CORPORAL SAM AND OTHER STORIES

by

SIR ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH ('Q'). 

CONTENTS. 

 CORPORAL SAM. 

 THE COPERNICAN CONVOY. 

 RED VELVET. 

 THE JEW ON THE MOOR. 

 MY CHRISTMAS BURGLARY. 

 THE MAYOR'S DOVECOT: A CAUTIONARY TALE. 

 NEWS FROM TROY!

 COLONEL BAIGENT'S CHRISTMAS. 

 DOCTOR UNONIUS. 

 MUTUAL EXCHANGE, LIMITED. 

CORPORAL SAM. 

CHAPTER I. 

Sergeant David Wilkes, of the First (Royal) Regiment of Foot--thirdbattalion, B Company--came trudging with a small fatigue party downthe sandy slopes of Mount Olia, on the summit of which they had beentoiling all day, helping the artillerymen to drag an extra 24-pounderinto battery. They had brought it into position just half an hourago, and already it had opened fire along with another 24-pounder andtwo howitzers mounted on the same rocky platform. The men as theydescended heard the projectiles fly over their heads, and paused, distinguishing the scream of the shells from the dull hum of theround-shot, to watch the effect of the marksmanship, which wasexcellent. 

Northwards, to their right, stretched the blue line of the Bay, wherea single ship-of-war tacked lazily and kept a two-miles' offing. The smoke of the guns, drifting down on the land-breeze from thesummit of Mount Olia, now hid her white sails, now lifted andrevealed them in the late afternoon sunshine. But although blue heldthe upper heavens--cloudless blue of July--the sunshine that reachedthe ship was murky, almost copper-coloured; for it pierced through acloud of denser smoke that rolled continuously along the westernhorizon from the burning houses of San Sebastian. 

Sergeant Wilkes and his men, halting on the lower slope of themountain where it fell away in sand-dunes to the estuary of theUrumea, had the whole flank of the fortress in view. Just now, athalf-tide, it rose straight out of the water on the farther bank--a low, narrow-necked isthmus that at its seaward end climbed to acone-shaped rock four hundred feet high, crowned by a small castle. This was the citadel. The town, through which alone it could betaken by force, lay under it, across the neck of the isthmus; andthis again was protected on the landward side by a high rampart orcurtain, strengthened by a tall bastion in its centre and covered bya regular hornwork pushed out from its front. So much for theextremities, seaward and landward. That flank of the place whichit presented to the sandhills across the Urumea was clearly morevulnerable, and yet not easily vulnerable. Deep water and naturalrock protected Mount Orgullo, the citadel hill. The sea-wall, foralmost half its length, formed but a _fausse braye_ for the hornworktowering formidably behind it. Only where it covered the town, inthe space between citadel and hornwork, this wall became a simplerampart; stout indeed and solid and twenty-seven feet high, with twoflanking towers for enfilading fire, besides a demi-bastion at theMount Orgullo end, yet offering the weak spot in the defences. 

The British batteries had found and were hammering at it; not theguns upon Mount Olia, which had been hauled thither to dominate thoseof the citadel, but a dozen 24-pounders disposed, with a line ofmortars behind them, on the lower slope above the estuary, where anout-cropping ridge of rock gave firm ground among the sand-dunes. The undulating line of these dunes hid this, the true breachingbattery, from view of Sergeant Wilkes and his men, though they hadhalted within a hundred yards of it, and for at least an hour theguns had been given a rest. Only, at long intervals, one or other ofthe mortars threw a bomb to clear the breach--already close upon ahundred feet wide--driven between the two flanking towers. It was behind this breach that the town blazed. The smoke, carrieddown the estuary by the land-breeze, rolled heavily across the middleslopes of Mount Orgullo. But above it the small castle stood upclearly, silhouetted against the western light, and from time to timeone of its guns answered the fire from Mount Olia. Save for this andthe sound of falling timbers in the town, San Sebastian kept silence. 

'Wonder what it feels like?'

Sergeant Wilkes, not catching the meaning of this, turned aboutslowly. The speaker was a tall young corporal, Sam Vicary by nameand by birth a Somerset lad--a curly haired, broad-shouldered fellowwith a simple engaging smile. He had come out with one of the laterdrafts, and nobody knew the cause of his enlisting, but it wassupposed to be some poaching trouble at home. At all events, therecruiting sergeant had picked up a bargain in him, for, let alonehis stature--and the Royals as a regiment prided themselves on theirinches--he was easily the best marksman in B Company. SergeantWilkes, on whose recommendation he had been given his corporal'sstripe, the day after Vittoria, looked on him as the hopefullest ofhis youngsters. 

'Feels like?' echoed the sergeant, following the young man's gaze andobserving that it rested on the great breach. 'Oh! 'tis the assaultyou mean? Well, it feels pretty much like any other part of thebusiness, only your blood's up, and you don't have to keep yourselfwarm, waiting for the guns to tire. When we stormed the SanVincenty, now, at Badajoz--'

Some one interrupted, with a serio-comic groan. 

'You've started him now, Sam Vicary! Johnny-raws of the ThirdBattalion, your kind attention, pray, for Daddy Wilkes and the goodold days when pipeclay _was_ pipeclay. Don't be afraid, for thoughhe took that first class fortress single-handed, you may sit upon hisknee, and he'll tell you all about it. '

'It's children you are, anyway, ' said the sergeant, with a tolerantsmile. 'But I'll forgive ye, when the time comes, if ye'll do theRoyals credit--and, what's more, I'll never cast up that 'twas but athird battalion against a third-class place. Nor will I need to, ' headded, after a pause, 'if the general makes a throw for yon breachbefore clearing the hornwork. '

'I wasn't thinkin' of the assault, ' explained the young corporal, simply, 'but of the women and children. It must be hell for them, this waitin'. '

The same voice that had mocked the sergeant put up a ribald guffaw. 

'Didn't the general give warning, ' it asked, 'when he summoned thegarrison? "I've got Sam Vicary here along with me, " he said, "and soI give you notice, for Sam's a terror when he starts to work. "'

'If you fellows could quit foolin' a moment--' began Corporal Sam, with an ingenuous blush. But here on a sudden the slope below themopened with a roar as the breaching battery--gun after gun--renewedits fire on the sea-wall. Amid the din, and while the earth shookunderfoot, the sergeant was the first to recover himself. 

'Another breach!' he shouted between the explosions, putting up bothhands like a pair of spectacles and peering through the smoke. 'See there--to the left; and that accounts for their quiet this lasthour. ' He watched the impact of the shot for a minute or so, andshook his head. 'They'd do better to clear the horn work. At Badajoz, now--'

But here he checked himself in time, and fortunately no one hadheard him. The men moved on and struck into the rutted track leadingfrom the batteries to camp. He turned and followed them in a brownstudy. Ever since Badajoz, siege operations had been SergeantWilkes's foible. His youngsters played upon it, drawing him intodiscussions over the camp-fire, and winking one to another as heexpounded and illustrated, using bits of stick to representparallels, traverses, rampart and glacis, scarp and counterscarp. But he had mastered something of the theory, after his lights, andour batteries' neglect of the hornwork struck him as unscientific. 

As he pursued the path, a few dozen yards in rear of his comrades, ata turn where it doubled a sharp corner he saw their hands go up tothe salute, and with this slight warning came upon two of his ownofficers--Major Frazer and Captain Archimbeau--perched on a knoll tothe left, and attentively studying the artillery practice throughtheir glasses. The captain (who, by the way, commanded B Company)signed to him to halt, and climbed down to him while the fatigueparty trudged on. Major Frazer followed, closing his field telescopeas he descended. 

'What do you say to it?' asked Captain Archimbeau, with a jerk of hishand towards the great breach. 

'It can be done, sir, ' Sergeant Wilkes answered. 'Leastways, itought to be done. But with submission, sir, 'twill be at wickedwaste, unless they first clear the hornwork. '

'They can keep it pretty well swept while we assault. The fact is, 'said Major Frazer, a tall Scotsman, speaking in his slow Scots way, 'we assault it early to-morrow, and the general has asked me to findvolunteers. '

'For the forlorn hope, sir?' The sergeant flushed a little, over thecompliment paid to the Royals. 

Major Frazer nodded. 'There's no need to make it common knowledgejust yet. I am allowed to pick my men, but I have no wish to spendthe night in choosing between volunteers. You understand?'

'Yes, sir. You will get a plenty without travelling outside theregiment. '

'Captain Archimbeau goes with us; and we thought, Wilkes, of askingyou to join the party. '

'You are very good, sir. ' There was hesitation, though, in thesergeant's manner, and Major Frazer perceived it. 

'You understand, ' he said coldly, 'that there is no obligation. I wouldn't press a man for this kind of service, even if I could. '

The sergeant flushed. 'I was thinkin' of the regiment, sir, ' heanswered, and turned to his captain. 'We shall have our mensupportin'?--if I may make bold to ask. '

'The Royals are to show the way at the great breach, with the 9th insupport. The 38th tackle the smaller breach. To make surer (as hesays), the general has a mind to strengthen us up in the centre witha picked detachment of the whole division. '

Sergeant Wilkes shook his head. 'I am sorry for that, sir. 'Tisn't for me to teach the general; but I misdoubt all mixin' up ofregiments. What the Royals can do they can best do by themselves. '

'Hurts your pride a bit, eh, sergeant?' asked the major, with a shortlaugh. 'And yet, my friend, it was only yesterday I overheard youtelling your company they weren't fit to carry the slops of the Fifthdivision. '

'It does 'em good, sir. A man, if he wants to do good, must say atrifle more than he means, at times. '

'You _can_ trust 'em, then?'

'And that again, sir--savin' your presence--would be sayin' more thanI mean. For the lads, sir, are young lads, though willing enough;and young lads need to be nursed, however willing. As between youand me, sir'--here he appealed to Captain Archimbeau--'B Company isthe steadiest in the battalion. But if the major takes away itscaptain, and upon top of him its senior sergeant--well, beggin' yourpardon, a compliment's a compliment, but it may be bought too dear. '

'Wilkes is right, ' said the major, after a pause. 'To take the bothof you would be risky; and unless I'm mistaken, Archimbeau, he thinksyou will be the easier spared. '

'I haven't a doubt he does, ' agreed Captain Archimbeau, laughing. 

'But I do not, sir. ' The sergeant seemed on the point to say more, but checked himself. 

'Well?'

'It's not for me to give an opinion, sir, unless asked for it. '

'I ask for it, then--your plain opinion, as a soldier. '

'An officer's an officer--that's my opinion. There's good and bad, to be sure; but an officer like the captain here, that the men cantrust, is harder spared than any sergeant: let alone that you caneasily spread officers too thick--even good ones, and even in aforlorn hope. '

'He wants my place, ' said Captain Archimbeau; 'and he salves myfeelings with a testimonial. '

'As for that, sir'--the sergeant conceded a grin--'I reckon you won'tbe far behind us when the trouble begins. And if the major wants agood man from B Company, you'll agree with me, sir, that yonder hegoes. ' And Sergeant Wilkes jerked a thumb after the tall youngcorporal, a moment before the sandhills hid his retreating figure. 

CHAPTER II. 

The assault had been a muddle from the start. 

To begin with, after being ordered for one day (July 23rd) it hadbeen deferred to the next; on reasonable grounds, indeed, for thetown immediately behind the great breach was burning like a furnace;but it gave the troops an uneasy feeling that their leaders weredistracted in counsel. Nor, divided by the river, did the artilleryand the stormers work upon a mutual understanding. The heavy cannon, after a short experiment to the left of the great breach, had shiftedtheir fire to the right of it, and had succeeded in knocking apracticable hole in it before dusk. But either this change of planhad not been reported to the trenches, or the officer directing theassault inexplicably failed to adapt his dispositions to it. The troops for the great breach were filed out ahead of the 38th, which had farther to go. 

Worst of all, they were set in motion an hour before dawn, althoughWellington had left orders that fair daylight should be waited for, and the artillery-men across the Urumea were still plying their gunson the sea-wall, to dissuade the besieged from repairing it in thedarkness. To be sure a signal for the assault--the firing of a mineagainst the hornwork--had been concerted, and was duly given; but inthe din and the darkness it was either not heard or not understood. 

Thus it happened that the forlorn hope and the supporting companiesof the Royals had no sooner cleared the trenches than their ranksshook under a fire of grape, and from our own guns. There was nocure but to dash through it and take the chances, and Major Frazer, waving his sword, called on his men to follow him at the double. Ahead of them, along the foot of the sea-wall, the receding tide hadleft a strip of strand, foul with rock and rock pools and patches ofseaweed, dark and slippery. Now and again a shell burst andilluminated these patches, or the still-dripping ooze twinkled underflashes of musketry from the wall above; for the defenders hadhurried to the parapet and flanking towers, and their fire alreadycrackled the whole length of the strand. 

Sergeant Wilkes, running a pace or two behind the major, slipping andstaggering at every second yard, was aware--though he could not seehim--of young Corporal Sam close at his shoulder. The lad talked tohimself as he ran: but his talk was no more than a babble of quietunmeaning curses, and the sergeant, who understood how the lust offighting works in different men, did not trouble to answer until, himself floundering up to his knees in a saltwater pool, he flung outa hand for support and felt it gripped. 

'Damn them!' The corporal, dragging him to solid foothold, cast alook up as a shell burst high overhead, and his face showed whitewith passion in the glare of it. 'Can't any one _tell_ them there'sno sense in it!'

'Take it easy, lad, ' panted the sergeant, cheerfully. 'They're boundto understand in a minute, hearin' all this musketry. Accidents willhappen--and anyway they can't help seein' us at the breach. Look atthe light of it beyond the tower there!'

They floundered on together. The tower, not fifty yards away, jettedfire from every loophole; but its marksmen were aiming into thedarkness, having been caught in a hurry and before they could throwdown flares. As the sergeant rushed to get close under the wall ofit, a bullet sent his shako whizzing; but still he ran on, and camebareheaded to the foot of the breach. 

It ran down to the foreshore, a broadening scree of rubble, ruinedmasonry, broken beams of timber--some of them smouldering; and overthe top of it shone the blaze of the town. But the actual gapappeared to be undefended, and, better still, the rubbish on the nearside had so piled itself that for half the way up the stormers couldclimb under cover, protected from the enfilading fire. Already themajor had dropped on hands and knees and was leading the way up, scrambling from heap to heap of rubbish. Close after him went anofficer in the uniform of the Engineers, with Corporal Sam at hisheels. The sergeant ducked his head and followed, dodging from blockto block of masonry on the other side of which the bullets spattered. 

'Forward! Forward the Royals!'

The leaders were shouting it, and he passed on the shout. As yet, not a man had fallen on the slope of the breach. Two, more agilethan he because by some years younger, overtook and passed him; buthe was the sixth to reach the summit, and might reckon this very goodwork for a man of his weight. Then, as he turned to shout again, three more of the forlorn hope came blundering up, and the nine stoodunscathed on the summit of the gap and apparently with none to opposethem. 

But beyond it--between them and the town, and a sheer twenty feetbelow them, lay a pool of blazing tar, the flames of which roared upagainst their faces. 

'Forward the Royals! Ladders--ladders! Oh, for your life, forwardwith the ladders!'

The major started the cry. Corporal Sam, taking it up, screamedit again and again. In the darkness, behind and below, thesergeant heard Captain Archimbeau calling to his men to hurry. One ladder-bearer came clattering up; but the ladders were insix-foot lengths, and a single length was useless. Nevertheless, inhis rage of haste, Corporal Sam seized it from the man, and wasbending to clamp it over the pit, when from the parapet to the righta sudden cross-fire swept the head of the breach. A bullet struckhim in the hand. He looked up, with the pain of it, in time to seeMajor Frazer spin about, topple past the sergeant's hand thrust outto steady him, and pitch headlong down the slope. The ladder-bearerand another tall Royal dropped at the same moment. 

'Hi, sergeant!' spoke up the young Engineer officer very sharply andclearly, at the same time stepping a couple of paces down from theridge over which a frontal fire of bullets now flew whistling fromthe loopholed houses in the town. 'For God's sake, shout and hurryup your men, or our chance this night is gone. '

'I know it, sir--I know it, ' groaned Wilkes. 

'Then shout, man! Fifty men might do it yet, but every moment is oddsagainst. See the swarm on the rampart there, to the right!'

They shouted together, but in vain. Four or five ladder-bearersmounted the slope, but only to be shot down almost at their feet. The Engineer officer, reaching forward to seize one of theladder-lengths and drag it behind a pile of masonry under which hehad taken cover, and thus for an instant exposing himself, droppedsuddenly upon his face. And now but Sergeant Wilkes and Corporal Samwere left clinging, waiting for the help that still tarried. 

What had happened was this. The supporting columns, disordered bythe scramble along the foreshore, arrived at the foot of the breachin straggling twos and threes; and here, while their officers triedto form them up, the young soldiers behind, left for the momentwithout commanders and exasperated by the fire from the flankingtower, halted to exchange useless shots with its defenders and withthe enemy on the rampart. Such fighting was worse than idle: itdelayed them full in the path of the 38th, which now overtook them onits way to the lesser breach, and in five minutes the two columnswere inextricably mixed, blocking the narrow space between wall andriver, and exposed in all this dark confusion to a murderous fire. 

At length, and though less than a third of his men followed him, Captain Archimbeau led the supporters up the breach; but by this timethe enemy had packed the ramparts on either side. No soldiery couldstand the hail of musketry, grape, and hand-grenades that rained uponthe head of the column. It hesitated, pushed forward again, andbroke some fifteen feet from the summit, like a spent wave. Then, asthe Royals came pouring back, Lieutenant Campbell of the 9th, withall that could be collected of his picked detachment, forced his wayup through the sheer weight of them, won clear, and made a fling forthe crest. In vain! His first rush carried him abreast of themasonry under which Sergeant Wilkes and the corporal clung for cover. They rushed out to join him; but they had scarcely gained his sidebefore the whole detachment began to give ground. It was not thatthe men fell back; rather, the apex of the column withered down asman after man dropped beside its leader. He himself had taken awound. Yet he waved his sword and carried them forward on a secondcharge, only to reach where he had reached before, and be laid thereby a second bullet. 

Meanwhile the Royals, driven to the foot of the slope, were flung asa fresh obstacle in the path of the 38th still striving to press onfor the lesser breach. From his perch half-way up the ruins, Sergeant Wilkes descried Captain Archimbeau endeavouring to rallythem, and climbed down to help him. The corporal followed, nursinghis wounded hand. As they reached him a bugle sounded the recall. 

The assault had failed. At the foot of the breach a soldier of the4th Regiment, mad with rage, foamed out a curse upon the Royals. Corporal Sam lifted his bleeding fist and struck him across themouth. The sergeant dragged the two apart, slipped an arm under hiscomrade's, and led him away as one leads a child. A moment later thesurge of the retreating crowd had almost carried them off their feet. But the sergeant kept a tight hold, and steered his friend back everyyard of the way along the bullet-swept foreshore. They were lessthan half-way across when the dawn broke; and looking in his face hesaw that the lad was crying silently--the powder-grime on his cheeksstreaked and channelled with tears. 

CHAPTER III. 

'I don't understand ye, lad, ' said Sergeant Wilkes. 

'Fast enough you'd understand, if you'd but look me in the face, 'answered Corporal Sam, digging his heel into the sand. 

The two men lay supine on a cushion of coarse grass; the sergeantsmoking and staring up at the sky, the corporal, with his sound handclasping his wounded one behind his head, his gaze fixed gloomilybetween his knees and across the dunes, on the still unrepairedbreach in San Sebastian. 

A whole fortnight had dragged by since the assault: a fortnight ofidleness for the troops, embittered almost intolerably by a sensethat the Fifth Division had disgraced itself. One regiment blamedanother, and all conspired to curse the artillery--whose practice, bythe way, had been brilliant throughout the siege. Nor did thegunners fail to retort; but they were in luckier case, being keptbusy all the while, first in shifting their batteries and removingtheir worst guns to the ships, next in hauling and placing the newtrain that arrived piecemeal from England; and not only busy, butalert, on the watch against sorties. Also, and although the error ofcannonading the columns of assault had never been cleared up, thebrunt of Wellington's displeasure had fallen on the stormers. The Marquis ever laid stress on his infantry, whether to use them orblame them; and when he found occasion to blame, he had words--andmethods--that scarified equally the general of division and theprivate soldier. 

'Fast enough you understand, ' repeated Corporal Sam savagely. 

'I do, then, and I don't, ' admitted Sergeant Wilkes, after a pause. The lad puzzled him; gave him few confidences, asked for none at all, and certainly was no cheerful companion; and yet during these days ofhumiliation the two had become friends, almost inseparable. 'I've read it, ' the sergeant pursued, 'in Scripture or somewhere, that a man what keeps a hold on himself does better than if he took acity. I don't say as I understand that altogether; but it _sounds_right. '

'Plucky lot of cities we take, in the Royals, ' growled Corporal Sam. He nodded, as well as his posture allowed, towards San Sebastian. 'And you call that a third-class fortress!'

'Accidents will happen. ' Sergeant Wilkes, puffing at his pipe, fellback philosophically on his old catchword. 'It takes you hard, because you're young; and it takes you harder because you had fedyourself up on dreams o' glory, and such-like. '

'Well?'

'Well, and you have to get over it, that's all. A man can't properlycall himself a soldier till he's learnt to get over it. '

'If that's all, the battalion is qualifyin' fast!' Corporal Samretorted bitterly, and sat up, blinking in the strong sunlight. Then, as Sergeant Wilkes made no reply, or perhaps because he guessedsomething in Sergeant Wilkes's averted face, a sudden compunctionseized him. 'You feel it too?'

'I got to, after all my trouble, ' answered Sergeant Wilkes brusquely. 

'I'm sorry. Look here--I wish you'd turn your face about--it's worsefor you and yet you get over it, as you say. How the devil do youmanage?'

Still for a while Sergeant Wilkes leaned back without making reply. But of a sudden he, too, sat upright, drew down the peak of his shakoto shade his eyes, and drawing his pipe from his mouth, jerked thestem of it to indicate a figure slowly crossing a rise of thesandhills between them and the estuary. 

'You see that man?'

'To be sure I do. An officer, and in the R. A. --curse them!--though Ican't call to mind the cut of his jib. '

'You wouldn't. His name's Ramsay, and he's just out of arrest. '

'What has he done?'

'A many things, first and last. At Fuentes d'Onoro the whole Frenchcavalry cut him off--him and his battery--and he charged back cleanthrough them; ay, lad, through 'em like a swathe, with his horsesbelly-down and the guns behind 'em bounding like skipjacks; not a guntaken, and scarce a gunner hurt. That's the sort of man. '

'Why has he been under arrest?'

'Because the Marquis gave him an order and forgot it. And becausecoming up later, expecting to find him where he wasn't and had noright to be, the Marquis lost his temper. And likewise, because, when a great man loses his temper, right or wrong don't matter much. So there goes Captain Ramsay broken; a gentleman and a born fighter;and a captain he'll die. That's how the mills grind in this hereall-conquering army. And the likes of us sit here and complain. '

'If a man did that wrong to me--' Corporal Sam jumped to his feet andstared after the slight figure moving alone across the sandhills. 

Had his curiosity led him but a few paces farther, he had seen astrange sight indeed. 

Captain Norman Ramsay, wandering alone and with a burning heart, halted suddenly on the edge of a sand-pit. Below him four men stood, gathered in a knot--two of them artillery officers, the othersofficers of the line. His first impulse was to turn and escape, forhe shunned all companionship just now. But a second glance told himwhat was happening; and, prompt on the understanding, he plungedstraight down the sandy bank, walked up to a young artillery officerand took the pistol out of his hand. That was all, and it allhappened in less than three minutes. The would-be duellist--andchallenges had been common since the late assault--knew the man andhis story. For that matter, every one in the army knew his story. 

As a ghost he awed them. For a moment he stood looking from one tothe other, and so, drawing the charge, tossed the pistol back at itsowner's feet and resumed his way. 

Corporal Sam, who had merely seen the slight figure pass beyond theedge of the dunes, went back and flung himself again on the warmbank. 

'If a man did that wrong to me--' he repeated. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Certainly, just or unjust, the Marquis could make himself infernallyunpleasant. Having ridden over from head-quarters and settled theplans for the new assault, he returned to his main army and theredemanded fifty volunteers from each of the fifteen regimentscomposing the First, Fourth, and Light Divisions--men (as he put it)_who could show other troops how to mount a breach_. It may beguessed with what stomach the Fifth Division digested this; and amongthem not a man was angrier than their old general, Leith, who now, after a luckless absence, resumed command. The Fifth Division, heswore, could hold their own with any soldiers in the Peninsula. He was furious with the seven hundred and fifty volunteers, and, evading the Marquis's order, which was implicit rather than direct, he added an oath that these interlopers should never lead his men tothe breaches. 

Rage begets rage. During the misty morning hours of August 31st, theday fixed for the assault, these volunteers, held back and chafingwith the reserves, could scarcely be restrained from breaking out ofthe trenches. 'Why, ' they demanded, 'had they been fetched here ifnot to show the way?'--a question for which their officers were in nomood to provide a soft answer. 

Yet their turn came. Sergeant Wilkes, that amateur insiege-operations, had rightly prophesied from the first that thewaste of life at the breaches would be wicked and useless until thehornwork had been silenced and some lodgment made there. So as themorning wore on, and the sea-mists gave place to burning sunshine, and this again to heavy thunder-clouds collected by the unceasingcannonade, still more and more of the reserves of the Fifth Divisionwere pushed up, until none but the volunteers and a handful of the9th Regiment remained in the trenches. Them, too, at length Leithwas forced to unleash, and they swept forward on the breaches yellinglike a pack of hounds; but on the crest-line they fared at first nobetter than the regiments they had taunted. Thrice and four timesthey reached it only to topple back. The general, watching the fightfrom the batteries across the Urumea, now directed the gunners tofire over the stormers' heads; and again a cry went up that our menwere being slaughtered by their own artillery. Undismayed by this, with no recollections of the first assault to daunt them, a companyof the Light Division took advantage of the fire to force their wayover the rampart on the right of the great breach and seize alodgment in some ruined houses actually within the town. There foran hour or so these brave men were cut off, for the assault ingeneral made no headway. 

It must have failed, even after five hours' fighting, but for anaccident. A line of powder-barrels collected behind the traverses bythe great breach took fire and blew up, driving back all the Frenchgrenadiers but the nearest, whom it scattered in mangled heaps. As explosion followed explosion, the bright flame spread and ranalong the high curtain. The British leapt after it, breaking throughthe traverse and swarming up to the curtain's summit. Almost at thesame moment the Thirteenth and Twenty-fourth Portuguese, who hadcrossed the river by a lower ford, hurled themselves over the lesserbreach to the right; and as the swollen heavens burst in a storm ofrain and thunder, from this point and that the besiegers, as over thelip of a dam, swept down into the streets. 

'Treat men like dogs, and they'll behave like dogs, ' grumbledSergeant Wilkes, as he followed to prevent what mischief he might. But this, he well knew, would be little enough. 

CHAPTER V. 

Corporal Sam Vicary, coming up to the edge of the camp-fire's light, stood there for a moment with a white face. The cause of it--thoughit would have been a sufficient one--was not the story to which themen around the fire had been listening; for the teller, at sight ofthe corporal, had broken off abruptly, knowing him to be a religiousfellow after a fashion, with a capacity for disapproval and a pair offists to back it up. So, while his comrades guffawed, he rathercleverly changed the subject. 

'Oh, and by the way, talkin' of the convent'--he meant the Convent ofSanta Teresa, a high building under the very slope of the citadel, protected by its guns and still held by the enemy, after three days'fighting--'do any of you know a small house to the left of it, withonly a strip of garden between? Sort of a mud-nest it is, like aswallow's, stuck under overhang o' the cliff. No? Well, that's apity, for I hear tell the general has promised five pounds to thefirst man who breaks into that house. '

'But why, at all?' inquired a man close on his right. 

'I know the place, ' put in another; 'a mean kind of building, withone window lookin' down the street, and that on the second floor, asyou might say. It don't look to me the sort of house to hold fivepounds' worth, all told--let be that, to force it, a man must crosshalf the fire from the convent, and in full view. Five pounds be_damned!_ Five pounds isn't so scarce in these times that a man needgo there to fetch it for his widow. '

The corporal was turning away. For three days San Sebastian had beena hell, between the flames of which he had seen things that sickenedhis soul. They sickened it yet, only in remembrance. Yes, and thesickness had more than once come nigh to be physical. His throatworked at the talk of loot, now that he knew what men did for it. 

'The general ain't after the furnitcher, ' answered the first speaker. 'It consarns a child. '

'A child ain't no such rarity in San Sebastian that anybody needoffer five pounds for one. '

'What's this talk about a child?' asked Sergeant Wilkes, coming infrom his rounds, and dropping to a seat by the blaze. He caughtsight of Corporal Sam standing a little way back, and nodded. 

'Well, it seems that, barring this child, every soul in the house hasbeen killed. The place is pretty certain death to approach, and thecrittur, for all that's known, has been left without food for twodays and more. 'Tis a boy, I'm told--a small thing, not above fourat the most. Between whiles it runs to the window and looks out. The sentries have seen it more'n a dozen times; and one told me he'da sight sooner look on a ghost. '

'Then why don't the Frenchies help?' some one demanded. 'There's aplenty of 'em close by, in the convent. '

'The convent don't count. There's a garden between it and thehouse, and on the convent side a blank wall--no windows at all, onlyloopholes. Besides which, there's a whole block of buildings in fullblaze t'other side of the house, and the smoke of it drives across sothat 'tis only between whiles you can see the child at all. The oddsare, he'll be burnt alive or smothered before he starves outright;and, I reckon, put one against the other, 'twill be the mercifullerend. '

'Poor little beggar, ' said the sergeant. 'But why don't the generalsend in a white flag, and take him off?'

'A lot the governor would believe--and after what you and me haveseen these two days! A nice tenderhearted crew to tell him, "If you please, we've come for a poor little three-year-old. "Why, he'd as lief as not believe we meant to _eat_ him. '

Sergeant Wilkes glanced up across the camp-fire to the spot whereCorporal Sam had been standing. But Corporal Sam had disappeared. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Although the hour was close upon midnight, and no moon showed, Corporal Sam needed no lantern to light him through San Sebastian;for a great part of the upper town still burned fiercely, and fromtime to time a shell, soaring aloft from the mortar batteries acrossthe river, burst over the citadel or against the rocks where theFrench yet clung, and each explosion flung a glare across theheavens. 

He had passed into the town unchallenged. The fatigue parties, hunting by twos and threes among the ruins of the river-front forcorpses to burn or bury, doubtless supposed him to be about the samebusiness. At any rate, they paid him no attention. 

Just within the walls, where the conflagration had burnt itself out, there were patches of black shadow to be crossed carefully. The fighting had been obstinate here, and more than one blazing househad collapsed into the thick of it. The corporal picked his waygingerly, shivering a little at the thought of some things buried, orhalf-buried, among the loose stones. Indeed, at the head of thefirst street his foot entangled itself in something soft. It turnedout to be nothing more than a man's cloak, or _poncho_, and heslipped it on, to hide his uniform and avoid explanations should hefall in with one of the patrols; but the feel of it gave him a scarefor a moment. 

The lad, in fact, was sick of fighting and slaughter--physically illat the remembrance and thought of them. The rage of the assault hadburnt its way through him like a fever and left him weak, giddy, queasy of stomach. He had always hated the sight of suffering, eventhe suffering of dumb animals: and as a sportsman, home in England, he had learnt to kill his game clean, were it beast or bird. In thought, he had always loathed the trade of a butcher, and hadcertainly never guessed that soldiering could be--as here in SanSebastian he had seen it--more bestial than the shambles. 

For some reason, as he picked his road, his mind wandered away fromthe reek and stink of San Sebastian and back to England, back toSomerset, to the slopes of Mendip. His home there had overlooked anancient battle-field, and as a boy, tending the sheep on the uplands, he had conned it often and curiously, having heard the old men telltales of it. The battle had been fought on a wide plain intersectedby many water-dykes. Twice or thrice he had taken a holiday toexplore it, half expecting that a close view would tell him somethingof its history; but, having no books to help him, he had brought backvery little beyond a sense of awe that so tremendous a thing hadhappened just there, and (unconsciously) a stored remembrance of thescents blown across the level from the flowers that lined the dykes--scents of mint and meadow-sweet at home there, as the hawthorn was athome on the hills above. 

He smelt them now, across the reek of San Sebastian, and they waftedhim back to England--to boyhood, dreaming of war but innocent of itscrimes--to long thoughts, long summer days spent among the unheedingsheep, his dog Rover beside him--an almost thoroughbred collie, and agood dog, too, though his end had been tragic. . . . But why on earthshould his thoughts be running on Rover just now?

Yet, and although, as he went, England was nearer to him and morereal than the smoking heaps between which he picked his way, hesteered all the while towards the upper town, through the square, andup the hill overlooked by the convent and the rocky base of thecitadel. He knew the exact position of the house, and he chose anarrow street--uninhabited now, and devastated by fire--that leddirectly to it. 

The house was untouched by fire as yet, though another to the left ofit blazed furiously. It clung, as it were a swallow's nest, to theface of the cliff. A garden wall ran under the front; and, parallelwith the wall, a road pretty constantly swept by musketry fire fromthe convent. At the head of the street Corporal Sam stumbled againsta rifleman who, sheltered from bullets at the angle of the crossing, stood calmly watching the conflagration. 

'Hallo!' said the rifleman cheerfully; 'I wanted some more audience, and you're just in time. '

'There's a child in the house, eh?' panted Corporal Sam, who had comeup the street at a run. 

The rifleman nodded. 'Poor little devil! He'll soon be out of hispain, though. '

'Why, there's heaps of time! The fire won't take hold for anotherhalf-hour. What's the best way in? . . . You an' me can go shares, if that's what you're hangin' back for, ' added Corporal Sam, seeingthat the man eyed him without stirring. 

'Hi! Bill!' the rifleman whistled to a comrade, who came slouchingout of a doorway close by, with a clock in one hand, and in the othera lantern by help of which he had been examining the inside of thispiece of plunder. 'Here's a boiled lobster in a old woman's cloak, wants to teach us the way into the house yonder. '

'Tell him to go home, ' said Bill, still peering into the works of theclock. 'Tell him we've _been_ there. ' He chuckled a moment, lookedup, and addressed himself to Corporal Sam. 'What regiment?'

'The Royals. '

The two burst out laughing scornfully. 'Don't wonder you cover itup, ' said the first rifleman. 

Corporal Sam pulled off his _poncho_. 'I'd offer to fight the bothof you, ' he said, 'but 'tis time wasted with a couple of white-liversthat don't dare fetch a poor child across a roadway. Let me go by;_you_'ll keep, anyway. '

'Now look here, sonny--' The first rifleman blocked his road. 'I don't bear no malice for a word spoken in anger: so stand quietand take my advice. That house isn't goin' to take fire. 'Cos why?'Cos as Bill says, we've _been_ there--there and in the next house, now burnin'--and we know. 'Cos before leavin'--the night before lastit was--some of our boys set two barrels o' powder somewheres in thenext house, on the ground floor, _with_ a slow match. That's why_we_ left; though, as it happened, the match missed fire. But thepowder's there, and if you'll wait a few minutes now you'll not bedisapp'inted. '

'You left the child behind!'

'Well, we left in a hurry, as I tell you, and somehow in the hurrynobody brought him along. I'm sorry for the poor little devil, too. 'The fellow swung about. 'See him there at the window, now! If youwant him put out of his pain--'

He lifted his rifle. Corporal Sam made a clutch at his arm to dragit down, and in the scuffle both men swayed out upon the roadway. And with that, or a moment later, he felt the rifleman slip downbetween his arms, and saw the blood gush from his mouth as hecollapsed on the cobbles. 

Corporal Sam heard the man Bill shout a furious oath, cast onepuzzled look up the roadway towards the convent, saw the flashesjetting from its high wall, and raced across unscathed. A bulletsang past his ear as he found the gate and hurled himself into thegarden. It was almost dark here, but dark only for a moment. . . . For as he caught sight of a flight of steps leading to a narrowdoorway, and ran for them--and even as he set foot on the lowest--ofa sudden the earth heaved under him, seemed to catch him up in asheet of flame, and flung him backwards--backwards and flat on hisback, into a clump of laurels. 

Slowly he picked himself up. The sky was dark now; but, marvellousto say, the house stood. The mass of it yet loomed over the laurels. Yes, and a light showed under the door at the head of the steps. He groped his way up and pushed the door open. 

The light came through a rent in the opposite wall, and on the edgeof this jagged hole some thin laths were just bursting into a blaze. He rushed across the room to beat out the flame, and this was easilydone; but, as he did it, he caught sight of a woman's body, stretchedalong the floor by the fireplace, and of a child cowering in thecorner, watching him. 

'Come and help, little one, ' said Corporal Sam, still beating at thelaths. 

The child understood no English, and moreover was too small to help. But it seemed that the corporal's voice emboldened him, for he drewnear and stood watching. 

'Who did _this_, little one?' asked Corporal Sam, nodding towards thecorpse, as he rubbed the charred dust from his hands. 

For a while the child stared at him, not comprehending; but by-and-bypointed beneath the table and then back at its mother. 

The corporal walked to the table, stooped, and drew from under it arifle and a pouch half-filled with cartridges. 

'Tell him we've _been_ there. ' He seemed to hear the rifleman Bill'svoice repeating the words, close at hand. He recognised the badge onthe pouch. 

He was shaking where he stood; and this, perhaps, was why the childstared at him so oddly. But, looking into the wondering young eyes, he read only the question, 'What are you going to do?'

He hated these riflemen. Nay, looking around the room, how he hatedall the foul forces that had made this room what it was! . . . And yet, on the edge of resolve, he knew that he must die for what hemeant to do . . . That the thing was unpardonable, that in the end hemust be shot down, and rightly, as a dog. 

He remembered his dog Rover, how the poor brute had been tempted tosheep-killing at night, on the sly; and the look in his eyes when, detected at length, he had crawled forward to his master to be shot. No other sentence was possible, and Rover had known it. 

Had he no better excuse? Perhaps not. . . . He only knew that hecould not help it; that this thing had been done, and by the consentof many . . . And that as a man he must kill for it, though as asoldier he deserved only to be killed. 

With the child's eyes still resting on him in wonder, he set therifle on its butt and rammed down a cartridge; and so, dropping onhands and knees, crept to the window. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Early next morning Sergeant Wilkes picked his way across the ruins ofthe great breach and into the town, keeping well to windward of thefatigue parties already kindling fires and collecting the dead bodiesthat remained unburied. 

Within and along the sea-wall San Sebastian was a heap of burnt-outruins. Amid the stones and rubble encumbering the streets, laybroken muskets, wrenched doors, shattered sticks of furniture--mirrors, hangings, women's apparel, children's clothes--loot droppedby the pillagers as valueless, wreckage of the flood. He passed avery few inhabitants, and these said nothing to him; indeed, did notappear to see him, but sat by the ruins of their houses with facesset in a stupid horror. Even the crash of a falling house near bywould scarcely persuade them to stir, and hundreds during the lastthree days had been overwhelmed thus and buried. 

The sergeant had grown callous to these sights. He walked on, heeding scarcely more than he was heeded, came to the great square, and climbed a street leading northwards, a little to the left of thegreat convent. The street was a narrow one, for half its lengthlined on both sides with fire-gutted houses; but the upper half, though deserted, appeared to be almost intact. At the very head, andclose under the citadel walls, it took a sharp twist to the right, and another twist, almost equally sharp, to the left before it endedin a broader thoroughfare, crossing it at right angles and runningparallel with the ramparts. 

At the second twist the sergeant came to a halt; for at his feet, stretched across the causeway, lay a dead body. 

He drew back with a start, and looked about him. Corporal Sam hadbeen missing since nine o'clock last night, and he felt sure thatCorporal Sam must be here or hereabouts. But no living soul was insight. 

The body at his feet was that of a rifleman; one of the volunteerswhose presence had been so unwelcome to General Leith and the wholeFifth Division. The dead fist clutched its rifle; and the sergeantstooping to disengage this, felt that the body was warm. 

'Come back, you silly fool!'

