fell in with a crash, and the room was filled -with flashing lights and a crowd of armed ruffians. At the sight of him -standing with his weapon drawn, his assailants halted for a moment; then -someone raised the cry: “Cut the throat of the heretic,” and there was a -simultaneous rush upon him. They were so crowded together that they -could not effectually use their weapons, and to his own surprise Gervase -was able to keep them at bay. - -When the first shock of surprise had passed, and it passed almost -immediately, he felt his eyes clear and his nerves steady themselves -into a cool and deliberate resolve to die, if needs must, like a valiant -fighting man. He realized at a glance the extreme desperateness of the -situation, and his very despair gave him courage. His grasp was firm and -strong on the hilt of his sword, and the pulses of his blood began to -beat steadily. In after days he wondered that it should be so, and like -a simple and courageous gentleman, he set it down to no heroism of his -own, but to the inspiration and direction of a higher Power. In a moment -standing there he knew what had happened. The sentinels had been -surprised at their post, the men below had been taken unawares and -overpowered without resistance, and the hostelry was completely in the -hands of the enemy. For him there was no hope of escape, and he knew he -need expect no quarter. Leaping upon the bed, he parried the blows that -were dealt at him. Again and again his assailants came surging up, and -again and again he cleared the deadly circle round him. Already two or -three bodies lay on the floor below him: his sword streamed with blood -from the point to the hilt. For a moment there was a pause--his courage -and coolness had checked the first rush. Then with a deep oath one of -the fellows sprang forward, and caught him round the knees with a grasp -that he could not disengage, and another leaping on the bed beside him, -sought to wrest the weapon from his hand. He thought that the end was -come and that in another minute it would be all over. But he felt his -strength the strength of ten. Dealing one of the fellows a tremendous -blow fair and straight in the face, he shortened his sword and ran the -other through the body; without a sound the man rolled over and fell in -a heap on the floor. Again the circle cleared round him and he drew a -deep breath. Then there was a sound of rushing water in his ears; the -room swam round him; tottering and falling he clung to the wall for -support. Through a blinding mist he saw, or dreamt he saw, the gleam of -uplifted weapons round him ready to strike, and he wondered that they -did not make an end of him; then the tall figure of De Laprade with his -rapier drawn, striking up the weapons that were aimed at him; surely, -too, that was the voice of the gallant Vicomte?--"What, cowards! would -you slay the boy now that he is down, when you could not face him with -his sword in his hand? Ah, _sang de Dieu_! you shall not touch him. I -command you; I, Victor de Laprade. _Mille de Diables!_ take up these -carcases and see if there is any life left in them. He is a gallant -gentleman, and you shall not injure a hair of his head." - -To the reeling brain of Gervase all was wild tumult and disorder; the -lights blazed round him; the flash of gleaming steel and the shadow of -dark passionate faces came and went; the strident clamour of angry -voices sounded as from immeasurable distances. And then his senses -failed him and he remembered no more. - -When consciousness returned he was lying on the bed with the Vicomte -bending over him, while a little dark man in a shabby cloak and wig very -much the worse for wear, was stanching the blood that flowed from a -wound in his shoulder. The room had been cleared, but some fellows whose -faces showed that they had been robbed of their spoil, were gathered -round the door, and looked on with countenances that betokened little -goodwill toward the wounded man. The little surgeon went on busily with -his work and when he had finished, rubbed his hands with an air of -satisfaction. - -“A neat bit of work, Vicomte; as pretty a piece of accidental -skilfulness as ever I saw in my life. The one hundred and twelfth part -of an inch would have relieved this tenement of clay of its immortal -soul, and being a heretic----” and he shook his head vigorously. -“However, ´tis but a trifle to one who hath youth and vigour. This -excessive bleeding will relieve him of sundry humours and affections -that lurk in the veins of youth, and in a day or two at the furthest his -natural strength will assert itself. He must avoid the use of -intoxicating fluids. But I´m thinking,” he added, with a twinkle in his -eyes, “there will be little for him after my lord and myself.” - -Gervase opened his eyes and attempted to rise, but De Laprade, sitting -beside him on the bed, gently restrained him. - -“Be not in too great haste, my friend,” he said. “My Lord Galmoy will -want to see you presently and you will need all your strength for the -interview.” - -“A very deadly disease for which there is no remedy known to the -faculty,” added the surgeon; “especially when he is in his cups.” - -“Monsieur le Medicin,” continued De Laprade, “tells me your wound is not -serious, and if you can listen I should like to give you a word of -advice, though little accustomed to give it.” - -“I begin to feel better,” Gervase answered. “The wound is a trifle -painful and my head is somewhat dull withal, but I have strength enough -left to thank you, Vicomte, for your help. I doubt not but for your -kindly assistance I had now been past this gentleman´s skill.” - -“I assure you, my friend, ´twas nothing. These wolves have a taste for -blood, but they like their game better dead than alive and are easily -shaken off. But the wolf--I mean the gentleman--who will presently be -inquiring for you is altogether different. Him you cannot so easily -satisfy. I should advise you, in all friendship, to answer his questions -as fully as becomes a man of honour, and not needlessly to offend him. -For myself, if I can be of assistance, you may rely upon me.” - -“I shall strive to do as you say. But for the others--what became of -Macpherson?” - -A smile passed over the Vicomte´s face. “When la belle Marie brought my -Lord Galmoy to the house, he made sure that all your party were within, -and made your men prisoners before they could draw a sword or fire a -shot. But your captain, for what reason I know not, was passing the -night in the stable, and when he was discovered he was already armed and -putting the saddle on his great horse. For a pious Christian who is -given to long prayers, he swears strangely. But he is a brave man and -can fight _sans doute_. It was beautiful to see him swinging his long -sword and swearing great oaths that I did not wholly understand. They -went down before him like the corn, and the others fled crying that it -was the devil. For myself I admire brave men and did not care to help -the cowards. I doubt not he and I will meet again; and we shall finish -our little quarrel and one of us will return no more.” - -“Then he made his escape--on foot or on horseback?” - -“The great horse is still standing in the bastle and your captain must -walk far, Monsieur Orme, before he is at home. But you cannot kill such -men; they do not easily die. If M. le Medicin will pardon me, I might -suggest that we can now spare him, for I am assured that there are -others who need his services.” - -“Faith,” said the surgeon, “you are speaking the truth, Vicomte, for the -mellow Falernian has been going round, and I can hear the gentlemen -already in their cups. For you, sir, I hope to see you in the -morning--though,” he added, under his breath, “as like as not with a -cord round your neck and your feet in the air.” - -“And now, my friend,” said De Laprade, when the doctor had left the -room, “I doubt not you have heard of what manner is my Lord Galmoy. It -is best to speak plainly. He can feel no pity nor show mercy. He cares -not for the laws of war. Every prisoner is only an enemy. Should you -answer him boldly I think your death is certain; even I who have some -influence with him could not save you.” - -“Have no fear for me,” said Gervase, rising to his feet and feebly -attempting to stand; “for I have little fear for myself. Life is sweet -and I do not wish to die, but the dread of death will not make me a -coward. I shall die as I have humbly striven to live--though,” he added, -with a faint smile, “hanging is hardly seemly for a gentleman. I knew -poor Charleton, and they say he met his death like a man. I hope I may -do the same when my time comes.” - -“These are but heroics,” said the Vicomte; “we must not grumble at our -cards but play the game, and yours--Well, sir, what do you want?” - -A sergeant of dragoons entered the room and swaggered forward, “My Lord -would see the prisoner, and I was sent to fetch him.” - -“Tell my Lord Galmoy he will be with him in an instant, and that he is -badly wounded. I myself will attend him and you need not wait.” - -"Now, my dear Orme," he continued, as the man left the room with a -doubtful nod, “take my arm and rely on my services; I have not forgotten -yours. But act like a man of sense and forget your sermons until you are -among your friends.” - -De Laprade gave him his arm, and Gervase painfully descended the crooked -staircase, his heart beating loudly and his hand trembling from weakness -and exhaustion as he leaned on his companion. - - - - - CHAPTER III. - OF THE WAY MY LORD GALMOY SAT IN JUDGMENT. - - -The character of Lord Galmoy had recently gained an unenviable notoriety -by his barbarous murder of Cornet Charleton and Captain Dixie at Fermoy, -nor were there wanting those who asserted there were still darker stains -on his character as a soldier. Such a man, Gervase well knew, would not -stretch the laws of war in his favour, and it was more than likely that -this savage cavalry-leader would not be disposed to treat him as a -lawful enemy taken in battle, but as a rebel and a spy. For such there -was a short shrift and a long rope. - -When they entered the kitchen, the scene was one of the liveliest -disorder and confusion. The room was filled with soldiers attired in -every describable costume, some smoking by the fire, some eating and -drinking, and all endeavouring to make themselves heard in a perfect -babel of tongues. Hats, cloaks, and swords were piled upon the table, at -the furthest end of which was seated a small knot of officers, among -whom Gervase recognized the little surgeon who had attended to his -wound, now busily engaged in discussing the contents of a pewter -measure. At the head of the table was an officer of superior rank, and -near him stood Hackett, with his hands bound behind his back and a great -gash on his forehead. He had evidently been under examination, and his -replies had not been satisfactory to the officer who was cross-examining -him. At a glance Gervase recognized Lord Galmoy. His wig was pushed -back, showing the closely-cropped black hair that came low down on the -forehead. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips trembled with passion. -Yet the face was a handsome one, though marked by the signs of excess -and unbridled indulgence; a face weak in its almost feminine regularity, -with delicately marked eyebrows, regular nose, and rounded chin; his -hands were small and white as those of a woman. - -As De Laprade made his way through the troopers who turned to stare at -his companion, Galmoy said to the men who were in charge of Hackett, “Do -not remove him. I may have further questions to put to him. And now for -this young cock who crowed loud enough to bring the barn down about our -ears; I think we shall soon cut his spurs. How say you, Vicomte?” - -“I am under obligations to the gentleman, my Lord,” said De Laprade, “I -trust your Lordship will not deal too harshly with him.” - -“Why, damme, we shall all be under obligations presently, but we shall -see. And now, sir, what is your name?” - -Gervase caught the eye of the Vicomte fixed on him with a look of -warning. “My name is Orme,” he said, feeling weak and faint with the -loss of blood and the great heat of the atmosphere. - -“And your rank?” - -“A private gentleman, now serving with other gentlemen of the North in -defence of our liberties.” - -“And, prithee, who gave the gentlemen of the North commission to raise -regiments or levy war on His Majesty´s subjects? Do you know, sir, that -being found with arms in your hand without lawful authority to carry -them, ´tis my duty to string you up as a warning to other malcontents. -His Majesty has shown too much long-suffering, and had he been wise we -had stamped out this cursed rebellion in a month. There is one King in -Ireland, and with the help of God and His holy saints one King there -will be. You shall drink his health, and that, damme, in a bumper.” - -“That, with your Lordship´s pardon, I shall not do,” said Gervase, -disregarding De Laprade´s gesture of warning. “I have taken the oath of -allegiance to William and Mary, and to do what your Lordship asks would -be an act either of disloyalty or hypocrisy.” - -“We shall see,” Galmoy answered, with a smile that was full of meaning. -“Fill up a cup, Whitney, for no one shall say that we did not give this -damned rebel a chance. And now, sir, whither and on what errand were you -away when we interrupted your journey?” - -“Our destination was Enniskillen, but for our errand, from answering on -that matter I pray your Lordship to hold me excused. My knowledge of our -real purpose was but slight and would advantage you little.” - -“And do you refuse to answer a plain question, sir?” - -“I have given your Lordship my answer.” - -Galmoy pushed his chair back from the table and his face grew purple -with passion. Then he turned to the officers who were sitting round him, -bringing his hand heavily down on the table. “God´s blood, gentlemen, -what think you of that? I have been blamed by those who should know -better, for the practice of a little just severity, and His Majesty -would pet and pamper these rebels and treat them as faithful subjects -who had been led astray. And here you have the issue. Every peasant and -scurvy citizen struts about with armour on his back and a weapon in his -hand, as if by the grace of God he had divine right to use the same. -These are airs that will find no countenance while I am master of -ceremonies.” - -“This young gentleman should know better,” said one of the officers with -a sneer, “for if I mistake not I have seen him before. Pray, sir, have -we not met in Dublin when you were of Mountjoy´s regiment?” - -“You can do what you please,” said Gervase, forgetting the caution he -had promised himself to observe; “I am in your hands, but I will answer -no questions; and if it be your good pleasure to murder me, on your -heads is the infamy.” - -“We will answer for ourselves whatever we do,” Galmoy answered. “But -remember, the toast is waiting, and no man in my presence will refuse to -drink to the health of His Majesty.” - -“I will not drink it, and no man living will force me. I have already -given you my reasons.” - -“In good time,” said Galmoy, “we shall see. How say you, Major? Do you -recognize this stiff-necked Whig as being lately in the service of His -Majesty?” - -“On that head,” was the answer, “I have no doubt. He was lodged at the -Bunch of Grapes hard by the Castle, and though we were not intimate, I -have seen him too frequently to be mistaken.” - -“Then, by Heaven, the cup of his transgression is full and the -provost-marshal must see that he drinks it. I will take the matter on my -own shoulders and answer for it to whomsoever may question me. Look you, -sergeant, take the prisoner without, and see that he drinks that measure -of wine. A lighted match, if properly applied, will bring him to reason. -In the morning you will see that he is shot before the door an hour -before we march, for I do not like these things arranged hurriedly. For -the other ´twere a pity he should not bear him company. Let them both go -together.” - -Weakened as he was by the loss of blood, and unstrung by the ordeal he -had just passed through, Gervase tottered and fell on the bench beside -which he had been standing. The room swam round him, and though he -strove against it he felt that his senses were rapidly failing him. He -would have fallen upon the floor, but De Laprade springing forward and -placing his arm round him, supported him on the seat. - -Then the Vicomte turned to Galmoy. “I have said nothing, my Lord, -because I did not wish to interfere, as I thought your Lordship would -have treated this gentleman as a fair prisoner of war. It is now my duty -to speak; I trust your Lordship will hear me.” - -Galmoy had now recovered his temper and answered De Laprade with a show -of courtesy. “Certainly, my dear Vicomte, there is no one to whom I -listen with greater pleasure. But I trust you will not ask me to alter -this little arrangement.” - -“You will pardon me; I have told you that I am under an obligation to -this gentleman, and but for that obligation I should have been lying -beside Luttrel on the high-road. I always endeavour to pay my debts of -honour, and if need be I borrow from my friends to discharge them.” - -“Faith! my creditors will tell you that I find it hard enough to -discharge my own.” - -“When the fight was over, the captain who has escaped showed a great -mind to pistol me, when this Monsieur Orme, at great peril to his life, -for I apprehended a pretty quarrel, stepped between us and compelled him -to forbear. To him I owe my life, and I should be wanting in gratitude -if I failed to avow the service he has done me.” - -“There is not a traitor or a rebel in the country who has not a loyal -subject to plead for him. God´s wounds! Viscount, you forget that he -first attacked you on the high road, and that he has worn the uniform of -His Majesty, whom Heaven preserve.” - -“But, my Lord, I do not forget. These rebels have not saved my life and -I do not intercede for them. I have lent my sword and service to the -King of England, but I do not forget that I am a gentleman and a man of -honour. In France we do not put our prisoners to the torture, nor will I -fight in the company of those who do. Rather would I break my sword -across my knees and disown the name I bear.” - -“The Vicomte de Laprade is right, my Lord,” said the officer who had -recognized Gervase. “Gratitude is a most estimable virtue, and -exceedingly rare. In return for his services perhaps your Lordship will -pretermit the young gentleman´s drinking the health, and merely give him -his dry quietus in the morning.” - -“With you, sir,” said De Laprade coldly, “I have no dealings now nor at -any future time. I ask you, my Lord, for this gentleman´s life. ´Tis the -only return I am likely to receive, and indeed it is all I ask.” - -“I regret, my dear Vicomte, that I am unable to do your will in this -matter, but we must hold out a warning to others. However, as Butler has -suggested, he need not dance to-night. Sergeant, you need not apply the -thumbscrew. And for you, sir, you can make up your mind to set the -example you hinted at. As it is, you may thank Viscount de Laprade that -you have escaped a dram that was like to prove bitter enough, but had I -had my own way, you should have had both the dram and the halter for a -renegade deserter.” - -“Am I then, my Lord Galmoy, to understand that you refuse to accede to -my request? and that the gentleman in whom your Lordship sees I am so -deeply interested must die in the morning?” - -Galmoy nodded and motioned to the officer who sat nearest him to pass -the wine. - -“I know not,” De Laprade continued, drawing himself up haughtily, -“whether it is because my sword and friendship are of so little value -and are held in so slight esteem, that this simple favour is denied me, -or because in this country gentlemen are deaf to the voice of -expediency. But I know that the brave Luttrel, and a braver man never -drew a sword, met his death because you, sir, have seen good to bring in -the executioner where the soldier fails.” - -“Bah! we will not quarrel, though I will not answer for my temper should -you provoke me further. You do not understand these matters, but for my -part I hold it a safe rule to let every country manage its own affairs -according to its own customs. Damme, man, this is not the court of -Versailles, but the country of Whiggery and pestilent traitors, where -every Jack-pudding is up in arms against his king and master. In a few -months you will have learned not to be so whimsical.” - -“I trust that I shall never learn to forget that I am a gentleman.” - -De Laprade´s manner was so pointed and his tone so full of fine, studied -disdain that Galmoy, who could not fail to see that an insult was -intended, leapt to his feet and drew his sword. In an instant his -example was followed by the Vicomte. But they were not permitted to -fight out their quarrel, for several gentlemen threw themselves between -them, and succeeded in disarming them both; not, however, without -difficulty in the case of Galmoy, who seemed almost to have been -deprived of his reason in the excess of his passion. In vain they -endeavoured to assure him that no insult had been intended, and that he -had misinterpreted the Vicomte´s words, while the Vicomte himself stood -looking on with a smile playing round his lips, cool and unconcerned as -was his wont. - -In the midst of the confusion Gervase was removed from the room into the -open air. His guards permitted him to sit down on the stone -drinking-trough outside the door, while one of them went to prepare a -place in which he might pass the night securely. Bending down till his -forehead touched his knees, he endeavoured vainly to collect his -thoughts and to realize what had happened, for his mind was still -confused and weak. He knew that he was about to die, but it seemed to -him at that moment as if it were another and not himself who had taken -part in the drama that had just concluded. For himself, he was drifting -blindly among shadows that grew thicker and darker as he sought to -dispel them. The voices he had heard were still ringing in his ears; the -faces he had seen were still coming and going. Then he heard the voice -of Hackett and looked up. The old sergeant was standing beside him with -his hands still bound behind his back, and his grey hair hanging, matted -and stained with blood, about his face. - -“Be of good cheer, Mr. Orme, it will soon be over, sir,” he said, with -homely dignity. “I am proud to think that you bore yourself bravely, and -showed them that a gentleman and a Christian does not fear death. I -should have liked, if it had so pleased the Almighty, to have died on -the field of battle, but since ´tis His will, then His will be done. It -is not for us to complain or dispute the great decrees. I will see you -in the morning, sir,” he added, as his guards prepared to lead him away, -“and it may hap that we shall enter the Kingdom together.” - -Gervase was conducted to a low outhouse where a quantity of fresh straw -had been spread for him, and one of the troopers, with rough goodnature, -threw a horse cloth over his shoulders, for the night had grown chilly -and he was shivering with cold. Then they withdrew, locking the door -behind them, and left him to await the arrival of the provost-marshal in -the morning. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - OF HOW THE VICOMTE PAID HIS DEBT. - - -Orme lay for a considerable time in a dull stupor, unable to collect his -thoughts, but by degrees his senses came back, and he awoke to the -situation in which he was placed. He believed that it was idle to hope -for mercy; he was in the hands of a man who was not likely to trouble -himself further about his fate. He felt that he must die, and that he -must face death with what courage he could command. He had never thought -much about it before, but now when he stood face to face with death, it -became so real and so terrible that for a time he stood aghast at the -contemplation. He saw with awful vividness the preparations of the -morning, and he thought of the moment when his soul and body would part -company for ever. He was young, and the great mysteries of life and -death had never troubled him. The path of his duty had been simple and -plain; to stand by the truth, to show himself modest and pure and -valorous always, to betray no trust, and to worship God according to the -custom of his fathers--this was his creed and his plan of life; -according to this he had sought to live and die. He had no desire for -the martyr´s death and the martyr´s crown; he loved life and clung to -it, and now all the more when he was in danger of losing it. Men like -Hackett might find consolation and support in religion at a time like -this, but for himself it could not lift him superior to the fear of -suffering and the dread of death. There was, however, some consolation -in the thought that he had striven honestly to do his duty, and that he -had not begged in any unmanly way for life. Then his thoughts took -another turn, and his whole past life unrolled itself before him. -Incidents of his boyhood that he had long forgotten came fresh into his -mind. He saw the stream and the stepping-stones where he had been used -to fish, and the patches of sunshine glinting on the water through the -willows; the old stone house and its tall chimneys lifting themselves -among the oaks and firs; the dark wainscoted room where his father had -taught him from Tacitus and Cæsar; and he longed with a great longing -for life. - -He raised himself from the straw and stretched out his hands in the -darkness. The walls of the shieling in which he was confined were of -wood, and he did not doubt that had he not been disabled he could have -forced his way out. As it was escape even yet might be possible. To feel -again the fresh wind blowing across the hillside and see the clear light -of the stars, and the dark green fields stretching under them--the -thought gave him strength and courage. Feeling carefully along the walls -of the shed, and searching for a loose plank he came to the door which -opened from without. He stood listening for the tread of the sentry´s -feet, but there was no sound audible but the beating of his own heart -that throbbed wildly with the hope of escape. The door was not guarded. -The planks of which the door was made, were light and had been roughly -put together, but he found it impossible to make any impression upon -them, though he strained and pulled till his wound broke out afresh. In -the darkness he searched for a weapon that might assist him, but he -could find nothing suited to his purpose. Again he followed the walls of -the shed with his hands, searching carefully for a weak place in the -timbers, but again he was unsuccessful. Then the great wave of hope -subsided, and he threw himself once more upon the straw to compose his -mind to meet with resignation the fate that was before him. There seemed -to be no hope of escape left. By degrees he grew calm, and from some odd -corner in his brain there came to his mind the lines-- - - “Stone walls do not a prison make, - Nor iron bars a cage; - Minds innocent and quiet take - That for an hermitage.” - -Again and again they repeated themselves until they seemed almost to -lose their meaning for him; but the feeling remained with him, and by -and by he found himself looking forward to the morning with resignation. - -Suddenly in the unbroken quiet he heard the sound of footsteps on the -causeway without; then the door of the shed was opened, someone entered, -and the flash of a lantern for a moment dazzled his eyes. It was De -Laprade, flushed with wine and somewhat unsteady in his gait. Closing -the door behind him, he looked round and saw Gervase lying in the -corner. - -“Eh, mon ami!” he said, laying down the lantern and removing his cloak, -“but you have had a bad quarter of an hour. It was my fear that they -would hang you at once, for these gentlemen are not nice in their -manners nor long in their grace. It would give me much delight to -measure swords with Galmoy, but the barbarian will not fight save when -he is drunk, and then I am generally far from sober myself. These are -not comfortable quarters,” he added abruptly, looking round him and -shrugging his shoulders. - -“They are good enough for a dying man who has but a few hours to live,” -said Gervase gravely. - -“For that we shall see,” was the answer. “They have succeeded, not -without difficulty, in putting my colonel to bed, and his condition is -such that he will be hard to awake. I, Victor de Laprade, will now -proceed to arrange matters for him. Are you able to stand?” - -Gervase caught a glimpse of his meaning and again a wild hope arose in -his heart. But reflecting for a moment, he felt that he could not take -advantage of the gallant Frenchman´s generosity, and he shook his head. -“I cannot allow you,” he said, “to undergo further risk for me; I cannot -do it; already you have far more than repaid any kindness I was able to -render you.” - -“Have no fear for me; I am able to answer any man who may dare to -question me in what I do or leave undone. You do not know me, Mr. Orme. -No man shall prevent my paying my debts of honour, whether they be debts -of friendship or enmity. And shall I refuse to give him his life to whom -I owe my own, when I have merely to turn the key in the door and say, -‘Friend, that is your road´? It is impossible.” - -“But you do not recollect----” - -“I recollect perfectly. Let us not enter into heroics, my friend, for -this thing is simple and easy. Galmoy shall not know that to me you owe -your escape; indeed it is probable that in the morning he will have -forgotten you altogether, and remember only his headache. I have already -provided you with a horse; your captain´s great beast is the best in the -stable; and for a passport, this will have to serve your turn, though it -will be best that you should avoid showing it too frequently. The name -of De Laprade will not carry you far in this barbarous country. But, in -faith, the signature might pass for that of His Majesty King Louis -himself, or for that matter, of my Lord Galmoy. The handwriting is -hardly as sober as I could wish--indeed, it is cursedly tipsy. When we -next meet it may be at the sword´s point, in which case it were well to -forget this interlude of Corydon and Strephon and try what yesterday we -failed to finish. I have a pretty thrust in tierce that I should like to -show you.” - -“If we meet I hope it will never be as enemies,” said Gervase with -warmth, “for I can never forget how much I owe you. I fear you undergo -great risk in thus serving me.” - -“Find yourself safe on shipboard or within the walls of Londonderry, and -trouble not yourself about any danger that I may run. I can protect my -reputation and my honour with my sword, and for this act if need be I -shall answer to the king himself, though I fear he has not the nice -sense of honour. I knew him in Whitehall; he is no king, but a priest in -the purple, and a priest without piety. Your William is cold, but he is -the better man. There is but one thing more. Should you again find your -captain, tell him that I have not forgotten his promise, and that I look -forward with eagerness to our next interview. I have crossed swords with -Lauzun and Hamilton and will teach the clown to threaten a gentleman. -That is finished, and now to horse.” - -Raising Gervase from the ground, he supported him to the door, in the -meantime wrapping his own cloak about his shoulders and warning him that -the night air was bad for a green wound. Then he left him for a minute -and returned almost immediately with Macpherson´s grey charger, already -harnessed. The windows of the tavern were still aglow with light, and -the sound of loud and uproarious laughter rang on the quiet night as he -helped Gervase into the the saddle. There was little likelihood of -pursuit, for it was clear that no precautions had been taken to guard -the prisoners, and before Gervase was missed he would have put many a -good mile between himself and his pursuers. The only fear was, that weak -and exhausted as he was, it would be impossible for him to continue his -journey for any length of time. Still, there was the sense of the -removal of a great dread, and a feeling of joyous freedom that gave him -new heart and strength. He gathered up the reins in his hands and at -that moment the recollection of Hackett flashed upon his mind. - -“It was selfish and cowardly of me to have forgotten,” he said. “Is it -not also possible to save the sergeant? I feel that I am deserting a -comrade and I should not like to leave him.” - -“What can you do for him,” said De Laprade, “but make one more for the -hangman? Your remaining will not save him; your going cannot harm him. I -cannot do more than I have done, but I tell you to be of good courage -regarding his safety, for I give you my word of honour that I will do -what I can for the psalm-singing rogue. Be of good cheer. And now you -will find a pistol in your holster which may be of some use. It may be -we shall meet again. Farewell!” - -Gervase wrung De Laprade´s hand in silence and giving his impatient -horse the rein passed through the yard, and found himself in the village -street which lay quiet and dark before him. The tower of the church was -darkly outlined against the starlit sky, and from a distance the murmur -of the little stream stole with a hushed and solemn music through the -night. Nowhere was there sight or sound of life; to the ear of the rider -the hoofs of the horse rang upon the road with startling distinctness, -though he walked him slowly past the sleeping houses. Then he came to -the bridge, and on the bridge the the horse started suddenly and sniffed -at something lying at his feet. The night was dark with the moon lifting -faintly through a bank of cloud, but Gervase saw on the road the body of -a man lying on his back with his arms outspread. He dismounted with -difficulty and stooping down, saw it was Ralston. The body was already -cold and the pulse had ceased to beat. It was evident that he had been -surprised at his post, for his carbine lay undischarged at his side, and -the long sword he had carried lay under him, unloosed from the scabbard. -This was the young fellow whose merry song had disturbed Macpherson in -the morning--his lips were silent enough now. Gervase bent down and -touched the cold forehead. As yet he had not grown callous to the sight -of sudden death, and it was with a lump in his throat and a mist before -his eyes that he again set out on his perilous journey. - -The road, a mere cart-track, wound for several miles up the hill, -climbing for the most part through a dense growth of stunted firs, but -here and there winding through the open bog and hardly to be -distinguished from it. But the great horse seemed to have a natural -instinct for the beaten track, and put his generous shoulders bravely to -it. So steady he was and so footsure, that his rider let the reins fall -upon his neck and left him to choose his path as he pleased. A small -rain had begun to fall and there was a sharpness in the wind blowing -down the mountain-gap. But Gervase heeded neither the rain nor the wind. -For a time the sense of deliverance swallowed up every other thought, -but presently he began to consider what fate was in store for him. It -was hardly likely that he could reach Londonderry in safety, for the -enemy would by that time no doubt have completely invested the city; and -there was only a remote chance of his finding a ship in Lough Foyle, -could he get so far. He had now no doubt that the enemy held possession -of the roads; should he be fortunate enough to meet with part of the -regular force he did not much doubt that as a prisoner he would receive -honourable terms, but should he meet with a body of those marauders who -hung on the skirts of the regular army and whose main business was -robbery and murder, there was little hope of his life. But, after all, -was it not idle to hope to escape at all? Wounded as he was he could not -long continue his journey but must inevitably sink from weakness and -exhaustion. - -[Illustration: “THE STRANGER CAUGHT HIS HORSE BY THE REIN”] - -The road began to descend once more into the valley, and under the grey -light of the early dawn he could see the fields and hedgerows sloping -down to where the little river ran through clumps of hazel and osier. As -he drew towards the river the sound of running water was pleasant to -hear in the unbroken silence--a sign of movement and life. After a while -the road grew narrow and ran through an arch of tall poplars, through -which he could see the dull red light of the rising dawn at the further -end. On one side of the road was a sluggish pool of water and on the -other a high hedge of thorns. He had ridden half way through this dark -colonnade when he saw the figure of a man standing in the shadow, -apparently awaiting his approach. He could not see his face but he could -see that he had a weapon in his hand. He instinctively drew from his -holster the pistol with which De Laprade had provided him, and was about -to drive his spurs into the charger´s flanks, when the stranger sprang -forward, caught his horse by the rein, and placed the point of a sword -at his throat. Gervase presented his pistol at the head of his assailant -and fired point-blank, but the hammer snapped ineffectually on the -flint. Then he drave the spurs deep into the horse´s sides, but he -stopped short and refused to move. - -“This has come as an answer to prayer,” said a deep voice. “Dismount, -sir, and that speedily; I have business to do that will not brook delay -and your necessity, however pressing, must yield to mine.” - -In a moment Gervase recognized the full sonorous voice as that of -Macpherson. The horse, too, had recognized his master, for he gave a -joyous whinney. - -“Use no force, Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase; “right glad am I to -see you, for I had begun to fear that we should meet no more.” - -“It is Mr. Orme,” said the old soldier, lowering the point of his weapon -and placing his hand on the horse´s neck. “I knew not what withheld my -hand that I did not strike, but now I know. Little did I think as I -heard the sound of the horse´s feet far down the road that I was -listening to the tramp of my brave Bayard, or that it was for you that I -held my sword and prepared to strike hard and deep. It was God´s mercy -that my pistol was left behind or I should have brought you down like a -laverock on the wing. And how have the others fared?” - -Gervase told him briefly what had happened, explaining how he owed his -life to the kindness of De Laprade, and how Hackett had been left -behind, with the prospect of a violent death before him. - -Macpherson interrupted him with many interjaculations, and when he had -finished exclaimed dejectedly: - -“My fault, my fault! that comes of sending a boy to do a man´s errand. -The lad fell asleep and the villains stole a march on us. There is no -use crying over milk that is spilt, but I would that I had arranged it -otherwise. And old Hackett--I saw he was made of the right stuff; they -may break but they will not bend him. I will yet make them pay for it. -And now let us hold a council of war, for in no case can we let the -grass grow under our feet.” - -“I fear,” said Gervase, leaning forward on the horse´s neck and feeling -faint and ill, “that I am not in a condition to travel with much -expedition. I have lost some blood though I do not think the wound is -serious.” - -“Hell´s fury! man, why did you not tell me that you had been touched? -Here have we been talking like a pair of garrulous gossips, while haply -in the meantime your wound needs that I should look to it. A hospital -hath been made ready to our hand, and if needs be we can pass a day or -two here in safety, for I do not think the enemy will trouble us. I had -already made my bivouac, when I heard Bayard on the road, and turned out -to see if I could not better my fortune.” - -Taking the horse by the bridle he led him a short distance down the -road, and then turning abruptly up a path to the right through a small -plantation of oaks and poplars, came upon an open space, lately used as -a farm-yard, before a low thatched house built of stone and roughly -plastered over. The roof had been fired at one end, but the oak rafters -were still standing blackened and charred; at the other, where the -thatch had not ignited, the roof was still intact. The door lay open, -through which shone the glow of a hospitable fire that burned in the -open hearth. Macpherson had fastened his cloak against the open window -to shut in the light and prevent it being seen from the outside. The -greater portion of the simple furniture still stood as the owner had -left it--a high-backed oak chair drawn up to the hearth, the rough -earthenware ranged upon a dresser against the wall, a bed, known as a -settle, in a corner, and a small table roughly put together, under the -window. - -Macpherson helped his young friend off the horse and gently supported -him into the kitchen. “We will look to your wound presently,” he said, -“but first it behoves us to set our guard and prepare against the -approach of the enemy. Howbeit they will not trouble us here; we may lie -_perdu_ for a week if needs must, though it were well we should be astir -as soon as you think you can travel.” - -“A day´s rest will set me on my feet, I doubt not,” said Gervase -wearily, “but we cannot live without food, though the bullet they have -bestowed on me has somewhat robbed me of an appetite.” - -“Be not troubled on that score; I am too long campaigning not to have an -eye to the commissariat, which matter is too often neglected by the -great masters of strategy; ´tis half the art of war. There are several -measures of meal in the chest yonder; there are some lean fowl roosting -in the byre, and I heard the lowing of a cow in the little meadow at the -foot of the orchard, though I cannot understand why her owner should -have left her behind, unless, as I take to have been the case, his -flitting was of the speediest. But why the rogues should have overlooked -spoil so much to their mind passes my comprehension.” - -“Perchance,” said Gervase, with a wan smile, “´tis _vox et praeterea -nihil_.” - -“A vox that runs on four legs, and will furnish us with some excellent -beef when I have passed my sword across the throat of the same. I -remember that such a beast furnished five of us with excellent, if -scanty, sustenance for a month, until we fell out over the horns and -hoofs, and two of us were removed thereafter from all need of earthly -provender. But ´tis not likely that thou and I will come to such a -pass,” he added, holding out his broad brown palm, while a gleam of -kindly humour lighted up his rugged face. - -“I am but fit for the hospital, and am like to be a heavy burden on your -hands.” - -“Tut, tut, man, never despair till the last shot is fired, and the -garrison has hauled down its ensign in token of surrender. I had been a -passable leech had I not rather cared to break heads than to mend them, -whereby it seems to me the two trades are but complements the one of the -other. In a day or two at the furthest you will be able to hold your own -with any cut-throat rascal who cries for James Stuart. For that you may -trust Ninian Macpherson.” - -The old soldier had a good many sides to his character; as yet Gervase -had only seen the praying and the fighting sides. He was now to see him -as a loyal comrade, ready to cheer him with words of comfort; helpful as -a brother, tender as a woman. In half an hour he had looked to his -wound, which had opened afresh and bled considerably, had prepared a -meal, and had stretched a bed for him along the hearth, which though -rough and hard, was very acceptable in his present condition. Then -Bayard was stabled at the further end of the building, and the day had -already risen broad and clear with the singing of birds and the whisper -of the soft spring wind, as Macpherson wrapped himself in his cloak and -with his saddle under his head, gave himself up to sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - OF A MAN´S MEMORY. - - -For upwards of a week Gervase was too ill to travel, though he rapidly -recovered under the care that Macpherson bestowed upon him. No woman -could have nursed him with more tenderness and solicitude. Every want -that he had was anticipated, and during the tedium of the day the old -soldier beguiled the time with stories of the camp and battle-field. He -seemed to have no care or thought for his own comfort but waited -assiduously on his wounded comrade with a simple kindness that touched -Gervase deeply. The darker side of his character seemed to have -disappeared completely; even his devotions he conducted in private, and -it was only at Gervase´s request that he read from the little volume -that he carried about with him continually. - -They were left undisturbed in the farm-house, though they heard on two -occasions the jingling of bridles, the clank of weapons, and the tramp -of marching men upon the road, bound apparently for Londonderry; and -upon one occasion they were upon the point of being discovered. Gervase -was alone in the house when he heard the sound of voices without, and -going to the window, he saw half a dozen dragoons drawing water from the -well in the farm-yard. They evidently thought the house deserted, for -they bestowed no attention upon it. At that moment Macpherson came -swinging down the lane in the rear of the house, and was about to enter -the yard when he caught sight of the steel head-pieces, and stopped -short. Having filled their bottles, the fellows rejoined their comrades -without suspecting the discovery they were on the point of making. -Thereafter Macpherson was more careful, going out only when the twilight -came down, and carefully avoiding the highway. - -The chickens in the byre had gone the way of all flesh, and the cow in -the meadow had been turned into wholesome beef, from which the old -soldier concocted many a savoury stew. He was a rare hand at cooking, -setting about the matter with sober and becoming earnestness, and -mightily proud of his achievements therein. All the herbs of the field -lent themselves to his purpose; he had studied their uses aforetime, and -now he turned the knowledge to account. He knew something, too, of their -medicinal qualities, and insisted with a solemn persistence on Gervase -swallowing many nauseous draughts, which, indeed, the latter did rather -from a feeling of good comradeship than from any liking for the dose. He -greatly preferred the stories of Macpherson´s earlier days when he -carried a halbert with Turenne, or one of the ballads--of which he had -quite a store--which he crooned in a low tone with a solemn shaking of -the head. They were all of battles, sieges, and warlike fortunes, and -touched not at all upon the lighter passions. “Mary Ambree” was a great -favourite of his, and another whose refrain ran thus:-- - - “Then be stout of heart when the field is set, and the smoke is hanging - low, - And the pikeheads shine along the line to meet the advancing foe.” - -But chiefly he preferred to sing from the psalms in Francis Rous´s -version, especially those which speak of battle and vengeance, and the -rugged metre and halting lines lost their homeliness, and were clothed -with a fine vigour and glowed with inspired fervour as he followed the -measure with the motion of his hand. So earnest he was, indeed, and so -direct, with a touch of childlike simplicity, that Gervase was lost in -continual wonder. - -As a rule he was reticent regarding his past life and spoke of it in -only a general way. On one occasion he had been more communicative. -Gervase had become perfectly convalescent and was able to move about -without being supported, the fever having entirely disappeared, and his -strength having returned in some considerable degree. They were sitting -together discussing the various plans by which they might reach -Londonderry, and Macpherson´s brows were drawn into a curious frown, as -always happened when he was engaged in deep thought. - -“Could we,” he said, “come haply on a garron, the thing were as good as -done; I doubt not we shall find one to our hand as we proceed, and in -the meantime you will ride Bayard while I tramp as best I can. I have -done as much before, and with a little strategy, which is just and -necessary we shall be able to satisfy all civil inquiries.” - -“´Tis out of the question,” Gervase answered. “Turn and turn will I take -if you will; and it may be that this passport of De Laprade´s will be of -some service after all, though I do not think the rogues we may meet -will care much for aught but a strong arm and the sword´s point.” - -“´Tis a curious document,” said Macpherson, spreading it out before him -and laying his open palm upon it. “I am not a great scholar, but I think -no man could tell in what language it was written, or what may be its -purport. Even his name has so fallen to vinous pieces that ´tis -impossible to pick up the fragments. But I think he hath a good heart, a -very good heart.” - -“That I will answer for,” said Gervase, “and I will answer for it also -that you are rejoiced that you did not harm him. I was not brought up to -understand his ways, but I know he is brave as a lion and true as steel; -and what a handsome fellow he is!” - -“Pooh! wax and paint. I have seen too many pretty fellows to care for -the tribe. But he is as you say, I doubt not, though he be a -Frenchman--for which latter reason I do not love him.” - -“Still, it is no reason why you should hate him.” - -“I know not that; the narrow seas divide us for some wise reason, and we -speak with different tongues for a purpose. I have lived too long with -Frenchmen not to love my own country best. God forbid, however, that I -should hate any, though it is permitted to hate their works. He is, as -you say, a gallant fellow. I remember when I was of an age with him, I -thought as little of the end whereunto all life tends, and wine and -women were the gods I worshipped. The devil is a liberal paymaster but -he pays in his own currency; I have a bagful of his ducats.” - -“Then you carry them easily,” said Gervase, feeling that he was treading -on tender ground. - -“That do I not. Alas; memory will not die; we cannot slay it even with -prayer, though we may fall back on that to help us to bear the pain. Why -I should talk thus to you I know not, but the spirit prompts me, and -´tis ever safe to follow its promptings. I shall open for you one of the -pages that I have striven to tear out of the book of my life, and -failing in that, to blot out with the tears of penitence and -contrition--haply in vain. ´Twas in ´64, and the April of that year I -was in the service of the Elector of Brandenburg, and we were quartered -at Spandau. Our company was wicked enough, but I think none could touch -me in all manner of iniquity. We drank deep, quarrelled and fought at -will, and rejoiced greatly in fearing not God nor regarding man. I knew -my work as a soldier, and men said I had some skill in the art of war. -Howbeit I had got some preferment which I held lightly enough, as I -cared but little whom I served as long as there was wine in the measure -and women for the asking. One man I was drawn toward in a special -manner, for we had both known better things and had some sorrow together -when our cups were spilt, and the headache and heartache came in the -morning. Jack Killigrew (for he was an Englishman, and well born, as I -have since learnt) should have been a parson, but the devil set him -trailing a pike and drinking deep as the rest of us. After a while I -noticed a change in his ways, which change I could not well understand -at first, but soon I discovered. He drank no more, foreswore the -dicebox, would not beat up the town, and I shrewdly suspected took to -saying his prayers in secret. Then one day he made his confession--I -laughed loud enough thereat--that he was in love with the daughter of -the Protestant parson outside the city gates. He would not rest -satisfied until I had gone thither with him, and in an evil hour I -consented. Beware, boy, of women; avoid them like the pestilence, and -trust not the fairest. Delilah, Jezebel, and Herodias, these are but -samples of the smiling, treacherous, beautiful devils that go up and -down on the earth to catch men´s souls in a silken snare. Annchen was of -the same order but carried her wickedness more demurely. Poor Jack gave -her all his heart, and the little vixen was not content therewith, but -needs must have mine too. And mine she had, ay, and my soul too--all, -all.” - -Macpherson rose and paced the kitchen with a hasty stride, his long -brown hands clasped before him, and his leonine head thrown back. His -eyes were filled with the strange, wild light Gervase had noticed once -or twice before; his voice thrilled with suppressed emotion. - -“How she purred and ogled and slighted honest Jack, to whom she had -plighted her troth, and whom she was to marry in a sennight! God help -me! I was wicked and mad; I forgot my friend and robbed him of his -mistress. Then the end came. Never, never shall I forgot it. ´Twas a -moonlight night in the pleasant summer time; I was drunken with the -passion of lust, and Annchen and I had forgotten the hours as we stood -locked in each other´s arms, under the shadow of the city´s walls. -Suddenly a tall form came between us, and a sword flashed out in the -moonlight. I knew it was Jack Killigrew, and knew that either he or I -must die for this deed. Our blades crossed, and while Jezebel stood -looking on, my friend and I (and truer comrade had no man) sought each -the heart´s blood of the other. May God in His mercy forgive me, for I -shall never forgive myself. Oh! we fought a bitter fight under the walls -that June night, and he died hard. For I killed him; yes, I killed him. -Do not start or turn away from me--his sweetheart did not, Nay, when he -was down and his life blood was flowing from his breast, she threw her -arms about me, and told me that I was a man, and she loved a man. You do -not know what it is when love turns to hate. I flung her from me, -cursing her, with anguish in my heart that I had not words to speak of. -I never saw her again, but often I see the face of Jack Killigrew lying -there turned up to the moonlight and frowning as he died. ´Twas the sin -against the Holy Ghost, I sometimes think. An ocean of tears will not -wash out the deed.” - -“´Tis a sad story,” said Gervase, with emotion, “and better left untold. -But I think not that all women are like Annchen, whom I cannot -understand, else were life hardly worth living, and death better than -life.” - -“That it is--that it is. Life is a burden we must bear as best we can--a -heavy load for the back of the strongest. You are young and cannot yet -understand the matter, but for me I would that my salvation was assured, -as sometimes I have hoped it is, and that I were entering into my rest. -But youth cannot understand this, nor will I compel you to listen to -me.” - -“Nay,” answered Gervase, “rather would I be by your side fighting in the -good cause, for Heaven knows strong arms like yours are needed now, if -need ever was. I cannot foresee how it will end.” - -“Have no fear for the end; Londonderry may fall, but Dutch William is -stronger than a walled city. I know the Stadtholder of old, and I tell -you behind that cold look and slow speech there is the power of many -regiments. I have seen his eyes in the day of battle. He is one of a -race that never knows when it is beaten. I think that he will not leave -the men in Londonderry to die like so many rats. But, believe me, they -are the stuff whereof fighting men are made, and will make a gallant -stand.” - -“I would,” said Gervase, “we were among them once more. By this time, I -doubt not, if Colonel Lundy be a true and loyal man, Roaring Meg and her -iron sisters have given joyful voice.” - -“Bah! How goes your burghers ditty?” - - “‘Scour me bright and keep me clean-- - I´ll carry a ball to Calais green.