[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D. W. ]

TRAIL OF THE SWORD

By Gilbert Parker

CONTENTS:

EPOCH THE FIRSTI. AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARYII. THE THREAT OF A RENEGADEIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOWIV. THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDSV. THE FRUITS OF THE LAWVI. THE KIDNAPPING

EPOCH THE SECONDVII. FRIENDS IN COUNCILVIII. AS SEEN THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLYIX. TO THE PORCH OF THE WORLDX. QUI VIVE!XI. WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLEXII. OUT OF THE NET

EPOCH THE THIRDXIII. "AS WATER UNTO WINE"XIV. IN WHICH THE HUNTERS ARE OUTXV. IN THE MATTER OF BUCKLAWXVI. IN THE TREASURE HOUSEXVII. THE GIFT OF A CAPTIVEXVIII. MAIDEN NO MORE

EPOCH THE FOURTHXIX. WHICH TELLS OF A BROTHER'S BLOOD CRYING FROM THE GROUNDXX. A TRAP IS SETXXI. AN UNTOWARD MESSENGERXXII. FROM TIGER'S CLAW TO LION'S MOUTHXXIII. AT THE GATES OF MISFORTUNEXXIV. IN WHICH THE SWORD IS SHEATHED

WHEREIN IS SET FORTH THE HISTORY OF JESSICA LEVERET, AS ALSO THAT OFPIERRE LE MOYNE OF IBERVILLE, GEORGE GERING, AND OTHER BOLD SPIRITS;TOGETHER WITH CERTAIN MATTERS OF WAR, AND THE DEEDS OF ONE EDWARDBUCKLAW, MUTINEER AND PIRATE

DEDICATION

 My Dear Father:

 Once, many years ago, in a kind of despair, you were impelled to say that I would "never be anything but a rascally lawyer. " This, it may be, sat upon your conscience, for later you turned me gravely towards Paley and the Thirty-nine Articles; and yet I know that in your deepest soldier's heart, you really pictured me, how unavailingly, in scarlet and pipe-clay, and with sabre, like yourself in youth and manhood. In all I disappointed you, for I never had a brief or a parish, and it was another son of yours who carried on your military hopes. But as some faint apology--I almost dare hope some recompense for what must have seemed wilfulness, I send you now this story of a British soldier and his "dear maid, " which has for its background the old city of Quebec, whose high ramparts you walked first sixty years ago; and for setting, the beginning of those valiant fightings, which, as I have heard you say, "through God's providence and James Wolfe, gave England her best possession. "

 You will, I feel sure, quarrel with the fashion of my campaigns, and be troubled by my anachronisms; but I beg you to remember that long ago you gave my young mind much distress when you told that wonderful story, how you, one man, "surrounded" a dozen enemies, and drove them prisoners to headquarters. "Surrounded" may have been mere lack of precision, but it serves my turn now, as you see. You once were--and I am precise here--a gallant swordsman: there are legends yet of your doings with a crack Dublin bully. Well, in the last chapter of this tale you shall find a duel which will perhaps recall those early days of this century, when your blood was hot and your hand ready. You would be distrustful of the details of this scene, did I not tell you that, though the voice is Jacob's the hand is another's. Swordsmen are not so many now in the army or out of it, that, among them, Mr. Walter Herrim Pollock's name will have escaped you: so, if you quarrel, let it be with Esau; though, having good reason to be grateful to him, that would cause me sorrow. 

 My dear father, you are nearing the time-post of ninety years, with great health and cheerfulness; it is my hope you may top the arch of your good and honourable life with a century key-stone. 

 Believe me, sir, Your affectionate son, GILBERT PARKER. 

15th September, 1894, 7 Park Place, St. James's S. W. 

INTRODUCTION

THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD

This book, like Mrs. Falchion, was published in two volumes in January. That was in 1894. It appeared first serially in the Illustrated LondonNews, for which paper, in effect, it was written, and it also appeared ina series of newspapers in the United States during the year 1893. Thiswas a time when the historical novel was having its vogue. Mr. StanleyWeyman, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and a good many others were followingthe fashion, and many of the plays at the time were also historical--so-called. I did not write The Trail of the Sword because it was inkeeping with the spirit of the moment. Fashion has never in the leastinfluenced my writing or my literary purposes. Whatever may be thoughtof my books, they represent nothing except my own bent of mind, my ownwilful expression of myself, and the setting forth of that which seizedmy imagination. 

I wrote The Trail of the Sword because the early history of thestruggles between the French and English and the North American Continentinterested me deeply and fascinated my imagination. Also, I had a mostintense desire to write of the Frenchman of the early days of the oldregime; and I have no idea why it was so, because I have no French bloodin my veins nor any trace of French influence in my family. There is, however, the Celtic strain, the Irish blood, immediate of the tang, as itwere, and no doubt a sympathy between the Celtic and the Gallic strain isvery near, and has a tendency to become very dear. It has always been adifficulty for me to do anything except show the more favourable side ofFrench character and life. 

I am afraid that both in The Trail of the Sword, which was the forerunnerof The Seats of the Mighty, the well sunk, in a sense, out of which thelatter was drawn, I gave my Frenchman the advantage over his Englishrival. In The Trail of the Sword, the gallant French adventurer'schivalrous but somewhat merciless soul, makes a better picture than doeshis more phlegmatic but brave and honourable antagonist, George Gering. Also in The Seats of the Mighty, Doltaire, the half-villain, overshadowsthe good English hero from first to last; and yet, despite theunconscious partiality for the individual in both books, Englishcharacter and the English as a race, as a whole, are dominant in thenarrative. 

There is a long letter, as a dedication to this book, addressed to myfather; there is a note also, which explains the spirit in which the bookwas written, and I have no desire to enlarge this introduction in thepresence of these prefaces to the first edition. But I may say that thisbook was gravely important to me, because it was to test all my capacityfor writing a novel with an historical background, and, as it were, inthe custom of a bygone time. It was not really the first attempt athandling a theme belonging to past generations, because I had written forGood Words, about the year 1890, a short novel which I called The ChiefFactor, a tale of the Hudson's Bay Company. It was the first novel ortale of mine which secured copyright under the new American copyright actof 1892. 

There was a circumstance connected with this publication which isinteresting. When I arrived in New York, I had only three days in whichto have the book printed in order to secure the copyright before GoodWords published the novel as its Christmas annual in its entirety. Itried Messrs. Harper & Brothers, and several other publishers by turn, but none of them could undertake to print the book in the time. At lastsome kind friend told me to go to the Trow Directory Binding Company, which I did. They said they could not print the story in the time. I begged them to reconsider. I told them how much was at stake for me. I said that I would stay in the office and read the proofs as they camefrom the press, and would not move until it was finished. Refusal hadbeen written on the lips and the face of the manager at the beginning, but at last I prevailed. He brought the foreman down there and then. Each of us, elated by the conditions of the struggle, determined to pullthe thing off. We printed that book of sixty-five thousand words or so, in forty-eight hours, and it arrived in Washington three hours before thetime was up. I saved the copyright, and I need hardly say that mygratitude to the Trow Directory Binding Company was as great as theirdelight in having done a really brilliant piece of work. 

The day after the copyright was completed, I happened to mention theincident to Mr. Archibald Clavering Gunter, author of Mr. Barnes of NewYork, who had a publishing house for his own books. He immediately mademe an offer for The Chief Factor. I hesitated, because I had beendealing with great firms like Harpers, and, to my youthful mind, itseemed rather beneath my dignity to have the imprint of so new a firm asthe Home Publishing Company on the title-page of my book. I asked theadvice of Mr. Walter H. Page, then editor of The Forum, now one of theproprietors of The World's Work and Country Life, and he instantly said:"What difference does it make who publishes your book? It is the publicyou want. "

I did not hesitate any longer. The Chief Factor went to Mr. ArchibaldClavering Gunter and the Home Publishing Company, and they made a verylarge sale of it. I never cared for the book however; it seemed stiltedand amateurish, though some of its descriptions and some of its dialogueswere, I think, as good as I can do; so, eventually, in the middlenineties, I asked Mr. Gunter to sell me back the rights in the book andgive me control of it. This he did. I thereupon withdrew it frompublication at once, and am not including it in this subscriptionedition. I think it better dead. But the writing of it taught me betterhow to write The Trail of the Sword; though, if I had to do this bookagain, I could construct it better. 

I think it fresh and very vigorous, and I think it does not lackdistinction, while a real air of romance--of refined romance--pervadesit. But I know that Mr. W. E. Henley was right when, after mostgenerously helping me to revise it, with a true literary touchwonderfully intimate and affectionate, he said to me: "It is just notquite big, but the next one will get home. "

He was right. The Trail of the Sword is "just not quite, " though I thinkit has charm; but it remained for The Seats of the Mighty to get home, as"W. E. H. ", the most exacting, yet the most generous, of critics, said. 

This book played a most important part in a development of my literarywork, and the warm reception by the public--for in England it has beenthrough its tenth edition, and in America through proportionatethousands--was partly made possible by the very beautiful illustrationswhich accompanied its publication in The Illustrated London News. Theartist was A. L. Forestier, and never before or since has my workreceived such distinguished pictorial exposition, save, perhaps, in TheWeavers, when Andre Castaigne did such triumphant work. It is a joystill to look at the illustrations of The Trail of the Sword, for, absolutely faithful to the time, they add a note of verisimilitude to thetale. 