He turned quickly. Another rifleman had thrust his head out of adoorway close by. The sergeant, snatching up the weapon, sprang andjoined him in the passage where he sheltered. 

'I--I was looking for a friend hereabouts. '

'Fat lot of friend you'll find at the head of _this_ street!' snarledthe rifleman, and jerked his thumb towards the corpse. 'That makesthe third already this morning. These Johnnies ain't no sense ofhonour left--firing on outposts as you may call it. '

'Where are they firing from?'

'No "they" about it. You saw that cottage--or didn't you?--rightabove there, under the wall; the place with one window in it?There's a devil behind it somewheres; he fires from the back of theroom, and what's more, he never misses his man. You have Nick's ownluck--the pretty target you made, too; that is unless, like some thatcall themselves Englishmen and ought to know better, he's a specialspite on the Rifles. '

The sergeant paid no heed to the sneer. He was beginning to think. 

'How long has this been going on?' he asked. 

'Only since daylight. There was a child up yonder, last night; butit stands to reason a child can't be doing this. He never misses, Itell you. Oh, you had luck, just now!'

'I wonder, ' said Sergeant Wilkes, musing. 'I'll try it again, anyway. ' And while the rifleman gasped he stepped out boldly intothe road. 

He knew that his guess might, likely enough, be wrong: that, evenwere it right, the next two seconds might see him a dead man. Yet he was bound to satisfy himself. With his eyes on the sinisterwindow--it stood half open and faced straight down the narrowstreet--he knelt by the corpse, found its ammunition pouch, unbuckledthe strap and drew out a handful of cartridges. Then he straightenedhimself steadily--but his heart was beating hard--and as steadilywalked back and rejoined the rifleman in the passage. 

'You have a nerve, ' said the rifleman, his voice shaking a little. 'Looks like he don't fire on redcoats; but you have a nerve all thesame. '

'Or else he may be gone, ' suggested the sergeant, and on the instantcorrected himself; 'but I warn you not to reckon upon that. Is therea window facing on him anywhere, round the bend of the street?'

'I dunno. '

The rifleman peered forth, turning his head sideways for a cautiousreconnoitre. 'Maybe he _has_ gone, after all--'

It was but his head he exposed beyond the angle of the doorway; andyet, on the instant a report cracked out sharply, and he pitchedforward into the causeway. His own rifle clattered on the stonesbeside him, and where he fell he lay, like a stone. 

Sergeant Wilkes turned with a set jaw and mounted the stairs of thedeserted house behind him. They led him up to the roof, and there hedropped on his belly and crawled. Across three roofs he crawled, andlay down behind a balustrade overlooking the transverse roadway. Between the pillars of the balustrade he looked right across theroadway and into the half-open window of the cottage. The roomwithin was dark save for the glimmer of a mirror on the back wall. 

'Kill him I must, ' growled the sergeant through his teeth, 'though Iwait the day for it. '

And he waited there, crouching for an hour--for two hours. 

He was shifting his cramped attitude a little--a very little--forabout the twentieth time, when a smur of colour showed on the mirror, and the next instant passed into a dark shadow. It may be that themarksman within the cottage had spied yet another rifleman in thestreet. But the sergeant had noted the reflection in the glass, thatit was red. Two shots rang out together. But the sergeant, afterpeering through the parapet, stood upright, walked back across theroofs, and regained the stairway. 

The street was empty. From one of the doorways a voice called to himto come back. But he walked on, up the street and across the roadwayto a green-painted wicket. It opened upon a garden, and across thegarden he came to a flight of steps with an open door above. Throughthis, too, he passed and stared into a small room. On the far sideof it, in an armchair, sat Corporal Sam, leaning back, with a hand tohis breast; and facing him, with a face full of innocent wonder, stood a child--a small, grave, curly-headed child. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

'I'm glad you done it quick, ' said Corporal Sam. 

His voice was weak, yet he managed to get out the words firmly, leaning back in the wooden armchair, with one hand on his leftbreast, spread and covering the lower ribs. 

The sergeant did not answer at once. Between the spread fingers hesaw a thin stream welling, darker than the scarlet tunic which itdiscoloured. For perhaps three seconds he watched it. To him thetime seemed as many minutes, and all the while he was aware of therifle-barrel warm in his grasp. 

'Because, ' Corporal Sam pursued with a smile that wavered a little, half wistfully seeking his eyes, 'you'd 'a had to do it, anyway--wouldn't you? And any other way it--might--'a been hard. '

'Lad, what _made_ you?'

It was all Sergeant Wilkes could say, and he said it, wondering atthe sound of his own voice. The child, who, seeing that the two werefriends and not, after all, disposed to murder one another, hadwandered to the head of the stairs to look down into the sunlitgarden shining below, seemed to guess that something was amiss afterall, and, wandering back, stood at a little distance, finger to lip. 

'I don't know, ' the corporal answered, like a man with difficultytrying to collect his thoughts. 'Leastways, not to explain to you. It must 'a been comin' on for some time. '

'But _what_, lad--_what?_'

'Ah--"what?" says you. That's the trouble, and I can't never makeyou _see_--yes, make you _see_--the hell of it. It began withthinkin'--just with thinkin'--_that first night you led me home fromthe breach_. And the things I saw and heard; and then, when I camehere, only meanin' to save _him_--'

He broke off and nodded at the child, who catching his eye, noddedback smiling. 

He and the corporal had evidently made great friends. 

But the corporal's gaze, wavering past him, had fixed itself on atrestle bed in the corner. 

'There was a woman, ' he said. 'She was stone cold; but the childtold me--until I stopped his mouth, and made a guess at the rest. I took her down and buried her in the garden. And with that it cameover me that the whole of it--the whole business--was wrong, and thatto put myself right I must kill, and keep on killing. Of course Iknew what the end would be. But I never looked for such luck as_your_ coming. . . . I was ashamed, first along, catching sight o'you--not--not ashamed, only I didn't want you to see. But when youtook cover an' waited--though I wouldn't 'a hurt you for worlds--whythen I knew how the end would be. '

'Lad, ' said the sergeant, watching him as he panted, 'I don'tunderstand you, except that you're desperate wrong. But I saw you--saw you by the lookin'-glass, behind there; and 'tis right you shouldknow. '

'O' course you saw me. . . . I'm not blamin', am I? You had to doit, and I had to take it. That was the easiest way. I couldn' do noother, an' you couldn' do no other, that bein' your duty. An' thechild, there--'

Sergeant Wilkes turned for a moment to the child, who met his gaze, round-eyed; then to his friend again. 

But the corporal's head had dropped forward on his chest. 

The sergeant touched his shoulder, to make sure; then, with one lookbehind him, but ignoring the child, reeled out of the room and downthe stairs, as in a dream. In the sunny garden the fresh air revivedhim and he paused to stare at a rose-bush, rampant, covered withwhite blossoms against which the bees were humming. Their hum ran inhis head so that he failed to notice that the sound of musketry haddied down. An hour before it had been death to walk, as he did, under the convent wall and out into the street leading to the lesserbreach. The convent had, in fact, surrendered, and its defenderswere even now withdrawing up the hill to the citadel. He found thelesser breach and climbed down it to the shore of the Urumea, besidethe deserted ford across which the Portuguese had waded on themorning of the second assault. Beyond it shone the sandhills, hiding our batteries. 

He sat down on the bank and pulled off boots and socks, preparing towade; but turned at a slight sound. 

The child had followed him and stood half-way down the ruins of thebreach, wistful, uncertain. 

In a rage, as one threatens off an importunate dog, Sergeant Wilkeswaved an arm. The child turned and slunk away, back into SanSebastian. 

THE COPERNICAN CONVOY. 

[The story is told by Will Fleming, of the Inner Temple, Barrister-at-law, and sometime Cornet of the 32nd Troop of Horse inthe Parliament Army, then (December, 1643) quartered at Farnham, onthe Hants border. ]

CHAPTER I. 

I dare say that, since the world began and men learned to fight, wasnever an army moderately prosperous and yet fuller of grumblers thanwas ours during the latter weeks of November and the first fortnightof December, 1643. In part the blame lay upon our general, SirWilliam Waller, and his fondness for night attacks and beating up ofquarters. He rested neither himself nor his men, but spent themwithout caring, and drove not a few to desert in mere fatigue. This was his way, and it differed from the way of my Lord Essex, whorather spilled his strength by lethargy and grieved over it. 'Twas notorious these two generals loved not one another: and 'tisnot for me, who never served under Essex, to take sides. But I willsay this for General Waller--that he spared himself as little as anycommon soldier; never forgot the face of a good servant; and ingeneral fed his men well and hated arrears of pay like the devil. 

Nevertheless, and hate it though he might, our pay was in arrears. Moreover, apart from their fatigue of marching and counter-marching, the bulk of our infantry had been drawn from the London train-bands--the Red Westminster Regiment and the Auxiliaries, Green and Yellow, of London City and the Tower Hamlets; tradesmen, that is to say, whowearied to be home again with their wives and families after sixmonths' separation, and others (such as the White Regiment ofAuxiliaries) freshly drafted, that had scarce got over theremembrance of parting. These regiments, too, comprised many scoreof apprentices, whom Parliament allowed to count their time ofmilitary service as though it had been spent with their masters: andas apprentice and master marched side by side, and it often fell thatthe youngster won promotion, with leave to order his elder about, youmay guess there were heart-burnings. Add to this that it kept thesegood citizens chafing to note how often (and indeed regularly)advancement passed them over to light on some young gentleman offamily or 'imp, ' as they growled, 'from the Inns of Court. '

We lay--in horse and foot some five thousand strong--well centred inand about the town and castle of Farnham, with a clear road to Londonbehind us and in front a nearly equal enemy planted across ourpassage to the West. You may take a map with ruler and pencil anddraw a line through from Winchester to Oxford, where the King kepthis Court. On the base of it, at Winchester, rested General Hopton'smain force. North and east of it, at Alton, my Lord Crawford stoodathwart the road with sufficient cavalry and Colonel Bolle's regimentof foot; yet farther north, Basing House, with my Lord ofWinchester's garrison, blocked the upper path for us; and yet beyond, Sir Edward Ford's regiment held the passes of the hills towardOxford; so that for the while, and in face of us, messengers, troops, even artillery, might pass to and fro without challenge. This lineof defence, though it forestalled us on every road, was weak in thatit drew out Hopton's strength and attenuated it at too greatdistances. This our general perceived, and nursed himself for asudden blow. 

Now I must mention that with the entry of December there fell thebeginning of a cruel frost, that lasted six weeks and was enough tomake this winter memorable without help of wars or bloodshed. At the first we all hailed it, as hardening the roads, which for amonth had been nigh impassable: and either commander took speedyadvantage of it--Hopton to make a swift diversion into Sussex andcapture Arundel Castle (which was but a by-blow, for in a few weekshe had lost it again), and our own general to post up with his short, quick legs to London, where in two days he had wrung from Essex goodreinforcements, with promise of pay for the troops and a consignmentof leathern guns--a new invention and extremely portable. By theevening of December 5th he was back among us and despatching usnorth, south, and east to keep the enemy jumping while our suppliesdrew in. 

It was one of those night skirmishes or surprises that brought mepromotion. For on the evening of December 10th our troop, beingordered out to beat up the neighbourhood of Odiham, on the way fellin with a half-squadron of the Lord Crawford's cuirassiers, and inthe loose pistol-firing we took five prisoners and lost our cornet, Master John Ingoldby. The next day we rested; and that morning, as Isat on a rusty harrow by the forge close beside Farnham Church andwatched the farrier roughing my horse, our Sergeant-Major Le Gaye, aWalloon, came up to me and desired me to attend on Colonel Stuckey, who presently and with many kind expressions told me that I waschosen to fill the room of the dead cornet. 

Now this was flattering: and you may think with what elation of mindI took it, being eager and young (in fact, scarce turned twenty). But almost it jumped beyond my ambitions at the time. I was one offive sergeants of the troop, the unripest among them and alreadyaccounted lucky. I knew well that this advancement had passed themand reached me less for my deserving than because our colonelpreferred to have his commands carried by men of decent birth. I knew the whole army to be sore already over fifty like promotions, and foresaw grumbling. 

'I bear ye no malice'--this was the way that Roger Inch took it, oursenior sergeant. 'But you'll allow 'tis disheartening to be setaside for a lawyer-fellow that, a year ago, had never groomedhorse-hair but on his own wig. ' And so--but less kindly--the rest ofmy fellow-sergeants expressed themselves. 

None the less they were ready enough, that evening, to join indrinking to my new honours. The place was the Bear Inn, in Farnham;the liquor, warmed ale; and I paid the scot. Towards midnightSergeant Inch had so far forgot his rancour as to strike up his songof _Robin and the Night Owl_--'Robin, ' I should explain, being theEarl of Essex, and the 'Night Owl' our own general, so nicknamed forhis activities after dark. 

We broke no regulations by this revelry, being allowed by custom, after a night in saddle, to spend the next as we chose, provided thatwe kept to quarters. For me, though I had done better in bed, snatching a little sleep, the time was past for seeking it. A picketof ours had been flung out to westward of the town, on the AltonRoad, and at twelve o'clock I was due to relieve it. So I pushed thedrink around, and felt their grudge against me lessening whileSergeant Inch sang, --

 'Robin's asleep, for Robin is nice; Robin has delicate habits; But "Whoo!" says the gray Night Owl--once, twice, And three times "Whoo!" for the little shy mice, The mice and the rats and the rabbits, "Who-oo!"'

At the close of every verse he mimicked an owl's call to the life--having in his young days been a verderer of the New Forest, on theedge of Bradley Plain; and at the end of his third verse, in themiddle of a hoot, was answered by a trumpet not far away upon theroad to Alton. 

At the sound of it we sprang up, all of us, and two or three ran outinto the street: for the beating up of quarters had become a badhabit with the two armies, useless as the most of us thought it. The night outside was freezing villainously: it struck chill into meafter the hot room and the ale-drinking. The moon, as I remember, was high, shedding a soft foggy light down the roadway: and there, bythe inn doorway, I stood for a minute or two, with my hand on mysword, peering and listening. To right and left, and from behind me, came sounds of men moving in their billets to the alarm and waiting, as I was waiting. But no noise of attack followed the first summons;and by-and-by I drew back as a brisk footfall broke the hush and camehurrying down to the doorway of the Bear, where it halted. 

'Is that you, Fleming?' said the voice of old Price, our Welshquartermaster. 'Then turn out quick to the West Gate! The enemy hassent in a trumpet in form, and you are to convey him up to theCastle. '

Without delay I fetched my roan mare from the stable, mounted, androde out beyond the West Gate to a point where the little River Weyruns close alongside the high-road. There I found the trumpet inconverse with our picket, and took stock of him by aid of thesergeant's lantern. He was a blackavised, burly fellow, with heavyside-locks, a pimpled face, and about the nose a touch of blue that, methought, did not come of the frosty air. He sat very high insaddle, upon a large-jointed bay, and wore a stained coat thatcovered his regimentals and reached almost to his rowels. A dirtyred feather wagged over his hat-brim. As I rode up he greeted mewith a jovial brotherly curse, and hoped--showing me his letter--thatwe kept good drink at the Castle. 'And if so, ' he added, 'yourlittle William the Conqueror may keep me so long as he has a mindto. '

I told him, as we rode back and into Farnham, that Sir William, as arule, made quick despatch of business. 

'He made pretty quick despatch of it at Lansdowne, ' said my Cavalier, and started trolling a catch, --

 'Great William the Con, So fast he did run, That he left half his name behind him!'

Perceiving him to be an ill-bred fellow, and that to answer hisjeering would be time wasted, I turned the talk upon his message. 

'The Lord Crawford sends for an exchange of prisoners?' I hazarded. 

'The Lord Crawford does not waste a man of my talents in swapping ofprisoners, ' was the response. 'And when Orlando Rich takes the roadand risks his health on such a night as this, you may be sure 'tis onbusiness of moment. '

I questioned him no further. We rode through the park (the sentriestaking my password), and came to the guardroom of the Castle, where, as we dismounted, the general's quartermaster lounged out and calledfor a couple of men to take our horses. Then, learning that mycompanion brought a message from Lord Crawford, he made no delay butled us straight to the general's room. 

Though the clock in the corner had gone midnight, the general sat ina litter of papers with a lamp at his elbow and his legs stretchedout to a bright sea-coal fire. With him was closeted ColonelPottley, of the London train-bands, and by the look of the papersaround them they had been checking the lists (as two days later therewas heavy court-martialling among the newly arrived drafts andcashiering of officers that had misbehaved in Middlesex). 

'You come from the Earl of Crawford?' asked the general, not risingfrom his chair, but holding out a hand for the letter. 

The messenger presented it, with a good soldierly salute; and sostood, pulling at his moustachios and looking fierce. 'Your name?'

'Sergeant Orlando Rich, of the Earl's Loyal Troop. ' The generalbroke the seal, ran his eye over the paper, and let out a shortlaugh. 

'His lordship sends me his loving compliment and prays me to sparehim a runlet of sack or of malvoisy, for that his own wine is drunkout and the ale at Alton does not agree with his stomach. '

'Nor with any man's, ' corroborated Sergeant Rich. 

'He promises to send me a fat ox in exchange, and--' the Generalglanced to the foot of the scrawl, turned the paper over, and foundit blank save for the name and direction--'and that, it seems, isall. No talk of prisoners. . . . Truly an urgent message to sendpost at midnight!'

'If you had seen his lordship's condition--' murmured Sergeant Rich. 

'His lordship shall have a full hogshead; but not by you;' theGeneral shot a shrewd glance at the man and bade me step outsideand summon the quartermaster who waited in the corridor. 'Quartermaster, ' said he, 'convey this visitor of ours to thekitchens. Give him what meat and wine he demands. Let him departwhen he will and carry as much as he will--under his skin. Meantime order out three of the pack-nags, and tell the cellarer tofetch up six firkins of the sack sent down to me last Thursday by MrTrenchard. Have them slung, a pair to each horse, and well secured--for the roads are slippery. And you, Master Fleming--'

I saluted; flushing, perhaps, a little with pleasure that heremembered my name. 

'Do you mount guard to-night? Then we must find you a substitute. What say you to convoying this wine, with a trumpet, to my LordCrawford? You may choose half a dozen of your troop to ride withyou. The road to Alton cannot easily be missed; and, if it could--why, these night sallies are the best of training for a youngsoldier. I doubt, Master Fleming, that since this morning, when Ipromoted you cornet, you have heard talk that glanced upon yourrawness, hey? Well, here is a chance for you to learn. For my partI call no man a finished campaigner until he can smell his waythrough a strange country in the dark. You fancy the errand?Then go, and prosper: and be sure my Lord Crawford will treat youkindly, when he has once tasted my wine. '

CHAPTER II. 

The stroke of one in the morning, sounding after us from Farnhamclock through the fine frosted air, overtook us well upon the road. I had made speed, and so had the quartermaster and cellarer. As forSergeant Orlando Rich, if he had not achieved speed he had at leastmade haste. Before I started my pack-horses from the guardroom doorthe cellarer came to me and reported him drunk as a fly; and steppinginto the great kitchen for a slice of pasty, to fortify me againstthe night's work, I saw my hero laid out and snoring, with hisshoulder-blades flat on the paved floor. So I left him to sleep itoff. 

A fellow of the general's own guard helped me lead my horses to thedoor of the Bear, and there I tumbled out my substitute, and sixpassably good troopers I had chosen to take with me. They wereCarey, our youngest sergeant, and as good-natured a fellow as I knew;Randles, who stood well for advancement to the post my own promotionhad left vacant; and four other privates--Shackell, Wyld, Masters, and Small Owens (as we called him), a Welshman from the Vale ofCardigan. To prime them for the ride I called up the landlord anddosed them each with a glass of hot Hollands water; and forth we set, in good trim and spirits. 

For two miles after passing our picket we ambled along at ease. The moon was low in the south-west, but as yet gave us plenty oflight; and the wind--from the quarter directly opposite--thoughbitter and searching, blew behind our right shoulders and helped uscheerfully along. Our troubles began in a dip of the road on thisside of the hamlet of Froyl, where an autumn freshet, flooding thehighway, had been caught by the frost and fixed in a rippled floor ofice. We had seen duly to the roughing of our own chargers; and eventhey were forced at this passage to feel their steps mincingly; butthe pack-horses, for whom I had only the quartermaster's assurance, had been handled (if indeed at all) by the inexpertest of smiths. The poor beasts sprawled and slithered this way and that, and in theend, as if by consent, came to a pitiful halt, their knees shakingunder them. So they appeared willing to wait and tremble untilmorning: but on my order Randles, Owen, and Masters, dismounting, ledthem and their own horses, foot by foot, on to sure ground. 

For a mile beyond, and some way past Froyl, was safe going if weavoided the ruts. But here the moon failed us; and when Carey lit alantern to help, it showed us that the carriers had no stomach leftin them. One, though the froth froze on him, was sweating like aresty colt. The other two, if we slacked hold on their halter-ropes, would lurch together, halt, and slue neck to neck like a couple oftimid dowagers hesitating upon a question of delicacy. 

It was here that there came into my head the ill-starred thought ofleading them off the road and through the fields close alongside ofit on our left hand. The road itself I knew pretty well, and that itbore gradually to the left, all the way to Alton. Carey, whom Iconsulted, agreed that we could find it again at any time we chose. So, and without more ado, we opened the next gate we came to andherded the beasts through. 

The first two fields, being stubble, served us well; and the next, a pasture, was even better. Beyond this we had some trouble tofind a gate, but at length Masters hit on one a little way out ofour course, and it led to a wide plowland, freshly turned buthard-frozen, in the furrows of which our horses boggled a good deal. We pushed across it, holding our line in a long slant back towardsthe loom of the tall hedge that (as we agreed) marked the course ofthe highway. On the far side of the plow this hedge ran down hilltowards us and more sharply than I had reckoned: yet before regainingit we had to cross another pasture. I was the surer that this mustbe the road because of a light that shone straight ahead of us, whichI took to be the direction of Holibourne village. I should mention, too, that on our left all the way the ground descended in an easyslope, but the frost had bound the little river running below andheld it silent. 

Sure enough on the far side of the pasture we came to a gate, andShackell, who was leading, announced that the high-road lay beyond. But a minute later he called to us that this could not be: it was toonarrow, a mere lane in fact; and with that, as we pressed up to thegate, the mischief happened. 

The cause of it was a poor starved jackass, that had been shelteringhimself under the lee of the hedge, and now, as we all but trampledhim, heaved himself out of the shadow with a bray of terror. The sound, bursting upon us at close quarters, was as a stone hurledinto a pool. Round went our horses' rumps, and up went heels andhoofs. I heard Little Owens cry aloud that his nose was broken. 'Catch hold of the pack-beasts!' I shouted, as they shied backupon us, and two were caught and held fast--I know not by whom. The third, the resty one, springing backwards past me, almost on hishaunches, jerked his halter wide of my clutch, and in a moment wasgalloping full flight down the slope. 

With a call to the others to stand steady and wait for me, I wheeledmy mare about and rode off in chase, to round him up. The almosttotal darkness made this hunting mighty unpleasant; but I knew that, bating the chance of being flung by a mole-hill, I had my gentlemansafe enough. For, to begin with, he must soon find the pace irksome, with two firkin casks jolting against his ribs; and at the foot ofthe descent the river would surely head him off. To be sure it wasfrozen hard and he might have crossed it dry-footed, but the alderson the bank frighted him back, and presently I had him penned in anangle between hedge and stream. Here, as I slowed up and advanced tocoax him, from out of the darkness behind him there broke suddenly ashouting and pounding of hoofs, and close in front of me (but hiddenby the hedge) a troop of horsemen clattered down from the fartherslope and up the lane where my comrades were gathered. 

If for a moment I doubted what it all might mean, a couple ofpistol-shots, followed by a loose volley that mixt itself with oathsand yells, all too quickly put this out of doubt. My men were beingcharged, without question or challenge, by a troop of the enemy, while separated by a quarter of a mile of darkness and stiff risingground from me, who alone carried their credentials. Little need tosay in what hurry I wheeled my mare about to the slope, struck spur, dragged my trumpet loose on its sling and blew, as best I could, thecall that both armies accepted for note of parley. Belike (let me dothe villains this credit), with the jolt and heave of the mare'sshoulders knocking the breath out of me, I sounded it ill, or inthe noise and scuffle they heard confusedly and missed heeding. The firing continued, at any rate, and before I gained the gate thefight had swept up the lane. 

I swung out upon the hard stones and dashed after it. But the enemy, by this, had my fellows on the run, and were driving them at stretchgallop. To worsen my plight, as I pursued I caught sound of hoofspounding behind and, as it seemed, overtaking me; supposed that ahorseman was riding me down; and, reining the mare back fiercely, slued about to meet his onset. It proved to be the poor pack-horse Ihad left in the valley! He must have galloped like a racer; but nowhe came to a halt, and thrust his poor bewildered face towards methrough the darkness. Commending him to the devil, I wheeled aboutonce more and struck spur; and as I galloped, he galloped anewbehind. 

This diversion had cost me a good fifty yards. I knew well enoughthat the lane sooner or later must lead out into the high-road, andmade sure that if my fellows gained it first they would head back forFarnham. (What would befall me I left to Providence!) But some twoor three of the enemy must have raced ahead and cut off that retreat;for when I came to it the way to the right lay open indeed, but thewhole welter was pounding down the road to the left, straight forAlton. Again I followed, and in less than two hundred yards waspressing close upon three or four of the rearmost riders. Thisseemed to me good opportunity for another call on my trumpet, and Iblew, without easing my speed. On the sound of it, one of the darkfigures in front swung round in saddle and fired, I saw the flash andthe light of it on his gorget and morion: and with that, the bulletglancing against my mare's shoulder, she swerved wildly, leapt high, and came down with forelegs planted, pitching me neck-and-crop out ofsaddle upon the frozen road. 

CHAPTER III. 

Doubtless the fall stunned me; but doubtless also not for more than afew seconds. For I awoke to the drum of distant hoofs, and before itdied clean away I had recovered sense enough to take its bearing inthe direction of Farnham. Strangely enough, towards Alton all wasquiet. Sitting up, with both hands pressing my head, for just amoment I recognised the gallop for my own mare's. Another beat timewith it. I asked myself, why another? She would be heading forhome--wounded, perhaps--scared certainly. But why with a companion?. . . Then, suddenly, I remembered the poor pack-beast; and as Iremembered him, all my faculties grew clouded. 

Or so, at least, I must suppose; for of the sudden silence on theAlton road I thought not at all. What next engaged me was a feelingof surprise that, of my two hands pressed on my temples, the rightwas cold, but the left, though it met the wind, unaccountably warm--the wrist below it even deliciously, or so it felt until rubbing mypalms together I found them sticky, with blood. 

The blood, I next discovered, was welling from a cut on my lefttemple. Putting up my fingers, I felt the fresh flow running over acrust of it frozen on my cheek; and wondered how I might stanch it. I misdoubted my strength to find the lane again and creep down to theriver; and the river, moreover, would be frozen. For a certainty Ishould freeze to death where I lay, and even more surely on the roadback to Farnham I must faint and drop and, dropping, be frozen. With that, I remembered the light we had seen shining ahead of us aswe crossed the fields; and staggered along in search of it, afterfirst groping for my morion, which had rolled into the hedge somepaces away. 

For a while, confused in my bearings, I sought on the wrong hand; butby-and-by caught the twinkle of it through a gate to the left, andstudied it, leaning my arms on the bar. The house whence it shonecould not be any part of Holibourne village, but must stand somewhereon high rising ground across the valley. I might reckon to reach itby turning back and taking the lane in which we had been surprised:but this meant fetching a long circuit. I was weakening with loss ofblood, and--it coming into my mind that the river below would behard--I resolved to steer a straight line and risk obstacles. 

As it turned out, there were none, or none to throw me back. At thestream-side, holding by an elder-bough, I tested the ice with myweight, proved it firm, crossed without so much as cracking it, andbreasted a bare grassy slope, too little to be called a down, where afew naked hawthorns chafed and creaked in the wind. Above it was anembankment rounded like a bastion, up the left side of which Icrept--or, you might almost say, crawled--and, reaching the top, found myself close under the front of a dwelling-house. 

It was coated with whitewash, the glimmer of which showed me thequeer shape of the building even in the darkness. It consisted oftwo stories, both round as pepper-pots. Above the first ran a narrowcircular thatch, serving as a mat (so to say) for the second andsmaller pepper-pot. I could not discern how this upper story wasroofed, but the roof had a hole in it, from which poured a stray rayof light. Light shone too, but through a blind, from a small windowclose under the eaves. The lower story showed none at all. 

I rapped on the door. There came no response, though I waited andlistened for a full minute. I rapped again and shouted; and wasabout to challenge for the third time, when the threshold showed achink of light. Muffled footsteps came down the passage, and withmuch creaking the bolts were undrawn. 

'Who knocks?' demanded a man's voice, somewhat shrill and querulous. 'Cannot a poor scholar rest in peace, and at this time o' night?'

'In the name of Charity!' I urged. 

He flung the door open and stood with a hand-lamp held high, surveying me: a little old man, thin as a rat, in skullcap, furredgown, and list slippers. The lamp shone down on his silvered hairand on a pair of spectacles he had pushed up to the edge of his cap;and showed me a face mildly meditative from the brow down to thechin, which by contrast was extremely resolute. 

'More soldiers!' he observed testily. 'The plague take it that theyand the meteors must choose the same night to drop from heaven!How many of you, this time?'

I answered that I was alone, and would have added a word on myplight; but this, beneath the lamp-light, he could not missperceiving, for my face and the left shoulder of my buff coat were amask of blood. 

'H'm!'--he cut me short. 'It may sound to you unfeeling: but ifHeaven persists in sending me soldiers I had rather physic than feedthem:' and with that he stood aside as inviting me to enter. Be sureI obeyed him gladly, and, stepping inside, rested my hand for amoment against the jamb of a door that stood open to the right. The ray of his lamp, as he held it near to examine me, gave me aglimpse of the room within--of a table with cloth awry, of overturnedflagons lying as they had spilt their wine-stains, of chairs andfurniture pushed this way and that. 

'So your predecessors have left me, ' said the old gentleman, catchingthe direction of my gaze and nodding. 'Whether or no they have leftme enough for the morning's breakfast is a matter my servant mustdiscover when he comes over from Holibourne at daylight. '

'They were Malignants, sir, as I guess: the Earl of Crawford's men. '

'Devil a groat care I what you call them, or they call themselves!I study the heavens and take no heed of your sublunary divisions. But they have eaten and drunk me out of house and home; at that hour, too, when the most meteors were predicted: and what is worse theyinvaded my garret in their clumsy jack-boots, and have thrown myOrchestra Coeli out of gear. I was mending it when you knocked. By the way, ' he added more kindly, 'I can go on mending it while youwash your wound, which will appear less horrid when cleansed of allthis blood. I have a fire upstairs, and hot water. Come. '

He closed the outer door and, taking me gently by the elbow, half-supported me up the stairway, which was little better than aladder, and led direct to the strangest room I have ever set eyes on. 

It was circular--in diameter perhaps twelve feet--with a high conicalroof. The roof had an inner lining of wood, and through a hole init--where a panel had been slid back--a large optic-glass, raised ona pivot-stand, thrust its nose out into the night. Close within thedoor stood an oaken press, and beside it, on a tripod, a brazierfilled with charcoal and glowing. A truckle-bed, a chair, and twobenches made up the rest of the furniture: and of the benches one wascrowded with all manner of tools--files by the score, pliers, smallhammers, besides lenses, compasses, rules, and a heap of brassfilings; the other, for two-thirds of its length, was a litter ofbooks and papers. But the end nearest to the working-bench had beencleared, and here stood a mighty curious intricate mechanism ofwheels and brass wire and little brass balls, with fine brass chainsdepending through holes in the board. My host flung a tender look atit across his shoulder as he stepped to the press to fetch basin andtowel. 

'The oaf has dislocated the pin of the fly-wheel, ' he grunted. 'Praise Heaven, he never guessed that it worked on a diamond, orslight chance had my poor toy with his loutish fingers stuck in it!'

He filled the basin with water from a copper ewer that rested closeto the brazier on a file of folios, and set it to heat. 'I doubt Imust give up the meteors to-night, ' he continued, and went back tohis machine, with which, I could see, his fingers were itching to bebusy. 

I asked, 'Is that, sir, an invention of yours?'

'Ay, soldier, ' he answered; 'mine solely; the child of my brain'sbegetting. ' His hands hovered over the delicate points and wires. 'And to be murdered thus by a great thumb-fingered dragoneer!'With a lens and a delicate needle, he began to peer and prise in it;and anon, fixing the lens in his eye, reached out for his hand-lamp. 

'To what use have you designed it, sir?' I asked, after a while spentin watching him. 

'To no use at all, soldier, ' he answered, more tartly. 'The water iswarm, and you can bathe your hurt and afterwards I will plaster it. 'While I laved my temple with the edge of the towel, between the dipof the water I heard his voice in broken sentences: 'To no use atall. . . . Would a man ask the sun to what use it danced? . . . Or the moon and planets? . . . '

I looked up, dabbing my wound gently. His voice had risen andstretched itself on a high, monotonous pitch. He was declaimingverse. 

 'Who doth not see the measures of the Moon? Which thirteen times she dances every year, And ends her Pavane thirteen times as soon As doth--

Hey? Do you know the lines, soldier?' He stepped forward and peeredclose at my head while I shook it. 'Tush! a cut, a trifle! Go onbathing. . . . The lines, sir, were writ by Sir John Davies, thefirst of English poets. '

'Indeed, sir, ' said I. 'Now at the Inner Temple, before mixingmyself in these troubles, I used to read much poetry and dispute onit with other young men. We had our several laureates; but believeme-and despise if you will--although we had heard tell of Sir JohnDavies, I doubt if one in six of us had read a line of him. '

'Ay, indeed, ' he caught me up, 'I have scarce read a line of anyother. Having discovered him I had no need. For allow me toobserve--although I know nothing about it--that in poetry the Subjectis nine points of excellence; and, Sir John Davies having hit on themost exalted subject tractable by the Muse, it follows that he mustbe the most exalted poet. Let me tell you--if it will shortenargument--that in general, and in all walks of life, I hate thesecond-best. '

'I have heard, sir, ' said I, 'that this masterpiece was a poem onDancing. But you must be thinking of another. '

'Not at all, young man, ' my host replied, poring anew into his toy. '"Orchestra" is the name of it; the subject, Dancing. But whatdancing!--the sun, the moon, the stars--Eh? Halleluia, but it goesagain!'

Sure enough, bending over the basin, I heard a buzz of wheels, andlooked up to see the whole machine springing like a score ofwhipping-tops gone mad, the brass balls swinging and rotating so fastthat the eye lost them in little twinkling circles and ellipses, thewheels whirring and filling the room with their hum. 

My astronomer had dived under the bench. I saw for the moment littlemore than his posterior and the soles of his list slippers. 

'You'll pardon me, ' I heard him grunt, and the speed of the machineryslackened as he attached a couple of leaden weights to the dependentchains. He backed, crawled out, and stood erect; adjusted hisspectacles, and stood beaming upon his invention. 

'But what is the signification, sir?' I asked, rising from my chairand stepping close. 

'Ah! You improve, soldier. It hath signification, not use: and itsignifies the motion of the heavens. See--this larger ball is thesun; and here, on their several rods, the planets--all swinging intheir courses. By a pointer on this dial-plate--observe me now--Ireduce the space of a day to one, two, three minutes, as I chose, retarding or accelerating, but always in just proportion. 'Tis setfor these December days; you will remark the sun's ambit--how it liessouth of the zenith, and how far short it rises and falls from theequinoctial points. But wait awhile, and in a few minutes--that isto say, days--you shall see him start to widen his circuit. Here nowis Saturn, with his rim: and here Venus--mark how delicately shelifts, following the motion of her lord--`

 'Just with the Sun her dainty feet doth move--'

'And this is Dancing--Orchestra Coeli--the Dancing of the Firmament. '

'Wonderful!' I cried. 

'You shall say so presently! So far you have only seen: now hear!'

He drew out a small brass pin from the foot of the mechanism, and atonce it began to hum, on three or four notes such as children makewith a comb and a scrap of paper. 

The notes lifted and fell, and the little balls--each in his separatecircle--wheeled and spun, twinkling in time with them, until my head, too, began to swim. 

'It will run for an hour now, ' my host assured me. 'Indeed, with oneto watch and draw up the weights at due intervals, it will run forever. '

'It dizzies me, ' said I. 

'Your head is light, belike, with the loss of blood. Sit you back inthe chair, and I will try now what may be done with ointment andplaster. '

He forced me to seat myself and, fetching a small medicine-box fromthe press, began to operate. His fingers were extraordinarily quickand thin, and so delicate of touch that I felt no pain, or verylittle: but though I lay with my head far back and saw the machine nolonger, it had set my brain spinning, and the pressure of his handsappeared to be urging it round and round, while his voice (for hetalked without intermission) mingled and interwove itself with thedrone of the music from the table. He was reciting verses; from hisfavourite poem, no doubt. But though the sound of them ran in myears like a brook, I can remember one couplet only, --

 'And all in sundry measures do delight, Yet altogether keep no measure right. . . . '

I dare say that, yielding to the giddiness, I swooned: and yet I canremember no interval. The circles seemed to have hold of me, to bedrawing me down, and yet down; until, like a diver half-bursting forbreath, I found strength, sprang upwards, and reached the surfacewith a cry. 

The cry rang in my ears yet. But had it come, after all, from my ownlips? I gripped the arms of the chair in a kind of terror, andleaned forward, staring at my host, who had fallen back a pace, andstood between me and the lamp. 

'Pardon me, sir, ' I found voice to say after a pause 'I must havefallen into a doze, I think. My head--' I put a hand up to it anddiscovered that it was bandaged. He did not answer me, but appearedto be listening. 'My head--' I repeated, and again stopped short--this time at sound of a cry. 

It came from the night without: and at once I knew it to be arepetition of the sound that had aroused me. Nor was it, in fact, acry, though it rose like a cry against the wind: rather, a confuseduproar of voices, continuous, drawing nearer and nearer. 

Then, as I stared at my host and he at me, the noise becamearticulate as drunken singing--'_Tow, row, row! Tow, row, row! . . . Crop-headed Puritans, tow, row, row. . . . Boot and saddle, and tow, row, row!_--and, nearing so, broke into chorus, --

 'Waller and Hazelrigg, Stapleton, Scroop-- Way! Make way for His Majesty's troop! Crop-headed Puritans durstn't deny His Majesty's gentlemen riding by, With boot and saddle and tow-row-row!'

'Good Lord!' muttered my host, casting out his two hands in despair. 'More soldiers!'

But by this time I had my hand on the door. 'Guide me down thestairs, ' I commanded; 'down to the door! And, before you open it, quench the light!'

By the time we reached the door the voices were close at hand, comingdown the lane: and by each note of them I grew more clearlyconvinced. 'Sir, ' I asked in a whisper, 'does this lane lead offfrom the road on the near side of Alton?

For a moment it seemed that he did not hear me. 'Pray Heaven Idowsed the light in time!' he chattered. 'Three visits in one nightis more than my sins deserve. . . . Yes; the lane enters a half-milethis side of Alton, and returns back--'

'Well enough I know where it returns back' said I. 'Man, did youbewitch them?--as, a while ago, you bewitched me?'

'Eh?'

I felt that he was peering at me in the dark. 

'_Something_ has bewitched them, ' I persisted. 'Either the wine orthat devil's toy of yours has hold of them; or the both, belike. These are the same men, and have travelled full circle, listen tothem!--'tis the music of the spheres, sir. '

'I believe you are right, ' said my host, with a chuckle. 'O, Copernicus!'

I drew the door open gently and looked aloft. The night, before sostarry, was now clouded over. The troopers--I could hear theirhorses' hoofs above the whoops and yells of their chorusing--werewinding downhill by a sunken way within ten yards of me. A gravelpath lay between me and the hedge overlooking it. This I saw by thefaint upcast rays of the lanterns they had lit for guidance. I tip-toed across to the hedge, and, peering over, was relieved of mylast doubt: for at the tail of the procession and under charge of onedrunken trooper for whipper-in, rode all my poor comrades with armstriced behind them and ankles lamentably looped under their horses'bellies. 