´” - -“Your colonel is no true man, but a hypocrite and a coward, and I put no -faith in the long guns, though they have their uses, but in stout and -loyal hearts that will hold out in trial and privation. The Irish do not -understand the practice of artillery; they may not batter down the walls -or breach them, while there are men there to say ‘stand back´; but -hunger and disease are enemies that few can fight against: and hunger -and disease Londonderry will have to face. ´Tis here the Protestant -faith must make its last stand. Should the city fall before relief may -come, then the end is far off, and the Stuart may yet wear the crown of -his ancestors. Relief ever comes slowly--how slowly, only that man knows -who, like myself, with wasted shanks and shrunken jaws, has kept his -place on the ramparts, while women and children were dying indoors by -the score, and brave fellows were struck down at his side by an enemy no -man could see.” - -“But William of Orange is a soldier, as you say, and, being a soldier, -will not leave the city to stand alone. Besides, the Irish cannot fight -a stubborn fight.” - -“There you are wrong utterly, and here I speak of what I have seen and -known. In the army of Louis is many a gallant gentleman of Irish birth, -who has displayed a courage and devotion in a foreign country that he -might not show in his own. These wild kernes want but the sergeant´s -drill and a cause to fight for to prove the stoutest soldiers in Europe. -But they care not for James Stuart, and I think he has no general who -can take their measure. Rosen is a foreigner, and Hamilton a man of few -parts; while Sarsfield, of whom I have heard much, lacks discretion and -temperate wisdom, else might he do greatly. ´Tis ever the general that -makes the soldier--that is the difference between a rabble and a -regiment. Tilly and Gustavus and Turenne, all of whom fought great -battles, first put heart into their men, and then taught them to fight -as if fighting were the easiest trade in the world.” - -“But in Londonderry,” said Gervase, “we fight for all that men hold -dear--for liberty, religion, wife, child, and even for life itself. If -that does not give men heart and inspire them with courage, there is no -general in the world can do it.” - -“You are right, and therein I rest my confidence. Religion is the best -cordial in the world to tune the coward´s heart. If all goes well, -behind yon poor walls I look to see as bold a stand as ever was made in -Christendom, even should England leave us to tread our own path--which -Heaven forfend. But ´twere easy to succour the city. With the Foyle -running close by the city walls, men and provisions were easily -furnished. Heaven send a man with a wise head on his shoulders, for -Providence never yet wrought through fools and cowards. Howsoever, it is -for us to do as best we may, and I doubt not, my lad, you will do your -part bravely.” - -“Mine is a small part and easily played,” Gervase answered, “but how we -are to get into the town, I see not, even were we so far on our -journey.” - -“A way will be provided, I doubt not, with a little strategy. For you, -that fine cloak and hat, even those riding boots, must be left behind, -while like the stage-player, you must enact the rapparee and speak -nought but the Irish speech, or what will pass for such, till you are -behind stone walls. For myself, I think the story I shall tell and my -knowledge of the French tongue, will carry me through. As David played -the madman in the city of Achish, and as the spies went into the walled -city of Jericho and abode in the house of the harlot Rahab, so shall we -do with the like success.” - -“I hate all masquerading,” Gervase said, “and had rather take my chance -even as I am.” - -“Ay, and find a pikehead between your ribs for your scruples. We have -Scripture precedent which it is ever safe to follow. In this you shall -not thwart me. So to bed, for at cockcrow we must start, first having -commended our lives to Providence, and put a new edge on this sword, -whose late owner was a careless fellow and knew not how to care for a -good blade.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - OF HOW THE HEROINE COMES UPON THE STAGE. - - -It was an hour after dawn when they bade farewell to the farm-house and -set out upon their journey, Gervase mounted upon Bayard, and Macpherson -trudging sturdily upon foot. The latter had made his preparations for -the journey with abundant care and forethought. The night before he had -baked the little meal that remained, and cooked a portion of the meat, -of which there was still a considerable quantity left, all of which he -stored carefully in the saddle-bags. He then turned his attention to -Gervase, and with very little trouble succeeded in transforming him into -a formidable-looking desperado, whose attire owed nothing to the art of -the tailor, but hung together merely by fortuitous circumstances. -Macpherson had, with studied humour, turned the embroidered coat inside -out and rolled it in the mud that lay round the well in the farmyard, -and then considerately removed one of the skirts with the edge of his -sword. His beaver was divested of all form and shape; and a rope of -straw rolled round the jackboots, which Gervase had refused to part with -on any terms, completed his nondescript costume. He was now a reasonable -representative of any of those lawless marauders who were swarming upon -the roads, or hanging upon the skirts of the Irish army, in the -expectation of plunder. - -Macpherson had refused to make any change in his own costume. His rôle -was that of a French soldier on his way to Londonderry--in such a -character De Laprade´s passport would lend verisimilitude to his story, -if there were any learned enough to read it, about which he had his -misgiving. Gervase was to act apparently as his guide, and in such -character the old soldier did not doubt but that with ordinary -discretion, they might smuggle themselves though the Irish lines if the -investment had been completed. If they failed, there was some chance -that the stab of a pike or the end of a rope would put a stop to their -further adventures in this world. - -Notwithstanding, Gervase was in high spirits at starting. He was now -completely recovered from his wound, and the eight days´ confinement had -made the anticipation of action and enterprise doubly welcome. He -revelled in the fresh spring wind that blew softly across the bog and -heathy mountain side, and could with difficulty restrain his horse to -keep pace with Macpherson, who trudged at his side with a long swinging -stride. - -The hedges were green with verdure, and the sunshine touched with a -warmer colour the bog myrtle and flowering blackthorn in which the birds -were busy building. It was hard to realize that dangers were spread -round them on every side, and that the entire country was up in arms in -a quarrel that could have no end, till one of the combatants went down -utterly. Even Macpherson, whose feelings were not easily moved, was -affected by the brightness of the morning and the beauty of the scene. -His emotions took their own method of expression. For a time he had been -entirely silent, or replied only in monosyllables, as if engrossed in -his own secret meditations, when suddenly he began to sing in loud -resonant tones: - - “The Lord doth reign and clothed is He - With majesty most bright.” - -When he had finished he threw up his beaver with an air of jubilant -exultation. - -“There, young sir, is a song for you to sing when you are merry; that -eases the oppressed heart, and runs along the nerves and sinews, -strengthening them to acts of endurance and valour. Were I a maker of -songs these were the verses I should write--great words wherewith to -hammer out a weapon.” - -“I cannot help thinking,” said Gervase, “of the song poor Ralston was -singing as we passed this way, hardly a fortnight ago. We little thought -then that you and I should return alone.” - -“They did their duty,” Macpherson answered, “and died in doing it; brave -men want no more. I hope I shall not flinch when my time comes, as come -it will, and that shortly. I have gotten the message and it doth not -sadden me.” - -Gervase looked at him inquiringly, but he offered no explanation of his -mysterious speech and again relapsed into silence. - -They continued their journey till noon, when they halted to refresh -themselves, Macpherson asserting that if it were not for his great boots -he would as readily walk as ride. - -On resuming their march Gervase insisted on Macpherson taking his turn -upon horseback, which the latter did very unwillingly. - -“One horse to two is out of all reason,” he said. “You are yet too soft -for this work and your wilfulness will bring its own punishment.” - -And Gervase found his words come true. Long after his strength had -exhausted itself, he found himself toiling by Macpherson´s side, too -proud to own his weakness and determined to keep on till he dropped from -sheer fatigue. Macpherson watched him for a while in silence, with the -flicker of a grim smile playing about his lips. Then he spoke; - -“´Tis ever wise to confess your weakness in the ear of a friend--keep -your bold looks and your wooden guns for the enemy. My dear lad, thou -art but pickling a rod for thine own whipping, and that to serve no good -or wise purpose. Thank Heaven, I am stout of limb, and nought can tire -me; but for you, your bones are still soft, and I would not have you -again a burden on my hands. There is no need for immediate haste, for we -can accomplish to-morrow all that we might do to-day. Then mount, and -let us proceed leisurely.” - -That day they made good progress, and by nightfall were a considerable -distance on their journey. By the next evening they hoped to reach the -ford of the Finn. But in the meantime it was necessary to pass the night -under the open sky, for the country was completely deserted, and nowhere -within sight was there trace of a human dwelling-place--only broad -tracts of rough uncultivated land, and rolling hills of wild heath and -tangled wood. A few houses they had passed, but the roofless walls -afforded neither shelter nor protection. Every dwelling had been given -up to fire and destruction, and the inmates had fled elsewhere for -refuge. A great curse seemed to have fallen on the devoted land; all was -silence and desolation. - -That night they passed under a thorn hedge, which proved, as Gervase -found, a cold and uncomfortable lodging, and afforded little protection -from the night dews and the wind that blew across the open with a shrewd -and penetrating keenness. To Macpherson it mattered not at all, for, -rolled in his cloak, he slept the sleep of the just, and did not awake -till the morning was some way up. But Gervase could not sleep. Above his -head the jewels in the sword-belt of Orion flashed with a bright and -still a brighter lustre, and the wind seemed to call with almost a human -articulateness from the distant hills. The lonely night with its mystery -and silence, was instinct with life. In such a presence his own fate -seemed to dwindle into infinitely little importance, and all human -endeavour appeared of no greater moment than that of the ant or the mole -in the ditch hard by. Gervase was not given to talking sermons nor to -much introspection, but he felt these things in his own way. He was glad -when he saw the morning coming up; and when he arose from his damp -uncomfortable couch, felt little inclination for a day´s hard work. But -when he had bathed his face and hands in the neighbouring rivulet, and -partaken of the breakfast Macpherson insisted on their making before -they started, life assumed a somewhat brighter outlook, and his flagging -spirits revived a little. - -Macpherson´s spirits were keen and high. The prospect of danger ever -acted upon him like wine, and Gervase saw his eyes kindle, now and -again, under his rugged brows, with that sudden flashing light he had -seen in them before, in the time of peril. He had loaded his pistol -afresh and carefully looked to its priming. - -“We may fall in with the enemy now at any moment,” he said, “and it -behoves us to be ready either for peace or war. Peace I should prefer, -but if, haply, the rogues number not more than half a dozen, a skirmish -were not out of place to afford us a little amusement. A young soldier -requires practice, and cannot have his hand in too often.” - -“Faith!” said Gervase laughing, “fighting would seem to be meat and -drink to you, but I have not yet acquired such relish for the fare that -I cannot do without it. I fear you are like to prove a troublesome -companion for all your boasted diplomacy.” - -“Tut, man, do not fear. We are not an army, nor even a troop, and may -not carry things as we would. But a little fighting is a wonderful -medicine, and clears the humours better than any elixir. I mean but that -when we can we may as well be honest, and keep our stratagems for such -times as we shall be hard pushed, and must employ them, will we, nill -we. D´ye see?” - -“Oh! ´tis not easy to mistake your meaning. You give it just emphasis -with that long sword and pistol handle. But I had rather you were less -inclined to violence; there were more chance of our reaching Londonderry -in safety.” - -“All in good time, we shall see. By evening we shall arrive at the ford, -which we had better cross in the dark. One pair of legs will then be -worth two pairs of hands, even with toys like these in them;” and he -touched the sword he carried with a smile. Then after a pause he went -on, “Who knows what may have befallen since we left the city last? There -are brave hearts within the walls, but there are traitors and cowards -too; and the latter have sometimes the best of it in this world. Still, -I think not, and will wager that the Protestant cause goes bravely on. -They are a stiff-necked race, these men of Ulster; bend they cannot and -break they will not. I have watched them narrowly; if they did break at -Dromore it was because they were fearful of the treachery of their -friends, not of the violence of their enemies. But I know not what -Colonel Lundy means--if he be not a traitor and a knave at heart, I know -not what he is.” - -For the greater part of the day they continued their journey without -adventure. Several small parties of the enemy they met with, but were -subjected to no very rigorous cross-examination. Their replies proved -perfectly satisfactory. The story Macpherson told was eminently -plausible, and about Gervase they did not trouble themselves. There were -many French gentlemen in the Irish army, and it was not a strange thing -to find one on his way to head-quarters accompanied by a guide. One -troop of dragoons had, indeed, stopped them and put several questions to -Gervase, but he managed, with the voluble assistance of Macpherson, to -disarm their suspicions. Fortunately his questioners spoke English only, -and the fragments of the Irish tongue that Gervase had acquired, stood -him in good stead. - -It was now two hours to sundown, and they anticipated that another -hour´s travel would bring them to the ford. They were toiling uphill, -Gervase a little in advance mounted upon Bayard, and Macpherson stepping -out sturdily in the rear. On the top of the hill Gervase halted, reined -the horse back hastily within shelter of a clump of hazel, and called -out to Macpherson, who hurried up and joined him where he stood. -Together they looked down the valley. - -“What is the matter yonder?” Macpherson asked, instinctively placing his -hand on his pistol-butt. - -“I know not,” said Gervase, “but I think it is robbery and murder.” - -“Then, my young friend,” said the other, laying his hand on the horse´s -bridle, “it is not our business, and we have cares enough of our own -without taking on us the troubles of others. But how is the day going?” - -A quarter of a mile down the steep road lay a post-chaise overturned: -one of the horses lay dead in the ditch, the other was flying with -broken traces over a neighbouring field. A man with his back to the -coach and a sword in his hand, was valiantly striving to keep at bay -half-a-dozen wild-looking fellows armed with half-pikes. Two bodies lay -at his feet, another a little distance away, and outside the ring of -assailants that surrounded the solitary swordsman, a young woman was -kneeling in an agony of distress over the prostrate body of a man. The -man with the sword fought with skill and strength, but the odds were -terribly against him. In the end he must succumb. - -“By the living God, it is a woman,” said Gervase, grappling blindly and -eagerly at the holster. - -“Softly, what would you--what have we to do with women?” - -“Follow me, follow me, for God´s sake, as speedily as you can,” Gervase -cried, dashing his unarmed heels into the horse´s flank, and giving him -free head. - -Away went the brave steed thundering down the steep road, as Gervase -gave a great shout and flourished the long pistol above his head. -Macpherson watched his breakneck career down the hill for a few seconds, -and then proceeded to follow him with the best speed that he could make. - -“I would not lose the youth or my good horse for all the women in -Christendom. This is but the beginning of trouble, and it begins with a -woman.” - -Hearing the shout, the swordsman had turned his head for a moment, and -at that instant one of his assailants sprang within his guard, and -plunged his skene deep into his breast. With one last convulsive effort -the wounded man struck his opponent fair in the face with the sword -hilt, and they both dropped on the road together. Seeing Gervase -approaching, the ruffians appeared to doubt whether they should take to -flight or await his attack, but while they were making up their minds, -Gervase was on the top of them. - -Reserving his fire until he was among them, he discharged his pistol -pointblank at the head of one fellow with deadly effect, and riding down -another, wrenched the half-pike from his hand. Then they were utterly -panic-stricken and fled right and left, leaving Gervase master of the -situation. - -Meanwhile the young lady had risen to her feet, and was standing looking -in wonder at her unexpected deliverer, who had reined up his horse, and -was watching the fugitives as if in doubt whether to follow them or to -allow them to depart unpursued. Then Gervase turned towards her and -raising his hat, was silent for a moment. - -She was only a girl in years, but of a sweet and stately figure and -striking beauty. Her abundant hair loosed from its confinement, streamed -in disorder over her shapely shoulders, and fell in thick folds to her -waist. Her lips were trembling and her cheeks were blanched and -colourless, but her great, dark eyes looked with a steady and courageous -glance. There was no sign of fear in the sweet face--only a high, -resolute courage. Her scarf had been torn from her shoulders, and showed -too much of her white and heaving bosom. Instinctively she put up her -hand to cover it. - -“I fear,” said Gervase, hat in hand, “that I have come too late to save -this gallant fellow from these wretched cowards. But I am glad that I -was still in time to render you some service. Haply,” he continued, -dismounting from his horse, “the wound may not be fatal, and something -may still be done.” - -The girl looked in great surprise at the strange figure before her, and -was evidently lost in wonder at hearing her wild-looking and ragged -champion deliver himself in such excellent English, and with such a -well-bred air. To outward seeming he was as much a cateran as any of the -scoundrels he had lately put to flight. - -“I thank you, sir,” she said simply. “It may be poor Martin is still -living.” - -She knelt down by the side of the fallen man and raised his head upon -her knees. But the skene, driven with great force, had passed beneath -the breast-bone and had penetrated the heart--the man was dead. A glance -was sufficient to show that life was extinct. She allowed the head to -remain resting upon her lap for some minutes, gazing at the rugged face -of the dead man in silence, and then she looked up, her eyes filled with -tears. “I have known him all my life,” she said, “and never was there a -braver or a kinder heart. Years ago he saved my father´s life, and now -he has died to save mine.” - -Gervase had knelt down beside her, and had been endeavouring to catch -some feeble sign of movement in the pulse. “Yes, he is dead,” he said, -“and we can do nothing for him, but it may be the other needs our help.” - -“My grandfather has not been injured,” she said. “He swooned when they -came round the coach, and though they used him roughly, I do not think -he hath suffered from aught but fright. Still, he is an old man and very -frail, and it may be--” - -But the old man had raised himself on his elbow, and was looking round -him with an expression of bewilderment, as though not yet able to -realize what had happened. Then suddenly his eye fell upon the chaise -lying overturned, and with a nimbleness that one could not have -expected, he leapt to his feet, and walked with rapid strides to the -vehicle. - -“Dorothy,” he shouted, “Dorothy, help me, girl! The rogues have stolen -my treasure. Good God! I am a beggar--a beggar. Why the ---- did they -not take my life? The gold that I have watched growing and growing, and -the precious stones that I would not have parted with for a kingdom! Oh -God! I am a beggar, and will die on the road-side after all.” - -The old man seemed entirely beside himself with grief and rage, and -began to pour forth such a string of oaths, wild and incoherent, that -Gervase felt deeply for the girl who was in vain endeavouring to calm -him. - -“I think, grandfather,” she said, “it is still safe, but I had thought -the matter was of little worth--” - -“Worth! Great Heaven! there were ten thousand pounds--” here he stopped -short and looked at Gervase, whose appearance did not tend to reassure -him. - -“I am an old man, sir,” he went on piteously, “and I know not what I -say. These are but wild words of mine, and, I prithee, forget them. They -meant nothing--nothing, and I ask you to let them pass. Would it trouble -you too much to assist my servant?--Where the devil is Martin, the -rascal?” - -“Your servant, sir, is dead,” said Gervase, losing his temper somewhat, -“and this young lady and yourself are left alone, in great straits and -peril. Therefore I would ask you to dismiss all thoughts of the trash -from your mind, and let me know what you purpose doing.” - -But the old man had already clambered into the coach, and in a few -seconds reappeared with a heavy, brass-bound box in his arms, which he -clutched with every expression of delight. - -At this moment Macpherson, who seeing Gervase completely victorious, had -been strolling down the hill in a leisurely fashion, had come up. - -“What is this Punchinello?” he said roughly, but as he saw the old man -cower terrorstricken, he continued in a more kindly tone, “Fear hath -turned his brain, and, haply, he takes me for one of those marauding -rascals, of whom, I doubt not, we have not yet seen the last. And now, -madam,” he said, turning to the girl, “as you see, this gentleman and I -are your friends and are bound to serve you, though I tell you plainly, -I would it had fallen to other hands. We were even trying to bring -ourselves to some place of safety, which is like to prove a matter of -some difficulty.” - -“Then, sir,” and here the girl´s eyes flashed proudly, “I pray you do -not trouble yourself further, or imperil your safety on our account. For -the gallant service this--this gentleman hath rendered me and my -grandfather, I give him our best thanks, poor as they are, but we would -not be a burden to you, and therefore think not of us, but go your way.” - -“My friend,” said Gervase, “speaks not as he means, nor will I let him -do discredit to his own kind heart. The sword which this poor fellow -drew to defend you, will still be used for that end in my hands, and if -I cannot use it as well it will be the power and not the will fails me.” - -Macpherson turned away, muttering under his breath, “Humph! the young -fool is caught already. I see that she hath him in the snare.” - -“We were on the road to Londonderry, and though my friend is somewhat -rough and discourteous withal, I doubt not he will do his best to help -you thither, if such be, as I imagine, your desire.” - -“We were on the way to the city when we were attacked as you saw. My -grandfather, who is Colonel Carew of Castleton, refused to believe that -there was any danger in remaining at home; but last night, hearing that -the enemy was burning and plundering round us, he set off at midnight, -and we have been travelling ever since; and now I think the terror has -turned his brain, for I never saw him thus before. What we shall do I -know not, but if we can trust you----” - -“Appearances are against me, I admit,” said Gervase, with a smile, and -feeling, with perhaps excusable vanity, that he would have preferred to -cut a gallanter figure. “Still, I hope that you will believe me when I -say that I am a gentleman, and most desirous of serving you. I have -carried the colours in Mountjoy´s regiment and----” - -“And I think that I can trust you,” she said, holding out her hand, with -a frank look in her eyes, and a sweet, sad smile upon her lips. - -“In your service wholly,” said Gervase, bending low over her hand, which -he pressed with unnecessary fervour. “My friend is an old soldier who -has a grudge against your sex for some reason known to himself, but I -have cause to know that a more loyal and faithful friend there never -was. He will scoff and rail, I doubt not, but believe me, he will serve -you with the last drop of blood in his heart. He hath great experience -in matters of danger, and I doubt not some scheme may be devised whereby -we may convey you to Londonderry in safety.” - -“I care not for myself,” she answered; “it is for my grandfather that I -fear. He seems to have lost his reason.” - -The old man had carried the box to a distance, and had sat down before -it, examining the contents eagerly, and talking to himself in a loud -excited tone. From time to time he glanced round furtively to see if he -was observed, and then went on with his examination. “Safe! safe!” he -muttered. “That was the Spaniard´s gold, and you wear bravely, my -beautiful doubloons. How you shine, my beauties, and I thought you were -gone for ever! It would have broken my old heart--I could not have lived -without you. And my stones of price----What want you, sir?” he said, -closing the box, and turning round savagely as Macpherson approached. - -“I know not what devil´s trinkets you have enclosed there,” said the -soldier, “but I would have you act like a reasonable man, and tell me -what you purpose doing. Yonder lady is young and unprotected, and we -would not willingly leave you, but this is no time to give heed to such -trash as you have shut up there, when your life is in danger every -moment.” - -“My life is here,” answered the old man, “and I pray you, for God´s -sake, leave me in peace. I know you not.” - -Macpherson turned on his heel and rejoined Gervase and the girl. “His -mind is gone utterly,” he said, “and it is useless endeavouring to -reason with him. My young friend, madam, has, I doubt not, told you how -matters stand with us. If you will, we shall endeavour to carry you with -us, and trust to the fortunes of war to bring you safely through. -Another hour should bring us to the ford. I trust that you are able to -ride, for the chaise is rendered useless, and were it not, we have not -horses to draw it. In the meantime I had better secure your nag.” - -Macpherson went after the stray horse which was now quietly grazing at -some distance, and shortly returned with it. “And now,” he said, “I -regret that we cannot give this brave fellow Christian burial, but if -you, madam, will look after your grandfather, my young friend and I will -even place him where he may sleep his last sleep decently, like a brave -and honest man as I doubt not he was.” - -The girl went over to the dead man, and kneeling down kissed his -forehead, and then rising without a word, but with a great sob which she -bravely strove to repress, went over to her grandfather. Macpherson and -Gervase carried the body into the field, and placing it in the ditch, -cut a quantity of bramble with which they reverently covered it. - -“Sorry I am that we cannot dig a grave,” said Macpherson, “but it may be -that is a pagan thought. He hath died like a man, and at the last day he -will rise, knowing that he fell in the path of duty. What does it matter -for this poor carcase what becomes of it? ´Tis for the living, not for -the dead, that we should mourn. And now look you, Gervase Orme, I love -you like a son, and would not willingly see you come to evil. Yonder -damsel is goodly to look upon and hath the tender ways of a woman. I can -see that you are already drawn towards her, and are ready even now to -let her lead you as she will. Be warned by me, and shun the snare while -you are still heart-whole and your wings are still unplucked. Nay, you -are angry at the wise counsel of a friend; I speak only for your good, -and will say no more. But I would that we had not met them, and would -yet--” - -“Surely,” said Gervase, with warmth, “you would not leave this -defenceless girl and the feeble old man, even if you might?” - -“Nay, I said not that. In some sort they have been committed to our -care, but it means for both of us, or I am much mistaken, either the -length of a rope or the inside of a prison. I am older than you, my -young friend, and think there is no woman worth the sacrifice either of -my life or of my liberty. Now, go your way, and see her mounted upon -Bayard, while I look after the old man, for I will have nothing to do -with the wench. The rogues you dispersed will be looking for us -presently. Before we meet them I should prefer being within sight of the -Royal troops.” - -The old world laughs at Love, as laugh it may. And yet from generation -to generation unheeding youth takes up the foolish old song, and dances -to the ancient measure with a light and joyful heart. What though the -roses wither and the garlands fade? These are fresh, and the morning dew -is on them. What though the lips grow dumb, and the sound of the flute -and the song is hushed and stilled? In the fresh and roseate morning as -yet there are no shadows and no regrets; the heart is full of hope and -joy. And so it has been since the lips of our first parents met in -newly-awakened bliss, in the time when the world was young, and pain and -satiety were unknown to mortals. - -As yet Gervase was not in love, but his heart throbbed with an -indefinable emotion as Dorothy Carew rested her hand upon his shoulder, -and placing her dainty foot in his hand, sprang upon the great military -saddle and thanked him with a smile. - -“This is a dear old horse,” she said, patting the charger´s neck, and -gathering up the reins in her hand. “We begin early to trouble you, and -shall never be able to repay you and your friend.” - -“It were repayment enough,” said Gervase, “to find you safe within the -walls of Londonderry, and I am pleased to think that I have been able to -serve you a little.” - -“That is the speech of a gentleman, after all,” she said smiling. “I -little thought you were a friend as you came shouting down the road; -indeed, you would make a great hit at Drury Lane or Sadler´s Wells; and -what a figure you would cut at Saint James´s!” - -“I confess I do not make a very gallant show,” said Gervase, “but these -rags will serve their turn, and help us both, I trust, to better -fortune.” - -The old man had been helped upon the second horse, and, with his box -placed before him, followed them along the rough and broken road. He -seemed wholly oblivious to what was taking place, and so long as his -treasure was safe, seemed perfectly content to act as he was bidden. -Macpherson, with his head bent, walked by the horse´s bridle and -listened with a frown upon his face to the conversation of Gervase and -the girl. He had cast no glance in her direction, but after he had -delivered his mind to Gervase, had busied himself about the old man with -a rough kindliness. - -“Thus we trudge on,” he said, as if talking to himself, “as the world is -doing everywhere. The old fool, at the end of his journey, thinking only -of the pieces of gold for which he will have his throat cut in all -likelihood before sunset. Heaven and Eternity are shut up in his box. -The young fool, thinking only of the brown eyes and tender speeches of -the wench, and willing to dare all things for her foolish sake, while -the wench herself, woman that she is, baits her trap with honied words -and draws the manhood out of him with the glance of her eye. And I--I -must go where the Providence of God directs my steps, though avarice and -vanity and the folly of youth be my companions and my guide. ´Tis a -strange world and full of shadows, and these are of them.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - OF THE RESCUE FROM GREAT PERIL. - - -Colonel Carew was the third in descent from the original planter who by -right of conquest and the grace of James the First, had settled upon the -broad lands of Castleton, and having swept the ancient possessors from -the soil, had planted there a hardy race of colonists, and built himself -a great house, half mansion, half fortress. The first Jasper Carew had -looked upon himself as the instrument in the hands of Providence to -civilize the land and found a family. He had ruled with despotic -severity, and when he was laid in the family vault in the new church -that he had built, left a name of undying hatred to the native Irish. -The second Jasper followed in the footsteps of his father; he built and -planted, and like a strong man armed, ruled his own demesne and showed -neither mercy nor tolerance toward the ancient race. They were a -God-fearing stock and showed no compassion nor kindly pity. Virtues they -had, but only toward their friends, and never forgot that they had won -by the sword´s right and must continue to hold by its power. The present -Colonel Carew had been wild in his youth, and had left the home of his -fathers in disgrace. For a time he had entirely disappeared; there were -vague rumours that he had prospered in the Virginias and had made a -fortune there. However that might be, he had returned home on the death -of his father, bringing with him an only son, and lived a moody, retired -life in the great house, attended only by a servant who had shared his -adventures abroad. His son had early obtained a commission, and served -with distinction on the Continent. He had married against the wish of -his father, a young lady of great beauty and slender fortune, the -daughter of a Huguenot refugee, and when he fell at Senef some years -afterwards, left an orphan son and daughter to the care of his father, -who received the unwelcome legacy with little outward show of favour or -affection. Colonel Carew had brought his grandson home, but permitted -the girl to remain under the care of her relatives in London. Here -Dorothy had remained until she was sixteen, when the death of her aunt -compelled her to seek a home with her grandfather, who was unable to -make any other provision for her, however anxiously he desired to do so. -At Castleton, Dorothy Carew had spent two years of her life--not very -happy or pleasant years, but her sweet and joyous spirit had broken down -in some slight degree the barrier that her grandfather had raised -between himself and all the world. - -He was growing old and frail, and his mind seemed to have gone wholly -back to the early years which he had spent in wild adventure and lawless -wanderings. The care of his estate he had left to his grandson, who paid -little heed to the old man, but went his way with the headstrong and -reckless selfishness that was the characteristic of his race. The -presence of his grand-daughter seemed to give him pleasure, but -companionship between them there was none. He accepted her attentions, -not, indeed, with an ill grace, but without any apparent sign of -affection, though at times, as he sat watching her moving about his -room, her figure appeared to arouse him from his fit of abstraction, and -to awaken a chord of memory that was not wholly painful. - -So she passed these two years at Castleton--dull enough for a girl of -spirit and used to the excitement and life of a great city; and when the -news of a great Catholic rising and massacre arrived, it found her alone -and unprotected, with a number of panic-stricken domestics and a -helpless old man looking to her for assistance and advice. Her brother -had gone to Londonderry on business of his own, and there was no one -near her on whom she could rely. The servants had remained at their -posts for some time, but as the excitement deepened, and the tenantry -fled to Enniskillen or to Londonderry for safety and shelter, they -refused to remain longer, and while imploring her to join them in their -flight, one morning they departed in a body. She herself would willingly -have accompanied them, but her grandfather refused to move. It was, he -said, mere moonshine. It was only when the Irish army had marched -northward, and there came the frequent and alarming reports of robbery -and murder, that he was seized with an uncontrollable dread, and -insisted on fleeing to Londonderry forthwith. The girl had no one to -assist her in their hasty flight but a brave and trusty servant who had -served with her father abroad, and who had been since taken into her -grandfather´s service. Together they had bundled the old man into the -coach, and leaving the great house to its fate, had set out for the city -of refuge. How they fared on their way thither we have already seen. - -Gervase walked by Bayard´s bridle, unmindful of all weariness and -regardless of all dangers, seeking, after the manner of young men, to -make the most of the sweet society into which chance had so strangely -thrown him. He was indignant with himself that he was ashamed of his -rags, though by way of making up for these, he began to talk of his life -in Dublin and the gay doings of the capital. - -At this Dorothy´s sense of humour was touched, and much to his confusion -she began to laugh aloud. “Your talk in such a figure, of the Castle and -of Tyrconnell and of my Lady, is a most excellent remedy for lowness of -spirits. I cannot set matters straight, and must become accustomed to -your mode. And yet I think I could have told that you were a gentleman.” - -“That is something,” said Gervase, a little mollified, “and how?” - -“Because,” she answered, with a naïve glance that disarmed his -resentment, “your present garments fit you so ill. But I am very wrong -to jest at such a time, and your friend does not seem to admire -laughter. I think that I could have told anywhere that he was a soldier. -You could not mistake his carriage.” - -“A better soldier and a truer friend there never was,” Gervase answered -warmly; “and that you will have cause to admit before your journey -ends.” - -“I think,” she said, “that you yourself fight not so badly. Oh! why was -I not a man that I might strike for religion and liberty? it is a -miserable thing to be a woman in times like these.” - -“I hope I am not a coward,” Gervase answered, “but I have already seen -enough of warfare to dislike my trade, and would never fight if it were -possible to avoid it. But fight we must for our rights and liberties -and,” he added, after a pause, “in defence of those we love.” - -“And,” she said, smiling, “is it for these last that you are fighting? -But I have no right to ask you that, though I have been told that men -say love is out of fashion. Indeed I think that it is no longer in -vogue.” - -“I care not for fashion in these things, but I have begun to think that -there might be such loving as would make life a royal thing to live. I -mean not love that asks to be loved in return, though I should like that -too, but a love that fills the heart with great and splendid thoughts, -and raises it above contemptible and base designs; the love I mean is -wholly pure and unselfish and lifts the lover above himself. I know not -whether you know the lines of that sonnet--” - -“I think,” she said smiling, “we will change the subject. It seems to me -that you are far too romantic to conduct a young and unprotected damsel -on a dangerous journey like this. Your grim Captain Macpherson were a -far fitter and more becoming companion--he would not breathe out his -aspirations in rhyme, or relieve his love-laden soul in a ballad. -Heigho! I shall never understand you men. But now tell me about your -journey from Londonderry, and how it came about that you were wounded?” - -And thereupon Gervase proceeded to relate the story of his ride by night -and the skirmish on the road, passing lightly over such incidents as -might be unfitting for a woman´s ear to listen to. - -But when he mentioned the name of De Laprade she stopped him. “And you -have met my cousin Victor, for it can be no other? I had not heard that -he had come to Ireland.” - -“I mean the Vicomte de Laprade. He is not much older than myself, with a -slight lisp, and very fair for a Frenchman.” - -“Yes, that is he. You do not know that he is in some sort my cousin, my -mother having been of his family. He was in London when I was a girl -living with my aunt, and he would come to visit us whenever he could -tear himself away from the cards and the festivities of Whitehall. Poor -Victor! he was a sad rake in those days, and I fear he would never have -come to Ireland had he not run through his fortune.” - -“He hinted, indeed, at something of that sort,” said Gervase, “but he is -a gallant fellow, and one cannot but like him. He hath done a great deal -for me.” - -“It would be strange should we meet here, yet who can tell? For it is as -likely we shall find ourselves within the Irish camp as within the walls -of Londonderry. I wonder in what manner we should be treated there?” - -“Camps are ever lawless places,” Gervase answered, “and offer little -entertainment for a lady. I trust that you will not be called upon to -make the trial. But Macpherson is calling upon us to stop; we have -already travelled too far in advance.” - -The road now ran through a wooded and undulating country, and they were -coming close to the ford by which they hoped to cross. At times they had -been able to catch a distant glimpse of the river bright with the fading -sunset, but so far as Gervase was able to see, there was no sign of the -enemy, and he had begun to hope that they might pass unmolested. - -“It is time,” said Macpherson, as he came up, “that we should determine -on our plan of action, for we can go no further. The ford yonder is -guarded. I caught the gleam of arms but a minute ago from the top of the -hill, and there is part of a troop of horse in the little grove yonder -to the right. I know the sound too well to mistake it. If it be possible -to cross I shall soon know; though--and here I speak, not with any -selfish or dishonourable intention, but as a man of honour and a -soldier, it were, perhaps, best that this lady and her grandfather -should place themselves of their free will in the hands of yonder -gentry, and trust to their humanity for generous treatment. It is a -perilous undertaking that we have in hand, and bullets may presently be -flying. However, as Providence has in some measure placed you under our -care, should it be your good pleasure, we will do as best we can.” - -“My grandfather is an old and defenceless man,” answered Dorothy, with -spirit, “and as you have seen, carries with him a great quantity of -treasure, which I would that I had never seen. What treatment, think -you, is he likely to receive at the hands of those who live on the fruit -of robbery and murder?” - -“Miss Carew is right, Captain Macpherson,” said Gervase, “and whatever -your design may be, I shall abide with her, and so far as my help goes, -shall see that she and her grandfather pass unscathed.” - -“I well knew,” answered Macpherson bitterly, “that you would do nothing -less, though it may come to pass that you will both suffer for it -hereafter. My design, as you phrase it, is even to go gently forward, -and see in what manner yon loons have set their guard, and of what -strength they may be. In the meantime, I should advise that you withdraw -into that clump of oak trees where you may safely await my coming, which -will be within the hour. I had looked for some sense from you, Mr. Orme, -but I find that you are no wiser than the rest of them. ´Fore God we are -all fools together.” - -Before Gervase had time to reply he had disappeared within the -undergrowth that grew densely by the roadside, and Gervase and the girl -stood looking at one another in silence; the same grave suspicion had -presented itself to both of them. “What think you of your friend?” she -said, with indignation. - -“For a moment I hardly knew what to think,” Gervase answered, “but my -faith in him is not a whit shaken. Believe me, we may trust him -unreservedly, and in good time he will prove that I am right. He will do -whatever a man may to bring you safely through, and will risk life and -limb to serve you. And now let us follow his directions, for if the ford -be indeed guarded, ´tis a wonder that we were not long since -discovered.” - -Taking Colonel Carew´s horse by the bridle, Gervase led him into the oak -wood followed by Dorothy. Here there proved to be excellent shelter, for -the underwood had grown thick and high, and discovery was impossible so -long as the enemy kept to the road, which it was likely they would do -unless their suspicions were aroused. - -The old man was helped from his horse and seated himself upon a fallen -tree, with his precious box clasped upon his knees, speaking no word, -but looking straight before him, with a fixed unmeaning gaze. He -appeared to be unconscious of what was taking place round him, and -insensible of the dangers to which they were exposed. Dorothy knelt down -beside him and placed her hands on his. He was muttering wild and -incoherent words. - -“Grandfather,” she said, “do you know me?” - -He looked at her with a frown. “Ay, girl, wherefore not?” he answered. -"Talk no more, but fill up my glass till the red wine runs over. There -is plenty where it came from--plenty, and gold that is better than wine, -girl; and bars of silver and stones of price. We who sail under the -_Jolly Roger_ cannot afford to be scrupulous. You are sly, wench, -damnably sly, but you will not overreach me. Nay, you shall have a -doubloon or two for yourself and a bundle of silks from our next -venture. I am grown stiff with this long lying ashore, and am well -wearied for a breath of the Spanish Main. - - “‘For the guns are all ready and the decks are all clear - And the prize is awaiting the bold Buccaneer!´” - -Dorothy rose and wrung her hands with a gesture of despair. Gervase -could see that the wild words of the old man had touched her beyond -description. It was not so much that they showed his mind had left him; -they had revealed the terrible secret of his early life--a secret that -till now she had never dreamed of. She had instinctively guessed the -truth, and it had covered her with shame, as though the crime and the -reproach were her own. Gervase out of regard for her feelings withdrew -to a distance, and busied himself in getting ready a supper, which -matter, necessary as it was, had quite escaped his thoughts. But -Dorothy, though he pressed her strongly, refused to partake of it. - -“I cannot taste of food,” she said, “and you know the reason--you also -have heard the dreadful words. That accursed money comes--Oh! I might -have guessed it, but who would have thought?--and he is so old and so -frail and--and I think he is going to die. Oh! it is very terrible. I -was so proud of my name, and the honour of my house, and now----” - -Gervase had no words with which to comfort her, and so the three--the -two men and the girl--sat here in the thicket, speaking never a word. -But for the young man, he could not take his eyes off the sweet, strong -face that looked so lovely in its grief--the lips that trembled, and the -eyes that were dimmed with unshed tears. Half an hour passed in silence; -only the far-off murmur of the river came faintly through the twilight, -and the whirr of a startled bird, or the hasty scamper of a rabbit or a -rat, broke the stillness round them. As yet there was no appearance of -Macpherson. And then Gervase began to wonder whether, after all, Dorothy -might not have been right in her hasty surmise, and whether he might not -have sought his own safety in flight, and left them to their fate. But -he instantly dismissed the suggestion from his mind as ungenerous and -unjust. - -Then, at that moment, a shot rang out in the evening air, and another, -and another. The sound came from the river, and as they stood and -listened, they could hear the jinging of bridles and the clank of -weapons, for the air was somewhat frosty and very still. They had risen -to their feet and stood listening, only Gervase had drawn his sword, and -instinctively stepped nearer to where the girl was standing. Soon they -heard the sound of hasty footsteps and the crashing of branches, as -someone made his way with impetuous haste through the underwood. Then -Macpherson appeared bareheaded, with a smoking pistol in his hand. - -“There is not a moment to lose,” he cried. “Into the road and make what -terms you can. They are regular troops and may not use you ill, but -escape you cannot, and I may not tarry here. I have done for one of -them, and, I think, another will never hear ‘boots and saddle´ sounded -again. ´Tis your only hope.” - -“And what,” cried Gervase, “do you purpose doing?” - -“Saving my neck if it be possible. I cannot serve you, but would only -make your case the worse. It goes against my heart to leave you, but for -your sake and my own I can do naught else. Stay,” he continued, “there -is one thing more. For that box they would cut your throats, and they -must not find it with you. Madam, can you trust me? I am rugged and I am -rough, but I think I am honest.” - -Dorothy looked at him fairly a moment and their eyes met. “Yes,” she -said, in a clear, strong voice, “I can trust you wholly.” - -“Then, sir,” he said, stepping forward to the old man, “By your leave -and license I must, for your own good, relieve you of your toys.” With a -quick movement he took the box out of the hands of the old man who -stared at him with a bewildered gaze, and then with a hurried farewell, -he passed out of sight. Colonel Carew uttered a loud, shrill scream and -fell forward on the grass. Dorothy ran forward and tried to turn him -over, but she had not strength enough. Then Gervase knelt down to help -her, but when he saw the white, frowning face, one glance was sufficient -to show him how it was. The old adventurer, with all his sins fresh in -his memory and his wicked life rekindled, as it were, out of the ashes -of the past, had gone to his account. - -The dragoons, who had hastily mounted on discovering Macpherson, and had -been riding down the road, reined in their horses, and dismounting, -plunged into the coppice. The old man´s sudden and startling outcry had -guided them to the fugitives´ place of concealment. They set up a loud -shout when they were discovered, and one fellow was about to pistol -Gervase when another struck up his hand and restrained him. - -“Time enough for that. We´ll put a question or two first,” said the -sergeant who commanded the party. “Tie his hands behind his back, and -bring him out into the road. The old man is dead as a nail,” he -continued, touching the lifeless body with his foot, “and the wench is -no doubt his daughter. By my soul! she´s a beauty: now look you, the -first man-Jack of you who lays his finger on her, I´ll blow his brains -out, so help me God! and you know I´m a man of my word. Don´t fear, -madam; they´re rough but kindly.” - -As they led Gervase out into the road, one hope was uppermost in his -mind, and that was that they might fall in with some officer of -sufficient authority to whose care he might confide Dorothy, and to -whose sense of honour he should not appeal in vain. There were still -many gallant gentlemen in the Irish army in whose eyes a woman´s -reputation would be sacred. - -The dragoons who guarded him followed the sergeant out into the open, -and they halted under a great oak that threw its broad branches across -the road. Dorothy had implored them to bring her grandfather´s body with -them, and on their refusing had seated herself beside it. But without -using any great violence, they had insisted on her following the rest of -the party. She had shed no tears, but her face was very white, and her -breath came quickly in little, convulsive sobs. Gervase looked at her -for a moment, and then turned away his head. - -“Now,” said the sergeant, “we´ll see what stuff he´s made of. How say -you, sir? On what side are you? Are you for King James?” - -“I am for law and order,” answered Gervase. “This young lady and I were -on a peaceful journey, wishing ill and intending hurt to no one, and I -know not what right you have to hinder us.” - -“That is no answer to my question, sir; but I´ll answer for you--you´re -a Whig and in arms against the King, or would be. Where is your -authority? And now another question and I have done with you: Where is -the prickeared knave gone who pistolled poor Cornet White and sent -another of ours to kingdom come? I´ll take my oath he was of your -party.” - -“I saw no pistolling,” said Gervase; “is it like in such force as you -see us, we should fall upon a troop of dragoons? Why, man, it was -because we were afraid to venture near you that we hid ourselves in the -tangle yonder.” - -“This jesting will not answer, Master Whig. I´ll give you one chance of -saving your neck and only one--what way went he?” - -“Look you here, sergeant,” said Gervase, seeing the desperate position -in which he was placed, “I´m a gentleman, and it would profit you little -to shoot or hang me. See this lady and myself safe through to -Londonderry, and you will have twenty golden guineas for yourself and -five for every man here in your company. I cannot say you fairer, and if -not for my sake or the money´s, then for the sake of this helpless -lady.” - -“This lady will be well cared for, never fear, and for your guineas, I´m -thinking by the time you got to Londonderry, they would be own brothers -to the lads they are making in Dublin. Come, my man, you´ll have sixty -seconds to answer my question, and then Hurrah for the kingdom of -glory.” So saying he took a piece of rope from the hands of one of the -men and began leisurely to measure it, a foot at a time, looking up -occasionally from the operation to see how it affected the prisoner. - -“My God! you would not hang me?” - -“Ay, that I would, with a heart and a half and high as Haman, if the -rope were long enough. The time is nearly up--How say you?” - -“I say that I care not how you use me, if you see the lady safe. Hang me -if you will.” - -“The time is up and you have not answered an honest question. Now, lads, -we´ll see if this heretic rogue can do anything but prate. It seems to -me he looks a strolling player and may be one for all I know.” So saying -he deftly threw the rope round the thick branch that grew over the road, -and placed his hand on the prisoner´s shoulder. - -Up to this time Dorothy could not believe that he meant to carry out his -savage threat, but she saw now that this was no mere jest but a matter -of life and death. The business was evidently to the taste of the -troopers, and two of them laid aside their firelocks and placed their -hands upon the rope. Then she sprang forward and caught the sergeant by -the arm. “You do not mean what you say,” she cried, “he has never -wronged you, nor have I, and had it not been for me and the dead old man -yonder, he had not been in your power now. For my sake, for God´s sake, -you will not injure him.” - -The man seemed touched for a minute, so wild was she, and so beautiful, -in her despair, and then he shook her off roughly. “Women have nothing -to do in these affairs. Two of you fellows take her away, and leave us -to finish this business in peace. Now, make haste about the matter, and -get this damnable job out of hand. We must look after the other fellow -before night comes down.” - -Dorothy turned white and faint, and seemed like to have fallen on the -road as Gervase held out his hand to her and said, with a lump in his -throat, - -“Good-bye, Miss Carew, I regret quitting life less than leaving you in -this company, but my last prayer on earth is for your safety. Could my -life have brought you help, I should have given it up without regret.” - -Then she broke down utterly, and they led her away, with her face buried -in her hands. Suddenly, at that moment there was heard the sound of a -horse coming rapidly along the road, and the men who were busied placing -the noose round Gervase´s neck, stopped short in their work. Dorothy -heard the sound also, and looked up. An officer, apparently of -distinguished rank, accompanied by a couple of dragoons, was advancing -at a rapid trot. - -His military cloak, richly embroidered, was thrown open, and showed a -burnished cuirass underneath. His broad-brimmed hat adorned with a -single white feather, nearly concealed his face. As he approached, -Dorothy struggled in the hands of the man who held her and freeing -herself, ran swiftly down the road to meet him. As he came up he reined -in his black charger. - -“Thank God!” she cried, “you