A NOTE

The actors in this little drama played their parts on the big stage of anew continent two hundred years ago. Despots sat upon the thrones ofFrance and England, and their representatives on the Hudson and the St. Lawrence were despots too, with greater opportunity and to better ends. In Canada, Frontenac quarreled with his Intendant and his Council, seta stern hand upon the Church when she crossed with his purposes, cajoled, treated with, and fought the Indians by turn, and cherished a runningquarrel with the English Governor of New York. They were striving forthe friendship of the Iroquois on the one hand, and for the trade of theGreat West on the other. The French, under such men as La Salle, hadpushed their trading posts westward to the great lakes and beyond theMissouri, and north to the shores of Hudson's Bay. They traded andfought and revelled, hot with the spirit of adventure, the best ofpioneers and the worst of colonists. Tardily, upon their trail, came theEnglish and the Dutch, slow to acquire but strong to hold; not so rash inadventure, nor so adroit in intrigue, as fond of fighting, but with lessof the gift of the woods, and much more the faculty for government. There was little interchange of friendliness and trade between the rivalcolonists; and Frenchmen were as rare on Manhattan Island as Englishmenon the heights of Quebec--except as prisoners. 

 G. P. 

THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD

EPOCH THE FIRSTI. AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARYII. THE THREAT OF A RENEGADEIII. THE FACE AT THE WINDOWIV. THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDSV. THE FRUITS OF THE LAWVI. THE KIDNAPPING

CHAPTER I

AN ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY

One summer afternoon a tall, good-looking stripling stopped in the midstof the town of New York, and asked his way to the governor's house. Heattracted not a little attention, and he created as much astonishmentwhen he came into the presence of the governor. He had been announced asan envoy from Quebec. "Some new insolence of the County Frontenac!"cried old Richard Nicholls, bringing his fist down on the table. For afew minutes he talked with his chamberfellow; then, "Show the gentlemanin, " he added. In the room without, the envoy from Quebec had stoodflicking the dust from his leggings with a scarf. He was not more thaneighteen, his face had scarcely an inkling of moustache, but he had aneasy upright carriage, with an air of self-possession, the keenest ofgrey eyes, a strong pair of shoulders, a look of daring about his ratherlarge mouth, which lent him a manliness well warranting his presentservice. He had been left alone, and the first thing he had done was toturn on his heel and examine the place swiftly. This he seemed to domechanically, not as one forecasting danger, not as a spy. In the curveof his lips, in an occasional droop of his eyelids, there was asuggestion of humour: less often a quality of the young than of the old. For even in the late seventeenth century, youth took itself seriously attimes. 

Presently, as he stood looking at the sunshine through the open door, a young girl came into the lane of light, waved her hand, with a littlelaugh, to some one in the distance, and stepped inside. At first she didnot see him. Her glances were still cast back the way she had come. The young man could not follow her glance, nor was he anything curious. Young as he was, he could enjoy a fine picture. There was a prettydemureness in the girl's manner, a warm piquancy in the turn of the neck, and a delicacy in her gestures, which to him, fresh from hard hours inthe woods, was part of some delightful Arcady--though Arcady was more inhis veins than of his knowledge. For the young seigneur of New Francespent far more hours with his gun than with his Latin, and knew his bush-ranging vassal better than his tutor; and this one was too complete atype of his order to reverse its record. He did not look to his scantylace, or set himself seemingly; he did but stop flicking the scarf heldloose in his fingers, his foot still on the bench. A smile played at hislips, and his eyes had a gleam of raillery. He heard the girl say in asoft, quaint voice, just as she turned towards him, "Foolish boy!" Bythis he knew that the pretty picture had for its inspiration one of hisown sex. 

She faced him, and gave a little cry of surprise. Then their eyes met. Immediately he made the most elaborate bow of all his life, and she swepta graceful courtesy. Her face was slightly flushed that this strangershould have seen, but he carried such an open, cordial look that shepaused, instead of hurrying into the governor's room, as she had seemedinclined to do. 

In the act the string of her hat, slung over her arm, came loose, and thehat fell to the floor. Instantly he picked it up and returned it. Neither had spoken a word. It seemed another act of the light pantomimeat the door. As if they had both thought on the instant how droll itwas, they laughed, and she said to him naively: "You have come to visitthe governor? You are a Frenchman, are you not?"

To this in slow and careful English, "Yes, " he replied; "I have come fromCanada to see his excellency. Will you speak French?"

"If you please, no, " she answered, smiling; "your English is better thanmy French. But I must go. " And she turned towards the door of thegovernor's room. 

"Do not go yet, " he said. "Tell me, are you the governor's daughter?"

She paused, her hand at the door. "Oh no, " she answered; then, in asprightly way--"are you a governor's son?"

"I wish I were, " he said, "for then there'd be a new intendant, and we'dput Nick Perrot in the council. "

"What is an intendant?" she asked, "and who is Nick Perrot?"

"Bien! an intendant is a man whom King Louis appoints to worry thegovernor and the gentlemen of Canada, and to interrupt the trade. Nicolas Perrot is a fine fellow, and a great coureur du bois, and helpsto get the governor out of troubles to-day, the intendant to-morrow. He is a splendid fighter. Perrot is my friend. "

He said this, not with an air of boasting, but with a youthful andenthusiastic pride, which was relieved, by the twinkle in his eyes andhis frank manner. 

"Who brought you here?" she asked demurely. "Are they inside with thegovernor?"

He saw the raillery; though, indeed, it was natural to suppose that hehad no business with the governor, but had merely come with some one. The question was not flattering. His hand went up to his chin a littleawkwardly. She noted how large yet how well-shaped it was, or, rather, she remembered afterwards. Then it dropped upon the hilt of the rapierhe wore, and he answered with good self-possession, though a little hotspot showed on his cheek: "The governor must have other guests who areno men of mine; for he keeps an envoy from Count Frontenac long in hisanteroom. "

The girl became very youthful indeed, and a merry light danced in hereyes and warmed her cheek. She came a step nearer. "It is not so?You do not come from Count Frontenac--all alone, do you?"

"I'll tell you after I have told the governor, " he answered, pleased andamused. 

"Oh, I shall hear when the governor hears, " she answered, with a softquaintness, and then vanished into the governor's chamber. She hadscarce entered when the door opened again, and the servant, a Scotsman, came out to say that his excellency would receive him. He went brisklyforward, but presently paused. A sudden sense of shyness possessed him. It was not the first time he had been ushered into vice-regal presence, but his was an odd position. He was in a strange land, charged with anembassy which accident had thrust upon him. Then, too, the presence ofthe girl had withdrawn him for an instant from the imminence of his duty. His youth came out of him, and in the pause one could fairly see him turninto man. 

He had not the dark complexion of so many of his race, but was ratherSaxon in face, with rich curling brown hair. Even in that brave time onemight safely have bespoken for him a large career. And even while theScotsman in the doorway eyed him with distant deprecation, as he eyed allFrenchmen, good and bad, ugly or handsome, he put off his hesitation andentered the governor's chamber. Colonel Nicholls came forward to greethim, and then suddenly stopped, astonished. Then he wheeled upon thegirl. "Jessica, you madcap!" he said in a low voice. 

She was leaning against a tall chair, both hands grasping the back of it, her chin just level with the top. She had told the governor that CountFrontenac had sent him a lame old man, and that, enemy or none, he oughtnot to be kept waiting, with arm in sling and bandaged head. Seated atthe table near her was a grave member of the governor's council, WilliamDrayton by name. He lifted a reproving finger at her now, but with asmile on his kindly face, and "Fie, fie, young lady!" he said, in awhisper. 

Presently the governor mastered his surprise, and seeing that the youngman was of birth and quality, extended his hand cordially enough, andsaid: "I am glad to greet you, sir;" and motioned him to a seat. "But, pray, sit down, " he added, "and let us hear the message Count Frontenachas sent. Meanwhile we would be favoured with your name and rank. "

The young man thrust a hand into his doublet and drew forth a packet ofpapers. As he handed it over, he said in English--for till then thegovernor had spoken French, having once served with the army of France, and lived at the French Court: "Your excellency, my name is Pierre leMoyne of Iberville, son of Charles le Moyne, a seigneur of Canada, ofwhom you may have heard. " (The governor nodded. ) "I was not sent byCount Frontenac to you. My father was his envoy: to debate with youour trade in the far West and our dealings with the Iroquois. "

"Exactly, " said old William Drayton, tapping the table with hisforefinger; "and a very sound move, upon my soul. "

"Ay, ay, " said the governor, "I know of your father well enough. A goodfighter and an honest gentleman, as they say. But proceed, Monsieur leMoyne of Iberville. "

"I am called Iberville, " said the young man simply. Then: "My father andmyself started from Quebec with good Nick Perrot, the coureur du bois--"

"I know him too, " the governor interjected--"a scoundrel worth his weightin gold to your Count Frontenac. "

"For whose head Count Frontenac has offered gold in his time, " answeredIberville, with a smile. 

"A very pretty wit, " said old William Drayton, nodding softly towards thegirl, who was casting bright, quizzical glances at the youth over theback of the chair. 