Even as they passed a thought came into my head: and the face of thewhipper-in--seen dimly in the shadow of a lantern he joggled at hissaddle-bow--decided me. I slipped off my sash, looped it loosely inmy hand, and so, without waiting to say farewell to my host, sliddown the bank into the lane. 

Though I shot over the frozen bank a deal faster than ever I intendedand dropped on the roadway with a thud, the trooper, bawling hischorus, did not turn in his saddle. I tip-toed after him, between awalk and a run, and still he did not turn. Not till I was level withhis stirrup did he guess that I was on him; and even so he couldscarcely roar out a curse before I had my sash flung over him andwith a jerk fetched him clean out of his saddle. As he pitchedsideways, the lantern fell with a clatter and rolled into the hedge. 

'What the devil's up with you, back there!' At the noise, I heardtwo or three of the midmost troopers rein up. 

'Right! All right!' I called forward to them, catching the horse'sbridle and at the same time stooping over the poor fool--to gag him, if need were. He lay as he had fallen. I hope I have not his deathto my account, and for certain no corpse lay in the road when Ipassed along it a few hours later. 

'Right!' I called sturdily, deepening my voice to imitate that of myvictim as nearly as I could match it--

 'Crop-headed Puritans, tow-row-row!'

Still shouting the chorus, I mastered the reluctant horse, swungmyself into saddle, and edged up towards my comrades. 

'Carey! Shackell!' I called softly, overtaking them. 

At the sound of my voice, they came near to letting out a cry thathad spoilt all. Masters, indeed, started a yell: but Small Owens(whose bands I had fortunately cut the first) reached out a hand andclapped it over his mouth. 

'How many be they?' I asked as we rode. 

'Twenty-two, ' answered Randles, chafing his wrists, 'and all drunk aslords. '

'If we had arms, ' said Carey, 'we might drive the whole lot. '

'But since you have not, ' said I, 'we must pitch our attempt lower. In three minutes we shall reach the high-road; and then strike spursall to the right for Farnham!'

But our luck proved better than we hoped. For as we drew near theexit of the lane, I heard a voice challenge. The chorus, which hadlasted us all the way, ceased on a sudden, and was taken up by apistol-shot. At once I guessed that here must be help, and, feelingfor my trumpet, found it and blew the call. Naked of weapons as mycomrades were, we charged down on the rear, broke it, and flung itupon the darkness, where by this time we could hear the voice ofWilkins, our sergeant-major, bellowing above the tumult. 

Within five minutes this double charge settled all. The pack-horseswere ours again, with twenty-one inebriate prisoners. My mare, galloping home with the third pack-horse at her heels, had alarmedthe picket, and Wilkins, with twenty men, had turned out to scour theAlton road. 

So, while we secured our drunkards to the last man, I had leisure tobless my fortune. 

CHAPTER IV. 

By this time dawn had begun to grow in the sky behind us. I handedover the prisoners to Wilkins and Carey, and gave Wyld and Mastersleave to return with them to Farnham: 'for, ' said I, 'they seem theweariest, and Shackell and Small Owens will serve well enough forescort by daylight. '

Wilkins stared. 'You are not telling me, ' said he, that you intendgoing forward with that silly wine, and you in such plight!'

'There's my orders, to begin with, ' said I; 'and--bless the man!--youdon't suppose, after this night's work, I mean to miss the fun of it, now that the luck is turned and is running. As for the wine, LordCrawford will get but three firkins for his hogshead; but if hisrascals choose to play highwaymen upon a peaceful convoy, that is_his_ look-out. And as for my plight, I shall present myself withthese bandages and ask him what manner of troops he commands, that doviolence upon a trumpet honourably sent to him and on his ownpetition. '

And this (to shorten my tale) I did. With Shackell and Small Owens Iherded my two pack-horses along the road to Alton, and arrived at theearl's outposts without mishap and within half an hour past daybreak. There I sounded my trumpet, and was led without ado to his lordship'sheadquarters. 

I found him seated with his secretary and with a grave, handsome man, Colonel John Bolle, that commanded his regiment of infantry, and waskilled next day defending Alton Church (I have heard), in the verypulpit. This Colonel Bolle bowed to me very courteously, but theearl (as one could tell at first sight) was sulky: belike bydeprivation of his favourite drink. Or perhaps the ale he took inlieu of it--he had a tankard at his elbow--had soured on his stomach. 

'Hey?' he began, frowning, as he broke the seal of my letter. 'Are all General Waller's troopers in this condition? Or does hethink it manners to send me a trumpeter in such trim?'

'My lord, ' said I, 'your wine and my poor self have come by aroundabout road, and on the way have been tapped of a trifle. '

'By whom, sir?'

'By certain of your men, my lord. '

'I'll hang 'em for it, then. '

'I thank you, my lord; but for that you must treat with GeneralWaller. ' And I told him the tale, or so much of it as I thought wasgood for him. 

At the close he eyed me awhile angrily, with his brows drawn down. 

'You are an impudent knave, sir, to stand and tell me this to myface. Look ye here, Bolle'--he swung round upon the colonel, who hadput forth a hand as though to arrest this unseemly abuse. 'How do Iknow that this dog has not tampered with the wine? By God!' he brokeout as a servant entered with a stoup of it, 'I'll not drink it--I'llnot drink a drop of it--until this fellow has first tasted it, here, in our presence. '

I believe that I went white: but 'twas with rage. 'Give me a glassof it, ' I answered; and, as the servant filled and handed to me, 'The wine, my lord, came on your own petition and at your own risk, as I must remind you. Nevertheless, I will drink--to your long life, and better manners. ' I drank, set down the glass, and asked, after apause, 'May I go, my lord?'

'You may go to the devil!'

I hesitated. 'There was, as I remember, some little mention of anox--'

'You may tell your master to come and fetch it, ' he growled. 

Well, my master did fetch it, and with speed. That same night heassembled five thousand men without beat of drum in the park atFarnham, and at seven o'clock we marched off towards Basing. On theway to Crondall, we of the horse halted for an hour to let the footregiments catch up with us, and all together headed down upon Alton. In this way, at nine in the morning, we came down upon the west ofthe town, while the earl kept watch on the roads to the eastwards;and charged at once. 

I say that the earl kept watch; but in truth he had put this dutyupon his captains, while he still fuddled himself with our general'ssack. He and his horse never gave fight, but galloped before us onthe road to Winchester; along which, after close on an hour's chase, our trumpets recalled us as our infantry forced the doors of AltonChurch, and cut up Colonel Bolle's regiment that still resistedthere. The Earl of Crawford left a good half of his wine behind, andtwo days later our general, who had sent for me, showed me thisletter--

 'To Sir W. Waller. 

 'Sir, --I hope your gaining of Alton cost you dear. It was your lot to drink of your own sack, which I never intended to have left for you. I pray you favour me so much as to send me your own chirurgeon, and upon my honour I will send you a person suitable to his exchange. --Sir, your servant, 'Crawford. '

From this happy success it was my fortune, that same afternoon, tolead our troop back to Farnham. Coming on the way to the entrance ofa lane on our right, I avoided the high-road for the by-path. It twisted downhill to the river, crossed it, and by-and-by in a dipof the farther slope, brought me in sight of a round cottage of twostories. No smoke arose from it, though the twilight was drawing inupon a frost that searched our bones as we rode. No inhabitantshowed a face. But I waved a hand in passing, and I am mistaken if ahand did not respond from the upper story--by drawing a shutterclose. 

RED VELVET. 

[August, 1644. The Story is told by Ralph Medhope, Captain of theTwenty-second (or Gray-coat) Troop of Horse in the Parliament Army, then serving in Cornwall. ]

We were eight men in the picket. My cornet, Ned Penkevill, rodebeside me; our trumpeter, Israel Hutson, a pace or two behind; withfive troopers following. I could tell you their names, but there isno need, for I alone of the eight come into the story. The rest rodeto their death that night, and met it in the dawn, like men. 

We rode northward and inland along the downs high over the left bankof the Fowey River; with good turf and heather underfoot, and withthe moon behind our right shoulders. She was the harvest moon, nowin her last quarter, and from her altitude I guessed it, by westcountry time, to be well past four of the morning or within an hourof daybreak. But because she hung bright up here, we pricked forwardwarily, using every pit and hollow. We had left our breast-pieces, back-pieces, and gorgets behind us, with Penkevill's standard, forthe main troop to carry; and rode in plain gray jerkins--bareheadedtoo, since on mounting the rise above the valley-fog we had done offour morions (for fear of the moonlight) and hidden them in afurze-brake, where belike next summer the heather-bees found and madehives of them. 

Fog, rolling up from the sea--seven or eight miles away--filled allthe valley below us: and this fog was the reason of our riding. For the valley formed the neck of a trap in which the King held ourgeneral with two thousand five hundred horse, six thousand infantry, and I know not how many guns. His own artillery lined the heightsunder which we rode--that is, to left or east of the river; he hadpushed across a couple of batteries to the opposite hills, andbetween them easily commanded the valley. It was just the ease of itthat made him careless and gave us our chance. He had withdrawn thebetter part of his horse to the coast, to make a display against ourscattered base; and our general, aware of this, was even meditatingan assault on the heights when the sudden fog changed his plans andhe resolved to march his horse, under cover of it, straight throughthe trap. The risk, to be sure, was nearly desperate; since, foraught he knew, the King was marching back his troops under the samecover, and to be caught in that narrow valley (which was plashy, moreover, and in places flooded) would mean the total loss of hiscavalry. Yet he had spoken cheerfully when I took leave of him androde off with my seven men--our business being to watch along theenemy's lines for any movement, to sound a warning if necessary, and, if surprised or caught, so to behave as to lead suspicion away fromthe movement of the main body. 

The enemy kept loose watch up here. We could see his camp-firesdotted on the ridge between us and the dark woods of Boconnock, wherethe owls hooted; but either we were lucky or his outposts had beencarelessly set. Clearly no alarm had reached these encampments. But Heaven knew what might be happening, or preparing to happen, inthe valley. There at any moment the report of a single musket mighttell us that all was lost. 

Penkevill--a good lad--insisted that all was well. Our men had beendue to start at two o'clock, and all delay allowed for, by this timethey should be past the gut of the valley, where an opposing forcewould certainly choose to post itself. 

My answer to this was that, even allowing it, we must wait for thesound of fighting at Respryn Bridge, farther up the vale, or at oneof the two fords a little below it. For there, and there only, couldour men cross the river, as they must to hit off any line of escapethrough Liscard and into Devon. The bridge we knew to be held by aguard, and almost to a certainty the fords, though swollen by recentrains, would be watched also. It was a part of the plan to surpriseand force these crossings, and no question but that--unless theirguard had been strengthened--they could be forced. But as certainlythe guard, however weak, would make at least some show of fight; socertainly, indeed, that the sound of firing here was to announcesuccess and be our signal to rejoin the main body. 

Now from this bridge of Respryn a highway climbs from the valley andruns due east across the downs; that is to say, straight athwart thetrack we were holding; and our orders were on no account to crossthis highway, but to halt at some little distance on the near side ofit, place ourselves in cover, and so await the signal. For the enemyheld it--we could spy a couple of their camp-fires on the rise whereit crosses Five Barrow Hill, with a third somewhat nearer, by thecross lanes called Grey Mare--and it would assuredly be patrolled. If in attempting to cross it we fell foul of the patrol, the alarmmight draw their troops down towards the bridge; and again, if wecrossed it without mishap, we should be no better placed and mighteasily overshoot our mark, for somewhere alongside this road ourgeneral would direct his retreat, over the heather and short turfthat stretched for miles ahead and for a mile or more on eitherhand--fair open country and for cavalry the best in the world. 

Accordingly we found cover in a belt of fir-trees overlooking thevalley, and for a while possessed our souls in patience. We wereearly, having come without mishap or challenge, and to expect a likespeed of two thousand five hundred men--riding in thick fog throughwater-meadows, with ditches to be crossed and gates to be found andpassed--was in the last degree unreasonable. Nevertheless, dawncould not be far off, and as the minutes dragged by, my spirits sankand my thoughts ran on a score of possible disasters. 

By-and-by the sky began to pale. We heard a small troop of horsemencoming down the road at a walk--a patrol perhaps, or perhaps theywere riding down to relieve the guard by the bridge. We listened andmade out their number to be twenty or thereabouts. The wind hadshifted--another good reason for keeping on our side of the road--andblew from them to us; but our horses were well trained. The troopdrew level with our hiding; we could hear the jingling of their bits, and with that came our signal. A couple of pistol shots rang out;they made every man of us start in his saddle, and they were followedby a volley. 

In my surprise I had dug spur and pushed out beyond our clump offirs, almost before it struck me that the sound came not from thevalley but from ahead of us, across the road and some way up theslope. My first motion had been to charge the troopers in theroadway, to drive them (or at least to check them) from helping atthe bridge; and I had done more wisely by holding to it, even uponsecond thought, for they had wheeled towards the sound and so gavetheir backs to us. While they stood thus we might have chargedthrough them, and all had been well. 

As it was, they offered us this chance for a moment only; and then, striking spur, scrambled up the bank on the far side of the road andheaded across the turf at a gallop. We looked, and slowly weunderstood. For half a mile away, up the rise of the downs, a broaddark shadow was moving; and we had scarcely discerned it before, inthe pale of the dawn, small points of light wavered and broke uponmorions, gorgets, cuirasses. That moving shadow was our own mainbody, climbing the hill at a gentle trot. 

A few picketers hung on their rear. It was these, of course, thathad given the alarm: and by-and-by the trumpets taking it up on FiveBarrow Hill, a body of four hundred horse came over the rise at agallop and bore down obliquely on the mass--very confidently atfirst: but at closer quarters it lost heart and started off to harassthe right flank of the solid mass, that paid it little attention andheld on its way without swerving. 

Before this we had put our horses in motion, to overtake the patrol(as I will call it) and break through to join our comrades. But hereit was that our delay proved fatal. For turning at the sound of ourgallop, and belike judging us to be the advance-guard of a secondlarge body of horse, the leader of the patrol wheeled his men about, halted them for a moment, and so charged them straight down upon us. In numbers they were more than two to one, with the advantage of theslope, and albeit we fought fiercely for a minute, they broke us anddrove us back headlong on the road. Nor did they stop here, but, having us on the run, headed us right down the road to the bridge. 

Here, at the bridge-head, finding it unguarded, I managed to wheelabout and beat off a couple of pursuers: and Israel Hutson and one ofthe troopers joining me, we three blocked the passage and could notbe dislodged. For the bridge was extremely narrow; so narrow, indeed, that in either parapet the builders had provided an embrasurehere and there, for the foot-traveller to step aside if he shouldmeet a passing wagon. 

The cavaliers, confronted by this remnant of us, and still perhapsbelieving that we counted on support, drew off some thirty yards, andwere plainly in two minds whether to attack us again or to drop thebusiness and ride back towards the trumpet-calls now soundingconfusedly along the crest of the downs; when, to their and our worsedismay, was heard a pounding of hoofs on the road behind us, and overthe bridge at our backs came riding a rabble of mounted men with awoman at their head--a woman dressed all in scarlet with a blackflapping hat and a scarlet feather. What manner of woman she was Ihad no time to guess. But she rode with uplifted arm, grasping apistol and waving the others forward; and her followers--who in noway resembled soldiers--poured after her, shouting, clearly bent onour destruction. 

I had managed to recharge my two pistols; and now, thrusting one intomy belt and grasping the other, with my sword dangling handy on awrist-knot, I dismounted and slipped into the nearest embrasure, there to sell my life as dearly as might be. As I did so I heard, above the pounding of hoofs, five or six shots fired, and saw Hutsonfling up his arms in the act of dismounting, fall his length acrossthe roadway, and lie still under the feet of my own terrified horse. The trooper made a plunge forward as if to hurl himself through thepatrol; and they, no doubt, disposed of him. I never saw him again. 

For me, I faced upon the new assailants, as the spitting of bulletson the parapet directed me, and found little time to wonder whatmanner of people these were who so plainly intended to murder me. Some rode on cart-horses; one or two flourished pitchforks; and ifever a man had a sense of taking his leave of life in a nightmare itwas I during that next minute. It seemed that a dozen were on me. I cannot remember letting off my second pistol; but for some time, with my back to the angle of the embrasure, I held my own with almostastonishing ease, and might have held it for many minutes--myopponents being more savage than skilful--had not one of thembarbarously hurled his pitchfork at me as a man throws a spear. One point of it pierced and stuck in the upper muscles of my leftarm; the other pricked pretty sharply upon a rib; and the pain ofthis double stroke forced me to drop my sword and make a snatch atthe accursed missile, to pluck it out. 'Twas the work of two secondsat most, and then with a jerk upon the wrist-knot I had thesword-hilt again in my grip; but it let three stout ruffians in uponme to finish me. And this they were setting about with a will when, as I beat up a stroke that threatened to cleave my skull, I heard avoice calling on them to hold, and the lady in scarlet forced herhorse between us. As the brute's shoulder pressed me back into theangle of my embrasure she held out her pistol at arm's length, herfinger on the trigger, and pointed it at close quarters full on myface. 

'You are my prisoner. '

I stared up and along the pistol barrel and met her eyes. Theylooked down on me disdainfully, with no mercy in them, but (it seemedto me) a certain curiosity. A slight frown puckered her brows. She had spoken in a cold, level voice, and if her colour was pale, her manner and bearing showed no trace of agitation. 

'Would seem, ' said I, 'there is no choice. I submit, madam--to yourpleasure, but not to the rabble you lead. '

At this her eyebrows lifted a little. 'A gentleman?' I heard hersay, but rather to herself than to me. 

'To the extent, ' I answered, 'of having a distaste for pitchforks. '

She made no reply to this, but turned about on her men who weremurmuring and calling to one another to cut my throat. 'I think youheard me say that this officer is my prisoner. The man who forgetsit I will have flogged and afterwards shot. And now stand back, ifyou please. '

I had made a motion to hand her my sword, but she signed to me tokeep it, and rode off towards the patrol, leaving the crowd to stareat me. Being unsure how far her authority prevailed with them, Istuck to my embrasure, and kept an eye lifting for danger, while Iwiped, as carelessly as might be, the sweat from my forehead--for thework had been hot while it lasted. I had laid out a couple of theseyokels in good earnest, and while their comrades dragged them away, and, propping them against the parapet opposite, called for water tobathe their wounds, I became unpleasantly sensible of my own hurts. The stab in my upper arm, though it bled little, kept burning asthough the pitchfork had been dipped in poison; and from the lesspainful scratch on the ribs I was losing blood; I could feel itwelling under my shirt, and running warm down the hollow of my groin. Loss of blood, they say, will often clarify a man's eyesight andquicken his other faculties; or it may be that, as the morning sunate up what remained of the fog, all around me--the bridge and thepersons upon it, the trees up the valley, the river tumblingbetween--on a sudden grew distinct to the view. At any rate, in mymemory, as out of a blurred print, springs the apparition of my ladyas she came riding back from her parley with the patrol, with thesunlight on her flaming feather and habit of red velvet, and herhorse's shadow moving clear-cut along the granite parapet. Nay, itseemed that her voice, too, had a sharper edge as she spoke to me. 

'I have explained to the captain, yonder, that you are my prisoner. Which is your horse?--the dark bay, I think. ' For they had capturedmine as well as poor Hutson's, and a servant held the pair by thebridge-end. 

'It is, madam. '

She motioned to the man to lead him forward. 'Now mount, ' she said;'and follow me, if you please. You may keep your sword. '

Mounting, to a man in my plight, was no such easy matter; but she hadwalked forward to give some directions about the wounded men, and didnot perceive the pain it cost me. Yet (I told myself) she must haveseen me take my wound; and her indifference angered me. Having mounted and found my stirrups, I shut my teeth hard. 

'Are you ready?' she asked, glancing back over her shoulder. 

'At your service, madam. '

Without another word or look she started at a brisk trot, which Iforced my horse to copy, though it gave me the most discomfort of anyshe could have chosen; and at my heels rode three of her servants ongreat clattering cart-horses. The highway beyond the bridge rosewith a gentle slope, much obscured by trees. Between them, a shortdistance up the hill, I caught sight of a lodge-gate, with a park anda fair avenue beyond it; but of these I had no more than a glimpse, for almost at once my lady led us off to the right and along a ruttedcart-track, black with the mould of rotted leaves, that wound up thevalley bottom and close alongside of the river. The sun was highenough by this to pierce through the foliage of elms and aldersoverhanging the stream and dapple the scarlet habit ahead of me withpretty spots and patterns of shadow; but not yet high enough to reachthe low-lying summer-leases (as they would be called in my county)by which the river curved. And here were cattle, yet half-awake, heaving themselves out of their lairs to stretch themselves and beginto browse. The war had not touched this part of the valley; and butfor a shot or two fired now and again on the distant hidden hills, wemight have deemed it a hundred miles removed. Nay, we had riddenscarcely six furlongs before we came to an old man angling. His backwas towards us, and he did not turn to spare us so much as a look. 

The cart-track, though here and there it descended close to the brinkand crossed a plashet left by the late floods, held the most of itscourse partly level, and some twenty feet above the river. So werode for a mile, and came in sight of a second bridge, newer and moremassive than the first, for it carried one of the main highways ofthe county. Here also at the confluence of two streams the valleywidened, and as we emerged on the highway out of the gloom my eyesrested on a broad grassy park sloping up from the bridge, and crownedwith terraces and a noble house. 

The entrance to this park lay but a gunshot up the road on our left;and, coming to it, my lady drew rein. 

'Your name?' she asked. 

'Medhope. '

'It is singular that I should have found a gentleman, ' said she, in amusing, half-doubtful voice, as I leaned from my saddle, stifling thepain, and unhasped the gate for her. 

Said I dryly, 'The Parliament army, madam, includes a few of us. I know not why you should press this point: and 'faith you took mewithout waiting for credentials; but if it please you I am even apoor knight of the shire. '

'My husband is fortunate, ' said she; and put her horse to the trotagain. 

While yet I pondered what she might mean by this--for she said itwithout the ghost of a smile--we reached the house and rode into agreat empty back-court, where nevertheless was the main entrance--anarched doorway with a broad flight of steps. Here she slipped fromher saddle, commanded me to alight, and gave my horse over to ourescort, to lead him to stable. Signing to me, she led the way up thesteps, and I followed, half-dizzy with loss of blood. The great doorstood open. We passed into a cool hall, paved with lozenges ofpolished granite, white and black; and through this, with a turn tothe left, down a long corridor similarly paved and hung withtapestries. To the right of this corridor were many doors, of whichshe led me past five or six, and then pausing at one for me toovertake her, pushed it open. 

The room within was of goodly size, and flooded with the morningsunshine that poured through three long windows. In the midst of itstood a table laid for breakfast, and at the head of the table, backed by a sideboard loaded with cold meats, sat a man plyingknife and fork, and with a flagon handy beside him--a heavy, broad-shouldered man, with a copper-red complexion, and black hairthat grew extraordinarily low upon his forehead. This and a short, heavy jaw gave him a morose, sullen look. I guessed his age atsomething near thirty. 

The sight of us standing in the doorway appeared to annoy him. He scowled for a moment at my lady, and dropped his eyes, while (asit seemed to me) a rush of angry blood suffused his face and gave ita purplish tint; but anon lifted and fixed them on me with a starethat as plainly as words demanded my business. My lady also turnedto me. 

'This, ' she said, 'is my husband, Sir Luke Glynn. ' She faced abouton him. 'I have brought you here Captain Medhope, an officer of therebel army, to take what repayment you are ready to give. He is, Imay warn you, a good swordsman. '

Whatever she meant by this, she said it coldly, and as coldly kepther eyes on him awaiting his answer. Still avoiding them hecontinued to stare at me, and presently, pushing aside his tankard, leaned back in his chair with a rough laugh. 

'My good Kate, ' said he brutally, 'I took you at least for asportswoman?' Still leaning back he pointed towards me. 'Your friend is hurt, wherever you found him. Better ring for Pascoeand put him to bed. '

'Hurt?' she echoed, and turned to me, where I stood swaying, with ahand on the table's edge, and a face (I dare say) as white as thediapered cloth. Her eyes rested on me at first increduously, thenwith dismay. 

'It is not serious, ' I stammered. 'If some one will set a chair forme--no, not there--clear of the rug. My boots are full of blood, Ithink. '

With this I must have fallen in a faint, straight into her arms, andthe faint must have lasted a few minutes. For when my senses cameback some one had removed my jack-boots and stockings, and a hand hadopened my shirt wide at the breast and found the wound. The hand wasLady Glynn's; and on the other side of me stood her husband with agoblet of wine, some of which he had managed to coax down my throat. 

The wine doubtless had revived me, yet not so that I noted all thisat once or distinctly. For the while I lay back with closed eyes, and heard--as it were in a dream--my host and hostess talkingtogether. 

'A scratch, as you see, ' said Lady Glynn. 'There is no need to sendfor a surgeon--who belike would only take blood from him: and he haslost enough already. A few hours' rest--if, when I have bathed thewound, you and Pascoe will carry him upstairs--'

'You are considerate, truly, ' he answered. 'No doubt, having hiredyour bully, you wish to make the best of him. But--I put it to you--in asking _me_ to nurse him you overshoot my Christian virtue. '

'I think not, ' she corrected him in a cool, level voice. 'That is, if you will consider him for what he is, the messenger of yourhonour. For the rest, he happens to be no bully but a gentleman--though I confess, ' she added, 'this comes to you by purest luck: Ihad no time to pick or choose. Lastly, I have not hired him; but--'

'But what?' he asked, as she came to a deliberate pause. 

'But, if you force me to it, I may try. '

What she meant by this, I, lying between them with closed eyes, couldnot guess: but I suppose that, meeting her look, he understood. 

'You?' he said at length, hoarsely. 'You?' he repeated, and brokeout with a furious oath. 'No, by--, Kate, you can't mean it!You can't--it's not like you . . . There, take your hand from him, orI'll slit his throat, there, as he lies!'

But her hand, though it trembled, rested still on my breast, abovethe wound. 'If you lay hand on him, I go straight to the King; andif you hurt me, I have provided that a letter reaches the King. You are trapped every way, husband; and--and let us have no violence, please, for here comes Pascoe at last with the hot water. '

It had cost me some self-command to keep my eyes closed during thistalk. I opened them as a gray-headed servant came bustling in with asteaming pan. For just a second they encountered Lady Glynn's. Perhaps some irregular pulse of the heart--she had not withdrawn herhand--or some catch in my breathing warned her in the act of turning. She gazed down on me as if to ask how much I had heard: but almost onthe instant motioned to the old man to come close. 

'Have you a sponge?' she asked. 

'It is in the pan, my lady. '

She took it, rinsed it twice or thrice to make sure the water was nottoo hot, and fell to bathing my wound. Her hand was exquisitelylight; the sense of the warm water delicious; and again I closed myeyes. But in this exchange of glances my previous image of her hadsomehow faded or been transformed, and with a suddenness that to thisday I cannot account for. To be sure I had formed it in haste andamid the distractions of a pretty sharp combat. On the way to thehouse she had kept well ahead--and drawn rein but to converse with mefor less than half a minute. Only once--as she came riding backacross the bridge from her parley with the patrol--had I taken stock(as you might say) of her looks; and, even so, my eyes had beenoccupied with her scarlet habit and feather, her bearing, her seat inthe saddle, and the tone in which she spoke her commands, rather thanwith her actual features. That these were handsome I had certainlynoted: but that I had noted them more particularly at the time I onlydiscovered now, and by contrast. 

Here, too, I should say that my age was forty-five and a trifleover; and that all my life I have been (as my comrades have oftenassured me) strangely insensible to the charms of women andindifferent to their good looks; and I tell this not because I amproud of it--for Heaven knows I am not--but that the reader may putno misconstruction, even a passing one, upon the rest of my story. I never for a moment stood in danger of loving Lady Glynn, as shenever for a moment stood in danger of liking me. But I pitied her;and by virtue of this pity I was able to do for an hour or two what Ihad never done before and have never since tried or wished or caredto do again--to see clearly into a woman's mind. 

But this came later. For the present, lying there while she spongedmy wound, I saw only that she was a great deal younger than I haddeemed; and not only young but in distress; and not only distressedbut in some sort helpless. In short, here was a woman so unlike thetermagant who had charged across the bridge that I could hardlyreconcile the two or believe them to be one. 

The sponging over, the old man Pascoe handed her a bandage and, at asign from her, lifted my shoulders a little while she passed it undermy back. To do this her two arms must needs go around my body underthe shirt: and I fancy that the sight drove her husband wellnigh pastcontrol: for he growled like a dog and I heard a splash of wine fallon the floor from the goblet he was still holding. 

He obeyed, however, and gave me his arm--albeit sulkily--whencommanded to help me upstairs: and although 'twas done on an impulseand with no thought of mischief, I did not improve his temper bypausing in the doorway and casting a look back at his lady. She waskneeling by the pan, rinsing out the sponge; and with her backtowards us. She did not turn, and so my look went unrewarded; yet--though this must have been merest fancy--her attitude strengthened mycertainty that she was in distress and in need of help. 

In the great tapestried bedroom to which the two men conveyed me SirLuke's demeanour changed, and in a fashion at first puzzling. Having laid me on the bed and taken my assurance that I restedeasily, he sent Pascoe off for a cup of wine and a manchet of bread, and, while these were being fetched, hung aimlessly about the room, now walking to and fro with his hands in his pockets, and anonhalting to stare out of window. By-and-by Pascoe brought the tray, set it on a small table beside the bed, and retired. Sir Luke madeas if to follow him, but paused at the door, shut it, and, comingback, stood gloomily frowning at me across the bed's foot. 

'Where did my wife pick you up?' he asked. 

'On the bridge, ' I answered, 'where a mob--as I take it, of yourretainers--were having at me with pitchforks as a prelude to cuttingmy throat. '

'Was this your first meeting?'

I opened my eyes upon him, with a lift of the brows. 'Yes, ' said Iquietly, as though marvelling why he asked it. I think he had thegrace to feel abashed. At any rate he lowered his eyes; nor thoughhe lifted them presently did he seem able to fix them upon mine. 

'You were some sort of rearguard, I suppose? They tell me the mainbody of your horse rode clean through and escaped. Do you happen toknow what became of Chester?'

'Chester?' I echoed. 

'He commanded our post at the bridge, as I understand. . . . When Isay "ours" 'tis from habit merely. In the early part of the campaignI led a troop, but withdrew from His Majesty's service more than amonth ago, not being able to stomach Dick Grenville. You know DickGrenville?'

'By repute. '

'But not Chester? . . . Chester was at one time his led-captain: butthey have quarrelled since, and it looks as if--'

He did not finish the sentence, but left me to guess what remained. 

'You mean, ' said I, 'it looks as if Chester sold the pass? Well, ifhe did, I know nothing about it, or about him. This is the first Ihave heard of him. But speaking at a venture, I should say thateither his neck's in a halter or he has changed sides and is ridingoff with our troops. '

Sir Luke nodded, but said nothing; and after a while strode to thewindow. When he spoke again it was with his back turned to me. 

'I wonder, ' he said, 'my fellows didn't kill you out of hand. '

'They were making a plaguy near bid for it, ' I answered; 'but LadyGlynn interposed. '

'And that's the strange part of the business. All rebels, as a rule, are poison to her. . . . As for me, you understand, a man on campaignpicks up a sort of feeling for the enemy. He gets to see that allthe right's not on one side, nor all the wrong on t'other. I daresay, now, that your experience is much the same?' I did not answerthis and after a pause he went on, still staring out of window, 'I believed in the Lord's Anointed, for my part: but allowing, forargument's sake, the right's on that side, there's enough villainyand self-seeking mixed up with it to poison an honest man. . . . I shouldn't wonder now that there's something to be said even forChester. '

'That hardly seems possible, ' said I, wondering what his drift mightbe. 

'I don't know. Wait till you've heard his side of the case. . . . But to go back to our subject--you see I don't bear you any malice: Iam out of this quarrel, and--saving my lady's obstinacy--I don'tsee--I really don't see why I should billet myself with His Majesty'sprisoners. What's more, I have an estate in the east of the county, a little this side of Plymouth. They quartered a troop of yourfellows upon it last year, and the place, I hear, is a wilderness. . . . If I could get to it, or to Plymouth--well, one good turndeserves another, eh?--that is, if you're fit to travel?'

I think that at this point he faced around and eyed me for the firsttime. But I made show that I had dropped asleep. I heard him swearunder his breath, and half a minute later he left the room. 

He had been offering me escape. But why? I turned his words over, and the more I turned them the less I liked them. He had given me asuspicious number of openings to prove that the right lay with myparty. It seemed to me that, on half a hint, this man meant todesert. Yes, and his wife--I recalled her words--held him in sometrap. And yet, recalling her face, I could not shake off the fancythat she, rather than he, stood in need of help. 

Pondering all this, still with my eyes closed, I dropped asleep ingood earnest. 

I awoke from a sleep of many hours, to see old Pascoe standing at thebed's foot. No doubt his entrance had disturbed me. 

He carried my boots in one hand, a can of hot water in the other, mystockings and a clean shirt across his arm; and he announced that thehour was four o'clock, and at half-past four Sir Luke and his ladywould be dining. If I felt myself sufficiently recovered, theydesired the pleasure of my company. 

I sat upright on the bed. My head yet swam, but sleep had refreshedme, and a pull at the wine--which had stood all this while untasted--set me on pretty good terms with myself. I bade the old man carry mycompliments to his lady and tell her that I will thankfully do herpleasure. 'But first, ' said I, 'you must stand by and see me into aclean shirt. '

He did more. The stab in my upper arm had bled a little, and theshirt-sleeve could not be pulled from it without pain. He drew apair of scissors from his side-pocket and cut the linen away fromaround the wound: and then, having noted my weakness, helped me towash and dress, drew on stockings and boots for me, nor left me untilhe had buckled on my sword-belt, and then only with an excuse that hemust change his coat before waiting at table. Sir Luke and LadyGlynn (he assured me) would be by this time awaiting me in thedining-room. 

Sure enough I found them there, my lady standing by the midmostwindow and gazing down upon the park, Sir Luke by the fireplace withan arm resting on the high mantel-ledge and one muddied boot jabbingat the logs of a new-made fire till the flame roared up the chimney. I wondered what madness could command so huge a blaze in the month ofAugust (albeit 'twas the last of the month), until he turned and Isaw that he had been drinking heavily. 

It seemed that Lady Glynn had not heard me enter, for as I paused, alittle within the doorway, she leaned forward without turning andpushed open a lattice of the window. I supposed that she did this toabate the heat of the fire in the room. But no; she was leaning andlistening to the sound of guns far in the west. The sound--I hadheard it in my sleep and again at intervals while dressing--brokeheavily on the mist that damped the panes and drifted through theopening with a breeze that set the curls waving about her neck andpuffed out the silken shawl she had drawn around her naked shoulders. 

Sir Luke looked up, and was the first to catch sight of me. 

'Hear the guns?' he said. 'Your foot hasn't the luck of your horse. The King caught 'em, drove 'em back over Lestithiel Bridge, and hasbeen keeping 'em on the run all day, pressing 'em t'wards the coast. '

'Is that the report?' I asked. 

'That's my report, ' he answered; 'and'--thrusting forward one bemiredboot--'you may count on it. I've been following and watching thefun. '

By this time Lady Glynn had turned and came past her husband to greetme, without throwing him a look. 

'You are the better for your rest?' she asked. 'At least I see that, though wounded, you have contrived to pay me the compliment ofwearing fresh linen and a clean pair of boots. '

This was awkward, and--what was worse--she said it awkwardly, with asprightliness, gracious yet affected, that did not become her at all. She meant, of course, to annoy her husband, and his face showed thatshe had succeeded. He turned away to the fire with a sulky frown, while she stood smiling, holding out a hand to me. 

I touched it respectfully, and let it drop. 'The credit, ' said I, 'belongs all to your servant Pascoe. '

'And here he is, ' she took me up gaily, as Pascoe appeared in thedoorway. 'Is dinner ready?'

'To be served at once, my lady. '

'Then will you lead me to my seat, Captain Medhope? Yours is besideme, on the right; yes, close there. My husband, at his end, canenjoy the fire. '

We took our seats. I was hungry, and the dinner good. I ate ofeverything, but can only recall an excellent grill of salmon and aroast haunch of venison: the reason being that Lady Glynn kept me incontinued talk. Poor lady!--I had almost said, poor child!--for herdesperate artlessness became the more apparent to me the more shepersisted. Even I, who, as the reader has been told, have thesmallest skill in the ways of women, could see that here was one, ofhigh breeding but untutored, playing at a game at once above andbeneath her; almost as far above her achieving as it lay beneath hertrue contempt. She knew that women can inveigle men; but in thepractice of it I am very sure that her dairymaid could have given herlessons. 

But what am I saying? Her poor coquetries did not deceive me, butshe never meant them to deceive me. They accomplished, after all, just that for which she intended them. They deceived and maddenedher half-drunken lout of a husband. Her dress, too, was somethingshameless. She wore above her scarlet skirt (which I verily believewas the same she had ridden in) a bodice of the same bright colour, low as a maid-of-honour's, that displayed her young neck and bust. About her neck she had fastened a string of garnets. She had loadedher fingers with old-fashioned rings, of which the very dullness mademe wince to see them employed in this sorry service. And I guessedthat before my entrance this unusual finery had provoked her husbandto fury. 

A length of table lay between us and him. He sat silent, regardingus under lowered brows, eating little, draining glass after glass. Angry though he was, her voice seemed to lay a spell on him. She talked of a thousand things, but especially of the Parliamentcampaign, plying me with question after question--of our numbers, ourdiscipline, our hardships during the past three weeks, of ourgeneral's plan of escape, and, in particular, of the part I had bornein it. And when I answered she listened with smiles, as though Kingand Parliament lay balanced in her affections. And this was thetermagant that a few hours ago had ridden us down and trampled acrosspoor Hutson's body!

All this I took at its true value, answering her with steadypoliteness, telling myself that as her purpose was to goad herhusband, so no word of mine should give him an excuse for anoutbreak. It takes two to make a quarrel, they say. But when threeare mixed up in it (and one a woman), the third cannot always counton remaining passive. 

I had managed to tide over the meal with fair success. We hadreached the dessert, and Pascoe (whose presence may have laid somerestraint upon his master) had withdrawn. A dish of pears lay beforeLady Glynn, and she asked me to peel one for her. I know not if thissimple request laid the last straw on Sir Luke's endurance, but hefilled his glass again and said with brutal insolence, --

'You are fortunate, Captain Medhope, in exciting my wife's interest. I assure you that until your gallantry bewitched her, she had beenused to speak of all rebels as cowards in grain. '

'I hope, Sir Luke, ' said I, 'you, with experience of us, have triedto teach her better. '

'In faith, no, ' he replied yet more brutally, backing his sneer witha laugh. 'I saw no reason for that. '

'And yet, ' said I deliberately, peeling my pear, 'you told me to-daythat something might be said even for such a man as your friendChester. '

He jumped up with an oath. Yet I believe he might even now haverestrained himself had not his wife--and with a face as pale as aghost's--laid a hand on my arm. 

'I had forgotten your wound, ' she said, ignoring her husband. 'You handle the knife awkwardly. Let me cut the fruit and we willshare. '

With a turn of the hand Sir Luke hurled back his chair, and it fellwith a crash. 

'By God, Kate! if you have hired this man, he shall murder first anddo his love-making afterwards. Nay, but I'll stop that, too. Look first to yourself, madame!'

He had whipped out his sword and was actually running upon her beforeI could get mine clear. But I was in time to beat down his point andthen--for he was slow-witted and three-parts drunk--with a trick ofwrist that luckily required little strength, I disarmed him. His sword struck the farther edge of the table, smashed a decanter ofwine and dropped to the floor. 

We were standing now, all three; Lady Glynn a little behind my elbow. 

'Are you going to kill him?' she asked, and he heard. 

For a moment he stared at her stupidly, then at the stream of winerunning across the table, then back at her--and, so staring, flung upboth hands and plunged forward. His brow, as he fell like an ox, thudded against the chair from which, a moment since, she had arisen. 

