Transcriber's Notes:

 1. Words which may seem to be transcriber's typos, or otherwise suspect, but which are reproduced faithfully (archaic spellings, printer's typos--sometimes I couldn't tell):

 Ch. I: befel, undigged Ch. III: chaperon Ch. IV: babby, mun, valtz Ch. V: zounded, dimpsey, after'n, ax'n, ax Ch. VI: picquet, damitol Ch. XI: alwaies, Desarts, Eternitie

 2. Diphthongs, given as single characters in the printed copy, are transcribed as two separate characters. 

THE WESTCOTES

by

ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH

DEDICATION

MY DEAR HENRY JAMES, A spinster, having borrowed a man's hat to decorate her front hall, excused herself on the ground that the house 'wanted a something. 'By inscribing your name above this little story I please myself atthe risk of helping the reader to discover not only that it wants asomething, but precisely what that something is. It wants--to confessand have done with it--all the penetrating subtleties of insight, allthe delicacies of interpretation, you would have brought to Dorothea'said, if for a moment I may suppose her worth your championing. So Iinvoke your name to stand before my endeavour like a figure outsidethe brackets in an algebraical sum, to make all the difference bymultiplying the meaning contained. 

But your consent gives me another opportunity even more warmly desired. And I think that you, too, will take less pleasure in discovering howexcellent your genius appears to one who nevertheless finds it amystery in operation, than in learning that he has not missed toadmire, at least, and with a sense almost of personal loyalty, thesustained and sustaining pride in good workmanship by which you haveset a common example to all who practise, however diversely, the artin which we acknowledge you a master. 

A. T. QUILLER-COUCH

October 25th, 1901

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I THE WESTCOTES OF BAYFIELD

CHAPTER II THE ORANGE ROOM

CHAPTER III A BALL, A SNOWSTORM, AND A SNOWBALL

CHAPTER IV ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A HIGH HORSE AND A HOBBY

CHAPTER V BEGINS WITH ANCIENT HISTORY AND ENDS WITH AN OLD STORY

CHAPTER VI FATE IN A LAURELLED POST-CHAISE

CHAPTER VII LOVE AND AN OLD MAID

CHAPTER VIII CORPORAL ZEALLY INTERVENES

CHAPTER IX DOROTHEA CONFESSES

CHAPTER X DARTMOOR

CHAPTER XI THE NEW DOROTHEA

CHAPTER XII GENERAL ROCHAMBEAU TELLS A STORY; AND THE TING-TANG RINGS FOR THE LAST TIME

CHAPTER I

THE WESTCOTES OF BAYFIELD

A mural tablet in Axcester Parish Church describes Endymion Westcote as"a conspicuous example of that noblest work of God, the English CountryGentleman. " Certainly he was a typical one. 

In almost every district of England you will find a family which, without distinguishing itself in any particular way, has held fast tothe comforts of life and the respect of its neighbours for generationafter generation. Its men have never shone in court, camp, or senate;they prefer tenacity to enterprise, look askance upon wit (as adangerous gift), and are even a little suspicious of eminence. On theother hand they make excellent magistrates, maintain a code of mannersmost salutary for the poor in whose midst they live and are looked upto; are as a rule satisfied, like the old Athenian, if they leave totheir heirs not less but a little more than they themselves inherited, and deserve, as they claim, to be called the backbone of Great Britain. Many of the women have beauty, still more have an elegance which maypass for it, and almost all are pure in thought, truthful, assiduous indeeds of charity, and marry for love of those manly qualities whichthey have already esteemed in their brothers. 

Such a family were the Westcotes of Bayfield, or Bagvil, in 1810. Their"founder" had settled in Axcester towards the middle of the seventeenthcentury, and prospered--mainly, it was said, by usury. A little beforehis death, which befel in 1668, he purchased Bayfield House from adecayed Royalist who had lost his only son in the Civil Wars; and toBayfield and the ancestral business (exalted now into Banking) hisdescendants continued faithful. One or both of the two brothers who, with their half-sister, represented the family in 1810, rode in onevery week-day to their Bank-office in Axcester High Street, --aGeorgian house of brick, adorned with a porch of plaster fluted to theshape of a sea-shell, out of which a. Cupid smiled down upon a brassplate and the inscription "WESTCOTE AND WESTCOTE, " and on the firstfloor, with windows as tall as the rooms, so that from the street youcould see through one the shapely legs of Mr. Endymion Westcote at hisknee-hole table, and through another the legs of Mr. Narcissus. Thethird and midmost window was a dummy, having been bricked up to avoidthe window-tax imposed by Mr. Pitt--in whose statesmanship, however, the brothers had firmly believed. Their somewhat fantastic names weretraditional in the Westcote pedigree and dated from, the seventeenthcentury. 

Endymion, the elder, (who took the lead of Narcissus in all, things), was the fine flower of the Westcote stocks, and, out of question, themost influential man in Axcester and for many a mile round justice ofthe Peace for the county of Somerset and Major of its Yeomanry, heserved "our town, " (so he called it) as Overseer of the Poor, Governorof the Grammar School, Chairman of Feoffees, Churchwarden, everythingin short but Mayor--an office which he left to the tradesmen, whiletaking care to speak of it always with respect, and indeed to see itproperly filled. The part of County Magistrate--to which he had beenborn--he played to perfection, and with a full sense of its dignifiedamenity. (It was whispered that the Lord Lieutenant himself stood insome awe of him. ) His favourite character, however, was that of plaincitizen of his native town. "I'm an Axcester man, " he would declare inhis public speeches, and in his own way he loved and served the littleborough. For its good he held its Parliamentary representation in thehollow of his hand; and, as Overseer of the Poor, had dared publicdispleasure by revising the Voters' List and defying a mandamus of theCourt of King's Bench rather than allow Axcester to fail in its dutyof returning two members to support Mr. Percevall's Ministry. In 1800, when the price of wheat rose to 184s a quarter, a poor woman droppeddead in the market place of starvation. At once a mob collected, hoisted a quartern-loaf on a pole with the label--"We will have Breador Blood, " and started to pillage the shop's in High Street. It wasEndymion Westcote who rode up single-handed, (they, were carrying theonly constable on their shoulders) and faced and dispersed the rioters. It was he who headed the subscription list, prevailed on the purchase awagon-load of potatoes and persuaded the people to plant them--foreven the seed potatoes had been eaten, and the gardens lay undigged. It was he who met the immediate famine by importing large quantities ofrice. Finally, it was he, through his influence with the county, whobrought back prosperity by getting the French prisoners sent to Axcester. 

We shall talk of these French prisoners by and by. To conclude thisportrait of Endymion Westcote. He was a handsome, fresh-complexionedman, over six feet in height, and past his forty-fifth year; a bachelorand a Protestant. In his youth he had been noted for gallantry, andpreserved some traces of it in his address. His grandfather hadmarried a French lady, and although this union had not sensibly dilutedthe Westcote blood, Endymion would refer to it to palliate a youthfultaste for playing the fiddle. He spoke French fluently, with a Britishaccent which, when appointed Commissary, he took pains to improve byconversation with the prisoners, and was fond of discussing hereditywith the two most distinguished of them--the Vicomte de Tocquevilleand General Rochambeau. 