have come in time. You, at least, are a -gentleman, and you will save him.” - -“I hope, madam, I am a gentleman,” he said, with a high, courteous -manner and in a voice that was at once strong and musical. “I shall -examine into this matter, and if I can in duty and in honour render you -this service, you may rely upon me.” - -Then hurriedly, and almost incoherently, she told him her story, or as -much as she thought necessary for her purpose; and when she had finished -he called out to one of the mounted troopers to take his horse. - -“Now, Miss Carew,” he said, dismounting, and raising his hat with a -stately courtesy, “having heard your story, I am rejoiced that I have -arrived in time. These lambs of mine are hasty in their work and, I -fear, have not always warrant for what they do. Believe me, I am sorry -for your case and will do what I can to aid you. And now let us see how -the gentleman has borne himself, who has so fair an advocate to plead -his cause.” - -With these words, taking her hand he led her up to the group which stood -under the tree awaiting his approach. Gervase had given himself up for -lost, and had commended his soul to his Maker, for the rope had already -been adjusted round his neck, and willing hands were only waiting for -the word of command from the sergeant to turn him off. But as the -mounted officer rode up and the fellows suspended their work, he felt -instinctively that he had been saved. The look of baffled hate on the -sergeant´s face showed that. The officer came up leading Dorothy by the -hand, and the dragoons saluted him silently. He gave Gervase one quick -searching look, a look that flashed with keen intelligence and seemed to -take in every detail in a moment, and then said sternly, “Unbind the -prisoner, and take down that rope.” He stood quietly, speaking no word, -but waited with his keen eyes fixed on Gervase, until the dragoons had -unbound the prisoner´s hands and removed the hempen cord from his neck. -The work being completed, the men fell back a few paces. - -“Now, sirrah!” he said, turning to the sergeant, “what does this mean? -By whose orders or instructions were you about to hang this gentleman? -Is it thus that you do your duty? While the fellow who shot down your -officer has been making his escape, you have been preparing to murder an -unoffending traveller whom it was your duty to protect. Had I been five -minutes later, I do not doubt that I should have strung you up beside -him. Good God! it is fellows like you who make me blush for my -countrymen. Now, look you, the man who has made his escape must be -brought in before nightfall. Should you fail to capture him you will see -how I deal with men who forget that they are soldiers and act like -caterans.” - -“This fellow, if it please your honour----” began the sergeant. - -“Silence, sirrah! Take your men and search the wood. This man must not -escape, and when you return, report yourself to me at the house by the -ford. Take all the men with you; I shall return alone. Stay, there is -one thing more.” Here glancing hastily at Dorothy, he walked a short -distance away, and in a low tone gave orders with regard to the remains -of Colonel Carew, which he directed to be brought down to the post and -await his instructions there. The man saluted, and giving the necessary -orders with a sullen and crestfallen air, left his superior standing -alone with the prisoner. - -“Give me no thanks, sir,” he said, interrupting Gervase. “For I have -only done for you what an Irish gentleman is bound in honour to do. Our -men will do these lawless deeds, but with the party to which you belong -rests the blame, having made them what they are. Till now they have been -slaves with all the vices of the slave; they cannot learn the moderation -and restraint of freemen in a day. However,” he continued, with a smile -that lighted up his dark face, “this is no speech to address to a man -who has just escaped the gallows. Miss Carew tells me you are now on -your way to Londonderry seeking refuge and safety there. I do not -propose to advise you, but within a fortnight the city will be in our -hands, and meanwhile must undergo the dangers of a siege. We do not make -war on women, and Miss Carew may rely on me to help her to a place of -safety.” - -“My friends are there,” said Dorothy; “I have not elsewhere to go.” - -“We have indeed proposed,” said Gervase, “to take refuge in Londonderry, -and since Miss Carew has lost--is alone, I know not where else she can -betake herself. For myself I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and -you may dispose of me as you will; but for the lady, I would beg you to -allow her to pass safely through your lines and join her friends in the -city.” - -“That might easily be done, but surely Dublin were safer?” - -“As I have said,” answered Dorothy, “my friends are all in Londonderry, -and I should prefer to share their danger.” - -“Well! we shall see how it may be, but in the meantime, I shall ask you -to share my hospitality, such as it is, to-night, and to-morrow we will -devise some plan for your security. Miss Carew may safely place herself -in the hands of Patrick Sarsfield,” and he raised his hat with the _bel -air_ that sat so easily upon him. - -Gervase looked with curiosity on the great Irish leader, than whom no -more notable figure and chivalrous gentleman fought in the Irish ranks, -and lent lustre and honour to a somewhat tarnished cause. He was little, -indeed, above the middle height, but his bold and gallant bearing gave -him the appearance of being of more than the ordinary stature. His brow -was frank and open, and his eyes had the clear and resolute gaze of a -man accustomed to bold and perilous action--ardent, impetuous, and -courageous. His speech came rapidly, and his utterance was of the -clearest and most decisive. Accustomed to camps he had yet the air of a -well-bred man of the world, and when he smiled his face lost the fixed -and somewhat melancholy air it wore when in repose. - -“And you are Colonel Sarsfield?” Dorothy inquired. “Then we are friends, -for you were the friend of my aunt Lady Bellasis.” - -“Truly she was my very good friend, and her son Will--your cousin, I -presume--was my dear crony and companion-in-arms. We served together -during Monmouth´s campaign, and I might almost say that he died in my -arms at Taunton. You are then the Dorothy of whom I heard him speak. I -think his death broke his mother´s heart. It is strange that we should -meet here, but life is made up of strange things; we should wonder at -nothing. Now, Mr. Orme, I shall give the lady my arm, and we will see -whether even here in the desert they cannot furnish us with a bottle of -wine, that we may drink to peace and a settlement of differences. Only I -should like to say this: I ask no questions, and look upon you only as -Miss Carew´s companion and protector; I expect that you will close your -eyes to anything that you may see, and ever after be silent on the -matter.” - -“I hope,” answered Gervase, “I know better than to take advantage of -your great kindness. I shall observe your instructions to the letter.” - -“´Tis very well. Come, Miss Carew,” Sarsfield said, extending his hand, -“this hath been a melancholy journey for you, and henceforth I wish you -happier fortune. I have given orders regarding the interment of your -kinsman, and will spare you all the pain I can.” - -Dorothy thanked him with a look, and was silent. Beside the river was a -farm-house which was evidently used as a military station, for before -the door a number of dragoons--perhaps a dozen--were gathered in small -groups, and several horses were picketed in the enclosure which had -formerly been used as a garden. - -As they entered the house they were saluted by the strong odour of -tobacco-smoke. A man was engaged in cooking at the open hearth, and -another was seated on a chair hard by, watching the operation as he -smoked his pipe in silence, and beat a tattoo with his heels upon the -earthen floor. The latter was a remarkable-looking man in every way. He -was dressed in a plain red coat, with a tangled weather-beaten wig -hanging down at full length. He wore a faded beaver with a narrow brim, -and had a dirty yellow-coloured cravat tied carelessly round his neck. -His legs were very long, his face was full of freckles, and his nose was -tilted up in what had been a good-humoured fashion but for the heavy and -forbidding expression of his mouth. As they came in he did not rise but -merely removed his pipe from his lips. - -“How now?” he asked. - -“My special mission hath already borne fruit, Colonel Luttrel,” said -Sarsfield stiffly. “This lady is the kinswoman of a late very dear -friend of mine, and your dragoons have used her with the scantest -courtesy.” - -“The young lady hath reason to be thankful ´tis no worse, for they -cannot stand the sight of a petticoat, and they could not be expected to -know of the relationship. We´ll trust to the supper, which is nearly -ready, to cure her wounded feelings.” - -“This lady is my friend, sir,” said Sarsfield, with a frown. - -“And Colonel Luttrel´s also, I hope,” said Dorothy, with a sweeping -curtesy, which made the soldier open his eyes to their widest with -wonder and admiration, and drew a smile to Sarsfield´s lips. “I think, -sir, you speak very sensibly and am glad to hear that supper is ready.” - -The Colonel rose from his chair, laid down his pipe, and held out his -hand. “You are of the kind that pleases me,” he said, “and I would, my -dear, that I was thirty years younger for your sake. Fine airs never -pleased me yet and, damme! you´re a beauty.” Again Dorothy curtesied -with becoming gravity. “Now, sit you down,” he went on, “and let me hear -of what the Colonel yonder complains, for he and I,” and here he lowered -his voice, “strike it off but ill. If any man of mine but dared to lay -his finger on you, I´ll give him a round dozen for your sake.” - -“I´m sure you are very generous,” Dorothy said, demurely enough, and -thereafter she and the old soldier began to talk together with great -ease and friendliness. Presently he was laughing loudly at her playful -sallies, and before he was aware she drew the heart out of him till he -was completely her servant. - -I have seen the lady´s portrait painted but a few years after the events -here narrated, and I say in all soberness that I do not wonder at her -power. Of her mere beauty I can give no just description, but to my mind -her chief charm lay in her eyes, the expression of which the painter--a -Fleming, whose name has escaped my memory--had caught with marvellous -fidelity. Full of pride and stateliness, they were yet prone to light up -with tenderness and playful humour, to which her lips gave just and -fitting emphasis. Had I not already known something of her life I should -yet have willingly taken her for a heroine. And yet the contemplation of -that sweet face saddened me beyond expression. Hanging there among the -portraits of forgotten statesmen, and old-world soldiers who fought at -Ramillies and Oudenarde, the presentment of that young and smiling face, -so full of tender light and gracious sweetness, looked out of the past -with pathetic warning that all things have the same fate and must go the -same inevitable way. - -In this little comedy it must not be supposed she was altogether acting -a part, or that in anything she said or did she was inspired by any -other feeling than friendliness, and it may be the frolicsome humour, -that was in her a characteristic trait. From time to time she looked up -archly at Colonel Sarsfield who stood smiling by the window, and then -resumed her conversation with increased sprightliness. - -“I never understand women, my dear,” Luttrel said. - -“And you never will, sir, for we do not understand ourselves. I think -you have never been married?” - -“The Lord be praised for all His mercies, that blessing is still a long -way before me. I mean, my dear young lady, no offence to you, but my -brother Phil married and saved the rest of the family.” - -“With Colonel Luttrel´s permission we will draw a veil over his family -history.” - -“´Tis mighty well,” said the other; “commissary-general to a ragged army -of fifteen, and his wife still a rare recruiting sergeant.” - -So saying he took his place stiffly behind his chair, waiting till -Dorothy was seated at the supper table. “And I hope,” he growled, -looking askance at Gervase, “that this person is of fit condition to sit -at the table with people of quality.” - -“Of that matter, sir,” said Sarsfield, “I am perhaps the best judge. Mr. -Orme, will you do me the favour to take this chair beside me? I remember -when I was of your age I did not require much invitation after a long -day. You will tell Miss Carew that soldiers´ fare is ever of the -plainest. And as far as prudence and honour will permit, I should like -to hear something of your journeying, which seems to have been of the -strangest, or so this fair advocate would have me believe.” - -Gervase long remembered this strange evening spent in this curious -company. He was wholly unable to resist the fascination of the great -soldier´s manner, and long after that fiery soul had passed away in the -onset at Landen, would dwell upon his memory with admiration and regret. -He treated Gervase with perfect friendliness, delicately avoiding all -matters that might cause offence. He related many incident in his own -career with perfect frankness and vivacity, and spoke with great -shrewdness and insight of many famous men that he had met. Of -Marlborough, whom he had known in Monmouth´s campaign, he spoke with -great enthusiasm in his character as a soldier, though he affected to -despise him as a man; and Gervase remembered the conversation in after -years, when the hero of Blenheim returned amid the plaudits of the -nation and crowned with the laurels of victory. - -Luttrel listened with a hard and solemn visage; it was abundantly clear -that he was determined that he should not go to bed sober, and was -already far advanced in his cups before Dorothy left the table. But he -was entirely silent under Sarsfield´s eye, and merely plied the bottle -with great assiduity. Presently Dorothy quitted the room. Sarsfield -standing with his hands on the back of his chair, wished her a stately -“good-night.” When she had retired he turned to Gervase. - -“I shall not see you again this evening, Mr. Orme,” he said, “and I have -not asked you for your parole. Nor is such my intention. On your word I -know that I could rely, but I know that I have better security for your -safe custody there,” and he pointed towards Dorothy´s room. “Good-night, -gentlemen, and I trust that you will not quarrel,” with which words he -went out. - -Luttrel put his arms on the table and looked at Gervase with a drunken -sneer. “The Colonel thinks that he is a mighty pretty fellow, and that -no man knows the points of a woman but himself. And he flirts with the -bottle like a quaker, which I have never taken to be the first sign of -manhood. Indeed, you are a damnable drinker yourself. Come, sir, fill up -your glass cheerfully, or I shall be compelled to think you have an -objection to your company.” - -“I have no fault to find with my entertainment,” Gervase answered good -humouredly, unwilling to create any dissension, and making a show of -replenishing his glass. - -“Why, there, that´s right! But I may tell you frankly, Mr. -What´s-your-name, that had this thing been left to me, you should not -now have been sitting drinking of this excellent usquebaugh in the -company of your betters. I speak in the way of friendship, for I ever -like to be honest, and, mark you, I mean no offence in the world, but if -I had my will, I should even string you up with a hempen cravat round -your neck to show you what I think of your principles.” - -“Meaning thereby that you would hang me?” Gervase said with a smile. - -“Ay, that I would, with the best intentions in the world, but since I -cannot carry out my purpose, I will even drink with you or fight with -you, as you will.” - -“I should stand no chance with you either way, I am afraid; but I am -very tired and with your permission”--and here Gervase offered to rise. - -The other clapped his hand upon his sword, and rose to his feet with a -drunken stagger. “Nay, that you shall not. I am a hospitable man, and -none shall say that I did not give you an opportunity of going to bed -like a gentleman.” - -Finding himself thus placed between two fires, Gervase unwillingly -resumed his seat, and watched his truculent host growing more and more -intoxicated, while he entered into a rambling disquisition on his own -fortunes and the wrongs of his unhappy country. He did not doubt but -that the time of deliverance had come. The Irish gentlemen were about to -strike a great blow for freedom and for James Stuart, though they cared -not a whit for the quarrel, but he served their purpose as well as -another. For the pestilent heretics in Londonderry, they would be taught -a wholesome lesson: they would be made a warning to all traitors. His -father was a man in Cromwell´s day. Then his talk grew more and more -incoherent, and finally, with his head fallen upon his arms, and the -contents of the overturned measure streaming over the table, he fell -fast asleep. Gervase then rose and sought his own bed, glad that, after -all, the night had passed so amicably. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - OF THE RETURN TO THE CITY. - - -Colonel Sarsfield more than fulfilled the promise he had made. Seeing -that Dorothy had set her heart upon joining her friends in Londonderry, -he had accompanied her part of the way himself, and had provided her -with an escort for the remainder of her journey. To Gervase he had shown -unaffected kindness. He had provided him with a horse and apparel -befitting his condition, and at parting had wrung his hand with an -appearance of great warmth and friendship. - -“It is right, perhaps,” he had said, “that we should be on different -sides of this quarrel, but we can part with mutual good-will. I have but -one hope and one thought--to see my country once more a nation, great -and free. I would that all our people were of one mind, and were -striking together for their fatherland. But it is still our curse to be -divided--torn and rent by civil feuds. But believe me when I say that -Patrick Sarsfield has only one desire on earth, and that is that his -country should have her own laws and her own government, and freedom for -the meanest. I think I shall meet my fate on the field of battle, but I -hope not before I have seen that splendid day. Think well of us, Mr. -Orme, and though you do your duty on your own side, remember that there -are among us those whose cause is sacred in their eyes, and whose -country is dearer to them than their lifeblood.” - -They never met again, but Gervase felt in after days that there was one -man in Ireland who might have saved his cause, had he not been checked -by narrow prejudices and the bitter envy of those who did not understand -his proud and chivalrous nature. At Limerick that fiery spirit blazed -out for a while in all its native strength, but his cause was already -doomed. - -When Gervase had reached Londonderry in safety, and had seen Dorothy -placed under the protection of her aunt, he returned to his old lodgings -over a linendraper´s shop in a small house near the Bishop´s-gate. - -In the meantime, memorable events had transpired in his absence. The -Irish army, breaking through the defences of the Bann, had pressed on -toward Londonderry, and having crossed the Finn, had closed upon the -city. Colonel Lundy, whether through vacillation and cowardice or from -deliberate treachery, had made no effort to oppose their approach, and -had done his best to secure the surrender of the city. At the very -moment when he was about to carry out his designs, the citizens awakened -to his intentions, and took the authority into their own hands. They -seized the keys and took possession of the walls; a new government was -established in the city; the garrison was divided into regiments, and -preparations were made to stand a long and stubborn siege. - -A great change had taken place in the city and in the spirit of the -citizens since Gervase had ridden out of the gate, a fortnight before. -The old look of dejection and irresolution had disappeared; one of -unbounded enthusiasm and zeal had taken its place. Every able-bodied man -carried arms and bore himself like a soldier. Swords clanked on the -causeway; rusty muskets had been furbished up, and gentlemen and yeomen -alike were filled with the same ardour, and wore the same determined -air. Every regiment had its post. On the ramparts the guards were posted -at regular intervals; little knots of armed and resolute men were -gathered in the great square, and companies were being drilled from -morning till night in the Bogside. A spirit of unyielding loyalty filled -the air. The paving stones had been raised from the streets and were -carried to the walls; blinds had been erected to screen the men on the -ramparts. From the grey Cathedral tower two guns looked down on the -Waterside, and on every bastion were others ready for use. At the Market -house also cannon were planted to sweep the streets. At every gate there -was a great gun. - -The siege had indeed commenced. Yonder beyond the Foyle lay Lord -Lumley´s command, three thousand strong, the white tents catching the -last gleam of the sunset as the evening mists crept up the river. At -Brookhall and Pennyburn Mill was a strong force that shut off -communication with Culmore. Away towards St. Johnston´s and Carrigans -was the main army of the enemy under Eustace and Ramsay. From the -heights of Clooney one could see at long intervals a swift leap of -flame, and hear the sullen roar of a great gun breaking on the evening -air. All thought of compromise or capitulation was at an end; here the -citizens must make their last stand, and show the world how dearly they -held their faith and freedom. - -At first sight resistance might have seemed a midsummer folly. - -On both sides of the river the high ground looked down upon the city, -and that within the range of cannon. The streets clomb up the gradual -slope toward the square-towered Cathedral; the walls were low and might -be easily breached. Still, there were seven thousand men of the imperial -race within those walls, and while one stone stood upon another they had -sworn to make good their defence. - -Gervase was up betimes on the morning following his return. He had seen -Colonel Murray the night before at the guard house, whither that gallant -soldier had just returned after a hot encounter with the enemy, and had -heard from his lips an account of their first skirmish that had taken -place that very day. Murray had promised him a vacant cornetcy in his -own regiment of horse, and the prospect of plenty of service. - -Gervase buckled on his sword after a hasty breakfast, his mind full of -the hope that a high-spirited young-fellow naturally indulges in at such -a time. His imagination had been touched and his heart had been stirred -by the peril of the situation. He had caught the joyous enthusiasm of -the time, and he whistled merrily a bar of Lillibullero as he went down -the crooked stair, and came into the ill-lighted shop. The door was -lying open, but the shutters had not been taken down. Trade was not of -the briskest of late days, and the stock was somewhat meagre. The varied -assortment of wares--linens, broadcloth, and laces--had nearly -disappeared, and the little linen-draper, Simon Sproule, was seated with -a rueful countenance at his desk, with his ledger spread open before -him. So intent was he on the open page that he had not heard Gervase -come clanking down the stairs, and it was only when the latter stepped -forward and laid his hand on his shoulder, that he raised his head with -a startled look. Then he jumped up and held out his hand. - -“God bless my soul! I am glad to see you, Mr. Orme; I had never thought -to have laid my eyes on you again. It was only on Thursday I was telling -Elizabeth--and she´ll bear me out in what I say--that ´twas likely your -dust was mingled by this time with the clods of the valley, and we were -both grieved to have lost you.” - -“I am sure I am much bound to both of you,” Gervase answered, laughing, -“but you can see that I look little like a dying man yet; just as much -as you look like an honest tradesman.” - -The little man surveyed himself ruefully, and with such solemnity of -visage that Gervase could not suppress a smile of amusement. His coat of -claret-coloured cloth had given place to a buff jacket which had already -seen considerable service on a man larger than himself, and he was -encased to the thighs in a pair of jack-boots that gave his nether -extremities a very striking appearance. On a stool hard by was a steel -head-piece of an antiquated pattern, and leaning against the counter was -a musket, the lock of which he had apparently recently been oiling. The -bulging forehead with its overhanging tuft of red hair, the nose that -providence had carefully tilted up, and the blue eyes that always met -you with a look of mild wonder in them, harmonized but ill with his -military equipment. He shook his head sadly. - -“These are but ill times that we have fallen upon. ´Tis very well, sir, -for a young man like yourself whose trade is fighting, to go swaggering -up and down with a long sword by your side and a murderous weapon like -that in your hand, but for a married man like myself with eight children -to his own share, ´tis altogether another matter. But I´m a loyal man -and a good Protestant, and I´ll even try to do my duty, hard as it -seems, with the best of you.” - -“Why, Simon, three weeks ago you were the boldest man in the city, and I -remember you made a great speech that was mightily applauded!” - -“Ay, but the enemy had not crossed the Bann then, and it is a different -thing, let me tell you, when the bullets begin to whistle about your -head. I was out yesterday, Mr. Orme, and do you know”--here he looked -round to see that there was no one within hearing--"I discovered that I -was no better than a coward." - -“But you stood your ground like a man?” - -“Indeed I did no such thing. I dare not tell Elizabeth, but no sooner -did I see those devils of Berwick come galloping up, than I even ran -like a coward for the walls, and never thought of my duty till I was out -of reach of their sword-blades. It was too late to turn back then, had I -been so minded. God hath made us all after our own fashion, and he never -made me for a soldier.” - -“All young soldiers feel like that in their first battle,” said Gervase, -with the air of a veteran. “A fortnight hence you will be as bold as a -lion. Mistress Sproule will see that you do not flinch, for I think she -could carry arms herself.” - -“You know my wife, Mr. Orme,” said the little man sadly, “and that is -one of my main troubles, for I dare not tell her what I have told you. -She must needs know the whole story when I came back last night, and my -invention would not serve me better than my yard stick yonder. Do you -think, sir, that there will be a great deal of work of the same kind?” - -“In faith, Simon, I can give you but little comfort,” said Gervase, half -in amusement, half pitying his evident distress; “these are troublous -times we are living in, and hard knocks are in fashion. You must even -pluck up courage and show a stout heart in that buff coat of yours. -You´ll come to like the smell of powder by and by, and instead of -running you´ll go out to meet them as blithely as the boldest.” - -“What I have said I have spoken in confidence, Mr. Orme, and should you -have speech with my wife on the matter, I know you will say a word in my -favour. But I wish with all my heart we could see the end of our -troubles. My trade is even ruined, and there is a list of debts for you -that will never return me the value of a penny. Colonel Lundy himself -owes me eight pounds sterling, which I do not think he will ever return -to discharge.” - -“Indeed I do not think he will, and if that were all he owed us the city -would be well quit of him. Are you on duty to-day, Simon?” - -“I must turn out at twelve o´clock on the Church bastion,” he answered -gravely, “and I know not what devil´s work I may have to do before the -day is over. But I will take what you have said to heart, sir, and hope -for the time when I´ll have a taste for fighting.” - -“I´ll be there to see,” said Gervase, smiling, “and should it give you -courage, I´ll even blow your brains out should you try to run away.” - -As Gervase passed up Bishop´s-gate street, he could not help laughing -aloud at the look of consternation depicted on the face of his little -landlord, who had been among the loudest and most eloquent advocates of -resistance while the enemy were at a distance. - -The morning was bright and clear, with a warm breath of spring in the -air that blew across the river. The streets were alive with men hurrying -hither and thither; men who carried every imaginable description of -musket and side-arms, and wore the most diverse kinds of defensive -armour, but men who looked as if they had a work to do and meant to do -it. Four companies of Parker´s regiment of foot he met on their way to -the Bogside, and he was struck by their soldierly bearing and the -precision and regularity of their march. From the Royal Bastion a great -gun was firing slowly, in reply to the cannon of the enemy that spoke -iron-lipped from Strong´s orchard on the other side of the river. But -what struck him chiefly was that there were neither women nor children -abroad; the city looked like a great barrack-yard under arms. - -In the Diamond, before the guard-house, he met Colonel Murray in company -with Captain Ashe, and Walker, the newly-made governor. Gervase knew the -fighting parson of Donaghmore at a glance. The tall, burly figure and -frank face full of boldness and resolution spoke of action rather than -of study, and the sword that he carried at his side was little in -keeping with his clerical calling. As Gervase came up he was engaged in -an animated conversation, emphasizing his points with copious gestures -and disregarding all interruptions. - -“This is the young gentleman of whose adventures I have been telling you -but now, Governor Walker,” said Murray, placing his hand on his arm as -Gervase doffed his beaver. - -“I am pleased to meet with you, sir,” said Walker with a fine, pleasant -smile. “I learn that your mission miscarried, as I doubt not it was -intended it should by those who sent you, and that you alone of your -party have returned in safety. We have now, I trust, cleared out the -nest of traitors, and brave men can fight without fearing the treachery -of their friends. You were of Mountjoy´s regiment, I think?” - -Gervase bowed in acquiescence. - -“Then, sir, you must show that your Colonel was the only traitor in the -regiment, and I do not doubt you will. Our men are eager, but they want -discipline. I am no soldier myself, but I have set myself to learn, and -we want you gentlemen of the sword to teach us. You were not here for -the fight of yesterday?” - -“I had not the good fortune.” - -“´Tis ever ill fortune, sir, to be in a fight, but being there, ´tis -well to strike hard and stand to it. You would then have seen what it is -our soldiers lack. Their zeal outran their discretion.” - -“And some of them outran the enemy,” added Murray, with a shrug of his -shoulders, “but I have no doubt Mr. Orme will do his duty. Have you yet -heard anything of Captain Macpherson?” - -“Not a word. I fear he has fallen into the hands of the enemy or we -should have seen him ere now. He is not a man to let the grass grow -under his feet.” - -“We can ill spare him now, for a stouter soldier I never met, and one -with knowledge gathered on half the battle-fields of Europe.” - -“Was his heart in the cause?--that is the main thing.” - -“You would not ask the question if you knew the man; Cromwell won Naseby -with his fellows.” - -“H´m!” Walker said, turning away. “Captain Ashe, will you walk as far -with me as the Town House? Good-morning, sir.” - -Murray stood for a moment looking after the tall retreating figure of -the old parson, and then turned to Gervase with a smile. “That smacks -too much of dissent for the Governor´s nose, Mr. Orme. There´s a great -heart in yon cassock but half of him is only a parson, after all. He -would have us drilled from the pulpit steps, and no man may march but to -the tune of the prayer-book. A very good tune too, but every man can´t -step to the time. But I wonder how it has gone with your old captain--I -wouldn´t lose Macpherson for a regiment.” - -“I spent a fortnight in his company,” said Gervase, “and none can know -his worth better than I do.” - -“He will need to make haste if he is alive. In a week not a mouse could -creep into the city. Even now, you can see how the enemy´s lines are -drawn round us, and I can hardly hope he will get through. And they will -draw them closer yet, for they will have to starve us out; storm us they -cannot. Pray God, they do not sleep in England. Now, Mr. Orme, your -commission has been made out, as I promised, and I would have you carry -a message to Colonel Crofton at Windmill Hill. We have much work to do -to-day.” - -Gervase found his first day of garrison life full of interest and -excitement. Apparently satisfied with the sharp skirmish of yesterday, -the enemy had not attempted any further offensive operations, but lay -sullenly in their quarters, or employed themselves in exercising their -levies. Occasionally indeed, a great gun sent its iron missive into the -city, but the artillery practice was very imperfect, and as yet did -little injury. - -At Windmill Hill Gervase found four companies under arms in the -trenches, but the enemy never came within musket-range, and to Gervase -it seemed that the royal army had very little advantage in discipline -and order over the silent and determined men who sat in the trenches -round him. Ill-armed and ill-clad, the royal troops were wanting in the -fine spirit that inspired the defenders of the city. In his own mind -Gervase came to the conclusion that whatever might be the issue the -struggle would be a long and bitter one. - -It was nearly six o´clock when he returned home. Mistress Sproule was -standing in the doorway, like a colossal statue of domestic virtue, with -two of her eight children clutching at her gown. That something had -disturbed her equanimity was evident, for her lips refused to relax in -their severity, as Gervase came up with his customary salutation. - -“´Tis a pity you had not come an hour ago, Mr. Orme; your supper is -gone, and your friend is hardly satisfied. One would think he had not -broken bread for a week.” - -“I had bidden no one to supper,” Gervase answered in surprise. - -“Then he hath bidden himself and overlooked your invitation. Had Simon -been at home, I should have known more about him, but he stopped me -short and told me to mind my own business. He hath very ill manners, and -says that no man should reason with a woman.” - -In a moment Gervase surmised that Macpherson had returned. Leaving the -exasperated matron at the door in her growing indignation, he rushed up -the staircase, and burst into the room. Macpherson was still seated at -the table, the empty dishes ranged before him. His long jaws were leaner -than ever, and his clothes were torn and covered with dirt. His head was -bound up with a handkerchief which was deeply stained with blood. - -He rose up, holding out both his hands. “I met with a stout resistance, -but nevertheless I have taken possession and wasted your commissariat,” -he said, with a smile on his brown face. “You have a stout guard below -stairs, but an old soldier does not fear the rattle of an empty musket.” - -“You are a thousand times welcome,” Gervase said, pushing him back into -his seat, “and all the more as you seem to have fared but ill. We -thought you had fallen into the enemy´s hands.” - -“I have been fighting with the wild beasts at Ephesus these two days -past, and since we parted I have not tasted food till now. Have you -brought the lady safely back?” - -“Ay, safe and sound.” - -“I´m glad of that, I´m glad of that. The thought of her hath weighed on -my mind like lead. I could not but think she fancied I was playing the -poltroon, and deserting my company when it came to the push of sword. -But I could see no other way to help you after I shot yon swaggering -ruffian through the head, and that in lawful self-defence. They were a -score too many to deal with openly. Right glad am I you brought her -through.” - -“Having looked through a hempen collar by the way,” said Gervase. “Let -me tell you, Captain Macpherson, it needs cool courage to look the -hangman in the face.” - -“And the rogues would have hanged you? I had not thought of that. But in -truth I did not think of you at all. ´Twas the brave wench that I feared -for; she that stood up before me in the oak wood, and with the look in -her eyes that I never saw in a woman before--told me she trusted me. -´Twas like the handshake of a comrade before the battle. She hath a -fearless spirit, and a heavy burden, I doubt not, with the doited old -man on her hands, and I know not what trouble besides.” - -“That burden has been taken away,” Gervase said soberly, “We buried him -the next morning, hard by where you left him.” - -“You do not mean they murdered him?” - -“No, not that; the loss of the treasure broke his heart, and hardly had -you left him when he was dead.” - -Macpherson rose to his feet, his two hands resting on the back of his -chair, and a look on his face as of one stricken by a great fear. - -“You are jesting with me.” - -“In truth, it is no matter for jest. Hardly had you gone than he gave a -great cry and fell dead. The loss of what he loved better than life was -more than he could bear, and he never moved again after he fell. Then -the troopers came up, and had it not been that a gallant gentleman -proved my friend, I should not have been here to tell you the tale.” - -“I knew there was a curse on it,” said Macpherson. “A curse on it in his -hands, and a curse on it in mine. A day and a night I carried it with me -and all the while I felt like one pursued by a legion of spirits -clamouring for a man´s soul. I could not rest; I could not sleep; and I -felt that in the end it must drive me mad. As I lay through the night in -the bramble by the river-side, as God is my witness, I could see through -the lid the glint of the gold and the shimmer of the precious stones, -and I, who never feared before, quaked like a schoolboy at the birch -rod. I prayed for light, but I could find no comfort. Then I rose up -with my load, for the girl had placed her trust in me, and come what -might I was minded that she should find me faithful. A while after, I -had some fighting to do which raised my spirits a little and let out -some unwholesome blood. But I have come in empty-handed after all, and -have but a pitiful story to tell for one who boasted so bravely of his -skill and discretion.” - -“And the treasure?” - -“´Tis safely buried, I trust, where I left it. You see, it happened in -this wise: As ill luck would have it I came on a sergeant and two of his -company, of Gormanstown´s regiment, I think, rifling a poor fellow who -had but lately fallen, and catching sight of me through a tangle of -briars that I had hoped would screen me, they called on me to stand. I -could not do otherwise, for my load would not let me run. That was how I -came by my knock--a shrewd one too; but for them, they will never answer -to their names again till the muster roll is called at the Judgment. I -must have lost my senses for a while, for when I came to reason there -were we four lying stretched upon the road, but myself on the top with -that devil´s box at my feet. With my load under my arm I set off again, -but what with the loss of blood, and the enemy gathered round me so -closely that I could not see my way through, I even crept into the -shelter of a hedge and began to consider what I should do. Then it came -into my mind that it were best buried out of sight for the present, and -I even dug a hole for it where I sat with my sword blade; and marking -the spot with what care I might--indeed, I have the record here--I went -on blithely, with a great weight off my mind. That is the complete -history of the venture, and I would that it had a different end.” - -“It was better fortune after all than I had hoped for; but how came you -to get in?” - -“Oh! that was no great matter. Putting on a bold face, as though no man -had a right to question me, I even saluted all that I met, inquiring -what way lay Butler´s command, as one having urgent business there. It -passed very well till a meddlesome captain of horse must needs take me -under his protection, and know more of my business than I had a mind he -should. I lied boldly and vehemently, which is a matter permissible by -the laws of war, and having brought me hard by our lines at the -Windmill, I even knocked him down with my fist, and ran for it as fast -as my legs would carry me. They might have brought me down with their -muskets had they taken time to aim, but though I heard the bullets -singing about my ears, never a one touched me, and here I am in no very -ill condition, after eating your supper and thanking Heaven for a -merciful deliverance. And now let me hear how things fell out with you.” - -Gervase told his story with little circumlocution, but dwelling, -unconsciously, more than seemed necessary in a plain statement of facts, -on the courage and devotion of Dorothy Carew, a thing which brought a -twinkle into Macpherson´s eyes and a grave smile to his lips. Indeed, -from the beginning to the end the adventure was hers, and the young -soldier was only the companion who had shared her fortune in a humble -way. He told how she had won the heart of Sarsfield; how she had broken -down the boorish ill-will of Luttrel; and how she had carried herself -throughout with a patience and fortitude that a man might envy; and all -the while Macpherson watched him under his half-closed eyelids with the -same grave smile upon his face. It was evident he was no less interested -in the speaker than in the narrative, and when it was done he rose up -and placed his hand on Gervase´s shoulder, and bade him forget that he -had spoken a word in her disparagement. “God hath made few women like -her, my lad,” he went on, “and had I met such another in my youth, I -might not now have been the homeless vagrant that I am. Loyal she is and -true, if the face and the eye have any meaning, and her voice hath a -tender ring in it that might well touch a man´s heart, even if he be an -old fool like myself--which indeed I think I am growing. I have come to -think of you, Gervase Orme, as a son, I who never had wife or child of -my own, and I think here is a woman who might make your life happier -than mine has ever been.” - -“Your conversion is of the suddenest,” Gervase said smiling, but the -praise of Dorothy brought a warm flush of pleasure to his cheek. His -love was a thing so new and so incomprehensible to himself that he -preferred to dwell upon it in secret; and besides, he felt that she was -so lifted above him that he dared not trust himself to speak of her. It -did not come to him with surprise that Macpherson, whose cynicism he -regarded as a matter of course, should have been captivated by her grace -and spirit. It was the most natural thing in the world. But when he came -to think of himself as her lover, the thought of his own unworthiness -grew so great that it seemed to raise a barrier between them that it was -a vain presumption to attempt to surmount. - -So he passed lightly over Macpherson´s suggestion, and assured him that -he had not forgotten the warning that he had given him before the -journey began. Then, with some solicitude, he insisted on his having his -wound looked to, and making use of his own wardrobe as far as it would -supply his wants. - -The old soldier in his careless camaraderie, was at no time loath either -to lend or to borrow, and after his wound (which, he said, proved the -thickness of his skull) had been dressed, arrayed himself in a clean -shirt and stockings, and then lighted a pipe of fragrant Virginia, to -which he had been for some time a stranger. - -Gervase in the meantime had with some difficulty prevailed on Mistress -Sproule to furnish him with a second supper, and as she placed it on the -table she cast a look of indignation on the unconscious Macpherson. She -watched him with lowering brows, blowing a cloud of smoke in his placid -contentment; then her pent-up feelings broke out. “Marry,” she said, -“there are some folk who care not what trouble they make in the world. -To break into your house, and eat up your meat without even a ‘by your -leave´, may be manners in some parts, but here we call it by a harder -name.” - -“In some parts where I have been,” said Macpherson grimly; “they have a -bridle for the mouth of the shrew, and lead her down to the -Market-place, where she stands for a warning to her neighbours. Your -husband would be a happier man did the custom hold here.” - -Long accustomed to an easy conquest in the domestic battle-field, she -was staggered for a moment at this bold attack, but when her surprise -was over, the storm broke out with renewed violence, and while -Macpherson placed his fingers in his ears, Gervase intervened as a -peacemaker with little success. It was only when her passion had -completely exhausted itself, that she flung out of the room with a -tragic stride. - -“The tow´s in the fire,” said Macpherson. “Man, that´s a terrible woman. -Have you often to meet a charge like that?” - -Gervase laughed good-humouredly at Macpherson´s serious countenance. “We -have none of us the courage to cross her. Poor Simon fears her more than -he fears the bullets of the enemy, and I think I am somewhat in terror -of her myself. But she hath her virtues, and I will not hear her -wronged.” - -“I will avoid her for the future like the pestilence. Now finish your -supper, or so much as I have left you. I would have you accompany me to -Miss Carew, and I think you will be willing enough, for I must give her -an account of my stewardship before I sleep, through how I shall bring -myself to tell her what I have done after all my boasting, I do not -know. When one has a man to deal with, he can take him by the hand or by -the throat, but one cannot use plain speech with a woman.” - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - OF HOW CAPTAIN MACPHERSON FULFILLED HIS TRUST. - - -Lady Hester Rawdon´s house stood not far from the Cathedral, something -larger and uglier than its neighbours, with a stone staircase running -along the outside, and the lower windows heavily grated with iron bars. -Gervase and his companion were shown into a long, low-ceiled room on the -ground floor, wainscoted in black oak and looking out on a small garden. - -In a corner of the room stood a harpsichord; a piece of fine embroidery -lay on the table. On a chair by the window lay an open book with the -pages turned downwards. Some spring flowers in a vase gave out a perfume -which, somehow, Gervase came to associate with Dorothy, and brought her -vividly before him. - -Presently she came in herself, clad in a simple black gown without any -touch of colour. To Gervase she gave her hand without a word, but with a -quiet smile of welcome on her lips, and then she turned to Macpherson, -who stood drawn up to his full height, with his hat under his left arm -and his hand resting on his sword hilt. “I am very glad to see you,” she -said. “We talked much of you, Mr. Orme and myself, and I never doubted -that we should meet again. But,” and she looked at him with inquiring -sympathy, “you have been wounded?” - -“A mere scratch,” he answered hastily. “And before I go further, you -will let a rough old soldier say a word, Miss Carew?--though he cannot -speak fairly, and in set terms such as please a woman. When we first met -I spoke harshly and in anger, for which speech I am sorry now. In my -rough journeys I have had knocks that somewhat hardened me, but I ask -your pardon if I have in anywise offended you. I can do no more.” - -“I would not have you speak of that,” she answered; “I only remember -your service.” - -“The which I did not render you.” Then he went on in evident -perturbation: “You see before you one who played the coward and betrayed -the trust he compelled you to place in his hands. Had I to go through -with it again, it may be I should have done otherwise, but I acted for -the best and followed the light I had. I know you will listen to me -patiently.” - -“Surely I will listen to you, but I am certain you have broken no trust -of mine.” - -Gervase retired to the window, while Macpherson went through his -narrative without interruption and with an air of self-deprecation that -he seldom showed. When he had done, he drew a piece of parchment from -his breast and laid it on the table. On one side was written the message -that Colonel Lundy had commissioned him to deliver at Enniskillen, on -the other a number of lines and points were traced apparently in red -ink. - -“Now,” he said, “that is the whole story, and here is the plan on which -is marked, with what skill I could command, the bearings by which the -spot may be found. I could indeed walk blindfold thither, but I shall -not be here when the time comes. Perhaps Mr. Orme will follow me as I -point out to you the meaning of this scratch.” - -Gervase came up to the table, and Dorothy and he together looked down on -the red lines on which the old soldier had placed his forefinger. Then -she looked up hastily: “With what have you done this?” she cried. - -“Even with the first ink that came to my hand; ´tis none the less plain -for that. Now,” he continued, “here is the way from the city, and here -are the cross-roads which you cannot miss. Fifty paces further from that -point bring you to a sycamore. Ten steps due west is the hedge, traced -thus. And there at the foot of the wild apple-tree you will find the -hole I digged. ´Tis covered with a flat stone and concealed by bracken, -but by those who know the sign cannot be missed.” - -“And I hope,” said Dorothy calmly, looking up in Macpherson´s face, -“that it will never be found. Let it lie buried there for ever. Never -let me look on it again. I would give the world that I had never seen -it.” - -Macpherson looked at her in wonder. - -“You do not understand me I know, but Mr. Orme does, and I know my -secret is safe with him. Truly,” she added bitterly, and with a certain -wildness, “your chart was well written with blood.” - -“´Twas the best I could do: I am sorry that it does not please you.” - -“You mistake Miss Carew´s meaning,” said Gervase. “She finds no fault -with what you have done, and I think you have acted discreetly. But -others are concerned in this, and she must not act without -consideration.” - -“However I may act,” said Dorothy, “you will promise to say nothing of -this till you have my permission; neither to my aunt nor to my brother. -They must know nothing of it now. And, Mr. Orme, I know the favour that -I ask is great, but I cannot bear the sight of this now; will you keep -it till I ask it from you?” - -Gervase consented with some misgiving, but had she ordered him at that -moment to go in search of the treasure single handed, ´tis likely that -he would have done her bidding cheerfully, and gone without a word. - -Having no clue to Dorothy´s meaning, Macpherson looked upon it as a -piece of the whimsical extravagance one always found in a woman, and was -content that he had delivered his message, however abruptly, and rid -himself of his responsibility. For himself, he had no desire to meddle -with family secrets, and a young fellow like Gervase Orme was a far -fitter companion to share the confidence of a girl, than a rugged and -plain-spoken soldier like himself. It might be there was more than her -grandfather´s death in the matter, but whatever it was, he would avoid -other people´s business for the future, and keep the beaten road, where -he saw plain ground for his feet. - -“Of my own motion,” he said, “I will not speak of this thing, and though -´tis a pity to have the bonny stones and brave pieces lying in a ditch -side, I would not for their worth have carried them a day longer. I even -felt like Judas with the forty pieces--the price of the blood, hanging -about his neck.” - -Dorothy shuddered, and hid her face in her hands. - -“All is done now,” said Gervase, seeing her distress, “and words will -not mend it. Captain Macpherson and myself must even make for the walls -presently, where he will find work in plenty to his taste. The guns have -been speaking loudly for an hour.” - -“Nay,” said Dorothy rising, “you will not go till you have seen my aunt; -she hath been most anxious to thank you for the service you did me. She -is seldom able to see strangers, but she is something better to-day, and -bade me call her before you left.” - -Macpherson demurred stoutly and insisted on making his immediate -departure, for he felt by no means at home as it was, and foresaw with a -feeling akin to dismay, an interchange of meaningless civilities with a -silly old woman of rank. But Dorothy would take no refusal; Lady Hester -would not forgive her if she permitted them to leave without seeing her, -and she was gone before Macpherson had finished his protest. - -“This is what comes of dealing with a woman, Gervase, my son,” he said, -in a mournful tone, apparently still meditating retreat. “I had rather -face a clump of pikes than come under the artillery of a woman´s tattle. -One is bound up hand and foot, and feels his manhood oozing out through -the pores of his skin, while he beats his brains for a civil speech and -looks in vain for a way of escape. They can talk of nothing I have -knowledge of, and I am too old for quips and gallant speeches. But she -is a brave lass, and I think I wronged her, so that I must suffer for it -now with patience. But for this Lady Hester, a rough old war-horse like -myself hath other business in the world than to stand like a page in a -lady´s chamber and hearken to her gossip. For young fellows like -yourself it may answer, but were I out of this----” - -His resolution, whatever it may have been, remained unspoken, for at -this moment Lady Hester Rawdon came in, leaning on her nephew´s arm--a -frail old lady much broken with illness, who received Gervase with a -show of homely kindness, and strongly expressed her sense of the -good-will he had shown toward her niece. Motioning to him to sit down -beside her on the couch, she drew from him the story of his recent -adventure, and Gervase seeing the interest and pleasure she took in the -narrative, entered at some length into the particulars of his journey. -Regarding the Vicomte de Laprade she made many inquiries--the Vicomte´s -mother being her half sister--and regretted the unhappy state of the -country that prevented her seeing a lad she was very fond of in his -youth. No doubt he was a Catholic, which was to be deplored, but -religion should not weaken the ties of kinship. He was of the same age -with her nephew Jasper, and a fine lad when she saw him last. That was -at Meudon, a great many years ago. There were many changes since then, -and she supposed that she would not know him now. These were dreadful -times and the roaring of the guns frightened her beyond measure, but -there would soon be peace. - -So the poor lady rambled on. All the while her nephew stood near without -taking any part in the conversation. He was considerably older than -Dorothy and very like her in appearance, but without the expression and -vivacity which was the great charm of his sister. Gervase thought there -was a look of unfriendliness in his eyes, and resented with some inward -heat, the supercilious air with which he treated him. Macpherson had -stood for some time preserving an awkward silence, until Dorothy -withdrew him to the window, and by slow degrees broke down his silence, -till he suddenly found himself talking with great ease and friendliness. - -It was many years since he had looked so nearly in the face of youth and -beauty and listened to the tones of a girlish voice, and who can tell -what secret springs of memory had suddenly been unlocked? Certain it is -that when Gervase and he made their way to the walls half an hour -afterwards, there was an undertone in his voice and a softened look in -his eyes that Orme had never heard or seen before. - -“There are hard times,” he said, “before yon sweet lass, harder than she -dreams of, but you and I must help to make them easier if we can. That -rambling old woman and that gay spark of a brother will be a poor help -to her in the day of her trial. I like not yon lad; his eyes shift too -much, and they are ever counting the buttons on your coat while you are -trying to find what is the thought in his mind. I´m thinking he would be -glad to be out of this, could he carry the old woman´s fortune with him. -But the lass herself hath a great heart, and if God sees good will make -a fit mother to a noble race of bairns.” - -But Gervase paid very little attention to his speech. The presence of -Dorothy and the look she had given him at parting, so rapid but at the -same time so complete in perfect confidence, had filled him with -happiness, and given him food for contemplation. The old stories that he -had read of wandering knights and heroic paladins had come to be -fulfilled for him; he had found a cause in which to use his sword, and a -lady who was worthy of his devotion; and so a golden vista of great -deeds opened out before him, and he saw glory and love at the end of it. -We will not quarrel with the young fellow´s idle fancies, but leave him -with the girl´s last words----"You have proved yourself my friend," -keeping him awake that night and mingling with the substance of his -dreams. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - OF THE STAND IN THE TRENCHES. - - -“What is the hour?” - -“Somewhat after three. The bell in the Cathedral struck the hour as we -left the gate. ´Tis very dark.” - -"And colder than frost. The wind blows from the river like a -stepmother´s breath, and dries the very marrow in your bones. On my -word, Orme, I thought the relief would never come. Here have I been -since the last night, getting what warmth I could from the shelter of -the rampart, and keeping these fellows from sleeping on guard, while my -own eyes rebelled against this sentry duty and closed in spite of me. -I´m sleepy, and hungry, and tired, and am going to take a lesson in -swearing from wicked Will Talbot: - - “Oh, roll me down the brae and walk me up the hill, - And all the while you carry me, I´m only standing still.” - -“´Tis well to have a merry heart, Jack.” - -“And, prithee, why should I not be merry if I choose? Who could be sad -with six hours of guard in the twenty-four; a measurable quantity of -meat and French butter, with a qualified modicum of very thin beer, and -a chance of getting knocked on the head every hour in the day. Is not -that enough for one man, my dear Ajax, or will nothing satisfy you? Here -we have been for a fortnight at this work, and only twice have we -measured swords with the red-coated ruffians yonder, who prefer to bowl -us over with their long guns and bury us in the mortar yonder. This -soldiering is but dull work.” - -“We are like to find it brisk enough if all that I hear is true. There -is talk in the camp yonder of a general onset on our position here at -the Windmill, and when I left, Baker was sending a reinforcement to -strengthen the guard. Have you heard aught in front?” - -“Not a mouse stirring. Did I think it true, I should even snatch what -sleep I could in the earthworks here, and be ready to stand by you when -the knocks were going. But following the voice of wisdom for once, I´ll -even go home to bed and leave you to enjoy that frosty wind by yourself. -Should the attack come you´ll find me among the first.” - -Giving a brief word of command to his company, the young fellow went -away whistling, and left Gervase Orme to his solitary meditations as he -paced up and down the rampart, peering out into the darkness, and -devoutly longing for the first streak of sunrise. Windmill Hill was a -post of great importance and in some measure the key of the position. -The highest point of the river to the south of the city, it entirely -commanded the town; and only a fortnight before the enemy had made a -bold effort to drive in the guard, and entrench themselves upon it. In -this they had failed after a stubborn resistance, and since then the -position had been strengthened by throwing up a rampart that ran across -the summit of the hill almost to the river. The guards had been greatly -strengthened, for the recollection of the first attack had taught the -garrison a salutary lesson which they could not afford to throw away. It -had become a thing of vital importance that the hill should not fall -into the hands of the enemy, and from some source--it was scarcely known -what--they had learned that the Irish intended to attack the position in -force, and make a bold push once for all, to secure it. - -Six weeks of hardship had had their effect on Gervase Orme. He had grown -accustomed to danger, and had come to look upon death as an event that -happened every day, and might be his own lot tomorrow. It had come to -seem natural now that he should waken up in the morning to find his -sword at his pillow, and listen all day to the thunder of the guns in -the batteries on Creggan and the Waterside. Successful resistance had -awakened in him as in others, an intense enthusiasm he was far from -feeling the first day he had stood on the walls and watched the white -tents stretching out on every side. At that time resistance had seemed -almost hopeless; it was their duty to fight for a cause they looked on -as sacred; but now they had measured their strength with the foe, and -they had proved the valour of the fighting-men who manned the walls and -lined the ramparts, and if relief came while there was a barrel of meal -in the magazine they would make good their defence. - -It was a fine thing to see the alacrity and courage with which the rough -yeomen and citizens went into the fight, and the spirit with which they -handled their muskets. Grumble at times they would, for horse flesh is -but poor meat to the Anglo-Saxon mind; and French butter (only a -cheerful pseudonym for tallow) and meal were somewhat apt to turn upon -the stomach of a morning. But even the grumblers did their duty, and the -cordial of religion was dealt out in plentiful doses in the Cathedral -twice a day. It was a sight to see Walker, his duty as a stout Colonel -of foot being laid aside for the nonce, mounting the pulpit with his -martial air, and drilling his flock in the duty of resistance. When the -sermon was over, and they came crowding through the door--men, women, -and children--there was a look in their eyes and a catching of their -breath, that spoke volumes for the powers of the homely orator and the -earnestness of his appeal. There was indeed nothing wanting to inflame -their zeal and strengthen their pride. The Celt was in their eyes an -inferior and a servile race, and his religion the superstition of the -scarlet woman. On them hung the fate of the kingdom, and if Londonderry -fell, Enniskillen must also surrender, and Ireland would go with James -from the Cove of Cork to Bloody Foreland. Their brethren in England--so -they said--would not let them die of want; William of Nassau was a -soldier trained in arms who knew the importance of the place they held, -and he was not one to let the grass grow under his feet. Any morning -they might rise to see a friendly fleet in the river; and they fought on -from day to day with the roofs crashing over their heads, and the first -pinch of want warning them of what might be in store. - -We left Gervase Orme pacing the ramparts with his heavy cloak gathered -closely round him, looking anxiously towards the enemy´s lines. There -was not a sound to be heard; only a light glanced here and there for a -moment and then vanished into the darkness. The men lay in the trenches, -screening themselves from the sharp wind, for though it was now early in -June the nights were cold. It was weary work, this waiting for the -morning, for a light that would never break, and an attack that would -never come. - -Then Gervase seated himself on an empty cask, with his face toward the -bitter east wind, and fell to thinking of Dorothy Carew. It was a habit -that had grown on him of late, for it was wonderful how it shortened the -hours, and relieved the tedium of his guard. He had seen her frequently -during the last six weeks, and though no word of love had ever been -spoken between them, he had striven to show her that he looked on her as -something more than a friend, and he thought that, though with maidenly -reserve, she returned his affection. He was seldom able to see her -alone, for Lady Hester was always anxious to see the young soldier fresh -from duty with his news of how the siege was going; and though Gervase -often longed for a tender _tête-à-tête_ he seldom managed to secure it. -How he had come to evoke the ill-will of Jasper Carew he did not know, -but the latter took little pains to conceal his enmity and on more than -one occasion, only the presence of his sister prevented Gervase from -coming to an open breach with him. He took no part in the defence, and -openly laughed at his sister´s zeal. And yet Gervase knew that he was no -coward, for he had come through several affairs of honour, and pinked -his man very creditably. But however much Gervase might have desired his -friendship, he saw no other way to peace than to avoid him so far as he -could, and let his gibes pass unnoticed when they met. He could see that -Dorothy was anxious to atone for her brother´s coldness, and that was in -itself compensation enough. And as Gervase sat on his cask, and drew his -cloak closer about him, he saw again the tender smile in her eyes and -felt the pressure of her hand. What mattered this dreary guard and the -long watching and the hardship of his life, if she loved him? - -So wrapped up was he in his meditations that the sky was all flecked -with gray and barred with red, and the morning wind was blowing round -him, before he awakened from his dream. The men of his company were -walking in twos and threes below him, or were still lying crouched under -the shelter of the ramparts. He himself was numb and stiff with cold, -and as he rose to stretch his limbs his eye caught sight of the grey -tents in the valley below him. The clear note of a solitary bugle was -sounding fitfully. The camp was already astir, and away to the left -several companies of horse were moving rapidly toward the strand. In a -moment his dreams were dissipated and he was keenly on the alert. It -seemed to him that a great body of men were being massed in the hollow. -Already, as it grew clearer, he could see them gathering round the -standards, and the grey glint of steel came fitfully through the morning -mists. There was not a moment to lose, for he did not doubt that the -attack was about to be made in force, and if they were to hold their -ground, it would need every available fighting man the garrison could -send out to defend the whole line of the rampart. He could not be -mistaken; the attack they had been looking for so long, was about to -come at last. - -Leaping hastily into the trench, he collected the men of his command. He -spoke to them briefly and to the point. “Now,” he said, throwing off his -cloak and drawing his sword, “Sinclair, you will make for the City with -what haste you can. Tell Baker we must stand a general attack, and that -the horse are gone toward the river. I think the grenadiers are upon the -left moving toward the bog. You, Bowden, will pass the alarm along the -line, and I myself will even go forward to reconnoitre, and see more -clearly what their meaning is. Now, my lads, see that your priming is -fresh, for we must stand to it this day like men.” - -The note of alarm spread rapidly down the ramparts, and wherever the -little companies were gathered the excitement grew deep and strong, and -preparations were made for the coming struggle. There was now no longer -any reason to doubt that the enemy were preparing to make a general -advance. In the grey dawn they could see dark masses in motion to the -right and to the left, and hear the drums beating their lively call, and -the note of the bugle ringing out clear and loud. - -Dropping from the rampart Gervase crept down the hillside, taking -advantage of the straggling line of defence that ran zig-zag down the -hill in the direction of the enemy. As he drew nearer and bent his ear -to the ground, he could hear the measured tread of marching feet and the -ring of iron hoofs. The dawn had come up with a leap; the light was now -broad and clear, and lying screened by the shelter of the fence, he -could see the different regiments rapidly taking up their position with -as much order as the irregularities of the ground would permit. What -their strength was he could not rightly estimate, but the regiment -before him was Butler´s foot, and on the left were Nugent´s grenadiers. -He could hear the hoarse word of command shouted down the ranks and the -rattle of the firelocks as the men shouldered their guns. Already they -were in motion. There was not a moment to be lost if the rampart was to -be kept that day. With the speed of a deer he made his way back to the -lines, calling out as he came up, and took the deep trench at a bound. - -“They are coming,” he said, clambering up the breastwork; “they are -coming, and will be up in a quarter of an hour. We must give them a warm -welcome here. Bring out the powder, and remember to fire low; we are not -shooting snipe to-day, and must not waste a shot.” - -He looked anxiously toward the city for the support that had been -promised, for he knew the little body of men who surrounded him could -not stand for a moment against the force in front of them. But the city -was all astir. The Cathedral bell was pealing out its warning summons, -and already a stream of men was pouring from the Bishop´s-gate without -order or formation. And they were not a moment too soon, for the enemy -came pouring up the hillside, a dark, crimson wave that seemed to -undulate, swaying with a slow uncertain motion, as it advanced. - -The men stood within the shelter of the ramparts clutching their muskets -and watching far below them the enemy advancing slowly to the assault. - -“I´m thinking I could put a brace of slugs into yon young cockerel with -the feathers in his bonnet,” said a tall, raw-boned man of Down, -glancing along the barrel of the fowling piece he carried, and turning -to Gervase with an inquiring look. “It were a pity not to let them have -a foretaste of what they´ll get by and by.” - -“You must not draw a trigger till they are close up; then you may bring -him down if you will. God be praised! here come the reinforcements. I´m -glad to see you, Colonel Baker, with all my heart. They would scarce -have waited for you had you tarried.” - -“Tis very well done, Mr. Orme. You deserve no small praise for your -watchfulness. This had been a serious business had they caught us -napping, but there is not a man in the camp yonder who is worth a pinch -of powder, and they come on like so many drunken drabs. Now we will show -the rogues what they may expect when they call on honest men at home.” - -Rapidly and with a joyful alacrity he drew up the men into three ranks, -rank behind rank, and bade them look carefully to the loading of their -pieces, and not to waste their shot. Then he directed the first rank -that they should wait till the enemy came within forty paces of the -rampart, and when he gave the word they should fire their volley -steadily and all together; that having fired the second rank should take -their place, and that they in turn should give way to the third. The -simple measure was easily understood, and the men smiled in silence as -they handled their muskets and waited for the word. - -“The women are coming to see how you have done, my sons,” Baker said, -“but I think you will not want their help to-day. Yonder fellows are but -three to one; you could spare them greater odds than that and beat them -still. I would wager a golden guinea never a man of them will touch the -rampart.” - -The enemy had advanced to within a hundred yards of the ramparts and -then halted to complete their formation, which had been broken by the -straggling fences of which we have already spoken. The silence behind -the earthworks had been so complete that they looked for an easy victory -over the guards on duty there. It was now broad day, and the defenders -could see all along the line their enemies hastening to the attack. With -a loud cheer the latter advanced at the double, and were close upon the -ramparts when they were met by a sudden spurt of fire that ran -simultaneously along the line, and by a shower of bullets that brought -them to a stand. But the check was only momentary. Believing that they -had now to deal with empty barrels, they sprang forward with redoubled -ardour, and were within a few paces of that fatal rampart when a second -time the leaden hail smote them with withering effect. They halted in -confusion and fired wildly into the smoke-covered curtain. Above the -clamour and din rang out the voice of Baker-- - -“Steadily, my children, they are nearly satisfied. Advance! Fire!” - -And the men of Londonderry with sublime faith in their captain and with -the steadiness of men on the parade ground, took their place and gave -another volley. Then the foe broke up into confusion and lost all -semblance of formation. Many of them threw away their muskets and made -what speed they could for the rear; while others encouraged by the -shouts of their officers and still full of fight, made for the ramparts, -and leaping into the trench climbed up the curtain with muskets clubbed. -But they had little chance of success. All along the line they were met -by an enemy flushed with the first success and having the advantage of a -superior position. In some places, indeed, they succeeded in topping the -line, and a hand to hand fight took place, but they could not keep their -hold on the ground they had won. They were driven back into the trench -with their assailants on the top of them. But for the most part the -garrison stood stoutly by the ramparts, meeting their enemy with the -muzzles of their guns and a steady fire. - -Then Baker turned to Gervase with his face all aglow. “Should you live a -thousand years you will never see a prettier fight than that. ´Tis over -now, for we have taken the heart out of them and they will not form -again. I pray God we have done as well elsewhere, but I fear the horse -have pressed us harder by the Waterside. You must not tarry here. Away -thither like the wind, and tell Gladstanes that I can spare him a half -dozen companies if he need their help.” - -However reluctant to leave till he had seen the end, Gervase obeyed and -made what haste he could down the line of the ramparts towards the -strand. All along the earthworks the men were standing steadily to their -guns, but down by the river the fight was going hard. - -Two hundred horse, gentlemen, for the most part, of high spirit and -rank, had taken a solemn oath, as the chroniclers say, to top the line -or perish in the attempt. Gervase came up as they were about to make the -charge and delivered his message to the stout soldier who commanded -there. “Not another man do I want,” was the answer; “we have enough for -glory. Now, my lads, here they come, and let them have it!” - -Carrying faggots before them with which to fill up the trench, the horse -came on at a gallop, the steel swords and scarlet coats making a gallant -show. Dashing up within thirty yards of the ramparts, they suddenly -wheeled to the right, and made for the open space between the rampart -and the river, intending to take the enemy on the flank. As they came on -they were met by a storm of bullets that seemed without effect, for -barely a man went down. Then Gervase heard a familiar voice call -out--the deep trumpet tone of Macpherson: “They carry armour under their -gay clothes. Aim at the horses and we´ll take the riders afterwards.” - -But the order had come too late. Already they had passed the line of -defence and gained the open ground within. Hastily clambering out of the -trench, the defenders rushed to meet them with pikes and muskets, in a -compact and stubborn body. - -Gervase was looking about him for some more serviceable weapon than the -small sword he carried, when he saw Simon Sproule making prodigious -efforts to lift himself out of the trench under the weight of his heavy -firelock. The face of the little linen-draper was ghastly pale, the -perspiration was running in streams down his face, and his eyes were -like those of a startled hare. Reaching him his hand, Gervase helped him -to his feet. - -“Now,” he said, “steady yourself and play the man. If you attempt to -flee, which I verily think you do, I´ll even run you through the body, -and tell your wife why I did it.” - -“Never fear for me, Mr. Orme; I´ll stand by you like a man; but this is -a fearful trade for a citizen. D--do you think they´ll run?” - -“We´ll do our best to make them,” answered Gervase, picking up a pike; -“follow me, and do the best you can.” - -“Never fear for me.” - -The horsemen came on gallantly, but could make no impression on the iron -wall that met them at every point. The horses went down in dozens, but -the riders leaping to their feet still strove to make good the vow they -had taken, and fought with a stubborn spirit. On every side they were -surrounded by that cruel wall of pikes and scythes, and a spirit as -stubborn as their own. Then they were broken up into little knots, and -it became a hand to hand fight in which the advantage was altogether on -the side of the garrison. - -Gervase had lost sight of Simon Sproule in the melée, and, indeed, had -altogether ceased to think of him, having business enough of his own to -attend to at present. As yet the fortune of the fight hung in the -balance. Back to back, and shoulder to shoulder, stood the men of the -garrison, handling their muskets and pikes with the steadiness and -precision of veterans. Never since the siege began and the first shot -had been fired, had there been a fight like this. It was dry work and -warm work, and Gervase felt his throat baked like a kiln. He heard some -of the men crying round him for water and saw them go staggering, faint -and exhausted, to the rear. And though Gervase did not see it there was -help for them there. The women of the city, who had been watching with -anxious hearts from the walls, could bear the suspense no longer, and -regardless of the bullets and cannon shot from across the river, had -come down to their aid with food and drink. It was even said, and the -chroniclers record it with a touch of pride, that they took their share -in the conflict, and fought with stones with as bold a heart as the -stoutest among the men. Certain it is that they put new life into the -weary fellows who were tired of hacking at the steel breastplates and -head-pieces, and who for the most part had not tasted food since the -evening before. It seemed to Gervase that the slaughter of horses and -brave men would never cease. No sooner was one down than another had -taken his place, hewing for his life at those pikes that would not bear -back an inch. - -“Stand close and strike home,” a voice would cry, and a little knot of -horsemen went rolling to the ground. There was now no hope of escape for -them. A dense phalanx of pikemen and musketeers had drawn between them -and the entrance to the lines. Back to back each man fought only for his -life. No quarter was given or asked, but each man went down where he -stood. - -For nearly two hours by the sun the battle had been raging, and the end -was now at hand. Gervase had been carried in the melée down toward the -river, and was making his way back toward the ramparts among the -slaughtered horses and dead and wounded men, when he saw half a dozen -pikemen surrounding a dismounted horseman, who was making gallant play -with his sword. Anxious to save his life Gervase was about to interfere, -when he heard the sound of his voice raised in disdain of his -assailants; “Five to one! _ventre de Dieu_, I care not for you all. A -gentleman of France has never learned to yield.” - -It was the voice of his friend De Laprade. Gervase was just in time; -another minute and he would have been too late. Pushing his way into -their midst, he warded off a blow that was aimed at the Vicomte, and -loudly commanded his assailants to forbear. Covered as he was with blood -and grime, De Laprade did not at first recognize him, but still stood on -the defensive. - -“This gentleman is my friend,” cried Gervase, placing himself before him -and guarding him with the pike he still carried. “I will not have him -touched.” - -Then as the men fell back willingly enough, the Vicomte recognized his -deliverer, and flinging away his sword, held out his hand. “There is no -need for this now,” he said, “and I could not surrender it even to you. -This is the second time, Mr. Orme, I have to thank you for my life. I -grow weary of your kindness.” - -“I am very troublesome without doubt,” Gervase answered with a smile. “I -hope you have not been touched.” - -“Not the prick of a pin point, but these men of yours fight like devils -and against all the rules of war.” - -“They are learning their trade,” Gervase answered, “and you cannot -expect beginners to be perfect But they have made a complete rout of -your horse, and left but few of them to carry back the story to the -camp. They have got Butler yonder, and are carrying him to the town.” - -“Whither, I suppose, I must bear him company? I am weary of the camp and -would prefer to visit your city for a change. You do not eat your -prisoners?” - -“It has not come to that yet, but I think it may. Now, Vicomte, if I can -do aught to lighten your captivity be assured I will do my best to that -end. But in the meantime, I must send you in with the guard as my work -is not yet finished.” - -“Put yourself to no inconvenience for me,” said the Vicomte cheerfully, -“I am quite content.” - -Placing De Laprade in custody of the guard which had already secured the -other prisoners, and telling them that he was under obligations to the -gentleman, whom, he hoped, they would treat with consideration, Gervase -went to assist in looking after the wounded. - -Only three or four of the horsemen had succeeded in cutting their way -back to the camp, and it was a matter of congratulation that so complete -a victory had been won with so little loss. A great victory, won in the -open field against the very flower of the enemy´s cavalry and with no -great superiority of numbers, was a thing of which they might be fairly -proud. The women were looking after those who had fallen, many of whom -had crawled back to the trench and were waiting there to be carried to -the city. A crowd of soldiers were gathered round their colonel, who was -reading them a striking homily on the lessons of the day. - -Gervase did what he could for the brave fellows who were lying round -him, and was about to make his way back to the city, when he came upon -Mistress Sproule looking the picture of despair. - -“Oh! Mr. Orme, for the love of God, have you seen Simon anywhere? I´m -told he was here among you in the very front of the fighting, but I -cannot find him yonder, and I cannot find him here.” - -Then Gervase remembered having helped the little citizen out of the -trench, and though he did not think there was much likelihood of his -being very forward in the melée, he was concerned to hear that he had -not made his appearance to receive his wife´s congratulations on their -successful stand, as he probably would have done had he been in the land -of the living. - -“I saw him,” he answered, “when we were going into the fight, but I have -not seen him since. Never fear for Simon; you will find him safe and -sound, I have no doubt. He will have gone back to the city.” - -“That he hath not--he´s killed, I tell you. Had he been alive he would -have been yonder where the Colonel is preaching his sermon. He was ever -fond of preaching.” - -Gervase was heartily sorry to think the little man should have been -knocked on the head, and did all he could to comfort his inconsolable -spouse. “Come with me,” he said, “and I´ll show you where I left him. -We´ll make inquiries by the way, and you´ll find him, I warrant, safe -and sound, as I say.” - -But no one had seen Simon either in the fight or afterwards, nor could -anyone tell what had become of him, though he was well known for a -courageous and eloquent little man, ever forward with bold counsels. -Then they came to the trench where Gervase had lifted him up with his -musket on his shoulder, and as they stood there looking up and down, -Gervase caught sight of a figure lying half hidden under the shelter of -the rampart. Leaping into the trench he ran down and bent over the -prostrate body. The face was lying buried in the arms, and the feet were -drawn up almost to the chin. Beside him lay his musket. There was no -doubt of his identity; it was Simon Sproule. Gervase was almost afraid -to touch him; then he bent down and turned him slightly over. - -The little man raised his face with the fearful look in his eyes that -Gervase had seen before. “Don´t hurt me,” he cried, “I surrender -peacefully. Why, God bless me! Mr. Orme, is it you? Is it all over, sir? -and have we held our own? It hath been a dreadful day. I do not think I -shall ever walk again.” - -“Your wife is here to look for you, Simon,” Gervase said, with a gravity -he found it hard to maintain; “she will look after your wound; where is -it?” - -“Oh! it is even all over--from the crown of the head to the sole of the -foot. This hath been a terrible time for me. Thank God! Elizabeth, you -have come to see the last of me.” - -Raising himself upon his elbow, he looked at his wife with so forlorn -and piteous an expression that Gervase imagined for a moment that he was -wronging him by his suspicions, and that the little man had in reality -been wounded. It never for a moment occurred to the mind of his wife -that he had crept under the parapet to be out of the way of evil, and it -was with grief and consternation that she began to investigate his -injuries. With the aid of Gervase he was lifted out of the trench, and -though no wound could be found on his person that would account for his -condition, his wife continued to ply him with questions which he as -resolutely refused to answer. - -“I think,” he said, after a while, “I shall try to stand. I thought my -back was broken, but the feeling hath come back into my extremities, and -I may yet recover the use of my faculties. Thank God for our merciful -deliverance!” - -“Had you been killed, Simon,” said his wife, “I should have grieved -sorely, but it would have been my consolation that you fell in the way -of your duty.” - -“Truly that is the case,” her husband answered in the same tone, “but I -have, I hope and trust been mercifully spared to you and the children. I -think, though, I have got this day what will shorten my arm for the -future. I even fear I have seen my last fight.” - -“I am thinking,” said his wife, whose strong common sense was gradually -overcoming her alarm, “that you are more frightened than hurt. I would -just like to know how it came that we found you in the trench with never -a scratch on your body?” - -“And you´ll know that,” said Simon, plucking up heart and sending his -imagination on an airy flight, a course his mind would seldom take. - -“You will remember, Mr. Orme, how you and I were even plunged in the -thick of it, with those swearing devils swinging their long swords and -cracking their pistols about our ears. I saw you borne forward and like -to come to evil, but I could not help you, strive as I might. I had work -enough of my own to save my head, and I and some others--who they were I -know not--were borne back here. We made a stout defence, but I was -struck or pushed from behind and only remember falling back heels over -head into the trench thinking I should never see wife or children again. -And now, God be thanked! we have gained a great victory, and that let -none gainsay.” - -“The day is hardly over,” said Gervase, who could not restrain his -amusement; “they are still pushing us hard in the ramparts down by the -Bogside, and I heard a whisper that our men had been driven in there. If -you feel able we might go thither and see if we cannot strike a brave -blow together.” - -“The Lord forbid--I mean--that is--I have had my share of this day´s -fight, and so look you, Mr. Orme, I say with all courage, I think I´ll -even turn my steps homeward, if my wife will lend me her arm, and will -not keep you waiting here. You are young and lusty, and hot blood must -have hot blood.” - -Mistress Sproule who was herself so courageous, that she was unable to -suspect cowardice in others, still imagined that Simon had sustained -some internal injury, and with great tenderness and solicitude took him -under her arm and led him to the city. - -This was a memorable day in the annals of the siege. The men of the -garrison had fought with heroic courage, and only in the intrenchment by -the Bog had there for a moment been any doubt as to the result. There, -indeed, the defenders had been taken by surprise, and the grenadiers had -gained possession of the trenches, but only to hold them for an hour. -That night the bell in the Cathedral rang out a joyous peal, and hearts -that were beginning to despond took fresh courage. - -Starvation and disease were now the only enemies they feared, but as -they gathered on the walls that night and shook one another by the hand -in joyful congratulation, they were unable to foresee the horror and -despair that lay before them and the suffering they had yet to undergo. - -Gervase had supped early and was about to retire to bed, when, with a -humble knock, Simon Sproule opened the door and came into the room. -“Elizabeth thinks I am safe in bed,” he said apologetically, “but I -could not go to sleep till I had seen you. I would not ask you to strain -your conscience, but I will take it as a favour if you will tell her -that I have done my best, which is but the plain and simple truth.” - -“But how can I do that, Simon?” - -“With a full heart, sir. I did my best though I´m free to admit, it was -far from well. I can march with the bravest and carry my musket like a -man, but when the bullets begin to fly, and I catch sight of those -murdering sword-blades, the Lord knows my knees are loosened under me -and my heart dies in my breast. And all the while I would, if I might, -be up and playing the hero, but I cannot. ´Tis a fearful position for an -honest man to be placed in; my wife who is as bold as a lion itself -thinks there is not a braver man in the city, and the neighbours that I -have lived among all my life, cry out ‘There goes the gallant Sproule,´ -and all the while I´m but a pitiful coward. I declare to God this life -will kill me, Mr. Orme, and I want your aid and counsel----” - -“Make a clean breast of the matter, Simon, and tell them how you feel.” - -“No, that I cannot do now. I have boasted like the Philistine and talked -loudly like a man of war and how can I, who am an elder in my church and -an honest burgher that may sometime be an alderman, confess that I am -but a liar and a braggart. I could never hold up my head again among my -neighbours; and for my wife--no, Mr. Orme, I cannot do it.” - -“Then I am afraid I cannot help you. You know”, and Gervase smiled -significantly, “you have been wounded, and such wounds are ever long in -healing.” - -“A month?” Simon asked doubtfully. - -“I trust to heaven less than that, but even a month if need be.” - -“You have struck the mark for me and saved my credit,” cried Simon -joyfully. “Twill be hard work but there is no help for it. And you will -lend me your countenance as far as your conscience will let you?” - -“Nay,” said Gervase, “I cannot be a partner in your fraud, but no man -will know from me that you are not as stout as Murray himself, and that -you have not got a wound as deep as the well of St. Colomb. I can go no -further than that. Now, Simon, away to bed, for Mistress Sproule must -not find the wounded knight keeping his vigil here.” - -“Remember, Mr. Orme, I rely on your discretion,” cried Simon, halting -for a moment at the door; “and I think with your help I shall be able to -save my reputation.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - OF A SERIOUS COMMUNICATION. - - -The prisoners who had been taken by the garrison had been for the most -part confined in Newgate, but several gentlemen of rank had been -permitted on giving their parole to dwell at large with private persons -in the city. - -Among the latter was the Vicomte de Laprade. No sooner had Lady Hester -Rawdon learned that her nephew was a prisoner than she insisted on his -being brought to her house, and De Laprade willingly exchanged the -confinement of his prison for the society of his cousin and the -comparative freedom of her house. With his ready power to adapt himself -to his circumstances he was soon at home, and his gay songs and cheerful -wit enlivened for a time the gloom that was gradually settling down on -the household in common with the rest of the city. But even the lively -humour of the Vicomte was unable to withstand the horror and distress -that surrounded them on every side and deepened day by day. The pressure -of famine, as silent as it was terrible, began to make itself sorely -felt. Pestilence that had been lurking in the byways of the city, spread -on every side, and all through the month of June the shells were -crashing through the roofs and ploughing up the streets. The hope of -relief that had burned steadily for a while was now growing fainter and -fainter. Early in June three ships had come up the river as far as -Culmore, but finding the fort in possession of the enemy, had not -attempted to dispute the passage. And again, a little later, the -garrison had seen from the Cathedral tower the friendly fleet far down -the Lough, and had watched them with anxious hearts, till they saw them -riding of Three Trees in the western glow of that summer evening. In the -morning the sails were gone, and now the enemy had thrown a boom across -the river which shut out the passage to the sea. But still the men of -the garrison stood by the walls and manned the great guns and handled -their muskets with a cheerful courage. There were traitors, no doubt, -who deserted to the enemy, and traitors who murmured and plotted -secretly; but for the most part the citizens stood loyally by their -leaders. - -Gervase Orme had suffered with the rest. He had seen poor Simon Sproule -bury two of his children, and all the humour out of it, had listened to -the heart-broken little man declare that God had visited him for his -cowardice. The wasted faces and hollow cheeks that he met began to haunt -his dreams; it became his only relief to lose himself in action and -forget the horrors he had seen. His visits to the Rawdon household -lightened the gloom a little. Dorothy bore her troubles with a quiet -strength that put his manhood to shame, and alone in the household -declared that the garrison should keep their guard while one stone stood -upon another. Since De Laprade´s coming, Gervase´s visits had not been -so frequent, for it was now impossible for him to find Dorothy alone -during the day. The light badinage of the Vicomte jarred on his nerves, -and it might be without knowing it he had become jealous of his -presence. For the Vicomte´s admiration of the girl was open and declared -and though he treated her with a quiet deference, it was plain he would -willingly have surrendered his cousinship for a closer relation still. -Dorothy appeared unconscious of his advances and turned away his -flattery with a quiet smile. - -Gervase had not called for several days, and had not seen any member of -the household during that time. He was surprised to receive a note in -Dorothy´s hand, asking him to call upon her during the evening, if his -duties permitted him. It was the first letter he had ever received from -her, and though he could not surmise its cause, his heart beat somewhat -faster in his breast, as he pressed it to his lips in the quiet of his -room. Yes, it was Dorothy´s hand, like herself, very strong and free, -yet full of grace; and the words: “Yours in confidence, Dorothy Carew,” -sent him forthwith into a pleasant reverie full of tender hopes. - -All day he went about his work with a light and buoyant heart, with the -precious missive out of which he had read so much carefully buttoned up -in his breast, and did his duty none the worse for thinking of the girl -who wrote it. When he called he was shown into the room by Jasper´s -servant Swartz, and Dorothy was waiting to receive him. - -“I hope, Miss Carew,” said Gervase, “there is nothing wrong--that Lady -Hester is not worse?” - -“My aunt is very well,” Dorothy answered, “but a little nervous and -excited. This is a trying time for her, but she bears up wonderfully. I -did not think she could have endured so much with so great patience.” - -“And the Vicomte?” - -“Nay, he is well. My brother has lately kept much to his own room, and -Victor has grown tired of our society and joins him often there. How -they spend their hours I hardly know, but I think they both are fond of -play, and give themselves to cards. Your hours are spent otherwise, Mr. -Orme.” - -“Yes,” Gervase answered, “but you see I am a soldier and have my work to -look to.” - -“And why should all men not be soldiers?” said the girl excitedly. “If a -woman might carry arms--but this is wild talk, and you know I do not -mean it. What news is there to-day?” - -“Nothing of much importance: the enemy have hardly fired a shot, but I -hear there is talk of an expedition to-night, I know not whither. As for -the ships, they have not been seen since Thursday, but the wind is from -the north and they may be here to-morrow.” - -“If Colonel Kirke should be another traitor?” Dorothy said; “one hardly -knows whom to trust.” - -“I hope,” Gervase answered, “you will never find me false.” - -“I do not think I shall, and that is why I sent for you to-day. Will you -come with me into the garden, for we may be interrupted here.” - -Gervase followed her out through the open window and down the path, -wondering what confidence she was about to impose in him that required -to be so carefully guarded. They came to a little, open space of smooth -lawn where she stopped short and looked round her cautiously. - -“I have thought much of this,” she said, “and I know no one but yourself -to whom I can look for advice. I thought, indeed, of Captain Macpherson, -but I did not know how he might act, and was afraid to trust him. What I -am going to say I speak to yourself alone, and must be whispered to no -other till you have my permission. Will you promise that?” - -Gervase consented, hardly knowing what he promised, but seeing only the -look of entreaty in her eyes. - -“No matter what you feel to be your duty?” - -“If it does not touch my honour nor the safety of the city.” - -“Then I cannot tell you, for I do not know. Surely,” she went on -pleadingly, “you can trust me, Gervase Orme? I stand alone and have none -to counsel me, and--and I thought you were my friend. Surely you can -trust me?” - -“Every drop of blood in my veins is at your service, and though it may -be weak and wrong and we may both regret it, I promise.” - -[Illustration: “SHE STOPPED SHORT AND LOOKED ROUND HER CAUTIOUSLY”] - -She smiled a little sadly, and said with a touch of her old humour, “I -had rather you had not promised, but you cannot go back on your word -now. Do you think,” she said, putting her hand to her breast and looking -round her, “do you think there are traitors in the city?” - -“Indeed I think there are,” Gervase answered, “but we watch them -narrowly and they do little harm. They would stir up rebellion if they -might, but the Town-Major keeps them well in hand.” - -“But I mean more than that. Do you think there are any in the city who -hold communication with the enemy?” - -“It may be there are, but I hardly see how they could carry out their -treachery. The walls are strictly guarded, and the men on the outposts -are faithful and true; it were a bold thing to attempt it.” - -“Then tell me what you think of this.” - -Putting her hand into her bosom, she drew out a small scroll of paper -and placed it in his hands. Gervase looked at her in amazement. - -“Read it, and tell me what you think of it.” - -Gervase took the paper, and his astonishment deepened as he read: - - “_June 9. Pass the bearer through the lines. He is doing faithful -service. Given under our hand. Hamilton._ - -“Miss Carew, where did you get this? If the man who held this paper be -in the city, he is a traitor and a spy, and we should not lose a moment -in discovering his villainy.” - -“I knew you would use words like these. But there is something more. -Three days ago, Mr. Orme, I found this paper on the staircase. Now you -know my secret and why I sent for you.” - -“Perhaps the Vicomte----” Gervase began. - -“Nay, nay, you see the date, and my cousin Victor is still a man of -honour. He has given his parole, nor would he break it for the world. It -almost breaks my heart to say it, but I feel that this is my brother; I -saw him searching for it where I found it, and he would have questioned -me about it had he dared. And now I know why he left his room at night -and seldom returned before the morning. What is to be done?” - -Gervase knit his brow and stood thinking. If Dorothy was right, her -brother was a traitor and in the habit of supplying the enemy with -information. It was clearly his duty to report the matter to the -authorities. But on the other hand he had given his word, however rashly -and inconsiderately, from which he could not withdraw, and stood pledged -to silence. He could not use the woman he loved as a witness against her -brother and destroy him by her hands; he shrank in pain at the thought -of such a course. Had it not been for the mysterious midnight rambles, -the passport might perhaps have been explained. Hamilton had been in the -habit of giving passes to persons in the city who had interest at -head-quarters, but this was of another sort. If Jasper Carew was the -bearer, and that seemed evident, then he must be a traitor in active -communication with the enemy. - -“It is hard,” Gervase said, “to know what to do, but I think you may let -me deal with this. There is no need at present that any other person -should know what has come to your knowledge, but meanwhile keep the -paper safely, and tell me if your brother leaves the house at night. I -will try to save him in his own despite, and for your sake and his own, -because he is your brother, will watch him closely. Remember that you -only suspect his guilt, and it may be you judge him wrongly,” - -“This is more than suspicion,” said Dorothy holding up the passport. -“Shall I tell him I have found it?” - -“There is no need for that; we cannot undo what has been done, but we -can prevent him doing harm in the future. Do not let this grieve or -distress you. Your brother sees things in a different light from you and -me, and while circumstances have kept him here, his heart is still with -the enemy. He makes no secret of it.” - -But he could not drive Dorothy from the simple fact. “But to play the -spy! To steal out by night, and to lie hidden through the day while -brave men were fighting, and a great cause is being lost or won! He is -no brother of mine. Say no more or I shall think----” - -“Only this, Miss Carew, that as long as I live I shall not forget the -confidence you have placed in me, and I shall do what I can to show that -I am not wholly unworthy of it. This is no time or place to say more -than that. If it were in my power to save you any pain----” - -“I am sure,” she said frankly, “you would do me a service; I know you -are my friend.” - -As he took her hand and led her into the house, she turned to him and -said, “You must not ask too great a price for all you have done for me -when I come to pay you the debt I owe you.” - -“One word will repay it all,” Gervase answered, about to forget the -moderation he had promised himself to observe, when she suddenly -withdrew her hand and entered the room before him. There was a certain -restraint in her manner now that was foreign to her native frankness, -and she kept Gervase strictly to his budget of news, and prevented him -from again entering on any personal topic. Presently they heard De -Laprade´s voice in the hall, and he came in followed by Jasper Carew. - -“Ah! ma belle cousin, we tire of one another and come to you to bring us -peace. M. Orme, you do not often come to visit--what do you call it, my -cousin?--valour in tribulation.” - -“Vice in bonds,” growled Jasper, looking moodily at his sister. - -“The Vicomte thinks his visit is growing tedious, Mr. Orme,” said -Dorothy, “and would be back among his friends. He has now exhausted all -the gaieties of Londonderry.” - -“If every prison had so fair a jailor,” answered the Vicomte, “I should -prefer captivity to freedom, but my jailor prefers to leave me to the -society of her kinsman, whose virtues are exalted and whose graces -are--what you see.” - -Jasper turned his back and walked over to the window where he stood -beating with his fingers upon the panes. In a few minutes Orme walked -over and joined him. - -“There is a matter, Mr. Carew,” he said in a low tone, “on which I would -speak with you in private.” - -Carew lifted his eyes furtively, and looked at him with a questioning -air. He was about to speak but hesitated as if in doubt, and then -motioning to Gervase to precede him, followed him into the garden. - -“Now, sir,” he said, turning round, “what is the matter of mystery that -cannot be spoken before my sister and kinsman? I think you take too much -upon you.” - -“I shall pass by your discourtesy, for I have come to you in all -kindness, as one anxious for your welfare. What I wished to say to you -is this, and I will put it briefly. The night airs are dangerous to the -health, Mr. Carew, and should be avoided for the future.” - -Carew turned pale for a moment, but the moody composure that was natural -to him remained. Gervase could see from his eyes that he would have been -dangerous had there been a fitting opportunity, but the window was open -near them, and De Laprade was watching them where they stood. - -“I do not apprehend your meaning, sir; or is this a further instance of -your damned impertinence?” - -“I have no wish to be offensive, but I will put the matter in another -form, and if you fail to take my meaning, you must yourself take the -consequences. It has been said,” Gervase went on calmly, “that there are -certain persons in the city, even gentlemen of rank, who are in -correspondence with the enemy. Rumour is ever full of exaggeration, but -the name of one at least is known,” here he paused, “and others may be -suspected. Perhaps you had not heard of this. But remember, sir, we will -not quarrel, for I make no charge against you. And again I tell you that -they who are not on duty should not walk of nights.” - -“We cannot quarrel here, or by heaven! I would even kill you where you -stand.” - -“Neither here nor elsewhere,” Gervase answered imperturbably. “I have -given you a friend´s advice, with all a friend´s sincerity, and wish you -well. Your prudence will direct you in your future conduct.” - -Gervase left him as he was about to speak and re-entered the house, -where he shortly after took his leave and returned to his duty at the -outposts. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - OF A WARM MORNING´S WORK. - - -The next morning Gervase was lying longer abed than usual, having had a -double share of duty the night before, when he was awakened by the sound -of Mistress Sproule´s voice raised high in expostulation and anger. Of -late she had lost much of her alacrity and it was only on great -occasions and against those to whom her antipathy was strong, that the -old fighting spirit manifested itself. - -“The poor lad shall not be awakened, I tell you. He does the work of -three, and you can see that he is even wearing himself to death, if you -can see anything. When he first came to live in my house he had a cheek -like a rose, and now he goes about like an old man as crossgrained as -yourself. This blessed morning he will have his rest, if Elizabeth -Sproule can keep you out.” - -Then Gervase heard the low tones of a man´s voice endeavouring to reason -with her. But the honest woman was not to be driven from her position. -“Not for all the colonels or governors who ever wore sword or sash. He -has neither wife nor mother to look after his welfare, and though he is -a gentleman I love him nearly like one of my own. For a week you have -kept the poor lad marching and watching, and you are one of the worst of -them, Captain Macpherson.” - -Gervase smiled where he lay, for he dearly loved a battle royal between -the two, in which the victory usually lay with the weaker. Macpherson -had gone grimly to the attack, but he had ended by falling nearly as -much under her power as her husband himself. - -“You are very right, Mistress Sproule,” Gervase heard the voice of the -old soldier say, “and though it is an urgent matter, he will have half -an hour more. You are right to be careful for him, and I like you none -the worse for your watchfulness. It may be you will let me sit down -within till he wakens?” - -“That I will not. And you may even go whither you came from and tell -them that.” - -But Gervase, who had been greatly amused at his friend´s conciliatory -tone, thought it time to interfere, and called out that he was awake and -would see him. - -“You see how well I am guarded,” he said, as Macpherson came into the -room, “and I think you did not dispute the passage very warmly. The -enemy was too sharp for you.” - -“I have been learning my own weakness,” answered Macpherson, sitting -down on the bed. “Now, my dear lad, how is the world going with you? I -would that I did not see those deep lines on your young face, and the -youth dragged out of you before your manhood has well begun. Did I not -tell you what it was to stand behind stone walls, and hope against hope -for the relief that would never come, and see the tender women and -children stricken down without help or pity?” - -“Nay, Macpherson, you are ill or you would not talk thus.” - -“Indeed, I think I am, and I am growing old and childish. But I have -been mad or worse for a week. With the deep water to the quays, and the -good ships yonder with brave hearts on board of them, to think of what -might be done and is not! ´Twas all very well,” he went on bitterly, -“for Kirke, the lying rogue, to dragoon the poor ploughmen who stood -gallantly by Monmouth, but ´tis hard to think that for want of a little -courage we should die here like dogs. Better throw open the gates and -let them murder us where we stand, than fight for those who will not -help us.” - -“This is but wild talk,” said Gervase. - -“Truly, I know that, and I would be apt to shoot another through the -head did he prate as I have done, but twelve hours´ want of food and -rest have somewhat weakened me.” - -Gervase sprang from his bed, and hastily dressing himself set out his -scanty breakfast, for meat and meal had become precious, and he could -not afford to waste them. “There is enough for both of us,” he said, -“and there is still tobacco for your pipe. The guns are going merrily -yonder, and we´ll set ourselves to work as merrily here. We march to the -tune of ‘No Surrender.