Iberville went on: "Six days ago we were set upon by a score of yourIndians, and might easily have left our scalps with them; but, as itchanced, my father was wounded, I came off scot-free, and we had thejoy of ridding your excellency of half a dozen rogues. "

The governor lifted his eyebrows and said nothing. The face of the girlover against the back of the chair had become grave. 

"It was in question whether Perrot or I should bear Count Frontenac'smessage. Perrot knew the way, I did not; Perrot also knew the Indians. "

"But Perrot, " said the governor blufily, "would have been the letter-carrier; you are a kind of ambassador. Upon my soul, yes, a sort ofambassador!" he added, enjoying the idea; for, look at it how you would, Iberville was but a boy. 

"That was my father's thought and my own, " answered Iberville coolly. "There was my father to care for till his wound was healed and he couldtravel back to Quebec, so we thought it better Perrot should stay withhim. A Le Moyne was to present himself, and a Le Moyne has done so. "

The governor was impressed more deeply than he showed. It was a time ofpeace, but the young man's journey among Indian braves and Englishoutlaws, to whom a French scalp was a thing of price, was hard andhazardous. His reply was cordial, then his fingers came to the sealof the packet; but the girl's hand touched his arm. 

"I know his name, " she said in the governor's ear, "but he does not knowmine. "

The governor patted her hand, and then rejoined: "Now, now, I forgot thelady; but I cannot always remember that you are full fifteen years old. "

Standing up, with all due gravity and courtesy, "Monsieur Iberville, " hesaid, "let me present you to Mistress Jessica Leveret, the daughter of mygood and honoured and absent friend, the Honourable Hogarth Leveret. "

So the governor and his councillor stood shoulder to shoulder at onewindow, debating Count Frontenac's message; and shoulder to shoulder atanother stood Iberville and Jessica Leveret. And what was between theseat that moment--though none could have guessed it--signified as much tothe colonies of France and England, at strife in the New World, as thedeliberations of their elders. 

CHAPTER II

THE THREAT OF A RENEGADE

Iberville was used to the society of women. Even as a young lad, hisfather's notable place in the colony, and the freedom and gaiety of lifein Quebec and Montreal, had drawn upon him a notice which was as much apromise of the future as an accent of the present. And yet, through allof it, he was ever better inspired by the grasp of a common soldier, whohad served with Carignan-Salieres, or by the greeting and gossip of suchwoodsmen as Du Lhut, Mantet, La Durantaye, and, most of all, his staunchfriend Perrot, chief of the coureurs du bois. Truth is, in his veins wasthe strain of war and adventure first and before all. Under his tutor, the good Pere Dollier de Casson, he had never endured his classics, savefor the sake of Hector and Achilles and their kind; and his knowledge ofEnglish, which his father had pressed him to learn, --for he himself hadfelt the lack of it in dealings with Dutch and English traders, --onlygrew in proportion as he was given Shakespeare and Raleigh to explore. 

Soon the girl laughed up at him. "I have been a great traveller, " shesaid, "and I have ears. I have been as far west as Albany and south toVirginia, with my father, who, perhaps you do not know, is in Englandnow. And they told me everywhere that Frenchmen are bold, dark men, withgreat black eyes and very fine laces and wigs, and a trick of bowing andmaking foolish compliments; and they are not to be trusted, and they willnot fight except in the woods, where there are trees to climb. But I seethat it is not all true, for you are not dark, your eyes are not big orblack, your laces are not much to see, you do not make compliments--"

"I shall begin now, " he interrupted. 

"--you must be trusted a little, or Count Frontenac would not send you, and--and--tell me, would you fight if you had a chance?"

No one of her sex had ever talked so to Iberville. Her demure raillery, her fresh, frank impertinence, through which there ran a pretty air ofbreeding, her innocent disregard of formality, all joined to impress him, to interest him. He was not so much surprised at the elegance andcleverness of her speech, for in Quebec girls of her age were skilled inlanguages and arts, thanks to the great bishop, Laval, and to Marie ofthe Incarnation. In response to her a smile flickered upon his lips. Hehad a quick fierce temper, but it had never been severely tried; and sowell used was he to looking cheerfully upon things, so keen had been hiszest in living, that, where himself was concerned, his vanity was noteasily touched. So, looking with genial dryness, "You will hardlybelieve it, of course, " he said, "but wings I have not yet grown, and thewalking is bad 'twixt here and the Chateau St. Louis. "

"Iroquois traps, " she suggested, with a smile. "With a trick or two ofEnglish footpads, " was his reply. 

Meanwhile his eye had loitered between the two men in council at thefarther window and the garden, into which he and the girl were looking. Presently he gave a little start and a low whistle, and his eyelidsslightly drooped, giving him a handsome sulkiness. "Is it so?" he saidbetween his teeth: "Radisson--Radisson, as I live!"

He had seen a man cross a corner of the yard. This man was short, dark-bearded, with black, lanky hair, brass earrings, and buckskin leggings, all the typical equipment of the French coureur du bois. Iberville hadonly got one glance at his face, but the sinister profile could never beforgotten. At once the man passed out of view. The girl had not seenhim, she had been watching her companion. Presently she said, herfingers just brushing his sleeve, for he stood eyeing the point where theman had disappeared: "Wonderful! You look now as if you would fight. Oh, fierce, fierce as the governor when he catches a French spy!"

He turned to her and, with a touch of irony, "Pardon!" he retorted. "Now I shall look as blithe as the governor when a traitor deserts tohim. "

Of purpose he spoke loud enough to be heard by the governor and hisfriend. The governor turned sharply on him. He had caught the ring inthe voice, that rash enthusiasm of eager youth, and, taking a steptowards Iberville, Count Frontenac's letter still poised in his hand:"Were your words meant for my hearing, monsieur?" he said. "Were youspeaking of me or of your governor?"

"I was thinking of one Radisson a traitor, and I was speaking ofyourself, your excellency. "

The governor had asked his question in French, in French the reply wasgiven. Both the girl and Councillor Drayton followed with difficulty. Jessica looked a message to her comrade in ignorance. The old mantouched the governor's arm. "Let it be in English if monsieur iswilling. He speaks it well. "

The governor was at work to hide his anger: he wished good greeting toCount Frontenac's envoy, and it seemed not fitting to be touched by thecharges of a boy. "I must tell you frankly, Monsieur Iberville, " hesaid, "that I do not choose to find a sort of challenge in your words;and I doubt that your father, had he been here, would have spoke quite soroundly. But I am for peace and happy temper when I can. I may not helpit if your people, tired of the governance of Louis of France, come intothe good ruling of King Charles. As for this man Radisson: what is ityou would have?"

Iberville was now well settled back upon his native courage. He swallowed the rebuke with grace, and replied with frankness: "Radissonis an outlaw. Once he attempted Count Frontenac's life. He sold a bandof our traders to the Iroquois. He led your Hollanders stealthily to cutoff the Indians of the west, who were coming with their year's furs toour merchants. There is peace between your colony and ours--is it fairto harbour such a wretch in your court-yard? It was said up in Quebec, your excellency, that such men have eaten at your table. "

During this speech the governor seemed choleric, but a change passedover him, and he fell to admiring the lad's boldness. "Upon my soul, monsieur, " he said, "you are council, judge, and jury all in one; but Ithink I need not weigh the thing with you, for his excellency, from whomyou come, has set forth this same charge, "--he tapped the paper, --"and wewill not spoil good-fellowship by threshing it now. " He laughed a littleironically. "And I promise you, " he added, "that your Radisson shallneither drink wine nor eat bread with you at my table. And now, come, let us talk awhile together; for, lest any accident befall the packet youshall bear, I wish you to carry in your memory, with great distinctness, the terms of my writing to your governor. I would that it were not to bewritten, for I hate the quill, and I've seen the time I would ratherpoint my sword red than my quill black. "

By this the shadows were falling. In the west the sun was slipping downbehind the hills, leaving the strong day with a rosy and radiant glamour, that faded away in eloquent tones to the grey, tinsel softness of thezenith. Out in the yard a sumach bush was aflame. Rich tiger-liliesthrust in at the sill, and lazy flies and king bees boomed in and out ofthe window. Something out of the sunset, out of the glorious freshnessand primal majesty of the new land, diffused through the room where thosefour people stood, and made them silent. Presently the governor drew hischair to the table, and motioned Councillor Drayton and Iberville to beseated. 

The girl touched his arm. "And where am I to sit?" she asked demurely. Colonel Nicholls pursed his lips and seemed to frown severely on her. "To sit? Why, in your room, mistress. Tut, tut, you are too bold. If I did not know your father was coming soon to bear you off, new ordersshould be issued. Yes, yes, e'en as I say, " he added, as he saw thelaughter in her eyes. 

She knew that she could wind the big-mannered soldier about her finger. She had mastered his household; she was the idol of the settlement, her flexible intelligence, the flush of the first delicate bounty ofwomanhood had made him her slave. In a matter of vexing weight he wouldnot have let her stay, but such deliberatings as he would have withIberville could well bear her scrutiny. He reached out to pinch hercheek, but she deftly tipped her head and caught his outstretchedfingers. "But where am I to sit?" she persisted. "Anywhere, then, butat the council-table, " was his response, as he wagged a finger at her andsat down. Going over she perched herself on a high stool in the windowbehind Iberville. He could not see her, and, if he thought at all aboutit, he must have supposed that she could not see him. Yet she could; foragainst the window-frame was a mirror, and it reflected his face and thedoings at the board. She did not listen to the rumble of voices. Shefell to studying Iberville. Once or twice she laughed softly to herself. 