I caught up a candle. But she was before me and had dropped on herknees beside him. In his fall he had rolled over on his side, andfor a moment I supposed her to be busy loosening his collar. But no--as I held the candle close she was feeling in his pockets, and in the light of it she held up a bunch of keys. 

'I am glad you did not kill him, ' she said simply, rising from herknees. 'There was no need. '

'No need?' I repeated stupidly, swaying with weakness. 

'You shall see. '

She slipped by me and from the room. I bent and loosened Sir Luke'scollar, and essayed to lift him, but had to relinquish the effort anddrop into a chair, where I sat staring at the fallen wreck. While Istared, still dizzy, I heard the voice of old Pascoe behind me. 

'We can manage it, sir--I think--between us. ' He stepped past me, and together we lifted his master and staggered with him to a couch, where he lay, breathing hard. 

Pascoe motioned me back to my chair, where I sat and panted. 

While I sat, she came back. I did not hear her approach, but onlyher voice whispering to me to come: and I followed her forth from theroom and out into the corridor, and along the corridor to the porchas a man walking in his sleep. 

There was a lantern by the porch, and in the light of it my horsestood, saddled and ready. 

'You will take the road up the valley, ' she said, 'and cross by thesecond bridge. The road beyond that bears due east and isunguarded. '

'But what is this?' I asked, as I put a hand to the pommel of thesaddle and felt something hard and heavy slung there beside it. 

'It is the price of the pass, or half of it. There is another bag onthe off side, and between them they hold, I believe, six hundredpounds. '

'That was his price?'

'That was the price. And now go: take it back to your general. '

'You must help me to mount, ' said I. 

She helped me to mount. 

'The second bridge, you will remember, ' said she, as I found mystirrups. 

'I will remember. Is that all?'

'That is all: though, if you wish it, I will thank you and say thatyou have behaved well. '

'I did not wish it, ' said I, 'though now you have said it, I am glad. You hate me, I understand. '

'And I thank you for understanding. Yes, you have behaved well. '

'Good-night, then, and God bless you!'

I shook rein and jogged out of the courtyard into the mirk and mist. I never saw her again. 

Not till years later did I learn that she, too, had left herhusband's roof that night and after (it cannot be doubted) manyadventures of which no history has reached me, joined the Court inits exile at the Hague; where, as I am told, she died. 

Her husband recovered and lived to accomplish his end by drink. There were whispers against him, but no certain proof that he hadever acted as intermediary in selling the pass. His defenders couldalways urge his notorious poverty. Before his death he had partedwith more than two-thirds of his estate. There was no child toinherit the remainder. 

To the end he asserted that his wife had run from him unfaithfully, and was pitied for it. So I hear, at least, and do not care; as I amsure she would not have cared. She had saved his honour, with mypoor help, and having saved it, was quit of us both. 

I pray the foreign earth may rest lightly on her. 

THE JEW ON THE MOOR. 

[The scene is the kitchen of a small farm-house above the WalkhamRiver, on the western edge of Dartmoor. The walls, originally ofrough granite, have had their asperities smoothed down by many layersof whitewash. The floor is of lime-ash, nicely sanded. From theceiling--formed of rude, unplaned beams and the planching of thebedroom above--depends a rack crowded with hams and sides of bacon, all wrapped in newspapers. In the window a dozen geraniums areblooming, and beyond them the eye rests on the slope of Sharpitor andthe distant ridge of Sheepstor. The fireplace, which faces thewindow, is deep and capacious, and floored with granite slabs. On these burns a fire of glowing peat, and over the fire hangs acrock of milk in process of scalding. In the ingle behind it sitsthe relator of this story, drying his knees after a Dartmoor shower. From his seat he can look up the wide chimney and see, beyond thesmoke, the sky, and that it is blue again and shining. But helistens to the farmer's middle-aged sister, who stands at the tableby the window, and rolls out a pie-crust as she talks. (The farmeris a widower, and she keeps house for him. ) She talks of a smallpicture--a silhouette executed in black and gold--that adorns thewall-space between the dresser and the tall clock, and directly abovethe side-table piled with the small library of the house. The portrait is a profile of a young man, somewhat noticeablyhandsome, in a high-necked coat and white stock collar. ]

'It is none of our family, though it came to us near on a hundredyears ago. It came from America. A young gentleman sent it overfrom Philadelphia to my grandmother, with a letter to say he wasmarried and happy, and would always remember her. Perhaps he did;and, again, perhaps he didn't. That was the last my grandmotherheard of him. 

'But it wasn't made in America. It was made in the War Prison, overyonder at Princetown, where they keep the convicts now. I've heardthe man that drew and cut it out was a French sergeant, with only onearm. He had lost the other in the war, and his luck was to be leftuntil the very last draft. He finished it the morning he wasreleased, and he gave it to the young American--Adams, his name was--for a keepsake. The Americans had to stay behind, because their warwasn't over yet. 

'It came to my grandmother in this way: She was married to mygrandfather that owned this very farm, and lived in this very house;and twice a week she would drive over to the prison, to the marketthat used to be held there every day from before noon till nightfall. Sometimes my grandfather drove with her, but oftener not. She couldtake care of herself very well. 

'She sold poultry and pork, eggs and butter, and vegetables; lardsometimes, and straw, with other odds and ends. (The prisoners usedthe straw for plaiting bonnets. ) Scores of salesmen used to travel tothe prison every day, from Tavistock, Okehampton, Moreton, and allaround the Moor: Jews, too, from Plymouth, with slop-clothing. But in all this crowd my grandmother held her own. The turnkeys knewher; the prisoners liked her for her good looks and good temper, andbecause she always dealt fair; and the agent (as they called thegovernor in those days) had given orders to set aside a table andtrestles for her twice a week, close inside the entrance of themarket square, on the side where the bettermost French prisonerslived in a building they called the Petty Caution. 

'But with the prisoners, though many a time her heart melted forthem, she was always very careful, and let it be known that she neversmuggled tobacco or messages even for her best customers. After awhile they got to understand this, and (though you may think itqueer) liked her none the less. The agent, on his part, trustedher--and the turnkeys and the military officials--and didn't respecther the less because she never told tales, though they knew she mighthave told many. 

'This went on, staid and regular, for close upon three years; andthen, one fine October evening, my grandmother, after reaching homewith her little cart, unharnessing and bedding up the donkey in hisstable, walked out to the orchard, where my grandfather was lookingover his cider apples, and says she to him, --

'"William, I've a-done a dreadful deed. "

'My grandfather took off his hat, and rubbed the top of his head. "Good Lord!" he says. "You don't tell me!"

'"I've helped a prisoner to escape, " says she. 

'"Then we'm lost and done for, " says my grandfather. "How did itcome about?" And with that he waited a little, and said, "Damme, mydear, if any other person had brought me this tale I'd have tannedhis skin. " For I must tell you my grandfather and grandmother dotedon one another. 

'"I know you would, " said my grandmother, dismally. "And I can'tthink how the temptation took me. But the poor creatur' was littlemore'n a boy--and there were a-something in the eyes of him--"She meant to say there was a-something that reminded her of her owneldest, that she had lost a dozen years before. 

'I don't know whether my grandfather understood or whether he didn't. But all he said was, "However did you contrive it?"

'"It came, " she said, "of my takin' they six white rabbits to market. I sold mun all; and when they were sold, and the hutch standin'empty--" My grandmother pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed hereyes. 

'"You drove him out in the rabbit hutch?" asked my grandfather. 

'"With a handful of straw between him and the bars, " she owned. "He's nobbut a boy. You can't think how easy. And the look of himwhen he crep' inside--"

'"Where is he?" asked my grandfather. 

'"Somewheres hangin' about the stable at this moment, " she told him, with a kind o' sob. 

'So my grandfather went out to the back. He could not find theprisoner in the stable, but by-and-by he caught sight of him on theslope of the stubble field behind it. The poor lad had taken a hoe, and was pretending to work it, while he edged away in the dimmetylight. 

'"Hallo!" sings out my grandfather across the gate; and goes stridingup the field to him. "If I were you, " says he, "I wouldn't hoestubble; because that's a new kind of agriculture in these parts, andlikely to attract notice. "

'"I was doin' my best, " twittered the prisoner. He was adelicate-lookin' lad, very white just now about the gills. "I come from Marblehead, " he explained, "and, bein' bred to the sea, I didn't think it would matter. "

'"It will, you'll find, if you persevere with it. But come indoors. We'll stow you in the cider-loft for to-night, after you've taken abite of supper. And to-morrow--well, I'll have to think that out, "said my grandfather. 

'For the next few hours he felt pretty easy. He and his wife had agood reputation with the agent, who would take a long time beforesuspecting them of any hand in an escape. The three ate their suppertogether in good comfort, though from time to time my grandfatherpricked up his ears as though he heard the sound of a gun. But thewind blew from the south-west that night, and if a gun was fired thesound did not carry. 

'When supper was done my grandmother made a suggestion that the lad, instead of turning out to the cider-loft, should sleep in the garretoverhead; and my grandfather, after a look at the lad's face, shuthis lips, and would not gainsay her, though--as in bed he couldn'thelp reminding her--it would be difficult to pass off a visitor inthe garret, with two blankets, for a housebreaker. 

'As it happened, though, they were not disturbed that night. But mygrandfather, for thinking, took a very little sleep, and in themorning he went up to the garret with the best plan he could devise. 

'"I've been turnin' it over, " he said, "and there's no road will helpyou across the Moor for days to come. You must bide here till thehue-an'-cry has blown over, and meantime the missus must fit up somedisguise for you; but you must bide in bed, for a man can't step outo' this house, front or back, without bein' visible from all the torsaround. So rest where you be, and I'll just dander down alongt'wards Walkhampton, where the Plymouth road runs under Sharpitor, an' where I've been meanin' to break up a taty-patch this long timepast. There's alway a plenty goin' and comin' 'pon the road, an'maybe by keepin' an eye open I'll learn what line the chase istakin'. "

'So my grandfather shouldered his biddick and marched off, down andacross the valley, marked off his patch pretty high on the slope, andfell to work. Just there he could keep the whole traffic of the roadunder his eye, as well as the fields around his house; and for amoment it gave him a shock as he called to mind that in the onlyfield that lay out of sight he'd left a scarecrow standing--in apatch that, back in the summer, he had cropped with pease for theagent's table up at the War Prison. To be sure, 'twasn't likely tomislead a search-party, and, if it did, why a scarecrow's ascarecrow; but my grandfather didn't like the thought of any of thesegentry being near the house. If they came at all they might beminded to search further. So he determined that when dinner-timecame he would go back home and take the scarecrow down. 

'The road (as I said) was always pretty full of traffic, coming andgoing between Plymouth and the War Prison. There were bakers'wagons, grocery vans, and vans of meat, besides market carts fromBickleigh and Buckland. My grandfather watched one and another goby, but made out nothing unusual until--and after he had been diggingfor an hour, maybe--sure enough he spied a mounted soldier coming upthe road at a trot, and knew that this must be one of the searchersreturning. In a minute more he recognised the man for anacquaintance of his, a sergeant of the garrison, and by nameGrimwold, and hailed him as he came close. 

'"Hallo! Is that you?" says the sergeant, reining up. "And how longmight you have been workin' there?"

'"Best part of an hour, " says my grandfather. "What's up?"

'"There's a prisoner escaped, another o' those damned Yankees, " saysthe sergeant. "I've been laying the alarm all the way to Plymouth. You ha'n't seen any suspicious-lookin' party pass this way, Isuppose?"

'My grandfather said very truthfully that he hadn't, but promisedvery truthfully that he would keep an eye lifting. So the sergeantwished him good-day and rode on towards Two Bridges. 

'For the next twenty minutes nothing passed but a tax-cart and amarket woman with a donkey; and a while after them a veryqueer-looking figure hove in sight. 

''Twas a man walking, with a great sack on his shoulders and two orthree hats on his head, one atop of another. By the cut of his jib, as they say, my grandfather knew him at once for one of the PlymouthJews, that visited Princetown by the dozen with cast-off clothes forsale, and silver change for the gold pieces that found their waysometimes into the prison as prize-money. Sometimes, too, theycarried away the Bank of England notes that the Frenchmen were soclever at forging. But though, as he came near, the man had Jewwritten all over him, my grandfather couldn't call to mind that he'dever seen this particular Jew before. 

'What is more, it was plain enough in a minute that the Jew didn'trecognise my grandfather; for, catching sight of him aloft there onthe slope, first of all he gave a start, next he walked forward a fewsteps undecided-like, and last he pulled up, set down his bundle likea man tired, and looked behind him down the road. The road wasempty, so he turned his attention to my grandfather, and afterlooking at him very curiously for half a minute, "Good-morning, " sayshe. 

'By this time my grandfather had guessed what was passing in theman's mind, and it came into his own to have a little fun. 

'"Good-morning, stranger, " said he, through his nose, mimicking sowell as he could the American manner of speaking. 

'"How long have you been at work there, my man?" asks the Jew, stillglancing up and down the road. 

'"A long time, " answers my grandfather, putting on a scared look, andhalting in his words. "This piece of ground belongs to me"--whichwas true enough, but didn't sound likely; for he was always acareless man in his dress (the only matter over which he and mygrandmother had words now and then), and to-day, feeling he had thewhip-hand of her, he had taken advantage to wear an old piece ofsacking in place of a coat. 

'"Oh, indeed, " says the Jew, more than dubious, and thinking, nodoubt, of the three guineas that was the regular reward for taking anescaped prisoner. 

'"It's the tarnal truth, " says my grandfather, and fell to whistling, like a man facing it out. But the tune he chose was "Yankee Doodle!"This, of course, made the Jew dead sure of his man. But he was alean little wisp of a man, and my grandfather too strongly built tobe tackled. So the pair stood eyeing one another until, glancing up, my grandfather saw three soldiers come round the corner of the roadfrom Plymouth, and with that he dropped his biddick and turned like adesperate man. 

'The Jew saw them too, and almost upon the same instant. "Help, help!" he yelled, and leaving his bag where he had dropped it, tore down the road to meet the soldiers, waving both arms and stillshouting, "Help! A prisoner! A prisoner!"

'My grandfather always said afterwards that, when he heard this, hefairly groaned. He wasn't by any means humorous as a rule, and, sofar as he was concerned, the joke had gone far enough; and he used toadd as a warning that a man may go so far in a joke he can't help butgo farther--'tis like hysterics with women. At any rate, he saw thesoldiers coming for him at the double, spreading themselves to headhim off, and as they came he broke and ran straight up the slopetowards the head of the tor. 

'This violent exercise didn't suit him at all, and glad enough hewas, after two minutes of it, to note that the soldiers wereshortening the distance hand over fist. For a moment he had a mindto drop, as though worn out with hunger and exhaustion, but his faceand shape wouldn't lend themselves to that deceit. So he held on anddid his best, until the foremost soldier drew within thirty yards andshouted out, threatening to fire. Turning and seeing that he had hismusket almost at the "present, " my grandfather dropped his arms, stood still, and allowed them to take him like a lamb. 

'"But, " said he, sulky-like, "if 'tis to the prison you mean to carryme, then carry me you shall. Back to the road I'll go with you, butnot a step farther on my own legs, and on that you may bet your lastdollar. "

'The soldiers--they were three raw youngsters of the SomersetMilitia--threatened at first to prick him along the road with theirbayonets. But by this time the little Jew had come up panting andyet almost capering with excitement. 

'"No bloodthed!" said he, in his lisping way. "I'll have nobloodthed! The man 'ith worth three guineath to me ath he ith. He thall have a cart, if it cotht me five shillingth! Where 'th thenearetht village?"

'He ran off and down the road, while my grandfather sat down on theturf along with the soldiers, and smoked a pipe of tobacco. Very nice lads they were, too; but he felt shy in their company, thinking how badly he had deceived them, and also that the joke wasnear running dry. For, whatever cart the Jew might hire, the drivercouldn't help recognising a man so widely known as my grandfather. 

'But his luck stood yet. For the little man hadn't run abovethree-quarters of a mile on the road and was not half-way towardsBuckland--his nearest chance of a cart--when he came full tilt upon alight wagon and three more soldiers, with a fourth riding behind, andall conveying the prisoners' weekly pocket-money up to Princetown, insacks filled with small change. Here was a chance to save breath aswell as carriage hire, and the little Jew charged down on them sofiercely, as they crawled up the hill, that the corporal who sat onthe money with a musket across his knees, had nearly shot him for ahighwayman before giving him time to explain. 

'They whipped up the horses though, when they heard his story; andso, coming to the road under Sharpitor, and halting, they very soonhad my grandfather trussed and laid upon the bags of money, andjogged away with him towards the Two Bridges, the Jew and threemilitiamen tramping behind at the cart-tail. 

'It was one o'clock, or a little past, when they drove up to theprison gate; and a mist beginning to gather above North Hessary, asat this time of year it often does after a clear morning. My grandfather, looking out from under the tilt of the cart, felt ashe'd never felt before what a cheerless place it must seem to anew-comer, and his heart melted a little bit further towards the ladhe was hiding at home. 

'"Hallo!" says the sentry at the gate. 

'"You'll say something more than Hallo! when you see what we've gotinside here, " promised the corporal. 

'Then they bundled my grandfather out in the light of day, and thecorporal proudly told the sentry to summon the agent at once. 

'"Good Lord!" said the sentry, "if it bain't Farmer Mugford!"

'Just then, as it happened, forth stepped the agent himself from thewicket, starting for his walk that he took for his health's sakeevery afternoon. Captain Sharpland his name was, and later on, whenthe Americans mutinied, he was accused of treating them harshly, butmy grandfather said that a kinder-hearted man never stepped. 

'"Hallo, " says Captain Sharpland, halting and putting up hiseyeglass. "Why, Mugford, whatever is the meaning of this?"

'"You'd best ask the Jew here, sir, " my grandfather answered, nursinghis sulks. 

'"If you pleathe, noble captain, " put in the Jew, who didn't yetguess anything amiss, "we've thecured the ethcaped prithoner--after atuthle--"

'"And pray, who the devil may you be?" asked Captain Sharpland, screwing his eyeglass into his eye. He disliked Jews, uponprinciple. 

'"Tho pleathe you, noble captain, my name 'th Nathan Nathaniel, ofThouththide Thtreet, Plymouth: and on my way thith morning, ath youthee, I came on the prithoner--"'

'"Prisoner be--" began Captain Sharpland, but broke off to swear atthe sentry, that was covering his face with his hands to hide hisgrins. "My good Mr Mugford, will _you_ explain?"

'"With pleasure, sir, " my grandfather answered, and told his story, while the Jew's eyes grew wider and wider, and his jaw dropped lowerand lower. 

'"You claim compensation, of course?" said Captain Sharpland at theclose, and as gravely as he could, though he too had to smooth a handover his upper lip. 

'"Why, as for that, sir"--my grandfather was taken aback--"I took itfor a joke, and bear no grudge against Government for it. "

'"It wouldn't help you if you did, " said Captain Sharpland. "But Isuggest that Mr Nathan, here, owes you a trifle--shall we put it attwenty pounds?"

'But here Mr Nathan cast up his hands with a scream, and would havesat down in the roadway. The soldiers caught him, and held himupright, and you may guess if, in their temper at being fooled, theytwisted his arms a bit. 

'"Take him to my quarters, and we will discuss it, " commanded CaptainSharpland, turning back to the wicket again, and leading the way. Well, the Jew, when he reached the agent's quarters, rolled on to hisknees, and whined so long, beating down the price, that 'twas wellafter four o'clock before he counted out the five guineas which wasthe least sum Captain Sharpland would hear of. My grandfathercounted them into his pocket, scarcely believing his good fortune. He stayed behind after the creature had slunk away out of the room--to have a laugh with the captain, who very heartily offered him aglass of grog upon the top of it; and with that it came over him howhe was deceiving this good man. He couldn't accept the drink; hecould scarcely muster up face to say "Good-night, sir, and thankyou, " and if he, too, as he went out, didn't carry his tail betweenhis legs, I doubt if he felt much better satisfied with himself thandid Mr Nathan. 

'But just outside the gate he found something to distract his mind. The soldiers, in a rage at being made to look foolish, had beenwaiting there for Mr Nathan with their belts; and my grandfatherarrived in time to hear the wretched man howling for mercy, as theychevied him away over the moor under the lee of North Hessary andinto the dusk. 

'He stood and listened for a minute or so, but by-and-by there was anend of the yells, and the soldiers came strolling back, laughingtogether, as men who had taken a pleasant little revenge but notpushed it too far. So he turned his face for home, and reached it alittle after nightfall; and there he turned out his pocket in frontof my grandmother, who could not believe a word of the tale until shehad handled each guinea separately. Then she, too, flung her apronover her head, and laughed till she was weak. But my grandfatherwanted to know if by rights he oughtn't to share the money with theprisoner. 

'My grandmother couldn't make up her mind about this, and advised himto sleep on it. The young man (she said) had faithfully kept his bedall day, but was growing resty. So my grandfather, before supping, took a light and went upstairs to the garret. 

'"We've kept the scent wide to-day, " he reported, very cheerful-like. "But you'll have to lie still for a while yet. "

'"Lyin' here puts a strain on a man, " the lad grumbled. "Couldn't Itake a turn in the fields, now that dark has fallen? I'd promise notto stray far from the house. "

'"That's a notion, " my grandfather agreed. "I once had to lie in bedtwo days with a quinsy, and I hated it. " He considered for a while, and could see no objection. "Come down and sup with us, " he said;"and afterwards, if the missus agrees, you can take a stroll. But don't make too much noise when you let yourself in again. "

'Well, so it was fixed; and after supper the lad put on a pair ofhigh-lows my grandfather lent him, and started off for a ramble inthe night air, with a plenty of instructions about the safest paths. At nine o'clock, which was their regular hour, my grandfather andgrandmother made out the light and went to bed, leaving the door onthe latch. It was an hour before my grandfather could get to sleep. He was thinking of the five guineas, and how they ought rightfully tobe divided. 

'At five in the morning his wife woke him, and declared that in herbelief the lad was still abroad. If he had returned and gone to hisgarret she must have heard; but she had heard nothing. She harped onthis till my grandfather climbed out and went to the garret for alook; and sure enough the bed was empty. 

'They lay awake till daylight, the pair of them, cogitating this andthat. But when the dawn came, my grandfather could stand it nolonger. He pulled on his breeches and boots, went downstairs, andhad scarcely thrown open the door before he heard screams and saw awretched figure, naked to the shirt, running across the yard towardsthe house. It was Nathan the Jew, and he tumbled in front of mygrandfather, and caught hold of him by the boots while he yelled formercy. 

'What do you suppose, was the explanation? My grandfather couldscarcely make head or tail of it, even after listening to the Jew'sstory. And neither he nor my grandmother ever set eyes on theprisoner lad again. But about nine months later there came a letterfrom America that helped to clear things up. 

'The poor boy--so he wrote in his letter--being turned loose underthe sky after fifteen months of captivity, just couldn't go back tothe garret. Though the night was pitch black and full of mist, andthe stars hidden, he wanted no more than to pace to and fro, and lookup and open his chest to it. To and fro he went, a bit farther eachtime, but always keeping my grandfather's directions somewhere at theback of his mind, and always searching back till he could see theglimmer of whitewash showing him where the house stood. In theletter he sent to my grandmother he told very freely of the thoughtsthat came to him there while he felt his way back and forth; and to astaid woman that had never been shut up behind bars the writing--orthe most of it--was mad enough. "Liberty! Liberty!" it kept saying:and "good though it was, how much better if he'd been able to seejust one star through the fog!"

'By little and little he stretched his tether so far, forgetting howthe time went, that the dawn overtook him a good half-mile from thehouse; and through the gray of it he caught sight of a man standingabout fifty yards away, and right in his path. He turned to run, andthen his heart almost jumped out of his mouth as he saw another manstanding to catch him with arms held wide!

'But what had happened was, he had strayed into the pea-patch andthe figure with its arms stretched out was no man at all, but ascarecrow. The lad had no sooner made sure of this than he whippedbehind it, stretched out his hands upon the cross-trees that servedit for arms, and clung there, praying. 

'Now the man creeping down the field was Nathan the Jew. He had beenwandering the Moor all night, crazy with terror; and when the dawnshowed him a house, he could have turned Christian and dropped on hisknees. But casting a glance over his shoulder as he ran towards it, he caught sight of the scarecrow. For a second or two he ran faster, believing it to be either a man or a ghost. He took another glanceback and came to a halt. 

'He knew it now for a scarecrow. He stood, and he stood, and he eyedit. 

'The scarecrow had a suit of clothes that was all tatters, and an oldbeaver hat. It was the hat that took Nathan's fancy. Beaver hatscost a deal of money in those days: but they had a knack of lasting, and Nathan had scarcely ever met with one, however old, that hecouldn't sell for a few pence. For a minute or so he stood there, letting his sense of business get the better of his fright; then heswallowed down the last doubt sticking in his throat, walked straightup to the scarecrow, and made a grab at the hat. 

'"Leave my head alone, can't you?" said the scarecrow. And with thatMr Nathan dropped in a fit; yet not so quick but that before droppinghe caught a straight blow full on the jaw. 

'When he came to, his coat was gone, and his bag, and his hats, including the scarecrow's. But the rest of the scarecrow stood overhim, with its arms stretched out just as before; and he pickedhimself up and ran from it. 

'As for the lad, by this time he had made the best of two milestowards Plymouth. In his letter he apologised very prettily to mygrandmother for not saying good-bye. He owed his life to her, hesaid; but being taken unawares he had done the best he could in thecircumstances. '

MY CHRISTMAS BURGLARY. 

[_From the Memoirs of a Pierrot_. ]

I had come with high expectations, for Mr Felix, a bachelor ofsixty-five, was reputed to have made for thirty years this particularcabinet his idol. Any nabob or millionaire can collect. Mr Felix, being moderately well to do, had selected. He would have none butthe best; and the best lay stored delicately on cotton-wool, ticketedwith the tiniest handwriting, in a nest of drawers I could haveunlocked with a hairpin. 

The topmost drawer contained scarabs (of which I am no connoisseur);the second some two dozen intaglios, and of these, by the light of mybull's-eye lantern, I examined five or six before sweeping the lotinto my bag--Europa and the Bull, Ganymede in the eagle's claw, Agavecarrying the head of Pentheus, Icarus with relaxed wing droppingheadlong to a sea represented by one wavy line; each and allpriceless. In the third drawer lay an unset emerald, worth a king'sransom, a clasp of two amethysts, and a necklace of black pearlsgraduated to a hair's-breadth. By this time I could see--I read iteven in the exquisite parsimony of the collection--that I had to dealwith an artist, and sighed that in this world artists should preyupon one another. The fourth drawer was reserved for miniatures, themost of them circleted with diamonds: the fifth for snuff-boxes-goldsnuffboxes bearing royal ciphers, snuff-boxes of tortoise-shell andgold, snuff-boxes of blue enamel set with diamonds. A couple ofthese chinked together as they dropped into the bag. The soundstartled me, and I paused for a moment to look over my shoulder. 

The window stood open as I had left it. Outside, in the windlessfrosty night, the snow on the house-roofs sparkled under a winteringmoon now near the close of her first quarter. But though the nightwas windless, a current of air poured into the room, and had set alittle flame dancing in the fireplace where, three minutes ago, thesea-coals had held but a feeble glow, half-sullen. Downstairs, insome distant apartment, fiddles were busy with a waltz tune, and a violoncello kept the beat with a low thudding pizzicato. For Mr Felix was giving a Christmas party. 

I turned from this hasty glance to pick up another snuff-box. As my fingers closed on it the music suddenly grew louder, and Ilooked up as the door opened, and a man stood on the threshold--ashort, square-set man, dressed in black. 

'Eh?' He gave a little start of surprise. 'No, no, excuse me, myfriend, but you are seeking in the wrong cabinet. '

Before I could pull myself together, he had stepped to the window andclosed it. 'You had best keep quite still, ' he said, 'and then wecan talk. There are servants on the stairs below, and should youattempt the way you came there are three constables just around thecorner. I hired them to regulate the carriage traffic: but now thatthe last guest has arrived, they will be cooling their heels for aspell; and I have a whistle. I have also a pistol. ' With a turn ofhis hand he flung open a door in a dark armoire beside the window, dived a hand into its recesses, and produced the weapon. 'And it isloaded, ' he added, still in the same business-like voice, in which, after his first brief exclamation, my ear detected no tremor. 

'By all means let us talk, ' I said. 

He was crossing to the fireplace, but wheeled about sharply at thesound of my voice. 'Eh? An educated man, apparently!' Laying thepistol on the mantelshelf, he plucked a twisted spill of paper from avase hard by, stooped, ignited it from the flame dancing in thesea-coals, and proceeded to light the candles in an old-fashionedgirandole that overhung the fireplace. There were five candles, andhe lit them all. 

They revealed him a clean-shaven, white-haired man, meticulouslydressed in black--black swallowtail coat, open waistcoat, and frilledshirt-front, on which his laundress must have spent hours of labour;closely fitting black knee-breeches, black silk stockings, blackpolished shoes. They silhouetted, too, in the moment before he swunground on me, an enormous nose, like a punchinello's, and the outlineof a shapely head, sufficiently massive to counterbalance and save itfrom caricature. The size of the head again would have suggesteddeformity, but for the broad shoulders that carried it. As he facedme squarely with his back to the hearth, his chest and shouldersnarrowing to the hips of a runner, and still narrowing (though hestood astraddle) to ankles and feet that would not have disgraced alady, he put me in mind of a matador I had seen years before, facinghis bull in the ring at Seville. The firelight behind thememphasised the neat outline of his legs. He carried a black cloak onhis left arm, and in his left hand an opera-hat, pressed flat againsthis left side. In closing the window, in finding and producing thepistol, and again in lighting the candles, he had used his right handonly. 

'A gentleman?' he asked, contracting his brows and eyeing me. 

'Well, ' said I, with an uncomfortable, nervous laugh, that itselfaccused my breeding, so inferior it was to the situation, 'possiblyyou are one of those who mix up the name with moral conduct--'

'To some extent, ' he answered, without seeming to interrupt. 'Every one does, I fancy. '

'At any rate I won't challenge it, ' said I. 'But you may, if youwill, call me a man of some education. I was at Magdalen once, butleft Oxford without taking my degree. '

'Ah!' He inclined his head a little to one side. 'Cards?'

'Certainly not, ' I answered with heat. 'I own that appearances areagainst me, but I was never that kind of man. As a matter of fact, it happened over a horse. '

He nodded. 'So you, too, though you won't challenge the name, haveto mix up moral conduct with your disposition. We draw the linevariously, but every one draws it somewhere. . . . Magdalen, hey?If I mistake not, the foundationers of Magdalen--including, perhaps, some who were undergraduates with you--are assembled in the collegehall at this moment to celebrate Christmas, and hear the choir singPergolese's "Gloria. "'

'The reminder hurts me, ' said I--'if that be any gratification toyou. '

'A sentimentalist?' Mr Felix's eyes twinkled. 

'Better and better! I have the very job for you--but we will discussthat by-and-by. Only let me say that you must have dropped on me, just now, from heaven--you really must. But please don't make apractice of it! I have invested too much in my curios; and othershave invested more. . . . That snuff-box, for instance, which youwere handling a moment ago . . . At one time in its history it cost--ay, and fetched--close on two hundred millions of money. '

I began to have hopes that I was dealing with a madman. 

'Or rather, ' he corrected himself, 'the money was paid for a pinch ofthe snuff it contains. Open it carefully, if you please! and youwill behold the genuine rappee, the very particles over which Francefought with Austria. What says Virgil? '_Hi motus animorum atqueheac cerlamina tanta Pulveris exigui jactu_'--yes, but in thisinstance, you see, the pinch of dust was the exciting cause. Sir, the Austrian ambassador, one fatal afternoon, refused to takefrom the box in your hand that which, three weeks later, and all toolate, he would gladly have purchased with many millions. Observe theimperial crown on the lid, with the bees around it, as if toillustrate Virgil's warning. I bought the thing myself, sir, for sixnapoleons, off a dealer in the Rue du Fouarre: but the price willrise again. Yes, certainly, I count on its fetching three hundredpounds at least when I have departed this life, and three hundredpounds will go some little way towards my monument. '

'Your monument?' I echoed. 

He nodded again. 'In good time, my friend, you shall hear about it;for you make, I perceive, a good listener. You have gifts, thoughyou do less than justice to them. Suffice it to say that I am asentimentalist, like yourself. I never married nor begat children;and I have but a shaky belief in the future state; but mysentimentality hankers after--you may even say it postulates--somekind of continuity. I cannot discuss this here and now, for by thesound of the violins, the dance is coming to an end, and my guestswill be growing impatient. But you remember Samson's riddle?Well, out of my corpse (I trust) shall come forth honey: whereas outof yours, unless you employ your talents better--' He broke off, andstepped close up to me. 'Ah, but excuse me, ' he said, and reachingout a hand, caught me suddenly by the collar. 

The arrest--I made sure it was an arrest--took me unprepared, andthrew me off my balance. I broke away a pace, drawing back my fistto strike: and in that moment I felt his hand relax with a curiousfluttering movement as though his fingers drummed on the back of myneck. I heard him laugh too: and before I could hit out he sprangback, holding in his hand a white rabbit!

'An old trick--eh?--and a simple one. ' He pressed out the spring ofhis opera hat, dropped the rabbit inside, dived his hand after it, and drew out two white rabbits by the ears. 'But it will amuse myyoung friends downstairs, and I practise this kind of thing at oddwhiles. '

He set the rabbits on the floor, where they gave themselves a shake, and hopped off towards the shelter of the window-curtains. 

'Now you are the very man I wanted, ' said he, 'and I am going to makeyou sing for your supper. ' He stepped to the armoire, and drew out along cloak of scarlet, furred with ermine. 'I had meant to wear thismyself, ' he went on; but stopped all of a sudden at sight of my face, and began to laugh quietly, in a way that made me long to take him bythe throat. 'Dear me, dear me! I understand! Association ofideas--Court of Assize, eh? But this is no judicial robe, my friend:it belongs to Father Christmas. Here's his wig now--quite anothersort of wig, you perceive--with a holly wreath around it. And here'shis beard, beautifully frosted with silver. ' He held wig and beardtowards the window, and let the moonlight play over them. 'On withthem, quick! . . . And the boots. ' Again he dived into the armoire, and produced a pair of Bluchers, the long ankle leathers gummed overwith cotton-wool, to represent snow. 'It's lucky they reach a goodway up the leg, seeing the cloak is a trifle short for a man of yourinches. ' He stepped back a pace and surveyed me as I fitted on thebeard. 

'There are punishments and punishments, ' said I. 'And I hope, whatever your game may be, you will remember that there's punishmentin dressing up like a tom-fool. '

'Ah, but you'll catch the spirit of it!' he assured me: and then, rubbing his hands, he appeared to muse for a moment. 'I ought, ' saidhe, with a glance towards the fireplace, 'I really ought to sendFather Christmas down by way of the chimney. The flue opens justabove here, and I believe it would accommodate you; but I am not verysure if my housekeeper had it swept last spring. No, ' he decided, 'the music has ceased, and we must lose no time. I will spare youthe chimney. '

He called to his rabbits, picked them up as they came hopping frombehind the curtains, popped them into his hat, shut it with a snap, and lo! they had vanished. 

'You'll excuse me, ' I ventured, as he stepped to the door; 'but--butthe--the few articles here in the bag--'

'Oh, bring them along with you: bring them along by all means!We may have a present or two to make, down below. '

From the head of the staircase we looked down into a hall gaily litwith paper lanterns. Holly and ivy wreathed the broad balustrade, and the old pictures around the walls. A bunch of mistletoe hungfrom a great chandelier that sparkled with hundreds of glass prisms, and under it a couple of footmen in gilt liveries and powder crossedat that moment with trays of jellies and syllabubs. 

They were well-trained footmen, too; for at sight of me descendingthe stairs in my idiotic outfit they betrayed no surprise at all. One of them set his tray down on a table, stepped neatly ahead as MrFelix reached the lowest stair, and opened a door for us on theright. I found myself at a stand on the threshold, blinking at ablaze of light, and staring up a perspective of waxed floor at aminiature stage which filled the far end of the room. Light, asevery one knows, travels farther than sound: were it not so, I shouldsay that almost ahead of the blaze there broke on us a din ofvoices--of happy children's voices. Certainly it stunned my earsbefore I had time to blink. 

The room was lined with children--scores of children: and some ofthem were gathered in little groups, and some of them, panting andlaughing from their dance, had dropped into the chairs ranged alongthe walls. But these were the minority. The most of the guests layin cots, or sat with crutches beside them, or with hands dropped intheir laps. These last were the blind ones. I do not set up to be alover of children: but the discovery that the most of these smallguests were crippled hit me with a kind of pitiful awe; and right ontop of it came a second and worse shock, to note how many of themwere blind. 

To me these blind eyes were the only merciful ones, as Mr Felixbeckoned Father Christmas to follow him up to the stage between thetwo lines of curious gazers. 'O--oh!' had been their first cry asthey caught sight of me in the doorway: and 'O--oh!' I heard themmurmuring, child after child, in long-drawn fugue, as we made our wayup the long length of the room that winked detection from everycandle, every reflector, every foot of its polished floor. 

We gained the stage together by a short stairway draped with flags. Mr Felix with a wave of his opera-hat, called on the orchestra tostrike up 'A Fine Old English Gentleman' (meaning me or, if you likeit, Father Christmas: and I leave you to picture the fool I looked). Then, stepping to the footlights, he introduced me, explaining thathe had met me wandering upstairs, rifling his most secret drawers tofill my bag with seasonable presents for them. Five or six times heinterrupted his patter to pluck a cracker or a bon-bon out of mybeard, and toss it down to his audience. The children gasped atfirst, and stared at the magic spoil on the floor. By-and-by oneadventurous little girl crept forward, and picked up a cracker, andher cry of delight as she discovered that it was real, gave thesignal for a general scramble. Mr Felix continued his patter withoutseeming to heed it: but his hand went up faster and faster to mybeard and wig, and soon the crackers were falling in showers. I saw children snatch them off the floor and carry them to theirblind brothers and sisters, pressing them between the wondering, groping hands with assurance that they were real. . . . Mr Felix sawit too, and his flow of words ceased with a gulp, as though aflowing spring gurgled suddenly and withdrew itself underground. 'I am a sentimentalist, ' he said to me quickly, in a pause whichnobody heeded; for by this time crackers were banging to right andleft, and the children shouting together. Their shouts rose to oneyell of laughter as, recovering himself, he dived at my neck, andproduced the two struggling rabbits. His opera-hat opened with asnap, and in they went. A second later it shut flat again, and theywere gone, into thin air. He opened the hat with a puzzled frown, plunged a hand, and dragged forth yard upon yard of ribbon--red, green, white, blue, yellow ribbon, mixed up with packs of playingcards that, with a turn of the hand he sent spinning into air, tofall thick as leaves in Vallombrosa. 

'Your turn!' he panted as, at the end of the ribbon he lugged out anenormous cabbage, and trundled it down the room. Catching my bagfrom me, he shook his cloak over it once, and returned it to myhands, bulging, stuffed full to the brim with toys--dolls, tops, whips, trumpets, boxes of animals, boxes of tin soldiers. . . . 

'Father Christmas, now! Make way for Father Christmas!'

The infection took me, and stumbling down from the stage by thestairway, I fell to distributing the largesse left and right. The first bagful carried me less than a third of the way down theroom: for I gave with both hands, and, when a blind child fumbledlong with a toy, dropped it at his feet, and tried another, and yetanother till his smile suited me. The dropped toys lay where theyhad fallen. The spirit of the game had made me reckless; and Ihalted with a cold shiver as my fingers touched the gems at thebottom of the bag, and, looking down the room, I was aware that mystore was exhausted, and as yet two-thirds of the children hadreceived no gift. I turned--all in a cold shiver--to retrace mysteps and pick up the toys at the blind children's feet, and as I didso, felt myself a bungler past pardon. But in the act of turning, Icast a look back at the stage: and there stood Mr Felix, noddingapproval and beckoning. So, as in a dream, I went back, 'Capital!'was his only comment. Taking my bag, he passed his cloak over itagain, and again handed it to me, stuffed to the brim. 