´” - -Macpherson smiled at the young man´s simulated gaiety, and set himself -down beside him to their frugal meal. When he had finished, he lighted -his pipe and took a more hopeful tone. “I have not yet told you,” he -said, “why I came here this morning, but the day is young and we have -two good hours before us yet. We had a brave night of it.” - -“A raid on the fish-house?” Gervase inquired. “I heard an expedition was -forward, but I did not know that you were out. Have you succeeded?” - -“In truth,” Macpherson answered, “we came off better than I hoped. But -the fish had never been caught that we hoped to catch, and we shot our -nets in vain. Having given up hope of Kirke and his ships, the Fourteen -thought we might open up communication with Enniskillen, and Walker -found a lad who thought he knew the way, and had the heart to make the -journey. So having first set the story going that we purposed making a -push for the fish-house, we waited until dark, and then pushed off up -the river with the purpose of landing the lad outside the enemy´s lines. -So there we were in the dark, Murray and myself and some fifteen others -of the die-hard sort, holding by the gunwhale, and listening to the -Irish mounting their guard and singing their idle songs. It passed very -well till we got as far as Evan´s Wood, and then by ill luck the moon -must come out and ruin us wholly. They caught sight of us there in the -boat pulling hard in mid-stream, and then a great gun sent the shot -driving past our ears like ducks in winter. They kept up the fire from -the shore, but the night was, as you know, dark and stormy, and the moon -that had given us so ill a start, went down behind the clouds again. I -was strong for turning back, for I saw the lad had lost his spirit, but -they must needs hold on as far as Dunnalong, and so we got so far and -proposed to land our messenger. But we might as well have been abed, for -the great gun had taken away his appetite for the venture, and he would -not set a foot on shore. There was nothing for it but to go back the way -we came, and put the best face we could on our bootless errand. So we -came pulling down stream, never knowing the minute when a round shot -would send us to the bottom, when we saw two boats making for us in the -gray of the dawn that was now something too clear for safety. They were -our old friends the dragoons, and soon the bullets began to fly, and we -returned their fire with so much fervour that they kept their distance, -like the careful lads they are. Then says Murray, who likes nothing -better than a melée, ‘Lay us alongside the rascals, and we´ll treat them -to a morning dram;´ and though they would have sheered off when they saw -us resolute to close, we even ran up under their stern, and had -clambered on board in a twinkling. We made short work of them and threw -them overboard with a will. Some of them went to the bottom, and some of -them got ashore, but for their boat we brought it with us, and it is -even now lying by the quay.” - -“And what became of the other?” - -“Oh! they did not like our entertainment and begged to be excused; so -they stole off and left us with our prize.” - -“It is good news,” said Gervase; “the best we have had for many a day. I -would have ventured something to have been of your company.” - -“I thought of you, my lad, as we clambered over the gunwhale and gave -them the ends of our muskets. But there is still fun in the fair, and I -have come for you this morning to join in it. With the boats we purpose -paying them a visit yonder by the orchard, and drawing the teeth of the -great guns that have been barking somewhat vehemently of late. Baker -himself hath asked for you, which is to your credit in a garrison where -brave men are not few. I think myself, you have come to handle your -sword in a pretty fashion.” - -“There is no lack of opportunity to learn,” said Gervase laughing, “but -you must not spoil me with praise before I have deserved it.” - -The old soldier looked at him with a friendly glance, as he bent down to -examine the lock of his pistol. Most men were drawn towards Gervase -Orme. His frankness, his courage, and his ready sympathy had no touch of -affectation, while his handsome face and stalwart presence had made him -many friends; but Macpherson, who had been on terms of intimacy with few -for years, had come to look upon him as a father looks on a son. Gervase -had found his way to a heart that had long been closed to human -sympathy, and without knowing it, had brought light to a mind warped and -darkened by a narrow and visionary creed. It was not that Macpherson´s -character had undergone a change, but during the fortnight he had spent -in the farmhouse, a part of his nature had awakened to life which he had -been sedulously trying to stifle, and which he had not been able to -reconcile with the hard and narrow creed he had adopted. - -“Lay down your weapon,” he said, as Gervase with some eagerness was -making his preparations to set out, “lay down your weapon, and listen to -me. We have a good hour still; a man should never hurry to put his head -in danger. Have you made it up yet with the sweet lass--you know whom I -mean.” - -“I saw Miss Carew last night,” said Gervase with some confusion. - -“Tut, man, you will not put me off the scent like a young puppy that -hath not yet found its nose. She is a wench in ten thousand--the good -woman of the preacher, and was made to nurse a brave man´s bairns. You -must not let your gay spark of a Frenchman cut out the prize before your -eyes, as he means to do, if I have an eye to read his purpose. You know -not how to woo, my lad. Women are not to be taken like a town, with the -slow approach of parallels and trenches; they ever love to be carried -with a rush. The bold wooer is twice a man. You must go blithely about -it and tell her what you mean.” - -“It is true that I love Miss Carew,” said Gervase, “but this is no time -to make love, and I will not distress her with any importunity of mine.” - -“Listen to the lad!” cried Macpherson, with a gesture of impatience; -“importunity of his, quoth he! Our troubles will not last for ever, and -a woman will not find her trouble the harder to bear because a brave man -tells her he would have her to be his wife.” - -“You do not know Dorothy Carew,” said Gervase good-humouredly. “I think -she would not love a man the better for thinking of himself when other -work is to be done.” - -“Being a woman, I think she would love him none the worse; but you are -an obstinate lad and will take your own course. Her brother favours you -but little, and the Frenchman is not much burdened with tender scruples. -You will see what you will see. But I have spoken my word of warning, -and will start when you please.” - -Gervase could see that Macpherson was dissatisfied, but he thought it -useless to prolong the argument and prepared to accompany his friend. - -The boats were lying at the quay, and the adventurers were already -embarking when Macpherson and Gervase arrived. The expedition was full -of danger. Every man who took part in it knew that he was taking his -life in his hand; but there was glory to be gained, for the eyes of the -whole city were upon them. On the other side of the river, encircled by -its green hedge, lay the orchard with its battery of guns that seldom -were silent for a day together. Only one company lay in the farmhouse -hard by to protect the gunners, and it was hoped that by a bold and -rapid push, the garrison might cross the river and spike the guns before -a stronger force had time to interfere. But they must first face the -fire of the guns, and having landed, must take their chance of finding -the enemy prepared to give them a warm reception. - -It was a fine thing to see the gay courage with which the men of the -garrison took their seats, and examined the priming of their muskets. It -seemed, from their bearing, rather a work of pleasure than one of life -and death they were engaged upon. - -Gervase took his seat in the stern of the smaller and lighter boat--the -only one the garrison possessed before they took their prize that -morning. Colonel Murray, who had inspired the venture, sat in the stern -sheets, holding the tiller in his hand. A saturnine man, with the -reserve and silent energy of his race, his face was lighted with the -glow of excitement, and his voice was loud and deep, as he bade them -push off into the stream. - -“Now, my lads,” he said, “this is a race for glory--we must be first -across, and first we shall be. Keep low in the boat, and do not fire a -single shot till we meet them on the bank; then we shall treat them to a -taste of our cold steel.” - -The boat swung out into the stream, and the rowers bent to their work -with a will. The other boat was heavier, and soon they had out-distanced -it considerably. Murray had been watching the gunners in the orchard, -who had already wakened up to the fact that they were threatened with an -attack. - -“What do you make of that, Orme? your eyes are younger than mine, but if -I do not mistake they are about to carry off the guns.” - -“You are right,” said Gervase. “One they have already carried past the -farmhouse, and are preparing to do the same with the other. And the foot -are coming down in force to their support.” - -“Let them come. We are still in time, and will not turn for twenty -regiments. Now, my sons, bend to it with a will.” - -Already they were met with a dropping musket fire which sent the bullets -singing about their ears and splashed up the water round them, but they -held on stoutly and redoubled their efforts. The enemy had been taken by -surprise. They had not dreamt that so small a force, in the light of -open day, would have ventured to make so hazardous an attempt. But they -were now undeceived, and made their preparations to receive their -visitors. They were dragging off the guns to a place of safety, and -three companies of foot were lining the hedge that ran parallel with the -bank. Then the bow of the boat grated on the beach, and the men of the -garrison leaped into the water, holding their muskets above their heads. - -Without waiting for their comrades who were straining every nerve to -come up to their support, they clambered up the bank, and rushed at the -hedge where the red-coats showed through the green foliage. As they came -up they fired a volley, and clubbing their muskets, came crashing -through the thorns with the spirit of men who would not be denied. The -fight was short but stubborn. Foot by foot the defenders of the hedge -were driven back, and then as the men of the second boat came up, they -broke and fled. The guns were now being hurried down the road, and every -moment the chance of overtaking them grew less. The delay caused by that -bold stand was fatal. But still the assailants kept pressing on, hoping -that they would be in time to reach the guns before they were -intercepted. - -As they came up the gunners abandoned the pieces, but it was too late -now to wait to spike them. Already a strong force was drawing between -them and the boats, and it was with a bitter sense of failure that they -turned their faces towards the river, and prepared to cut their way back -again. The odds were four to one against them. It seemed as if they had -been caught in a trap of their own making. From every clump of bushes -flashed the blaze of the muskets, and here one and there another went -down in his tracks. - -“This will not do,” rang out the voice of their leader. “We must try -them hand to hand. After me, my lads!” Leaping the orchard fence they -met the enemy hand to hand, but still pushing forward to where the boats -were lying in the river. The trees that grew closer here and were -covered with their summer foliage, protected them from the fire of the -foot who lay on the other side. Then Gervase saw Macpherson in front of -him stumble and fall, and he feared it was all over with the brave old -soldier. But he was on his feet before Gervase could reach him. - -“Don´t tarry for me,” he said, as Gervase seeing him stagger forward, -took him by the arm. “Make what haste you can and do not mind for me. -This trifle will not stop me.” - -“We´ll find our way together then. Hold on a little longer and we´ll -reach the boats in spite of them. Ah! that is bravely done.” - -From tree to tree and from hedge to hedge the men of the garrison cut -their way, presenting a front, that though ragged and broken, sent the -enemy to right and left. Then they reached the open space by the river, -and restraining the impulse that would have driven them to rush to the -boats, fell back slowly and steadily. The wounded whom they carried with -them were first helped on board, and then they rapidly embarked; the -last man to leave the bank being Murray, who with his sword held in his -teeth pushed off the boat into the deep water. How they lived through -the storm of bullets that were rained upon them Gervase hardly knew, but -barely a man was touched, and they sent back a ringing cheer of defiance -as they passed rapidly beyond reach of the muskets. - -It was a glorious, if fruitless and foolhardy deed--one which only brave -men would have undertaken in a spirit of despair, but one that they -might look back on in after years with pride for the glory of it. The -deed was done in sight of all the city. Their friends had watched the -charge from the walls, and seen the stubborn fight for safety, and now -they poured out to meet them as they came through Ship Quay Gate, and -welcomed them back as if they had come in triumph. From want of the -sacred poet their names have grown dim through the gathered years, but -they did not fight for renown--only simple men who sought to do their -homely duty. - -Macpherson´s wound had proved a trifling one after all, and with the -help of Gervase he was able to make his way home on foot. A spent bullet -had struck him on the knee, and the wound though painful, was not likely -to incapacitate him for service. He thought, on the whole, they had had -a pleasant morning´s work, and declared that with such stirring -entertainment he would need but half his rations. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - OF A STRATAGEM OF WAR. - - -Day by day the time crept on toward the end of June, and brought no -change to the garrison. There were fewer mouths, it is true, to feed -now, for disease and battle had laid them under heavy contribution, but -the store of provisions was rapidly becoming exhausted. A fortnight -more, so they believed and said, would bring them face to face with -actual starvation, and the city must fall from want of men to line the -walls and man the guns. For surrender they would not. “First the -prisoners and then each other,” was their grim jest that had an edge of -earnest with it. No man now dared to whisper the prudence of surrender, -for the spirit of resistance, which had been strong before, now burned -with a wild and splendid flame as they felt the end was coming. The -enthusiasm of the Ulster man does not find its outlet in boisterous -speech--as his excitement increases his silence deepens, and he is, -unlike his Celtic countryman, ever readier with his hand than with his -tongue. And now, though hope was growing fainter as the days dragged on, -their pride--the stern pride of religion and of race--inspired them with -an obstinacy that had something sublime in it. Yet all the while the -ships lay in the Lough and made no effort to come to their relief. Day -by day they signalled in vain from the Cathedral tower and the great -guns rang out, but Kirke would make no move. So close was the investment -now, every loophole guarded with the extremest vigilance, that -communication was impossible. One brave man had indeed made his way from -the fleet to the city after passing through perils innumerable; but -though he made the attempt, he found himself unable to return. Another -messenger had bravely volunteered to carry out their message of despair, -but he never reached the ships. A day or two after, the enemy erected a -gallows on the bastion across the river, and there in the sight of the -city the gallant fellow met his fate. - -Dorothy Carew never looked back on this time without a shudder. She -suffered more than many, for to the hardships she endured she added a -private and peculiar sorrow of her own. The first she bore cheerfully -and uncomplainingly, but her brother´s secret, so base and so -contemptible, oppressed her with a terrible feeling of shame and -distress. After her first outburst of confidence to Gervase Orme, which -she sometimes half regretted, she watched her brother jealously, and lay -night after night listening for his footsteps. - -But whether the warning he had received had taught him caution, or -whether he had fulfilled his mission, his midnight excursions were now -abandoned and he kept closely to the house. Still, to her keen and high -sense of honour it was intolerable that her brother--the head of the -house--should be a traitor whose guilt might be discovered at any time, -and among so many brave men should act the coward and the spy. Had he -gone over boldly to the enemy and thrown in his lot with them, she could -have loved him. But now her love had been crushed out of her heart, and -only comtempt and shame were left. Physical suffering seemed a light -thing in comparison, and she envied the women who sent their husbands -out to fight, and prayed for their safety when they were absent. But -still she bore up with uncomplaining fortitude, and no one guessed the -secret grief that was preying on her mind. Lady Hester, who had suffered -agonies of fear while the bombs were raining on the city, she had -encouraged with a simulated cheerfulness, and ordered her little -household as she might have done in times of peace. The pinch of famine -had hardly affected them yet--that was to come--but even that she looked -forward to without any fear for herself. - -But besides all this, she had another source of future trouble in her -cousin. She could not long remain blind to the fact that his admiration -for her was undisguised, and that beneath his cynical and flippant -manner there had grown up a regard that was more than cousinly. It is -true that he did not annoy her with his attentions, for Jasper and -himself spent much of their time together. But he had shown clearly on -more than one occasion that he was only waiting for a fitting -opportunity to declare himself her lover. That opportunity she was -anxious should not present itself. It was not, she reasoned with -herself, that she loved another better, but she did not love De Laprade, -and she did not wish to wound him. She did not wholly understand him, -and could not tell whether he was ever in earnest or felt sincerely -about anything. Then she thought of Gervase Orme, with his frank -laughter and quiet speech, who treated her with a distant reverence and -that was all. It was a pleasant thing to have him as a friend, full of -quiet strength and honest as the day. But these were no times to think -of such things, and so she put away the thought and went about her -simple duties, hoping that Gervase would call to see her soon. - -That evening she was seated by the open window, for the day had been -close and sultry and the night was warm, a volume of Quarles´ Emblems -spread open on her knees. Her brother and the Vicomte had been closeted -together during the day, and Lady Hester, fatigued and desponding, had -retired for the night. She was very busy with her own thoughts, and had -not heard De Laprade enter the room. He came softly up and took a chair -beside her. - -“Of what is my cousin Dorothy so full of thought?” he said. - -She looked up with a blush, for just at that moment she was wondering -what a certain fair-haired, long-limbed young giant was doing in the -outposts or elsewhere, and the voice recalled her to herself with a -feeling of self-reproach. - -“I am afraid,” she answered, “my thoughts would have little interest for -you. A woman´s head is ever full of idle thoughts.” - -“Not the wise head of my cousin; it is only the men of her family who -give themselves to folly.” - -“The Vicomte de Laprade for example?” - -“Truly he is a chief offender, but he is growing wise and sober and -hardly knows himself. He has not smiled for a week, and thinks he never -will be able to smile again. Even his cousin Jasper has ceased to amuse -him.” - -“You are greatly to be pitied,” she said with a smile. “But it is not -duller than you would have found Vincennes. There too you would have -grown wiser.” - -“Nay, I think not. A long time ago--it seems like years, I grow so -old--I was for six months a prisoner in the Bastille, and when His -Majesty relented and I returned to court I was no wiser than before. My -folly only took another turn. But then I had not found a friend to warn, -nor a counsellor like my fair cousin to teach me better things.” - -“I dare say you deserved your punishment. Now tell me something of your -offence.” - -“Indeed, I hardly know myself, but I think it was--yes, I think it was a -lady. By accident I trod on her train in a minuet and she refused to -accept my apology. I could only smile and do penance for my clumsiness, -for one may not lightly offend a great lady like Madame de----” - -“Madame de----?” - -“I have forgotten her name, but it does not matter now. She has -forgotten Victor de Laprade, as he has forgotten her.” - -“I do not believe that, my cousin Victor.” - -“That I have forgotten the circumstances? Ah, well! it is possible that -I might recall them to memory, but I would, rather let them die, as I -would all that belongs to the past. If my cousin Dorothy would but give -me leave I would begin a new life to-day with new thoughts, new -feelings, and a new heart. She smiles, and thinks it is not possible -that I, who have wasted my youth, should try to save my manhood.” - -“Indeed you have my leave, but your reformation is too sudden, and you -know you are not serious.” - -“I have been serious all my life; my cousin does not know her kinsman. -Because I followed the fashion of my time, and fought and drank and -played, wasting my youth like many another reckless fellow, therefore I -was merry and had no thought or care. Because I am a gentleman, and not -a solemn citizen who looks with a grim frown on all the devil´s works, -therefore my heart knows no sadness. It is thus the world has judged me, -and so it may. But it is because I am sad and weary that I would have my -cousin judge me differently.” - -For the first time since Dorothy had known him, he had lost his light -and cynical manner and spoke with simple earnestness. He had made no -display of emotion, but though he was calm and self-restrained, it was -yet evident he spoke with abundant feeling. If he was not sincere, his -humility and contrition were well assumed. - -“I have been looking all my life,” he went on, looking at her steadily -as she kept her eyes bent on the book that still lay open on her knees; -“I have been seeking all my life for a quiet heart--I, the libertine, -the gambler who have squandered my patrimony and wasted my heritage. It -was not to be found where I sought it, and my search was in vain. But -now I know the secret that I was too blind to see before. Do you know, -my cousin, what it is? Nay, you will not rise, for you must hear me out. -It is love--the love a man may feel for what is purer and better than -himself, the love that fills him with fresh hopes and new desires, the -love that raises him to the pure heights of her he worships.” - -Then he suddenly stopped. Hardly knowing what answer to make, Dorothy -rose from her seat and the Vicomte stooped down to pick up the book that -had fallen to the floor. He said gravely as he reached it to her, “That -is all my secret, my cousin, and does not sound so terrible when all is -said. I trust you will remember it, for some day I may tell you how I -came to make the great discovery.” - -“Lady Hester would have made a better confidante or, perhaps, my brother -Jasper. And that reminds me, Victor,” she continued, with a too evident -anxiety to change the subject of this conversation, “I have often longed -to ask what Jasper and yourself find to talk about during the long hours -you spend together in his chamber.” - -“Jasper is learning a very useful lesson,” answered De Laprade resuming -his old manner, “which I teach him out of my experience. But now his -education is nearly finished and we shall see whether he will profit by -it.” - -“I suppose like all who learn their lesson in that school,” said Dorothy -soberly enough, “he will pay for it?” - -De Laprade looked at her gravely, and then took her hand in both of his. -“It would be an idle affectation in me to pretend that I am ignorant of -your meaning, but I think you are wronging me with an unjust thought. I -am a gambler, it is true, and love the music of the dice, but your -brother, heedless as he is, will not suffer at my hands. Were he not my -kinsman who has given me shelter, he is the brother of Dorothy Carew.” - -“I know you will forgive me,” said Dorothy contritely. “But if I know -Jasper he will look to you for payment of your losses. And he is rich -while you----” - -“Am standing in my kingdom,” laughed De Laprade. “Do not trouble your -mind about our play--´tis all for love.” - - * * * * * - -While this conversation had been going on, a little knot of officers -were gathered on the bastion near Butcher´s Gate. Hard by was Alexander -Poke, the gunner, loading a great gun carefully with Gervase Orme seated -near watching the operation. The siege had already placed its mark on -all of them: the daily horrors were not passing over them without -leaving their traces. Anxious and depressed in mind and wasted in body, -they were like men who had passed through a long vigil without hope. -Their clothes hung loosely about them and were torn and frayed; and it -was clear they had long since ceased to regard appearances and only -looked to what was serviceable. They moved slowly and without -enthusiasm, but on the faces of all of them was to be read the same hard -and stubborn look, as of men who knowing the worst were determined to -endure to the end. A month ago they might have listened to liberal terms -of compromise; now they were determined there should be no surrender -while a man remained alive. - -Walker, with his snow-white head and stately presence, bore up under his -anxiety with a higher spirit than many of the younger men, and as he -stood in the centre of the little group, appeared to have suffered less -than any other among them. - -“I know not, gentlemen,” he had been saying, “what this missive means -with which this barbarous soldier has favoured us, but this I know, that -they cannot frighten us with a cartel of paper when they have failed to -do so with their guns. For the threat of putting us to the sword and -refusing quarter even to the women, that they may do when they have it -in their power, but for the other--I think ´tis mere bravado spun out of -the Frenchman´s brain. What say you, Colonel Mitchelburn?” - -“I have served with De Rosen,” said Mitchelburn, “and know that he hath -the heart to do this and more, and while it seems to us an act too base -and cowardly for words, for him ´tis but an ordinary stratagem of war. -To drive a few hundred wretched women and children under the walls to -starve there, will not trouble the man who has seen the sack of fifty -cities. But there are gallant gentlemen yonder, men of spirit and -honour, who will never suffer this savage Russian to carry out his -threat.” - -“I know not that--I know not that. They will believe we cannot help but -take them in, and how in Heaven´s name, can we do otherwise? We cannot -stand here and see them starved before our eyes. It is not well to meet -sorrow half way but at most there is not more than a fortnight´s food in -the magazine and then”---- - -“No, Colonel Walker, though it break our hearts to see it, there is -nothing must drive us from our purpose, and though my wife and children -stood yonder they should not enter by my will.” - -“Then let us pray God that He may harden our hearts, a prayer I never -hoped to pray. But I take this letter, such as it is, for an omen of -good. They are growing weary of the stand we make and fearful that -relief is coming, though whence we cannot tell, and so would hurry us by -threats. Is Kirke about to make a push at last, think you?” - -“When they have strung the bully up to the yard-arm and put a stout -heart in his place, we may look to see the vessels at the quay, but not -till then. And if we had another month´s supplies I do not think we -should need their help, for they have their own troubles in the camp -yonder, and have lost nearly as many men as we. The prisoners say the -sickness is increasing.” - -“And the supplies are failing fast.” - -“Nay, they say more than that. One fellow declared roundly that there -are still traitors among us who supply the enemy with information. I saw -him myself and questioned him roundly, but he did not know the names or -kept the secret to himself.” - -“The traitors, if there are such, can harm us little now unless they are -strong enough to hold the gates and drive us from the walls, and that -could hardly be without its coming to our knowledge. You may have a -quiet mind on that head; treachery has done its worst, and we have all -our foes in front now. And now I think we may quietly disperse, for De -Rosen has not kept his promise, or more humane counsels have turned him -from his purpose. Had he meant to fulfil his threat, we had seen his -victims under the walls before this.” - - * * * * * - -Half an hour afterwards the alarm bell rang out calling the citizens to -their posts, and word went round that the enemy was about to make an -attack in full force. In the grey evening they could see them from the -walls advancing over the hill opposite Butcher´s Gate, and coming down -steadily towards the lines. The citizens hurrying from their houses, -came thronging to the walls, buckling on their weapons as they came. And -the great gun was turned upon the force that came steadily down the hill -in silence. Once the great gun flashed and only once, for as they came -nearer the men upon the walls listened and held their breath, and then -set up a great cry. The army that came down the hill came without -purpose of offence; not the regiments of Slane or Gormanstown, but a -crowd of tender women and fearful children and old men whose day of -labour and strife was over. On they came with the sound of weeping and -of sorrow, that to hear once was to hear for ever, for the memory of it -would never pass away. - -The savage marshal had fulfilled his promise. Torn from their homes and -hurried to the front with expectation of a sudden and violent death, -they had been collected in a body and driven to the walls. Pregnant -women and women carrying their babies in their arms; old men who could -hardly totter forward; the weak, the infirm, all who had not the power -to escape; were gathered together for his purpose, and driven forward -without remorse. And there in sight of their friends, of sons and -brothers, of fathers and lovers, they stood between the famine-stricken -city on the one side and on the other an enemy who showed no pity. - -The first impulse of the garrison, an impulse that could hardly be -restrained, was to throw open the gates and bring them within the -shelter of the walls. But an instant´s consideration checked their -generous instincts. It was to this end that they were collected here; -and once admitted, they might as well throw open the gates and throw -down their arms. There was no food for so many mouths--nay, there was no -food for themselves. - -No greater trial, no trial half so great, had overtaken them since the -siege began, or brought them so much suffering. They were not given to -emotion, but there was not a dry eye among them on the walls that night, -as they hardened their hearts and swore a deep oath of vengeance. - -Then Walker and others went out to have speech with the wretched crowd -of outcasts, and in a little while after came back, filled with -admiration and wonder. Far from desiring shelter with their friends, -they refused to enter the city, and were content to die where they stood -rather than that the safety of the city should be put in peril. So they -made their way toward the lines by the Windmill Hill, and spent the -night huddled together under the open sky, while the enemy looked on in -wonder, and their friends turned away, as if the sight was more than -they could bear. - -But a gallows was hastily erected on the Double Bastion in full sight of -the camp, and it was resolved to hang all the prisoners if De Rosen -persisted in his savage purpose. Hitherto they had been treated with -consideration, but now those who were at large were collected and placed -in Newgate, and Gervase Orme who was answerable for the safe custody of -De Laprade, went late in the evening, with a sorrowful heart, to carry -his friend thither. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - OF A GAME OF CHANCE. - - -Jasper Carew appeared but seldom in public, and then with a moody brow -and a preoccupied air. For the most part he kept to his own chamber, -attended only by Swartz, who was as silent and reserved as his master. -In the daily incidents of the siege he appeared to take no interest -whatever, seeming regardless of his own safety and wholly careless of -the safety of his friends. He seldom saw his sister, and then only in -the most casual way. It was in vain that she endeavoured to break -through the icy barrier that had grown up between them. He repelled her -efforts and frequently left her in tears. It is true he had seldom -troubled himself with any display of affection, but latterly his entire -character seemed to have undergone a change. Between himself and De -Laprade a close intimacy had sprung up. They were closeted together for -hours, and it not unfrequently happened that their evening sitting was -prolonged far into the morning following. - -Sitting in her lonely room when the household had retired for the night, -Dorothy would hear the gay laugh of the Vicomte breaking at times on the -quiet of the house, the rattling of the dice box, and the muttered oaths -of her brother as fortune went against him. To her high spirit the shame -of it was intolerable; she did not dare to speak and she could not be -silent. With De Laprade she knew that she had much influence, but she -had now reasons of her own for declining to make him her confidant--with -her brother she was long since aware that entreaties would prove -unavailing. But the fact could not be denied. A fatal passion for play -had seized upon his heart; it had completely absorbed and overmastered -him; he was entirely its slave. Night after night and day after day, the -two--De Laprade and himself--were closeted together, and the cloud upon -her brother´s brow grew blacker and his speech harsher and more abrupt. -In De Laprade there had been no change perceptible. He carried himself -with an easy _insouciance_ and treated her with tender deference. - - * * * * * - -On the day in which De Rosen had executed his barbarous threat they had -spent many hours together in the little chamber in the basement. The -roar of the cannon that had been sounding all day, the marching of men, -and the tumult of the crowded street, had been hushed to a still and -almost unnatural quiet. Swartz had carried away the remains of the -supper that had been served to them here, and had lighted the candles in -the tall silver candlesticks that stood upon the table. They had both -already drunk more than enough, but this was perceptibly the case with -Jasper. His face was flushed, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hands -shook upon the dice-box: he had loosened his lace cravat from his throat -and it lay on the floor beside him. He frowned heavily and flung down -the dice-box with an oath. - -“Seven´s the main,” said the Vicomte, gaily rattling the box. “We who -woo fortune should court her lovingly. Ah, _grace de Dieu_! I told you -so!” - -Carew pushing back his chair and walking to the window, threw it wide -open. The cool air blowing freshly through the lattice, caused the -candles to flicker where they stood. The night was cold and the sky was -full of stars. All the while the Vicomte sat watching him with a faint -smile on his face and balancing the dice in his hand. The other after a -moment turned round and looked at him. His face was now deadly pale. -Neither spoke a word. Only the distant challenging of the sentinels -broke the silence of the chamber. - -The Vicomte pushed back his chair and gently snuffed the candles. His -face displayed no emotion. Then after a while he said, “That completes -the play. Your revenge has been a costly one, my friend.” - -“My revenge has been a costly one,” answered Carew; “there remains but -one thing more.” - -“And that?” - -“To send my life after my houses and lands. There is nothing more left.” - -“Bah! you are but a fool; I have gone the same way myself. With a light -heart I have lost more in a night than would buy your barren acres three -times over. I, who was already a pauper, have staked my mistress, my -buckles, my rings, nay, my very peruke itself and lost them too. And I -did not complain. I had my sword and my honour, and could wait on -fortune with a cheerful mind. I laughed at misfortune.” - -“Oh! ´tis very well for you to talk thus,” cried Carew moodily, “with -the first estate in the country in your pocket--a rare exchange for your -castles in Spain.” - -“Monsieur Carew will remember that I did not press him to play. He who -tempts the fortunes of the hazard should learn to bear his loss with -equanimity. One should bear misfortune like a gentleman.” - -“I will have no sermons, my lord; ´tis enough that you should have -stripped me of every rood of my land and every doit that I could raise, -without presuming to lecture me on deportment. I would have you know -that I will follow my own manner. I find no fault with you--´tis my own -accursed folly that has made my heirship of the briefest, and left me a -beggar before I had entered on my inheritance.” - -“Play is an admirable moralist,” said De Laprade, altering the position -of the candlesticks, "and preaches excellent homilies. You have had -three weeks in the society of the coyest mistress in the world, and now -you grudge the tavern charges. - - ‘Je crois Jeanneton, - Aussi douce que belle; - Je crois Jeanneton - Plus douce qu‘un--mouton.´" - -“You are mocking me, my lord.” - -“In good faith I do not think I am. Sit down, Carew, and let us look the -matter in the face as sensible men should. I have no wish to put your -money in my pocket or act the country squire on your beggarly paternal -fields, but my ears are for ever itching for the pleasant rattle of the -dice-board, and I thirst for the sight of a royal hand at cards. -Fortune, which hath hitherto treated me so scurvily, hath taken a turn -at last, and I am richer by some thousands than when I landed in your -island with nothing in the world but a sword and two portmanteaux. For -that, I am wholly indifferent, and will stake my new possessions as -readily as I threw away my old. I am sorry for you, but I do not think -you would take back what you have lost as a gift, even if I offered it -now.” - -“Would I not?” said Carew, with a hoarse laugh, throwing up his hand. - -“I do not think you would,” answered the Vicomte gravely, but with a -certain elevation of his eyebrows. “Your sense of honour would forbid. -But there is a matter for which I have some concern--how will this -affect your sister?” - -“Leave my sister out of the question. I am her protector and allow no -man to question me on that head.” - -The two looked at one another steadily--the one frowning, the other -coldly impassive, but there was that look in De Laprade´s eyes that made -Carew shift his gaze. To carry off his confusion, he poured himself out -a full glass and drank it at a breath. - -“There need be no secrets between us, my good cousin. I have never -doubted that you have already staked your sister´s fortune and that it -has gone after the rest into my pocket. I have known even honourable men -tempted to do such things, but for my own part, I do not care to lend -myself to aid them. The question still remains--how does this affect -your sister?” - -“In the name of God, do you purpose driving me mad?” cried Carew, -flinging his empty glass into the fireplace, and leaping to his feet in -the access of ungoverned passion. “You have stripped me bare as a bone -and brought me to shame and dishonour; now you sit laughing at your -handiwork.” - -“Your own, sir,” said the Vicomte sternly. “These heroics will not serve -their purpose; the question still remains unanswered. I would not -willingly take on my shoulders any portion of your disgrace, though -indeed I think you would not be loath to let me bear it all. In fine, -what do you purpose doing?” - -“Oh! you are a rare moralist.” - -“There is not a better in the world. From the pulpit of my own -transgressions I shall read you an excellent sermon. But, again, this is -not to the purpose. I would have you know, my excellent cousin, I love -your sister and would willingly make her my wife.” - -“Before that I will see you----” - -“You may spare yourself the trouble. Were the lady willing, I think not -that I should ask your favour. But she is not willing. I fear she loves -a better man who deserves her better--for which I do not find fault with -her taste.” - -“You appear to have studied my family affairs to some purpose, sir.” - -“Mr. Orme is a better man than I, nor would I willingly do him an -injury,” continued De Laprade softly, “but all things are fair in love, -and I think I must ask your help.” - -“What hath Mr. Orme to do with the matter? You put more, sir, on me than -I can bear, and by heaven, I will put up with your gibes no longer. I am -not a schoolboy to be lectured by a bully.” - -“I have told you that we will not quarrel. I ask not your friendship but -your help, and it may be also much to your own advantage. Therefore -listen to me with all the patience you can command. I am mad enough to -love Miss Carew--I, the prodigal, the spendthrift, whose career was run -before I was a man, but so it is! She is much under your influence--the -wise and prudent elder brother. Lend me your assistance, not to coerce -her affections or thwart her will, for by heaven, I would not wrong her -tender heart! but to bring her with all kindness to think favourably of -her poor kinsman, and in the end it may be to return his passion. Hear -me to the conclusion. I would not buy your help--you would not sell your -aid. We both love the rattle of the dice-box. On the one side I place my -gains, the rich lands, the fair demesnes, the ancestral house, the broad -pieces--and on the other you will stake your persuasive speeches and -fraternal affection. Let chance decide the fate: I would not do -dishonour to your sister even by a thought. I do not think the stakes -unequal; why should you?” - -Carew stared at the speaker, unable to gather his meaning, and said -never a word. - -“Why, my friend, there is your chance of redemption,” said the Vicomte, -taking up the box and rattling it gaily, “three is the number of the -Graces; three throws for fortune and love; three throws for honour, -riches, and reputation. Ah! there is a royal stake, and heaven send me -favour.” - -“This is but a piece of midsummer fooling; you do not mean this?” - -“Truly I am in a sad and serious vein. Your barren acres grow heavy on -my back and I would be rid of them.” - -“Then have with you,” cried the other eagerly. - -But hardly had he spoken than the sound of footsteps was heard on the -stone passage, and an importunate knocking upon the door. Carew rose to -his feet, pushing back his chair with an oath. The Vicomte did not stir. - -“It is best to see your impatient visitor,” he said. “Do not hurry -fortune.” - -Carew went to the door and threw it open. “Well, sir, what is your -errand at this unseasonable hour?” he said, peering out into the -darkness which screened the intruder. - -“My errand is with Vicomte de Laprade,” said a voice, “and is of the -most urgent. I must see him immediately.” - -“Ah! that is the true Israelite, Mr. Orme,” said the Vicomte, in his -usual nonchalant tone, without turning in his chair. “You are arrived -most opportunely. This is the Temple of Fortune and here are her -worshippers.” - -“This is no time for jesting, my lord,” said Gervase, gravely. “I have -come to carry you to the guardhouse, where I can promise you no -favourable reception. Our hearts have been sadly stirred; your life even -is in danger.” - -“So much the more reason that we should decide this matter now. Look -you, Mr. Orme, my friend and I have a difference, the nature of which I -cannot now make clear to you, though it may also concern you nearly, and -we have agreed to leave it to the arbitrament of chance. A few minutes -more or less will not imperil the safety of the city. Pray be seated, -and see how fortune deals her favours.” - -“Oh! this is past a jest,” cried Gervase, “I tell you, my lord, you are -in deadly peril.” - -“And I tell you, sir, this is a matter of more importance. Nay, my good -friend”--and here he held out his hand, “my mind is set on this, and I -pray you to indulge me.” - -Though his eyes and lips laughed, there was a serious undertone in his -voice, and after hesitating for a moment, Gervase finally said, “Ten -minutes you may have, my lord, but with your pardon, I shall wait -without. My mind is full of care and my heart is heavy as a stone. I can -take no part in this. I have seen this day that which I shall not forget -did I live a thousand years. Good night, Mr. Carew. My lord, you will -not keep me waiting.” - -His steps rang along the stone pavement; then there was the sound of an -opening door and the whispering of voices in the basement hall. - -“‘Jacob was a plain man and dwelt in tents,´” murmured De Laprade. -“Come, Carew, we who tempt the fickle goddess must not sleep. Jacob -yonder would filch my birthright, and I will not lose the lovely -Rachel.” - -Carew, who had been as one bewildered and suddenly awakened out of a -dream with the terror of it still upon him, drew a chair to the table -and caught up the dice-box with a trembling hand. As his fingers closed -upon the box, his face grew deadly pale; his heart stood still in his -breast in an overmastering agony of fear and hope and hate. To him this -meant everything in the world. The man opposite to him had stripped him -naked--the man whose smile stabbed him like a knife, and whom he hated -with a bitterness of hatred that he had no language to measure. Should -he retrieve his fortune, and on how little that depended, not all the -powers on earth would again tempt him to such unspeakable folly. A mere -gull who had flung away his inheritance before he had possessed it! The -happy chance of redemption had come to him unexpectedly. What had moved -De Laprade to make this strange and curious proposal, he did not stop to -ask, he did not care to know. It was enough for him that it had been -made. He knew that he could exert no influence on his sister´s mind; -that his intercession would rather injure than advance the cause he -advocated. That was the Vicomte´s business. He was a gambler and -accustomed to take the chances, and it was he who had proposed the -stakes. He passed his hand across his eyes to clear away the mists; the -room seemed full of moving haze through which the candles burned with a -feeble and uncertain light. He drew a deep breath. - -The first throw Carew won; the second fell to the Vicomte. Then there -happened a curious thing--when Carew was about to throw for the third -time, the Vicomte stooped down to lift his handkerchief from the floor -where it had fallen a moment before. While he did this somewhat clumsily -for one in general so dexterous, the dice rattled on the table. Making a -slight motion with his fingers Carew, hardly pausing, cried “Sixes.” - -The Vicomte slowly raised his head. “Your play improves, sir,” he said -drily; “that was a lucky throw. Come, sir, you are not yet out of the -wood, and perhaps I shall yet see you through.” Then he threw himself. -“By all the saints, the Venus! This grows interesting. We must have one -more cast for fortune.” - -“The devil´s in them,” cries Carew, his eyes fairly aglow and his lips -twitching like one in a fit. - -This time the Vicomte won. “I knew how it would be,” he said, with an -air of pensive sadness; “I have no luck, I can do no more.” - -Carew laughed loudly, almost as if this last stroke had touched his -brain. “Luck, what more would you have? Here have I been sitting for -three weeks while you plucked me like a hen feather by feather, with a -smile on your face, and I know not what devil´s craft in your fingers.” - -“These are foolish words, sir, for which I will not ask you to account. -To talk of craft comes but ill from one who himself----” Here he stopped -and looked at Carew steadily. “God knows I am but a pitiful fellow -myself, and yet I would I had never seen your face.” - -The words were spoken slowly, with an emphasis that carried home their -hidden meaning; they struck home like a knife. Then without warning -Carew reached suddenly across the table, and struck the Vicomte a blow -with his closed hand fairly on the lips. - -“You are a liar and a cheat,” he said, “and I will kill you like a dog.” - -For a moment or more the Vicomte did not stir; apparently he was afraid -to trust himself to speak; only with his handkerchief, which he all the -time carried in his hand, he wiped the thin trickle of blood from his -lips. Then he rose to his feet and going over to the door, turned the -key in the lock. Thereafter he whipped out his sword and advanced into -the middle of the room. There was a high colour in his cheeks and his -eyes shone with a fine glow in them. Otherwise his manner was perfectly -calm, and his voice came slowly and with distinct utterance. “Mr. -Carew,” he said, “no man living will dare to do what you have done -to-night and live to tell it. I would have borne with much for your -sister´s sake; here not even she can save you. And yet it is almost a -dishonour to cross swords with you and treat you as a gentleman--you, -whom I have myself seen to cheat and cozen like a common tavern-brawler. -And you have dared to use these opprobrious words to me--to me who did -my best to return your losses without offending your nice sense of -honour. Now, sir, draw your sword and say your prayers, for I think you -are going to die.” - -Carew was not wanting in physical courage, nor backward at any time in a -quarrel. But at this moment it was his own vehement and overmastering -desire--a desire too deep for any mere speech--to find an outlet for his -passion of hate and shame in a struggle with the man who held his -fortune and good name in his hand. To hold him at his mercy was at this -time his dearest wish on earth. He drew his sword, and taking his ground -lowered the point sullenly as the Vicomte saluted with his weapon. - -Then their blades were crossed. The light was faint and low, for the -candles had nearly burnt themselves out, and as the spacious chamber -rang with the clash of the sword blades, the deep shadows came and went -with a grotesque and everchanging motion. Carew had the advantage in the -length of reach and once he touched his opponent in the arm, but after a -few passes he saw he had met his superior, and a feeling of great dread -overtook him. How he hated the man with the cold, impassive face and -disdainful smile! But for that bit of glittering steel that guarded him -like a wall, how gladly he would have taken him by the throat and -glutted himself with vengeance. And he saw that the Vicomte played with -him as if unwilling to strike him down too soon, and that, too, added to -his passion of fury and hate. - -The Vicomte still stood on the defensive and parried his thrusts with -the greatest ease in the world. Again and again he tried to enter upon -his guard, but always with the same result. Then there came a violent -knocking upon the door and the sound of voices raised in alarm and -expostulation. - -“We must end this,” cries the Vicomte deliberately parrying a thrust in -tierce, and almost at the same time Carew passaged rapidly, and catching -the Vicomte´s sword in his left hand, buried his own sword to the hilt -in the Vicomte. The stricken man swung round, threw up his hands, and -fell in a heap to the floor without uttering a sound. - -Gervase had left the room with contempt and indignation strongly present -in his mind. It had seemed incredible to him that men should become -absorbed in these trifles, surrounded by the horrors that he daily -witnessed, and lose themselves wholly in this degrading passion. No -doubt it was none of his business--so he told himself--but his sense of -fitness revolted at it. He had reached the outer door and his hand was -on the lock to open it, when he heard a door open on the staircase -above, and a voice calling in low tones, “Is that Mr. Orme?” - -“It is I, Miss Carew,” Gervase answered, feeling that the hope of this -rencontre was the real reason why he had left the Vicomte to decide his -matter of importance by himself. - -Dorothy came down the stairs holding a taper in her hand--Gervase could -see the traces of tears on her cheeks, and he was greatly struck by the -change that the last week had made in her looks. Not that her beauty was -in any way dimmed or diminished, but sorrow and care had set their seal -upon it. - -“Swartz has told me the news,” she said, “and the horror of it gives me -no rest. Will they not bring them into the City?” - -“God knows it is what we all desire,” Gervase answered, “but it is not -possible. To bring them in would mean that we have fought and you have -suffered for nothing; it would but make their fate ours. Londonderry -must not fall.” - -He continued in a sad constrained tone, “I think I shall never forget -till I die what I have seen today. There are children there, and babies -at the breast, and tender women, and, Miss Carew, we must let them die. -We dare not take them in. There is hardly food for a fortnight longer -and then----” - -“Then,” said Dorothy, “we can die. I almost think I shall be glad to -die.” - -“Nay,” said Gervase taking her hand, “if all were as brave and strong as -you are! Macpherson says that yours is the boldest heart in the city.” - -“He does not know me,” Dorothy answered, withdrawing her hand with a -faint gleam of her old humour kindling in her eyes; “he does not -understand women. I am a poor coward. But why should I talk of myself? -Will nothing be attempted to save the poor wretches who are now below -the walls?” - -“Ay,” said Gervase pausing, “it is proposed to make use of the prisoners -we have taken, and, indeed, that is the reason I am here to-night. The -Vicomte must quit your house and take up his abode in the guard-house, -but I trust not for long.” - -“They will not injure him?” - -“I hope not, and I do not think you need fear for him. My lord -Netterville hath writ to De Rosen, who is surely a devil, to tell him -how it stands with himself and the other prisoners, and I do not doubt -his letter will move him more than the voice of humanity, assisted as it -is by the gallows we have now erected.” - -“There is nothing but horror on horror,” said Dorothy. “It is just, but -it is hard to bear. And I think I could bear it all but for the great -trouble I told you of--but why should I thrust my own private griefs on -a stranger?” - -“Nay, no stranger; your troubles are all mine. You know that I love you -better than my life.” - -A moment before he would not have ventured to make this speech, but -something in her voice had for the first time awakened a wild hope in -his breast. She looked at him with a frank and honest look. “Yes,” she -answered, “I think you love me better than I deserve, but this is no -time to talk or think of such things.” - -“But, Dorothy--” - -“Nay, I will not have a word. Listen! Oh God! what is that? They have -quarrelled, and that is the sound of swords.” - -The clash of steel could be heard plainly, and the sound of feet moving -rapidly. - -“Remain where you are,” said Gervase, hastening down the passage; “I -shall prevent this.” - -Dorothy stood at the foot of the passage, her hands held tightly against -her breast; the taper had fallen to the floor, and she was in darkness. -Then she heard the voice of Gervase at the door. - -“Out of my way or I will run you through; I must enter.” - -“By your leave you shall not. My master must fight this out; I´ve taught -him to fence, and I´ll see that he gets fair play.” - -It was the voice of Swartz. Gervase had found the man at the door -listening to the sound of the strife within. - -“Out of my way,” said Gervase, losing his temper. - -“Damn you! I tell you I shall not stir. The Frenchman hath robbed my -master and he´ll pay dearly for it to-night. No man in Londonderry will -pass the door till he hath settled with that thief.” - -Gervase was in no humour for temporizing at this moment. He caught the -old servant by the throat and with a quick movement hurled him to the -other side of the passage. Then placing his shoulder against the door -and exerting all his strength, the strong framework fell in with a -crash. The room was in complete darkness and he stood to listen. There -was not a sound. Then Dorothy came down the passage with a light. - -“You must not come any further, Miss Carew,” said Gervase, advancing to -meet her, with a white face. “I am sure something has happened.” He took -the light from her and entered the room, Swartz who had picked himself -up muttering a malediction, following close on his heels. Lying in the -middle of the room in a dark pool of blood was De Laprade, while Jasper -Carew stood over the body, with the point of his rapier on the ground -and his hands resting on the handle. - -“I killed him in fair fight,” he said as Gervase came into the room, and -running over, knelt down by the fallen man. Gervase opened the Vicomte´s -coat and placed his hand on his heart; it was still beating feebly. - -“He is not dead yet. For God´s sake run for the surgeon; he may yet be -saved,” he cried, turning to Swartz who stood behind him. - -“I´ll not stir a step to save his life,” the old man answered doggedly. - -“Do as you are bidden, sir,” said Jasper, without moving, “and make what -haste you can.” Then he went over and sat down by the table, looking on -coldly as the man went out and Gervase tried to stop the bleeding with -his handkerchief. Dorothy had crept into the room, pale and frightened, -and knelt down beside Gervase. - -“Is he dead?” she said with a gasp. - -“No, he still lives. I can hear his