As she turned to the window a man passed by and looked in at her. Hislook was singular, and she started. Something about his face wasfamiliar. She found her mind feeling among far memories, for even thepast of the young stretches out interminably. She shuddered, and atroubled look came into her eyes. Yet she could not remember. Sheleaned slightly forward, as if she were peering into that by-gone worldwhich, maybe, is wider than the future for all of us--the past. Her eyesgrew deep and melancholy. The sunset seemed to brighten around her allat once, and enmesh her in a golden web, burnishing her hair, and it fellacross her brow with a peculiar radiance, leaving the temples in shadow, softening and yet lighting the carmine of her cheeks and lips, giving afeeling of life to her dress, which itself was like dusty gold. Herhands were caught and clasped at her knees. There was somethingspiritual and exalted in the picture. It had, too, a touch of tragedy, for something out of her nebulous past had been reflected in faintshadows in her eyes, and this again, by strange, delicate processes, wasexpressed in every line of her form, in all the aspect of her face. Itwas as if some knowledge were being filtered to her through myriadatmospheres of premonition; as though the gods in pity foreshadowed agreat trouble, that the first rudeness of misery might be spared. 

She did not note that Iberville had risen, and had come round the tableto look over Councillor Drayton's shoulder at a map spread out. Afterstanding a moment watching, the councillor's finger his pilot, he startedback to his seat. As he did so he caught sight of her still in thatpoise of wonderment and sadness. He stopped short, then glanced atColonel Nicholls and the councillor. Both were bent over the map, talking in eager tones. He came softly round the table, and was aboutto speak over her shoulder, when she drew herself up with a little shiverand seemed to come back from afar. Her hands went up to her eyes. Thenshe heard him. She turned quickly, with the pageant of her dreams stillwavering in her face; smiled at him distantly, looked towards the windowagain in a troubled way, then stepped softly and swiftly to the door, andpassed out. Iberville watched the door close and turned to the window. Again he saw, and this time nearer to the window, Radisson, and with himthe man who had so suddenly mastered Jessica. 

He turned to Colonel Nicholls. "Your excellency, " he said, "will you notlet me tell Count Frontenac that you forbid Radisson your purlieus? For, believe me, sir, there is no greater rogue unhanged, as you shall findsome day to the hurt of your colony, if you shelter him. "

The governor rose and paced the room thoughtfully. "He is proclaimed byFrontenac?" he asked. 

"A price is on his head. As a Frenchman I should shoot him like a wolfwhere'er I saw him; and so I would now were I not Count Frontenac'sambassador and in your excellency's presence. "

"You speak manfully, monsieur, " said the governor, not ill-pleased; "buthow might you shoot him now? Is he without there?" At this he came towhere Iberville stood, and looked out. "Who is the fellow with him?"he asked. 

"A cut-throat scoundrel, I'll swear, though his face is so smug, " saidIberville. "What think you sir?" turning to the councillor, who waspeering between their shoulders. 

"As artless yet as strange a face as I have ever seen, " answered themerchant. "What's his business here, and why comes he with the otherrogue? He would speak with your excellency, I doubt not, " he added. 

Colonel Nicholls turned to Iberville. "You shall have your way, " hesaid. "Yon renegade was useful when we did not know what sudden game wasplaying from Chateau St. Louis; for, as you can guess, he has friends asfaithless as himself. But to please your governor, I will proclaim him. "

He took his stick and tapped the floor. Waiting a moment, he tappedagain. There was no sign. He opened the door; but his Scots body-guardwas not in sight. "That's unusual, " he said. Then, looking round:"Where is our other councillor? Gone?" he laughed. "Faith, I did notsee her go. And now we can swear that where the dear witch is willMorris, my Scotsman, be found. Well, well! They have their way with uswhether we will or no. But, here, I'll have your Radisson in at once. "

He was in act to call when Morris entered. With a little hasty rebukehe gave his order to the man. "And look you, my good Morris, " he added, "tell Sherlock and Weir to stand ready. I may need the show offirearms. "

Turning to Iberville, he said: "I trust you will rest with us some days, monsieur. We shall have sports and junketings anon. We are not yet sogrim as our friends in Massachusetts. "

"I think I might venture two days with you, sir, if for nothing else, to see Radisson proclaimed. Count Frontenac would gladly cut months fromhis calendar to know you ceased to harbour one who can prove no friend, "was the reply. 

The governor smiled. "You have a rare taste for challenge, monsieur. To be frank, I will say your gift is more that of the soldier than theenvoy. But upon my soul, if you will permit me, I think no less of youfor that. "

Then the door opened, and Morris brought in Radisson. The keen, sinistereyes of the woodsman travelled from face to face, and then restedsavagely on Iberville. He scented trouble, and traced it to its source. Iberville drew back to the window and, resting his arm on the high stoolwhere Jessica had sat, waited the event. Presently the governor cameover to him. 

"You can understand, " he said quietly, "that this man has been used by mypeople, and that things may be said which--"

Iberville waved his hand respectfully. "I understand, your excellency, "he said. "I will go. " He went to the door. 

The woodsman as he passed broke out: "There is the old saying of thewoods, 'It is mad for the young wolf to trail the old bear. '"

"That is so, " rejoined Iberville, with excellent coolness, "if the wolfholds not the spring of the trap. "

In the outer room were two soldiers and the Scot. He nodded, passed intothe yard, and there he paced up and down. Once he saw Jessica's face ata window, he was astonished to see how changed. It wore a grave, anapprehensive look. He fell to wondering, but, even as he wondered, hishabit of observation made him take in every feature of the governor'shouse and garden, so that he could have reproduced all as it was mirroredin his eye. Presently he found himself again associating Radisson'scomrade with the vague terror in Jessica's face. At last he saw thefellow come forth between two soldiers, and the woodsman turned his headfrom side to side, showing his teeth like a wild beast at sight ofIberville. His black brows twitched over his vicious eyes. "There aremany ways to hell, Monsieur Iberville, " he said. "I will show you one. Some day when you think you tread on a wisp of straw, it will be a snakewith the deadly tooth. You have made an outlaw--take care! When theoutlaw tires of the game, he winds it up quick. And some one pays forthe candles and the cards. "

Iberville walked up to him. "Radisson, " he said in a voice wellcontrolled, "you have always been an outlaw. In our native country youwere a traitor; in this, you are the traitor still. I am not sorry foryou, for you deserve not mercy. Prove me wrong. Go back to Quebec;offer to pay with your neck, then--"

"I will have my hour, " said the woodsman, and started on. 

"It's a pity, " said Iberville to himself--"as fine a woodsman as Perrot, too!"

CHAPTER III

THE FACE AT THE WINDOW

At the governor's table that night certain ladies and gentlemen assembledto do the envoy honour. There came, too, a young gentleman, son of adistinguished New Englander, his name George Gering, who was now in NewYork for the first time. The truth is, his visit was to Jessica, his oldplaymate, the mistress of his boyhood. Her father was in England, hermother had been dead many years, and Colonel Nicholls and his sisterbeing kinsfolk, a whole twelvemonth ago she had been left with them. Herfather had thought at first to house her with his old friend EdwardGering, but he loved the Cavalier-like tone of Colonel Nicholls'shousehold better than the less inspiriting air which Madam Puritan Geringsuffused about her home. Himself in early youth had felt the austerityof a Cavalier father turned a Puritan on a sudden, and he wished no suchexperience for his daughter. For all her abundancy of life and feeling, he knew how plastic and impressionable she was, and he dreaded to seethat exaltation of her fresh spirit touched with gloom. She was his onlychild, she had been little out of his sight, her education had gone onunder his own care, and, in so far as was possible in a new land, he hadsurrounded her with gracious influences. He looked forward to anydefinite separation (as marriage) with apprehension. Perhaps one of thereasons why he chose Colonel Nicholls's house for her home, was a fearlest George Gering should so impress her that she might somehow changeere his return. And in those times brides of sixteen were common as nowthey are rare. 

She sat on the governor's left. All the brightness, the soft piquancy, which Iberville knew, had returned; and he wondered--fortunate to knowthat wonder so young--at her varying moods. She talked little, and mostwith the governor; but her presence seemed pervasive, the aura in herveins flowed from her eye and made an atmosphere that lighted even thescarred and rather sulky faces of two officers of His Majesty near. Theyhad served with Nicholls in Spain, but not having eaten King Louis'sbread, eyed all Frenchmen askance, and were not needlessly courteous toIberville, whose achievements they could scarce appreciate, having doneno Indian fighting. 

Iberville sat at the governor's end, Gering at the other. It was noticedby Iberville that Gering's eyes were much on Jessica, and in the spiritof rivalry, the legitimate growth of race and habit, he began to speak toher with the air of easy but deliberate playfulness which marked theirfirst meeting. 

Presently she spoke across the table to him, after Colonel Nicholls hadpledged him heartily over wine. The tone was a half whisper as of awe, in reality a pretty mockery. "Tell me, " she said, "what is the bravestand greatest thing you ever did?"