Narcissus, the younger brother, had neither the height nor the goodlooks nor the masterful carriage of Endymion, and made no pretence torival him as a man of affairs. He professed to be known as the studentof the family, dabbled in archaeology, and managed two or three localsocieties and field clubs, which met ostensibly to listen to hispapers, but really to picnic. An accident had decided this bent of his--the discovery, during some repairs, of a fine Roman pavement beneaththe floor of Bayfield House, At the age of eighteen, during a Cambridgevacation, Narcissus had written and privately printed a description ofthis pavement, proving not only that its tessellae represented scenesin the mythological story of Bacchus, but that the name "Bayfield, " insome old deeds and documents written "Bagvil" or "Baggevil, " wasneither more nor less than a corruption of _Bacchi Villa_. Axcester andits neighbourhood are rich in Roman remains--the town stands, indeed, on the old Fosse Way--and, tempted by early success, Narcissus rodehis hobby further and further afield. Now, at the age of forty-two, hecould claim to be an authority on the Roman occupation of Britain, andespecially on the conquests of Vespasian. The circle of--theWestcotes' acquaintance gathered in the fine hall of Bayfield--or, asNarcissus preferred to call it, the atrium--drank tea, admired thepavement, listened to the alleged exploits of Vespasian, and wonderedwhen the brothers would marry. Time went on, repeating theseassemblies; and the question became, Will they ever marry? Apparentlythey had no thought of it, no idea that it was expected of them; andsince they had both passed forty, the question might be taken asanswered. But that so personable a man as Endymion Westcote would letthe family perish was monstrous to suppose. He kept his good looks andhis fresh complexion; even now some maiden would easily be found toanswer his Olympian nod; and a vein of recklessness sometimes croppedup through his habitual caution, and kept his friends alert forsurprises. In the hunting-field, for instance, --and he rode to houndstwice a week, --he made a rule of avoiding fences; but the world quiterightly set this down to a proper care for his person rather than totimidity, since on one famous occasion, riding up to find the wholefield hesitating before a "rasper" (they were hunting a strange countrythat day), he put his horse at it and sailed over with a nonchalancerelieved only by his ringing laugh on the farther side. It was odds hewould clear the fence of matrimony, some day, with the same casualheartiness; and, in any case, he was masterful enough to insist onNarcissus marrying, should it occur to him to wish it. 

Oddly enough, the gossips who still arranged marriages for the brothershad given over speculating upon their hostess, Miss Dorothea. She couldnot, of course, perpetuate the name; but this by no means accounted forall the difference in their concern. Dorothea Westcote was now thirty-seven, or five years younger than Narcissus, whose mother had died soonafter his birth. The widower had created one of the few scandals in theWestcote history by espousing, some four years later, a young woman ofquite inferior class, the daughter of a wholesale glover in Axcester. The new wife had good looks, but they did not procure her pardon; andshe made the amplest and speediest amends by dying within twelvemonths, and leaving a daughter who in no way resembled her. The husbandsurvived her just a dozen years. 

Dorothea, the daughter, was a plain girl; her brothers, though kind andfond of her after a fashion, did not teach her to forget it. She lovedthem, but her love partook of awe: they were so much cleverer, as wellas handsomer, than she. Having no mother or friend of her own sex toimitate, she grow into an awkward woman, sensitive to charm in othersand responding to it without jealousy, but ignorant of what it meant orhow it could be acquired. She picked up some French from her brotherEndymion, and masters were hired who taught her to dance, to paint inwater colours, and to play with moderate skill upon the harp. But fewpartners had ever sought her in the ballroom; her only drawings whichanyone ever asked to see were half-a-dozen of the Bayfield pavement, executed for Narcissus' monograph; and her harp she played in her ownroom. Now and then Endymion would enquire how she progressed with hermusic, would listen to her report and observe: "Ah, I used to do alittle fiddling myself. " But he never put her proficiency to the test. 

Somehow, and long before the world came to the same conclusion, she hadresolved that marriage was not for her. She adored babies, though theyusually screamed at the sight of her, and she thought it would bedelightful to have one of her own who would not scream; but apart fromthis vague sentiment, she accepted her fate without sensible regret. By watching and copying the mistresses of the few houses she visitedshe learned to play the hostess at Bayfield, and, as time broughtconfidence, played it with credit. She knew that people laughed at her, and that yet they liked her; their liking and their laughter puzzledher about equally. For the rest, she was proud of Bayfield and content, though one day much resembled another, to live all her life there, devoted to God and her garden. Visitors always praised her garden. 

Axcester lies on the western side and mostly at the foot of a low hillset accurately in the centre of a ring of hills slightly higher-theraised bottom of a saucer would be no bad simile. The old Roman roadcuts straight across this rise, descends between the shops of the HighStreet, passes the church, crosses the Axe by a narrow bridge, andclimbing again passes the iron gates of Bayfield House, a mile abovethe river. So straight is it that Dorothea could keep her brothers inview from the gates until they dismounted before their office door, losing sight of them for a minute or two only among the elms by thebridge. Her boudoir window commanded the same prospect; and every dayas the London coach topped the hill, her maid Polly would run withnews of it. The two would be watching, often before the guard's hornawoke the street and fetched the ostlers out in a hurry from the "DogsInn" stables with their relay of four horses. Miss Dorothea possesseda telescope, too; and if the coach were dressed with laurels and flagsannouncing a victory, mistress and maid would run to the gates and wavetheir handkerchiefs as it passed. 

Sometimes, too, Polly would announce a post-chaise, and the telescopedecide whether the postboys wore the blue or the buff. Nor were thesetheir only causes of excitement; for the great Bayfield elm, a roodbelow the gates and in full view of them, marked the westward boundaryof the French prisoners on parole. Some of these were quite regular intheir walks for instance, Rear-Admiral de Wailly-Duchemin and GeneralRochambeau, who came at three o'clock or thereabouts on Wednesdays andSaturdays, summer and winter. At six paces on the far side of the elm--such was their punctilio--they halted, took snuff, linked arms againand turned back. (Dorothea had entertained them both at Bayfield, andmet them at dinner in one or two neighbouring houses. ) On the samedays, and on Mondays as well, old Jean Pierre Pichou, ex-boatswain ofthe _Didon_ frigate, would come along arm-in-arm with Julien Carales, alias Frap d'Abord, ex-_marechal des logis_--Pichou, with his woodenleg, and Frap d'Abord twisting a grey moustache and uttering a steadytorrent of imprecation--or so it sounded. These could be counted on;but scores of others stopped and turned at the Bayfield elm, and Pollyhad names for them all. Moreover, on one memorable day Dorothea hadwatched one who did not halt precisely at the elm. A few paces beyondit, and on the side of the road facing the grounds, straggled an oldorchard, out of which her brother Endymion had been missing, of late, a quantity of his favourite pippins--by name (but it may have been alocal one) Somerset Warriors. The month was October, the time abouthalf-past four, the light dusky. Yet Miss Dorothea, lingering by thegate, saw a young man pass the Bayfield elm and climb the hedge; andsaw and heard him nail against an apple-tree overhanging the road, aboard with white letters on a black ground. When it was fixed, theartist descended to the road and gazed up admiringly at his work. Inthe act of departing he turned, and suddenly stood still again. Hisface was toward the Bayfield gate. Dorothea could not tell if he sawher, but he remained thus, motionless, for almost a minute. Then heseemed to recollect himself and marched off briskly down the road. Early next morning she descended and read the inscription, which ran:"Restaurant pour les Aspirants. "

She said nothing about it, and soon after breakfast the board wasremoved. 

CHAPTER II

THE ORANGE ROOM

Some weeks later, on a bright and frosty morning in December, Dorothearode into Axcester with her brothers. She was a good horsewoman andshowed to advantage on horseback, when her slight figure took a graceof movement which made amends for her face. To-day the brisk air and acanter across the bridge at the foot of the hill had brought roses toher cheeks, and she looked almost pretty. General Rochambeau happenedto pass down the street as the three drew rein before the Town House(so the Westcotes always called the Bank-office), and, pausing to helpher dismount, paid her a very handsome compliment. 

Dorothea knew, of course, that Frenchmen were lavish of compliments, and had heard General Rochambeau pay them where she felt sure they werenot deserved. Nevertheless she found this one pleasant--she hadreceived so few--and laughed happily. It may have come from thefreshness of the morning, but to-day her spirit sat light within her andexpectant she could not say of what, yet it seemed that something goodwas going to happen. 

"I have a guess, " said the old General, "that Miss Westcote and I arebound on the same errand. Her's cannot be to inspect dull bonds andledgers, bills of exchange or rates of interest. "

He jerked his head towards the house, and Dorothea shook hers. 

"I am going to 'The Dogs, ' General. "

"Eh?" He scented the jest and chuckled. "As you say, 'to the dogs'hein? Messieurs, I beg you to observe and take warning that your sisterand I are going to the dogs together. "

He offered his arm to Dorothea. Her brothers had dismounted and handedtheir horses over to the ostler who waited by the porch daily to leadthem to the inn stables. 