heart beating.” - -“I would give my own life a hundred times over to save his. He must not -die; I say, he must not die.” - -“It is as God wills,” answered Gervase gravely. “I think he is coming -round.” - -The Vicomte opened his eyes and smiled a faint smile of recognition as -his eyes fell on Dorothy; she lifted his hand and pressed it within her -own; then she shuddered at the touch--it was clammy with blood. No one -spoke or stirred--only the feeble tide of life appeared to be slowly -returning. The minutes seemed to drag themselves into hours while they -waited for the coming of the surgeon. Dorothy had placed her hand under -De Laprade´s head, and anxiously watched the deathlike pallor -disappearing from his cheeks. Her heart leapt joyfully as she saw him -attempting to speak. - -“´Twas a fair fight but--but,” and he spoke as if communing with -himself, “he should not have caught my sword.” - -Gervase looked suddenly up at Carew where he sat by the table looking on -sullenly, and he was filled with horror at the awful likeness that he -bore to the old man, his grandfather, whose frowning face he had seen in -its death agony. It was the same face, the same dark passionate look, -transformed from age to youth. He had never noticed the likeness before -and he wondered at it now. - -Jasper rose and coming over looked down at the Vicomte with a look of -bitter hate. “The man is a liar,” he said; “a liar while he lived and a -liar now that he is dying, for I hope that I have killed him. I fought -him fairly, and I should have stabbed him where he sat. I shall answer -the world for what I have done.” - -He turned on his heel and left the room, as Swartz and the surgeon -entered it. The latter, a tall, gaunt Scotchman with an exasperating -precision and judicial slowness of manner, began to examine his patient -carefully; it seemed as if he never would have done. Then he turned to -Gervase and spoke almost for the first time since he had entered the -room. - -“Wherefore did you drive the puir laddie sae hard? Less would have done. -You young callants have no sense.” - -“Will he die?” said Gervase eagerly. - -“How can I tell you that? I´m no´ a prophet, but I´m thinking his vitals -have not been touched. These small swords make clean work; they´re no´ -effectual like the pike or the broad sword--and he was a likely lad. I -think we may even bring him round yet, but he must not be stirred. Have -ye not unco´ guid sport outside that ye must begin to throttle ither -within?” - -“God knows that is true, but you do not understand.” - -“Nae doubt, nae doubt,” answered the other drily, “but I understand the -lad has gotten a whinger through his body, and that is a fact anybody -can understand. Howsoever the care of the body is my concern, and my two -hands are full enough. I´m tell´t you´re mighty quick with your weapon, -Mr. Orme.” - -“This is none of my work,” said Gervase. “I would have given my right -hand to prevent it.” - -The surgeon looked doubtfully at Swartz who stood near with his hands -behind his back. “Why! that body there--but it is none of my business. -We´ll even make him comfortable now and we can talk more about it in the -morn, for I´m thinking they must hear of this work outside. This bonny -lassie will be my care next,” he continued, turning to Dorothy. “This is -no place for you, my dear,” he said, laying his large hand with a rough -sympathy on her shoulder. - -“Indeed I could rest nowhere else in the world. Do you think he will -live?” - -“I´m sure he´ll no´ die if your sweet heart will save him. He´s a gay, -likely lad and he´ll give a deal of trouble in the world yet before he -leaves it, if he keeps clear of small swords in the future.” - -“Thank God for that!” cried Dorothy, bursting into tears for the first -time. - -Saunderson looked at her with a grim smile on his homely features. - -“Women sometimes thank God for unco´ little. But he´ll do for the now, -and I´ll be back in an hour. Come, Mr. Orme, you´ll see me to the door, -for I have some directions to give you and my time is precious.” - -Gervase went out with him to the door and they stood on the great stone -steps together. Then the surgeon laid his two broad hands on Gervase´s -shoulders and looked at him steadily. “Look ye here,” he said, “I learnt -the practice of medicine in the University of Glasgow, but there´s ane -thing I learnt since. I´m no sure I´ve got to the bottom of this -devildum, but I´m sure o´ this, that if yon chiel dies, the lassie will -even break her bonnie heart and the same small sword will have killed -them both. Swartz says the deed was yours, but he´s a fause loon to look -at, and I ken now it´s a lee. I ken you love her too well--I´ve learnt -that too--to do her scaith, and I leave him in your hands till the -morning. When a woman´s in love she´s no´ to be trusted. I´ll send you a -draught and ye´ll see to it that he gets it.” - -He left Gervase hardly understanding the speech he had heard. Then its -full meaning dawned on him. Till now it had not occurred to him that -Dorothy had cared for De Laprade, but the mere suggestion awoke a -thousand trivial recollections that lent colour to the thought. He had -believed that her great distress was only due to the fact that her guest -and kinsman had fallen by her brother´s hand. But if it was -otherwise--if she loved De Laprade and looked on himself only as a -friend--it took the strength out of his heart to think of it. This great -passion, the first that he had known, had transformed his life and -inspired him in the midst of all the dangers and privations he was -passing through. And now it seemed to him that his hopes had fallen like -a house of cards. He was a fool to think that she should care for -him--and yet who could tell? So with hope that was not altogether dead, -and doubt, and a touch of jealousy, as has been since love came first -into the world, he went back to help his stricken rival. - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - OF HOW THE VICOMTE WAS BROUGHT BACK TO LIFE. - - -For several days De Laprade hovered between life and death, apparently -conscious and that was all. Dorothy hardly left his bedside night or -day, attending upon him with sedulous care and devotion. Seeing that she -was about to give way under the strain, Saunderson took affairs into his -own hands and forbade her the room altogether. While she had been in the -sick chamber De Laprade had used to follow her with his eyes--eyes in -which there was little sign of intelligence--but now that she came no -more, he sank into a deep and deathlike lethargy from which he seldom -awakened. Whether for Dorothy´s sake or from the nature of the case, -Saunderson gave up much of his time to the wounded Viscount, and -invariably reported his patient´s progress to the anxious girl who was -awaiting his departure from the sick chamber. So far from adopting the -physician´s usual diplomacy, he had endeavoured to keep up her spirits -from the beginning, assuring her that with skill and care, ill as he -seemed, he would yet dance at her wedding. - -“You will see,” he had said, with rough kindliness “there are twa bodies -tha´ll no die lichtly--he that´s gain to be married and he that´s gain -to be hangit; and when this braw callant hath had both prospects before -him he´ll no leave us this gait. He should have been a corp three days -syne by every rule of the faculty, but yon bit thing never touched his -vitals after all. You´ll no greet your bonnie een out, Miss Carew, but -just tak your rest and leave him to Providence and me.” - -For Saunderson had come to the conclusion that the Vicomte was Dorothy´s -lover, and that in some way or other, that was the cause of the quarrel -in which he had been wounded. He had at first believed that Gervase had -been the assailant, but Dorothy had undeceived him on that head; but on -the other she had remained entirely silent and made no effort to remove -his misunderstanding. She had, however, seen, or thought she had seen, -through the friendly deception of the surgeon, and when she had been -closed out of the sick room she had believed the end was approaching. -She had not understood, though she had guessed, the nature of the -tragedy that had been enacted between her brother and her cousin; and -though she was not aware of all the circumstances she had come to think -she owed the Vicomte a great debt. She had remembered every word of -their brief conversation an hour or two before the brawl, and knowing -his high sense of honour, she had laid the blame entirely on her -brother. All that was passing without seemed like a dream now--only the -death chamber was real to her and this tragedy with its deep and -indelible stain of guilt. She had felt that she was grieved for the -wretches who had been driven to starve under the walls, and she felt -rejoiced when she heard that De Rosen had relented, but she felt also -that she had not realized the news. It seemed wholly remote. This -domestic tragedy, so near and so terrible, entirely filled her mind with -its abiding horror. She felt there was no sacrifice she would not -willingly make to avert this calamity, and each day she waited with a -suspense that was intolerable for the coming of the surgeon from the -sick room. Even Jasper´s treachery had passed into the background in the -presence of this new and more appalling crime. Gervase Orme had called -every day but she had refused to see him, for though she yearned for -sympathy in her distress her pride compelled her to nurse her sorrow in -secret. Jasper came and went with perfect _sang froid_; he seemed to be -the only person in the household to whom the wounded man´s condition was -a matter of indifference. - -So the days went past and there seemed to be little or no change in the -Vicomte´s condition. But at length he recovered perfect consciousness -and asked eagerly for Dorothy. It was indeed his first question after he -recovered speech. Saunderson was in the room and seated by his patient´s -side feeling his thin and languid pulse, when De Laprade suddenly looked -at him with an eager and questioning gaze. The change was so sudden that -the surgeon was startled. “I saw Dorothy--Miss Carew--but now,” said the -Vicomte. “Where is she?” - -“She´ll no be long, my friend; just keep yourself cool and ye´ll see her -the now. That´s a good laddie.” - -“I have little time to spare and I must see her before I die.” - -“Ye´ll no die this time. Ye´ll scratch grey hairs yet, if ye keep -yersel´ blate and dinna fash without reason.” - -“You´re a good fellow,” said De Laprade, with a faint smile on his thin, -wasted face, “I think I have seen you here in the room with me for -months, but I will not trouble you much longer. Now bring Miss Carew -here and complete your kindness.” - -“Ye must not excite yoursel´ in that fashion. Ye have been ower long in -coming round, and we maun keep ye here when we hae you. Now drink this -like a good laddie, and I’ll even fetch her mysel’.” - -He poured out a draught and held it to the Vicomte´s lips, who drank it -obediently. Saunderson believed that the crisis had come and though he -hoped that he was wrong for Dorothy´s sake, had come to the conclusion -that this was the last feeble flicker of consciousness in his patient -before the end. As he left the room De Laprade followed him with the -same eager gaze. He found Dorothy in the corridor and told her what had -happened. “And now,” he said, “ye´ll just keep him quiet and humour him -like a baby. Let him gang his ain gait and say ‘Ay´ to all his clavers. -I´d rather you were elsewhere, but he´ll no bide till he has seen you.” - -It was with a heavy heart that Dorothy entered the sick room. There was -something in the surgeon´s manner that told her she must hope no longer; -and as she saw De Laprade lying with the deathlike pallor on his wasted -face and the eager famished look in his dark eyes she thought that he -was dying. She went over noiselessly to the bed and sat down beside him, -laying her hand on the coverlet. Neither of them spoke, and it was with -an heroic effort that she restrained her tears. Then De Laprade took her -hand in his and a look of contentment lighted up his dark face. She -wondered to herself at the change that had taken place in so short a -time. There was something almost boyish in the face that was turned -toward her. - -“I am starting on a long journey, my cousin,” he said, “and I would see -you before I go. You will not think unkindly of me when----” - -She could make no answer but only bent over his hand to hide the tears -that were welling to her eyes, though she strove to repress them. - -“This is a fit end for me,” he went on, “but, believe me, I tried to -keep my promise toward your brother; he did not understand and----” - -“You must say no more,” said Dorothy; “I never doubted of your faith and -honour. You will yet live to know that I trust you.” - -“Too late, too late!” he said, sorrowfully. “Why should I live? I have -had my chance and wasted it. In all the world there is no one who will -regret me but yourself, and you will forget me when--it is but right you -should. Victor De Laprade--a stranger--that is all, and I deserve no -better.” - -“I will never forget you,” she said, touched beyond expression by the -pathos of his speech; “you must not think such thoughts; you will yet -live to smile at them.” - -“Why should I live for whom there is no room and no need? I have wasted -my life. As I lay here I have lived it all again, and seen its folly. -You have helped me to see what I never saw before, and I could not go -before I told you. Nay, it is best for me to die. It is not hard to say -farewell with your hand in mine. I had hoped some day to tell you what I -am going to speak, some day when I had shown myself not altogether -unworthy, but I cannot wait for that now, and must say it here if it is -ever to be spoken.” - -She knew what he was about to say; full of pity she did not withdraw her -hand, but continued to hold his in her own. At that moment she almost -felt she loved the man who looked at her with such fervent longing in -his eyes. - -“I have come to love you, my cousin, with such love as I never felt or -dreamed of before--a love that makes me ashamed of my life, and desire -to forget the past and all its follies. That love has taken the terror -away from death. I do not think I should have made you happy. I had too -much to forget. And you know you did not love me, Dorothy; as indeed why -should you.” - -“Indeed, I think I do,” she answered honestly, and lifted his hand to -her lips with the tears in her eyes. “Oh! Victor, do not wrong yourself -in speaking thus.” - -“I am but a poor fellow, Dorothy,” he said slowly, “but if this is true -I would not change my place with His Christian Majesty. In happier times -you will remember me as one who loved you, and died content because he -loved you.” - -“You will not die, but live to let me help you to forget the past. There -is no sacrifice I would not make to bring you happiness.” - -“I would not let you sacrifice your life for me, my cousin.” - -“Nay, I did not mean that. I am but a weak and thoughtless girl and -cannot say all that I would, but I love no other, and--and I think I -love you dearly.” - -She could not have imagined before she came into the room that she would -have spoken these words, but the pitiable sight of this wrecked and -wasted life filled her with a great flood of compassion, and she spoke -almost without thinking of the meaning of her words. Then she bent over -and pressed her lips to his forehead. His pallid cheeks flushed a -little; the act was so spontaneous and so foreign to her manner, that it -carried to his heart the happiness of hope and love. For a time he did -not speak. - -“I do not know,” he said, “whether this is a part of my dream; it seems -too much to believe that this great happiness should have come to me at -the end; but I shall believe it true, and carry your love with me -whither I am going. It will be a light to the way. The good Saunderson -would not let me die when I desired, and you make it hard to go. You see -I thought you loved----” - -She interrupted him hastily, “I have not thought of love till now. My -foolish Victor, you must drive these idle fancies from your head; if I -do not love you, I love no one.” - -"If this were not the shadow of a dream, the happiness is too great! - - "‘Amis, le temps nous presse; - Menageons les moments que le transport nous laisse!´ - -“Kiss me again, my sweet Dorothy, for the darkness is coming.” - -She thought that all was over and the end was come. He lay pale and -exhausted, with his hand in hers and his breathing so low and faint that -she could not catch the sound of it. There was the shadow of a smile on -the open lips; a smile of contentment like that a child smiles while -dreaming. She was afraid to move or withdraw her hand, and when -Saunderson came into the room she made a gesture of warning. - -He came over quietly beside her. “I think,” he said, “ye have given him -a more efficacious remedy than any in the pharmacopœia. He is -sleeping finely, puir laddie! Ye may leave him now and ye´ll see a -change for the better when ye come again. I kenned ye would either kill -or cure him, though I thocht ye would do him little harm if ye could -help it.” - -“He is not dying?” - -“Indeed, that he is not, but just making up his mind to live bravely. I -would like to bottle up your specific and carry it about in a phial; -it´s what I have been wanting this many a day.” - -However it came about the surgeon´s prediction was verified, and a -sudden change for the better took place in the Vicomte´s condition that -evening; he had fallen into a refreshing slumber which lasted for some -hours; and when he awakened, the fever had entirely disappeared, leaving -him very weak indeed but on the high road toward convalescence. With the -considerateness that was always natural to him, he had refused to allow -Dorothy to remain in his room, and had asked to see Jasper, with whom he -was anxious to make his peace. What passed between them no one ever -knew, for De Laprade was silent on the subject, but Carew was heard -whistling gaily as he returned to his own room. - -Dorothy was for a long time unable to realize the events of the day. It -filled her with happiness to think that De Laprade was likely to -recover, and that the shadow of crime was to be removed; but when she -began to think of the new relation that was springing up between herself -and her cousin, an indefinable and restless feeling took possession of -her. She knew that she had been carried away by pity and regret to speak -without examining her own heart;--she had desired to bring a momentary -happiness to the forlorn and wasted life that she thought was passing -away before her, and she had spoken with deep feeling and entire -sincerity. But when she came to think over it now that the danger had -passed away and her mind had grown calm and reasonable, she felt that -she had spoken rashly and without due premeditation. She feared that she -had mistaken compassion for love. But if she did not love him now with a -strong and devoted affection, it might grow and all might yet be well. -She could not now tell him that she only pitied him. Then her thoughts -went further afield, and with a start she wakened up wondering what -Gervase Orme would say when he heard that she had plighted her troth to -his friend. The idea filled her with pain; she shrank from it with a -feeling akin to dismay. While Orme was nothing more to her than a -friend, her thoughts had involuntarily dwelt much on him, and she had -come to look to his strong and silent nature for help and consolation, -sure of perfect sympathy and understanding. She knew, though she now -strove to forget it, that he loved her. Had she been free to choose her -own way, and had duty so plain and so self-evident not lain in her -path--but no, she did not love him and must not allow her mind to dwell -on these idle imaginings. There was only one thing for her to do,--to be -true to the words she had spoken and bring her wayward heart to respond -to the promise she had made. There was no one to whom she could go for -advice or help; she must rely upon herself alone, and happen what might, -there was at least one Carew who would be found faithful to her word and -jealous of her honour. The sin and wrongdoing of her house might be -visited upon her, but she would bear it cheerfully. - -[Illustration: “JASPER BUCKLING HIS SWORD ABOUT HIM”] - -She had visited Lady Hester at midnight and was about to retire to her -own room, when she heard her brother´s door open and someone passing -down the corridor. Without waiting to think, she came down the stairs -hurriedly, and found Jasper in the hall with his cloak and hat on, -buckling his sword about him. He was evidently very angry at seeing her. - -“These are no hours for a woman,” he said; “you should have been abed -hours ago.” - -“They are not hours for some men either,” she said, looking at him -earnestly. She knew from the look that he cast on her that he was -certain she had learnt his guilty secret. She did not flinch but stood -up before him, with a firm and steadfast look. He drew on his gloves -slowly without raising his eyes to meet hers. Though there was neither -sympathy nor love between them, and though she had striven devotedly to -win his confidence without success, she longed to save him from this -dishonour, and to hold him back from ruin, for that ruin and dishonour -were impending she did not doubt. - -“These are not hours for some men either. For your own sake and for -mine, you must not leave the house to-night.” - -“And pray, madam, why not? It is not enough that I should be mewed up in -this damned town with a couple of women and a mad Frenchman for my -companions, but that I must have my actions spied upon and my coming and -going brought in question. I have borne with you in patience, my good -sister, but I will not let you spy upon me longer. There must be an end -on´t.” - -“You can speak no words that will make me fear you,” she said quietly. -“I would have been your loyal and loving sister, but you know what I -know, and if I can prevent it you shall not play the traitor longer. It -is true that I have watched you, watched you day and night; and was -there not need? Shall it be said that a Carew, for I know not what base -reward, sold his honour and flung away his good name? Can Hamilton or -Tyrconnell or James himself save you from this disgrace?” - -“These are mad words,” he said doggedly; “I know not what you mean.” - -“I am only a woman with a woman´s weakness, and I cannot turn you from -your purpose. But before I had carried such a paper as I have seen you -carry, I would have died a thousand times. Jasper,” she continued -pleadingly, laying her hand on his arm, “It is not yet too late.” - -“I was right after all, and it was you who set yon slow-witted coxcomb -to lecture me with his mysterious threats. Now listen to me, Miss Carew; -you have shown a more than sisterly interest in my affairs; and you may -as well know it all. I have followed my own course, and laid my plans -that I will suffer no woman to wreck with her whims and fancies. These -beggarly citizens and these foolish country gentlemen are nothing to me. -I stand by my lawful king, and on that side is my service and my -interest, I have taken no great pains to conceal my thoughts, and -perhaps to-morrow----” here he checked himself. - -“Then go over to your friends.” - -“It does not suit my purpose. Now I will give you a word of advice -before I go. Make no more confidences for the future--they are dangerous -for those who speak and for those who listen to them, and I will not -have my acts questioned by you or others. For the paper you speak of, -you may keep it now and it may prove useful hereafter, but for your -friend I shall call him to a reckoning if I live. I think that hereafter -you will keep my secret more closely, for it does not redound to the -credit of the family that you should take the world into your -confidence.” - -He opened the door and stood looking at her threateningly; then he went -out, drawing it noiselessly after him. - -Though he had borne himself with a high hand, she could see that he had -felt her words keenly, and that he was already fearful for his own -safety. What course she should take she did not know, for she shrank -from making his treachery public and from bringing punishment by any act -of her own on the offender. It was clear that no entreaty nor -expostulation of hers would have any weight with him; she knew his -headlong and obstinate nature too well to hope that it might. - -She remained standing for a long time lost in thought, and then she -crept to her own room, wondering whether, after all, Gervase Orme might -not keep his word. They had not renewed their conversation since the day -that she had placed the pass in his hands, but she felt certain that he -had not relaxed in his vigilance. And then it struck her suddenly that -by this act she might have imperilled his safety, for her brother had -already threatened him, and she knew that in this, at least, he would -keep his word, if he had the power or the opportunity to injure him. She -regretted now that she had not taken the initiative earlier herself, but -on this she was determined, that she and her brother should not remain -under the same roof, even if she was compelled publicly to denounce his -crime. But she was saved the pain, for she never saw her brother again. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - OF A DEED OF TREACHERY. - - -Gervase had not forgotten the promise he had made to Dorothy, but in the -intervals of his duty had watched the house narrowly, and so far as he -was able to discover, Jasper had not attempted to repeat his visits to -the enemy. He had begun to think that his thinly-veiled threat had had a -salutary effect, and that Jasper knowing himself to have been -discovered, would not again rashly put his safety in peril. The task was -not one for which he had any great relish, but he had determined, -however irksome and unpleasant it might prove, that he would save -Dorothy from a public exposure and from the pain that such exposure must -necessarily inflict upon her. Had it not been for her he would have -taken a summary method with the traitor, but his long vigils were -rendered light by the thought that they were undertaken for her sake. -While he stood in the dark street in the shadow of the opposite doorway, -his heart was stirred when he caught sight of her crossing the window of -her chamber, and so long as her light burned there he felt that he was -not altogether alone. For matter-of-fact as he was, his love had waked -whatever of the pathetic and the heroic there was in his nature; and he -felt that this service was a link that bound them more closely together. -Macpherson who knew something of his solitary watching, had laughed in -his own fashion, and told him that no woman could be won in such a -fashion, for while one was sitting sad outside another was fiddling in -the chamber. But Gervase had kept his post, though nothing came of it -and though he had not spoken to Dorothy for days. - -To-night he had been ordered with his company to the lines. The enemy -who had been waiting in sullen patience for the famine-stricken garrison -to surrender, had made some show of movement, and it was believed they -meditated another night attack. The guards had therefore been doubled, -and precautions were taken to prevent a surprise. Gervase went the more -willingly since he believed his services in the city were no longer -needed, as a fortnight had elapsed and Jasper had made no sign of -renewing his intrigue; and it was a relief once more to find an outlet -for his feelings in vigorous action. He felt that he had lost his youth -and that he was growing old in witnessing the sights he saw every -day--the gaunt hollow-eyed wretches who came tottering from their ruined -houses in search of food; the men stricken down with hunger where they -stood on duty at the walls; women who had lost their children; children -motherless and fatherless, and left without a protector; the want, the -sorrow, and the death that increased every day. If they might but have -fought out the fight upon the open field, and in one brave struggle have -decided their fate, how willingly he would have taken his part! But half -the fighting men had fallen since they closed the gates, and of the -other half many of them could hardly shoulder their muskets and drag -themselves to the walls. - -It was a relief to pass out of the gates, and the sight and sound of so -much misery, into the quiet night with the cool air blowing about him -and the new moon lifting itself slowly through the summer haze. In the -distance he could see the gleam of the watch-fires of the enemy, but -there was a great and unbroken silence round them, as the company made -its way along the path that had been beaten into white dust with -frequent marching. Macpherson was in command of the outpost that night, -and Gervase found him seated by himself in the bastion on the carriage -of a gun that had been brought up from the city. He was quietly -communing with himself while he drew consolation from his favourite -pipe. Of late days the old soldier had been foremost in attack and -counsel. Hard work and scanty fare had had no effect upon him, but his -spirits seemed to have risen the higher as their privations and -hardships increased. In all expeditions of danger he was among the -foremost to volunteer, and on more than one occasion his coolness and -resource had been of immense service to the besieged. Walker´s antipathy -he had long since overcome, for though they had serious differences on -points of doctrine, they had each come to recognize the excellent -qualities of the other. - -When Gervase had completed the arrangement of his company, he joined the -old soldier in the bastion. He made the usual inquiries as to the -movement in front, but Macpherson, apparently in a fit of abstraction, -had answered his questions in monosyllables. There was in the face of -the latter the hardness and solemnity that Gervase had seen early in -their acquaintance, but which had disappeared of recent days. Then he -rose up and laid his hand on the young fellow´s shoulder. - -“Let us walk down the rampart,” he said, as if awaking from his reverie, -“my legs have grown stiff, and there is something that I would say to -you. Our lads are veterans in the service now and stand up unwinking -without the need of a ramrod.” - -With his hand resting on Gervase´s shoulder, they walked along the -trench down the hill. There was no need for speech between them now, for -Gervase had come to understand his friend´s varying moods, and had long -since ceased to resent the fits of silence into which the other was -accustomed to fall. “Here is another day gone,” he said, “and no move -from the Tangier Butcher. Whether he come by Inch or by the river, he -will come too late, if he come at all. I have been thinking that I might -hurry him.” - -"You are not serious? - -“Faith! the man who drops into the river, and floats himself clear of -the lines yonder till he reaches the ships by the good guidance of God, -would need to have a serious mind. I have been thinking it all over, as -I sat there to-night, and of the poor souls in their tribulation yonder. -If I was a year or two younger I would try it blithely, and I think -Kirke would listen to his old comrade. There were certain passages -between us once--however, as I say, this might be done by one who took -his life in his hand, and I think I am the man. Do you believe in omens, -lad?” - -“I know not.” Gervase answered; “I think they are but an idle -superstition.” - -“Then you may laugh at me if you will, but as surely as my name is -Ninian I have been called this night to that work, and perhaps to more -also.” - -“I had thought,” said Gervase, “you had forgot these idle dreams and -warnings.” - -“Though I am a man of prayer,” he went on, disregarding the -interruption, “I am not gifted with the vision, but twice before I have -heard the same voice, and twice my life was put in grievous jeopardy. -When I heard it before, it spoke as if in anger, but to-night it was -sweet and soft like his voice that was my friend. You see I was sitting -there on the bastion figuring out how I might reach the ships, and -reproaching myself for my backwardness in desiring to make the venture, -when I heard a voice as if a great way off coming from up the river -yonder. I listened attentively but there was a deep silence, and I began -to think that it was a mere trick of fancy. Then it came again, sounding -nearer, till I heard the words of his voice.” - -“Whose voice?” said Gervase, wonderingly. - -Macpherson turned towards him with a white face. “The voice of my old -friend--him that I told you of. But, thank God, I know his spirit is at -peace with mine, and I can die content. I could see him before me with -my mortal eyes, as I heard that familiar voice that has not sounded in -mine ears for twenty years. He has called me and I am going yonder.” - -There was no trace of excitement in his manner or in his speech, but he -spoke with the calm deliberateness of a man who has fully made up his -mind and cannot be shaken in his opinion. Gervase knew that it was -useless to attempt to reason with him; and indeed, if the truth must be -told, he himself was not a little impressed by the tale he had heard. -The supernatural played a large part in the lives of the people among -whom he lived, and it was not curious that his own mind should have been -touched by the prevailing spirit. But to Macpherson it was a fact that -required no explanation and hardly seemed to call for wonder. - -“And were you not afraid to hear that disembodied voice?” Gervase asked, -“if it be that it was not more than your fancy?” - -“Wherefore should I be afraid? was it not the voice of my friend who -spoke to me no longer in anger? I know that my sin is forgiven. Some -day, my lad,” he continued, with the kindly and almost caressing tone he -had adopted towards Gervase, “some day you will understand what I mean, -but not yet. Now forget what I have spoken and help me with your young -and nimble wits.” - -“It is madness for you to dream of it,” Gervase answered. “No man could -reach the ships by the water alone, and to land would be certain death.” - -“When we were campaigning on the Danube I swam further than that and was -none the worse for it, while the Janissaries were potting at us from -their flat-bottomed boat a good part of the way. But this is an old -story now.” - -“Ay! and you were a young man then. If any should undertake this task, -why should not I? I am sick and weary to death of what I have seen -yonder, and I had rather die once and for all than die by inches. Were -there but a chance----” - -“My lad, you must not think of it. You are young and there is still need -for you in the world. The bonnie wench yonder could ill spare you; but -there´ll be none, but mayhap yourself, to wait for the home-coming of -Ninian Macpherson; and the folk yonder are worth venturing a man´s life -for. I have been through many a siege, but I think since the beginning -of time there hath been none like this.” - -“Truly there is a fat Cathedral yard,” said Gervase bitterly, “and God -knows when it will end. There are two more of Simon´s sturdy lads dead -yesterday, and I hardly think the little girl I told you of will hold -out till the morning.” - -“Poor soul, poor soul!” he continued, “and to think that it should all -be happening under that--” and he lifted up his hand. The night was -clear and cloudless. The river lay before them reflecting the starlight -in its calm unbroken waters, and the moon lifted its slender crescent -through a mellow haze. They were about to retrace their steps along the -lines when Macpherson, whose sight was marvellously keen, caught sight -of a figure moving rapidly under the shelter of a sunken fence. He had -seen it for a moment as it showed clear against the river, as it made -its way swiftly in the shadow. He caught Gervase by the arm, pulling him -under cover of the embankment. - -“There is foul play here,” he whispered. “Yon binkie travels too fast to -have an honest errand. He will come this way, if he intend, as I verily -think he does, to pass through to the camp yonder.” - -The man made his way toward them rapidly, without stopping for a moment. -It was clear that he intended to pass the angle were they stood, and -they would not have to stir to intercept him as he passed. - -“There may be need of this,” said Macpherson, drawing his sword, “but I -think not; the traitor is nearly always a coward.” - -They could now hear the man breathing hard as he ran; he was preparing -to leap into the trench, when Macpherson presented himself before him, -with his drawn sword in his hand. - -“Stand, and give me the word.” - -The man stopped short as if astonished at the unexpected rencontre, and -then thrust his hand into his breast. But Macpherson divined his -purpose. “If you move that hand I will run you through the body,” and he -held the point of the sword perilously near the man´s throat. - -Gervase had not moved forward but was still standing in the shadow. -Something warned him that the traitor whom he had been watching so long -had made his attempt to-night, and was discovered at last. - -“Now, sir, what is your errand here to-night? if you do not answer me I -shall call the guard.” - -“You need not call the guard, Captain Macpherson. I am here on no -sinister business, but have come to seek for Mr. Gervase Orme, who, I am -told, is in the lines to-night.” - -He lifted off his hat and stood bareheaded in the midnight. As he -listened, Gervase knew that it was a lie, but did not move from his -place of concealment. - -“Good God,” cried Macpherson, “´tis the brave wench´s brother. I´m -thinking, Mr. Carew, it was a strange way you took to find the gentleman -you speak of. It looked like as if you thought to find him yonder.” - -“I am not familiar with your outworks, sir,” answered Jasper, who had -recovered his composure, and spoke with studied coolness, “and I thought -you had another line of defence along the hill.” - -“There is no accounting for a man´s thoughts,” said Macpherson, “but the -message must have been urgent that needed so much haste. In the future I -would advise you to move more circumspectly when musket balls are -plenty. Now, perhaps, as the gentleman is my friend, you will even give -me your news and I will contrive that it reaches him.” - -“It can be delivered to none but himself. If you will tell me where I -may find him, I have no doubt I can make my way thither myself.” - -“I have no doubt you could, but you see I cannot let you out of my -sight. We must even see the gentleman together.” - -“You do not mean that you doubt my word?” - -“Your word, sir, cannot interfere with my plain duty. I am one of those -who strive to give no tongue to their loose thoughts. I would think well -of you for your sister´s sake; and I think we will hear, after all, what -Mr. Orme has to say about the matter.” - -“I have no doubt,” said Carew, changing his ground as he saw that -Macpherson was inflexible, “that I have acted heedlessly in venturing -hither, and it may be best for me to return to the city. If you should -consider it well, I am ready to give any explanation that may be -necessary in the morning.” - -Macpherson smiled grimly. “I have no doubt you would, but it is a pity -that you should have come so far without fulfilling your errand; and I -think Mr. Orme hath been waiting with some impatience to hear what you -have to say to him.” - -Gervase stepped quickly forward. - -“You can go no further with this deception, Mr. Carew,” he said, “I gave -you a friendly warning before which you have not followed, and you must -suffer the consequences.” - -Carew stepped back with a look of hate on his face. “The curse of heaven -light on you for an intermeddling rogue!” he cried. “Do what you will, I -care not.” - -“You knew,” Gervase continued, “that I had learned your secret, and I -think though I may be deceived, you knew how I had learned it. I was -anxious to spare you the humiliation of making a confession of your -treachery, and for the sake of others would have averted the punishment. -But you have not taken my counsel to heart, and for myself I bitterly -regret it.” - -“I want neither your counsel nor your regret. Tell me what you mean to -do and let us have an end of it. I cannot see why I should not leave the -city if I would.” - -Macpherson had listened to this brief conversation in surprise. He had -not imagined that Gervase had had any suspicion of Jasper´s treachery, -and for a moment it pained him to think that he had withheld his -confidence. Then he said in a low tone, “Does his sister know of this?” - -“There is no need for concealment,” Gervase answered; “it was from her -that I first learned it, and I have been watching for a fortnight that -this did not happen. It will break her heart.” - -“That need not be: we will even take the law into our own hands, come of -it what will. Now, sir,” he said, turning round towards Jasper, “there -is no need for further deception, for it cannot profit you a whit. I -never doubted that you were a traitor from the moment that I caught -sight of you by the dyke yonder. You know what is the punishment of a -traitor? Hanging is not a very fit end for any man, and hanged you will -be if we carry you back to the city. I cannot tell what is your intent -in stooping to this dishonour, but I think in letting you pass I can do -but little harm. They know how it stands with us, and you can bring them -but little fresh news. Did I think of you alone, as God is my witness, I -should string you up with my own hand without compunction, but for the -sake of them that loved you, unworthy as you are, the way is open for -you. You may go. You may tell them from Ninian Macpherson that never a -man of them will put his foot inside the walls, and you have seen the -last of the city yourself.” - -For a moment Jasper could not realize the good news, and appeared -overcome by surprise. “I may be able to return your favour some day, -sir,” he said, “however poor a figure I may cut now.” - -“I would take no favour from your hands,” answered Macpherson; “now go -before my mind changes, for I doubt whether I do right in letting you -pass thus easily.” - -Without a word Carew crossed the trench and clambered up the rampart. On -the top he turned short, “I have to thank you for your kindness,” he -said, “and for the courteous speech you have made. You, sir, as I have -said I will do my best to repay, but for you, Mr. Orme, you may take my -favour now.” - -Quick as thought Gervase saw the barrel of a pistol flashing in the -moonlight, presented straight at his breast. Macpherson saw it too, and -sprang forward as if to leap the trench, when there came a blinding -flash and a loud cry as Macpherson fell forward on his face. - -Gervase followed his impulse, which was to secure the miscreant who had -done this base and cowardly act, but when he had reached the summit of -the rampart, he was rapidly disappearing in the darkness and it was -impossible to overtake him. So with a bitter feeling in his heart and -something that sounded like an imprecation on his lips, he turned back -to his wounded friend. - -The sound of the shot had attracted the attention of the men nearest to -them in the trenches; they came hurrying up believing that the attack -had begun, but when they saw Macpherson lying on the ground and Gervase -kneeling by his side, their alarm was changed to suspicion and surprise. -There was an unbroken silence in front under the quiet summer sky; not a -blade of grass was stirring on the hillside. It was clear to them that -this blow had not come from the enemy, and full of surprise and wonder, -they watched Gervase as he bent over the fallen man and opened his vest -to find the wound. - -Macpherson was still conscious; the blood that was pouring from a wound -in his breast had dyed his shirt deep red, and they noticed that he had -not let go his hold upon the hilt of his sword. But there was that look -in his face that every man in that company had seen too frequently for -months to mistake--that look in the presence of which there is no hope, -and which speaks inevitably of a speedy dissolution. It was clear to -them all that the last sands of his life had nearly run out. - -A sergeant of his regiment running up the lines had brought down a -blazing brand of fir, by the light of which Gervase stanched the flowing -blood as well as he was able. He felt his hand shaking as he bound up -the wound, nor could he trust himself to make any answer to the eager -questions that were poured upon him. It required no skill to tell that -the wound was mortal; it was only a question of hours, perhaps of -minutes; and the thought that pressed most strongly upon him was that it -was to save his life that Macpherson had lost his own. Rugged and -staunch and true, a loyal friend, a valiant soldier, he had hardly -recognized his worth or the affection he had begun to bear toward him, -until the time had come for them to part. - -From the moment that he fell Macpherson had not spoken; he lay -motionless with his face turned up and the light of the blazing torch -falling on it. Only once he pressed the hand of Gervase with a gentle -pressure; that was all the sign he gave of consciousness. A surgeon had -been sent for but there seemed to be no probability of his arriving in -time, and they hastily began to construct a hurdle on which to carry the -old soldier home. Though he had been quick to punish any breach of -discipline, he had always been forward with his praise, and they had -long since learnt that he would not ask them to go where he was not -ready to lead them. They had come to impose implicit confidence in his -wisdom and courage, while they had seen in a thousand instances that a -warm and kindly heart lay under his rugged manner and surly speech. They -had been wont to say that Roaring Meg and the old Captain were children -of the same mother; but there was many a moist eye in the trenches that -night when they learned that the old fire-eater had come to his end. - -While they were getting ready the hurdle on which to carry him to the -city, Gervase had not moved but still knelt holding his head on his -knees. The blow was so sudden and so unexpected that he had not had time -to realize it. Notwithstanding the evidence of his senses, he could not -believe that he was in the presence of death. He did not once think of -his own miraculous escape nor of how this might affect the woman he -loved, but stunned and bewildered, he endeavoured to make clear to his -own mind that his friend was dying. - -Macpherson´s lips moved and Gervase bent down to catch the words, but -for a time they were broken and inaudible. Then with an effort he lifted -his hand and motioned to the men who were gathered round, to withdraw. -He had still much difficulty in speaking but Gervase was able to catch -the meaning of his words now. - -“I´m going home, lad,” he said, “going home. I was called, and--and--you -will promise me.” - -Gervase did not speak but only pressed his hand. - -“She must never know who has done this--never till the Judgment. She is -proud, and it would break her heart. Only you and I--we know, and we -will keep the secret. You will promise; you are a good lad, and my old -heart was turned toward you.” - -Gervase was not ashamed of the tears that streamed down his face. He -brushed them away with the back of his hand, and tried to speak as well -as his feelings would permit him. - -“I am glad you promised. Don´t grieve for me; it was better that I -should go than you. The campaign is over and I am going home.” - -They placed him on the stretcher and carried him back to the city. - -Already as they passed through Bishops-Gate, the crimson light of the -dawn had filled the sky, and the stars had failed, and the shadows had -passed away in the rosy glow of the pleasant summer morning. - -As the bearers of the hurdle halted with their burden on the stone steps -of the house in which Macpherson lodged, he called out to them to stop. -“Let me look at it once more before I go. I´ll never see it again.” - -And so they stood there in silence fronting the sunrise; he raised his -head for a minute and then motioned to them to carry him in. They laid -him in his own bed, and left Gervase and the surgeon to examine his -wound. - -But it was evident that nothing could be done for him. He was already -past all mortal aid, and as he suffered from no pain they had only to -wait for the end that would not be long in coming. - -“He´ll no´ need my aid, Mr. Orme,” said Saunderson, “for there´s none of -us could bring him round. ´Tis a pity there´s no woman body to close his -eyes; but I´m told he was a fine soldier, and I´ll look in and see the -last of him mysel´.” - -“No one shall touch him but myself,” said Gervase, “I shall never have -such a friend again, and God knows there is none will miss him as I -will.” - -Gervase had never been in the room before, and as he sat down by the bed -he looked round him with a saddened interest. On the table lay the -leather-bound volume he remembered so well. Above the bed hung a broad -sword with its hilt of silver richly chased, and he could see from where -he sat, that there was a legend upon the blade. A pair of spurs, a -silver-mounted pistol, and a long pipe of foreign make, lay on the -mantelshelf. A couple of high-backed chairs, a few simple cooking -utensils in the hearth, and an oak press, the doors of which lay open, -were all the furniture in the room. It looked bare and comfortless, and -it seemed to add to the pathos of the tragedy that a man with so much -that was gallant and loveable, should die friendless and unregretted in -a room like this. - -Gervase had found a little wine in a bottle and with this he moistened -Macpherson´s lips from time to time. He lay motionless all day with his -eyes half closed, but toward evening he seemed to Gervase to grow -delirious, and began to talk in a rambling way, with a thick and broken -utterance. His mind was busy with his old campaigning days, and his -speech was full of foreign cities, and of battles and sieges and -ambuscades, and of women he had loved in his wild free life. There was -no coherence in the matter; only a meaningless confusion of unfamiliar -names. Only once before had he raised the curtain that hung over his -past life, but he had made no secret of the fact that his youth had been -a riotous one and full of wayward passion; and he had seemed to have -broken with it utterly. But now it had all come back again, and his mind -was full of the tavern brawl and the low intrigue and the horrors of -sack and siege. It was strange to hear the old man with the white head -and haggard face that had grown so old looking in a day, babbling of the -fierce delights of his youth as if he were living among them again. -Gervase would willingly have closed his ears but he was in a manner -fascinated by it. - -“A thousand devils, here they come. Lord, what a change! They ride as if -Hell were loose after them. The pike men will never stand. Close down -your ranks. There they go, rolling one after another. Pooh! a mere -scratch. I´ll pour out my own wine and drink it too; a woman´s lips are -sweeter after a draught like that. Open the windows; we want air--air -and a song. Jack will----” - -Then he gave a loud cry and started up as if in pain. “Oh, God! I have -killed him--wipe it off, that is his blood upon my sword--wipe it off, I -tell you. You see how his eyes will not shut; they stare at me as if he -were still alive. You she-devil, I will kill you as I killed him. I -cannot draw this blade from the scabbard. Listen, and I will tell you -why: his blood hath glued it fast, and I can never draw it again--never. -Pooh! you are a fool.” - -So he rambled on, while Gervase sat compelled to listen and put together -the history of that stirring and eventful life. Then the paroxysm died -away, and exhausted with his passion he lay quiet, only his lips moving -and his spare brown hands catching at the coverlet. Once or twice -Gervase thought he heard his own name, but it might have been mere -fancy, for it was now impossible to catch the words his lips tried to -frame. - -According to his promise, Saunderson had looked in during the course of -the evening, but as he said, rather to cheer the watcher than in the -hope of assisting the patient. He had been amazed at the great hold he -had upon life, for no ordinary man could have survived such a wound for -an hour. “He’ll be away before the morn,” he said; “you can see how he´s -trying to loose himsel´. Man, ´tis a strange thing this dying, and we a´ -take our ain gait about it. Some die hard like the auld man there, and -some slip off easily, but licht or hard ´tis a´ ane. I´ve seen a guid -few lately. I´m afeard ye can´t sit here this nicht, and I´ll look up -some stout body to tak´ your place.” - -But Gervase would not hear of it. He had determined to see the last of -his friend and was determined to spend the night at his bedside. He had -seated himself in the chair by the window, and had taken up the little -book which bore the owner´s name on the title page and the words -“Utrecht, 1664,” and was worn and marked by repeated using. He read on -till the sunset had died away and it became too dark to see the page. -Then he closed the book and went downstairs in search of a light. - -When he came back with the lighted candle in his hand, Macpherson was -sitting up in the bed, with his eyes staring wide open and his hands -stretched out. The wound had burst out afresh and the blood had stained -the white counterpane. - -“Listen, Gervase,” he said, “listen, my son! Do you hear how he is -calling me? I would know the sound of his voice among ten thousand--the -sound of his voice that I loved. I would have waited for you, but I knew -him first and loved him first, and I cannot tarry. Jack, dear Jack, good -comrade, I am coming. Oh! the marvellous light--” He struggled as if to -leave the bed and Gervase was running forward to restrain him, when he -fell back on the pillow, with his eyes and mouth wide open. At a glance -Gervase saw that it was all over; his faithful friend was dead, and -there was no need for watching now. As he stood for a long time looking -at him, the hard and rugged face seemed to soften into a smile, and the -lines that were cut deep in the forehead and the cheeks had disappeared, -and he lay like one asleep. The fight was indeed over, and the reveille -would awaken him from his rest no more. - - * * * * * - -They buried him the next day in the Cathedral yard, four men of his own -regiment carrying the body on the stretcher on which they had brought -him home. As Gervase saw him laid in the shallow grave, he felt that he -had lost the best friend and the truest comrade he was ever likely to -find. And there the ashes of the old soldier still lie mingled with -those of many another who fell in the same quarrel and found a -resting-place there from all their labours. In after days Gervase -erected a tablet to his memory, with nothing more than the name and the -date upon it and these words: “He laid down his life for his friend.