"Jessica, Jessica!" said the governor in reproof. An old Dutch burgherlaughed into his hand, and His Majesty's officers cocked their ears, forthe whisper was more arresting than any loud talk. Iberville coloured, but the flush passed quickly and left him unembarrassed. He was nothurt, not even piqued, for he felt well used to her dainty raillery. Buthe saw that Gering's eyes were on him, and the lull that fell as by acommon instinct--for all could not have heard the question--gave him athrill of timidity. But, smiling, he said drily across the table, hisvoice quiet and clear: "My bravest and greatest thing was to answer anEnglish lady's wit in English. "

A murmur of applause ran round, and Jessica laughed and clapped herhands. For the first time in his life Gering had a pang of jealousy andenvy. Only that afternoon he had spent a happy hour with Jessica in thegovernor's garden, and he had then made an advance upon the simplerelations of their life in Boston. She had met him without self-consciousness, persisting in her old ways, and showing only when she lefthim, and then for a breath, that she saw his new attitude. Now the eyesof the two men met, and Gering's dark face flushed and his brow lowered. Perhaps no one saw but Iberville, but he, seeing, felt a sudden desire toplay upon the other's weakness. He was too good a sportsman to showtemper in a game; he had suddenly come to the knowledge that love, too, is a game, and needs playing. By this time the dinner was drawing to itsclose and now a singular thing happened. As Jessica, with demureamusement, listened to the talk that followed Iberville's sally, shechanced to lift her eyes to a window. She started, changed colour, andgave a little cry. The governor's hand covered hers at once as hefollowed her look. It was a summer's night and the curtained windowswere partly open. Iberville noted that Jessica's face wore the self-sameshadow as in the afternoon when she had seen the stranger with Radisson. 

"What was it, my dear?" said the governor. 

She did not answer, but pressed his hand nervously. "A spy, I believe, "said Iberville, in a low voice. "Yes, yes, " said Jessica in a halfwhisper; "a man looked in at the window; a face that I have seen--butI can't remember when. "

The governor went to the window and drew the curtains. There was nothingto see. He ordered Morris, who stood behind his chair, to have theground searched and to bring in any straggler. Already both the officerswere on their way to the door, and at this point it opened and let in asoldier. He said that as he and his comrade were returning from theirduty with Radisson they saw a man lurking in the grounds and seized him. He had made no resistance, and was now under guard in the ante-room. Thegovernor apologised to his guests, but the dinner could not be endedformally now, so the ladies rose and retired. Jessica, making a mightyeffort to recover herself, succeeded so well that ere she went she wasable to reproach herself for her alarm; the more so because thegovernor's sister showed her such consideration as would be given afrightened child--and she had begun to feel something more. 

The ladies gone, the governor drew his guests about him and ordered inthe prisoner. Morris spoke up, saying that the man had begged aninterview with the governor that afternoon, but, being told that hisexcellency was engaged, had said another hour would do. This man was theprisoner. He came in under guard, but he bore himself quietly enough andmade a low bow to the governor. He was not an ill-favoured fellow. Hiseye was steely cold, but his face was hearty and round, and remarkablyfree from viciousness. He had a cheerful air and an alert freedom ofmanner, which suggested good-fellowship and honest enterprise. 

Where his left hand had been was an iron hook, but not obtrusively inview, nor did it give any marked grimness to his appearance. Indeed, theeffect was almost comical when he lifted it and scratched his head andthen rubbed his chin with it; it made him look part bumpkin and partsailor. He bore the scrutiny of the company very well, and presentlybowed again to the governor as one who waited the expression of thatofficer's goodwill and pleasure. 

"Now, fellow, " said the colonel, "think yourself lucky my soldiers heredid not shoot you without shrift. You chance upon good-natured times. When a spying stranger comes dangling about these windows, my men aregiven to adorning the nearest tree with him. Out with the truth now. Who and what are you, and why are you here?"

The fellow bowed. "I am the captain of a little trading schooner, theNell Gwynn, which anchors in the roadstead till I have laid some privatebusiness before your excellency and can get on to the Spanish Indies. "

"Business--private business! Then what in the name of all that'sinfernal, " quoth Nicholls, "brought your sneaking face to yon window tofright my lady-guests?" The memory of Jessica's alarm came hotly to hismind. "By Heaven, " he said, "I have a will to see you lifted, for meansto better manners. "

The man stood very quiet, now and again, however, raising the hook tostroke his chin. He showed no fear, but Iberville, with his habit ofobservation, caught in his eyes, shining superficially with a sailor'sopen honesty, a strange ulterior look. "My business, " so he answeredNicholls, "is for your excellency's ears. " He bowed again. 

"Have done with scraping. Now, I tell you what, my gentle spy, if yourbusiness hath not concern, I'll stretch you by your fingers there to ourpublic gallows, and my fellows shall fill you with small shot as full asa pod of peas. "

The governor rose and went into another room, followed by this strangevisitor and the two soldiers. There he told the guard to wait at thedoor, which entered into the ante-room. Then he unlocked a drawer andtook out of it a pair of pistols. These he laid on the table (for heknew the times), noting the while that the seaman watched him with apensive, deprecating grin. 

"Well, sir, " he said sharply (for he was something nettled), "out withyour business, and your name in preface. "

"My name is Edward Bucklaw, and I have come to your excellency becauseI know there is no braver and more enterprising gentleman in the world. "He paused. "So much for preamble; now for the discourse. "

"By your excellency's leave. I am a poor man. I have only my littlecraft and a handful of seamen picked up at odd prices. But there's goldand silver enough I know of, owned by no man, to make cargo and ballastfor the Nell Gwynn, or another twice her size. "

"Gold and silver, " said the governor, cocking his ear and eyeing hisvisitor up and down. Colonel Nicholls had an acquisitive instinct; hewas interested. "Well, well, gold and silver, " he continued, "to fillthe Nell Gwynn and another! And what concern is that of mine? Let yourwords come plain off your tongue; I have no time for foolery. "

"'Tis no foolery on my tongue, sir, as you may please to see. "

He drew a paper from his pocket and shook it out as he came a littlenearer, speaking all the while. His voice had gone low, running to asoft kind of chuckle, and his eyes were snapping with fire, whichIberville alone had seen was false. "I have come to make yourexcellency's fortune, if you will stand by with a good, stout shipand a handful of men to see me through. "

The governor shrugged his shoulders. "Babble, " he said, "all babble andbubble. But go on. "

"Babble, your honour! Every word of it is worth a pint of guineas; andthis is the pith of it. Far down West Indies way, some twenty-five, maybe, or thirty years ago, there was a plate ship wrecked upon a reef. I got it from a Spaniard, who had been sworn upon oath to keep it secretby priests who knew. The priests were killed and after a time theSpaniard died also, but not until he had given me the ways whereby Ishould get at what makes a man's heart rap in his weasand. "

"Let me see your chart, " said the governor. 

A half-hour later he rose, went to the door, and sent a soldier for thetwo king's officers. As he did so, Bucklaw eyed the room doors, windows, fireplaces, with a grim, stealthy smile trailing across his face. Thensuddenly the good creature was his old good self again--the comfortableshrewdness, the buoyant devil-may-care, the hook stroking the chinpensively. And the king's officers came in, and soon all four were busywith the map. 

CHAPTER IV

THE UPLIFTING OF THE SWORDS

Iberville and Gering sat on with the tobacco and the wine. The older menhad joined the ladies, the governor having politely asked them to do sowhen they chose. The other occupant of the room was Morris, who stillstood stolidly behind his master's chair. 

For a time he heard the talk of the two young men as in a kind of dream. Their words were not loud, their manner was amicable enough, if thesharing of a bottle were anything to the point. But they were sittingalmost the full length of the table from him, and to quarrel courteouslyand with an air hath ever been a quality in men of gentle blood. 

If Morris's eyesight had been better, he would have seen that Geringhandled his wine nervously, and had put down his long Dutch pipe. Hewould also have seen that Iberville was smoking with deliberation, anddrinking with a kind of mannered coolness. Gering's face was flushed, his fine nostrils were swelling viciously, his teeth showed white againsthis red lips, and his eyes glinted. There was a kind of devilry atIberville's large and sensuous mouth, but his eyes were steady andprovoking, and while Gering's words went forth pantingly, Iberville'swere slow and concise, and chosen with the certainty of a lapidary. 

It is hard to tell which had started the quarrel, but an edge was ontheir talk from the beginning. Gering had been moved by a boyishjealousy; Iberville, who saw the injustice of his foolish temper, hadplayed his new-found enemy with a malicious adroitness. The aboriginalpassions were strong in him. He had come of a people which had to dowith essentials in the matter of emotions. To love, to hate, to fight, to explore, to hunt, to be loyal, to avenge, to bow to Mother Church, to honour the king, to beget children, to taste outlawry under a morerefined name, and to die without whining: that was its range of duty, and a very sufficient range it was. 

The talk had been running on Bucklaw. It had then shifted to Radisson. Gering had crowded home with flagrant emphasis the fact that, whileRadisson was a traitor and a scoundrel, --which Iberville himself hadadmitted with an ironical frankness, --he was also a Frenchman. It wasat this point that Iberville remembered, also with something of irony, the words that Jessica had used that afternoon when she came out of thesunshine into the ante-room of the governor's chamber. She had waved herhand into the distance and had said: "Foolish boy!" He knew very wellthat that part of the game was turned against him, but with a kind ofcheerful recklessness, as was ever his way with odds against him, and heguessed that the odds were with Gering in the matter of Jessica, --he bentacross the table and repeated them with an exasperating turn to hisimperfect accent. "Foolish boy!" he said, and awaited, not for long, the event. 