"I will stable Mercury myself, " said she, addressing Endymion. Shesubmitted her smallest plans to him for approval. 

"Do so, " he answered. "After running through my letters, I will stepdown to the Orange Room and join you. I entrust her to you, General--the more confidently because you cannot take her far. "

He laughed and followed Narcissus through the porch. Dorothea saw theold General wince. She slipped an arm through Mercury's bridle-reinand picked up her skirt; the other arm she laid in her companion's. 

"You have not seen the Orange Room, Miss Dorothea?"

"Not since the decorations began. " She paused and uttered the thoughtuppermost in her mind. "You must forgive my brother; I am sorry hespoke as he did just now. "

"Then he is more than forgiven. "

"He did not consider. "

"Dear Mademoiselle, your brother is an excellent fellow, and not a bitmore popular than he deserves to be. Of his kindness to us prisoners--I speak not of us privileged ones, but of our poorer brothers--Icould name a thousand acts; and acts say more than words. "

Dorothea pursed her lips. "I am not sure. I think a woman would ask forwords too. "

"Yes, that is so, " he caught her up. "But don't you see that weprisoners are--forgive me--just like women? I mean, we have learnedthat we are weak. For a man that is no easy lesson, Mademoiselle. Imyself learned it hardly. And seeing your brother admired by all, sostrong and prosperous and confident, can I ask that he should feel aswe who have forfeited these things?"

Before she could find a reply he had harked back to the Orange Room. 

"You have not seen it since the decorations began? Then I have a mindto run and ask your brother to forbid your coming--to command you towait until Wednesday. We are in a horrible mess, I warn you, and smellof turpentine most potently. But we shall be ready for the ball, andthen--! It will be prodigious. You do not know that we have a geniusat work on the painting?"

"My brother tells me the designs are extraordinarily clever. "

"They are more than clever, you will allow. The artist I discoveredmyself--a young man named Charles Raoul. He comes from the South, alittle below Avignon, and of good family--in some respects. " TheGeneral paused and took snuff. "He enlisted at eighteen and has seenservice; he tells me he was wounded at Austerlitz. Unhappily he wasshipped, about two years ago, on board the _Thétis_ frigate, with adetachment and stores for Martinique. The _Thétis_ had scarcely leftL'Orient before she fell in with one of your frigates, whose nameescapes me; and here he is in Axcester. He has rich relatives, but forsome reason or other they decline to support him; and yet he seems agentleman. He picks up a few shillings by painting portraits; but youEnglish are shy of sitting--I wonder why? And we--well, I suppose weprefer to wait till our faces grow happier. "

Dorothea had it on the tip of her tongue to ask how the General haddiscovered this genius; but the ring in his voice gave her pause. Twice in the course of their short walk he had shown feeling; and shewondered at it, having hitherto regarded him as a cynical old fellowwith a wit which cracked himself and the world like two dry nuts forthe jest of their shrivelled kernels. She did not, know that a kindword of hers had unlocked his heart; and before she could recall herquestion they had reached the stable-yard of "The Dogs. " And afterstabling Mercury it was but a step across to the inn. 

The "Dogs Inn" took its name from two stone greyhounds beside its porch--supporters of the arms of that old family from which the Westcotes hadpurchased Bayfield; and the Orange Room from a tradition that Williamof Orange had spent a night there on his march from Torbay. There mayhave been truth in the tradition; the room at any rate preserved in itwindow-hangings of orange-yellow, and a deep fringe of the same huefestooning the musicians' gallery. While serving Axcester for ball, rout, and general assembly-room, it had been admittedly dismal--itsslate-coloured walls scarred and patched with new plaster, and relievedonly by a gigantic painting of the Royal Arms on panel in a blackenedframe; its ceiling garnished with four pendants in plaster, like bride-cake ornaments inverted. 

To-day, as she stepped across the threshold, Dorothea hesitated betweenstopping her ears and rubbing her eyes. The place was a Babel. Frenchmen in white paper caps and stained linen blouses were laughing, plying their brushes, mixing paints, shifting ladders, and jabberingall the while at the pitch of their voices. For a moment the dinbewildered her; the ferment had no more meaning, no more method, thana schoolboy's game. But her eyes, passing over the chaos of paint-pots, brushes, and step-ladders, told her the place had been transformed. The ceiling between the four pendants had become a blue heaven withfilmy clouds, and Cupids scattering roses before a train of doves anda recumbent goddess, whom a little Italian, perched on a scaffoldingand whistling shrilly, was varnishing for dear life. Around the walls--sky-blue also--trellises of vines and pink roses clambered around theold panels. The energy of the workmen had passed into their paintings, or perhaps Dorothea's head swam; at any rate, the cupids and dovesseemed to be whirling across the ceiling, the vines, and roses mountingtowards it, and pushing out shoots and tendrils while they climbed. 

But the panels themselves! They were nine in all: three down the longblack wall, two narrower ones at the far end, four between the orange-curtained windows looking on the street. (The fourth wall had no panel, being covered, by the musicians' gallery and the pillars supportingit. ) In each, framed by the vines and roses, glowed a scene ofclassical or pseudo-classical splendour; golden sunsets, pale yellowskies, landscapes cleverly imitated from recollections of ClaudeLorraine, dotted with temples and small figures in flowing drapery, with here and there a glimpse of naked limbs. Here were Bacchus andAriadne, with a company of dancing revellers; Apollo and Marsyas; theRape of Helen; Dido welcoming Aeneas. . . . Dorothea (albeit she hadoften glanced into the copy of M. Lempriere's Classical Dictionary inher brother's library, and, besides, had picked up something of Greekand Roman mythology in helping Narcissus) did not at once discriminatethe subjects of these panels, but her eyes rested on them with apleasant sense of recognition, and were still resting on them when sheheard General Rochambeau say:

"Ah, there is my genius! You must let me present him, Mademoiselle. He will amuse you. Hi, there! Raoul!"

A young man, standing amid a group of workmen and criticising one ofthe panels between the curtains, turned sharply. Almost before Dorotheawas aware, he had doffed his paper cap and the General was introducinghim. 

She recognised him at once. He was the young prisoner who had nailedthe board against her brother's apple-tree. 

He bowed and began at once to apologise for the state of the room. Hehad expected no visitors before Wednesday. The General had played asurprise upon him. And Miss Westcote, alas! was a critic, especiallyof classical subjects. 

He had heard of her drawings for her brother's book. 

Dorothea blushed. 

"Indeed I am no artist. Please do not talk of those drawings. If youonly knew how much I am ashamed of them. And besides, they were meantas diagrams to help the reader, not as illustrations. But these arebeautiful. "

He turned with a pleasant laugh. She had already taken note of hisvoice, but his laugh was even more musical. 

"Daphne pursued by Apollo, " he commenced, waving his hand towards thepanel in face of her. "Be pleased to observe the lady sinking into thebush; an effect which the ingenious painter has stolen from no less amasterpiece than the Buisson Ardent' of Nicholas Froment. "

The General fumbled for the ribbon of his gold eye-glass. M. Raoulmoved towards the next panel, and Dorothea followed him. 

"Perseus entering the Garden of the Hesperides. "

The painting, though slapdash, was astonishingly clever; and in this, as in other panels, no trace of the artist's hurry appeared in thereposeful design. Coiled about the foot of the tree, the dragon Ladonblinked an eye lazily at three maidens pacing hand in hand in thedance, over-hung with dark boughs and golden fruit. Behind themPerseus, with naked sword, halted in admiration, half issuing from athicket over which stretched a distant bright line of sea and whitecliff. 

"You like it?" he asked. "But it is not quite finished yet, andMademoiselle, if she is frank, will say that it wants something. "

His voice held a challenge. 

"I am sure, sir, I could not guess, even if I possessed--"

"A board, for example?"

"A board?"

She was completely puzzled. 