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - OF A GREAT ADVENTURE. - - -Macpherson died toward the end of the second week in July, when the city -had already begun to suffer the dire extremities of famine. The -provisions in the magazines were almost exhausted; the meal and the -tallow were doled out with a sparing hand. Already the citizens had -begun to live upon food that at other times they would have turned from -in disgust and loathing. Horse-flesh was almost becoming a luxury, dogs, -rats, and cats were greedily devoured, and even of these the supply was -beginning to fail. Putrid fevers had broken out which carried off -multitudes; loathsome diseases of the skin grew common, and even the -strongest began to find it hard to draw themselves to the walls or to -help in repelling the frequent attacks on the outposts. Added to this, -there was hardly a whole roof in the city, for during two months the -iron hail had been continually pouring upon them. Many of them felt -indeed that death would be a welcome relief, and they envied those who -were already laid in the churchyard. But still they held out grimly, and -with faces blackened with hunger, declared that they were ready to die -rather than surrender. The spirit that may still be found here and there -in the Imperial Province burned with an unabated flame--a pride which -two centuries has not been able to remove, and strong almost to -fanaticism. Yet it was not to be wondered at that discontent and -suspicion should grow and spread. Some few proved insubordinate, others -deserted to the enemy, but for the most part they stood loyally by their -leaders. - -Hamilton who was now in command of the royal troops, believing that the -time had come when his overtures would be listened to, had sent a -message containing liberal terms, but after some fruitless negotiations, -they refused his offer and determined to hold out. A messenger had been -able to find his way from the ships with a letter which had revived -their hopes a little, but they had lost all faith in Kirke, and looked -only with stubborn despair to the time when they could defend themselves -no longer. - -After the death of Macpherson, Gervase had gone about his duty as -before, but he had greatly missed the wise and faithful counsellor whose -friendly comfort had helped him to bear his trials. The blow that he had -sustained had been very great, and he had felt unwilling to face Dorothy -Carew while the wound was still fresh. He had determined to observe the -old soldier´s dying injunction that she should not know by whose hand he -had fallen; and he himself would have desired even if the command had -not been laid upon him that she should remain in ignorance of it. He -knew that she had already suffered much, and he was desirous of sparing -her further pain. Jasper had not appeared again in the city nor was it -likely that he would, so that it could serve no purpose of any sort to -denounce him as the murderer. - -When he had summoned up courage and met Dorothy for the first time since -Macpherson´s death, she had displayed much emotion, but it had not -occurred to her that she was connected in any way with the old soldier´s -end. She had told Gervase that her brother had disappeared, and that she -had no doubt he had gone over to the enemy, but the subject was one on -which she seemed naturally unwilling to dwell much, and he on his part -did not press it. It struck him, however, as singular that she did not -mention De Laprade; and it was only in answer to his inquiry that she -told him that he was making rapid progress towards recovery. She herself -was looking very ill and wretched--so ill that Gervase was alarmed at -her appearance, and her eyes were red as if she had been weeping -recently. - -“I thought I was strong and able to bear anything,” she said, “but my -heart is breaking. Is there no hope for us anywhere?” - -“There is always hope----” - -“I see that you can give me no comfort. My aunt is dying slowly, and she -bears it very patiently. In a day or two there will be no more food and -then----” - -“And then there will be plenty if God helps us, Miss Carew,” Gervase -went on. “You have not despaired till now. You have shown us an example -in patient courage we might all have profited by, and you must not let -your heart fail you now. You may tell Lady Hester she will not have long -to wait. In three days the ships will be at the quays and all will be -well.” - -“I think you have always told me the truth,” she said; “but how is this -to happen?” - -“When we meet again I shall tell you that and more; you must not ask me -now, but I believe I speak sincerely and with truth.” - -“I have always trusted you.” - -“And always may; there is nothing I would not try to do for your sake. -But I am growing a boaster, and I have done nothing and perhaps can do -nothing. Only do not let your heart fail. When we meet again I trust the -joybells will be ringing, and there will be bonfires on the ramparts; if -not----” - -“It is too good news. We have waited so long but it seems as far away as -ever.” - -“I think it is coming now. Miss Carew, if we should never meet again, I -want you to remember that I thought of you till the last, and that all I -did was done--nay I should not say that. I feel that we shall meet -again.” - -She looked at him with a look of awakened fear. “You are not going into -any great peril?” - -“We live among them, one and all of us.” - -“But you----” - -“Would only carry your thoughts with me--Dorothy, my best beloved,” he -cried, taking her hand in his, “before I go I want you to say you love -me as I love you.” - -She drew her hand away quickly. - -“I cannot I cannot. I will tell you why hereafter. My God! I love you.” - -He caught her in his arms and kissed her again and again unresistingly. -Then she tore herself from his embrace, and with a stifled cry rushed -from the room. But he went away happy, with her last words ringing in -his ears, and feeling himself ready to do the work he was about to -undertake. For while he was talking to Dorothy he had hastily formed a -resolution that was lying dormant in his mind for days. In his last -conversation with Macpherson, the old soldier had declared his intention -of reaching the ships, and Gervase had been dwelling on the project for -the last ten days. He knew the task was full of deadly peril--it had -already been twice attempted without success, and it seemed so hopeless -that he had shrunk from undertaking it. But the sight of Dorothy´s thin -and wasted face had removed all his doubts, and he had determined to -make one last effort to induce Kirke to undertake the relief. He himself -believed that the undertaking was not nearly so formidable as it seemed, -and if once a move was made he did not doubt that the boom would prove -no very serious barrier. But the great problem was to reach the ships -which were lying far down the river. On both sides of the bank the enemy -were watching with a vigilance which it seemed impossible to escape. -Even if he succeeded in eluding them, he could hardly hope to swim the -long six miles in the condition he was in, and to land was almost -certain death. But he made up his mind to make the attempt and to trust -to the chapter of accidents to carry him safely through. - - * * * * * - -As he went to look for Walker from whom he desired to obtain his -credentials, he felt strong enough for anything. Had not he heard from -the sweetest lips in the world the sweetest words he had ever heard -spoken. Had he not everything to move him to the attempt? If he lived he -would show her that he was not unworthy of her love, for this deed was -one that all men would not attempt, and few could carry safely through. -There was glory in it and renown, though it was neither glory nor renown -that he sought. - -When he had told the old colonel of his intentions, the latter at first -tried to dissuade him. He was only flinging his life away, he said, for -nothing. Others had tried and failed; he could not hope to succeed. Even -if he succeeded in reaching the ships, which he could not do, he could -tell them nothing that they did not know there. Kirke was a coward or a -traitor, and they could not hope for help from him. He could send them -letters that meant nothing, but that was all. But Gervase was not to be -dissuaded by any argument. He had set his heart upon making the attempt, -and his resolution was so evident that at length Walker unwillingly -consented, and with a homely piety commended him to the protection of -Providence that, however it might frown, had not forsaken them. - -“We will say nothing of this to any,” he had said, “but will keep the -matter closely to ourselves, for the folk yonder have long ears and can -hear our whispers here. Some time before midnight we will even go down -to the Waterside together, and as you are a brave man and a courageous, -there is one old man who will pray for your safe keeping and -deliverance. I shall have the epistle writ out, and I pray God Kirke may -be the first to read it.” - -Gervase´s preparations for his adventure were easily made. He had left a -letter in which he had made a disposal of his effects, in case anything -happened to him, and had written another which was addressed to Dorothy -Carew. The only weapon he had provided himself with was a small hunting -knife that had belonged to Macpherson, which he hoped he would not -require to use but which might prove useful in an emergency. There had -been some rain during the day, and the night promised to be dark and -cloudy. So long as there was no moonlight there was a possibility of his -making the attempt with a reasonable chance of success, but should the -moon show herself he could hardly hope to remain undiscovered. - -The time hung heavily on his hands while he waited for the hour when he -was to meet Walker, and then he found himself trembling with feverish -impatience. Walker, however, insisted on his taking supper before he -left, and it was weeks since Gervase had seen so plentiful a meal spread -before him. The old colonel watched him with a serious admiration as he -made huge inroads on the food, and when Gervase had finished, he went to -a cupboard and produced a flask. - -“You have had the last of the meat,” he said, taking the cork out of the -bottle, “and now you are going to have the last of the drink. There are -two glasses left, and you shall have both of them. Whenever we meet -again, if Heaven pleases, we will crack a bottle together. I love a -brave lad, and if age had not taken the oil out of my joints, I should -have liked nothing better than to bear you company. Now drink that off -for it will keep you warm in the water.” - -Going down Ship Quay Street together, they passed through the gate and -came out upon the quay. The night was very dark and a slight drizzling -rain had begun to fall. On both sides of the river they could see many -lights, some moving, some stationary, and could hear the sound of voices -calling and answering from the other bank. But the river was flowing -darkly at their feet, and a night better suited for his purpose Gervase -could hardly have found. When he had divested himself of his boots coat -and vest, he stuck the short knife in his belt, and fastened round his -waist with a strip of canvas the piece of bladder in which the letter -from Walker was rolled. - -“God bless you, my lad, and send you safe back to us. I feel even like -the patriarch when he would have offered up his son, but here too, it is -my trust the Lord will not require a life.” - -“I feel that I shall come back, colonel,” said Gervase; “never fear for -me. Have the bonfires ready to give us a welcome.” - -The old man in the excess of his emotion, took him in his arms and -kissed him on the forehead, and then Gervase wringing his hand, dropped -noiselessly into the water and struck out into the stream. He knew that -it was necessary for him to husband his strength for it would all be -needed; so after he found himself well in the middle of the river, he -began to swim slowly, and to let the current carry him down. If the -night should continue dark it would be impossible that he could be -discovered from the land; he himself could only dimly make out the -banks, and trusted to the lights to help him to direct his course. But -the rain had ceased and he feared that the clouds were beginning to -break; in the moonlight they could hardly fail to see him. - -Still, every yard he made was a yard nearer safety, and to some extent -lessened the chances of discovery, for the further he descended the -stream, the more lax in all likelihood would their vigilance become. - -As he swam on steadily with a slow strong stroke, his thoughts were busy -with many things. - -He thought of Dorothy, who loved him and would repay him for his labour; -of Macpherson, whose brave spirit was perhaps keeping him company on -this perilous venture; and pardonably enough, of the honour he would -gain for this deed. It never occurred to him that having reached the -ships there would be any difficulty about the relief of the city. When -once his story had been told, they must up with their anchors, if there -was any manhood among them, and try the mettle of their guns. He -imagined to himself with what joy Dorothy would welcome him back when he -came among the first with the good news. - -So he swam on for half an hour carried slowly down by the current, and -then for the first time he began to feel that he had overestimated his -strength, and that his extremities were growing numb and cold. He had -long since passed the lights of Pennyburn; he must now be coming close -to the boom where would be his first great danger, for the lights yonder -on either side of the river must be the lights of the forts that guarded -the barrier. The water seemed somehow to have grown colder and less -buoyant, and worst of all, the moon was beginning to show through the -masses of broken cloud. Three months ago he would have found little -difficulty in swimming twice the distance, but now he dragged himself -with difficulty through the water, and his shoulders were growing stiff -and painful. What if he failed to reach the fleet after all! His mind -was filled with despair at the thought, and he pulled himself together -with an effort and swam on with an obstinate determination to keep -himself afloat. With the wind blowing freshly, the waves came leaping -past him with an icy shiver that seemed to take away his strength. - -But there was gradually forcing itself upon his mind the conviction -that, after all, he must land and make his way upon foot till he came -opposite to where the ships were riding at anchor. It would be better to -make for the shore at once while three hours of darkness still remained, -for when the light came it would be impossible to travel. While he was -making up his mind as to where it would be safest for him to land, the -moon came out suddenly with a startling brilliance, lighting up the -river and the banks on either side. He could now see Charles Fort -distinctly, and he fancied that he could discern lying across the river -the dark fabric of the boom, with the water leaping into white waves -against it. It was out of the question to attempt to cross the barrier -now; even where he was swimming his position was perilous in the -extreme. - -Then he saw, near the shore, a small hooker lying at anchor, and almost -without knowing why he struck out towards it. There was little or no -likelihood of there being anyone on board and if, as seemed to be the -case, he should have to lie concealed the whole of the day, he might -find some food on board the little craft. He swam cautiously round her, -but he could hear no sound; then catching hold of the cable, he lifted -himself up by the bowsprit and found himself on board. She was decked -forward, and though he did not know for what purpose she was used, there -was a large gun covered with a piece of canvas lying amidships. But -though there was no one on board, a small lamp suspended from a beam was -burning dimly in the forecastle. He felt that it would not be wise to -tarry long, so diving hastily down the companion, he began to -investigate the contents of the lockers. In one he found several louis -which he left undisturbed, but in another to his joy he discovered some -oat-cakes and a quantity of rum in a case bottle. The latter was -particularly welcome, and after a dram he felt that he had got a new -lease of strength and vigour. - -The circulation was beginning to return to his hands and feet. He sat -down on the edge of a bunk and chafed his limbs till the cramp that he -had begun to experience, was entirely gone. He was beginning to think -that it was time to take his departure, when he heard the sound of oars -creaking in their rowlocks and voices almost alongside. Hastily -extinguishing the light he drew out the knife with which he was armed, -and creeping out of the forecastle dropped cautiously down close to the -great gun, where he concealed himself under the canvas. Then as the bow -of a boat grated against the side of the hooker, he could see from where -he lay a man and a lad clambering on board, the latter with the painter -in his hand. “Make fast,” said the former, “and come and help me to get -the mainsail up. They´ll be aboard in an hour.” - -The man made his way into the forecastle growling and swearing at the -lamp having gone out, while the boy clambered over the boom and made -fast the painter to a ring in the stern-sheets. Gervase had hoped that -the boy might have followed the man into the forecastle, and that he -himself might then have dropped overboard unperceived. But in this he -was disappointed, for the boy instead of going below began to unloose -the earing by which the mainsail was fastened, whistling as he did so -with a clear shrill note that Gervase remembered for years afterwards. - -Presently the man came up from below swearing at the boy for the noise -he was making, and began to take in a fathom or two of the cable by -which the craft was moored. There seemed to Gervase no chance of -escaping unperceived, and a better opportunity than this might not -present itself. So while the man knelt with his back turned towards him, -and the boy was fumbling with the halyards in the darkness, he rose from -his place of concealment and leaped upon the bulwark. - -The lad hearing the noise turned round with a look of terror on his -face. “Holy Mother of God!” he cried, “it´s a spirit;” and as the man -turned round where he was kneeling at the cat-heads, he seemed for a -moment to share his belief and participate in his alarm. - -As Gervase dropped noiselessly into the water they were both too -bewildered to raise any alarm, and the river bed was already under his -feet before he heard their outcry. Then they called out loudly to -someone on the shore. Wading through the water toward the land, Gervase -noticed for the first time a low fort built of sods and rough timber -close to the bank. At the hubbub that was raised by the crew of the -hooker, the door was opened and a man came down towards the water´s edge -in the uniform of a French sergeant. - -Seeing Gervase come upon the bank and mistaking him for one of the crew -he called out, “_Que le diable faites-vous ce bruit, coquin?_” But as he -came down and saw the young fellow closer, clad only in his shirt and -breeches, he immediately divined what was wrong and came running down -the bank. Gervase waited till he came close up; then, and it was an old -trick he had learned years before, he put out his foot and struck him a -tremendous blow with his left hand. The man went headlong into the -water, and without waiting to see what became of him, Gervase ran at -full speed along the bank, and never halted to take breath till he found -himself in the shelter of the wood, that at that time grew thick along -the bank. - -He knew that in a short time the pursuit would be hot after him and that -there was not a moment to be lost. But to hasten was another matter; his -feet were torn and bleeding, and so painful that he could hardly put -them to the ground. While he sat down to rest his head swam like one in -a vertigo. But if he was to carry out his mission he could not rest now. -He tore off a piece of his shirt which he wrapped tightly round his -wounded feet, and set off again. The only way in which he could make -certain that he was travelling in the right direction was by keeping -close to the river, which he caught sight of from time to time through -the trees. But his motion was necessarily slow; it was terrible work -picking his way over the fallen branches and rough stones that jarred -his nerves whenever he set his feet upon them. But the fate of the city -was on his shoulders and the hope of the woman he loved. - -It seems strange to me, the writer, and may seem strange to you who -read, but the last words of his sweetheart restored his drooping heart -and renewed his failing strength whenever he thought of them through -this adventurous journey. - -The night was nearly over and the dawn was coming up, when he still -found himself in the wood, dragging one foot slowly after another. How -far he had gone he could not tell, but he knew that he must have -travelled several miles, and could not be far from his destination. He -feared to leave the shelter of the wood, but he knew that he could not -spend the day here, for he was already becoming weary and was consumed -by a raging thirst. After a while the wood broke and there was a stretch -of fields before him, with farther on some growing timber and a ruined -building. - -But with awakened hope he could now see the ships where they rode at -anchor some two miles away. While it was yet a grey light he determined -to take advantage of it, and gladly left the tangle of the wood for the -soft, green turf that gave him some relief in walking. Then he came to a -running water where he quenched his thirst and bathed his wounds. -Following the course of the stream would bring him to the beach where -there was standing a house, probably a fisherman´s cottage, surrounded -by a fence and a few fruit trees growing about it. It was yet probably -too early for the inmates to be astir, and the hope dawned upon him that -he might perhaps be able to find a boat upon the beach, for he knew that -any thought of swimming was now out of the question. There was a further -advantage in following the little stream, for the briars grew thick -along its course and would afford him shelter, while the country was -open beyond. He did not hesitate, but set off with as much speed as he -could make. His destination was now in sight and his chance of escape -had considerably increased. If he had only another half hour of -twilight, he thought; but this was not to be, for it was rapidly growing -lighter, and as he came down to the cottage it was already broad day. - -He had just gained the fence that surrounded the cottage, when looking -back he saw a body of dragoons beating the edge of the wood that he had -left half an hour before. They had not caught sight of him for their -attention was fixed on the fern and briars that skirted the wood, but he -had not a moment to lose. He could not retrace his steps and so gain the -friendly shelter of the little stream, nor could he now make for the -beach as had been at first his intention. But crushing his way through -the thorn hedge, he came into a little garden. The door of the house was -lying open, and he saw what he had not noticed before, that the inmates -must be already astir, for a thick smoke was rising into the morning -air. He knew that his pursuers could not fail to find him in the garden, -and he determined to take his chance, and to trust to the humanity of -the people in the cottage to conceal him. This resolution he had taken -not without some hope of finding friends, for there was a homeliness and -air of comfort in the place that seemed to him little in keeping with -the character of the Celt. - -When he entered the door he found himself in a spacious kitchen. A woman -was standing on the hearth cooking some fish that gave forth an -appetizing smell. As she heard him coming in she dropped the frying pan, -and running over to the corner of the dresser, seized an old musket that -was lying against it. - -“For God´s sake, hear me,” cried Gervase; “do not shoot.” - -“What do you want?” she said, still holding the weapon ready for use and -looking at him with a doubtful air. Her speech at once assured him that -he had found a friend. - -“I have come from the city,” he said; “I have been travelling all night -and am trying for the ships. The dragoons are after me now, and if you -do not help me, I will be taken.” - -She dropped the musket, and running over took hold of him by both hands. -“My poor lad, my poor lad,” she cried, “you are but a woeful sight. If -they haven´t seen you coming in I think I can save you. My good man lay -a day in the loft and they couldn´t find him, though they searched high -up and low down. He´s in the city like yourself and now--but I would -like to ask you a question or two. Where are they now?” - -“Close by the edge of the wood and I think they are coming down this -way.” - -“Then my questions will keep. You´ll step softly after me, for the young -folk are still asleep upstairs, and it would never do they should see -you now. I was before Derry myself,” she continued, as she led the way -up the ladder to the loft above the kitchen, “but they are well-mannered -enough and don´t trouble me now.” - -In the loft above were two beds, in one of which three flaxen-headed -boys were lying sound asleep, and as Gervase followed her the woman gave -a warning gesture, and stopped for a moment to look at them. Then with -Gervase´s assistance she noiselessly pulled away the other bed, and -disclosed a recess in the wall which was wide enough to admit him. “Get -in there,” she said, “and I´ll call you when they are gone. If they -haven´t seen you they´ll never think of looking there; if they have, God -help me and the children--but I´ll do more than that for the good -cause.” - -When she had left him and had gone down the ladder after replacing the -bed, Gervase began to regret that he had imperilled the safety of the -kindly soul who had shown anxiety to assist him. But it was not his own -safety that was at stake; it was that of the city and the lives of the -citizens. - -He lay listening for the sound of his pursuers, but the moments seemed -to lengthen into hours and still they did not make their appearance. -Meanwhile the good woman downstairs had gone on cooking the breakfast -for herself and the children, and had set out the rough earthenware on -the table by the window. When she saw the dragoons coming across the -fields straight toward the house, she walked to the threshold and met -them with an unconcerned smile on her face. “You are early astir this -morning,” she said. “Is there to be more trouble in these parts? I´m -thinking, Captain Lambert, I´ve seen you before.” - -“Troth, that is very possible,” was the answer, “and I don´t think you -have seen the last of me either. Now, look here, I want you to tell me -the truth, a thing most women find hard enough to do, but the truth I -must have or I´ll know the reason, why. Have you seen anybody afoot this -morning?” - -She looked at him with an air of well-assumed astonishment.--"Why, ´tis -barely five, and the children, bless their hearts, are still abed. My -good man, you know, is away yonder, and the neighbours don´t trouble me -now." - -“Come, my lads, we must search the house. We´ll get nothing out of her, -she´s as close as perdition.” - -“If you´ll tell me what you want,” she said, “I would try and answer -you. The boys are sleeping upstairs and there is nobody below but -myself.” - -“A fellow from the city has come this way, and I´ll take my oath he´s -here or hereabouts.” - -“God help him then, for I think he´ll get little further.” - -“That´s as may be, but we´ll see if he´s here at any rate. Now, my men, -don´t leave a mousehole that you don´t go to the bottom of. I´ve a -shrewd suspicion that he´s not far off.” - -They searched the garden and lower part of the house without success, -and then ascended the ladder into the loft. The boys were asleep when -they came up, but the noise awakened them, and frightened at the red -coats of whom they stood in deadly terror, they set up a great crying -which highly amused the soldiers. It may also have somewhat diverted -their attention, for they failed to find the hiding-place in which -Gervase lay concealed. Returning downstairs they reported that it was -impossible that the prisoner could have concealed himself above, at -which the good woman who was entertaining the captain, expressed her -unbounded surprise. - -“I thought,” she said, “you would have brought him down with you. I´m -sure my man would be glad to hear there was somebody in his wife´s -bedroom. But you have strange notions, you soldiers, and I´m sorry, -Captain, I can´t ask you to stay and share the breakfast with me.” - -The dragoon laughed good-humouredly and flung a couple of coins on the -table. “We´re not so black as we´re painted,” he said, “and there´s for -your trouble; but had we found him it would have been another story. -Now, my men, to the rightabout and let us make up the stream the way we -came. He hasn´t left the wood yet.” - -When they had quitted the house, the woman took her pail and followed -them as far as the well, watching them till they had reached the wood -and disappeared among the trees. Then she released Gervase from his -hiding-place and he was now in no enviable condition either of mind or -of body. He was so weak that he found it difficult to make his way down -the ladder into the kitchen, and he could scarcely set his feet to the -ground. The woman looked at him with a face on which compassion was -plainly written; then she went over to a press and took out a coat that -belonged to her husband, a coarse shirt, and a pair of worsted -stockings. “Now,” she said, “just step behind there, and make yourself -cosy in these. If Sandy Graham was at home he would make you welcome to -the best he has. Then you´ll come and sit down and tell me about my good -man and the city, and how they fare there while I make ready something -to eat, for God knows you look as if you needed it.” - -Gervase gladly did as he was directed, and when he was dressed, as -gladly fell to upon the fresh fish and coarse bread which seemed to him -the sweetest meat he had ever partaken of in his life. - -While he went on with his breakfast he answered the numerous inquiries -as well as he was able, while the boys, who were now stirring, gathered -round in admiration of the young giant for whom their father´s ample -coat was far too scanty. “I´m sorry you don´t know Sandy,” she said; “it -would have been some comfort to know that you had seen him. I knew it -was ill with you in the city, but I never thought it was as bad as that. -They´ll be thinking of ye now with an anxious heart.” - -“They know nothing about me,” Gervase said; “only Colonel Walker and -myself are in the secret. If I fail----” - -“Tut, man, ye´ll not fail now. I think,” she went on, looking at him -admiringly, “ye could find a way in anything. You just take a rest on -the bed upstairs, and I´ll watch that you´re not disturbed. They´re not -bad bodies, the redcoats, and they haven´t troubled me much since I came -back from Londonderry. In the evening I´ll see you farther.” - -“If I only could find a boat,” Gervase said: “I could never reach the -fleet by swimming now.” - -“I´ve been thinking of that,” she answered; “there´s a bit of a coble -lying in the cove, but the oars are gone and it must be leaky as a -sieve, for it had been lying there all the summer.” - -Gervase caught the idea eagerly. “Anything that will keep me afloat; I -care not what it is. Mistress Graham, we´ll save the city between us.” - -“There ye go,” she said, with a smile of gratified vanity. “Ye could -never make the two miles in yon crazy tub, but I´ll see through the day -if I can´t turn my hand to caulking her myself. I´ve seen it done and I -think I can try it, but what you´ll do for oars I know not. However, the -tide will help you and you´ll manage somehow, never fear. It will be a -great day when ye meet Sandy in the Diamond, and tell him I helped you -through.” - -Throughout the day Gervase remained undisturbed in the cottage. A patrol -had been stationed a little distance further along the shore, but they -had not again visited the house. Two or three times he heard their -shouts as they passed at a distance. Mistress Graham had kept her -promise, and as well as she was able, had patched up the little boat, -which she dragged into the water and left floating in the cove. By using -one of the planks which had been left in the little craft as a paddle, -she hoped that he would be able to make his way to the ships. All was -now ready for his journey, and it only wanted the help of the darkness -to allow him to set out. - - * * * * * - -It was a bright moonlight night when they went down to the beach -together. There was not an air to ruffle the surface of the water, and -they could see very plainly a couple of miles away the riding lights of -the ships at anchor. The patrol that had been in the vicinity of the -cottage during the day had apparently been withdrawn, for they had not -been in sight since sundown. Gervase found the coble more than half full -of water, which took him some time to bale out, and when he was ready to -start he wrung the hand of the kind-hearted woman warmly. “I have no -time to spare,” he said. “God reward you for all your kindness! You had -better go back to the house now, for if I should be discovered it would -only bring you into trouble. I hope we´ll meet under better fortune. -Farewell.” - -He pushed off, and sitting down amid ships began to make his way slowly -from the shore. The woman returned to the door of the cottage, where she -stood watching till the black speck was swallowed up in the darkness. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - OF HOW GERVASE REACHED THE SHIPS. - - -The coble was a poor sea boat and very heavy for its size. The piece of -timber that Gervase used was a wretched substitute for an oar, and while -the tide carried him rapidly down he could see that he made little -progress towards the ships. If he should drift past them it was -impossible that he could ever make his way against the current, and he -must be carried out to sea. Fortunately the night was clear, and the -wind blew in fitful airs, coming from the shore. Notwithstanding his -utmost exertion the boat hardly seemed to move, and when he looked round -it was already two hundred yards from the shore. He knew that he was -still far from being safe from pursuit. He could still easily be seen -from the shore in the broad moonlight, and once observed his pursuers -would have no difficulty in finding a boat in which they might easily -overtake him. He put his heart into every stroke, till the perspiration -began to run from his brows and his arms ached till he could almost have -cried out for the pain. But he was making his way, however slowly; he -could now see the vessels and the yards with the sails flapping idly -against the masts. Over the water came the sound of a bell, perhaps -calling up the watch, and for the first time he realized how near he was -to safety. But the boat seemed to him to go more slowly, and to have -grown more difficult to move. Then he looked down and saw that the water -was almost up to the thwarts. There was nothing for it but to abandon -the paddle and bale out the water, which proved a long and laborious -task. When he had accomplished little more than half the work, he saw -that a little more delay would bring him opposite to the ships and still -far from being within hail. Again he seized his paddle and strained -every nerve to make up the way he had lost. His mind was almost -distraught with fear; he worked like one possessed; nearer indeed, he -came, but Oh! how slowly. The boat would not move in this sea of lead; -his muscles were beginning to refuse to act, and to his eyes the sea had -grown red, like a sea of blood. His last hope was dying in his heart. To -be so near the end of his journey, to have passed through such perils, -and to have failed after all--the thought was maddening. Still he would -not give way, and he knitted his brows and set his teeth hard. Then as -he bent forward the paddle slipped from his hand, and went floating away -astern. With a despairing cry, weakened as he was, he fell down in the -bottom of the boat, and covered his face with his hands. It was all -over; he was beaten at last, and had failed as the others had failed -before him. For a minute or two he lay overcome by his despair; the -sense of hopeless failure swallowed up every other feeling. The thought -of present danger did not present itself to his mind; he had seen too -many brave men meet their death in these latter days not willingly to -adventure his own life lightly. His head reeled, his mouth was parched, -and his eyes throbbed with an intolerable pain. Then almost without -knowing what he did, he rose to his feet and tried to call out. At first -he could not articulate the words, but his voice died away in a feeble -murmur. How near he seemed! the spars stood out plainly against the sky, -and the lights were burning clear and bright. He thought once he could -hear the sound of the mariners calling as they lay out on the spars of -the brig that was riding nearest to him. - -Again he called out--"Ship Ahoy!" and this time his voice came strong -and full, but though he stood and listened there was no response to his -shout. A third time he called out, and then to his inexpressible delight -he heard a hoarse voice coming over the water, “Ahoy! what boat is -that?” - -Rising once more to his feet he called through his hands, “Help! Help!” -and sank exhausted in the bottom of the boat, incapable of making any -further effort. He waited anxiously but there came no further response, -and the little boat went drifting down with the tide. He began to fear -that they had not heard his second call. Then--hours after it seemed--he -heard the measured sweep of oars and the sound of voices coming nearer. -But for his life he could not raise himself above the gunwhale; his -strength had left him, and he was as feeble as a child. - -But they had caught sight of the little craft where it tossed about in -the space of moonlit water, and in a minute or two the ship´s boat was -alongside. Gervase was trying without success to answer the questions -the mate of the brig was putting to him. Divining at a glance his -condition they lifted him into the boat, and one of the seamen with -kindly pity threw his rough jacket over him as they rowed to the brig. -He lay in the bottom of the boat utterly helpless and unable to move; -but his heart was full of inexpressible emotion, for he had accomplished -his work and saved the city. - -He remembered rowing round the brig and seeing the words “Phoenix of -Coleraine” painted in large white letters on the stern, but he fainted -away as they lifted him over the side of the boat, and knew nothing more -till he found himself lying in the round-house of the brig. - -“What piece of goods have ye got there, McKeller?” the master said, -standing by the shrouds, and looking over the bulwark as they lifted -Gervase aboard. - -“As fine a lad as ever I saw in my life, but thin as a whipping-post--a -messenger I think, from Londonderry. Gently, my lads, easy with his -head. Six feet two of manhood, and I guess a rare good one with his -whinger if he had his senses about him.” - -They carried him to the round-house, and laying him on the floor, poured -a dram of aqua-vitæ down his throat, but for a long time he showed no -sign of life. Then they noticed the letter where it was secured. - -“You were right, McKeller,” said the master, as he handed the case -bottle to the mate, “the youngster comes from Londonderry, and he brings -the message with him. Mayhap ´twill stir up the Colonel at last, and I -trust it will, for the sake of Tom Robinson and my sister Marjorie. My -God! what that young fellow must have come through; and a gentleman too, -as I judge by the gewgaws on his finger.” - -“Ay,” answered the mate drily, “and you have given him a pint of pure -spirits by way of welcome. You´ll hardly hear about Tom Robinson for a -while after that.” - -“Never fear; these long-legged fellows stand a lot of moistening. I -wouldn´t for half my share in the good ship Phoenix have missed hearing -the lad´s hail this night; he never would have lived through a night in -the boat--but he´s beginning to come round.” - -Gervase showed signs of returning consciousness. His first action was to -feel for the precious letter, and then he opened his eyes and looked -round him with a gaze of vacant inquiry. “Where am I?” he said. - -“Why, just aboard the brig _Phoenix_, Andrew Douglas, Master, hailing -from Coleraine, and bound with the help of God, for the port of -Londonderry; and among your friends if you are what I take you to be. -Now don´t trouble your head but just take a drop more of this.” The -kindly shipmaster put the bottle to his lips and insisted on his -drinking. - -“Ye´ll kill him,” said the mate; “ye think that everybody has the same -stomach for strong waters as yourself. It´s food he wants, I´ll warrant, -not drink.” - -“And food he´ll have,” cried the master excitedly, “when I´ve brought -back the colour to his cheeks, and he´ll be on his legs in a twinkling. -Here, Jack, you skulking rogue, set out the best there is on board, and -make us a bowl of punch, for by ----, I´ll drink the health of the -bravest fellow I´ve clapt eyes on for a twelvemonth.” - -“You would drink with less provocation than that,” said the mate, -lifting Gervase to his feet and helping him to a seat. “Now ye can tell -us the news from Londonderry, lad, if it´s true ye come from there.” - -“I came thence to-day--yesterday,” said Gervase. “They can hold out no -longer. Where is Colonel Kirke? I must see him immediately.” - -The master looked at his mate with a broad grin on his face. “Faith -ye´ll not see the Colonel to-night, nor early in the morning either. If -he´s not abed by this time and as drunk as a lord, he´s on the fair way -to it, and swearing like a dragoon with a broken head. He´s a terrible -man in his cups, is Kirke, and they keep it up rarely on board the -_Swallow_. I love the clink of a glass sometimes myself, but--hoot! -there´s no use talking. If you´re able, spin us your yarn while they´re -getting you something warm, for you must want a heap of filling out to -look like the man you were.” - -Gervase told his story shortly as well as he was able, interrupted -repeatedly by exclamations of wonder and horror by the captain and the -mate, and when he had finished they sat staring at him open-mouthed. - -“That is the tale as briefly as I can tell it,” said Gervase, “and you -will not wonder that I would put the letter in Kirke´s hands with all -the haste I can. Next Wednesday there will not be a scrap of food in the -city, and if you wait till then you may lift your anchors and go back to -where you came from. For God´s sake, tell me what you are waiting for?” - -“Till Kirke has emptied his puncheons,” said the mate bitterly. - -“Not a soul on board the fleet thought it was going so hard with you, -but you had better see Leake, who is a plain-spoken man with some -authority. I hear he is all for making up the river, and your story will -help him to move the scarlet-coated butcher who is but half-hearted in -the business.” - -“Colonel Kirke I must see first,” said Gervase; “my message is to him, -and when he reads Walker´s letter he can hesitate no longer. All that is -wanted is the wind and the tide. There need be no fear of the guns, for -in Londonderry we have learned what they can do.” - -The skipper had said nothing, but sat leaning his head on his horny -hand. Then he seemed to awaken from his fit of abstraction. “And poor -Tom is gone, you tell me? He was a younger man than myself by half a -score of years, and as likely a fellow as ever lived when I danced at -his wedding nine years syne. A putrid fever, you say. Odds, I would like -you could have told me how it is with Marjorie and the young ones.” - -“He chanced to be of my regiment,” said Gervase, “and that is how I came -to know his end. But many a brave fellow has fallen into his last sleep -yonder, and all for want of a little manhood here.” - -“For God´s sake tell me no more of your story,” said the master, “but -even fall to on the boiled beef, and don´t spare the liquor. For myself, -please Heaven, I´ll drink the taste of your yarn out of my mouth, though -belike it will take a hogshead at the least to do it.” - -The master was as good as his word; while Gervase and the mate sat down -at the lower end of the table, he produced a great bottle from a locker, -and poured out a large measure of spirit, which he drank at a draught -without any dilution of water. He filled the glass a second time and -drank it without a word. It was clear that he was determined to drown -his grief, and as Gervase glanced at him from time to time in amazement, -he went on steadily until the bottle was nearly empty. The mate said -nothing, only shaking his head as though the sight was not a novel one -and remonstrance was out of the question. “He´ll maunder a bit -by-and-by,” he said in an undertone, “and then he´ll turn in; ´tis the -way of him--he´s a good Christian and a rare seaman, but liquorish. -We´ve all our faults and he was born with a thirst. Surely ye haven´t -finished? why, man, I thought ye were starved yonder, and ye haven´t -done more than nibble at the good meat!” - -“Try the punch,” said the master, by this time some way in his cups, -with his face shining like a furnace; “try the grog, and never mind -McKeller; I have to do his drinking and my own as well, and ´tis -devilish hard work, let me tell you. No man can say that Andrew Douglas -ever shirked his duty.” - -“When it came in the shape of rum puncheons,” said the mate. “Now ye´ll -just turn in, and I´ll see that the young gentleman is made -comfortable.” - -The master was induced to retire with a good deal of difficulty, while -Gervase and the mate sat down to a long talk together, as the result of -which Gervase came to the conclusion that all his difficulties were not -yet over. Then he turned in and forgot all his troubles in a sound and -refreshing sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - OF A STORMY INTERVIEW. - - -Gervase slept soundly that night on board the _Phoenix_, and in the -morning the mate insisted on his making use of his shore-going suit, -into which Gervase was able to get with some difficulty. When he came on -deck the day was bright and cloudless, with a warm sweet air blowing -from the north-west and the sea hardly broken by a ripple. The ships lay -at anchor near them; the _Dartmouth_ with her rows of guns showing -through the open ports; beyond lay the _Swallow_ and a little further -away the _Mountjoy_, both of which vessels Gervase had seen before. - -But his first glance was toward the city lying far up the river, and he -was filled with joy when he caught sight of the crimson flag still -flying from the Cathedral Tower. - -The master was early astir and met Gervase on the deck, with his red -face freshly shaven and clad in his best suit which had been brought out -for the occasion. He was very contrite over his last night´s potations, -and made many polite inquiries as to how his guest had passed the night. -The anxiety of Gervase to be put on board the _Swallow_ to deliver his -message to Kirke, was so great that he could hardly restrain his -impatience during the breakfast to which the master and himself sat down -together. But they had assured him that the Colonel had not slept off -the fumes of his last night´s excesses, and that of all men he was the -least approachable in the morning. It was necessary to find Kirke in -good humour; so Gervase stifled his impatience, though his feelings were -so strong and so bitter that he doubted whether a less fitting messenger -than himself could have been found for his errand. - -“Ye´ll just tell him your plain story like a plain man,” said the mate, -“and leave the rest in the hands of the Almighty. I know ye´ll find it -hard to shorten sail, but ´tis the only way ye´ll make the port after -all.” - -“I don´t understand the matter at all,” Gervase answered. “Here am I -with a message to yon sluggard that should make his ears tingle for the -duty he has neglected and the days he has wasted in useless waiting. One -would think ´twas a favour I was begging at his hands. When His Majesty -hears----” - -“Tut, man, His Majesty--God bless him! will never come to know the -rights of it. Just put your pride in your pocket and take as a -favour--when ye get it--what should come to you by right. I don´t see -myself that the thing is as easy as ye make it. A ship´s timbers are -dainty enough, and yon boom´s an ugly sort of thing; not to speak of the -cannon in the forts and the channel--that´s ticklish at the best of -times.” - -“When a kingdom´s at stake, one might run a little danger without being -foolhardy.” - -“I´m not saying that he mightn´t and I would willingly try it myself if -I had the chance, but you must make allowances. I hear they had a parson -aboard there the other day who gave them some plain speech and got a -flea in his ear for his pains. Fair and softly will carry for many a -mile. I´ll go with you myself and maybe put in a good word if I can. The -boats are ready and we´ll be alongside in a twinkling.” - - * * * * * - -As they rowed towards the _Swallow_, which carried Kirke´s flag, -Gervase´s mind was full of the way in which he should deliver his -message, while Douglas sat beside him pouring his homely counsel into -his ear. It was evident that the latter stood in no little dread of the -commander who had won for himself an unenviable notoriety for cruelty -and severity, and was clearly doubtful of the reception that awaited an -envoy who knew so little regarding the character of the man with whom he -had to deal. But Gervase had determined that if all else failed he would -speak out his mind without any fear of the consequences. He had not -undertaken this perilous journey and faced so many dangers to shrink -from plain speech if that would serve his purpose. - -The master of the _Phoenix_ on the news being brought that Kirke would -receive them immediately in the gunroom, was like to have turned tail -incontinently and left Gervase to face the redoubtable soldier alone. -“The boatswain yonder is an old crony of mine,” he said, “and we don´t -often have a chance of a quiet word. I wish you all luck, but I think -I´ll step forward and have a bit of speech while you do your errand.” - -“By your leave, but the General must see you both, Master Douglas,” said -the man who had brought the message; “if you don´t come now I´ll have to -fetch you by the ears by-and-by. He hath ten thousand blue devils -tearing his liver this morning, so that we cannot bind or hold him. But -you have seen the General after a wet night with a head wind in the -morning.” - -“I was a fool to come aboard,” Douglas muttered. “Speak to him fair and -soft, Mr. Orme,” he continued, taking Gervase by the arm, “if ye would -have the tyke listen to ye, but for God´s sake don´t cross him.” - -“I´ll tell him a plain story that wants no gloss,” Gervase answered. -“You need not be afraid that I shall speak outside my commission. Now, -sir, I am at your service.” - -“He´ll get a flea in his ear,” muttered Douglas, letting go his arm, and -dropping behind. “Send me well out of this.” - -When they entered the gunroom, Gervase saw a small knot of officers -seated at breakfast, which was nearly over. At the head of the table was -the man he had come so far to seek and who carried the destiny of the -city in his hands. His dark brow was blotched and seamed by excesses, -his eyes were prominent and bloodshot, and his jaws, heavy and coarse, -gave to his face an expression of ferocity and obstinacy. He lay back -lazily in his chair, his throat divested of his cravat, and his -richly-laced waistcoat unbuttoned and thrown open. For a time he did not -seem to notice the new-comers, but continued his conversation in a -languid way with the gentleman who sat on his left hand. Gervase who had -come into the centre of the room, stood silent for a minute or two, -waiting for some sign of recognition, but Kirke, studiously ignoring his -presence, never once looked up. Then Gervase stung into action by what -seemed merely studied insult, quietly came forward and laid Walker´s -letter on the table. - -“I was charged, sir, to deliver this into your hand without fail at the -earliest moment. It brooks of no delay.” - -“And who the devil are you, sir?” - -“A humble gentleman who with some peril to himself has succeeded in -escaping from the city and finding his way thither. But the letter I -carry will tell its own tale.” - -“They might have chosen a messenger with better manners,” said Kirke, -taking up the missive, “but these citizens know no better.” - -“These citizens, sir, have set you a lesson which you have not been fain -to follow,” cried Gervase, disregarding all the hints he had received -and giving vent to the indignation that had become ungovernable. “For -nine weeks they have served His Majesty as king was never served before; -spent themselves in his service; seen their wives and children dying -before them; and now they want to know what you have done and what you -purpose doing?” - -For a moment or two the general, who was not accustomed to such speech -in the mouth of a rough seaman, as Gervase seemed, sat astonished and -aghast. Then he leapt to his feet and pushed over the chair he had been -sitting on. “God´s wounds! I´ll teach you to use such words to me if -there´s a yard-arm on the ship. Who are you that dares to question me in -my own vessel. You hear him, gentlemen, you hear him, by ----” - -“They have heard us both, sir, and I wish His Majesty could have heard -us also,” cried Gervase, who saw that there was only one way to deal -with the hectoring bully of whom most men stood in awe. “They have heard -us and they may judge between us. I hold the King´s commission like -yourself, and can answer for my conduct in any fitting time or place. -But this matter is of more importance than your dignity or mine. The -salvation of some thousand lives depends upon it, and the last hold of -His Majesty upon Ulster and Ireland. Colonel Walker hath bidden me place -this letter in your hands without delay. I have only done my duty, and -am no whit afraid of you or of any other man living.” - -Gervase had spoken quietly and with a fine glow on his cheeks. The -gentlemen at the table who had preserved an expectant silence, looked at -one another with a chuckle of amusement as Kirke broke the envelope -without a word. In the reading he glanced once or twice at Gervase, and -when he had finished he threw the paper with an oath across the table. -“Read that, Leake,” he said. “This parson in the buff coat thinks that -round shot can be cooked like peas, and that a ship´s sides are harder -than stone walls. To hear him one would think that we had no more than -an hour´s sail to find ourselves at the quay, with meat and mutton to -fill these yokels´ bellies.” - -The gentleman to whom he had thrown the letter, a bluff, red-faced -sailor, with a frank brave look that met you honestly, read the letter -in silence, and then spread it open before him. “You had better hear -what the young gentleman has to say. Colonel Walker seems to trust him -implicitly, and I should like to hear how he came from the city. ´Twas a -bold feat and deserves a better reception than you have given him.” - -“My reception hath not closed yet,” said Kirke savagely. “But I am ready -to hear what he hath to say, and if I find him tripping, fore God----” - -“I have faced death too often during these three weeks,” said Gervase -gravely, “to fear the threats of any man, and I will speak what is on my -mind boldly----” - -“And briefly, for I am not a patient man.” - -“We in the city trusting to the expectation of speedy succour from -England, have made our defence as I think defence was never made before. -We have lost seven thousand men; those who remain are but living -skeletons, stricken with sore diseases. We are distraught with our -afflictions, and almost fear rather to live than to die. We can do no -more. On Wednesday morning there will not be a pound of meat in the -magazines, and the last stronghold of faith and freedom in Ireland will -have fallen. And this is what they say yonder and--and what I say here. -In the Lough are ships and men and food and guns, and a water-way to the -city walls. A little courage, a bold push, and the boom that you seem to -fear would snap like a thread. And they know not how to use their guns. -We who have listened to their music for months have ceased to fear -them.” - -“And the boom,” cried Leake; “how know you that?” - -“This I know, that there never was wood yet that could resist the edge -of an axe if there were strong arms to will it. You have long boats and -men courageous enough to try it. With your leave I´ll show them how it -can be done myself.” - -“By Heaven, the lad is right If we were once past Culmore----” - -“There is no great danger there,” said Gervase, feeling that he had met -a spirit as bold and resolute as his own, “their balls fly as innocent -as wild duck. Let the frigate hold by the fort, so that under her -shelter the smaller vessels may pass unscathed.” - -“We want none of your lessons,” cried Kirke; “you have listened to -sermons so long that you have caught the trick of preaching yourself.” - -“My sermon is not yet finished, General Kirke,” continued Gervase, -disregarding the hint the friendly sailor gave him, and determined to -unburden his mind once and for all. “You have lain here and done nothing -for us. The king, I am told, hath sent you an urgent message that the -relief should be undertaken without delay. To-day you may carry out his -commands; to-morrow you may return to England and tell him your -cowardice hath lost him a kingdom. The lives of the starving souls -yonder will be on your head. These are bitter words, but I speak them -out of a full heart, and if you will not listen to me now, His Majesty -will hear me presently, for as God is my witness, I will carry my story -to the foot of the throne.” - -“You will carry it into the Lough with a shot at your feet,” cried -Kirke, purple with passion. - -“You dare do nothing of the sort, sir, here in the sight of these -gentlemen and in the full sight of the people of England, who will soon -know the whole matter. I am the ambassador of the governor who holds the -city for His Majesty, and it is by his authority that I speak the words -that I have used. I am a gentleman like yourself holding His Majesty´s -commission, and owing you neither respect nor authority.” - -Kirke leaped to his feet, his face swollen red, and his eyes blazing -with a fierce passion that over-mastered his speech. He caught up the -scabbard of the sword that lay beside him and attempted to draw the -blade. Then Leake, who was sitting near Gervase, caught the outspoken -envoy by the shoulders, and while Kirke still stood swearing -incoherently, hurried him out of the gun-room. When they reached the -deck he clapped him on the back with his broad palm, and cried with -enthusiasm, “I like your spirit, my lad; that was the way to stand by -your guns and rake him fore and aft. But it was ticklish work, let me -tell you, to tackle him that way. He has got the wolf´s tusk in his -mouth (he learnt that in Tangier) and likes to see a pair of heels -dancing in the air. But you´ve done the trick, I think, this time, and -the old _Dartmouth_ will have a chance of trying her ribs against the -iron yonder. Now, clear your mind a bit and just tell me your story like -a sensible lad, for you´ve got some common sense, and let me see if I -can´t make some use of your knowledge after all.” - -“I´ve been a weak fool,” said Gervase, “to forget myself when so much -depended on my discretion. I´ve ruined the best cause in the world.” - -“You have done nothing of the sort, sir, if I can lay a ship´s head by -the compass. You have carried your point and the burghers yonder will -hear the roaring of our guns before the day is out. The general hath -been told what we dared not tell him in plain speech that there is no -mistaking. Now let me know how matters are in the city, and what men and -guns they have in the fort yonder at Culmore.” - -Then Gervase told his whole story soberly and plainly, without colour or -exaggeration, but with such truth and effect that his hearer was so lost -in admiration that he never interrupted him till he had drawn his tale -to a close. Then he swore many oaths, but swearing with such honest and -kindly feeling that Gervase forgave him, that such brave fellows were -worth putting their lives in peril for, even if it did not profit His -Majesty a farthing. And then he questioned Gervase searchingly, his eye -scanning him narrowly all the time, about the forts between the city and -the castle of Culmore, and where the cannon were posted and what was the -weight of the guns. “Now,” he said, in conclusion, “get you back with -Andrew Douglas, who is an honest man and a good mariner, and you´ll see -what you will see. If there should be a little more wind and more -northing in it, I´ll stake my reputation we´ll try of what strength yon -timbers are, and you and I will get our share of the glory! Glory, lad! -That stirs the blood. That thought about the long boats was a shrewd -one, and I have an idea of my own about the way to draw their teeth at -Culmore.” - -Douglas was waiting for Gervase in the boat of the _Phoenix_, and -welcomed him with a grim smile as he took his place beside him. He said -nothing, but motioned to the two sailors to push off and row to the -brig. When they got out of earshot, he burst into a hoarse cackle of -laughter that grated unpleasantly on Gervase´s overstrung nerves. - -“I wouldn´t have missed it,” he cried, clapping his brown hands on his -knees, “for a puncheon of rum. Man, ye gave it to him finely, and ye -talked like a book straight up and down. A good wholesail breeze all the -way and lying your course as straight as an arrow. It did my heart good -to hear you. And he couldn´t get in a word--never a word, but stared at -you out of his red bulging eyes, and choked about the jaws like a turkey -cock strangling in a passion. You´re a well plucked one and no mistake. -I had thought to see you, as he said, at the end of the yard-arm.” - -“Yon swaggering bully is an arrant coward,” said Gervase, “and I wonder -how he came to be chosen for a work like this. For all his bluster I saw -that he was quailing, and I was determined that he should hear the truth -for once in his life.” - -“He didn´t hear a third of it, but I´m thinking he heard as much as was -good for him. Will they move, think ye?” - -“Leake says----” - -“He´s a man at any rate; I´d like to know what he says.” - -“That we´ll see what we´ll see. He thinks my speech hath done little -harm, but I know not whether it hath done any good. God grant that it -hath.” - -“Amen and Amen to that. Now let us go aboard, and let us see whether -your adventure has taken away your appetite.