"A fool's lie, " retorted Gering, in a low, angry voice, and spilled hiswine. 

At that Iberville's heart thumped in his throat with anger, and the roofof his mouth became dry; never in his life had he been called a liar. The first time that insult strikes a youth of spirit he goes a littlemad. 

But he was very quiet--an ominous sort of quietness, even in a boy. Hegot to his feet and leaned over the table, speaking in words that droppedon the silence like metal: "Monsieur, there is but one answer. "

At this point Morris, roused from his elaborate musings, caught, not veryclearly, at the meaning of it all. But he had not time to see more, forjust then he was called by the governor, and passed into the room whereMammon, for the moment, perched like a leering, little dwarf upon theshoulders of adventurous gentlemen grown avaricious on a sudden. 

"Monsieur, there is but one way. Well?" repeated Iberville. 

"I am ready, " replied Gering, also getting to his feet. The Frenchmanwas at once alive to certain difficulties. He knew that an envoy shouldnot fight, and that he could ask no one to stand his second; also that itwould not be possible to arrange a formal duel between opposites so youngas Gering and himself. He sketched this briefly, and the Bostoniannodded moody assent. "Come, then, " said Iberville, "let us find a place. My sword is at my hand. Yours?"

"Mine is not far off, " answered Gering sullenly. Iberville forbore topoint a moral, but walked to the mantel, above which hung two swords offinest steel, with richly-chased handles. He had noted them as soon ashe had entered the room. "By the governor's leave, " he said, and tookthem down. "Since we are to ruffle him let him furnish the spurs--eh?Shall we use these, and so be even as to weapons? But see, " he added, with a burst of frankness, "I am in a--a trouble. " It was not easy onthe instant to find the English word. He explained the duties of hismission. It was singular to ask his enemy that he should see his papershanded to Count Frontenac if he were killed, but it was characteristic ofhim. 

"I will see the papers delivered, " said Gering, with equal frankness. 

"That is, if by some miraculous chance I should be killed, " addedIberville. "But I have other ends in view. "

"I have only one end in view, " retorted Gering. "But wait, " he said, asthey neared the door leading into the main hall; "we may be seen. Thereis another way into the grounds through a little hall here. " He turnedand opened a door almost as small as a panel. "I was shown this secretdoor the other day, and since ours is a secret mission let us use it. "

"Very well. But a minute more, " said Iberville. He went and unhooked afine brass lantern, of old Dutch workmanship, swung from the ceiling by achain. "We shall need a light, " he remarked. 

They passed into the musty little hallway, and Gering with somedifficulty drew back the bolts. The door creaked open and they steppedout into the garden, Iberville leading the way. He had not conned his surroundings thatafternoon for nothing, and when they had reached a quiet place amongsome firs he hung the lantern to the branch of a tree, opening the littleornamental door so that the light streamed out. There was not much ofit, but it would serve, and without a word, like two old warriors, theytook off their coats. 

Meanwhile Morris had returned to the dining-room to find Jessica standingagaze there. She had just come in; for, chancing to be in her bed-chamber, which was just over the secret hallway, she had heard Geringshoot the bolts. Now, the chamber was in a corner, so that the windowfaced another way, but the incident seemed strange to her, and she stoodfor a moment listening. Then hearing the door shut, she ran down thestairs, knocked at the dining-room door and, getting no answer, entered, meeting Morris as he came from the governor's room. 

"Morris, Morris, " she said, "where are they all?"

"The governor is in his room, mistress. "

"Who are with him?" He told her. 

"Where are the others?" she urged. "Mr. Gering and Monsieur Iberville--where are they?"

The man's eyes had flashed to the place where the swords were used tohang. "Lord God!" he said under his breath. 

Her eyes had followed his. She ran forward to the wall and threw up herhands against it. "Oh Morris, " she said distractedly, "they have takenthe swords!" Then she went past him swiftly through the panel and theouter door. She glanced around quickly, running, as she did so, with akind of blind instinct towards the clump of firs. Presently she saw alittle stream of light in the trees. Always a creature of abundantenergy and sprightliness, she swept through the night, from the comedybehind to the tragedy in front; the grey starlight falling about herwhite dress and making her hair seem like a cloud behind her as she ran. Suddenly she came in on the two sworders with a scared, transfiguredface. 

Iberville had his man at an advantage, and was making the most of it whenshe came in at an angle behind the other, and the sight of her stayed hisarm. It was but for a breath, but it served. Gering had not seen, andhis sword ran up Iberville's arm, making a little trench in the flesh. 

She ran in on them from the gloom, saying in a sharp, aching voice:"Stop, stop! Oh, what madness!" The points dropped and they steppedback. She stood between them, looking from one to the other. At thatmoment Morris burst in also. "In God's name, " he said, "is this yourhonouring of the king's governor! Ye that have eat and drunk at histable the night! Have ye nae sense o' your manhood, young gentlemen, that for a mad gossip ower the wine ye wend into the dark to cut eachother's throats? Think--think shame, baith o' ye, being as ye are ofthem that should know better. "

Gering moodily put on his coat and held his peace. Iberville tossed hissword aside, and presently wrung the blood from his white sleeve. Thegirl saw him, and knew that he was wounded. She snatched a scarf fromher waist and ran towards him. "You are wounded, " she said. "Oh, takethis!"

"I am so much sorry, indeed, " he answered coolly, winding the scarf abouthis arm. "Mistress Leveret came too soon. "

His face wore a peculiar smile, but his eyes burned with anger; his voicewas not excited. Immediately, however, as he looked at Jessica, his moodseemed to change. 

"Morris, " he said, "I am sorry. Mademoiselle, " he added, "pardon! Iregret whatever gives you pain. " Gering came near to her, and Ibervillecould see that a flush stole over Jessica's face as he took her hand andsaid: "I am sorry--that you should have known. "

"Good!" said Iberville, under his breath. "Good! he is worth fightingagain. "

A moment afterwards Morris explained to them that if the matter could behushed he would not impart it to the governor--at least, not untilIberville had gone. Then they all started back towards the house. Itdid not seem incongruous to Iberville and Gering to walk side by side;theirs was a superior kind of hate. They paused outside the door, onMorris's hint, that he might see if the coast was clear, and return theswords to their place on the wall. 

Jessica turned in the doorway. "I shall never forgive you, " she said, and was swallowed by the darkness. "Which does she mean?" askedIberville, with a touch of irony. The other was silent. 

In a moment Morris came back to tell them that they might come, for thedining-room was empty still. 

CHAPTER V

THE FRUITS OF THE LAW

Bucklaw having convinced the governor and his friends that down in theSpaniards' country there was treasure for the finding, was told that hemight come again next morning. He asked if it might not be lateafternoon instead, because he had cargo from the Indies for sale, and inthe morning certain merchants were to visit his vessel. Truth to tell hewas playing a deep game. He wanted to learn the governor's plans for thenext afternoon and evening, and thought to do so by proposing this samechange. He did not reckon foolishly. The governor gave him tounderstand that there would be feasting next day: first, because itwas the birthday of the Duke of York; secondly, because it was theanniversary of the capture from the Dutch; and, last of all, becausethere were Indian chiefs to come from Albany to see New York and himselffor the first time. The official celebration would begin in theafternoon and last till sundown, so that all the governor's time must befully occupied. But Bucklaw said, with great candour, that unfortunatelyhe had to sail for Boston within thirty-six hours, to keep engagementswith divers assignees for whom he had special cargo. If his excellency, he said, would come out to his ship the next evening when the shows weredone, he would be proud to have him see his racketing little craft; andit could then be judged if, with furbishing and armaments, she could byany means be used for the expedition. Nicholls consented, and asked theking's officers if they would accompany him. This they were exceedinglyglad to do: so that the honest shipman's good nature and politeness werevastly increased, and he waved his hook in so funny and so boyish a wayit set them all a-laughing. 

So it was arranged forthwith that he should be at a quiet point on theshore at a certain hour to row the governor and his friends to the NellGwynn. And, this done, he was bade to go to the dining-room and refreshhimself. 

He obeyed with cheerfulness, and was taken in charge by Morris, who, having passed on Iberville and Gering to the drawing-room, was once moreat his post, taciturn as ever. The governor and his friends had gonestraight to the drawing-room, so that Morris and he were alone. Wine wasset before the sailor and he took off a glass with gusto, his eye cockedhumorously towards his host. "No worse fate for a sinner, " quoth he;"none better for a saint. "

Morris's temper was not amiable. He did not like the rascal. "Ay, " saidhe, "but many's the sinner has wished yon wish, and footed it from thestocks to the gallows. "

Bucklaw laughed up at him. It was not a pretty laugh, and his eyes wereinsolent and hard. But that, changed almost on the instant. "A goodthrust, mighty Scot, " he said. "Now what say you to a pasty, or a stripof beef cut where the juice runs, and maybe the half of a broiled fowl?"