He glanced at her sideways, turned to the panel, and with hisforefingers traced the outline of a square upon it, against the tree. 

"Restaurant pour les Aspirants, " he announced. 

He said it quietly, over his shoulder. The sudden challenge, her suddendiscovery that he knew, made Dorothea gasp. She had not the smallestnotion how to answer him, or even what kind of answer he expected, andstood dumb, gazing at his back. A workman, passing, apologised forhaving brushed her skirt with the step-ladder he carried. She stammeredsome words of pardon. And just then, to her relief, her brotherEndymion's voice rang out from the doorway:

"Ah, there you are. Well, I declare!" He looked around him. "AParadise, a perfect Paradise! Indeed, General, your nation has itsrevenge of us in the arts. You build a temple for us, and on WednesdayI hear you are to provide the music. Tum-tum, ta-ta-ta . . . " He hummeda few bars of Gluck's "Paride ed Elenna, " and paused, with the gestureof one holding a fiddle, on the verge of a reminiscence. "There was atime--but I no longer compete. And to whom, General, are we indebtedfor this--ah--treat?"

General Rochambeau indicated young Raoul, who stepped forward from thewall and answered, with a respectful inclination:

"Well, M. Le Commissaire, in the first place to Captain Seymour. "

The General bit his moustache; Endymion frowned. The answer merelypuzzled Dorothea, who did not know that Seymour was the name of theBritish officer to whom the _Thétis_ had struck her colours. 

"Moreover, " the young man went on imperturbably, "we but repay ourdebt to M. Le Commissaire--for the entertainment he affords us. "

Dorothea looked up sharply now, even anxiously; but her brother tookthe shot, if shot it were, for a compliment. He put the awkward idiomaside with a gracious wave of the hand. His brow cleared. 

"But we must do something for these poor fellows, " he announced, --sweeping all the work-men in a gaze; "in mere gratitude we must. Astall, now, at the end of the room under the gallery, with one or twosalesmen whom you must recommend to me, General. We might dispose ofquite a number of their small carvings and _articles de Paris_, withwhich the market among the townspeople is decidedly overstocked. Thecompany on Wednesday will be less familiar with them: they will serveas mementoes, and the prices, I daresay, will not be too closelyconsidered. "

"Sir, I beg of you--" General Rochambeau expostulated. 

"Eh?"

"They have given their labour--such as it is--in pure gratitude forthe kindness shown to them by all in Axcester. That has been the wholemeaning of our small enterprise, " the old gentleman persisted. 

"Still, I don't suppose they'll object if it brings a little beef totheir _ragoûts_. Say no more, say no more. What have we here? Eh?'Bacchus and Ariadne'? I am rusty in my classics, but Bacchus, Dorothea! This will please Narcissus. We have in our house, sir, "--here he addressed Raoul, --"a Roman pavement entirely--ah--concernedwith that personage. It is, I believe, unique. One of these days I mustgive you a permit to visit Bayfield and inspect it, with my brother for_cicerone_. It will repay you--"

"It will more than repay me, " the young man interposed, with his gazedemurely bent on the wall. 

"I should have said, it will repay your inspection. You must jog mymemory. "

It was clear Raoul had a reply on his tongue. But he glanced atDorothea, read her expression, and, turning to her brother, bowedagain. Her first feeling was of gratitude. A moment later she blamedherself for having asked his forbearance by a look, and him for hisconfidence in seeking that look. His eyes, during the moment theyencountered hers, had said, "We under-stand one another. " He had noright to assume so much, and yet she had not denied it. 

Endymion Westcote meanwhile had picked up a small book which lay facedownward on one of the step-ladders. 

"So here is the source of your inspiration? said he. An _Ovid_? How itbrings up old school-days At Winchester--old swishings, too, General, hey?" He held the book open and studied the Ariadne on the wall. 

"The source of my inspiration indeed, M. Le Commissaire! But you willnot find Ariadne in that text, which contains only the _Tristia_. "

"Ah, but, I told you my classics were a bit rusty, " replied theCommissary. He made the round of the walls and commended, in his breezyway, each separate panel. "You must take my criticisms for what theyare worth, M. Raoul. But my grandmother was a Frenchwoman, and thatgives me a kind of--sympathy, shall we say? Moreover, I know what Ilike. "

Dorothea, accustomed to regard her brother as a demigod, caught herselfblushing for him. She was angry with herself. She caught M. Raoul'smurmur, "Heaven distributes to us our talents, Monsieur, " and was angrywith him, understanding and deprecating the raillery beneath hisperfectly correct attitude. He kept this attitude to the end. When thetime came for parting, he bent over her hand and whispered again:

"But it was kind of Mademoiselle not to report me. "

She heard. It set up a secret understanding between them, which sheresented. There was nothing to say, again; yet she had found no wayof rebuking him, she was angry with herself all the way home. 

CHAPTER III

A BALL, A SNOWSTORM, AND A SNOWBALL

Axcester's December Ball was a social event of importance in SouthSomerset. At once formal and familiar--familiar, since nine-tenths ofthe company dwelt close enough together to be on visiting terms--itnicely preluded the domestic festivities of Christmas, and the morepublic ones which began with the New Year and culminated in the greatCounty Balls at Taunton and Bath. Nor were the families around Axcesterjaded with dancing, as those in the neighbourhood of Bath, for example;but discussed dresses and the prospects of the Ball for some weeksbeforehand, and, when the day came, ordered out the chariot or barouchein defiance of any ordinary weather. 

The weather since Dorothea's visit to the Orange Room had included afrost, a fall of snow with a partial thaw, and a second and muchseverer frost; and by Wednesday afternoon the hill below Bayfield worea hard and slippery glaze. Endymion, however, had seen to the roughingof the horses. Thin powdery snow began to fall as the Bayfield baroucherolled past the gates into the high road; and Narcissus, who consideredhimself a weather-prophet, foretold a thaw before morning. Unless theweather grew worse, the party would drive back to Bayfield; but the oldcaretaker in the Town House had orders to light fires there and preparethe bedrooms, and on the chance of being detained. Dorothea had broughther maid Polly. 

In spite of her previous visit, the Orange Room gave her a shock ofdelight and wonder. The litter had vanished, the hangings were inplace; fresh orange-coloured curtains divided the dancing-floor fromthe recess beneath the gallery, and this had been furnished as awithdrawing-room, with rugs, settees, groups of green foliage plants, and candles, the light of which shone through shades of yellow paper. The prisoners, too, had adorned with varicoloured paperwork thecandelabra, girandoles and mirrors which drew twinkles from the longwaxed floor, and softened whatever might have been garish in thedecorations. Certainly the panels took a new beauty, a luminousdelicacy, in their artificial rays; and Dorothea, when, after muchgreeting and hand-shaking, she joined one of the groups inspectingthem, felt a sort of proprietary pleasure in the praises she heard. 

Had she known it, she too was looking her best tonight--in an old-maidish fashion, be it understood. She wore a gown of ashen-greymuslin, edged with swansdown, and tied with sash and shoulder-knotsof a flame-hued ribbon which had taken her fancy at Bath in the autumn. Her sandal-shoes, stockings, gloves, cap--she had worn caps for sixor seven years now, --even her fan, were of the same ash-coloured grey. 

Dorothea knew how to dress. She also knew how to dance. The music madeher heart beat faster, and she never entered a ball-room without asense of happy expectancy. Poor lady! she never left but she carriedhome heart-sickness, weariness, and a discontent of which she purgedher soul, on her knees, before lying down to sleep. She had a contritespirit; she knew that her lot was a fortunate one; but she envied hermaid Polly her good looks at times. With Polly's face, she might havedancing to her heart's content. Usually she dropped some tears on herpillow after a night's gaiety. 

At Bath, at Taunton, at Axcester, it had always been the same, and withtime she had learnt to set her hopes low and steel her heart early totheir inevitable disappointment. So tonight she took her seat againstthe wall and watched while the first three _contre-danses_ went bywithout bringing her a partner. For the fourth--the "Soldier's joy"--she was claimed by an awkward schoolboy, home for the holidays; whetherout of duty or obeying the law of Nature by which shy youths areattracted to middle-aged partners, she could not tell, nor did she askherself, but danced the dance and enjoyed it more than her cavalierwas ever likely to guess. Such a chance had, before now, been lookedback upon as the one bright spot in a long evening's experience. Dorothea loved all schoolboys for the kindness shown to her by thesefew. 