Thrice I returned to him; but the third refill was a scanty one, since by this time there lacked but half a score of the tallerchildren to be satisfied. To these, too, I distributed their gifts, and when every eager pair of hands had been laden, I wheeled aboutfor the next word of command. 

But Mr Felix had skipped down from the stage, letting the curtainfall behind him. He stood with his back to me, waving both arms tothe orchestra; and as the musicians plunged at the opening bars ofthe Toy Symphony, the curtain rose, almost as soon as it had dropped;and rose upon a scene representing a street with shops decked forChristmas, and snow upon their eaves and window ledges. 

Then, still to the strains of the Toy Symphony, a Harlequin ran in, with a Columbine, whom he twisted upon his bent knee, and tossedlightly through the upper window of a baker's shop, himself diving amoment later, with a slap of his wand, through the flap of thefishmonger's door, hard by. Next, as on a frozen slide, came theClown, with red-hot poker, the Pantaloon tripping over his stick, andtwo Constables wreathed in strings of sausages. The Clown boxed thePantaloon's ears; the Pantaloon passed on the buffet to theConstables, and all plunged together into the fishmonger's. The Clown emerged running with a stolen plaice, passed it into thehands of the Pantaloon, who followed, and was in turn pursued off thescene by the Constables: but the fishmonger, issuing last in chase, ran into the Clown, who caught up a barrel of red herrings andbonneted him. The fishmonger extricated himself, and the two beganto pelt each other with herrings, while the children screamed withlaughter. . . . 

It was a famous harlequinade; and, as usual, it concluded theentertainment. For after a harlequinade, what can stand between achild and happy dreams?--especially if he go to them with his armsfull of Christmas presents. Five minutes after the curtain hadfallen I found myself standing beside Mr Felix in the hall, while hebade good-night to his guests. Carriages of his hiring had arrivedfor them, and the coachmen apparently had received their orders. A dozen well-trained nurses moved about the hall, and, having dressedthe little ones--who by this time were almost too drowsy withpleasure to thank their entertainer--carried them out into theportico, where the liveried footmen stood by the carriage doors. Slam! went the doors, and one after another--with scarcely a word ofcommand-the carriages bowled off over the thick snow. 

When the last guest had gone, Mr Felix turned to me. 

'The play is over, ' said he. 'When I am gone, it will be repeatedyear after year at Christmas, at the Cripples' Hospital. My willprovides for that, and that will be my monument. But for a few yearsto come I hope to hold the entertainment here, in my own house. Come, you may take off your robe and wig and go in peace. I wouldfain have a talk with you, but I am tired, as perhaps you may guess. Go, then--and go in peace!'

Motioning the footman to fall back, he walked out with me and downthe steps of the portico; but halted on the lowest step by the edgeof the frozen snow, and with a wave of the hand dismissed me into thenight. 

I had gained the end of the street and the bridge that there spansthe river before it occurred to me that I was carrying my bag, and--with a shock--that my bag still held the stolen jewels. 

By the second lamp on the bridge I halted, lifted the bag on to thesnow-covered parapet, thrust in a hand, and drew forth--a herring!

Herrings--red herrings--filled the bag to the brim. I dragged themforth, and rained handful after handful overboard into the blackwater. Still, below them, I had hopes to find the jewels. But thejewels were gone. At least, I supposed that all were gone, when--having jettisoned the last herring--I groped around the bottom of thebag. 

Something pricked my finger. I drew it out and held it under thelamp-light. It was a small turquoise brooch, set around withdiamonds. 

For at least two minutes I stared at it, there, under the lamp; hadslipped it half-way into my waistcoat pocket; but suddenly took a newresolve, and walked back along the street to the house. 

Mr Felix yet stood on the lower step of the portico. Above him, still as a statue, a footman waited at the great house-door, until itshould please his master to re-enter. 

'Excuse me, sir--' I began, and held up the brooch. 

'I meant it for you, ' said Mr Felix quietly, affably. 'I gaveprecisely five pounds for it, at an auction, and I warn you thatit is worth just thrice that sum. Still, if you would preferready-money, as in your circumstances I dare say you do, --he felt inhis breeches pocket--'here are the five sovereigns, and--once more--go in peace. '

THE MAYOR'S DOVECOT: A CAUTIONARY TALE. 

In the first quarter of the nineteenth century there lived at DolphinHouse, Troy, a Mr Samuel Pinsent, ship-chandler, who by generalconsent was the funniest fellow that ever took up his abode in thetown. He came originally from somewhere in the South Hams, but thistells us nothing, for the folk of the South Hams are a decent, quietlot, and you might travel the district to-day from end to end withoutcoming across the like of Mr Pinsent. 

He was, in fact, an original. He could do nothing like an ordinaryman, and he did everything jocosely, with a wink and a chuckle. To watch him, you might suppose that business was a first-classpractical joke, and he invariably wound up a hard bargain by slappinghis victim on the back. Some called him Funny Pinsent, others TheBester. Few liked him. Nevertheless he prospered, and in 1827 waschosen mayor of the borough. 

In person, Mr Pinsent was spare and diminutive, with a bald head, atuft of badger-gray hair over either ear, and a fresh-coloured, clean-shaven face, extraordinarily wrinkled about the face and at thecorners of the eyes, which twinkled at you from under a pair ofrestless stivvery eyebrows. You had only to look at them and notethe twitch of his lips to be warned of the man's facetiousness. 

Mr Pinsent's office--for he had no shop-front, and indeed hisstock-in-trade was not of a quality to invite inspection--looked outupon the Town Square; his back premises upon the harbour, across apatch of garden, terminated by a low wall and a blue-paintedquay-door. I call it a garden because Mr Pinsent called it so; and, to be sure, it boasted a stretch of turf, a couple of flower-beds, aflagstaff, and a small lean-to greenhouse. But casks and coils ofmanilla rope, blocks, pumps, and chain-cables, encroached upon theamenities of the spot--its pebbled pathway, its parterres, its raisedplatform overgrown with nasturtiums, where Mr Pinsent sat and smokedof an evening and watched the shipping; the greenhouse stored sacksof ship-bread as well as pot-plants; and Mrs Salt, his housekeeper(he was unmarried), had attached a line to the flagstaff, and airedthe washing thereon. 

But the pride of the garden was its dovecote, formed of a largecider-barrel on a mast. The barrel was pierced with pigeon-holes, and fitted with ledges on which the birds stood to preen themselves. Mr Pinsent did not profess himself a fancier. His columbarium--amixed collection of fantails and rocketers--had come to him by aside-wind of business, as offset against a bad debt; but it pleasedhim to sit on his terrace and watch the pretty creatures as theywheeled in flight over the harbour and among the masts of theshipping. They cost him nothing to keep, for he had always plenty ofcondemned pease on hand; and they multiplied in peace at the top oftheir mast, which was too smooth for any cat to climb. 

One summer's night, however, about midway in the term of hismayoralty, Mr Pinsent was awakened from slumber by a strange sound offluttering. It came through the open window from the garden, andalmost as he sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes it warned him thatsomething serious was amiss with his dovecote. He flung off thebed-clothes and made a leap for the window. 

The night was warm and windless, with a waning moon in the east, andas yet no tremble of the dawn below it. Around the foot of thedovecote the turf lay in blackest shadow; but a moon-ray overtoppingthe low ridge of Mr Garraway's back premises (Mr Pinsent's next-doorneighbour on the left), illuminated the eastern side of the barrel, the projecting platform on which it rested, and a yard or more of themast, from its summit down--or, to be accurate, it shed a paleradiance on a youthful figure, clinging there by its legs, and upon ahand and arm reaching over the platform to rob the roost. 

'You infernal young thief!' shouted Mr Pinsent. 

As his voice broke upon the night across the silent garden, the handpaused suddenly in the act of dragging forth a pigeon which it hadgripped by the neck. The bird, almost as suddenly set free, flappedacross the platform, found its wings and scuffled away in flight. The thief--Mr Pinsent had been unable to detect his features-sliddown the mast into darkness, and the darkness, a moment later, becamepopulous with whispering voices and the sound of feet stealing awaytowards the yet deeper shadow of Mr Garraway's wall. 

'Who goes there?' challenged Mr Pinsent again. 'Villains! Robbers!You just wait till I come down to you! I've a gun here, by George!and if you don't stand still there and give me your names--'

But this was an empty threat. Mr Pinsent, though nothing of asportsman, did indeed possess a gun, deposited with him years ago assecurity against a small loan. But it hung over the officechimney-piece downstairs, and he could not have loaded it, even ifgiven the necessary powder and shot. Possibly the boys guessed this. At any rate, they made no answer. 

Possibly, too (for a white nightcap and nightshirt were discerniblein almost pitchy darkness), they saw him strut back from the windowto slip downstairs and surprise them. Mr Pinsent paused only toinsert his feet into a pair of loose slippers, and again, as heunbolted the back door, to snatch a lantern off its hook. Yet by thetime he ran out upon the garden the depredators had made good theirescape. 

He groped inside the lantern for the tinder-box, which lay within, handy for emergencies; found it, and kneeling on the grass-plotbeside the mast, struck flint upon steel. As he blew upon the tinderand the faint glow lit up his face and nightcap, a timorousexclamation quavered down from one of the upper windows. 

'Oh, sir! Wha--whatever is the matter?' It was the voice of MrsSalt, the housekeeper. 

For a moment Mr Pinsent did not answer. In the act of thrusting thebrimstone match into the lantern his eye had fallen on a white objectlying on the turf and scarcely a yard away--a white fan-tail pigeon, dead, with a twisted neck. He picked up the bird and stared aroundangrily into the darkness. 

'Robbery is the matter, ma'am, ' he announced, speaking up to theunseen figure in the window. 'Some young ruffians have been stealingand killing my pigeons. I caught 'em in the act, and a seriousmatter they'll find it. ' Here Mr Pinsent raised his voice, in caseany of the criminals should be lurking within earshot. 'I doubt, ma'am, a case like this will have to go to the assizes. '

'Hadn't you better put something on?' suggested another voice, notMrs Salt's, from somewhere on the left. 

'Eh?' Mr Pinsent wheeled about and peered into the darkness. 'Is that you, Garraway?'

'It is, ' answered Mr Garraway from his bedroom window over the wall. 'Been stealin' your pigeons, have they? Well, I'm sorry; and yet ina way 'tis a relief to my mind. For, first along, seeing you, outthere, skipping round in your shirt with a lantern, I'd a fear youhad been taken funny in the night!'

'Bless the man!' said Mr Pinsent. 'Do you suppose I'd do this for ajoke?'

I don't know, ' responded Mr Garraway, with guarded candour. 'I feared it. But, of course, if they've stolen your pigeons, 'tisanother matter. A very serious matter, as you say, and no doubt yourbeing mayor makes it all the worse. '

Now this attitude of Mr Garraway conveyed a hint of warning, had MrPinsent been able to seize it. The inhabitants of Troy have, infact, a sense of humour, but it does not include facetiousness. On the contrary, facetiousness affronts and pains them. They do notunderstand it, and Mr Pinsent understood nothing else. Could he havebeen told that for close upon twenty years he had been afflicting hisneighbours with the pleasantries he found so enjoyable, his answerhad undoubtedly been 'The bigger numskulls they!' But now his doomwas upon him. 

He ate his breakfast that morning in silence. Mrs Salt, burning todiscuss the robbery, set down the dishes with a quite unnecessaryclatter, but in vain. He scarcely raised his head. 

'Indeed, sir, and I've never known you so upset, ' she broke out atlength, unable to contain herself longer. 'Which I've always saidthat you was wonderful, the way you saw the bright side of everythingand could pass it off with a laugh. '

'Good Lord!' said Mr Pinsent testily. 'Did I ever call midnightrobbery a laughing matter?'

'No--o, ' answered Mrs Salt, yet as one not altogether sure. 'And I dare say your bein' mayor makes you take a serious view. '

Breakfast over, the mayor took hat and walking-stick for hiscustomary morning stroll along the street to Butcher Trengrove's tochoose the joint for his dinner and pick up the town's earliestgossip. It is Troy's briskest hour; when the dairy carts, rattlinghomeward, meet the country folk from up-the-river who have justlanded at the quays and begun to sell from door to door their poultryand fresh eggs, vegetables, fruit, and nosegays of garden flowers;when the tradesmen, having taken down their shutters, stand in theroadway, admire the effect of their shop-windows and admonish theapprentices cleaning the panes; when the children loiter and play athop-scotch on their way to school, and the housewives, having packedthem off, find time for neighbourly clack over the scouring ofdoor-steps. 

It might be the mayor's fancy and no more, but it certainly appearedto him that the children smiled with a touch of mockery as they methim and saluted. For aught he knew any one of these grinning imps--confound 'em!--might be implicated in the plot. The townsmen gavehim 'good-morning' as usual, and yet not quite as usual. He feltthat news of the raid had won abroad; that, although shy of speaking, they were studying his face for a sign. He kept it carefullycheerful; but came near to losing his temper when he reachedTrengrove's shop to find Mr Garraway already there and in earnestconversation with the butcher. 

'Ah! good-mornin' again! I was just talkin' about you and yourpigeons, ' said Mr Garraway, frankly. 

'Good-morning, y'r Worship, ' echoed Butcher Trengrove. 'And what canI do for y'r Worship this fine morning? I was just allowin' to MrGarraway here that, seein' the young dare-devils had left you a birdwith their compliments, maybe you'd fancy a nice cut of rumpsteak tofill out a pie. '

'This isn't exactly a laughing matter, Mr Trengrove. '

'No, no, to be sure!' Butcher Trengrove composed his broad smileapologetically. But, after a moment, observing Mr Pinsent's face andthat (at what cost he guessed not) it kept its humorous twist, he lethis features relax. 'I was allowin' though, that if any man couldget even with a bit of fun, it would be y'r Worship. '

'Oh, never fear but I'll get even with 'em, ' promised his Worship, affecting an easiness he did not feel. 

'Monstrous, though! monstrous!' pursued the butcher. 'The boys ofthis town be gettin' past all control. Proper young limbs, I callsome of 'em. '

'And there's the fellow that's to blame, ' put in Mr Garraway, with anod at a little man hurrying past the shop, on the opposite pavement. This was Mr Lupus, the schoolmaster, on his way to open school. 'Hi! Mr Lupus!'

Mr Lupus gave a start, came to a halt, and turned on the shop door apair of mildly curious eyes guarded by moon-shaped spectacles. Mr Lupus lived with an elderly sister who kept a bakehouse beside theFerry Landing, and there in extra-scholastic hours he earned a littlemoney by writing letters for seamen. His love-letters had quite areputation, and he penned them in a beautiful hand, with flourishesaround the capital letters; but in Troy he passed for a person ofsmall account. 

'I--I beg your pardon, gentlemen! Were you calling to me?' stammeredMr Lupus. 

'Good-morning, Lupus!' The mayor nodded to him. 'We were justsaying that you bring up the boys of this town shamefully. Yes, sir, shamefully. '

'No, indeed, your Worship, ' protested Mr Lupus, looking up with atimid smile, as he drew off his spectacles and polished them. 'Your Worship is pleasant with me. I do assure you, gentlemen, thatmy boys are very good boys, and give me scarcely any trouble. '

'That's because you sit at school in your daydreams, and don't takenote of the mischief that goes on around you. A set of anointedyoung scoundrels, Mr Lupus!'

'You don't mean it, sir. Oh, to be sure you don't mean it! YourWorship's funny way of putting things is well known, if I may say so. But they are good boys, on the whole, very good boys; and you shouldsee the regularity with which they attend. I sometimes wish--meaningno offence--that you gentlemen of position in the town would drop inupon us a little oftener. It would give you a better idea of us, indeed it would. For my boys are very good boys, and for regularityof attendance we will challenge any school in Cornwall, sir, if youwill forgive my boasting. '

Now this suggestion of Mr Lupus, though delicately put, and in anervous flutter, ought by rights to have hit the mayor and MrGarraway hard; the pair of them being trustees of the charity underwhich the Free Grammar School was administered. But in those daysfew public men gave a thought to education, and Mr Lupus taughtschool, year in and year out, obedient to his own conscience, his ownenthusiasms; unencouraged by visitation or word of advice from hisgovernors. 

The mayor, to be sure, flushed red for a moment; but Mr Garraway'swithers were unwrung. 

'That don't excuse their committing burglary and stealing hisWorship's pigeons, ' said he. Briefly he told what had happened. 

Mr Lupus adjusted and readjusted his spectacles, still in a nervousflurry. 

'You surprise me, gentlemen. It is unlike my boys--unlike all that Ihave ever believed of them. You will excuse me, but if this be true, I shall take it much to heart. So regular in attendance, and--stealing pigeons, you say? Oh, be sure, sirs, I will give them atalking-to--a severe talking-to--this very morning. '

The little schoolmaster went his way down the street in a flutter. Mr Pinsent stared after him abstractedly. 

'That man, ' said he, after a long pause, 'ought to employ some one touse his cane for him. '

With this, for no apparent reason, his eye brightened suddenly. But the source of his inspiration he kept to himself. His manner wasjocular as ever as he ordered his steak. 

On his way home he knocked at the door of the town sergeant, ThomasTrebilcock, a septuagenarian, more commonly known as Pretty Tommy. The town sergeant was out in the country, picking mushrooms; but hisyoungest granddaughter, who opened the door, promised to send himalong to the mayor's office as soon as ever he returned. 

At ten o'clock, or a little later, Pretty Tommy presented himself, and found Mr Pinsent at his desk engaged in complacent study of asheet of manuscript, to which he had just attached his signature. 

'I think this will do, ' said Mr Pinsent, with a twinkle, and herecited the composition aloud. 

Pretty Tommy, having adjusted his horn spectacles, took the paper andread it through laboriously. 

'You want me to cry it through the town?'

'Certainly. You can fetch your bell, and go along with it at once. '

'Your Worship knows best, o' course. ' Pretty Tommy appeared tohesitate. 

'Why, what's wrong with it?'

'Nothin', ' said Tommy, after a slow pause and another perusal, 'only'tis unusual--unusual, and funny at the same time; an' that's alwaysa risk. ' He paused again for a moment, and his face brightened. 'But there!' he said, ''tis a risk you're accustomed to by thistime. '

Half an hour later the sound of the town sergeant's bell at the endof the street called tradesmen from their benches and housewives fromtheir kitchens to hear the following proclamation, to which Tommy haddone honour by donning his official robe (of blue, gold-laced) with ascarlet pelisse and a cocked hat. A majestic figure he made, too, standing in the middle of the roadway with spectacles on nose, andthe great handbell tucked under his arm--

 'O YES! O YES! O YES!

 'Take you all notice: that whereas some evil-disposed boys did last night break into the premises of Samuel Pinsent, Worshipful Mayor of this Borough, and did rob His Worship of several valuable pigeons; His Worship hereby offers a reward of Five Shillings to the parent or parents of any such boy as will hand him over, that the Mayor may have ten minutes with him in private. Amen. 

 'GOD SAVE THE KING!'

Mr Pinsent, seated in his office, heard the bell sounding far up thestreet, and chuckled to himself. He chuckled again, peering throughhis wire blinds, when Pretty Tommy emerged upon the square outsideand took his stand in the middle of it to read the proclamation. It collected no crowd, but it drew many faces to the windows anddoorways, and Mr Pinsent observed that one and all broke into grinsas they took the humour of his offer. 

He rubbed his hands together. He had been angry to begin with; yes--he would confess it--very angry. But he had overcome it and risen tohis reputation. The town had been mistaken in thinking it could putfun on him. It was tit-for-tat again, and the laugh still withSamuel Pinsent. 

He ate his dinner that day in high good humour, drank a couple ofglasses of port, and retired (as his custom was on warm afternoons)to his back-parlour, for an hour's siesta. Through the open windowhe heard the residue of his pigeons murmuring in their cotes, and thesound wooed him to slumber. So for half an hour he slept, with aneasy conscience, a sound digestion, and a yellow bandannahandkerchief over his head to protect him from the flies. A tappingat the door awakened him. 

'There's a woman here--Long Halloran's wife, of Back Street--wishesto see you, sir, ' announced the voice of Mrs Salt. 

'Woman!' said the mayor testily. 'Haven't you learned by this timethat I'm not to be disturbed after dinner?'

'She said her business was important, sir. It's--it's about thepigeons, ' explained Mrs Salt. 

And before he could protest again, Mrs Halloran had thrust her wayinto the room and stood curtseying, with tears of recent weeping uponher homely and extremely dirty face. Behind her shuffled a lanky, sheepish-eyed boy, and took up his stand at her shoulder with a lookhalf-sullen, half-defiant. 

'It's about my Mike, sir, ' began Mrs Halloran, in a lachrymose voice, and paused to dab her eyes with a corner of her apron. 'Which I'msure, sir, we ought to be very grateful to you for all your kindnessand the trouble you're takin', and so says the boy's father. For he's growin' up more of a handful every day, and how to managehim passes our wits. '

'Are you telling me, Mrs Halloran, that this boy of yours is thethief who stole my pigeons?'

Mr Pinsent, looking at the boy with a magisterial frown, began towish he had not been quite so hasty in sending round the townsergeant. 

'You did, didn't you, Mike?' appealed Mrs Halloran. And Mike, looking straight before him, grunted something which might pass foran admission. 'You must try to overlook the boy's manner, sir. He's case-hardened, I fear, and it goes sore to a mother's heart thatever I should rear up a child to be a thief. But as Halloran said tome, "Take the young limb to his Worship, " Halloran says, "and maybe atrifle of correction by a gentleman in his Worship's position willhave some effect, " he says. But I hope, sir, you won't visit all thepunishment on Mike, for he didn't do it alone; and though I'm notsayin' he don't deserve all he gets, 'tisn't fair to make him theonly scapegoat--now is it, sir?'

'My good woman, I--I have no such intention, ' stammered the mayor, glancing at the lad again, and liking his appearance worse than ever. 

'I thank your Worship. ' Mrs Halloran dropped a quick curtsey. 'And so I made free to tell Halloran, who was in doubt of it. "Mr Pinsent, " I said, "is a just-minded man, an' you may be sure, " Isaid, "he'll mete out the same to all, last as well as first. "'

'Yes, yes!' The mayor took her up impatiently and paused for amoment, still eyeing the boy. 'Er--by the way, what age is yourson?'

'Rising fifteen, sir; christened fifteen years ago last St Michael'sDay, which is the twenty-ninth of September, though little good itdone him. He takes after his father, sir. All the Hallorans shootup tall, like runner beans; and thick in the bone. Or so his fathersays. For my part, I've never been to Ireland; but by the looks ofen you'd say not a day less than seventeen. It seems likeblood-money, my takin' five shillin' and handin' the child over--athis tender age--and me his own mother that nursed en!'

Here Mrs Halloran, whose emotions had been mastering her for somemoments, broke down in a violent fit of sobbing; and this so affectedher offspring that he emitted a noise like the hoot of a dog. As he started it without warning, so abruptly he ended it, and lookedaround with an impassive face. 

It was uncanny. It shook the mayor's nerve. 'My dear Mrs Halloran, if you will let me have a word or two with your son--'

'Oh, I know!' she wailed. 'That's how you put it. But you give meover the money, sir, and let me go quick, before I weaken on it. You never had a child of your own, Mr Pinsent--and more's the pityfor the child--but with one of your own you'd know what it feelslike!'

Mr Pinsent felt in his trouser-pocket, drew forth two half-crowns, and pressed them into Mrs Halloran's dirty palm. With a sob and ablessing she escaped. He heard her run sobbing down the passage tothe front door. Then he turned upon Mike. 

The boy had sidled round with his back against the wall, and stoodthere with his left elbow up and his fists half clenched. For thespace of half a minute the mayor eyed him, and he eyed the mayor. 

'Sit down, Mike, ' said the mayor gently. 

'Goo! What d'ye take me for?' said Mike, lifting his hands a little. 

'Sit down, I tell you. '

'Huh--yes, an' let you cop me over the head? You just try it--that'sall; you just come an' try it?'

'I--er--have no intention of trying it, ' said Mr Pinsent. 'It certainly would not become me to administer--to inflict--corporalpunishment on a youth of your--er--inches. What grieves me--whatpains me more than I can say, is to find a boy of your--er-sizeand er--development--by which I mean mental development, sense ofresponsibility--er--mixed up in this disgraceful affair. I had supposed it to be a prank, merely--a piece of childishmischief--and that the perpetrators were quite small boys. '(Here--not a doubt of it--Mr Pinsent was telling the truth. )

'Why, ' he went on, with the air of one making a pleasant littlediscovery, 'I shouldn't be surprised to find you almost as tall asmyself! Yes. I declare I believe you are quite as tall! No'-heput up a hand as Mike, apparently suspecting a ruse, backed in aposture of defence--'we will not take our measures to-day. I havesomething more serious to think about. For you will have noticedthat while I suspected this robbery to be the work of smallthoughtless boys, I treated it lightly; but now that I find a greatstrapping fellow like you mixed up in the affair, it becomes mybusiness to talk to you very seriously indeed. '

And he did. He sat down facing Mike Halloran across the table, andread him a lecture that should have made any boy of Mike's sizethoroughly ashamed of himself; and might have gone on admonishing foran hour had not Mrs Salt knocked again at the door. 

'If you please, ' announced Mrs Salt, 'here's the Widow Barnicutt fromthe Quay to see you, along with her red-headed 'Dolphus. '

'Which, ' said the Widow Barnicutt, panting in at her heels andbobbing a curtsey, 'it's sorry I am to be disturbin' your Worship, and I wouldn't do it if his poor father was alive and could give 'emthe strap for his good. But the child bein' that out of hand thatall my threats do seem but to harden him, and five shillin' a week'swage to an unprovided woman; and I hope your Worship will excuse thenoise I make with my breathin', which is the assma, and brought on byfightin' my way through the other women. '

Mr Pinsent gasped, and put up a hand to his brow. 

'The other women?' he echoed. 'What other women?'

'The passage is full of 'em, ' said Mrs Salt, much as though she werereporting that the house was on fire. 

'Ay, ' said the widow, 'but my 'Dolphus is the guilty one--I got hisword for it. '

'There's Maria Bunny, ' persisted Mrs Salt, beginning to tick off thelist on her fingers, 'Maria Bunny with her Wesley John, and MaryPolly Polwarne with her Nine Days' Wonder, and Amelia Trownce withthe twins, and Deb Hicks with the child she christened Nonesuch, thinkin' 'twas out of the Bible; and William Spargo's second wifeMaria with her step-child, and Catherine Nance with her splay-footedboy that I can never remember the name of--'

'Oh! send 'em away!' bawled Mr Pinsent. 'Send 'em away before theirhusbands come home from work and raise a riot!' Then he recollectedhimself. 'No, fetch 'em all in here, from the street, ' said he, dropping into a chair and taking his head in both hands. 'Fetch 'emall in, and let me deal with 'em!'

The town, when it laughed over the story next day, found the cream ofthe joke in this--Bester Pinsent, in promising Mrs Halloran that herboy should but share punishment with the rest, had forgotten in hisagitation of mind to stipulate that the reward should also bedivided. As it was, he had paid her the full five shillings, and therest of the women (there were twenty-four) would be content withnothing less. 

But it was really little Mr Lupus, the schoolmaster, that--allunconsciously--had the last word. Trotting past Butcher Trengrove'sshop next morning, on his way to open school, Mr Lupus caught sightof his Worship standing within the doorway, halted, and came acrossthe street with a nervous flush on his face. 

'Mr Mayor, sir, if I may have a word with you? Begging your pardon, sir, but it lies on my conscience--all night, sir, it has beentroubling me--that I boasted to you yesterday of my boys' goodattendance. Indeed, sir, it has been good in the past. But yesterdayafternoon! Oh, sir, I fear that you were right, after all, andsomething serious is amiss with the boys of this town!'

I regret that I cannot report here the precise words of Mr Pinsent'sreply. 

NEWS FROM TROY!

Troy--not for the first time in its history--is consumed withlaughter; laughter which I deprecate, while setting down as animpartial chronicler the occasion and the cause of it. 

You must know that our venerable and excellent squire, Sir FelixFelix-Williams, has for some years felt our little town getting, ashe puts it, 'beyond him. ' He remembers, in his father's time, thegrass growing in our streets. The few vessels that then visited theport brought American timber-props for the mines out of which theFelix-Williams estate drew its royalties, and shipped in exchangesmall cargoes of emigrants whom, for one reason or another, thatestate was unable to support. It was a simple system, and Sir Felixhas often in talk with me lamented its gradual strangulation, in histime, by the complexities of modern commerce. --You should hear, bythe way, Sir Felix pronounce that favourite phrase of his 'in mytime'; he does it with a dignified humility, as who should say, 'Observe, I am of the past indeed, but I have lent my name to anepoch. '

As a fact the access of a railway to our little port, the building ofjetties for the china-clay trade, the development of our harbourwhich now receives over 300, 000 tons of shipping annually--all thesehave, in ways direct and indirect, more than doubled the oldgentleman's income. But to do him justice, he regards this scarcelyat all. He sets it down--and rightly--to what he has taken to callon public occasions 'the expansion of our Imperial Greatness'; but inhis heart of hearts he regrets his loosening hold on a populationthat was used to sit under his fig-tree and drink of his cistern. With their growth the working classes have come to prefer self-helpto his honest regulation of their weal. There has been no quarrel:we all love Sir Felix and respect him, though now and then we laughat him a good deal. 

There has been no quarrel, I repeat. But insensibly we have lost thefirst place in his affections, which of late years have concentratedthemselves more and more upon the small village of Kirris-vean, around a corner of the coast. By its mere beauty, indeed, any onemight be excused for falling in love with Kirris-vean. It lies, almost within the actual shadow of Sir Felix's great house, at thefoot of a steep wooded coombe, and fronts with diminutive beach andpier the blue waters of our neighbouring bay. The cottages arewhitewashed and garlanded with jasmine, solanum, the monthly rose. Fuchsias bloom in their front gardens; cabbages and runner beansclimb the hillside in orderly rows at their backs. The women curtseyto a stranger; the men touch their hats; and the inhabitants aremostly advanced in years, for the young men and maidens leave thevillage to go into 'good service' with testimonials Sir Felix takes adelight to grant, because he has seen that they are well earned. If you were to stand at the cross-roads in the middle of Eaton Squareand say 'Kirris-vean!' in a loud voice, it is odds (though I will notpromise) that a score of faces would arise from underground and gazeout wistfully through area-railings. For no one born in Kirris-veancan ever forget it. But Kirris-vean itself is inhabited bygrandparents and grandchildren (these last are known in Eaton Squareas 'Encumbrances'). It has a lifeboat in which Sir Felix takes apeculiar pride (but you must not launch it unless in fine weather, orthe crew will fall out). It has also a model public-house, The ThreeWheatsheaves, so named from the Felix-Williams' coat of arms. The people of Troy believe--or at any rate assert--that every one inKirris-vean is born with a complete suit of gilt buttons bearing thatdevice. 

Few dissipations ripple the gentle flow--which it were moredescriptive perhaps to call stagnation--of life in that modelvillage. From week-end to week-end scarcely a boat puts forth fromthe shelter of its weed-coated pier; for though Kirris-vean wears theaspect of a place of fishery, it is in fact nothing of the kind. Its inhabitants--blue-jerseyed males and sun-bonneted females--sitcomfortably on their pensions and tempt no perils of the deep. Why should they risk shortening such lives as theirs? A fewcrab-pots--'accessories, ' as a painter would say--rest on the beachabove high-water mark, the summer through; a few tanned nets hang, and have hung for years, a-drying against the wall of theschool-house. But the prevalent odour is of honeysuckle. The agedcoxswain of the lifeboat reported to me last year that an Americanvisitor had asked him how, dwelling remote from the railway, thepopulation dealt with its fish. 'My dear man, ' said I, 'you shouldhave told him that you get it by Parcels' Post from Billingsgate. '

I never know--never, in this life shall I discover--how rumouroperates in Troy, how it arrives or is spread. Early in August arumour, incredible on the face of it, reached me that Kirris-veanintended a Regatta! . . . For a week I disbelieved it; for almostanother week I forgot it; and then lo! Sir Felix himself called on meand confirmed it. 

A trio of young footmen (it appeared) had arrived in Kirris-vean tospend a holiday on board-wages--their several employers having gonenorthward for the grouse, to incommodious shooting-boxes where a fewservants sufficed. Finding themselves at a loose end (to use theirown phrase for it) these three young men had hit on the wild--thehappy--the almost delirious idea of a Regatta; and taking theircourage in their hands had sought an interview with Sir Felix, toentreat his patronage for the scheme. They had found him in his mostamiable mood, and within an hour--the old gentleman is discursive--hehad consented to become Patron and President and to honour thegathering with his presence. But observe; the idea cannot haveoriginated before August the 12th, on which day the trio arrived fromLondon; yet a whisper of it had reached me on the 2nd or 3rd. I repeat that I shall never understand the operation of rumour inTroy. 

Sir Felix, having somewhat rashly given his consent, in a cooler hourbegan to foresee difficulties, and drove into Troy to impart them tome. I know not why, on occasions of doubt and embarrassment such asthis, he ever throws himself (so to speak) on my bosom; but so it is. The Regatta, he explained, ought to take place in August, and we werealready arrived at the middle of the month, Tuesday the 24th had beensuggested--a very convenient date for him: it was, as I mightremember, the day before Petty Sessions, immediately after which hehad as good as promised to visit his second son in Devonshire andattend the christening of an infant grandchild. But would ten daysallow us time to organise the 'events, ' hire a band, issue thenecessary posters, etc. ?

I assured him that, hard as it might drive us, the thing could bedone. 'I shall feel vastly more confident, ' he was good enough tosay, 'if you will consent to join our Committee. ' And I accepted, onthe prospect of seeing some fun. But ah! could I have foreseen_what_ fun!

'You relieve my mind, indeed. . . . And--er--perhaps you might alsohelp us by officiating as starter and--er--judge, or timekeeper?'

'Willingly, ' said I; 'in any capacity the Committee may wish. '

'They will be more inclined to trust the decisions of one who--er--does not live among them. '

'Is that so?' said I. 'In Kirris-vean, one would have thought--but, after all, I shall have to forgo whatever public confidence dependson the competitors being unacquainted with me, since two-thirds ofthem will come to you from Troy. '

'You are sure?'

'Quite. Has it not struck you, Sir Felix, that Kirris-vean--idealspot for a regatta--has in itself neither the boats nor the men forone?'

'We might fill up with a launch of the lifeboat, ' he hazarded. 

'If one could only be certain of the weather. '

'And a public tea, and a procession of the school children. '

'Admirable, ' I agreed. 'Never fear, we will make up a programme. '

'Oh, and--er--by the way, Bates of the Wheatsheaf came to me thismorning for an Occasional Licence. He proposes to erect a booth inhis back garden. You see no objection?'

'None at all. '

'A most trustworthy man. . . . He could not apply, you see, at ourlast Petty Sessions because he did not then know that a regatta wascontemplated; and the 25th will, of course, be too late. But thelicence can be granted under these circumstances by any twomagistrates sitting together; and I would suggest that you and I--'

'Certainly, ' said I, and accompanied Sir Felix to the small room thatserves Troy for an occasional courthouse, where we solemnly grantedBates his licence. 

There is a something about Sir Felix that tempts to garrulity, and Icould fill pages here with an account of our preparations for theRegatta; the daily visits he paid me--always in a fuss, and fivetimes out of six over some trivial difficulty that had assailed himin the still watches of the night; the protracted meetings ofCommittee in the upper chamber of the lifeboat-house at Kirris-vean. But these meetings, and the suggestions Sir Felix made, and the voteswe took upon them, are they not recorded in the minute-book of theFirst and Last Kirris-vean Regatta? Yes, thus I have to write it, and with sorrow: there will never be another Regatta in that Arcadianvillage. 

Sir Felix, good man, started with a fixed idea that a regattadiffered from a Primrose Fete, if at all, then only in beingnon-political. He could not get it out of his head that publicspeeches were of the essence of the festivity; and when, with all thetact at my command, I insisted on aquatics, he countered me byproposing to invite down a lecturer from the Navy League! As he putit in the heat of argument, 'Weren't eight _Dreadnoughts_ aquaticenough for anybody?' But in the voting the three young footmensupported me nobly. _They_ wanted fireworks, and were not wastingany money on lecturers: also there was a feeling in Kirris-vean that, while a regatta could scarcely be held without boat-racing, theprizes should be just sufficient to attract competitors and yet on ascale provoking no one to grumble at the amount of subscribed moneylost to the village. A free public tea was suggested. I resistedthis largesse; and we compromised on 'No Charge for Bona-fideSchoolchildren'--whatever that might mean--and 'Fourpence a head forAdults. '

The weather prospects, as the moment drew near, filled us withanxious forebodings, for the anti-cyclonic spell showed signs ofbreaking, and the Sunday and Monday wore lowering faces. But Tuesdaydawned brilliantly; and when after a hasty breakfast I walked over toKirris-vean, I found Sir Felix waiting for me at the top of the hillin his open landau, with a smile on his face, a rose in hisbutton-hole, and a white waistcoat that put all misgivings to shame. 'A perfect day!' he called out with a wave of the hand. 

'A foxy one, ' I suggested, and pointed out that the wind sat in adoubtful quarter, that it was backing against the sun, that it waslight and might at any time die away and cheat us of our sailingmatches. 

'Always the boats with you!' he rallied me; 'my dear sir, it is goingto be perfect. As the song says, "We've got the ships, we've got themen, and we've got the money too. " An entire success, you may takemy word for it!'

We descended the hill to find the village gay with bunting, thecompeting boats lying ready off the pier, a sizeable crowd alreadygathered, and the Committee awaiting us at the beach-head. Eachcommittee-man wore a favour of blue-and-white ribbon, and upon ourarrival every hat flew off to Sir Felix, while the band played'See the Conquering Hero Comes!'

It was, not to put too fine a point on the description, an atrociousband. It had come from afar, from one of the inland china-clayvillages, and in hiring it the Committee had been constant to itsprinciple that no more money than was necessary should be allowed togo out of Kirris-vean. Report--malicious, I feel sure--reached melater, that, at the first note of it, an aloe in Sir Felix's gardens, a mile away--a plant noted for blossoming once only in a hundredyears-burst into profuse and instantaneous bloom. Sir Felix himself, who abounded all day in happy turns of speech, said the best thing ofthis band. He said it was _sui generis_. 

He was magnificent throughout. I am not going to describe theRegatta, for sterner events hurry my pen forward. So let me only saythat the weather completely justified his cheery optimism; that thebreeze, though slight, held throughout the sailing events, and thendropped, leaving the bay glassy as a lake for the rowers; that sportsashore--three-legged races, egg-and-spoon races, sack races, racesfor young men, races for old women, donkey races, a tug-of-war, agreasy pole, a miller-and-sweep combat--filled the afternoon untiltea-time; that at tea the tables groaned with piles of saffron cakeand cream 'splitters'; and that when the company had, in Homericphrase--the only fit one for such a tea--put aside from them thedesire of meat and drink, Sir Felix stood up and made a speech. 

'It was an admirable speech too. It began with 'My dear friends, 'and the exordium struck at once that paternal note which makes him, with all his foibles, so lovable. 'They' must excuse him if he nowtook his departure; for he had arrived at an age to feel the lengthof a long day--even of a happy summer's day such as this had been. To be innocently happy--that had used to be the boast of England, of"Merry England "; and he had ever prized happy living faces inKirris-vean above the ancestral portraits--not all happy, if onemight judge from their expressions--hanging on his walls at home. '(Prolonged applause greeted this; and deservedly, for he spoke nomore than he meant. ) He became reminiscential, and singling out aschool-child here and there, discoursed of their grandparents, evenof their great-grandparents; recalled himself to pay a series ofgraceful tributes to all who had contributed to make the day asuccess; and wound up by regretting that he could not stay for thefireworks. 

Dear honest Sir Felix! I can see him now, bareheaded, his whitehairs lightly fluttered by the evening breeze that fluttered also theflags above Mr Bates's booth immediately in his rear; the sunsetlight on his broad immaculate waistcoat; the long tea-tables, withtheir rows of faces all turned deferentially towards him; the shadowsslanting from the trees; the still expanse of the bay, and far acrossthe bay a bank of clouds softly, imperceptibly marshalling. 