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - OF HOW THE GREAT DELIVERANCE WAS WROUGHT. - - -On their regaining the deck of the _Phoenix_ McKeller manifested great -anxiety to hear the result of the interview, and the master had a -greatly interested audience as he proceeded to describe the scene with -many embellishments and quaint touches of his own. What seemed to have -struck him most was Kirke´s helpless rage, and the speechless anger he -exhibited at the attack upon his courage and capacity. - -Gervase lay against the bulwarks listening without a word; his eyes were -fixed on the square tower of the Cathedral rising through the pall of -smoke that overhung the city. In thought he saw the haggard gunners on -the war-torn battlements, and the sorrowing crowd pouring out from the -morning service. His mind was filled with the horror and misery of it, -and his heart was bitter within him. He suddenly started and cleared his -eyes as if he could not trust his sight; then he looked again. “Merciful -God!” he cried, “the flag is down.” - -The little knot of men round him turned to look too, and they saw with -sinking hearts that the flag, the garrison´s token of defiance, was no -longer waving on the Cathedral tower. A great silence fell upon them -all--a silence in which one heard the lapping of the water about the -bows and the distant scream of the sea-birds, startling and shrill. - -“God´s curse light on all traitors and cowards!” cried McKeller. - -Then they saw two jets of fire spurt forth from the tower, and a little -later the sullen roar of the ordnance, and the hope came into their -hearts that it was only in sign of their dire extremity that the -garrison had hauled down the flag. And they waited and watched, and -again they heard the thunder of the cannon pealing from the tower. Then -above the crown of smoke they saw the crimson flag run up the staff, and -they knew the city was still inviolate. An involuntary cheer broke from -the crew of the _Phoenix_, which was taken up by the other vessels, and -a minute or two afterwards the _Swallow_ fired a salvo in response. - -“They have awakened up at last,” cried the master. “Now we´ll even go -below and try the boiled beef, and mayhap a runnel of grog.” - -“Not a drop of grog,” cried McKeller, “but what boiled beef you like. -The wind is freshening from the north, and the Lord may want sober men -for this day´s work.” - -The captain was not destined to join in their midday meal; hardly had -they sat down and hardly had McKeller, who generally acted as chaplain -by reason of his superior gravity, finished the long grace by which the -meal was introduced, than a messenger came from Kirke, that Douglas was -to hasten with all expedition on board the _Swallow_. - -“The more haste the less speed,” cried the Captain, to whom the summons -was by no means a welcome one, and who had no taste for a further -interview with Kirke. “I´ll have to answer for your speech, Mr. Orme, -I´m thinking. I wish McKeller there was in my shoes.” - -“You were still good to McKeller,” laughed the mate, “but this time -you´ll have to do your own business.” - -“I hope,” said Gervase, “that this time it means business and not more -speech. And I think it does. Bring us the news, Master Douglas, that you -are to lift your anchor, and I´ll not forget you as long as I live.” - -“Please Heaven, you may look for your night-cap in Derry to-night.” - -“With a sound head to put it in.” - -“The boat is waiting, and so is the General,” added the mate. - -The captain hurried out of the round-house, and Gervase and the mate sat -down to finish their midday meal with but little appetite for their -repast. The conversation between them flagged, and then the mate went -out and presently returned with his prayer-book under his arm, from -which he began to read in a low monotonous tone, following the words, -like a backward schoolboy, with his forefinger. He never looked up but -sat with his rough unkempt head bent over the book. - -Half an hour passed in this way, when they heard the sound of the boat -alongside and the Captain´s voice shouting to get the mainsail set. - -Presently he burst into the cabin, his face all glowing with excitement -and his small blue eyes dancing in his head. He ran forward and caught -Gervase in both his arms, “It´s come at last, dear lad, ´tis come at -last. Your speech hath done it, and we´ll moor by the quay to-night with -the blessing of God. This is no time for books, McKeller, no time for -books. The Lord be praised! We´re up the river in an hour. Browning and -myself and the old _Dartmouth_, with Leake to give us the lead.” - -Gervase and McKeller were on their feet shaking one another by the hand. -They could hardly believe the good news. Then, overcome by his feelings -so long pent up, Gervase burst into tears and sobbed aloud. The captain -stood aghast, but the mate laid his hand on the young fellow´s shoulder -and said with rugged kindliness: “I like you all the better for your -tears, Mr. Orme; you have shown that you can do a man´s work, with a -man´s heart under your jacket; ´twill do you good,--rain on the parched -grass, as the book has it. Now, you old sea dog, what are you staring -at? Go on with your story and let us know what we have to do.” - -“I´ll clap you in irons for a rank mutineer,” laughed the captain. “Lord -love you, when I got aboard Kirke was like a lamb; not a damn in him, -but all ‘By your leave´ and ‘At your pleasure´. The council of officers -had resolved to attack the passage that afternoon, the wind and the tide -being favourable, and the messenger, that being you, Mr. Orme, having -brought news that rendered their instant moving imperative, and more -stuff of that kind. I could have laughed in his face, but for the cruel -white and red in his eye. I don´t like a man to have too much white in -his eye.” - -“Go on with your story.” - -The _Dartmouth_ goes first, and draws the fire at Culmore; we go on with -what speed we can till we get to the barrier. That must give way by hook -or crook, and then up the river. A good day´s work, I´m thinking, but -the little _Phoenix_ will do her share if Andrew Douglas be alive to see -it." - -“With the help of God we´ll all see it,” cried the mate. “This will be a -great day for all of us.” - -“Serve out a measure of rum to every man-jack on board, and get under -way with all the haste ye can. In a quarter of an hour ye´ll see the -little _Phoenix_ slipping through the water like a seagull. Come, Mr. -Orme, and lend a hand with the weapons. I take it you are well used to -them.” - -Gervase followed the captain on deck where the men were busy with the -halliards, and all was lively confusion and disorder. The seamen were -already swarming on the yards of the _Dartmouth_, and the long boat of -the _Swallow_ was in the water, with the carpenters hammering upon the -rough barricado with which they were protecting her sides. The wind -which from the morning had been blowing in quiet airs from the -north-west, had gone round to the north and had freshened somewhat. In -the summer sky there was hardly a cloud; the waves leapt and flashed in -the sunshine, and the vessels were beginning to plunge at their cables -in the livelier sea. - -By the time that Gervase had finished his scrutiny of the cutlasses and -muskets, and had seen to the loading of the three guns that the -_Phoenix_ carried, McKeller and the men had the vessel under sail. Then -the windlass was manned, and it was only when the anchor had been -lifted, and the little vessel was slipping through the water that -Gervase felt their work was really begun and his task was about to be -completed. The captain himself had taken the tiller, standing square and -firm, with his coat thrown aside, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up -and showing his brown, muscular arms. - -“There goes the _Dartmouth_,” he cried to Gervase, who was standing near -him, “well done, and seamanly. And the _Mountjoy_--she has the lead of -us, being weightier and more strongly timbered. I don´t grudge it to -Browning; he´s a good fellow and a gallant seaman. We´ve sailed together -ere now. And the old _Jerusalem_--she´ll come up when the eggs are -boiled. We´ll have to knock once or twice before they let us in.” - -The _Dartmouth_ led the way with her ports open and the iron muzzles of -her guns all agrin, the white sails on her lofty spars swelling out -under the freshening wind. She did not wait for her consorts, but held -her way steadily toward the river´s mouth where the castle of Culmore -guarded the entrance. The _Mountjoy_ outsailed the _Phoenix_ much to the -chagrin of Douglas, and three cables´ lengths already divided them. The -men leaned over the bulwarks watching the fort where they could see the -soldiers hastening to the guns, and could hear the drums beating the -alarm. As yet the _Dartmouth_ was not within range of the cannon, but -already a round shot or two had come skipping along the water and had -fallen short. As they drew toward the river´s mouth the breeze had grown -lighter, and Gervase feared that the afternoon would set in a stagnant -calm. But they had the tide with them, and the wind blew fairly up the -river. - -“There´s the music now,” cried Douglas, as the guns of the fort flashed -along the ramparts; “there´s a hole in the royal yonder, but ´twill take -more than that to turn old Leake. Will he never let them hear him?” - -The _Dartmouth_ was already within range, but she held on her way -gallantly, never answering the fire that was poured upon her. Again and -again the guns of the fort flashed out, and the frigate´s canvas was -torn by the shot, but her spars remained untouched. Still Leake held on -steadily, his guns still silent and his men sheltering themselves as -best they could behind the bulwarks. Only when he came within close -range so that every shot might tell, his guns spoke for the first time. -Again and again the living sheet of flame leapt from the open ports, and -the great shot went crashing into the fort. As the fire of the enemy -slackened perceptibly the seamen set up a great cheer, which was caught -up by the men of the _Mountjoy_ that had now come nearly alongside and -was holding its way up the river. Lying abreast of the fort and within -musket shot the crew of the frigate plied the fort with cannon and with -small arms, while the _Mountjoy_, followed by the _Phoenix_, came -drifting slowly up channel past the castle and safely out of range of -its guns. Then the _Dartmouth_, her work being done, was moored in the -bend of the river above Culmore, while the merchant ships went slowly up -the narrow and winding channel, and the men in the _Swallow´s_ long boat -kept them company and bent to their oars with a will. The great guns in -the earthen forts along the river gave them welcome as they came, and -the musket balls went singing by their ears. - -It was a sight to see Douglas at the tiller, with a broad smile on his -face and the dancing light of battle in his eyes. Once or twice he -laughed aloud as some of the smaller spars came tumbling to the deck. -And now in the pauses of the great guns and above the rattle of the -muskets, they could hear in the summer air the shouts of the citizens -from the walls--shouts of triumph and delight. On that scene the -chroniclers have dwelt with some pride and much pathos. Every man who -could drag himself to the wall was gathered there that summer day. Gaunt -and hollow-eyed; so hunger-stricken that they could scarcely stand, -wasted by fever and by wounds, they took up the joyous shout of triumph. -Stout soldiers gave way to tears upon the necks of their comrades. Their -anguish and despair were swallowed up in the hope of present -deliverance. Here and there little groups were kneeling as in prayer for -the safety of those who were bringing them succour, and never was prayer -more earnest offered to the God of battles. - -Meanwhile the _Mountjoy_ and the _Phoenix_ were coming close upon the -boom, and the forts on either side were plying them with shot. Douglas -never moved. One of the seamen was struck down beside him, but he never -turned his head. The wind was coming in little airs, but the tide was -running hard. Gervase saw the _Mountjoy_ through the smoke, a cable´s -length ahead, suddenly strike upon the wooden barrier that lay across -the river. Then the gallant little vessel swung round and grounded in -the narrow channel. A great cheer went up from the banks, while they saw -the redcoats hastening to their boats to board the stranded ship. “Now, -McKeller, see what you can do with the long gun,” cried Douglas, as the -mate with Gervase´s assistance brought the cannonade to bear on the mass -of men who were moving to the bank. But the master of the _Mountjoy_ was -a stout seaman and knew his work. Quickly his guns were brought to the -landward side, and at the discharge the little vessel slipped into the -channel again, and went floating toward the boom with the running tide. -Meanwhile the _Swallow_´s long boat under the boatswain´s mate had been -laid alongside the barrier, and the bluejackets were plying it with -cutlasses and hatchets. Every man did his best that hour, and as the -_Mountjoy_ struck the boom a second time, the great barrier cracked and -broke and went swinging up the river. - -McKeller leapt upon the bulwarks regardless of the risk he ran, and -waved his hat with fine enthusiasm: “God save Their Majesties,” he -cried, “and down with Popery.” - -Every man on board knew that the work was done and the city was saved. -But the wind had fallen with the afternoon and it was a dead calm. Only -with the tide the vessels came slowly up the river; then the long boats -of the _Swallow_ took them in tow, and with the setting sun the vessels -came drifting into Ross´s bay. It was ten o´clock at night when the -_Phoenix_, Andrew Douglas, Master (and a proud man was he!), came to its -moorings at the little quay close by Ship Quay Gate. - - * * * * * - -No man has such gift of speech as to describe the scene when the master -stepped ashore and raised his hat in presence of the thronging crowd. -Men and women went frantic in their joy. Falling upon each other´s necks -and wringing one another by the hand, they forgot that stern reserve -that marks their race and people. Bonfires were lighted upon the -ramparts, and the bells rang out a joyous peal, and all the while the -unlading of the ship went on, till all men were satisfied, and the -terror of the morning seemed like a dream that had passed away. - -Gervase left the _Phoenix_ unnoticed in the tumult, and made his way -through the deserted streets to his old lodging. The door was lying -open, but the house was deserted. Simon and all his family were in all -likelihood among the crowd at the quay. Then he lighted his lamp and sat -down to enjoy his golden dreams alone. His heart was filled with the -thought of what he had done and of the reward he hoped to win. - -He would call upon Dorothy in the morning--Dorothy, whose sweet face had -kept him company through his perils, and the thought of whom had moved -him in his dangers. She had told him that she loved him. - -The darkness was gone and they had come into the sweet sunshine at last. -And so he dreamed his dreams till Mistress Sproule returned laden with -her spoils, and gave him a joyous welcome as to one who had come back -from death. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - OF HOW THE VICOMTE MADE HIS GREAT RENUNCIATION. - - -On the following morning Gervase was up betimes. It seemed to him that a -new world had opened out before him with boundless possibilities of joy -and hope. For weeks he had been dragging himself about like one bent -under the infirmities of age; to-day the blood of youth ran quick in his -veins. With a pride that was pardonable, he felt that he had done his -task manfully and performed his share in a work as memorable as any in -his time. He had won honour for himself, and he had found the one woman -who realized his boyhood´s ideal. She was waiting for him now--waiting -with that glad and joyous look in her steadfast eyes that had thrilled -him at times when his grief had weighed upon him. She must know that the -work he had undertaken was done for her sake, and that he would be with -her presently to claim his reward. - - * * * * * - -Simon Sproule came to see him when he was seated at breakfast, a good -deal shrunk and wasted, but bearing himself with his brave and confident -air for all the troubles he had passed through. The young soldier was -one of the linendraper´s heroes, and Simon had come this morning to -offer abundant incense at the altar of his worship. - -“We are both proud of you, Mr. Orme, Elizabeth and myself. I heard the -whole story from Andrew Douglas last night, and it was done like an -ancient Roman, sir, but in no foreign or pagan spirit. It was a great -feat and should be remembered for many a day.” - -“It will be forgotten in good time,” said Gervase cheerfully, “and was -no very wonderful business after all. But I am glad for your sake the -fighting is over, for yours and your wife´s and----” - -“Do not mention them. Oh! I cannot bear it, sir. There were eight of -them when you came back with the old captain, eight white-haired -youngsters that gathered about the table and made music for me--and now -there are but four of them. It was the judgment of God for their -father´s cowardice.” - -“I think you did your best, Simon,” Gervase said gently. - -“I did all that I could, and that was nothing; but it was the pretending -that was my sin. I, who was made for nothing but to measure lace and -lawns, should not have given myself over as a man of war, and boasted of -deeds that I knew that I could not perform. It has broken their mother´s -heart, and I think it has broken mine. I cannot think they are gone; -indeed I cannot. Why, I stood listening to their footsteps on the stairs -even as I came into your room, and I heard them calling ‘Daddy,´ every -one of them. But ´tis a sin to mourn.” - -“Nay, nay, man, weep to your heart´s content, and tell them I said a -man´s tears are as manly as his courage. We must all face it some day.” - -“I cannot help it,” said Simon, drying his eyes, “but you do not know -what it is for a father to part with the red-cheeked boys he loved: we -have come through a great tribulation.” - -“Thank God there is an end of it now. In a day or two there will not be -an Irish Regiment north of the Boyne, and I hope we´ll get back to the -works of peace again. I myself will turn husbandman and beat my sword -into a pruning hook.” - -“And marry the sweet lass by the Bishop´s-Gate, and nurse your brave -boys on your knee. You see we have had eyes, Mr. Orme.” - -“I do not know how that may be, but----” - -“And,” Simon went on, “if you will do me the honour to let me furnish -you with the wedding coat, I´ll warrant it of the finest--a free gift at -my hands, for all your kindness to me and the boys.” - -“We must first find the lady,” laughed Gervase. - -“I think she is already found, and I know she is very sweet to look at.” - -In the forenoon Gervase found himself in the wainscoted parlour that was -for ever associated in his mind with Dorothy Carew. He had dressed -himself with some care, and looked a handsome fellow as he stood by the -window looking out on the grass plot that he remembered so well. It -seemed to him years since he had stood there; a whole life was crowded -between that time and this--a life in which he had seen many strange -sights and come through some memorable fortunes. Dorothy, he did not -doubt, was still the same, but Macpherson, so rugged and so kindly, was -gone, and the tragedy of his death came vividly before him as he stood -in the room where he had first met the man by whose hands he had fallen. -He was determined that Dorothy should never know the secret which could -only bring her grief; this was the one secret in which she should not -share. It was hardly likely that Jasper Carew would ever cross his path -again--if he did it would then be time enough to think in what manner he -should deal with him. In the meantime here was Arcady with the pipe and -the lute, with the springtime crowned with the sweetest love, and care -and sorrow laid aside for a season. His heart seemed to rise into his -throat and a mist to cloud his eyes, as he heard a light footstep behind -him. The gallant speeches that he had been rehearsing vanished from his -memory, and he stood with his mind all blank as Dorothy came softly into -the room, with her hand extended, and her eyes cast down. Her manner was -awkward and constrained, though he did not notice it. He would have held -her hand in his but she withdrew it gently and seated herself by the -window. - -“Dorothy, Miss Carew,” he began, with an overmastering desire to take -her in his arms, “my words have come true, the words I spoke that last -afternoon when----” - -“Yes,” she said, “I remember.” - -“I said when we next met the joybells would be ringing. Listen, you can -hear them now; the old time is all gone.” - -“Yes, it is all gone--and--and, Mr. Orme, I cannot say all that is in my -heart. The city is ringing with your great exploit, but I knew it all. -All the night I watched you as you floated down the dark tide. Oh! it -was a gallant deed; no man ever did a braver. You did not tell me what -was in your mind, but I felt and knew it. I knew you would not fail.” - -“I want no other reward but to hear you say that. But you must not -praise me overmuch, for I have done nothing but my plain and simple -duty. When I look back on it, it has seemed an easy thing to do. There -was no risk like what I ran with Sarsfield´s troopers, when you--nay, I -had not thought to have awakened that memory.” - -“I have not forgotten that either,” she said, “I was a girl then, but I -am a woman, and I think a very old woman, now,” she added with a sad -smile. “I owe you a great deal since we first met. I shall never be able -to repay you, but when we part, and perhaps I shall not see you again, I -shall remember your kindness as long as I live.” - -“We have not parted yet,” said Gervase, trying to take her hand. -“Dorothy, I have come here to speak what I have not dared to say before. -Nay, nay, you must listen to me, for all our life depends on it. From -the first moment that we met, I have had one thought, one hope. I have -watched you in silence, for it was not a time to talk of love. Every day -on duty, every night on guard, you have been with me consoling and -sustaining me. I have no words to tell you all that I would tell you. I -have reproached myself for my selfishness. While others were overcome -with their misery, I went about with a light and joyous heart; it was -enough for me to be near you, to feel your presence, to serve you with -my life. Dorothy, I love you.” - -“Oh! I cannot hear you,” she cried, rising to her feet and hiding her -face in her hands; “it is wrong for me to listen to you.” - -“Nay, nay, my best beloved, you shall listen to me,” he went on, with -all a lover´s gentle but fierce insistence. “You have spoken words that -you cannot recall. All the night in the river and in the woods they rang -like music in my ears, and kept my heart from failing in me. I knew you -loved me.” - -“I will not hear you,” she cried; “they were weak words and wicked. I -had no right to speak them.” - -“But they were true,” he said, with no clue to her meaning, “and I will -hold you to your words. I dare not let you go; there is nothing stands -between us and nothing will.” - -“Everything stands between us.” Then with a great effort she calmed -herself and went on gently, “My words were wrung from me, I should not -have spoken them, but I stand by them--they were the truth. I do love -you. Nay, you must hear me out; you must not come nearer, now nor ever -again. When they were spoken I had no right to speak them; I was the -betrothed wife of Victor De Laprade.” - -He stared at her incredulously. - -“I was alone; there was no one to whom I could go for advice. I was only -a girl; I did not know my own heart. Then the Vicomte de Laprade was -struck down unfairly by my brother to whom he had given back his fortune -and--and I thought he was going to die. What reparation I could make, it -was my duty and my will to make. I had not thought of love--or you. Oh! -why did you speak to me?” - -“Nay, but, Dorothy, this means the sacrifice of your life. De Laprade is -generous. He will not ask----” - -She turned to him with a look of pride in her tearful eyes. “He will -never know, for I shall stand loyally by the word that I have given him. -I shall school my feelings; I shall subdue myself; I shall rise above my -wayward thoughts. And you will help me. You will say, ‘Farewell, my -sister´, and think of me always as a sister you have loved and is dead.” - -“But consider----” - -“I consider all. When he lay there dying, faithful, loyal, as he is, I -thought I loved him and I brought him back to life. My love, worthless -as it is, is precious to him, and there is one Carew who keeps her word -at any cost. Speak no more to me of love. You demean yourself and me. I -belong to another.” - -“Oh! this is madness.” Gervase cried, knowing in his heart that he could -not change nor turn her. “There is no code of honour in the world to -make you give your life to one you do not love. Such marriage is no true -marriage. You are mine by every right, and I will not let you go.” - -“There was a time when I should have liked to hear you talk like that, -but it will never be again. I shall give him all duty and honour, and in -time, perhaps--you will help me to bear my burden, Gervase Orme, nor -make it heavier for me? I see my duty clearly, and all the world will -not drive me from it.” - -Gervase took her two hands, feverish and trembling in his own. He saw -there was no need for further argument; he could not change her. - -“I have no gift of speech to show you what you do. Your will has been my -law and I shall try to obey you utterly. God knows I loved you, Miss -Carew, and still love you. But you will hear no more of me nor my -importunate love; there is room abroad for a poor soldier like myself. -And De Laprade is a gallant gentleman and worthy of his splendid -fortune. I can say no more than that I envy him with all my heart.” - -He drew her to him unresistingly, and kissed her on the forehead. There -was nothing lover-like in the act; it was simply in token of sorrowful -surrender, and she recognized it as such. She did not dare to raise her -eyes to his but kept them bent upon the ground; he could see the lashes -were trembling with unshed tears. - -“I knew,” she said, “you would speak as you have spoken. It was my duty -to see you; it is very hard. You will go now?” - -“I will go, Miss Carew, and I ask you to remember that through life, in -good and evil fortune, you have no more loving and loyal friend than -Gervase Orme, your faithful servant. Time will not change nor alter me. -It was too great fortune for me to deserve it.” - -Before she could speak he was gone, and she heard in a dream the door -close behind him. One of his gloves had fallen to the ground and was -still lying at her feet. She caught it up and pressed it passionately -against her bosom. She was now able to read her own heart in all its -depth and fulness; standing there with her eyes fixed on the door -through which he had departed, she saw the greatness of the sacrifice -she had made. She felt that moment that she stood utterly alone, closed -out from all love and sympathy. She had believed that she had become -resigned, and that she had succeeded in mastering her feelings, but they -had burst out afresh and with a fervour and passion that terrified -herself. “Oh! God,” she cried, “how I love him!” - -Throwing herself in the chair from which she had risen, and burying her -face in her hands, she gave way to her sorrow, feeling all the while -that she dare not reason with herself, for however much she suffered she -determined that she would not break her faith. She would bring herself -to love De Laprade; love him as she honoured and admired him, the loyal -and courteous gentleman, who treated her rather as a goddess than as a -woman. - -She did not hear the footsteps coming from the open window; she was -thinking at the moment of how she could meet her betrothed with an air -of gaiety. Then a hand was laid lightly on her shoulder and she looked -up. De Laprade was standing over her, with a pleasant smile playing -about his lips. His face was pale and his voice trembled a little when -he spoke, but only for a moment; otherwise his manner was free and -pleasant, with something of his old gaiety in it. - -“I am a dull fellow, Cousin Dorothy,” he said, “but a dull fellow -sometimes awakens, and I have aroused myself. I have been sleeping for -weeks, I think, with dreams too, but poof! they are gone. You have been -weeping--that is wrong. The eyes of beauty should ever be undimmed.” - -She did not answer him, and he sat down on the chair beside her, taking -Orme´s glove from her lap where it lay, and examining the embroidery -critically. “Monsieur Orme is a pretty fellow, and I have much regard -for him. I am going to make you very happy, my cousin.” - -“I am not----” - -“Nay, I know what you would say. But I have a long story to tell, so -long that I know not how to begin, nor how to make an end. It will be -easier by what you call a parable.” - -Dorothy looked at her lover curiously. For some time his old manner of -jesting with something of gay cynicism about it had disappeared, but all -at once it had returned with something else she did not recognize. He -could not have learned her secret, for she had guarded that too -carefully, but her woman´s instinct warned her that perhaps after all he -had guessed the truth. - -“There was once,” he went on, “a prodigal who spent his youth in his own -way; he drank, he diced, he knew not love nor reverence; no law, but -that poor thing that men call honour. But it was well he knew even that. -So far, he did not think, for he had no mind nor heart. He only lived -for pleasure. Then he found that he had spent his fortune, burst like a -bubble, gone like a dream, and his friends--they were many--left him to -beg with his outstretched hands, and turned their faces as he passed -them on the way. But he had grown old, and loved pleasure and the -delights of riotous living. Then there came to him a great good -fortune--to him unworthy, beggared, disgraced. He seized it eagerly and -he thought--what will men think?--that he would again be happy. It was -not to be. He carried with him the stain of his early riot, the shame of -his sinful life, the thoughts that will not die, the habits, even, he -could not alter. His fortune hung heavily about his neck and pressed him -down to the ground. He knew that it was of priceless value, but it was -not for him. Then being a wise prodigal, he said: ‘I am selfish. This -cannot make me happy. I will place it in the hands of another who will -know how to use it rightly, and so rid me of my load.´ And he gave the -treasure to another, and then went away and the world saw him not any -more. There, my cousin, is my story. Monsieur La Fontaine must look to -his laurels.” - -“You are jesting with me, Victor; I do not understand your parable.” - -“It must be that I shall speak more plainly. My story must have its -moral.” - -He still held Orme´s glove upon his knee and was unconsciously plucking -to pieces the lace with which it was embroidered. But neither of them -noticed it. Dorothy was waiting breathlessly for what was to come, and -determined on her part to refuse the generous offer De Laprade was about -to make. - -“It shames me to think I was an unwilling listener but now, and I heard, -not all, but enough. The window was open and I heard before I could -withdraw. But I had known it all before and was only waiting.” - -“You shall not wait,” Dorothy cried impetuously. “I am true and loyal.” - -“I never doubted you, but I am not. I am inconstant as the wind, and -change my mind a hundred times a day. Fortune, not love, is my goddess, -the fickle and the strange. I am out of humour already and long for -change. Your city chokes me, a bird of prey mewed up among the sparrows. -You must cut the silken thread and give me my freedom, _ma belle_.” - -“I shall never,” Dorothy said, disregarding the words and thinking only -of the spirit that prompted them, “I shall never forgive the weakness I -have shown. Indeed you have my regard and my esteem, and some time I -hope you will have my love. I shall keep my faith, truly and loyally. I -shall not change.” - -“Then I must help myself when you will not. You are cruel, my cousin, -and force me to speak. I, Victor De Laprade, a poor gentleman, having -found that in all honour I cannot marry Dorothy Carew, here declare that -I am a pitiful fellow and leave her to go my own way, hoping that she -will trouble me no further with her importunity. Now, that being done, -let us be friends, which we should never have been had you married me.” - -“This is like you, Victor,” she said sadly; “I am a pitiful creature -when I measure myself with you.” - -“You are a woman, my dear; I have served them long and bought my -knowledge dearly. But you are better than most of them,” he added with a -smile, “for some that I have known would have held me despite all that I -have said. I was not made for your Shakespeare´s Benedict, I think it -was.” - -“Oh!” she said, “but I cannot treat your words as serious; you are but -playing with my weakness. I will not let you--how can I, a woman, say -what I should say?” - -“You should say: Monsieur le Vicomte, I am happy that you have -discovered yourself in time. You are free--go--farewell?” - -“But I cannot say that.” - -“Then I shall do it for you. My cousin,” he went on, more seriously, “my -mind is made up. To-morrow I start again on my pilgrimage, and you are -as free as air. Do not think that your words have pained me, for I have -long known that I was unworthy and I myself almost desire to be free. We -cannot live twice.” - -“You are too generous.” - -“By no means. I am only a prodigal; even this treasure I could not keep, -but I must let it slip through my fingers with the rest. Now I shall -leave you to think upon what I have said. Do not judge me hardly.” - -“I shall think of you always as the best gentleman in the world. Oh! -Victor,” she cried, as though interrogating herself, “why cannot I love -you?” - -“Because, my dear, I would not let you. There is but one thing more to -do and then I leave your cold North for ever to seek my fortune -elsewhere. - - ‘Et je m´en vais chercher du repos aux enfers.´ - -I shall send you a peace-offering that I know you will receive as much -for my sake as its own. And now I kiss your hand.” - - * * * * * - -He had borne himself throughout with a cheerful gaiety, never once -complaining or reproaching her, but placing himself in the wrong as -though he were to blame for her inconstancy. She knew that he was only -playing a part and that he was suffering while he jested; that he was -making his sacrifice in such a way as to avoid giving her pain. She -reproached herself bitterly that she had been unable to control her -heart and guide her wayward feelings. It was true she had been loyal in -outward act but her heart had been a traitor to her vow. She was not -worthy of so much heroic sacrifice; she was but a Carew after all, with -the taint and sin of her race; she, who had cried out for loyalty and -truth. She had boasted of her strength and constancy, and this man who -had laughed at virtue had shown a sovereign strength that put her quite -to shame. What had been done would never be undone; her weakness, her -want of faith, her treachery of affection, had been made plain to the -two men whose regard she esteemed the most in the world. Yet all the -time she had tried to follow the path of duty; she had striven to do -what was right and trample her inclinations under foot. - -And so she sat and thought while De Laprade went out to complete the -great work of his renunciation. He smiled bitterly to himself as he -passed down the street, wondering what sudden change had taken place -within himself that he had surrendered so easily what he had so -earnestly desired to obtain. He knew that he loved Dorothy Carew as he -had never loved before, and that he had never loved her half so well as -that moment when he bade her farewell. He was unable to recognize -himself or the new spirit that had prompted this stupendous sacrifice. -“If,” he thought, “I was inviting him under the walls to a repast of -steel, I should be acting like a sensible fellow anxious to cure my -wounded honour. But that is not my humour. I think I have lost all my -manhood. Oh! my cousin, you have taken from me more than you will ever -dream of. It was hard to bear, but now that it is done it will not have -to be done again. A year ago I had not given up so easily, but the -battle is to the strong. Orme will make her happy.” - -Gervase was surprised to see De Laprade entering his room, and though he -bore him no ill will, he would have preferred that he should not meet -him. He had not yet faced his bitter disappointment and resigned himself -to the sudden fall of his house of cards. He had come home to realize -what his rejection meant for him, for he had been so certain, so blindly -certain, of Dorothy´s love, that she had seemed a part, and a great -part, of his life. The cup of happiness had been dashed from his hand -when it was already at his lips; he was still smarting and sore, and it -would be idle for him to attempt to offer congratulations to his -successful rival. He was not magnanimous enough for that. But he wished -him well and wished that he would leave him in peace. He took De -Laprade´s hand without ill-will but with no great show of cordiality. - -“I could not leave your city, Monsieur Orme,” said De Laprade, “without -bidding you farewell. We have been friends, I think, and done one -another some service in our time.” - -“Your departure is sudden; I had not heard----” - -“Only an hour ago I found that I must leave. We strolling players live -at large, and shift our booth a hundred times a year.” - -“When do you return?” - -“I disappear for ever,” answered Victor with a laugh. “Your country -suits me not; your speech is barbarous, your manners are strange, and -your climate dries the marrow in my bones. I want sunshine and life and -pleasure. Your blood runs slowly here.” - -“It has been running fast enough for nine weeks,” said Gervase, with a -grim humour, though feeling in no mood for jesting. - -“Ay, you fight very prettily, and you not among the worst, but -phlegmatically. I have heard the story of your journey, but I did not -come to talk of that.” - -“I am glad of that at least. I have heard nothing else all day, and -´twas no great feat when all was said.” - -“Perhaps. Your people are proud and cold and lack sympathy. But I want -sympathy.” - -“Vicomte de Laprade,” said Gervase, “I am in no mood for playing upon -words. I tell you that I am but now bearing a great trial, the nature of -which no man can know but myself, you, perhaps, least of all. I -sincerely value your friendship; I have seen your goodness of heart, but -it is best that you should shorten this interview. With all my heart I -wish you all good fortune, though I shall not see it. I leave by the -first ship for Holland.” - -“We shall see, my friend, we shall see, but I think not.” - -“How?” - -“I said but now you were phlegmatic. I was wrong--you are too impetuous. -There are many things which you must put in order before you set out, -and perhaps you will never take ship at all.” - -“I do not understand you, sir.” - -“Mr. Orme, I know you think I am laughing at you, but it is only a trick -that I have, and I am in no mood for jesting any more than yourself. I -know you think me a coxcomb, a trifler who hath no depth or height of -feeling. But I am come here to speak serious words. I had hoped to marry -Miss Carew,” he continued softly, looking Gervase full in the face with -his eyes fixed and bright, “but that is past. I found that she loved a -better man and a worthier than myself, and that I--perhaps that I did -not love her as she deserved to be loved. With a deep sense of honour, -duty merely--mistaken duty--she would have remained steadfast and -allowed me to mar her happiness. I tell you--why should I not speak -it?--I loved her too well to marry her, and she is free to give herself -to the man she loves. I owe this speech to her, for she hath suffered, -and I would not add to her sorrow.” - -The two men had risen to their feet, and before Gervase knew De Laprade -was holding him by the hand, with the tears running down his face. - -“God knows,” said Gervase, steadying his voice, for he felt himself -visibly affected by the other´s excessive emotion, “you are a far better -and stronger man than I am. I could not have given her up.” - -“I am a weak fool,” said De Laprade, with a forced laugh. “But I know -that you will make her happy. You must not tell her of my weakness -else--There, the comedy is played out and the curtain having fallen, -leaves me a sensible man again. As I have said, I depart to-morrow, to -return never again, but I shall hope to hear that all goes well with -you. And meantime remember Victor de Laprade, who will not forget you.” - -“Why,” cried Gervase, “should my happiness be gained in your loss?” - -“That is past,” the other said simply. “You will see Miss Carew when I -leave you. She will reproach herself, and you will comfort her, for she -is only a woman after all, and will find happiness and consolation. You -will sometimes think of me when I am gone and perhaps--perhaps she may -name one of her boys after her poor kinsman who by that time will have -found rest.” - -When the evening came down it found Gervase Orme alone with a great -happiness and a great regret. - -The curtain rings down and the players pass from view while the humble -showman to whom this mimic stage has been a great reality, wakens from -his dream, rubs his eyes and goes about his business. He has lived for a -while in the stormy days of which he has written--days in which men made -heroic sacrifices and performed most memorable deeds, the memory of -which still stirs the languid pulses of the blood. Not the muse of -history has been his companion; not his is the lofty task to write the -story of his people with their valour, their endurance and their -intolerant pride; it was only his to tell an idle tale for weary men by -winter fires. The men and women of whom he has written did their work -for good and evil, and in due time went the way of all flesh. - -Simon Sproule again blossomed out in the sunshine of prosperity, and the -archives of the city show that he was elected an Alderman, and did his -duty faithfully, which cannot be said of all men. And though history is -silent on the subject, there can be little doubt that his wife -stimulated his civic ambition, inspired his speeches, and kept him in -excellent order. There are still Sproules in the North Country who look -to Simon as the head of the race, and when touched by family pride they -tell the story of his gallant deeds in the memorable siege. But they -will find the true history here. - -Jasper Carew fell with many a better man on that day when the fate of -the kingdom was decided on the banks of the Boyne. He was seen heading -the gallant charge of Berwick´s horse on Hanmer´s men coming out of the -river, and as the smoke and dust closed on the broken ranks, he went -down and was never seen again. - -Of Gervase Orme there is little more to tell. He married the woman he -loved, and had sons and grandsons, and served his king like a good and -loyal subject. There are certain manuscripts extant which speak of these -things, and an escritoire filled with precious letters which came too -late to hand to use in this narrative. Especially interesting are -certain letters relating to the search after and discovery of a great -treasure. But of all the memorials I think the most precious is that -portrait in the gallery, of which I have spoken--the portrait of Dorothy -Orme taken some two years after her marriage. Above the picture there -hangs a rapier, whether by design or by accident I know not, which they -tell you vaguely belonged to a kinsman of the lady, who had served in -Ireland with Rosen, and fell a year or two afterwards, a gallant -gentleman, on the slopes of Steinkirk. He had a history, but they do not -remember it; not even his name. _Sic nobis._ - - - - - THE END. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - MARK TWAIN´S JOAN OF ARC - - PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. By the Sieur LOUIS DE CONTE - (her page and secretary). Freely translated out of the Ancient - French into Modern English from the Original Unpublished Manuscript - in the National Archives of France, by JEAN FRANCOIS ALDEN. - Illustrated from Original Drawings by F. V. DU MOND, and from - Reproductions of Old Paintings and Statues. Crown 8vo, Cloth, - Ornamental, $2 50. - -One of the most delightful books of the time. It is read with keen -enjoyment, and its leaves will be turned over again many times in -delicious reminiscence of its fascinating episodes and its entrancing -digressions.--RICHARD HENRY STODDARD, in _N. Y. Mail and Express_. - -Vivid, abounding with life and color, with pathos, with humor....A story -to be intensely enjoyed by all lovers of the Maid and of good -reading.--_Advance_, Chicago. - - ------- - - _BY THE SAME AUTHOR:_ - - New Library Editions, from New Electrotype plates. Crown 8vo, - Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75 each. - -THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN. Illustrated. - -A CONNECTICUT YANKEE IN KING ARTHUR´S COURT. Illustrated. - -THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. Illustrated. - -LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. Illustrated. - -TOM SAWYER ABROAD--TOM SAWYER, DETECTIVE, and Other Stories, Etc. - Illustrated. - -THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT, and Other Stories and Sketches. - -The print and form of the volumes are excellent, the binding is -serviceable and artistic, and altogether the handsome set of books pays -the tribute to the novelist that it should.... He is a man to have on -one´s shelves, somewhere near Thackeray.--_N. Y. Tribune._ - - -------------- - -PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK - -☞ _The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by -the publishers, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS - - -------------- - -THE BICYCLERS, AND THREE OTHER FARCES. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, - Ornamental, $1 25. - -The farces are crowded with comic situations, brilliant repartee, and -wholesome fun.--_Brooklyn Standard-Union._ - -A HOUSE-BOAT ON THE STYX. Being Some Account of the Divers Doings of the - Associated Shades. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25. - -Well worth reading.... It is full of genuine crisp humor. It is the -best work of length Mr. Bangs has yet done, and he is to be -congratulated.--_N. Y. Mail and Express._ - -MR. BONAPARTE OF CORSICA. Illustrated by H. W. MCVICKAR. 16mo, Cloth, - Ornamental, $1 25. - -Mr. Bangs is probably the generator of more hearty, healthful, purely -good-humored laughs than any other half-dozen men of our country -to-day.--_Interior, Chicago._ - -THE IDIOT. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. - -“The Idiot” continues to be as amusing and as triumphantly bright in the -volume called after his name as in “Coffee and Repartee.”--_Evangelist, -N. Y._ - -THE WATER GHOST, AND OTHERS. Illustrated. 16mo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 - 25. - -The funny side of the ghost genre is brought out with originality, and, -considering the morbidity that surrounds the subject, it is a wholesome -thing to offer the public a series of tales letting in the sunlight of -laughter.--_Hartford Courant._ - -THREE WEEKS IN POLITICS. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50 cents. - -He who can read this narrative of a campaigners´ trials without laughing -must be a stoic indeed.--_Philadelphia Bulletin._ - -COFFEE AND REPARTEE. Illustrated. 32mo, Cloth, Ornamental, 50 cents. - -Is delightfully free from conventionality; is breezy, witty, and -possessed of an originality both genial and refreshing.--_Saturday -Evening Gazette, Boston._ - - -------------- - - PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK - - ☞ _For sale by all booksellers, or will be mailed by the publishers, - postage prepaid, - on receipt of the price._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - BY A. CONAN DOYLE - -THE REFUGEES. A Tale of Two Continents. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, - Ornamental, $1 75. - -A masterly work.... It is not every year, or even every decade, which -produces one historical novel of such quality.--_Spectator_, London. - -THE WHITE COMPANY. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75. - -... Dr. Doyle´s stirring romance, the best historical fiction he has -done, and one of the best novels of its kind to-day.--_Hartford -Courant._ - -MICAH CLARKE. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 75; also 8vo, - Paper, 45 cents. - -A noticeable book, because it carries the reader out of the beaten -track; it makes him now and then hold his breath with excitement; it -presents a series of vivid pictures and paints two capital portraits; -and it leaves upon the mind the impression of well-rounded symmetry and -completeness.--R. E. PROTHERO, in _The Nineteenth Century_. - -ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, - $1 50. - -MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 - 50. - -Few writers excel Conan Doyle in this class of literature. His style, -vigorous, terse, and thoughtful, united to a nice knowledge of the human -mind, makes every character a profoundly interesting psychological -study.--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._ - -THE PARASITE. A Story. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. - -A strange, uncanny, weird story,... easily the best of its class. The -reader is carried away by it, and its climax is a work of literary -art.--_Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette._ - -THE GREAT SHADOW. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 00. - -A powerful piece of story-telling. Mr. Doyle has the gift -of description, and he knows how to make fiction seem -reality.--_Independent_, N. Y. - - -------------- - - NEW YORK AND LONDON: - HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS - - ☞ _The above works are for sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by - the publishers, - postage prepaid, on receipt of the price._ - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. -The following issues should be noted, along with the resolutions. - - 7.6 answered the other gravely[,/.] Replaced. - - 18.19 the other parried his th[ur/ru]st Transposed. - - 20.7 My men are not soldiers; they are poltroons[.] Added. - - 90.27 and was watching the fug[u/i]tives Replaced. - - 127.20 Presently Dorothy quit[t]ed the room. Inserted. - - 137.24 I´ll have a taste for fighting.[”] Added. - - 137.27 should you try to run away.[”] Added. - - 143.5 “Ay, safe and sound.[”] Added. - - 157.12 th[o/e] roaring of the guns Replaced. - - 164.14 and le[f/t] his gibes pass unnoticed Replaced. - - 176.28 there was much lik[e]lihood Inserted. - - 181.21 “But how can I do that, Simon[./?]” Replaced. - - 186.25 and the words[./:] "Yours in confidence, Replaced. - - 186.29 with a light and b[ou/uo]yant heart Transposed. - - 188.4 that is why I sent for you to[ /-]day Replaced. - - 232.4 What had moved De Laprade to[o] make Removed. - - 241.30 [l/L]ess would have done. Replaced. - - 248.20 I’ll even fetch her mysel[.’/’] Transposed. - - 278.1 [“]He’ll be away before the morn,” he said; Added. - - 309.31 I love the clink of a glass sometim[se/es] Transposed. - - 331.31 set up a great [cheer which,/cheer, which] was Replaced. - caught up - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crimson Sign, by S. R. 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