She went back to her seat, hard by a group to which Endymion wasdiscoursing at large. Endymion's was a mellow voice, of rich compass, and he had a knack of compelling the attention of all persons withinrange. He preferred this to addressing anyone in particular, and hiseye sought and found, and gathered by instinct, the last loitererwithout the charmed circle. 

"Yes, " he was saying, "it is tasteful, and something more. Itillustrates, as you well say, the better side of our excitableneighbours across the Channel. Setting patriotism apart and regardingthe question merely in its--ah--philosophical aspect, it has oftenoccurred to me to wonder how a nation so expert in the arts of life, so--how shall I put it?--"

"Natty, " suggested one of his hearers; but he waved the word aside. 

"--of such lightness of touch, as I might describe it, --I say, it hasoften occurred to me to wonder how such a nation could so far mistakeits destiny and the designs of Providence (inscrutable though they be)as to embark on a career of foreign conquest which can only--ah--have one end. "

"Come to grief, " put in Lady Bateson, a dowager in a crimson cap withmilitary feathers. She was supposed to cherish a hopeless passion forEndymion. Also, she was supposed to be acting as Dorothea's chaperontonight; but having with little exertion found partners for a niece ofher own, a sprightly young lady on a visit from Bath, felt that shedeserved to relax her mind in a little intellectual talk. Endymionaccepted her remark with magnificent tolerance. 

"Precisely. " He inclined towards her. "You have hit it precisely. "

Dorothea stole a glance at her brother. Military and hunt uniforms were_de rigueur_ at these Axcester balls, and a Major of Yeomanry moresplendid than Endymion Westcote it would have been hard to find inEngland. He stood with a hand negligently resting on his left hip--the word hip, --his right foot advanced, the toe of his polished boottapping the floor. His smile, indulgent as it hovered over LadyBateson, descended to this protruded leg and became complacent, as ithad a right to be. 

"Well, I've always said so from the start, " Lady Bateson announced, "and now I'm sure of it. I don't mind Frenchmen as Frenchmen; but whatI say is, let them stick to their fal-de-rals. "

"That is the side of them which, in my somewhat responsible position, I endeavour to humour. You see the result. " He swept his hand towardsthe painted panels. "One thing I must say, in justice to my charges, I find them docile. "

Dorothea had confidence in her brother's tact and his unerring eye forhis audience. Yet she looked about her nervously, to make sure that ofthe few prisoners selected for invitation to the ball, none was withinearshot. The Vicomte de Tocqueville, a stoical young patrician, hadchosen a partner for the next dance, and was leading her out with thatair of vacuity with which he revenged himself upon the passing hour ofmisfortune. "Go on, " it seemed to say, "but permit me to remind youthat, so far as I am concerned, you do not exist. " Old GeneralRochambeau and old Rear-Admiral de Wailly-Duchemin, in worn butcarefully-brushed regimentals, patrolled the far end of the roomarm-in-arm. The Admiral seemed in an ill humour; and this was nothingnew, he grumbled at everything. But the General's demeanour, as hetrotted up and down beside his friend (doubtless doing his best topacify him), betrayed an unwonted agitation. It occurred to Dorotheathat he had not yet greeted her and paid his usual compliment. 

"Miss Westcote is not dancing tonight?"

The voice was at her elbow, and she looked up with a start--to meetthe gaze of M. Raoul. 

"Excuse me"--she wished to explain why she had been startled--"I didnot expect--"

"To see me here! It appears that they have given the scene-painter afree ticket, and I assume that it carries permission to dance, providedhe does not display in an unseemly manner the patch in the rear of hisbest tunic. "

He turned his head in a serio-comic effort to stare down his back. Dorothea admitted to herself that he made a decidedly handsome fellowin his blue uniform with red facings and corded epaulettes; nor does auniform look any the worse for having seen a moderate amount of service. 

"But Mademoiselle was in a--what do you call it?--a brown study, whichI interrupted. "

"I was wondering why General Rochambeau had, not yet come to speak withme. "

"I can account for it, perhaps; but first you must answer my question, Mademoiselle. Are you not dancing tonight?"

"That will depend, sir, on whether I am asked or no. "

She said it almost archly, on the moment's impulse; and, the words out, felt that they were over-bold. But she did not regret them when hereyes met his. He was offering his arm, and she found herself joining inhis laugh--a happy, confidential little laugh. Dorothea cast a nervousglance towards her brother, but Endymion's back was turned. She sawthat her partner noted the look, and half-defiantly she nodded towardsthe gallery as the French musicians struck into a jolly jigging quick-step with a crash at every third bar. 

"_Mais cela me rend folle_, " she murmured. 

"Do you know the air? It's the 'Bridge of Lodi, ' and we are to dance'Britannia's Triumph' to it. Come, Mademoiselle, since the 'Triumph'is nicely mixed, let your captive lead you. "

Those were days of reels, poussettes, ladies' chains, and figuredancing; honest heel-and-toe, hopping and twisting, hands across anddown the middle--an art contemned now, worse than neglected, insultedby the vulgar caricature of "kitchen lancers"; but then seriouslypractised, delighting the eye, bringing blood to the dancers' cheeks. For five minutes and more Dorothea was entirely happy. M. Raoul--himself no mean performer--tasted, after his first surprise, somethingof the joy of discovery. Who could have guessed that this quietspinster, who, as a rule, held herself and walked so awkwardly, wouldprove the best partner in the room? He had not the least doubt of it. Others danced with more abandonment, with more exuberant vigour--"romped" was his criticism--but none with such _élan_ perfectlyrestrained, covering precision with grace. Hands across, cast off andwheel; as their fingers met again he felt the tense nerves, the throbof the pulse beneath the glove. Her lips were parted, her eyes andwhole face animated. She was not thinking of him, or of anyone; onlyof the swing and beat of the music, the sway of life and colour, herown body swaying to it, enslaved to the moment and answering no othercall. 

"I understand why they call it the Triumph, " he murmured, as he ledher back to her seat. She turned her eyes on him as one coming out ofa dream. 

"I have never enjoyed a dance so much in my life, " she said seriously. 

He laughed. 

"It must have been an inspiration--" he began, and checked himself, with a glance over his shoulder at the painted panel behind them. 

"You were saying--" She looked up after a moment. 

"Nothing. Listen to the Ting-tang!"

He drew aside one of the orange curtains, and Dorothea heard the noteof a bell clanging in a distant street. "Time for all good prisonersto be in bed, and Heaven temper the wind to the thin blanket! It issnowing--snowing furiously. "

"Do they suffer much in these winters?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"They die sometimes, though your brother does his best to prevent it. It promises to be a hard season for them. "

"I wish I could help; but Endymion--my brother does not approve ofladies mixing themselves up in these affairs. "

"Yet he has carried off half-a-dozen to the supper-room, where at aside table three of my compatriots are vending knick-knacks, to adda little beef to their _ragoûts_. "

"Is it that which has annoyed General Rochambeau?"

She had recognised the phrase, but let it pass. 

"It is. "

She understood. For some reason her brain was unusually clear tonight. At any other time she would have defended, or at least excused, herbrother. She knew it, and found time to wonder at her new practicalityas she answered:

"I must think of some way to help. "

She saw his brow clear--saw that had risen in his esteem--and wasglad. 

"To you, Mademoiselle, we shall find it easy to be grateful. "

"By helping them, " she explained, "I may also be helping my brother. You do not understand him as I do, and you sharpen your wit upon him, "

"Be assured it does not hurt him, Mademoiselle. "

"No, but it hurts _me_. "

He bowed gravely. 