Morris, imperturbably deliberate, left the room to seek the kitchen. Bucklaw got instantly to his feet. His eye took in every window anddoor, and ran along the ceiling and the wall. There was a sudden clickin the wall before him. It was the door leading to the unused hallway, which had not been properly closed and had sprung open. He caught up acandle, ran over, entered the hallway, and gave a grunt of satisfaction. He hastily and softly drew the bolts of the outer door, so that any onemight come in from the garden, then stepped back into the dining-room andclosed the panel tight behind him, remarking with delight that it had nospring-lock, and could be opened from the hallway. He came back quicklyto the table, put down the candle, took his seat, stroked his chin withhis hook, and chuckled. When Morris came back, he was holding his winewith one hand while he hummed a snatch of song and drummed lightly on thetable with the hook. Immediately after came a servant with a tray, andthe Scotsman was soon astonished, not only at the buxomness of hisappetite, but at the deftness with which he carved and handled thingswith what he called his "tiger. " And so he went on talking and eating, and he sat so long that Jessica, as she passed into the corridor and upthe stairs, wearied by the day, heard his voice uplifted in song. It soworked upon her that she put her hands to her ears, hurried to her room, and threw herself upon the bed in a distress she could set down to noreal cause. 

Before the governor and his guests parted for the night, Iberville, as hemade his adieus to Gering, said in a low voice: "The same place and timeto-morrow night, and on the same conditions?"

"I shall be happy, " said Gering, and they bowed with great formality. 

The governor had chanced to hear a word or two and, thinking it was somegame of which they spoke, said: "Piquet or a game of wits, gentlemen?"

"Neither, your excellency, " quoth Gering--"a game called fox and goose. "

"Good, " said Iberville, under his breath; "my Puritan is waking. "

The governor was in ripe humour. "But it is a game of wits, then, afterall. Upon my soul, you two should fence like a pair of veterans. "

"Only for a pass or two, " said Iberville dryly. "We cannot keep it up. "

All this while a boat was rowing swiftly from the shore of the islandtowards a craft carrying Nell Gwynn beneath the curious, antiquefigurehead. There were two men in her, and they were talking gloatinglyand low. 

"See, bully, how I have the whole thing in my hands. Ha! Received bythe governor and his friends! They are all mad for the doubloons, whichare not for them, my Radisson, but for you and me, and for a greater thanColonel Richard Nicholls. Ho, ho! I know him--the man who shall leadthe hunt and find the gold--the only man in all that cursed Boston whoseheart I would not eat raw, so help me Judas! And his name--no. That isto come. I will make him great. "

Again he chuckled. "Over in London they shall take him to their bosoms. Over in London his blessed majesty shall dub him knight--treasure-troveis a fine reason for the touch of a royal sword--and the king shall say:'Rise, Sir William'--No, it is not time for the name; but it is notRichard Nicholls, it is not Hogarth Leveret. " He laughed like a boy. "I have you, Hogarth Leveret, in my hand, and by God I will squeeze youuntil there is a drop of heart's blood at every pore of your skin!"

Now and again Radisson looked sideways at him, a sardonic smile at hislip. At last: "Bien, " he said, "you are merry. So--I shall be merrytoo, for I have scores to wipe away, and they shall be wiped clean--clean. "

"You are with me, then, " the pirate asked; "even as to the girl?"

"Even as to the girl, " was the reply, with a brutal oath. 

"That is good, dear lad. Blood of my soul, I have waited twelve years--twelve years. "

"You have not told me, " rejoined the Frenchman; "speak now. "

"There is not much to tell, but we are to be partners once and for all. See, my beauty. He was a kite-livered captain. There was gold on board. We mutinied and put him and four others--their livers were like his own--in a boat with provisions plenty. Then we sailed for Boston. We neverthought the crew of skulkers would reach land, but by God they drifted inagain the very hour we found port. We were taken and condemned. First, I was put into the stocks, hands and feet, till I was fit for thepillory; from the pillory to the wooden horse. " Here he laughed, and thelaugh was soft and womanlike. "Then the whipping-post, when I was madepulp from my neck to my loins. After that I was to hang. I was the onlyone they cooked so; the rest were to hang raw. I did not hang; I brokeprison and ran. For years I was a slave among the Spaniards. Yearsmore--in all, twelve--and then I came back with the little chart for onething, this to do for another. Who was it gave me that rogues' marchfrom the stocks to the gallows's foot? It was Hogarth Leveret, who dealsout law in Massachusetts in the king's name, by the grace of God. It wasmy whim to capture him and take him on a journey--such a journey as hewould go but once. Blood of my soul, the dear lad was gone. But therewas his child. See this: when I stood in the pillory a maid one daybrought the child to the foot of the platform, lifted it up in her armsand said: 'Your father put that villain there. ' That woman was sister toone of the dogs we'd set adrift. The child stared at me hard, and Ilooked at her, though my eyes were a little the worse for wear, so thatshe cried out in great fright--the sweet innocent! and then the wenchtook her away. When she saw my face to-night--to-day--it sent her wild, but she did not remember. " He rubbed his chin in ecstasy and drummed hisknee. "Ha! I cannot have the father--so I'll have the goodly child, andgreat will be the ransom. Great will be the ransom, my Frenchman!" Andonce more he tapped Radisson with the tiger. 

CHAPTER VI

THE KIDNAPPING

The rejoicing had reached its apogee, and was on the wane. The Puritanhad stretched his austereness to the point of levity; the Dutchman hadcomfortably sweated his obedience and content; the Cavalier had paced itwith a pretty air of patronage and an eye for matron and maid; theIndian, come from his far hunting-grounds, bivouacked in the governor'spresence as the pipe of peace went round. 

About twilight the governor and his party had gone home. Deep inceremonial as he had been, his mind had run upon Bucklaw and theSpaniards' country. So, when the dusk was growing into night, the hourcame for his visit to the Nell Gwynn. With his two soldier friends andCouncillor Drayton, he started by a roundabout for the point where helooked to find Bucklaw. Bucklaw was not there: he had other fish to fry, and the ship's lights were gone. She had changed her anchorage sinceafternoon. 

"It's a bold scheme, " Bucklaw was saying to his fellow-ruffian in thegovernor's garden, "and it may fail, yet 'twill go hard, but we'll saveour skins. No pluck, no pence. Once again, here's the trick of it. I'll go in by the side door I unlocked last night, hide in the hallway, then enter the house quietly or boldly, as the case may be. Plan one: amessage from his excellency to Miss Leveret, that he wishes her to joinhim on the Nell Gwynn. Once outside it's all right. She cannot escapeus. We have our cloaks and we have the Spanish drug. Plan two: make herours in the house. Out by this hall door-through the grounds--to thebeach--the boat in waiting--and so, up anchor and away! Both risky, asyou see, but the bolder the game the sweeter the spoil. You're sure herchamber is above the hallway, and that there's a staircase to it from themain hall?"

"I am very well sure. I know the house up-stairs and down. "

Bucklaw looked to his arms. He was about starting on his quest when theyheard footsteps, and two figures appeared. It was Iberville and Gering. They paused a moment not far from where the rogues were hid. 

"I think you will agree, " said Iberville, "that we must fight. "

"I have no other mind. "

"You will also be glad if we are not come upon, as last night; though, confess, the lady gave you a lease of life?"

"If she comes to-night, I hope it will be when I have done with you, "answered Gering. 

Iberville laughed a little, and the laugh had fire in it--hatred, and thejoy of battle. "Shall it be here or yonder in the pines, where we werein train last night?"

"Yonder. "

"So. " Then Iberville hummed ironically a song:

 "Oh, bury me where I have fought and fallen, Your scarf across my shoulder, lady mine. "

They passed on. "The game is in our hands, " said Bucklaw. "I understandthis thing. That's a pair of gallant young sprigs, but the choice isyour Frenchman, Radisson. "

"I'll pink his breast-bone full of holes if the other doesn't--curse him. "

A sweet laugh trickled from Bucklaw's lips like oil. "That's neitherhere nor there. I'd like to have him down Acapulco way, dear lad. . . And now, here's my plan all changed. I'll have my young lady out to stopthe duel, and, God's love, she'll come alone. Once here she's ours, andthey may cut each other's throats as they will, sweetheart. "

He crossed the yard, tried the door, --unlocked, as he had left it, --pushed it open, and went in, groping his way to the door of the dining-room. He listened, and there was no sound. Then he heard some one goin. He listened again. Whoever it was had sat down. Very carefully hefelt for the spring and opened the door. Jessica was seated at the tablewith paper and an ink-horn before her. She was writing. Presently shestopped--the pen was bad. She got up and went away to her room. Instantly Bucklaw laid his plan. He entered as she disappeared, went tothe table and looked at the paper on which she had been writing. It borebut the words, "Dear Friend. " He caught up the quill and wrote hurriedlybeneath them, this:

"If you'd see two gentlemen fighting, go now where you stopped them lastnight. The wrong one may be killed unless. "

With a quick flash of malice he signed, in half a dozen lightning-likestrokes, with a sketch of his hook. Then he turned, hurried into thelittle hall, and so outside, and posted himself beside a lilac bush, drawing down a bunch of the flowers to drink in their perfume. Jessica, returning, went straight to the table. Before she sat down she looked upto the mantel, but the swords were there. She sighed, and a tearglistened on her eyelashes. She brushed it away with her daintyfingertips and, as she sat down, saw the paper. She turned pale, caughtit up, read it with a little cry, and let it drop with a shudder of fearand dismay. She looked round the room. Everything was as she had leftit. She was dazed. She stared at the paper again, then ran and openedthe panel through which Bucklaw had passed, and found the outer doorajar. With a soft, gasping moan she passed into the garden, went swiftlyby the lilac bush and on towards the trees. Bucklaw let her do so; itwas his design that she should be some way from the house. But, hiddenby the bushes, he was running almost parallel with her. On the otherside of her was Radisson, also running. She presently heard them andswerved, poor child, into the gin of the fowler! But as the cloak wasthrown over her head she gave a cry. 