We cheered him to the echo, of course. At his invitation I walkedsome way up the hill with him, to meet his carriage. He halted threeor four times in the road, still talking of the day's success. He was even somewhat tremulous at parting. 

'I shall see you to-morrow, at Tregantick?'--Tregantick is the centreof the eight parishes included in our Petty Sessional Division, andthe seat of such justice as I and seven others help Sir Felix toadminister. 

'Oh, assuredly, ' said I. 

I watched his carriage as it rounded the bend of the road, and sofaced about to return to the village. But I took second thought atsight of the clouds massing across the bay and coming up--as itseemed to me against the wind. They spelt thunder. In spite of myearly forebodings I had brought no mackintosh; my duties as aCommittee-man were over: and I have reached an age when fireworksgive me no more pleasure than I can cheerfully forgo or take forgranted. I had, having coming thus far on my homeward way, alreadymore than half a mind to pursue it, when the band started to renderthe 'Merry Duchess' waltz, with reed instruments a semitone below thebrass. This decided me, and I reached my door as the first raindropsfell. 

When I awoke next morning it was still raining, and raining hard. The thunderstorm had passed; but a westerly wind, following hard onit, had collected much water from the Atlantic, and the heavens werethick as a blanket. A tramp in the rain, however, seldom comes amissto me, and I trudged the three miles to the court-house in verycheerful mood, now smoking, now pocketing my pipe to inhale thosefirst delicious scents of autumn, stored up by summer for a long dayof downpour. 

Our Court meets at 11. 15, and I timed myself (so well I know the roadin all weathers) to reach the magistrates' door on the stroke of thequarter. Now Sir Felix, as Chairman, makes a point of arriving tenor fifteen minutes ahead of time, for a preliminary chat with theClerk over the charge-sheet and any small details of business. I was astonished, therefore, when, turning at the sound of wheels, Ibeheld Sir Felix's carriage and pair descending the street behind me. 'Truly the Regatta must have unsettled his habits, ' I murmured; andthen, catching the eye of one of the pair of constables posted at thedoor, I gazed again and stood, as some of my fellow-novelists say, 'transfixed. ' For the driver on the box was neither Sir Felix'scoachman, nor his second coachman, nor yet again one of hisstablemen; but a gardener, and a tenth-down under-gardener at that;in fact, you could scarcely call him even an under-gardener, thoughhe did odd jobs about the gardens. To be short, it was Tommy Collinsa hydrocephalous youth generally supposed to be half-baked, or, as weput it in Cornwall, 'not exactly'; and on his immense head, crowninga livery suit which patently did not belong to him, Tommy Collinswore a dilapidated billycock hat. 

As the carriage drew up I noted with a lesser shock that the harnesswas wrongly crossed: and with that, as one constable stepped forwardto open the carriage door, I saw the other wink and make a sign toTommy, who--quick-witted for once--snatched off his billycock andheld it low against his thigh on the off-side, pretending to shakeoff the rain, but in reality using this device to conceal the horridthing. At the same time the other constable, receiving an umbrellawhich Sir Felix thrust forth, opened it with remarkable dexterity, and held it low over my friend's venerable head, thus screening fromsight the disreputable figure on the box. As a piece of smuggling itwas extremely neat; but as I turned to follow I heard Tommy Collinsask, and almost with a groan, --

'Wot's the use?'

Four of our fellow-magistrates were already gathered in the littleroom at the rear of the court-house: of whom the first to greet ourChairman was Lord Rattley. Lord Rattley, a peer with very littlemoney and a somewhat indecorous past, rarely honours the Tregantickbench by attending sessions; but for once he was here, and at oncestarted to banter Sir Felix on his unpunctuality. 

'Very sorry, gentlemen; very sorry--most inexplicable, ' stuttered SirFelix, who suffers from a slight impediment of the speech whenhurried. 'Servants at home seemed--conspired--detain me. Jukes'--Jukes is Sir Felix's butler, an aged retainer of the best pattern--'Jukes would have it, weather too inclement. Poof! I am not tooold, I hope, to stand a few drops of rain. Next he brings word thatAdamson'--Adamson is (or was) Sir Felix's trusted coachman--'is indisposed and unable to drive me. "Then I'll have Walters, "said I, losing my temper, "or I'll drive myself. " Jukes must befailing: and so must Walters be, for that matter. We might havearrived ten minutes ago, but he drove execrably. '

'Reminds me--' began Lord Rattley, when Sir Felix--who is evernervous of that nobleman's reminiscences, and had by this timedivested himself of his Inverness cape, turned to the Clerk anddemanded news of a lad discharged at the last Sessions on his own andparents' recognisances, to be given another chance under the eye ofour new Probation Officer. 

'--Of a coachman I once had called Oke--William Oke, ' continued LordRattley imperturably. 'Drunken little sot he was, but understoodhorses. One night I had out the brougham and drove into Bodmin tomess with the Militia. The old Royal Cornwall Rangers messed at thehotel in those days, in the long room they used for Assemblies. About eleven o'clock I sent for my carriage, and along it came in duecourse. Well, I dare say at that hour I wasn't myself in a conditionto be critical of Oke's--'

Sir Felix pulled out his watch, and asked me what I made the time. 

'Off we drove, ' pursued Lord Rattley, ignoring this hint, 'and I musthave dropped asleep at once. When I awoke the blessed vehicle hadcome to a standstill. I called to Oke--no answer: so by-and-by Iopened the carriage door and stepped out. The horses had slewedthemselves in towards the hedge and were cropping peaceably: but noOke was on the box and still no Oke answered from anywhere when Ishouted. He had, as a fact, tumbled clean off the box half a mileastern, and was lying at that moment in the middle of the road. At that hour I had no mind to look for him, so I collected the reinssomehow, climbed up in front, and drove myself home. I had a butlerthen by the name of Ibbetson--a most respectable man, with the faceof a Bible Christian minister; and, thought I, on my way up thedrive, "I'll give Ibbetson a small scare. " So coming to the porch, when Ibbetson heard the wheels and cast the door open, I kept my seatlike a rock. Pretty well pitch dark it was where I sat behind thelamps. Ibbetson comes down the steps, opens the carriage door andstands aside. After a moment he begins to breathe hard, pops hishead into the brougham, then his arm, feels about a bit, and comesforward for a lamp. "My God, Bill!" says Ibbetson, looking up at mein the dark. "What have you done with th' ould devil?"'

'I really think, ' suggested Sir Felix hurriedly, 'we ought not tokeep the Court waiting. '

So in we filed, and the Court rose respectfully to its feet and stoodwhile we took our seats. The Superintendent of Police--an officernew to our Division--gazed at me with a perfectly stolid face acrossthe baize-covered table. Yet somehow it struck me that theatmosphere in Court was not, as usual, merely stuffy, but electrical;that the faces of our old and tried constabulary twitched with somesuppressed excitement; and that the Clerk was fidgeting with anattack of nerves. 

'Certain supplementary cases, your Worship, ' said he, taking a smallsheaf of papers from the hands of his underling, 'too late to beincluded on the charge-sheet issued. '

'Eh?--Oh, certainly--certainly!' Sir Felix drew his spectacle casefrom his waistcoat pocket and laid it on the table; took the paperhanded to him, and slipped it methodically beneath the sheet ofagenda; resumed the business of extracting his spectacles, adjustedthem, and gravely opened business. 

He had it all to himself. For me, as I, too, received the paper ofsupplementary cases, my first thought was of simple astonishment atthe length of the list. Then my gaze stiffened upon certain names, and by degrees as I recognised them, my whole body grew rigid in mychair. Samuel Sleeman--this was the Superintendent's name--appellantagainst Isaac Adamson, drunk and disorderly; Ditto against DuncanMcPhae, drunk and disorderly; Ditto against Henry James Walters, drunk and disorderly; Ditto against Selina Mary Wilkins, drunk onlicensed premises; Ditto against Mary Curtis, drunk on licensedpremises; Ditto against Solomon Tregaskis, drunk on highway. . . . There were no less than twenty-four names on the list; and each wasthe name of a retainer or pensioner of Sir Felix--those agedArcadians of Kirris-vean. 

I glanced along the table and winced as I met Sir Felix's eyes. He was inclining towards me. 'Five shillings and costs will meetthis case, eh?' he was asking. I nodded, though without a notion ofwhat case we were hearing. (It turned out to be one ofcattle-straying, so no great harm was done. ) Beyond him I saw LordRattley covering an infernally wicked grin with his arched palm;beyond Lord Rattley two estimable magistrates staring at that fatalsupplementary paper as though they had dined and this was a bill theyfound themselves wholly unable to meet. 

Sir Felix from time to time finds his awards of justice gentlydisputed. No one disputed them to-day. Lord Rattley, whose languageis younger than his years, declared afterwards--between explosions ofindecent mirth--that we left the floor to the old man, and hewaltzed. He fined three parents for not sending their children toschool, made out an attendance order upon another, mulcted a youth infive shillings for riding a bicycle without a light, charged a navvyten shillings and costs for use of indelicate language (total, seventeen and sixpence), and threatened, but did not punish, a farmerwith imprisonment for working a horse 'when, ' as the charge put itambiguously, 'in an unfit state. ' He wound up by transferring analehouse licence, still in his stride, beamed around and observed'That concludes our business, I think--eh, Mr Clerk?'

'Supplementary cases, y'r Worship, ' murmured the Clerk. 'If I mayremind--paper handed to y'r Worship--'

'Eh? Yes, to be sure--'

'Number of cases, drunk and disorderly: arising--as I understand--outof Regatta held yesterday at Kirris-vean. '

The Superintendent arose. He is an amazingly tall man, and it seemedto me that he took an amazingly long time in arising to his fullheight. 

'Impossible to accommodate them all in the cells, y'r Worship. If I may say so, the police were hard worked all night. Mercifully'--the Superintendent laid stress on the word, and I shallalways, when I think of it, remember to thank him--'the most of 'emwere _blind_. We laid 'em out on the floor of the charge-room, andwith scarcely an exception, as I am credibly informed, they've cometo, more or less. '

'Kirris-vean?' I saw Sir Felix's hands grip the arms of his chair. Then he put them out and fumbled with his papers. Lord Rattleyobligingly pushed forward his copy of the list. 

'Shall I have the defendants brought into Court at once?' asked theSuperintendent. 'The constables tell me that they are--er--mostly, by this time, in a condition to understand, for all practicalpurposes, the meaning of an oath. '

Sir Felix has--as I have hinted--his foibles. But he is an Englishgentleman and a man of courage. He gasped, waved a hand, and sat upfirmly. 

He must have needed courage indeed, as the sorry culprits filed intoCourt: for I verily believe he felt more shame than they, thoughtheir appearance might be held to prove this impossible. The policeat about eleven o'clock had raided the booth of that respectablelandlord, Mr Bates ('Which, ' observed the Superintendent, stonily, 'we may 'ave somethink to say to 'im, as it were, by-and-by') and hadculled some of them--even as one picks the unresisting primrose, others not without recourse to persuasion. 'Many of 'em, ' theSuperintendent explained, 'showed a liveliness you wouldn't believe. It was, in a manner of speaking, beyond anythink y'r Worships wouldexpect. ' He paused a moment, cleared his throat, and achieved thisreally fine phrase: 'It was, for their united ages, in a manner ofspeaking, a knock-out. '

I see them now as they filed into court--yellow in the gills, shakingbetween present fear and the ebb of excess. But I see Sir Felixalso, a trifle red in the face, gripping the arms of his chair, bending forward and confronting them. 

For a moment I imagined he meant to address them as a crowd. But hisfine sense of business prevailed, and he signed to the Clerk to readthe first charge. 

He dealt with the charges, one by one, and in detail. Alone heinflicted the fines, while we sat and listened with eyes glued uponthe baize table. And the fines were heavy--too heavy. It was notfor us to interfere. 

At the end I expected some few words of general rebuke. I believethe culprits themselves would have been glad of a tongue-lashing. But he uttered none. To the end he dealt out justice, none aidinghim; and when the business was over, pushed back his chair. 

We filed out after him. I believe that he has paid all the fines outof his own pocket. 

And Troy laughs. But I believe it is safe to say that, while SirFelix lives, Kirris-vean will not hold a second Regatta. 

COLONEL BAIGENT'S CHRISTMAS. 

Outside the railway station Colonel Baigent handed his carpet-bag tothe conductor of the hotel omnibus, and stood for a moment peeringabout in the dusk, as if to take his bearings. 

'For The Dragon, sir?' asked the conductor. 

'The Dragon?' Yes, certainly, ' echoed Colonel Baigent, aroused bythe name from the beginnings of a brown study. 'So The Dragon isstill standing, eh?'

''Twas standing all right when I left it, twenty minutes ago, ' theman answered flippantly; for to-night was Christmas Eve, and Englishhotel servants do not welcome guests who stay over Christmas. 

But the colonel remarked nothing amiss in his tone. In fact, he wasnot listening. He stared out into the mirk beyond the flare of gasin the entrance-way, slowly bringing his mind to bear on the city athis feet, with its maze of dotted lights. The afternoon had beencold and gusty, with now and then a squall of hail from thenorth-west. The mass of the station buildings behind him blotted outwhatever of daylight yet lingered. Eastward a sullen retreatingcloud backed the luminous haze thrown up from hundreds ofstreet-lamps and shop-windows--a haze that faintly silhouetted theclustered roofs. The roofs were wet. The roadway, narrowing as itdescended the hill, shone with recent rain. 

'You may carry down my bag, ' said the colonel. 'I will walk. Somewhere to the right here should be a road leading to Westgate, eh?'

'Tisn't the shortest way, ' the conductor objected. 

'I have plenty of time, ' said the colonel mildly. 

Indeed, a milder-looking man for a hero--he had earned and won hisV. C. --or a gentler of address, could scarcely be conceived; or anolder-fashioned. His voice, to be sure, had a latent tone ofcommand. But the patient face, with its drooping moustache and longgray side-whiskers; the short yet attenuated figure, in a tweed suitof no particular cut; the round felt hat, cheap tie, andelastic-sided boots--all these failed very signally to impress theconductor, who flung the carpet-bag inside the omnibus with smallceremony, and banged the door. 

'Right, Bill!' he called. 

''Oo is it?' asked the driver, slewing round in the light of hisnear-side lamp. 

'Might be a commercial--if 'twasn't for his bag, and his way ofspeakin'. '

The omnibus rattled off and down the hill. Colonel Baigent gazedafter it, alone beneath the gas-lamp; for the few passengers who hadalighted from his train had jostled past him and gone their ways, andhis porter had turned back wearily into the station, where expressand excursion trains had all day been running the Christmas trafficdown to its last lees. 

Colonel Baigent gazed after the omnibus, then back through thepassage-way leading past the booking-office to the platform. All this was new to him. There had been no such thing as railway orrailway station thirty-five years ago, when, a boy of seventeen justemancipated from school, he had climbed to the box-seat of the thenfamous 'Highflyer' coach, and been driven homewards to a Christmas inwhich the old sense of holiday mingled and confused itself with a newand wonderful feeling that school was over and done with for ever. 

During his Indian exile he had nursed a long affection for the city;had collected and pored over books relating to it and itsantiquities; and now, as he left the station and struck boldly intothe footway on the right, he found himself surprisingly at home. The path led him over a footbridge, and along between high gardenwalls. But it led him surely enough to Westgate, and the spotoccupied in Norman times (as he recalled) by five bordels orshanties, where any belated traveller ('such as I to-night, ' thoughtthe colonel) arriving after the gates were shut, might findhospitality for the love of God. The suburb here lay deserted. He halted, and listened to a footfall that died away into thedarkness on his right. He felt at home again--here, wrapped aroundby the ghostly centuries as by the folds of a mantle, and warm withinthe folds. 

Strange to say, the chill came on him as he passed under the arch ofWestgate, and into view of the busy High Street, the lit shops, thepassers-by jostling upon the pavements, the running newsboys, thehawkers with their barrows, the soldiers strolling five abreast downthe middle of the roadway. Here was the whole city coming and going. Here, precisely as he had left it thirty-five years ago, it sprangback into life again, like an illuminated clockwork. No; he waswrong, of course. It had been working all the while, and withoutintermission, absorbed in its own business--buying and selling, marrying and giving in marriage. He had dropped out, that was all. 

The Christmas decorations, the jollity in the voices exchangingChristmas salutations, aggravated the poor colonel's sense ofhomelessness, and seemed to mock it. One window displayed a hugeboar's head, grinning, with a lemon in its mouth. The proprietor ofanother had hung his seasonable wares on a small spruce fir, and litit all over with coloured candles. A poulterer, three doors away, had draped his house-front, from the third story down, with what atfirst glance appeared to be a single heavy curtain of furs andfeathers--string upon string of hares, of pheasants, of turkeys, fatgeese, wild ducks. 

This prevailing superabundant good cheer did not, however, extend tothe visitor, as the colonel discovered, within the doorway of TheDragon. Nor was that doorway the old hospitable entrance throughwhich the stage-coaches had rattled into a paved court lined withred-windowed offices. The new proprietor had blocked all this upwith a flight of steps, and an arrangement of mahogany andplate-glass. There remained but the arch under which, these yearsago, the stout coachman, as he swung his leaders sharp round to theentry, had warned passengers to duck their heads. The colonel wasstaring up at it when he became aware of a liveried boots holding themahogany door open for him at the head of the steps, and with anexpression that did not include 'Welcome!' among the many things thatit said. 

The boots too plainly was sullen, the young lady in the office curtand off-hand, the second and only waiter as nearly as possiblemutinous. 'All his blooming companions, ' he explained (though notprecisely in these words), had departed to spend Christmas in thebosom of their families. He spoke cockney English, and, in reply toa question (for the colonel tried hard to draw him into conversationand dissipate his gloom), confessed that he came from Brixton. 

Further than this he would not go. In a mortuary silence, thecolonel, seated beneath a gasalier adorned (the mockery of it!) witha sprig of mistletoe, sipped his half-pint of sherry, and ate his waythrough three courses of a sufficiently good dinner. But better, says Solomon, is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled oxand hatred therewith. 

Every time he raised his eyes they rested on the table at which hehad dined with his father on the eve of being entered at school. The same table, the same heavy mahogany chairs--he recalled thescroll pattern on their backs. He could see himself there in thecorner--a small boy, white in the face and weary with travel, dividedbetween surmise of the morrow and tears for the home left behind. He could see his father seated there in profile, the iron-gray hair, the remembered stoop. Well, they were all gone now--all, missingwhom that night he had come so near to breaking down and weeping. . . . Mother, sisters, brother, gone one by one during the years ofhis Indian exile, and himself now left the last of his race, unmarried, and never likely to marry. Why had he come? To revisithis old school? But the school would be closed for the Christmasholidays, the children dispersed to their homes and happy. 

 Limen amabile Matris et oscula . . . 

He had ordered claret--a bottle of Lafitte, the best the house couldproduce--and the waiter, impressed a little by the choice, nowappeared noiselessly, almost deferentially, at his elbow, and pouredout a first glassful of the wine. 

'Waiter!'

'Yessir!'

'Where does that music come from?'--for the sound of an antiquatedpiano had been thrumming for some minutes from a distant room. The music was not ambitious--an old set of quadrille tunes. The colonel did not recognise it. He had no ear at all for music, and could just distinguish the quickstep of his regiment from'God save the Queen. ' In fact, when he paid any attention at all tomusic (and this was rare), it gave him no sensation beyond a vaguediscomfort. 

'It comes from the Assembly Room, sir, at the back of the Court. '

'Ah! yes, I remember the old Assembly Room. Some one is giving aball to-night?'

The waiter smiled indulgently. 'Oh no, sir! It's Miss Wallas'sdancing-class breaking up--that's all. '

'Breaking up?' echoed the colonel, whose mind was sometimes a trifleslow in the uptake. 

'She rents the room alternate Fridays, sir, and usually gives 'em alittle treat just before Christmas. I don't know, ' pursued thewaiter, meditatively laying two fingers wide on his chin, 'as manypeople would call it a treat. But the little 'uns likes dressing upin their evening frocks, and the buns and lemonade is well enoughfor their time of life. There used to be a fiddle too, as well asthe piano; but the class hev fallen off considerable of late. The management don't like it too well. But there's a notion 'twouldbe unfeelin' to stop it. She's been carrying it on all these years, and her aunt before her. But if it annoys you, sir, I can say a wordat the office and get it stopped. '

'Heaven forbid!' said the colonel. But the music made himuncomfortable, nevertheless. It broke off, and started again upon awaltz tune. After the waltz came a mazurka, and after the mazurkaanother set of quadrilles. And still, as he sipped his claret, thesuccessive tunes wove themselves into old memories haunting thecoffee-room--ghostly memories! Yet he had no will to escape them. Outside he could see the crowd jostling to and fro on the oppositepavement. The lights within a chemist's shop, shining throughbottles of coloured water in its window, threw splashes of colour--green, crimson, orange--on the eager faces as they went by. Colonel Baigent rose half impatiently, drew down the blind, and, returning to his chair, sat alone with the ghosts. 

The waiter brought dessert--a plateful of walnuts and dried figs. He cracked a walnut and peeled it slowly, still busy with histhoughts. For a while these thoughts were all in a far past; butby-and-by a stray thread carried him down to the year 'fifty-seven--and snapped suddenly. His thoughts always broke off suddenly at theyear 'fifty-seven--the Mutiny year. In that year he had won hisVictoria Cross and, along with it, a curious tone in his voice, aninexpressible gentleness with all women and children, certainineradicable lines in his face (hidden though they were by hisdrooping moustache and absurd old-fashioned whiskers); also a certainvery grave simplicity when addressing the Almighty in his prayers. But he never thought of the year 'fifty-seven if he could help it. And as a spider, its thread snapping, drops upon the floor, soColonel Baigent fell to earth out of his dreaming. 

With a sudden impulse of his hands against the table's edge, hethrust back the chair and stood erect. His bottle of claret was allbut empty, and he bethought him that he had left his cigar-caseupstairs. His bedroom lay on the farther side of the courtyard andon his way to it he passed the tall windows of the Assembly Roomclose enough to fling a glance inside. 

The dancers were all children--little girls of all ages from eight tofourteen, in pretty frocks of muslin--pink, blue, and white; with asprinkling of awkward boys in various fashion of evening dress. On his way back, having lit his cigar, he paused for a longer look. The piano was tinkling energetically, the company dancing a polka, and with a will. The boys were certainly an awkward lot, so theColonel decided, and forthwith remembered his own first pair of whitekid gloves and the horrible self-consciousness he had indued withthem. He went back to the room where the waiter had laid his coffee. 

The polka, as it proved, was the last dance on the programme; for thecolonel had scarcely settled himself again before the piano strummedout 'God save the Queen'--which, as has been said, was one of thetunes he knew. He stood erect, alone in the empty room, and sowaited gravely for the last bar. A rush of feet followed; a pausefor robing; then childish voices in the courtyard wishing each other'Good-night!' and 'A merry Christmas!' Then a very long pause, andthe colonel supposed that all the young guests were gone. 

But they were not all gone; for as he resumed his seat, and reachedout a hand for his case, to choose another cigar, he happened tothrow a glance towards the doorway. And there, in the shadow of aheavy curtain draping it, stood a little girl. 

She might have passed for a picture of Red Riding-Hood; for she worea small scarlet cloak over her muslin frock, and the hood of it hadbeen pulled forward and covered all but a margin of hair above thebrows. The colour of her hair was a bright auburn, that of hereyebrows so darkly brown as to seem wellnigh black; and altogethershe made a remarkable little figure, standing there in the doorway, with a pair of white satin dancing-shoes clutched in her hand. 

'Oh!' said the colonel. 'Good-evening!'

'O-o-oh!' answered the child, and with a catch, as it were, and athrill in the voice that astonished him. Her eyes, fixed on his, grew larger and rounder. She came a pace or two towards him ontiptoe, halted, clasped both hands over her dancing-shoes, andexclaimed, with a deeper thrill than before:--

'You are Colonel Baigent!'

'Eh?' The colonel sat bolt upright. 

'Yes; and Aunt Louisa will be glad!'

He put a hand up to the crown of his head. 'Good Lord!' he murmured, staring wildly around the room, and then slowly fastening his gazeupon the child--at most she could not be more than nine years old--confronting him. 'Good Lord! Will she?'

'Yes; and so am I!' She nodded, and her eyes seemed to be devouringwhile they worshipped him. 'But wasn't it clever of me to know youat once?'

'It's--it's about the cleverest thing I've come across in all my borndays, ' stammered Colonel Baigent, collapsing into his chair, and thensuddenly clutching the arms of it and peering forward. 

'But, of course, I've known you for ever so long, really, ' she wenton, and nodded again as if to reassure him. 

'Oh! "of course, " is it? I--I say, won't you sit down and have anut or two--or a fig?'

'Thank you. ' She gave him quite a grown-up bow, and seated herself. 'I'll take a fig; nuts give you the indigestion at this time ofnight. ' She picked up a fig demurely, and laid it on a plate hepushed towards her. 'I hope I'm behaving nicely?' she said, lookingup at him with the most engaging candour; 'because Aunt Louisa saysyou always had the most beautiful manners. In fact, that's what madeher take to you, long--oh! ever so long--before you became famous. And now you're the Bayard of India!'

'But, excuse me--'

She had begun to munch her fig, but interrupted him with another nod. 

'Yes, I know what you are going to say. That's the name they give toanother general out in India, don't they? But Aunt Louisa declareshe won't hold a candle to you--though I don't know why he should wantto do anything of the sort. '

'It's uncommonly kind of your Aunt Louisa--' he began again. 

'Do you know her?' the child asked, with disconcerting directness. 

'That's just the trouble with me' Colonel Baigent confessed. 

'She is my great-aunt, really. She lives in Little Swithun, rightat the back of Dean's Close; and her name is on a brass plate--avery hard name to pronounce, "Miss Lapenotiere, Dancing andCalisthenics"--that's another hard word, but it means things you dowith an elastic band to improve your figure. The plate doesn'tazackly tell the truth, because she has been an invalid for yearsnow, and Aunt Netta--that's my other aunt--had to carry on thebusiness. But everybody knows about it, so there really is nodeceit. Aunt Netta's name is Wallas, and so is mine. Her mother wassister to Aunt Louisa, and she tells us we come of very good family. She never married. I don't believe she ever wanted to marry anybodybut you, and now it's too late. But I call it splendid, your turningup like this. And on Christmas Eve, to!'

'It's beginning to be splendid, ' owned the colonel, who had partlyrecovered himself. 'Unhappily--since you put it so--it is, I fear, afact that I never met your Aunt Louisa. '

'Oh! but you did--in the street, and once in the post office, whenyou were a boy at the college. '

'Such impressions are fleeting, my dear, as you will live to prove. Your other aunt, Miss Netta--'

'Oh! she will have been born after your time, ' said the child, withcalm, unconscious cruelty. 'But you will see her presently. She hasgone to the bar to pay the bill, and when she has finished disputingit she is bound to call for me. '

As if it had been waiting to confirm the prophecy, a voice called, 'Charis! Charis!' almost on the instant. 

'That's my name, ' said the child, helping herself to another fig, asa middle-aged face, wrinkled, with a complexion of parchment under amass of tow-coloured hair, peered in at the doorway. 

The colonel rose. 'Your niece, madam, ' he began, 'has beenentertaining me for these ten minutes--'

With that he stopped, perceiving that, after a second glance at him, the eyes of Aunt Netta, too, were growing round in her head. 

'Charis, you naughty child! Sir, I do hope--but she has beentroubling you, I am sure--' stammered Aunt Netta, and came to a fullstop. 

Charis clapped her hands, with a triumphant little laugh. 

'But I knew him first!' she exclaimed, 'Yes, Aunt Netta, it's him!--it's him, _him_, HIM! And isn't it just perfectly glorious?'

'You must excuse my niece, sir--that is to say, if you are reallyColonel--'

'Baigent, ma'am. I think you know my name; though how or why thatshould be, passes my comprehension. '

She bowed to him, timidly, a trifle stiffly. 'It is an honour tohave met you, sir. I have an aunt at home, an invalid, who will bevery proud when she hears of this. She has followed your career withgreat interest--I believe I may say, ever since you were a boy at thecollege. She has talked about you so often, you must forgive thechild for being excited. Come, Charis! Thank Colonel Baigent, andsay good-night. '

'But isn't he coming with us?' The child's face fell, and her voicewas full of dismay. 'Oh! but you must! Aunt Louisa will cry hereyes out if you don't. And on Christmas Eve, too!'

Colonel Baigent looked at Miss Netta. 

'I couldn't ask it--I really couldn't, ' she murmured. 

He smiled. 'The hour is unconventional, to be sure. But if youraunt will forgive a very brief call there is nothing would give megreater pleasure. '

He meant it, too!

He fetched his hat, and the three passed out together--down the HighStreet, through the passage by the Butter Cross, and along the railedpavement by the Minster Close. On the colonel's ear their threefootfalls sounded as though a dream. The vast bulk of the minster, glimmering above the leafless elms, the solid Norman tower with itsedges bathed in starlight, were transient things, born of faery, unsubstantial as the small figure that tripped ahead of him clutchinga pair of dancing-shoes. 

They came to a little low house, hooded with dark tiles and deeplyset in a narrow garden. A dwarf wall and paling divided it from theClose, and from the gate, where a brass plate twinkled, a flagged, uneven pathway led up to the front door. So remote it lay from alltraffic, so well screened by the shadow of the minster, that theinmates had not troubled to draw blind or curtain. Miss Netta, pausing while she fumbled for the latchkey, explained that her aunthad a fancy to keep the blinds up, so that when the minster was litfor evensong she might watch the warm, painted windows without movingfrom her couch. 

Colonel Baigent, glancing at the pane towards which she waved a hand, caught one glimpse of the room within, and stood still, with a catchof his breath. On the wall facing him hung an Oxford frame, and inthe frame was a cheap woodcut, clipped from an old illustrated paperof the Mutiny date, and fastened in that place of honour--his ownportrait!

After that, for a few minutes, his head swam. He was dimly aware ofwhat followed: of an open door; of the child running past him andinto the room with cries of joy and explanation, a few onlyarticulate; of the little old figure that half rose from the couchand sank back trembling; the flush on the waxen face, the violetribbons in the cap, the hand that trembled as it reached out, incredulous in its humility, to his own. He took it, and her otherhand rested a moment on the back of his, as though it fluttered ablessing. 

Yes; and her hands, when he released them--and it seemed that he hadbeen holding an imprisoned bird--yet trembled on the coverlet afterher voice had found steadiness. 

'An honour--a great honour!' it was saying. 'You will forgive theliberty?' She nodded towards the portrait. 'We are not quitestrangers, you see. I have always followed your career, sir. I knewyou would grow into a great and worthy man, ever since the day when Idropped a bandbox in the street--a muddy day it was!--and the boxburst open just as you were passing with half a dozen young gentlemenfrom the college. The rest laughed; and when I began to cry--for theribbons were muddied--they laughed still more. Do you remember?'

Colonel Baigent had not the faintest recollection of it. 

'Ah! but it all happened. And you--you were the only one thatdid not laugh. You picked up the box and wiped it with yourhandkerchief. You tried to wipe the ribbons, too; but that only madematters worse. And then, when the others made fun of you, you putthe box under your arm, and said you were going to carry it home forme. And so you did, though it made you late for your books; andbesides, our house was out of bounds, and you risked a thrashing forit. '

'I wonder if I got it?' murmured Colonel Baigent. 

'I knew nothing about the school bounds at the time, or I shouldnever have allowed you! And on the way you asked me if I had hurtmyself in falling. I told you "No"; but that was a fib, for my hipwas growing weak even then. It's by reason of my hip that I have tolie here. But in those days there was no one else to take thedancing classes, and it would never have done to confess. And--andthat was all. I only met you once after that--it was in the postoffice at St Swithun's, and you ran in to get a stamp. I wasstanding by the counter, weighing a letter; and you, being in ahurry, did not recognise me. But I asked the old postmistress yourname. Do you remember her?'

'She knew everybody's name, ' said the colonel. 'And so that wasall?'

'That was all, except that my blessing has gone with you, sir, fromthat day. Man and boy it has gone with you. '

'Ma'am, if I had guessed it, some weary days in India might have beenless weary. '

So they sat talking for a while; but, by degrees, the invalid's eyeshad grown pre-occupied. 

'Netta, dear, ' she asked at length, 'do you think we might ask thecolonel to honour us by sharing our Christmas dinner to-morrow?'

In that luckless moment Colonel Baigent glanced up, caught sight ofMiss Netta's face, and saw that in it which made his own colour tothe roots of his hair. Then he gave a gulp, and faced the situationlike the brave man he was. 

'Ma'am, ' he said gently, 'you have taken me for a friend, and Godknows, my friends are few enough. I am going to treat you as a veryold friend, and to dismiss all tact. You will eat your Christmasdinner with me to-morrow, here, in this house. '

On his way back to the hotel Colonel Baigent halted to stare up atthe minster tower. So much of his life had been spent under theshadow of it!--and yet, of all his sowing, one small act alone, longforgotten, had taken root here and survived. 

In his dreams next morning he heard the minster bell ringing forearly service. In his dreams, for a stroke or two, the rememberednote of it carried him back to boyhood. Then he awoke with a start, and jumped out of bed. 

Far up the hill the bugles from the barracks challenged the note ofthe bell. Over the muslin blind drawn half-way across his window thesun shone on a clear, frosty morning; and in the haze of it, as hedressed, his eyes rested, across the clustered roofs, on an angle ofthe minster tower, and beyond it on the hill with the quarry hewn inits side, and the clump of trees remembered of all who in boyhoodhave been sons of the city's famous school. 

He dressed rapidly. The street below had not yet awakened toChristmas Day, and the colonel, with Christmas in his heart, felteager as a messenger of good news. 

An hour later, as he returned, all refreshed in soul, from theminster, he ran against the second waiter, blinking in the sunlighton the door-step of the hotel, and looking as though he had slept inhis evening suit. 

'I want breakfast at once, ' said the colonel; 'and for luncheon youmay put me up a basket. '

'There was to have been a cold turkey, ' said the waiter, 'it beingChristmas Day. '

'Put in the turkey, then--the whole turkey, please--and two bottlesof champagne. I'll take my luncheon out. '

'Two bottles, sir, did I understand you to say?'

'Certainly. Two bottles. '

'Which the amount for corkage is cruel, ' said the waiter as hedelivered his order at the office. 'My word, and what an appetite!But I done him an injustice in one respec'. He do seem to be everyinch a gentleman. '

So the waiter's verdict, after all, sounded much the same as MissLapenotiere's. And the conclusion seems to be that you can not onlysay the same thing in different ways, but quite different things inidentical words. 

DOCTOR UNONIUS. 

CHAPTER I. 

'In all his life he never engaged in a law suit. Reader, try if youcan go so far and be so good a man. '

Thus concludes the epitaph of Doctor Unonius, upon a modest stone inthe churchyard of Polpeor, in Cornwall, of which parish he was, during his life, the general friend, as his scientific reputation nowabides its boast. 

To those who knew him in life there is a gentle irony in the thoughtthat while, during life, his scientific attainments earned himnothing but neglect, their recognition grows now proportionately asthe man himself, his face and habit, the spruce black suit he wore, and the thousand small acts of kindness he did, fade out of memory. 'Your late eminent fellow-parishioner, now these forty years withGod, '--so the Bishop of the Diocese spoke the other day beforeunveiling a stained-glass window to that memory in Polpeor Church. The Bishop, you see, spoke of eternal life in terms of time--a habitwith us all. If anything could be more certain than that, inwhatever bliss Doctor Unonius now inherits, forty years--or athousand for that matter--count as one day, it is that throughout hislife he detested stained-glass. Through this very window, indeed, now obscured _ad majorem gloriam Dei et in memoriam Johannis Unoniimedicinae doctoris_, he loved--for it faced his pew--to watch duringsermon-time the blue sky, the clouds, the rooks at their business inthe churchyard elms. He has even recorded (in an essay on 'Visions'read before the Tregantick Literary and Scientific Society in thewinter session of 1856) that once, awaking with a start in the middleof Parson Grylls's sermon, he distinctly saw suspended in these sameelm-tops the image of an abnormally long pilot-fish (_naucretesductor_) he had received from a fishing-boat overnight and left athome in his surgery mounted upon an apparatus of his own invention, ready to be sketched before dissection. _Piscium et summa genushaesit ulmo_ . . . For twenty seconds, rubbing his eyes, he stared atthe apparition as it very slowly faded. 

It is on his researches in ichthyology, his list (no short one) ofdiscoveries, his patient classification of British Fishes, that hisfame rests. 'Why "British"?' the reader may ask. 'Have fishes, then, our nationalities?' The doctor liked to think so. He was alover of his country, and for three years, while Napoleon threatenedus with invasion, he had served as a second-lieutenant in that famouscompany, the East and West Looe Volunteer Artillery, better known asthe Looe Die-hards. Now, in times of peace, with Britain supremeupon the seas, he boldly claimed for her every fish found off theseshores. A sturgeon, even, might not visit our coastal waters, however casual the occasion, without receiving the compliment ofcitizenship for himself and his tribe. Yet Doctor Unonius patientlytracked these creatures in their most distant migrations--'_motus etmigrationes diligentissime indagavit_, ' says the mural tablet beneaththe window. The three lights of the window represent (1) Jonahvomited by the Whale, (2) the Miraculous Draught of Fishes, and (3)St Peter, John Dory and the stater. 

Polpeor, you must know, is a fishing-haven on the south coast ofCornwall, famous during the Napoleonic Wars for its privateering, andfor its smuggling scarcely less notorious down to the middle of thelast century. The doctor's parents, though of small estate, hadearned by these and more legitimate arts enough money to set themdreaming of eminence for their only child, and sent him up to Londonto Guy's Hospital, where he studied surgery under the renowned MrAstley Cooper. Having qualified himself in this and in medicine, hereturned to his native home, which he never again left--save now andthen for a holiday--until the day of his death. 

Assiduous in visiting the sick, he found the real happiness of hislife (one might almost say its real business) in his scientific andliterary recreations. The range and diversity of these may begathered from a list of his published writings: 'The Efficacy ofDigitalis Applied to Scrofula, ' 'On the Carpenter Bee (ApisCentuncularis), ' 'Domestic Usage and Economy in the Reign ofElizabeth, ' 'A Reply to a Query on Singular Fishes, ' 'The FabulousFoundation of the Popedom' (abridged from Bernard), 'Migratory Birdsof the West of England, ' 'God's Arrow against Atheism andIrreligion, ' 'A Dissertation on the Mermaid, ' 'Observations on theNatural History of the Chameleon, ' 'Ditto on the Jewish and ChristianSabbath Days, ' 'Ditto on Cider-making and the Cultivation of AppleTrees, ' 'Contributions to a Classification of British Crustacea, ''On Man as the Image of the Deity, ' '_Daulias Advena_; or, theMigrations of the Swallow Tribe. ' We select these from the output ofone decade only. A little later the activity grows lessmiscellaneous, and he is drifting upon his _magnum opus_, as thetitles indicate, 'Some Particulars of Rare Fishes found in Cornwall, ''An Account of a Fish nearly allied to Hemiranphus, ' 'On theOccurrence of the Crustacean Scyllurus Arctus. '

He would announce these strange visitors--_sepia biserialis_, for aninstance--with no less eagerness than a journalist hails the adventof a foreign potentate. He had invented, as we have said, anapparatus on which he mounted them, with a jet of salt water thatplayed over their scales and kept fresh, as he maintained, thedelicate hues he copied from his water-colour box; with what successlet anybody judge who has studied the four great volumes whereinthese drawings survive, reproduced by lithography, and published bysubscription. 