"It shall not hurt you, again. Whom you love, you shall protect. "

"Ah! M. Raoul!" Endymion Westcote hailed him from the doorway andcrossed the room with Narcissus in tow. "My brother is interested inyour panel of Bacchus and Ariadne; he will be glad to discuss it withyou. Br-r-r-!"--he shivered--"I have been down to the door, and itis snowing viciously. Some of our friends will hardly find their homestonight. I hope, by the way, you have brought a great-coat?"

Raoul ignored the question. 

"I fear, sir, your learning will discover half-a-dozen mistakes, " saidhe, addressing Narcissus and leading the way towards the panel. 

"But whilst I think of it, " Endymion persisted, "I saw half-a-dozen oldbaize chair-covers behind the cloak-room door. Don't hesitate to takeone; you can return it to-morrow or next day. " Dorothea being his onlyaudience, he beamed a look on her which said: "They come to us in ahurry, these prisoners--no time to collect a wardrobe; but I think ofthese little things. "

"Rest assured, sir, I will turn up my coat-collar, " said Raoul; andDorothea could see him, a moment later, shaking his head good-naturedly, though the Commissary still protested. 

Dorothea, left to herself, watched them examining and discussing thepanel of Bacchus and Ariadne. The orchestra started another _contre-danse_, but no partner approached to claim her. The dance began. Itwas the "Dashing White Sergeant, " and one exuberant couple threatenedto tread upon her toes. She stood up and, for lack of anything betterto do, began to study the panel behind her. 

A moment later her hand went up to her throat. 

It was the panel on which M. Raoul had sketched an imaginary boardwith his thumb-nail--the Garden of the Hesperides. But the Perseuswas different; he wore the face of M. Raoul himself. And beneath thethroat of the nymph on the right, half concealed in the folds abouther bosom, hung a locket--a small enamelled heart, edged withbrilliants. Just such a trinket--a brooch--had pinned the collar ofher close habit three days before, when she and M. Raoul had stoodtogether discussing the panel. It was a legacy from her mother. 

Hastily she put out a hand and drew the edge of the orange curtainover nymph and locket. 

Soon after supper Endymion Westcote informed his sister that it washopeless to think of returning to Bayfield. The barouche would conveyher back to the Town House; but already the snow lay a foot and a halfdeep, and was still falling. He himself, after packing her off withNarcissus, would remain and attend to the comfort of the guests, manyof whom must bivouac at "The Dogs" for the night as best they could. 

At midnight, or a little later, the barouche was announced. It drew upclose to the porch, axle-deep in snow. Upstairs the orchestra wassawing out the strains of "Major Malley's Reel, " as Endymion liftedhis sister in and slammed the door upon her and Narcissus. The noiseprevented his hearing a sash-window lifted, immediately above the porch. 

"Right away!"

The inn-servant who had accompanied the Westcotes turned back to trim acandle flaring in the draughty passage. But it so happened that, instarting, the coachman entangled his off-rein in the trace-buckle. Endymion, in his polished hessians, ran round to unhitch it. 

On the window-sill above, two deft hands quickly scooped up and mouldeda snowball. 

"He should turn up his coat-collar, the pig! _V'Ian pour leCommissaire!_"

Endymion Westcote did not hear the voice; but as the vehicle rolledheavily forward, out of the darkness a snowball struck him accuratelyon the nape of the neck. 

CHAPTER IV

ENCOUNTER BETWEEN A HIGH HORSE AND A HOBBY

"Your chocolate will be getting cold, Miss. "

Dorothea, refreshed with sleep but still pleasantly tired, lay in bedwatching Polly as she relaid and lit the fire in the massive Georgiangrate. These occasions found the service in the Town House short-handed, and the girl (a cheerful body, with no airs) turned to andtook her share in the extra work. 

"Have they sent for Mudge?" (Mudge was the Bayfield butler. )

"Lord, no, Miss! Small chance of getting to Mudge, or of Mudge gettingto us. Why, the snow is half-way up the front door!"

Bed was deliciously warm, and the air in the room nipping, as Dorotheafound when she stretched out her hand for the cup. 

"I always like waking in this room. It gives one a sort of betwixt andbetween feeling--between being at home and on a visit. To be snowed-upmakes it quite an adventure. "

"Pretty adventure for the gentry at 'The Dogs'! Tom Ryder, the dairymanthere, managed to struggle across just now with the milk, and he saysthat a score of them couldn't get beds in the town for love or money. The rest kept it up till four in the morning, and now they're sleepingin their fine dresses round the fire in the Orange Room. "

Dorothea laughed. "They were caught like this just eighteen years ago--let me see--yes, just eighteen. I remember, because it was my secondball. But then there were no prisoners filling up the lodgings, soeveryone found a room. "

"Some of the French gentlemen gave up their lodgings last night, andare down at 'The Dogs' now keeping themselves warm. There's that oldAdmiral, for one. I'm sure he never ought to be out of bed, with hisrheumatics. It's enough to give him his death. Sam Zeally says thatGeneral Rochambeau is looking after him, as tender as a mother with ababby. "

Polly mimicked Sam's pronunciation, and laughed. She was Somerset-bornherself, but had seen service in Bath. 

"Where is Mr. Endymion?"

"I heard him let himself in just as I was going upstairs afterundressing you. That would be about one, or a quarter past. But he wasup again at six, called for Mrs. Morrish to heat his shaving water, and had a cup of coffee in his room. He and Mr. Narcissus have gone outto see the roll called, and get the volunteers and prisoners to clearthe streets. Leastways, that's what Mr. Narcissus is doing. I heardMr. Endymion say something about riding off to see what the roads arelike. "

By this time the fire was lit and crackling. Polly loitered awhile, arranging the cinders. She had given up asking with whom her mistresshad danced; but Dorothea usually described the more striking gowns, and how this or that lady had worn her hair. 

"Tired, Miss?"

"Well, yes, Polly; a little, but not uncomfortably. I danced severaltimes last night. "

Polly pursed her mouth into an O; but her face was turned to the fire, and Dorothea did not see it. 

"I hope, Miss, you'll tell me about it later on. But Mrs. Morrish isdownstairs declaring that no hen will lay an egg in this weather, tohave it snowed up the next moment. 'Not that I blame mun, ' she says, 'for I wouldn't do it myself, '"--here Polly giggled. "What to findfor breakfast she don't know, and never will until I go and help her. "

Polly departed, leaving her mistress cosy in bed and strangelyreluctant to rise and part company with her waking thoughts. 

Yes; Dorothea had danced twice again with M. Raoul since her discoveryof his boldness. He had seen her draw the orange curtain over hisoffence, had sought her again and apologised for, it. He had done it(he had pleaded) on a sudden impulse--to be a reminder of one kindglance which had brightened his exile. 'No one but she was in theleast likely to recognise the trinket; in any case he would paint itout at the first opportunity. And Dorothea had forgiven him. Sheherself had a great capacity for gratitude, and understood the feelingfar too thoroughly to believe for an instant that M. Raoul could bemightily grateful for anything she had said or done. No; whatever thefeeling which impels a young gentleman to secrete some little privatereminder of its object, it is not gratitude; and Dorothea rejoicedinwardly that it was not. But what then was it? Some attraction ofsympathy, no doubt. To find herself attractive in any way was a newexperience and delightful. She had forgiven him on the spot. Andafterwards they had danced twice together, and he had praised herdancing. Also, he had said something about a pretty foot--butFrenchmen must always be complimenting. 

A noise in the street interrupted her thoughts, and reminded her thatshe must not be dawdling longer in bed. She shut her teeth, made aleap for it, and, running to the window, peered over the blind. Somescore of the prisoners in a gang were clearing the pavement withshovels and brushes, laughing and chattering all the while, andbreaking off to pelt each other with snowballs. She had discussedthese poor fellows with M. Raoul last night. Could she not in some wayadd to their comfort, or their pleasure? He had dwelt most upon theirmental weariness, especially on Sundays. Of material discomfort theynever complained, but they dreaded Sundays worse than they dreadedcold weather. Any small distraction now--. 