The firs, where Iberville and Gering had just plucked out their swords, were not far, and both men heard. Gering, who best knew the voice, saidhurriedly: "It is Jessica!"

Without a word Iberville leaped to the open, and came into it ahead ofGering. They saw the kidnappers and ran. Iberville was the first tofind what Bucklaw was carrying. "Mother of God, " he called, "they'retaking her off!"

"Help! help!" cried Gering, and they pushed on. The two ruffians wererunning hard, but it had been an unequal race at the best, and Jessicalay unconscious in Bucklaw's arms, a dead weight. Presently they plungedinto the bushes and disappeared. Iberville and Gering passed through thebushes also, but could neither see nor hear the quarry. Gering was wildwith excitement and lost his presence of mind. Meanwhile Iberville wentbeating for a clue. He guessed that he was dealing with good woodsmen, and that the kidnappers knew some secret way out of the garden. It wasso. The Dutch governor had begun to build an old-fashioned wall with anarrow gateway, so fitted as to seem part of it. Through this the twohad vanished. 

Iberville was almost in despair. "Go back, " he suddenly said to Gering, "and rouse the house and the town. I will get on the trail again if Ican. "

Gering started away. In this strange excitement their own foolishquarrel was forgotten, and the stranger took on himself to command; hewas, at least, not inexperienced in adventure and the wiles of desperatemen. All at once he came upon the wall. He ran along it, and presentlyhis fingers felt the passage. An instant and he was outside and makingfor the shore, in the sure knowledge that the ruffians would take to thewater. He thought of Bucklaw, and by some impossible instinct divinedthe presence of his hand. Suddenly he saw something flash on the ground. He stooped and picked it up. It was a shoe with a silver buckle. Hethrilled to the finger-tips as he thrust it in his bosom and pushed on. He was on the trail now. In a few moments he came to the waterside. Helooked to where he had seen the Nell Gwynn in the morning, and there wasnever a light in view. Then a twig snapped, and Bucklaw, the girl in hisarms, came bundling out of the trees upon the bank. He had sent Radissonon ahead to warn his boat's crew. 

He saw Iberville as soon as Iberville saw him. He knew that the townwould be roused by this time and the governor on fire for revenge. Butthere was nothing for it but fight. He did not fear the result. Timewas life to him, and he swung the girl half behind him with his hook-handas Iberville came on, and, whipping out his hanger, caught theFrenchman's thrust. Instantly he saw that his opposite was a swordsman, so he let the girl slip to the ground, and suddenly closing withIberville, lunged desperately and expertly at him, straight for a mortalpart. But the Frenchman was too agile and adroit for him: he took thethrust in the flesh of his ribs and riposted like lightning. The piratestaggered back, but pulled himself together instantly, lunged, and tookhis man in the flesh of his upper sword arm. Iberville was bleeding fromthe wound in his side and slightly stiff from the slash of the nightbefore, but every fibre of his hurt body was on the defensive. Bucklawknew it, and seemed to debate if the game were worth the candle. Thetown was afoot, and he had earned a halter for his pains. He was by nomeans certain that he could kill this champion and carry off the girl. Moreover, he did not want Iberville's life, for such devils have theirlikes and dislikes, and he had fancied the chivalrous youngster from thefirst. But he doubted only for an instant. What was such a lad's lifecompared with his revenge? It was madness, as he knew, for a shot wouldguide the pursuit: none the less, did he draw a pistol from his belt andfire. The bullet grazed the lad's temple, carrying away a bit of hishair. Iberville staggered forwards, so weak was he from loss of blood, and, with a deep instinct of protection and preservation, fell atJessica's feet. There was a sound of footsteps and crackling of brush. Bucklaw stooped to pick up his prey, but a man burst on him from thetrees. He saw that the game was up and he half raised his knife, butthat was only the mad rage of the instant. His revenge did not compriseso unheard-of a crime. He thought he had killed Iberville: that wasenough. He sprang away towards the spot where his comrades awaited him. Escape was his sole ambition now. The new-comer ran forwards, and sawthe boy and girl lying as they were dead. A swift glance at Iberville, and he slung his musket shoulderwards and fired at the retreating figure. It was a chance shot, for the light was bad and Bucklaw was alreadyindistinct. 

Now the man dropped on his knee and felt Iberville's heart. "Alive!" hesaid. "Alive, thank the mother of God! Mon brave! It is ever the same--the great father, the great son. "

As he withdrew his hand it brushed against the slipper. He took it out, glanced at it, and turned to the cloaked figure. He undid the cloak andsaw Jessica's pale face. He shook his head. "Always the same, " he said, "always the same: for a king, for a friend, for a woman! That is the LeMoyne. "

But he was busy as he spoke. With the native chivalry of the woodsman, he cared first for the girl. Between her lips he thrust his drinking-horn and held her head against his shoulder. 

"My little ma'm'selle-ma'm'selle!" he said. "Wake up. It is nothing--you are safe. Ah, the sweet lady! Come, let me see the colour of youreyes. Wake up--it is nothing. "

Presently the girl did open her eyes. He put the drinking-horn again toher lips. She shuddered and took a sip, and then, invigorated, suddenlydrew away from him. "There, there, " he said; "it is all right. Now formy poor Iberville. " He took Iberville's head to his knee and thrust thedrinking-horn between his teeth, as he had done with Jessica, calling himin much the same fashion. Iberville came to with a start. For a momenthe stared blindly at his rescuer, then a glad intelligence flashed intohis eyes. 

"Perrot! dear Nick Perrot!" he cried. "Oh, good--good, " he addedsoftly. Then with sudden anxiety:

"Where is she? Where is she?"

"I am safe, monsieur, " Jessica said gently; "but you--you are wounded. "She came over and dropped on her knees beside him. 

"A little, " he said; "only a little. You cared for her first?" he askedof Perrot. 

Perrot chuckled. "These Le Moynes!" he said: under his breath. Thenaloud: "The lady first, monsieur. "

"So, " answered Iberville. "And Bucklaw--the devil, Bucklaw?"

"If you mean the rogue who gave you these, " said Perrot, touching thewounds, which he had already begun to bind, "I think he got away--thelight was bad. "

Jessica would have torn her frock for a bandage, but Perrot said in hisbroken English: "No, pardon. Not so. The cloak la-bas. "

She ran and brought it to him. As she did so Perrot glanced down at herfeet, and then, with a touch of humour, said: "Pardon, but you have lostyour slipper, ma'm'selle?"

He foresaw the little comedy, which he could enjoy even in such painfulcircumstances. 

"It must have dropped off, " said Jessica, blushing. "But it does notmatter. "

Iberville blushed too, but a smile also flitted across his lips. "If youwill but put your hand into my waistcoat here, " he said to her, "you willfind it. " Timidly she did as she was bid, drew forth the slipper, andput it on. 

"You see, " said Iberville, still faint from loss of blood, "a Frenchmancan fight and hunt too--hunt the slipper. "

Suddenly a look of pain crossed her face. 

"Mr. Gering, you--you did not kill him?" she asked. "Oh no, mademoiselle, " said Iberville; "you stopped the game again. "

Presently he told her what had happened, and how Gering was rousing thetown. Then he insisted upon getting on his feet, that they might maketheir way to the governor's house. Stanchly he struggled on, his weightupon Perrot, till presently he leaned a hand also on Jessica's shoulder-she had insisted. On the way, Perrot told how it was he chanced to bethere. A band of coureurs du bois, bound for Quebec, had come upon oldLe Moyne and himself in the woods. Le Moyne had gone on with these men, while Perrot pushed on to New York, arriving at the very moment of thekidnapping. He heard the cry and made towards it. He had met Gering, and the rest they knew. 

Certain things did not happen. The governor of New York did not at onceengage in an expedition to the Spaniards' country. A brave pursuit wasmade, but Bucklaw went uncaptured. Iberville and Gering did not make athird attempt to fight; Perrot prevented that. Iberville left, however, with a knowledge of three things: that he was the first Frenchman fromQuebec who had been, or was likely to be, popular in New York; thatJessica Leveret had shown a tender gratitude towards him--naive, candid--which set him dreaming gaily of the future; that Gering and he, in spiteof outward courtesy, were still enemies; for Gering could not forgetthat, in the rescue of Jessica, Iberville had done the work while hemerely played the crier. 

"We shall meet again, monsieur, " said Iberville at last; "at least, Ihope so. "

"I shall be glad, " answered Gering mechanically. "But 'tis like I shallcome to you before you come to me, " added Iberville, with meaning. Jessica was standing not far away, and Gering did not instantly reply. In the pause, Iberville said: "Au revoir! A la bonne heure!" and walkedaway. Presently he turned with a little ironical laugh and waved hishand at Gering; and laugh and gesture rankled in Gering for many a day. 

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Love, too, is a game, and needs playingTo die without whining