Immersed in these studies, Doctor Unonius found no leisure to thinkof matrimony; and his friends and neighbours often took occasion todeplore it, for he was an extremely personable man, fresh-colouredand hale, of clean and regular habits, and, moreover, kind-hearted toa fault. All Polpeor agreed that he needed a wife to look after him, to protect him from being robbed; and Polpeor (to do it justice) didnot say this without knowledge. The good man could never bepersuaded that Polpeor folk--_his_ folk--were capable of doing him awrong; but certain it is that learnedly as he wrote 'On theCultivation of Apple Trees, ' the fruit of his carefully tendedstandards and espaliers seldom arrived at his own table. They burgeoned, they bloomed; the blossom 'pitched, ' as we say in theWest; the fruit swelled, ripened, and then--

Garden shows were rarities in those days: but Tregarrick (Polpeor'snearest market town) boasted a Horticultural Society and an annualExhibition. Whether from indolence or modesty Doctor Unonius nevercompeted, but he seldom missed to visit the show and to con theexhibits. The date was then, and is to this day, the Feast of StMatthew, which falls on the twenty-first of September: and one year, on the morrow of St Matthew's Feast, the doctor, gazing pensivelyover his orchard gate at a noble tree of fruit, remarked to hisfriend and next-door neighbour, Captain Minards, late of the merchantservice--

'Do you know, Minards, I was at Tregarrick yesterday; and I think--yes, without vaunting, I really think that the best of my pearmainsyonder would have stood a fair chance of the prize for TableVarieties. '

'The prize?' grunted Captain Minards. 'Don't you fret about that:you won it all right. '

'Eh?' queried Doctor Unonius, wiping his spectacles. 

'Ay, ' said Captain Minards, filling a pipe; 'you won it, rightenough. '

'But--'

'There's no "but" about it. And what vexes me, ' pursued CaptainMinards, 'is that the rascals don't even trouble to rob you neatly. See that branch broken, yonder. '

'That's with the weight of the crop. '

'Weight o' my fiddlestick! And the ground all strewed with shorttwigs!'

'The wind's doing. '

'When you know the weather has been flat calm for a week past!'

'There's an extraordinary eddy just here, at the turn of the valley;I have often observed a puff of wind--you might almost call it agust--spring up with no apparent reason. '

'Well, you're a man of science, ' Captain Minards replied doggedly, 'and if you tell me this puff o' wind carried your pearmains all theway to Tregarrick and entered 'em at the show under some other body'sname, I'm bound to believe you. But I wonder you don't put it into abook. It's interestin' enough. '

With this Parthian shot he departed. But two nights later he wasawakened in his bedroom, which overlooked the doctor's orchard, by astrange rustling among the apple trees. _Thud--thud!_--there as helay he listened for half a minute to the sounds of the droppingfruit. 

The night was calm. . . . On the wall facing the bed's foot therehung an old gun. Captain Minards arose, reached it down, loaded itwith a charge of powder, and, stepping to the window, let bang at thetrees. . . . After listening awhile he replaced the gun and retiredto rest. 

Next morning Doctor Unonius was called away from his breakfast tovisit Sarah Puckey, an aged market woman or 'regrater, ' whom he foundin a state of prostration following (it was alleged) upon a severenervous shock. He attended the old woman for the remainder of herdays, which were few; and while they lasted she remained--in thelanguage of Polpeor--a 'bedrider. ' She never confided to him thenature of the shock which had laid her low; but at the last, satisfied of her own salvation, she worried herself sadly over thedoctor and his defenceless life. 

'I'm a saved woman, ' she declared, 'and a dyin' old woman, and thesethings be clear to my eyes. A wife--that's what you want. Yourlaudanums and your doldadums and your nummy-dummies[1] may be allvery well--'

'What are they?' asked the doctor. 

'Latin, ' she answered promptly. 'I be a dyin' woman, I tell 'ee, an'got the gift o' tongues. . . . And your 'natomies and fishes' innardsmay be all very well, but you want a wife to look after the money an'tell the men to wipe their sea-boots 'pon the front mat. When itcomes to their unpickin' a trawl in your very drawin'-room, an' fishscales all over the best Brussels, as I've a-see'd 'em before now--'Mrs Puckey paused for breath. 

'Have 'ee ever had a mind to the widow Tresize?' she asked. 

'Certainly not, ' the doctor answered. 

'That's a pity, too: for Landeweddy Farm's her own freehold, an' I'veheard her say more'n once how sorry she feels for you, livin' aloneas you do. I don't everyways like Missus Tresize, but she's abowerly woman an' nimble for her age--which can't be forty, not by ayear or two. Old Tresize married her for her looks. I mind goin' tothe weddin', an' she brought en no more'n her clothes an' herselfinside of 'em: an' now she've a-buried th' old doter, an' sits up atLandeweddy in her own parlour a-playin' the pianner with both hands. What d'ee reckon a woman does _that_ for?'

'Maybe because she is fond of music, ' said Doctor Unonius dryly. 

The invalid chuckled, until her old head in its white mob-cap noddedagainst the white pillow propping it. 

'I married three men mysel' in my time, as you d' know; an' if eitherwan had been rich enough to leave me a pianner, I'd ha' married threemore. . . . What tickles me is you men with your talk o' spoort. Catchin' fish for a business I can understand: you got to do that formoney, which is the first thing in life; an' when you're married, thewoman sees that you don't shirk it. But you make me laugh, puttin'on airs an' pretendin' to do it for spoort--"Wimmen ha'n't got nosense o' spoort, " says you, all solemn as owls. Soon as a boy turnsfourteen he takes up the trick. "Wimmen ha'n't got no sense o'spoort, " says he, sticking his hands in his breeches pockets; an' offhe goes to hook fish, an' comes swaggerin' back to be taken, catchan' all, by a young 'ooman that has been sayin' naught but markin'him down all the time. Spoort? This world, doctor, is made up ofhooks an' eyes: an' you reckon--do 'ee--the best spoort goes to thehooks? Ask the eyes and the maidens that make 'em. '

The doctor, who had risen and picked up his hat when Mrs Puckeylinked his name with the widow Tresize's, came back and re-seatedhimself by the bedside. The old woman enjoyed her chat--it did hermore good than medicine, she said--and so long as she steered itclear of himself and his private affairs he was willing enough toindulge her. Nay, he too--being no prude--enjoyed her generaldisquisitions on matrimony and the sexes. _Homo sum, etc_. , . . . He was a great reader of Montaigne, and like Montaigne heloved listening to folks, however humble, who (as he put it) knewtheir subject. Mrs Puckey certainly knew her subject, and if inexperience she fell a little short of Chaucer's 'Wife of Bath, ' shehandled it with something of that lady's freedom, and, in detail, with a plainness of speech worthy of Panurge. 

She knew very well that by further reference to Mrs Tresize sherisked cutting short the doctor's visit. Yet, woman-like, she couldnot forbear from just one more word. 

'She keeps it under the bed. '

'Keeps what?' asked Doctor Unonius. 

The old woman chuckled again. 'Why, her money, to be sure--hundredsan' hundreds o' pounds--in a great iron chest. I wonder she cansleep o' nights with it, up in that g'e'rt lonely house, an' not aman within call--Aw, doctor, dear, don't tell me you're _goin'!_'

[1] _Quaere_. Was this some faint inherited memory of 'the oldprofession'?--_In nomine domini, etc. _

CHAPTER II. 

A year passed; a year and three months. Old Mrs Puckey was dead andlaid in churchyard, and the doctor remained a bachelor. Christmasfound him busy upon two papers written almost concurrently: the one'A Description of a Kind of Trigla vulgarly confounded with TriglaBlochii, ' intended for Loudon's 'Magazine of Natural History, ' theother, 'On Savagery in Dogs and Methods of Meeting their Attacks, 'for the _Journal_ of the Royal Institution of Cornwall. 

On the morning of St Stephen's (or Boxing) Day, his professionalvisits over, he devoted an hour to the second of these treatises. He had reached this striking passage, --

 'Homer informs us that the fury of a dog in attacking an approaching stranger is appeased by the man's sitting down:--

 '"Soon as Ulysses near th' enclosure drew, With open mouths the furious mastiffs flew: Down sat the sage and, cautious to withstand, Let fall th' offensive truncheon from his hand. " Pope. 

 'Even at the present day this is a well-understood mode of defence, as will be seen from the following:--

 'At Argos one evening, at the table of General Gordon, then commander-in-chief in the Morea, the conversation happened to turn on the number and fierceness of Greek dogs, when one of the company remarked that he knew a very simple expedient for appeasing their fury. Happening on a journey to miss his road, and being overtaken with darkness, he sought refuge for the night at a pastoral settlement by the wayside. As he approached, the dogs rushed out upon him, and the consequences might have been serious had he not been rescued by an old shepherd, the Eumaeus of the fold, who sallied forth and, finding that the intruder was but a frightened traveller, after pelting off his assailants, gave him a hospitable reception in his hut. His guest made some remark on the watchfulness and zeal of his dogs, and on the danger to which he had been exposed in their attack. The old man replied that it was his own fault for not taking the customary precaution in such an emergency, that he ought to have stopped _and sat down_, until some person whom the animals knew came to protect him. 

 'As this expedient was new to the traveller he made some further inquiries, and was assured that if any person in such a predicament will simply seat himself on the ground, laying aside his weapons of defence, the dogs will also squat around in a circle; that as long as he remains quiet they will follow his example, but as soon as he rises and moves forward they will renew the attack. '

At this point the doctor laid down his pen, arose, and went to thebook-case for his Homer, with purpose to copy the original lines intoa footnote--for, to tell the truth, he had never quite mastered themethods of the Greek accents. He found the passage in Odyssey 14. Yes, it was all right--

 autar Odysseus Ezeto kerdosune, skeptrou de oi ekpese cheiros . . . 

But--hallo! what was this next line?--

 Eutha kev o para stathmo aeikelion pathen algos . . . 

--'There by his own steading, ' the poet went on, 'would Odysseus havesuffered foul hurt, had not the swineherd hurried out and scolded thedogs and pelted them off with stones. ' It would seem then, accordingto Homer, that this device of squatting upon the ground could not betrusted save as a diversion, a temporary check. Doctor Unonius bithis nether lip. Strange that he had overlooked this. . . . 

He had a scholar's conscience. He could not endure to garble aquotation or suppress a material point for the sake of illustratingan argument more vividly. . . . Besides, it might delude someunfortunate person into sitting down where self-preservation demandeda more alert posture. Somebody--dreadful thought!--might get himselfseverely bitten, mauled, mangled perhaps to death, merely by obeyinga piece of pseudo-scientific advice. That he, Doctor Unonius, mightnever be reproached with the disaster, might never even hear of it, in no degree mitigated his responsibility. 

While he stood by the bookcase, balancing his spectacles on hisforefinger and Homer's words in his mind, Jenifer, his one smallmaid-servant, entered with word that Roger Olver was at the door witha message from Penalune. 

'Show him in, ' said Doctor Unonius. 

So Roger Olver, huntsman and handy-man to Sir John Penalune ofPenalune, squire of Polpeor, hitched his horse's bridle on the stapleby the doctor's front door--it would be hard to compute how manyfarmers, husbands, riding down at dead of night with news of wives inlabour, had tethered their horses to that well-worn staple--and wasconducted by Jenifer to the doctor's study. 

'Ah! Good morning, Roger!'

'Mornin', y'r honour. Sir John bade me ride down an' ask 'ee--'

'To be sure--to be sure. As it happens, no man could have come at ahappier moment. Accustomed, as you are, to dogs--'

'Hounds, ' corrected Roger. 

'It makes no difference. ' The doctor translated the passage, andexplained his difficulty. 

'I reckon, ' said Roger, after scratching his head, 'the gentlemanacted right in settin' down--though I've never had occasion to tryit, dogs bein' fond o' me by natur'. I've heard, too, that a verygood way, when a dog goes for you, is to squatty 'pon your heels withyour coat-tails breshin' the ground an' bust out laffin' in his face. I tell that for what 'tis worth. '

'Thank you, ' said the doctor. 'I will make a note of it. '

'It wants nerve, seemin' to me. ' Roger Olver rubbed his chin. 

'That is understood. '

'For my part, if it happened I had a stick, I'd slash out at thebeggar's forelegs--so--an' keep slashin' same as if I was mowin'grass. Or, if I hadn' a stick, I'd kick straight for his forelegsan' chest; he's easy to cripple there, an' he knows it. Settin' downmay be all right for the time, only the difficulty is you've got toget up again sooner or later--onless help arrives. '

'Eureka!' exclaimed Doctor Unonius, rushing to his notes. 

'I beg y'r honour's pardon?'

'The modern instance says that the dogs would remain seated in acircle round the man; that so long as he remained seated they woulddo the same; but that, if he attempted to rise, they would renew theattack. That vindicates me, and explains Homer. '

'Do it?' said Roger Olver. 'But, beggin' your pardon, sir, if it'sabout dogs you want to know, why not have a look in at the kennels--ay, an' follow the hounds now an' then? I've often wondered, makin'so bold, how a gentleman like yourself, an' knowin' what's good forhealth, can go wastin' time on dead fishes, with a pack o' hounds, soto speak, at your door. '

'There's no sport more healthful, I verily believe, ' agreed thedoctor. 

'And as for nat'ral history, what can a man want that he can't larnoff a fox? Five-an'-twenty years I've been at it, an' the varmintsbe teachin' me yet. But I'm forgettin' my message, sir, which isthat Sir John sends his compliments and would be happy to see you atdinner this evenin', he havin' a few friends. '

Doctor Unonius sighed. He had designed to spend the evening on histreatise. But he cherished a real regard for Sir John, whom all thecountryside esteemed for a sportsman and an upright Englishgentleman; and Sir John, who, without learning of his own, heldlearning in exaggerated respect, cherished an equal regard for thedoctor. 

'My compliments to your master. I will come with pleasure, ' saidDoctor Unonius, thrusting Homer back in his shelf. 

CHAPTER III. 

'Wunnerful brandy, Sir John!' said old Squire Morshead. 

He said this regularly as he dined at Penalune when, after dinner andwine and songs, the hour came for the 'brandy-mixing' before theguests dispersed. Sir John was a widower and confined hishospitality to men. He had adored his wife and lost her young; andthereafter, though exquisitely courteous to ladies when he met them--on the hunting-field, for example--he could not endure one within thewalls of Penalune. As he put it to himself, quoting an old by-word, 'What the eye don't see the heart don't grieve. ' It scarcely needsto be added that the heart _did_ grieve; but this was his way, albeit astrange one, of worshipping what he had lost. 

For the rest, he was a hale, cheerful, even jovial gentleman, nowwell past fifty; clear of eye, sound of wind and limb, standing sixfeet two in his stockings; fearing no man, on good terms with all, but liking his neighbours best, and no more eccentric than a countrysquire has the right, if not even the obligation to be. Unless itwere in the saddle, you could scarcely see him to better advantagethan at this ceremony of brandy-mixing--for a ceremony it was; nopushing of a decanter, but a slow solemn ladling by the host himselffrom an ample bowl. Moreover, the Penalune brandy was famous. 

'It has lain, ' said he--'let me see--thirty-five years in cellar, tomy own knowledge. My father never told me how or when he came by it. Smuggled, you may be sure. '

The talk ran on smuggling and its decline. A Mr St Aubyn, ofClowance, lamented this decline as symptomatic--'the national fibre'sdeteriorating, mark my words. ' A Mr Trelawny was disposed to agreewith him. 'And, after all, ' he said, 'the game was a venial one; akind of sport. Hang it, a Briton must be allowed his sportinginstincts!' 'By the same argument, no doubt, you would justifypoaching?' put in Sir John, with a twinkle. Mr Trelawny would by nomeans allow this. 'It would interest me, sir, to hear you define themoral difference between smuggling and poaching, ' said DoctorUnonius. 'I don't go in for definitions, sir, ' Mr Trelawny answered. 'I'm a practical man and judge things by their results. Look at yourPolpeor folk--smugglers all, or the sons of smugglers--a fineupstanding, independent lot as you would wish to see; whereas yourpoacher nine times out of ten is a sneak, and looks it. ' 'Because, 'retorted the doctor, but gently, 'your smuggler lives in his owncottage, serves no master, and has public opinion--by which I meanthe only public opinion he knows, that of his neighbours--to backhim; whereas your poacher lives by day in affected subservience tothe landowner he robs by night, and because you take good care thatpublic opinion is against him. ' 'To be sure I do, ' affirmed MrTrelawny, and would have continued the argument, but here old SquireMorshead struck in and damned the Government for its new coastguardservice. 'I don't deny, ' he said, 'it's an improvement on anythingwe've seen yet under the Customs, or would be, if there was any realsmuggling left to grapple with. But the "trade" has been dwindlingnow for these thirty years, and to invent this fire-new service tosuppress what's dying of its own accord is an infernal waste ofpublic money. ' 'I doubt, ' Sir John demurred, 'if smuggling be quiteso near death's door as you fancy. Hey, doctor--in Polpeor now?'The doctor opined that very little smuggling survived nowadays; theprofits were not worth the risk. 'Though, to be sure, ' he added, 'public opinion in Polpeor is still with the trade. For anillustration, not a soul in the town will let the new coast-guardsmena house to live in, and I hear the Government intends to send down ahulk from Plymouth Dock and moor it alongside the quay. ' He paused. 'But, ' he went on, with a glance over his spectacles at Sir John, 'our host, who owns two-thirds of the cottages in Polpeor, maycorrect me and say that Government never offered a fair rent?'Sir John threw back his head and laughed. 'My heir, when he succeedsme, ' he said, 'may start new industries in Polpeor; but I'll notbuild new houses to worry my sitting tenants. '

It was now eleven o'clock, and by-and-by the company dispersed--whichthey did almost simultaneously and from the stable-yard, amid atremendous clattering of hoofs, rumbling of wheels, calls ofstablemen, 'gee's' and 'woa's, ' buttoning of overcoats, wrapping ofthroats in comforters, 'good-nights, ' and invitations to meet again. Sir John himself moved up and down in the throng, speeding hisparting guests, criticising their horseflesh, offering an extra wrapto one, assuring himself that another had his pocket-flask chargedfor a long night ride. 

In the press Doctor Unonius--whether because he never stinted a vailto the grooms, or because they felt a natural kindness for one whohad brought their wives through confinement and ushered theirchildren into the world; and anyway there was sense in standing wellwith a man who might at any time in this transitory world have todecide the important question of your living or dying--managed to getold Dapple harnessed in the gig, and the lamps lit, and to jog offwith the earliest. The drive of Penalune extends for a mile, andalong it, ahead of him and behind him, the voices of hisfellow-guests challenged one another in song, rising clear on thefrosty air, --

 'In the month of November, in the year 'fifty-two, Three jolly fox-hunters, all sons of the Blue, Sing fol-de-rol, lol-de-rol--'

Beyond the lodge gates came the high-road, and here half a dozen ofthe chorusers shouted goodnight, and rode away northward and by eastin the teeth of the wind; but the greater number bowled along withthe doctor south-west to the cross-roads under Barrow Down. There the Polpeor road struck off to the left, and, swinging into it, he found himself alone. 

CHAPTER IV. 

The night was moonless but strewn with stars. A tonic north-eastwind hummed over the high moors, and seemed to prick old Dapple, prescient of his own straw and rack, to his very best trot. It was apenetrating wind, too; but Doctor Unonius, wrapped in his friezecoat, with the famous Penalune brandy playing about the cockles ofhis heart, defied its chill. At this rate half an hour would bringhim to the gate of Landeweddy Farm, under the lee of Four Barrows;and beyond Landeweddy, where the road plunged straight to Polpeor andthe coast, he would reach complete shelter. Let the wind blow fromthis quarter never so fiercely, in the steep lanes under the seawardedge of the moor a man could hear it screaming overhead and laugh atit, lighting his pipe. 

The sound of hoofs and wheels died away down the westward road. Doctor Unonius, with face set for home, pursed his mouth andinaudibly whistled a tune, --

 'In the month of November, in the year 'fifty-two. '

'Whoa there, Dapple! Steady! Why, what ails the horse?'For Dapple, as the gig turned a corner of road, on a sudden had shiedviolently, half reared, and come to a halt with a jerk that set thegig quivering, and had almost broken its shafts. 

'Why, hallo!' exclaimed the doctor, peering forward. 

To the right of the road, a little ahead of him, stood a woman. She had drawn aside, close to the hedge, doubtless to let them pass. The rays of the gig lamp fell full on her--a broad-shouldered womanof more than ordinary height. Over her head was flung a dark shawl, and her left hand held its edges tightly together at the throat. In her right she carried a leathern bag. This was as much as thedoctor could see, for the shawl concealed her features. He could notrecognise her at all, though he knew, or believed that he knew, everybody--man, woman, or child--within a radius of ten miles. But Doctor Unonius was ever polite. 

'Hey? Good-evening, ma'am!' he sang out. 'You startled the oldhorse a bit. I hope he has not frightened you?'

There was no answer. 

'Can I offer you a lift, ma'am, if you're going my way? The hour islate, and the weather none too pleasant for tramping these highmoors. '

Still there was no answer. 

'You needn't be afraid of Dapple, ' he assured her. 'He'll standstill as a rock now, if you'll climb up. '

'Thank you, ' she answered at last, with a hesitating step forward, and the voice was hoarse and constrained. 

'Come round to the other side then. Here, give me your bag. '

The woman crossed in front of Dapple--who backed a foot or souneasily--came around to the step, and handed up her bag. It was atwo-handled bag, of japanned leather, and Doctor Unonius, as he tookit from her and rested it against the splashboard, noted also that itwas exceedingly heavy. He held out his hand. The woman grasped it, and clambered up beside him. 

He gave a sharp look at her and called to Dapple. The horse pulledhimself together and broke into a brisk trot, which continued forhard upon half a mile before either occupant of the gig brokesilence. 

For Doctor Unonius was considering. Though a student he was a man ofconsiderable courage and cool-headed in emergency, as he was now nota little pleased to prove, for hitherto life had provided fewemergencies to test him. But here was an emergency, and--at thistime of night, and in this place--it looked to be an ugly one. He had to deal with a discovery, and the discovery was this. 

The hand he had just gripped was no woman's at all, but the hand of aman. 

He stole another glance at his companion. She, or he, was leaningforward in a huddled attitude to meet the wind which now, as theyrounded an edge of the down, blew crosswise athwart the gig and alittle ahead. Nothing of face could be seen, only--and this dimly bythe starshine--the hand that grasped the shawl. But it was enough; aman's hand, the doctor could almost swear. He recognised this with aslight thrill. He was not afraid, but he was undeniably excited. 

What on earth should a man be doing in woman's clothes, on this roadand at this hour? The road led no whither but to Polpeor and thecoast, and passed on its way no human habitation but Landeweddy Farmand a couple of cottages half a mile beyond it, close under the dipof the hill. . . . 

'You are shivering, ' said Doctor Unonius, after a pause. 

The crouching figure nodded, but did not speak. 

'Are you cold? Here, take some more of the rug. '

For a moment there was no answer, then a shake of the head. 

'Ill, then? Feverish? I am a doctor: let me feel your pulse. '

His companion made a quick gesture as if to hide the hand graspingthe gig-rail: but after another pause, and as if reluctantly, it wasreached across. The other still clutched the shawl. 

Doctor Unonius, drawing off his right-hand glove with his teeth, reached across also and laid his fingers in professional fashion onthe wrist. Yes; he was right. The wrist was a man's wrist, largeand bony. He screwed up his eyes and peered down as well as he mightat the upturned hand. He could see that the finger-tips were square, and the palm, if he mistook not, showed a row of callosities at thebase of the fingers. Something in the pulse's beat caught hisattention, and almost at the same moment his nostrils expandedsuspiciously. Doctor Unonius had a delicate sense of smell. 

'This man, ' he thought, 'is in a blue fright; and moreover, andalthough he smokes a deal of rank tobacco, I am open to bet he is abutcher by trade. '

He relaxed the pressure of his fingers very slightly, and the handwas sharply withdrawn. 

Almost at the same moment the doctor's own hand went swiftly to hishead. There was a tug at the reins, and it fetched old Dapple upwith a sprawl. 

'My hat is gone!' exclaimed the doctor. 

Sure enough it was: and as he leaned and peered after it, he couldjust discern it for a moment before it dropped like a sable birdagainst a dark furze bush a few yards away to the left. 

'My hat is gone, ' he repeated. 

His companion did not budge, hardly so much as turned a glance, butsat as before, shivering and dumb. 

'I am very sorry to trouble you, ma'am, ' ventured the doctorpolitely. 'But would it inconvenience you very much to climb downand recover my hat? It lies yonder, against the furze. With one ofthe lamps you will find it easily. '

'Can't you climb down yourself and fetch it? I'll hold the reins. 'The voice was husky, the tone ungracious. 

'No, ma'am. Dapple is restive to-night, and I prefer--if you'llforgive me--not to trust him to a lady and a stranger. If yourefuse, my hat must e'en remain where it lies. '

The figure rose, as if upon a sudden resolve, and set one foot on thestep. 

'I'll fetch it for you. But being driven to-night is cold work, andI won't trouble you any further. Hand me down my bag, please. '

The stranger climbed out and stood beside the step, with one handholding on to the edge of the footboard. 

'Come, hand me down my bag. '

For answer Doctor Unonius lifted his foot and brought it downsuddenly on the hand, grinding his heel into the fingers. At thesame moment the whiplash fell over Dapple's haunches. There was ayell of pain, a wild curse, a scuttering of hoofs, and the old horse, unaccustomed to the whip and well-nigh scared out of his senses, plunged forward into the night. 

For a minute or so Doctor Unonius, as he called to Dapple and pliedthe whip, fancied that in the intervals of these encouragements hecaught the sound of footsteps pursuing him down the hard road. But the chase, if chase were given, was vain from the first: forDapple tore along as though the devil himself sat behind thesplashboard. 

But while the gig swayed and rocked, and while the wind sung past hisears, Doctor Unonius thrust a foot out, and steadying it against thehard bag, enjoyed some crowded moments of glorious life. After allthese sedentary years adventure had swooped on him out of the nightand was wafting him along in a sort of ecstasy. If the hand were, after all, a woman's, he could never forgive himself. . . . But itwas not: of that he felt sure. Complete success had crowned hissimple manoeuvre. He felt all the exhilaration of a born student whosuddenly discovers he can be practical--the sort of exhilarationCicero felt, to his surprise, in dealing with the conspiracy ofCatiline, and never during the rest of his life forgot. 

It was hard on Dapple, but the doctor urged him for a mile before hisnatural kind-heartedness reasserted itself and he reined up the goodold horse, to breathe him. 

Now was his time to have a look at the bag. He reached down andlifted it to his knees, and again its weight surprised him. 'It willbe locked, no doubt, ' said the doctor to himself, as he drew the offgig-lamp from its socket to light his inspection. 

But no: the bag was fastened by an ordinary spring-catch, and, whenhe pressed this, fell open easily. He listened for a second or two, with a glance over his shoulder into the darkness behind. Butnothing could be heard--nothing but the night-call of a curlewsomewhere on the moor, far to his right. Holding the lamp a littlehigher in his left, he thrust his right hand into the bag, groped, and drew out--

 First of all, a pistol, and whether loaded or not he deferred for the moment to examine. 

 Next, four small but heavy canvas bags, each tied about the neck with a leathern thong. By the weight and the look, and also by the sound of them when shaken, they contained money. 

 Next, a pair of rubber-soled Blucher boots. 

 Next, a small square case, which he opened and found to contain a pocket-compass. 

 Next, a pair of night-glasses. 

 Next, a neck-comforter of knitted gray worsted

 And, lastly, a folded map. 

While he made this inventory, Doctor Unonius kept Dapple at astandstill; for thus only was he secure of hearing the smallest soundon the road behind. But now he judged it prudent to put another halfa mile at least between him and pursuit, and so, replacing the lampand hastily repacking the bag--with all but the pistol, which he kepthandy on the seat beside him, and the map, which he thrust into thebreast of his greatcoat--he urged the old horse into a fresh trot, nor pulled up again until he came to the glimmering white gate ofLandeweddy Farm. 

The courtlege of Landeweddy was hedged with tamarisks, now leafless, and through these, above the wall's coping, the upper part of thehouse loomed an indistinct mass against the indigo-gray night. No light showed anywhere--as why should the widow Tresize or her maidTryphena be awake at such an hour? The doctor would have requiredsharp eyes indeed to note, as he drew rein, that the blind of anupper window at the south-east corner had been drawn aside an inch orso out of the perpendicular. Had he detected this, indeed, it wouldhave meant no more than that the widow, awakened from her slumbers bythe sound of wheels, had arisen to satisfy the curiosity natural towomen. 

But Doctor Unonius, noting it not, drew forth the map from the breastof his greatcoat, unfolded it, and was proceeding to study it, againby help of the lamp. He recognised it at first glance for a map ofthe coast and country about Polpeor, and for this he was prepared;but the same glance showed him a slip of paper pinned to the map'sleft upper corner. The paper bore a scrawl in pencil, ill-written, but decipherable--

 'Mrs Tresize at Landeweddy. 48. White gate, entrance back. By Celler. Mem. I large chest. To be handled quick and hidn in orchd if necessry. Reported good money, but near. No help here but 1 servt maid. '

Doctor Unonius stared at the paper, and from the paper lifted hiseyes to stare at the black bulk of the farm-house buildings, thestretch of roof, the tall chimneys looming above the tamarisks. But the close rays of the lamp dazzled his eyes, and he saw nothing--nothing but the white gate glimmering at the end of the courtlegewall. While he peered and blinked, memory recalled to him old MrsPuckey's tale of the money-chest kept by the widow Tresize beneathher bed. 

Mischief was brewing, beyond a doubt. Precisely what that mischiefmight be he could not determine. But somewhere behind him was aman--a stranger, dressed in woman's clothes--making at dead of nightfor a house occupied by two women only; for a house that held money. And this man had been carrying a bag which contained among otherthings a pistol, probably loaded, a pair of boots with rubber soles, a map, and a memorandum which said (and almost certainly with truth)that the house was unprotected save by one servant maid. 

It was clear that he must call at once and give warning; that he mustawaken the widow, at whatever cost to her nerves, and offer hisprotection. It might be that he had checkmated the ruffian andthrown him off his game. Very likely he had. A man with thisevidence against him, and minus the pistol with which he had intendedto do his infernal work, would--ten to one--be heading away fromjustice, and for dear life. Still, where so much was mystery, thedoctor decided to take no risks. Whatever the event, his course ofaction--his only possible course--lay plain before him. Here of asudden it occurred to Doctor Unonius that the man, though travellingalone, might be travelling to meet accomplices; and these accomplicesmight be hiding around and waiting, even at this moment. 

He remembered that beyond the white gate a short farm-road led aroundto the back entrance of the building. With this new suspicion of aconspiracy in his mind, it cost him no small effort of courage todismount, pistol in hand, from the gig and push the white gate open. 

It fell back, as he remembered later, on a well-oiled hinge, and hestood aside while old Dapple, doubtless greatly wondering, obeyed hiscall and dragged the gig through. This was a nervous moment, for nowthe doctor could not rid himself of the apprehension that eyes mightbe watching him from behind the hedge. He remembered, too, that thewidow Tresize kept a couple of sheep dogs, notoriously savage ones. It was strange that they did not awake and give tongue. 

On the thought of this, as Dapple drew the gig through the gateway, Doctor Unonius edged up close to the step. . . . It might be all verywell for Odysseus to squat on the ground when attacked by the houndsof Eumaeus, but Odysseus had not the resource (perhaps better) ofspringing into a gig. 

Idle precaution! The widow Tresize's dogs were peradventure caughtnapping. At all events, neither one nor the other uttered a sound. Doctor Unonius, wrenching a lamp from its socket, walked boldlyforward at Dapple's bit and, coming to the back entrance by themidden-yard, knocked boldly. 

CHAPTER V. 

To his surprise, within a few seconds a faint light shone through thechink by the door-jamb, and he heard a footstep coming down thepassage. A bolt was withdrawn, very softly--the door opened--and MrsTresize herself confronted him. 

She stood just within the threshold, holding a lamp high: and itsrays, while they fell full on the doctor, causing him to blink, crossed the rays of his gig-lamp which showed him that, late thoughthe hour was, she had as yet made no preparations for going to bed, even to the extent of taking off her jewellery. The base of thelamp, as its flames flickered in the draught, cast a waving shadowover the widow's cap perched on her neatly coiled black tresses, andthe same shadow danced across her jet-black eyes and left themstaring at him, very bright and inquisitive. She wore a dress ofstiff black silk with a somewhat coquettish apron; and about her necka solid gold chain, thrice coiled, with a massive locket pendant ather bosom. Above the locket was fastened a large memorial broochwith a framework of gold, a face of crystal and, behind the crystal, a weeping willow designed in somebody's hair. Altogether the widow'sattire and array suggested that she had recently dismissed, or waseven now expecting, company. 

'Doctor Unonius?'

'You may well be surprised, madam--at this hour--'

'I did not send for you. '

'No, madam; and you will be surprised when you learn the reason ofthis call--surprised but not (I beg) alarmed. To begin with, I havea pistol here and can, at the worst, protect you. '

'Protect me?'

'I had best tell you my story, which is a sufficiently extraordinaryone. I have been dining at Penalune--nay, madam, do notmisunderstand me: I am as sober as a judge. On my homeward road Iovertook a suspicious character, and certain evidence I managed towrest from him leaves little doubt that robbery is intended hereto-night, as it has actually been achieved elsewhere. The man, Ishould tell you--a powerful fellow--was dressed in woman's apparel. '

'Oh!' said Mrs Tresize shortly, and called down the passage behindher--'Tryphena, come here!'

Without delay a middle-aged maid-servant appeared from a doorway that(as the doctor knew) led out of an inner kitchen. Two sheep dogsfollowed her growling, but at her command grew tractable and made nodemonstration beyond running around the doctor and sniffing at hislegs. 

Tryphena, too--who, like her mistress, was fully dressed--betrayed nosurprise. She had, in fact, been sent upstairs at the sound ofwheels, and from behind a curtain had recognised Doctor Unonius as heexamined the paper by the light of his gig-lamp. 

'Tryphena, here's Doctor Unonius, and he brings word we're to berobbed and murdered in our beds. '

'The Lord preserve us!' said Tryphena. 

'Amen, ' said Mrs Tresize; 'and meanwhile you'd best go and stable thehorse while I hear particulars. '

Tryphena slipped out into the yard, the sheep dogs following. The doctor would have helped her, but she took the lamp from hishand, replaced it in its socket and set about unharnessing withoutfurther to-do, coaxing Dapple the while to stand steady. 

'Tryphena understands horses, ' said Mrs Tresize. 'Come indoors, please, and tell me all about it. '

Doctor Unonius lifted out the incriminating bag and followed heralong the passage. She paused at the door of the best kitchen andpushed it wide. He looked in upon a bare but not uncheerful room, where a clean wood fire blazed on an open hearth and over the fire akettle sang cosily. Gun-racks lined the walls, and dressers ladenwith valuable china, and these were seasonably adorned with sprigs ofholly, ivy, and fir. A kissing-bush, even, hung from the bacon-rackthat crossed the ceiling, with many hams wrapped in bracken, a braceof pheasants, and a 'neck' of harvest corn elaborately plaited: andalmost directly beneath it stood a circular table with a lamp and aset of dominoes, the half of them laid out in an unfinished game. The floor was of slate but strewn with rugs, some of rag-work othersof badgers' skins. A tall clock ticked sedately in a corner. On oneside of the chimney a weather-glass depended, on the other awarming-pan--symbols, as it were, of conjugal interests, male andfemale, drawing together by the hearth. 

Doctor Unonius felt an unwonted glow at the sight of this interior. He could not but admire, too, the widow's self-possession. Instead of trembling and demanding explanations she suggested that aglass of hot brandy and water would do him no possible harm after hisdrive, and stepped to the corner cupboard without waiting for ananswer. It was a piece of furniture of some value, lacquered overwith Chinese figures in dusky gold. But the doctor's gaze travelledrather to the gun-racks. He counted a dozen firearms, antique butserviceable, and suggested that, with powder and shot, Landeweddy wascapable of standing a pretty stiff siege. 

'I keep but two of them loaded, ' said the widow, and indicated them--a large blunderbuss and a fowling-piece with an immensely longbarrel; 'but there's powder and three sizes of shot in the right-handdrawer, there, below the dresser. You can charge the others, ifyou've a mind. '

'My warning would hardly seem to have impressed you, madam. '

'Oh yes, it has, ' answered Mrs Tresize, measuring out the brandy. 'But you see, doctor, one gets accustomed to fears, living in thislonely place; and with a man as protector one feels as safe as with aregiment. '

'You flatter my ability, I fear, ' said the doctor. 'I will do mybest, of course: but I ought to warn you that I am no expert withfirearms. '

'I can help you with the loading, ' said Mrs Tresize. 'But tell methe worst of the danger, please. '

Doctor Unonius set the bag on the table, and unloaded its contentsone by one while he told his story. The sight of the money-bags didnot produce quite the thrill he had looked for, but she evinced alively interest in the paper pinned to the map. 

'_Mrs Tresize at Landeweddy, 48_, ' she read, holding it under thelamp, and slightly puckering her handsome brows. 

'That doesn't flatter you, ma'am. '

'Hey?' Mrs Tresize looked up sharply. 'You don't suppose that meansmy _age_?'

'I--er--fancied it might. It would be a guess, of course. '

'Nonsense, ' said Mrs Tresize. 

'It _is_ nonsense, ' the doctor agreed. 'The man was obviouslymisinformed. '

'It doesn't refer to my age at all, ' said Mrs Tresize, positively. 'It--it alludes to something quite different. I was barely nineteenwhen I married. '

'If you can guess to what it alludes--'

'_Reported good money, but near--_' read the widow, paused, anduttered a liquid laugh. 'Oh, I am glad you showed me this. We'll punish him for that, doctor, if he dares to turn up. '

'If, ' echoed the doctor, with a glance at the gun-racks. 

'I ought to go and warn Tryphena. '

'Every moment may be precious, ' he agreed again, while she went tothe chimney-place and fetched the now boiling kettle. 

She mixed the drink and set it close before him, where he leanedpondering a pile of gold he had poured upon the table from one of thecanvas bags. The steam mounting from the glass bedimmed hisspectacles. He took them off to wipe them, and perceived that shewas smiling. She bit her lip at being thus caught. 

'I was thinking, ' she made haste to explain, 'what a funny situation'twould be if by any chance the man was innocent, and you'd drivenoff with money that honestly belonged to him. '

'Honest men don't put on women's clothes to tramp the moors atnight, ' Doctor Unonius objected. 

'Well, I don't see that it mightn't happen. A man having this moneyto carry, and afraid of being robbed, might put it to himself thatrough characters--specially gipsies--often let a woman pass wherethey'd attack a man. Or suppose, now, the man _was_ a gipsy?--he'dsold three horses, we'll say, at Tregarrick Christmas Fair, and wastrudging it back to his camp somewhere on the moors. A gipsy wouldbe the very man to hit on that kind of disguise, it being against hisown principles to hurt any woman but his wife. '

'This man was a butcher, ma'am, and no gipsy. '

'O--oh!' cried the widow, with a little gasp. 'How do you know?'

'Never mind how I know, ma'am. He was a butcher, right enough; and, on your hypothesis that I've committed highway robbery upon aninnocent man, I'd like you to explain how he comes to be carryingabout this paper. "One large chest" he credits you with possessing;it is to be handled quickly and hidden in the orchard, if necessary--that is, I suppose, if he should be surprised; and to resist him youhave nobody on the premises but your servant maid Tryphena. For whatinnocent purpose, pray, does he carry about this memorandum?'

''Myes, I suppose you are right, ' Mrs Tresize assented with a littlesigh, and forthwith shifted the conversation. 'But taste yourbrandy, please, and tell me how you like it--though, to be sure, itwon't compare with Squire Peneluna's. '

It was, nevertheless, good sound brandy, genuine juice of the grape, soft and well-matured. The doctor after a sip nodded his approval. 

'I dare say, now, ' she went on, 'you're accustomed to this sort ofthing? I mean, you must pass a good many nights, year's end toyear's end, in other folk's parlours. . . . ' She broke off, and thistime with a genuine sigh. 'I used to wonder in days gone by, if everyou'd be sitting here. I used to picture you . . . And now it's fora robber you're waiting!' She ended with a laugh, yet turned herface away. 

But either the doctor was nettled or his mind refused to be divertedby small talk from the business in hand. He somewhat curtlycommanded Mrs Tresize to indicate on the gun-rack the weapons herlate husband had commonly used, and to find him powder and shot. For a moment she pouted her lips mutinously, but ended by obeyinghim, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders. 