The train of her recollections came to a sudden halt, before a tallcheval-glass standing at an obtuse angle to the fireplace and on theedge of its broad hearthrug. She had been moving aimlessly from thewindow to the wardrobe in which Polly had folded and laid away herlast night's finery, and from the wardrobe back to a long sofa at thebed's foot. And now she found herself standing before the glass andholding her nightgown high enough to display a foot and ankle on whichshe had slipped an ash-coloured stocking and shoe. A tide of redflooded her neck and face. 

* * * * * * * * *

Mrs. Morrish had laid the meal in the ground-floor room, once alibrary, but now used as a bank-parlour--yet still preserving the dignified aspect of a private room: for banking (as the Westcote clientswere reminded by several sporting prints and a bust of the MediceanVenus) was in those days of scarce money a branch of philanthropyrather than of trade. The good caretaker was in tears over thebreakfast. "And I'm sure, Miss, I don't know what's to be done unlessyou can eat bacon. "

"Which I can, " Dorothea assured her. 

"Well, Miss, I am sure I envy you; for ever since that poor FrenchCaptain Fioupi hanged himself from Mary Odling's bacon-rack, two yearsago the first of this very next month, I haven't been able to look ata bit. "

"Poor gentleman! Why did he do it?"

"The Lord knows, Miss. But they said it was home-sickness. "

From the street came the voices of Captain Fioupi's compatriots, merryat their work. Dorothea had scarcely begun breakfast before herbrothers entered, and she had to pour out tea for them. Narcissus tookhis seat at once. Endymion stood stamping his feet and warming hishands by the fire. He bent and with his finger flicked out a crust ofsnow from between his breeches and the tops of his riding-boots. Itfell on the hearthstone and sputtered. 

"The roads, " he announced, are not very bad beyond the bridge. That isthe worst spot, and I have sent down a gang to clear it. Our guestsought to be able to depart before noon, though I won't answer for theroad Yeovil Way. One carrier--Allworthy--has come through to thebridge, but says he passed Solomon's van in a drift about four milesback, this side of the Cheriton oak. He reports Bayfield Hill safeenough; but that I discovered for myself. "

"It seems quite a treat for them, " Dorothea remarked. 

His eyebrows went up. 

"The guests, do you mean?"

He turned to the fire and picked up the tongs. 

She laughed. 

"No, I mean the prisoners; I was listening to their voices. Just nowthey were throwing snowballs. "

Endymion dropped the tongs with a clatter; picked them up, set them inplace, and faced the room again with a flush which might have comefrom stooping over the fire. 

"Come to breakfast, dear, " said Dorothea, busy with the tea-urn. "Ihave a small plan I want your permission for, and your help. It isabout the prisoners. General Rochambeau and M. Raoul--"

"Are doubtless prepared to teach me my business, " snapped Endymion, who seemed in bad humour this morning. 

"No--but listen, dear! They praise you warmly. For whom but my brotherwould these poor men have worked as they did upon the Orange Room--and all to show their gratitude? But it appears the worst part ofcaptivity is its tedium and the way it depresses the mind; one seesthat it must be. They dread Sundays most of all. And I said I wouldspeak to you, and if any way could be found--"

"My dear Dorothea, " Endymion slipped his hands beneath his coat-tailsand stood astraddle, "I have not often to request you, to mind yourown affairs; but really when it comes to making a promise in my name--"

"Not a promise. "

"May I ask you if you seriously propose to familiarise Axcester withall the orgies of a Continental Sabbath? Already the prisoners spendSunday in playing chess, draughts, cards, dominoes; practices which Iconnive at, only insisting that they are kept out of sight, but fromwhich I endeavour to wean them--those at least who have a taste formusic--by encouraging them to, take part in our Church services. "

"But I have heard you regret, dear, that only the least respectablefall in with this. The rest, being strict Roman Catholics, think itwrong. "

"Are you quite sure last night did, not over-tire you? You arecertainly disposed to be argumentative this morning. "

"I think, " suggested Narcissus, buttering his toast carefully, "youmight at least hear what Dorothea has to say. "

"Oh, certainly! Indeed, if she has been committing me to her projects, I have a right to know the worst. "

"I haven't committed you--I only said I would ask your advice, " poorDorothea stammered. "And I have no project. " She caught Narcissus' eye, and went on a little more firmly: "Only I thought, perhaps, that ifyou extended their walks a little on Sundays--they are scrupulous inkeeping their _parole_. And, once in a way, we might entertain them atBayfield--late in the afternoon, when you have finished your Sundaynap. Narcissus might show them the pavement and tell them aboutVespasian--not a regular lecture, it being Sunday, but an informaltalk, with tea afterwards. And in the evening, perhaps, they mightmeet in the Orange Room for some sacred music--it need not be calleda 'concert'--" Dorothea stopped short, amazed at her own inventiveness. 

"H'm. I envy your simplicity, my dear soul, in believing that the--ah--alleged _ennui_ of these men can he cured by a talk aboutVespasian. But when you go on to talk of sacred music, I must bepermitted to remind you that a concert is none the less a concert forbeing called by another name. We Britons do not usually allow names todisguise facts. A concert--call it even a 'sacred' concert--in theOrange Room, amid those distinctly--ah--pagan adornments! I canscarcely even term it the thin end of the wedge, so clearly can I seeit paving the way for other questionable indulgences. I don't doubtyour good intentions, Dorothea, but you cannot, as a woman, be expectedto understand how easily the best intentions may convert Axcester, withits French community, into a veritable hot-bed of vice. And, by-the-by, you might tell Morrish I shall want the horse again in half-an-hour'stime. "

Dorothea left the room on her errand. As she closed the door Narcissuslooked up from his toast. 

"Hot-bed of fiddlesticks!" said he. 

"I--ah--beg your pardon?"

Endymion, in the act of seating himself at table, paused to stare. 

"Hot-bed of fiddlesticks!" repeated Narcissus. "You needn't havesnapped Dorothea's head off. I thought her suggestions extremelysensible. "

"The concert, for instance?"

"Yes! you don't make sacred music irreverent by calling it a concert. Moreover, I really don't see why, as intelligent men, they should notfind Vespasian interesting. His career in many respects resembled theCorsican's. "

Endymion smiled at his plate. 

"Well, well, we will talk about it later on, " said he. 

He never quarrelled with Narcissus, whose foibles amused him, but forwhose slow judgment he had a more than brotherly respect. 

* * * * * * * * *

The Westcotes, though (at due intervals and with due notice given) theyentertained as handsomely as the Lord Lieutenant himself, were not ahousehold to be bounced (so to speak) into promiscuous or extemporisedhospitality. For an ordinary dinner-party, Dorothea would pen theinvitations three weeks ahead, Endymion devote an hour to selecting hisguests, and Narcissus spend a morning in the Bayfield cellar, which hesupervised and in which he took a just pride. And so well was thisinelasticity recognised, so clearly was it understood that by nocircumstances could Endymion Westcote permit himself to be upset, thatnone of the snowed-up company at "The Dogs" thought a bit the worse ofhim for having gone home and left them to shift as best they could. 

Dorothea, when at about half-past ten she put on her bonnet and cloakand stepped down to visit them--the prisoners having by that timecleared the pavement--found herself surrounded by a crew humorouslyapologetic for their toilettes, profoundly envious of her better luck, but on excellent terms with one another and the younger ones, at anyrate, who had borne the worst of the discomfort--enjoying theadventure thoroughly. 

"But the life and soul of it all was that M. Raoul, " confessed LadyBateson's niece. 

"By George!" echoed the schoolboy who had danced the "Soldier's Joy"with Dorothea, "I wouldn't have believed it of a Frenchy. "

For some reason Dorothea was not too well pleased. 

"But I do not see M. Raoul. "

"Oh, he's down by the bridge, helping the relief party. One would guesshim worn out. He ran from lodging to lodging, turning the occupants outof their beds and routing about for fresh linen. They say he evencarried old Mrs. Kekewich pick-a-back through the snow. "

"And tucked her in bed, " added the schoolboy. "And then he came back, wet almost to the waist, and danced. "

He looked roguishly at Lady Bateson's niece, and the pair exploded inlaughter. 