She stood watching him while he carefully loaded the weapons andrammed home the wads. It is possible that she had a mind to relent, and suggest his whiling the time away with a game of dominoes. At any rate she went so far as to hazard--with a glance at the ivorytablets, and another at the hearth and the elbow-chairs--that hewould find the waiting tedious. 

'Not if you can supply me with a book, ma'am, ' he answered, layingthe two guns on the table, after sweeping the dominoes aside to makeroom for them. 

Mrs Tresize left the room and returned bearing a volume--Blair's_Grave_. She understood (she said) that the doctor preferred seriousreading. 

'Among all the poets that ever wrote, ' said Doctor Unonius blandly, 'with the possible exception of Young, I have the greatest contemptfor Blair. He has the one unpardonable fault (not the one mentionedby Horace, though he has that, too): he is dishonest. The finestpassage in the _Grave_ is impudently stolen from Dryden, and marredin the stealing. But I thank Heaven, ma'am, that I can read anyprinted matter; and when Blair disgusts me I can always take asatisfactory revenge by turning him into Latin Elegiacs; by turninghim, so to speak, in his Grave, ' concluded the doctor grimly. 

This routed the lady, but she managed to get in the last word. 'Well, I can't pretend to understand you and your learning, ' sheanswered tartly; 'but since we seem to be thanking Heaven, I'll thankit that I have a fire lit in my bedroom. It's the room justoverhead, and I'm going to ask Tryphena to sleep with me when she hasput up the bolts. Or, maybe, we shall sit up there for a while andtalk. But anyhow, we are light sleepers, the both of us, and ifthere's any trouble you have only to call. Good-night. '

'Good-night, ma'am!' said Doctor Unonius, and opened the door forher. Left alone, he went back to the table and began to turn thepages of Blair. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Doctor Unonius had drawn the table close beside an elbow-chair to theright of the fireplace. The excuse he made to himself was that, witha bright fire burning, he could the better see to read by blendingits blaze with the light of the lamp. But it may be conjecturedthat, having disposed himself thus comfortably, he indulged in a nap. A strange sound fetched him out of it with a bounce. He leapt to hisfeet, and stood for a moment stupidly rubbing his eyes. The fire hadburnt itself low. Blair's _Grave_ lay face-downward on thehearth-rug, whither it had slipped from his knee. The clock in thecorner ticked at its same deliberate pace, but its hands pointed totwenty minutes past two. 

What was the sound? Or, rather--since it no longer continued--whathad it been? As it seemed to him, it had resembled the beat ofhorses' hoofs at a gallop; a stampede almost. It could not have gonepast on the high-road, for the noise had never been loud: yet itseemed to come from the high-road for a while, and then to dropsuddenly and be drawn out in a series of faint thudded echoes. 

Doctor Unonius went to the window, drew the curtains, unbarred ashutter, and stared out into the night. A newly risen moon hung lowin the south-east, just above the coping of the courtlage wall, butthe wall with its shrubs and clumps of ivy, massed in blackestshadow, excluded all view of the terrestrial world. The sound, whatever it had been, was not repeated. 

Doctor Unonius stood for half a minute or so and gazed out with hisforehead pressed to the pane. Then he closed the shutter again, letfall the curtain, and with a slight shiver went back to thefireplace. 

He had picked up a pair of tongs and was stooping to pick up thecharred ends of wood and pile them to revive the blaze, when anothersound fetched him upright again. This also was the sound of a horseat a gallop, but now it drew nearer and nearer up the road. It clattered past the courtlage wall, and with that came to a suddensprawling halt. A man's voice, the rider's, shouted some two orthree words the doctor could not catch; but a moment later he heardthe latch of the yard gate clink and horse and man lunge through, andhad scarcely time to arm himself with one of the guns before threesharp strokes rattled on the back door. 

Doctor Unonius hurried out to the passage. There he all but ran intoMrs Tresize, who came downstairs, lamp in hand and fully dressed asbefore. As before, too, she was entirely composed in manner. 

'I will open, ' she said. 'Go back and put the other gun awayquickly, the pistol too. Keep the one in your hand if you will, andcome back to me while I pretend to draw the bolts. No, please don'targue. It will be all right if you do as I say. '

She appeared so very sure of herself that, against his will, thedoctor obeyed. 

'_Pretend_ to draw the bolts?' he kept muttering. Had the door beenunbarred, then, all this while?

She was opening it, at any rate, when he returned to the passage. But before lifting the latch she demanded, as if upon secondthought, --

'Who is there? And what is your business?'

'Mr Rattenbury, ' answered a loud voice. 'You shall know my businessfast enough if you will kindly open. '

Without more ado she flung the door wide, and the ray of her lampfell upon Mr Rattenbury, the young riding-officer, cloaked, high-booted, and spurred. 

'A strange business it must be, sir, ' said the widow, 'that bringsyou hammering up sick folk at this time of night!'

'Sick folk, eh?' said the riding-master, with a brusque laugh. 'Sick folk don't usually sit up till past two in the morning readydressed. Hadn't we better stow that kind of talk, ma'am?'

'You had better, ' Mrs Tresize answered composedly, 'hitch yourhorse's bridle to the staple you'll find on the left, and stepinside--that is, if you are not in too great a hurry. ' Here sheturned for a look behind her. 'My goodness!' she cried with awell-feigned start, 'if you haven't scared the doctor into fetching agun!'

Mr Rattenbury stared past her into the passage. 'Doctor Unonius?' heexclaimed, catching his breath in surprise. 

'At your good service, Mr Rattenbury, though you have given us ashock, sir. May I ask what keeps you afoot to-night? Not a run ofgoods, I hope?'

Mr Rattenbury stared at him. If any one man in the whole countrysidebore a reputation of simple probity, it was Doctor Unonius. Impossible to connect him with tricks to defraud the Revenue!And yet had not the young riding-officer distinctly seen Landaveddyshow and anon eclipse a light, and in such a fashion that it couldonly be interpreted as a signal. 

'There has been a run, and an infernally daring one, ' said MrRattenbury; 'in Lealand Cove, not half an hour ago. And the deuce ofit is we had warning of it all along. '

'Warning?' echoed Mrs Tresize, with a touch of anxiety in her voice. 

'Yes, ma'am. It was known to us--though I'll not tell you how--thatTruman, the Grampound butcher, was acting freighter for a prettylarge run, and for a week now two of my fellows have been atGrampound keeping an eye on him. I sent over a relief this veryafternoon, and the relieved men brought back the report that Trumanhad scarcely quitted his house for a week. They left at fouro'clock. It was dusk, and he'd lit a couple of candles in his shop, and was seated there reading a newspaper. Another thing put us off. The boat chartered was the _Bold Venture_, with Cornelius Roose onboard. Cornelius--as I dare say you have heard, doctor--is thecleverest spotsman on this coast; but he was never yet known to riska run unless he had his brother John to help ashore. So we kept asharp eye on John Roose, and unbeknown to him, as we thought. Well, to-night he attends a prayer-meeting at Polruan, that's fivemiles east of home, and starts back at ten o'clock, our men shadowinghim all the way. Goes quietly to bed he does, and just as I'mthinking to do the same, be shot if Cornelius hasn't beaten up with afoul wind, dodged the cutter, and nipped into Lealand Cove, wheresomebody has two score of pack horses waiting--'

'Pack horses?'

'Yes, the old game. It hasn't been played before in my time, and mymen had almost forgotten the trick of it. The horses need training, you see, and we reckoned the trained ones had all died out. '

'Horses?' repeated Doctor Unonius. 'Then that accounts for the noiseI heard--'

'Eh?' queried Mr Rattenbury sharply. 

'A sound of galloping, as it were. I opened the window to look, butcould see nothing. 

Mrs Tresize caught her breath. 'Yes, yes, ' she put in, 'DoctorUnonius opened the window. You wouldn't charge _him_ with makingsignals, I hope?'

'But--' began Doctor Unonius and Mr Rattenbury together. The doctorwas about to say that, the road being hidden from this downstairswindow, it followed that the window could not be seen from the road. But the riding-officer had the louder voice and bore him down. 

'But, ' he objected, 'the light was shown from an _upstairs_ window, ma'am. '

'To be sure, ' the widow squared her chin and glanced at DoctorUnonius defiantly--'and what should the doctor be doing here exceptattending on the sick? And where should my poor maid Tryphena belying at this moment but upstairs and in bed with the colic?'

The doctor, on a sudden confronted with this amazing lie, cast up hishands a little way, and so, averting his eyes, turned slowly round tothe fireplace. His brain swam. For the moment he could scarcelyhave been more helpless had some one dealt him a blow in the wind. His nature so abhorred falsehood that he blushed even to suspect it. To have it flung at him thus brazenly--

As he recovered his wits a little he heard the widow say, --

'And as for the horses, they never came this way. '

'Is that so?' Mr Rattenbury swung round upon the doctor. 

'They--they certainly did not pass along the road outside, ' saidDoctor Unonius, speaking as in a dream. 'The noise of gallopingturned off at some distance below the house, and seemed to die awayto the northward. '

'Then I've made a cursed mess of this, ' said the riding-officer, snatching up his hat. 'Your pardon, ma'am! and if you won't forgiveme to-night, I'll call and apologise to-morrow. '

CHAPTER VII. 

He was gone. They heard the clatter of his horse's hoofs down theroad, and listened as it died away. 

Neither spoke. Mrs Tresize stood by the table, and so that, glancingsideways across her left shoulder, her eyes studied the doctor'sback, which he kept obstinately turned upon her. He had put up ahand to the chimney-shelf and leaned forward with his gaze bent onthe embers. 

'Doctor?'

'Ma'am?' after a long pause. 

'Do you really reckon smuggling so very sinful?'

'It is not a question of smuggling, ma'am. '

'Oh, yes, it is!' she insisted. 'Once you get mixed up in thatbusiness you have to deceive at times--if 'tis only to protectothers. '

'I can understand, ma'am, ' said the doctor, after another pause, 'that to dabble in smuggling is to court many awkward situations. You need not remind _me_ of that, who am fresh from misleading thatyoung man. It was--if you will pardon my saying so--by reason of histrust in my good faith that you escaped cross-questioning. '

'I'll grant that, and with all my heart. But, since deceiving himgoes so hard against the grain with you, he shall know the truthto-morrow, when he comes to apologise. Will that content you?'

'It will be some atonement, ma'am. As for contenting me--'

'You mean that I have given you a shock? And that to recover youresteem will not be easy?'

She asked it with a small, pathetic sigh, and took a step towards thefireplace, as if to entreat his pardon. But before he could be awareof this his attention was claimed by a sound without. The latch ofthe back door was lifted with a click, and, almost before he couldface about, steps were heard in the passage. The door of the bestkitchen opened a foot or so, and through the aperture was thrust thehead of Tryphena--of Tryphena, who by rights should be lyingupstairs, victim of a colic. 

'Missus!' announced Tryphena, in a hoarse whisper. 'The kegs bestowed all right in the orchet--all the four dozen. But here'sButcher Truman, teasy as fire. Says he's been robbed o' fifty poundson the way an' can't pay the carriers! An' the carriers be tappin'the stuff an' drinkin' what's left, an' neither to hold nor to bindbut threat'nin' to cut the inside of en out--an' he's here, if youplaze, to know if so be you could lend a few pounds to satisfy 'em. I told en--'

'Show him in, ' commanded Mrs Tresize, with a creditable hold on hervoice; for, to tell the truth, she was half hysterical. 

Tryphena withdrew, and pushed the strangest of figures through thedoorway. Butcher Truman had discarded the shawl from his head andshoulders, or perchance it had been snatched away by the infuriatedcarriers. For expedition, too, he had caught up his feminine skirtand petticoat and twisted them and caught them about his waist with aleathern belt, over which they hung in careless indecorous festoons, draping a pair of corduroy breeches. But he still wore a woman'sbodice, though half the buttons were burst; and a sun-bonnet, withstrings still knotted about his throat, dangled at the back of hisshoulders like a hood. He was a full-blooded man, slightly obese, with a villainous pair of eyes that blinked in the sudden lamp-light. He was dangerous, too, between anger and terror. But Mrs Tresizegave him no time. 

'Ah, good-evening, Mr Truman! There has been some mistake, I hear;but it's by the greatest good luck you came to me. Here is yourmissing property, eh?' She smiled and held out the bag. 

Butcher Truman stared at it. 'Send I may never--' he began; and withthat his gaze, travelling past the bag, fell on Doctor Unonius. '_You?_' he stuttered, clenching his thick fists. '_You?_ . . . Oh, by--, let me get at 'im!'

But Mrs Tresize very deftly stepped in front of him as he came onmenacing. 

'If you are not a fool, ' she said sharply, 'you will wasteno time, but hurry along and pay the carriers. They, for their part, won't waste any time with neat brandy. In ten minutes or sothey'll be wanting your blood in a bottle--and, if it's all the sameto you, Mr Truman, I'd rather they didn't start hunting you throughthese premises. What's more, ' she added, as he hesitated, 'the riding-officer was close on your track just now. You owe it toDoctor Unonius here, that he has overrun it. '

The butcher clutched at his bag, and made as if to open it. 

'You needn't trouble, ' Mrs Tresize assured him sweetly. 'Your money's good--and so will be mine when it comes to settling, for all that I'm reported "near. " Good-night!'

'Good-night!' growled Butcher Truman, and lurched forth with his bag. The widow, staring after him, broke into a laugh. 

'Tryphena, ' she said, 'fetch the doctor's horse and harness himquick! We must get him out of this, good man. Are the tubs stowed?'

'All of 'em, missus. I counted the four dozen. '

'Four dozen is forty-eight; and that doctor'--she turned to him--'is not my age, by a very long way. '

But when Dapple had been harnessed, and the doctor drove off (afterlooking at his watch and finding that it indicated ten minutes tofour), Mrs Tresize lingered at the back door a moment before orderingTryphena to shut and bolt it. 

'There was nothing else to do but lie, ' she said to herself, meditatively. 'But, all the same, it's lost him for me. '

CHAPTER VIII. 

So indeed it had. Doctor Unonius could not overlook a falsehood, andfrom that hour his thoughts never rested upon the widow Tresize as adesirable woman to wed. 

But he had grave searchings of conscience on the part he had beenmade to play. Undoubtedly he had misled Mr Rattenbury, and--allquestion of public honesty apart--had perhaps injured that youngofficer's chances of promotion. 

The thought of it disturbed his sleep for weeks. In the end hedecided to make a clean breast to Mr Rattenbury, as between man andman; and encountering him one afternoon on the Lealand road, drew upold Dapple and made sign that he wished to speak. 

It's about Mrs Tresize--' he began. 

'You've heard, then?' said Mr Rattenbury. 

'Heard what?'

'Why, that I'm going to marry her. '

'Oh!' said the doctor; and added after a pause, 'My dear sir, I wishyou joy. '

'I don't feel that I deserve her, ' said Mr Rattenbury, somewhatfatuously. 

'Oh!' said the doctor again. 'As for that--'

He did not conclude the sentence, but drove on in meditation. 

It is to be supposed that with marriage the widow mended her ways. Certainly she can have dabbled no more in smuggling, and as certainlyshe had told the truth about her age. Thrice in the years thatfollowed Doctor Unonius spent some hours of the night, waiting, inthe best kitchen at Landeweddy; and Mrs Rattenbury on neither ofthese occasions--so critical for herself--forgot to have him providedwith a decanter of excellent brandy. 

The doctor sipping at it and gazing over the rim of the glass at MrRattenbury--nervous and distraught, as a good husband should be--oneach occasion wondered how much he knew. 

MUTUAL EXCHANGE, LIMITED. 

CHAPTER I. 

Millionaire though he was, Mr Markham (_nee_ Markheim) never let asmall opportunity slip. To be sure the enforced idleness of Atlanticcrossing bored him and kept him restless; it affected him with_malaise_ to think that for these five days, while the solitude ofocean swallowed him, men on either shore, with cables at theircommand, were using them to get rich on their own account--it mighteven be at his expense. The first day out from New York he had spentin his cabin, immersed in correspondence. Having dealt with this andexhausted it, on the second, third, and fourth days he found nothingto do. He never played cards; he eschewed all acquaintance with hisfellow men except in the way of business; he had no vanity, and to bestared at on the promenade deck because of the fame of his wealthmerely annoyed him. On the other hand, he had not the smallestexcuse to lock himself up in his stuffy state-room. He enjoyed freshair, and had never been sea-sick in his life. 

It was just habit--the habit of never letting a chance go, or thedetail of a chance--that on the fourth morning carried him the lengthof the liner, to engage in talk with the fresh-coloured young thirdofficer busy on the high deck forward. 

'A young man, exposed as you are, ought to insure himself, ' said MrMarkham. 

The third officer--by name Dick Rendal--knew something of theinquisitiveness and idle ways of passengers. This was his fifth tripin the _Carnatic_. He took no truck in passengers beyond showingthem the patient politeness enjoined by the Company's rules. He knewnothing of Mr Markham, who dispensed with the services of a valet anddressed with a shabbiness only pardonable in the extremely rich. Mr Markham, 'the Insurance King, ' had arrayed himself this morning ingray flannel, with a reach-me-down overcoat, cloth cap, and carpetslippers that betrayed his flat, Jewish instep. Dick Rendal sizedhim up for an insurance tout; but behaved precisely as he would havebehaved on better information. He refrained from ordering theintruder aft; but eyed him less than amiably--being young, keen onhis ship, and just now keen on his job. 

'I saw you yesterday, ' said Mr Markham. (It had blown more than halfa gale, and late in the afternoon three heavy seas had come aboard. The third officer at this moment was employed with half a dozenseamen in repairing damages. ) 'I was watching. As I judged, it wasthe nicest miss you weren't overboard. Over and above employers'liability you should insure. The Hands Across Mutual Exchange--that's your office. '

Mr Markham leaned back, and put a hand up to his innerbreast-pocket--it is uncertain whether for his cigar-case, or forsome leaflet relating to the Hands Across. 

'Take care, sir!' said the third officer sharply. 'That stanchion--'

He called too late. The hand as it touched the breast-pocket, shotup and clawed at the air. With a voice that was less a cry than astartled grunt, Mr Markham pitched backwards off the fore-deck intothe sea. 

The third officer stared for just a fraction of a second; ran, seizeda life-belt as the liner's length went shooting past; and hurled it--with pretty good aim, too--almost before a man of his working partyhad time to raise the cry of 'Man overboard!' Before the alarmreached the bridge, he had kicked off his shoes; and the last soundin his ears as he dived was the ping of the bell ringing down to theengine-room--a thin note, infinitely distant, speaking out of animmense silence. 

CHAPTER II. 

It was a beautifully clean dive; but in the flurry of the plunge thethird officer forgot for an instant the right upward slant of thepalms, and went a great way deeper than he had intended. By the timehe rose to the surface the liner had slid by, and for a moment or twohe saw nothing; for instinctively he came up facing aft, towards thespot where Mr Markham had fallen, and the long sea running afteryesterday's gale threw up a ridge that seemed to take minutes--thoughin fact it took but a few seconds--to sink and heave up the troughbeyond. By-and-by a life-belt swam up into sight; then another--atleast a dozen had been flung; and beyond these at length, on theclimbing crest of the swell two hundred yards away, the head andshoulders of Mr Markham. By great good luck the first life-belt hadfallen within a few feet of him, and Mr Markham had somehow managedto get within reach and clutch it--a highly creditable feat when itis considered that he was at best a poor swimmer, that the fall hadknocked more than half the breath out of his body, that he hadswallowed close on a pint of salt water, and that a heavy overcoatimpeded his movements. But after this fair first effort Mr Markham, as his clothes weighed him down, began--as the phrase is--to makevery bad weather of it. He made worse and worse weather of it asDick Rendal covered the distance between them with a superlativelyfine side-stroke, once or twice singing out to him to hold on, andkeep a good heart. Mr Markham, whether he heard or no, held on withgreat courage, and even coolness--up to a point. Then of a suddenhis nerve deserted him. He loosed his hold of the life-belt, andstruck out for his Rescuer. Worse, as he sank in the effort and Dickgripped him, he closed and struggled. For half a minute Dick, shaking free of the embrace--and this only by striking him on the jawand half stunning him as they rose on the crest of a swell--was ableto grip him by the collar and drag him within reach of the life-belt. But here the demented man managed to wreathe his legs and arms inanother and more terrible hold. The pair of them were now cursinghorribly, cursing whenever a wave left choking them, and allowed themto cough and sputter for breath. They fought as two men whose liveshad pent up an unmitigable hate for this moment. They fought, neither losing his hold, as their strength ebbed, and the weight oftheir clothes dragged them lower. Dick Rendal's hand still clutchedthe cord of the life-belt, but both bodies were under water, fastlocked, when the liner's boat at length reached the spot. They werehauled on board, as on a long line you haul a fish with a crabfastened upon him; and were laid in the stern-sheets, where theirgrip was with some difficulty loosened. 

It may have happened in the struggle. Or again it may have happenedwhen they were hoisted aboard and lay, for a minute or so, side byside on the deck. Both men were insensible; so far gone indeed thatthe doctor looked serious as he and his helpers began to induceartificial respiration. 

The young third officer 'came round' after five minutes of this;but, strangely enough, in the end he was found to be suffering from aseverer shock than Mr Markham, on whom the doctor operated for a fulltwenty minutes before a flutter of the eyelids rewarded him. They were carried away--the third officer, in a state of collapse, tohis modest berth; Mr Markham to his white-and-gold deck-cabin. On his way thither Mr Markham protested cheerily that he saw noreason for all this fuss; he was as right now, or nearly as right, asthe Bank. 

CHAPTER III. 

How's Rendal getting on?'

Captain Holditch, skipper of the _Carnatic_, put this question nextmorning to the doctor, and was somewhat surprised by the answer. 

'Oh, Rendal's all right. That is to say, he will be all right. Just now he's suffering from shock. My advice--supposing, of course, you can spare him--is to pack him straightaway off to his people on aweek's leave. In a week he'll be fit as a fiddle. ' The doctorpaused and added, ''Wish I could feel as easy about the millionaire. '

'Why, what's the matter with him? 'Struck me he pulled roundwonderfully, once you'd brought him to. He talked as cheery as agrig. 

'H'm--yes, ' said the doctor; 'he has been talking like that eversince, only he hasn't been talking sense. Calls me names for keepinghim in bed, and wants to get out and repair that stanchion. I toldhim it was mended. "Nothing on earth is the matter with me, " heinsisted, till I had to quiet him down with bromide. By the way, didyou send off any account of the accident?'

'By wireless? No; I took rather particular pains to stop that--getsinto the papers, only frightens the family and friends, who concludethings to be ten times worse than they are. Plenty of time atSouthampton. Boat-express'll take him home ahead of the scare?'

'Lives in Park Lane, doesn't he?--that big corner house like agame-pie? . . . Ye-es, you were thoughtful, as usual. . . . Only someone might have been down to the docks to meet him. 'Wish I knew hisdoctor's address. Well, never mind--I'll fix him up so that hereaches Park Lane, anyway. '

'He ought to do something for Rendal, ' mused Captain Holditch. 

'He will, you bet, when his head is right--that's if a millionaire'shead is ever right, ' added the doctor, who held radical opinions onthe distribution of wealth. 

The captain ignored this. He never talked politics even when ashore. 

'As plucky a rescue as ever I witnessed, ' he answered the doctor. 'Yes, of course, I'll spare the lad. Slip a few clothes into hisbag, and tell him he can get off by the first train. Oh, and by theway, you might ask him if he's all right for money; say he can drawon me if he wants any. '

The doctor took his message down to Dick Rendal; 'We're this momentpassing Hurst Castle, ' he announced cheerfully, 'and you may tumbleout if you like. But first I'm to pack a few clothes for you; if youlet me, I'll do it better than the steward. Shore-going clothes, myboy--where do you keep your cabin trunk? Eh? Suit-case, is it?--best leather, nickel locks--no, silver, as I'm a sinner! Hallo, myyoung friend!'--here the doctor looked up, mischief in his eye--'You never struck me as that sort of dude; and fathers and mothersdon't fit their offspring out with silver locks to their suit-cases--or they've altered since my time. Well, you'll enjoy your leave allthe better; and give her my congratulations. The Old Man says youmay get off as soon as we're docked, and stay home till you'verecovered. I dare say it won't be long before you feel better, ' hewound up, with a glance at the suit-case. 

'The Old Man? Yes--yes--Captain Holditch, of course, ' muttered Dickfrom his berth. 

The doctor looked at him narrowly for a moment; but, when he spokeagain, kept by intention the same easy rattling tone. 

'Decent of him, eh?--Yes, and by the way, he asked me to tell youthat, if you shouldn't happen to be flush of money just now, thatneedn't hinder you five minutes. He'll be your banker, and make itright with the Board. '

Dick lay still for half a dozen seconds, as though the words tookthat time in reaching him. Then he let out a short laugh fromsomewhere high on his nose. 

'My banker? Will he? Good Lord!'

'May be, ' said the doctor, dryly; laying out a suit of mufti at thefoot of the bed, 'the Old Man and I belong to the same date. I've heard that youngsters save money nowadays. But when I was yourage that sort of offer would have hit the mark nine times out often. '

He delivered this as a parting shot. Dick, lying on his back andstaring up at a knot in the woodwork over his bunk, received itplacidly. Probably he did not hear. His brow was corrugated in afrown, as though he were working out a sum or puzzling over someproblem. The doctor closed the door softly, and some minutes laterpaid a visit to Mr Markham, whom he found stretched on the couch ofthe white-and-gold deck-cabin, attired in a gray flannelsleeping-suit, and wrapped around the legs with a travelling rug ofdubious hue. 

'That's a good deal better, ' he said cheerfully, after anexamination, in which, while seeming to be occupied with pulses andtemperature, he paid particular attention to the pupils of MrMarkham's eyes. 'We are nosing up the Solent fast--did you know it?Ten minutes ought to see us in Southampton Water; and I supposeyou'll be wanting to catch the first train. '

'I wonder, ' said Mr Markham vaguely, 'if the Old Man will mind. '

The doctor stared for a moment. 'I think we may risk it, ' he said, after a pause; 'though I confess that, last night, I was doubtful. Of course, if you're going to be met, it's right enough. '

'Why should I be met?'

'Well, you see--I couldn't know, could I? Anyway, you ought to seeyour own doctor as soon as you get home. Perhaps, if you gave me hisname, I might scribble a note to him, just to say what has happened. Even big-wigs, you know, don't resent being helped with a littleinformation. '

Mr Markham stared. 'Lord!' said he, 'you're talking as if I kept atame doctor! Why, man, I've never been sick nor sorry since I wentto school. '

'That's not hard to believe. I've ausculted you--sound as a bell, you are: constitution strong as a horse's. Still, a shock is ashock. You've a family doctor, I expect--some one you ring upwhen your liver goes wrong, and you want to be advised to go toMarienbad or some such place--I'd feel easier if I could shift theresponsibility on to him. '

Still Mr Markham stared. 'I've heard about enough of this shock tomy system, ' said he at length. 'But have it your own way. If youwant me to recommend a doctor, my mother swears by an old boy inCraven Street, Strand. I don't know the number, but his name'sLeadbetter, and he's death on croup. '

'Craven Street? That's a trifle off Park Lane, isn't it?--Still, Leadbetter, you say? I'll get hold of the directory, look up hisaddress, and drop him a note or two on the case by this evening'spost. 

A couple of hours later Mr Markham and Dick Rendal almost rubbedshoulders in the crowd of passengers shaking hands with the everpolite Captain Holditch, and bidding the _Carnatic_ good-bye with theusual parting compliments; but in the hurry and bustle no one notedthat the pair exchanged neither word nor look of recognition. The skipper gave Dick an honest clap on the shoulder. 'Doctor'sfixed you up, then? That's right. Make the best of your holiday, and I'll see that the Board does you justice, ' and with that, turnedaway for more hand-shaking. One small thing he did remark. When itcame to Mr Markham's turn, that gentleman, before extending a hand, lifted it to his forehead and gravely saluted. But great men--asCaptain Holditch knew--have their eccentric ways. 

Nor was it remarked, when the luggage came to be sorted out and puton board the boat express, that Dick's porter under his directioncollected and wheeled off Mr Markham's; while Mr Markham picked upDick's suit-case, walked away with it unchallenged to a third-classsmoking compartment and deposited it on the rack. There were threeother passengers in the compartment. 'Good Lord!' ejaculated one, asthe millionaire stepped out to purchase an evening paper. 'Isn't that Markham? Well!--and travelling third!' 'Saving habit--second nature, ' said another. 'That's the way to get rich, my boy. '

Meanwhile Dick, having paid for four places, and thereby secured afirst-class solitude, visited the telegraph office, and shrank thefew pounds in his pocket by sending a number of cablegrams. 

On the journey up Mr Markham took some annoyance from the glances ofhis fellow-passengers. They were furtive, almost reverential, andthis could only be set down to his exploit of yesterday. He thankedHeaven they forbore to talk of it. 

CHAPTER IV. 

In the back-parlour of a bookseller's shop, between the Strand andthe Embankment, three persons sat at tea; the proprietor of the shop, a gray little man with round spectacles and bushy eyebrows, his wife, and a pretty girl of twenty or twenty-one. The girl apparently was avisitor, for she wore her hat, and her jacket lay across the arm ofan old horsehair sofa that stood against the wall in the lamp's halfshadow; and yet the gray little bookseller and his littleDresden-china wife very evidently made no stranger of her. They talked, all three, as members of a family talk, when contentedand affectionate; at haphazard, taking one another for granted, notraising their voices. 

The table was laid for a fourth; and by-and-by they heard him comingthrough the shop--in a hurry too. The old lady, always sensitive tothe sound of her boy's footsteps, looked up almost in alarm, but thegirl half rose from her chair, her eyes eager. 

'I know, ' she said breathlessly. 'Jim has heard--'

'Chrissy here? That's right. ' A young man broke into the room, andstood waving a newspaper. 'The _Carnatic's_ arrived--here it isunder "Stop Press"--I bought the paper as I came by Somerset House--"_Carnatic_ arrived at Southampton 3. 45 this afternoon. Her timefrom Sandy Hook, 5 days, 6 hours, 45 minutes. "

'Then she hasn't broken the record this time, though Dick waspositive she would, ' put in the old lady. During the last six monthsshe had developed a craze for Atlantic records, and knew theperformances of all the great liners by heart. 

'You bad little mother!'--Jim wagged a forefinger at her. 'You don'tdeserve to hear another word. '

'Is there any more?'

'More? Just you listen to this--"Reports heroic rescue. Yesterdayafternoon Mr Markham, the famous Insurance King, accidentally felloverboard from fore deck, and was gallantly rescued by a youngofficer named Kendal"--you bet that's a misprint for Rendal--error inthe wire, perhaps--we'll get a later edition after tea--"who leaptinto the sea and swam to the sinking millionaire, supporting himuntil assistance arrived. Mr Markham had by this afternoon recoveredsufficiently to travel home by the Boat Express. " There, see foryourselves!'

Jim spread the newspaper on the table. 

'But don't they say anything about Dick?' quavered the mother, fumbling with her glasses, while Miss Chrissy stared at the printwith shining eyes. 

'Dick's not a millionaire, mother--though it seems he has beensupporting one--for a few minutes anyway. Well, Chrissy, how doesthat make you feel?'

'You see, my dear, ' said the little bookseller softly, addressing hiswife, 'if any harm had come to the boy, they would have reported itfor certain. '

They talked over the news while Jim ate his tea, and now and againinterrupted with his mouth full; talked over it and speculated uponit in low, excited tones, which grew calmer by degrees. But still awarm flush showed on the cheeks of both the women, and the littlebookseller found it necessary to take out his handkerchief atintervals and wipe his round spectacles. 

He was wiping them perhaps for the twentieth time, and announcingthat he must go and relieve his assistant in the shop, when theassistant's voice was heard uplifted close outside--as it seemed, inremonstrance with a customer. 

'Hallo!' said the little bookseller, and was rising from his chair, when the door opened. A middle-aged, Jewish-looking man, wrapped tothe chin in a shabby ulster and carrying a suit-case, stood on thethreshold, and regarded the little party. 

'Mother!' cried Mr Markham. 'Chrissy!'

He set down the suit-case and took two eager strides. Old Mrs. Rendal, the one immediately menaced, shrank back into Jim's arms ashe started up with his throat working to bolt a mouthful of cake. Chrissy caught her breath. 

'Who in thunder are you, sir?' demanded Jim. 

'Get out of this, unless you want to be thrown out!'

'Chrissy!' again appealed Mr Markham, but in a fainter voice. He hadcome to a standstill, and his hand went slowly up to his forehead. 

Chrissy pointed to the suit-case. 'It's--it's Dick's!' she gasped. Jim did not hear. 

'Mr Wenham, ' he said to the white-faced assistant in the doorway;'will you step out, please, and fetch a policeman?'

'Excuse me. ' Mr Markham took his hand slowly from his face, andspread it behind him, groping as he stepped backwards to the door. 'I--I am not well, I think'--he spoke precisely, as though each wordas it came had to be held and gripped. 'The address'--here he turnedon Chrissy with a vague, apologetic smile--'faces--clear in my head. Mistake--I really beg your pardon. '

'Get him some brandy, Jim, ' said the little bookseller. 'The gentleman is ill, whoever he is. '

But Mr Markham turned without another word, and lurched past theassistant, who flattened himself against a bookshelf to give himroom. Jim followed him through the shop; saw him cross the doorstepand turn away down the pavement to the left; stared in his wake untilthe darkness and the traffic swallowed him; and returned, softlywhistling, to the little parlour. 

'Drunk's the simplest explanation, ' he announced. 

'But how did he know my name?' demanded Chrissy. 'And thesuit-case!'

'Eh?' He's left it--well, if this doesn't beat the band!--Here, Wenham nip after the man and tell him he left his luggage behind!'Jim stooped to lift the case by the handle. 

'But it's Dick's!'

'Dick's?'

'It's the suit-case I gave him--my birthday present last April. See, there are his initials!'

CHAPTER V. 

Dick Rendal, alighting at Waterloo, collected his luggage--or rather, Mr Markham's--methodically; saw it hoisted on a four-wheeler; and, handing the cabby two shillings, told him to deliver it at an addressin Park Lane, where the butler would pay him his exact fare. Thisdone, he sought the telegraph office and sent three more cablegrams, the concise wording of which he had carefully evolved on the way upfrom Southampton. These do not come into the story, --which maydigress, however, so far as to tell that on receipt of one of them, the Vice-President of the Hands Across Central New York Officeremarked to his secretary 'that the old warrior was losing no time. Leisure and ozone would appear to have bucked him up. ' To which thesecretary answered that it was lucky for civilisation if Mr Markhammissed suspecting, or he'd infallibly make a corner in both. 

Having despatched his orders, Dick Rendal felt in his pockets for acigar-case; was annoyed and amused (in a sub-conscious sort of way)to find only a briar pipe and a pocketful of coarse-cut tobacco;filled and lit his pipe, and started to walk. 

His way led him across Westminster Bridge, up through Whitehall, andbrought him to the steps of that building which, among all the greatLondon clubs, most exorbitantly resembles a palace. He mounted itsperron with the springy confident step of youth; and that same springand confidence of gait carried him past the usually vigilant porter. A marble staircase led him to the lordliest smoking-room in London. He frowned, perceiving that his favourite arm-chair was occupied by asomnolent Judge of the High Court, and catching up the _Revue desDeux Mondes_, settled himself in a window-bay commanding the greattwilit square of the Horse Guards and the lamp-lit Mall. 

He had entered the smoking-room lightly, almost jauntily; but--not adoubt of it--he was tired--so tired that he shuffled his body twiceand thrice in the arm-chair before discovering the precise angle thatgave superlative comfort. . . . 

'I beg your pardon, sir. '

Dick opened his eyes. A liveried footman stood over his chair, andwas addressing him. 

'Eh? Did I ring? Yes, you may bring me a glass of liqueur brandy. As quickly as possible, if you please; to tell the truth, George, I'mnot feeling very well. '

The man started at hearing his name, but made no motion to obey theorder. 

'I beg your pardon, sir, but the secretary wishes to see you in hisroom. '

'The secretary? Mr Hood? Yes, certainly. ' Dick rose. 'I--I amafraid you must give me your arm, please. A giddiness--the ship'smotion, I suppose. '

The secretary was standing at his door in the great vestibule as Dickcame down the staircase on the man's arm. 

'I beg your pardon, ' he said, 'but may I have your name? The porterdoes not recognise you, and I fear that I am equally at fault. '

'My name?'--with the same gesture that Mr Markham had used in thelittle back parlour, Dick passed a hand over his eyes. He laughed, and even to his own ears the laugh sounded vacant, foolish. 

'Are you a member of the club, sir?'

'I--I thought I was. ' The marble pillars of the atrium were swayingabout him like painted cloths, the tesselated pavement heaving androcking at his feet. 'Abominably stupid of me, ' he muttered, 'unpardonable, you must think. '

The secretary looked at him narrowly, and decided that he was reallyill; that there was nothing in his face to suggest the impostor. 

'Come into my room for a moment, ' he said, and sent the footmanupstairs to make sure that no small property of the Club was missing. 'Here, drink down the brandy. . . . Feeling better? You are aware, no doubt, that I might call in the police and have you searched?'

For a moment Dick did not answer, but stood staring with rigid eyes. At length, --

'They--won't--find--what--I--want, ' he said slowly, dropping out thewords one by one. The secretary now felt certain that here was agenuine case of mental derangement. With such he had no desire to betroubled; and so, the footman bringing word that nothing had beenstolen, he dismissed Dick to the street. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The brandy steadying him, Dick went down the steps with a fairly firmtread. But he went down into a world that for him was all darkness--darkness of chaos--carrying an entity that was not his, but belongedHeaven knew to whom. 

The streets, the traffic, meant nothing to him. Their roar waswithin his head; and on his ears, nostrils, chest, lay a pressure asof mighty waters. Rapidly as he walked, he felt himself all thewhile to be lying fathoms deep in those waters, face downwards, withdrooped head, held motionless there while something within himstruggled impotently to rise to the surface. The weight that heldhim down, almost to bursting, was as the weight of tons. 

The houses, the shop-fronts, the street-lamps, the throng of darkfigures, passed him in unmeaning procession. Yet all the time hisfeet, by some instinct, were leading him towards the water; andby-and-by he found himself staring--still face downwards--into ablack inverted heaven wherein the lights had become stars and swayedonly a little. 

He had, in fact, halted, and was leaning over the parapet of theEmbankment, a few yards from Cleopatra's Needle; and as he passed theplinth some impression of it must have bitten itself on the retina;for coiled among the stars lay two motionless sphinxes green-eyed, with sheathed claws, watching lazily while the pressure bore him downto them, and down--and still down. . . . 

Upon this dome of night there broke the echo of a footfall. A thousand footsteps had passed him, and he had heard none of them. But this one, springing out of nowhere, sang and repeated itself andre-echoed across the dome, and from edge to edge. Dick's fingersdrew themselves up like the claws of the sphinx. The footsteps drewnearer while he crouched: they were close to him. Dick leapt atthem, with murder in his spring. 

Where the two men grappled, the parapet of the Embankment opens on aflight of river-stairs. Mr Markham had uttered no cry; nor did asound escape either man as, locked in that wrestle, they swayed overthe brink. 

They were hauled up, unconscious, still locked in each other's arms. 

'Queer business, ' said one of the rescuers as he helped to loosentheir clasp, and lift the bodies on board the Royal Humane Society'sfloat. Looks like murderous assault. But which of 'em done it bythe looks, now?'

Five minutes later Dick's eyelids fluttered. For a moment he staredup at the dingy lamp swinging overhead; then his lips parted in acry, faint, yet sharp--

'Take care, sir! That stanchion--'

But Mr Markham's first words were, 'Plucky! devilish plucky!--owe youmy life, my lad. '

 * * * * * * 

Transcriber's note:

In "My Christmas Burglary" I corrected the following apparenttypographical errors:

 "Europe and the Bull" to "Europa and the Bull". 

 "we most lose no time " to "we must lose no time"

 "Exuse me sir" to Excuse me sir".