They ran off as General Rochambeau, jaded and unshaven, approached andsaluted Dorothea. 

"Until Miss Westcote appeared, we held our own against the face of day. Now, alas, the conspiracy can no longer be kept up. "

"You had no compliment for me last night, General. "

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle. " He lowered his voice and spoke earnestly. "I have a genuine one for you to-day--I compliment your heart. M. Raoulhas told me of your interest in our poor compatriots, and what youintend--"

"I fear I can do little, " Dorothea interrupted, mindful of her lateencounter and (as she believed) defeat. "By all accounts, M. Raoulappears to have made himself agreeable to all, " she added. 

The old gentleman chuckled and took snuff. 

"He loves an audience. At about four in the morning, when all theelders were in bed--(pardon me, Mademoiselle, if I claim to reckonmyself among _les jeunes_; my poor back tells me at what cost)--atabout four in the morning the young lady who has just left you spokeof a new dance she had seen performed this season at Bath. Well, itappears that M. Raoul had also seen it a--valtz they called it, orsome such name. Whereupon nothing would do but they must dance ittogether. Such a dance, Mademoiselle! Roll, roll--round and round--roll, roll--but _perpendicularly_, you understand. By-and-by theothers began to copy them, and someone asked M. Raoul where he hadfound this accomplishment. 'Oh, in my travels, ' says he, and pointsto one of the panels; and there, if you will believe me, the fellowhad actually painted himself as Perseus in the Garden of theHesperides. "

Poor Dorothea glanced towards the panel. 

"Ah, you remember it! But he must have painted in the face aftershowing it to us the other day, or I should have recognised it at thetime. You must come and see it; really an excellent portrait!"

He led her towards it. The orange curtain no longer hid the thirdnymph. But the blood which had left Dorothea's face rushed back asshe saw that the trinket had been roughly erased. 

"It was quite a _coup_, but M. Raoul loves an audience. "

Shortly before noon the road by the bridge was reported to be clear. Carriages were announced, and the guests shook hands and were rolledaway--the elder glum, their juniors in boisterous spirits. As eachcarriage passed the bridge, where M. Raoul stood among the workmen, handkerchiefs fluttered out, and he lifted his hat gaily in response. 

CHAPTER V

BEGINS WITH ANCIENT HISTORY AND ENDS WITH AN OLD STORY

"_Ubicunque vicit Romanus habitat_, --Where the Roman conquered hesettled--and it is from his settlements that to-day we deduce hisconquests. Of Vespasian and his second legion the jejune page ofSuetonius records neither where they landed nor at what limit theirvictorious eagles were stayed. Yet will the patient investigator tracetheir footprints across many a familiar landscape of rural England, led by the blurred imperishable impress he has learned to recognise. The invading host sweeps forward, and is gone; but behind it thehomestead arises and smiles upon the devastated fields, arms yield tothe implements and habiliments of peace, and the colonist, whosupersedes the legionary, in time furnishes the sole evidence of hisfeverish and ensanguined transit . . . "

Narcissus was enjoying himself amazingly. His audience endured himbecause the experience was new, and their ears caught the rattle oftea-cups in the adjoining library. 

Dorothea sat counting her guests, and assuring herself that the numberof teacups would suffice. She had heard the lecture many times before, and with repetition its sonorous periods had lost hold upon her, although her brother had been at pains to model them upon Gibbon. 

But the scene impressed her sharply, and she carried away a verylively picture of it. The old Roman villa had been built about ahollow square open to the sky, and this square now formed the greathall of Bayfield. Deep galleries of two stories surrounded it, inplace of the old colonnaded walk. Out of these opened the principalrooms of the house, and above them, upon a circular lantern of clearglass, was arched a painted dome. Sheathed on the outside with greenweather-tinted copper, and surmounted by a gilt ball, this dome (whichcould be seen from the Axcester High Street when winter stripped theBayfield elms) gave the building something of the appearance of anobservatory. 

On the north side of the hall a broad staircase descended from thegallery to the tiled floor, in the midst of which a fountain playedbeneath a cupola supported by slender columns. On the west the recessbeneath the gallery had been deepened to admit a truly ample fireplace, with a flat hearthstone and andirons. Here were screens and rich Turkeyrugs, and here the Bayfield household ordinarily had the lamps setafter dinner and gathered before the fire, talking little, enjoying thelong pauses filled with the hiss of logs and the monotonous drip andtrickle of water in the penumbra. 

To-day the prisoners--two hundred in all--crowded the floor, thestairs, even the deep gallery above; but on the south side, facing thestaircase, two heavy curtains had been looped back from the atrium, and there a ray of wintry sunshine fell through the glass roof uponthe famous Bayfield pavement and the figure of Narcissus gravelyexpounding it. 

He had reached his peroration, and Dorothea, who knew every word of itby heart, was on the alert. At its close the audience held their breathfor a second or two and then--satisfied, as their hostess rose, thathe had really come to an end--tendered their applause, and, breakinginto promiscuous chatter, trooped towards the tea-room. Narcissuslingered, with bent head, oblivious, silently repeating the last well-worn sentences while he conned his beloved tessellae. 

A voice aroused him from his brown study; he looked up, to find thehall deserted and M. Raoul standing at his elbow. 

"Will you remember your promise, Monsieur, and allow me to examine alittle more closely? Ah, but it is wonderful! That Pentheus! And theMaenad there, carrying the torn limb! Also the border of vine-leavesand crossed thyrsi; though that, to be sure, is usual enough. And thisnext? Ah, I remember--_'Tu cum parentis regna per arduum'_; but what adevil of a design! And, above all, what mellowness! You will, I know, pardon the enthusiasm of one who comes from the Provence, a few milesout of Arles, and whose mother's family boasts itself to be descendedfrom Roman colonists. "

Narcissus beamed. 

"To you then, M. Raoul, after your Forum and famous Amphitheatre, ourpavement must seem a poor trifle--though it by no means exhausts ourlist of interesting remains. The praefurnium, for instance; I mustshow you our praefurnium. "

"The house would be remarkable anywhere--even in my own Provence--soclosely has it kept the original lines. In half-an-hour one couldreconstruct--"

"Ay!" chimed in the delighted Narcissus. "You shall try, M. Raoul, you shall try! I promise to catch you tripping. "

"Yonder runs the Fosse Way, west by south. The villa stands about twohundred yards back from it, facing the south-east--"

"A little east of south. The outer walls did not run exactly true withthe enclosed quadrangle. "

"You say that the front measured two hundred feet, perhaps a littleover. Clearly, then, it was a domain of much importance, and thegranaries, mills, stables, slaves' dwellings would occupy much spaceabout it--an acre and a half, at least. "

"Portions of a brick foundation were unearthed no less than threehundred yards away. A hypocaust lay embedded among them, much brokenbut recognisable. "

"What puzzles me, " mused M. Raoul, is how these southern settlersmanaged to endure the climate. "

"But that is explicable. " Narcissus was off now, in full cry. "Thetrees, my dear sir, the trees! I have not the slightest doubt that ourBayfield elms are the ragged survivors of an immense forest--a forestwhich covered the whole primaeval face of Somerset on this side of thefens, and through which Vespasian's road-makers literally hewed theirway. Given these forests--which, by the way, extended over the greaterpart of England--we must infer a climate totally unlike ours of thispresent day, damper perhaps, but milder. Within his belt of trees thecolonist, secure from the prevailing winds, would plant a garden torival your gardens of the South--_'primus vere rosam atque autumnocarpere Poma. '_"

"Yes, " added M. Raoul, taking fire; "and, perhaps, a plant ofhelichryse or a rose-cutting from Paestum, to twine about the house-pillars and comfort his exile. "

"M. Raoul?" Dorothea's voice interrupted them. She stood by the loopedcurtain, and reproached Narcissus with a look. "He has had no tea yet;it was cruel of you to detain him. My brother, sir, " she turned toRaoul, "has no conscience when once set going on his hobby; for, ofcourse, you were discussing the pavement?"

"We were talking, Mademoiselle, at that moment of the things whichbrighten and comfort exile. "

She lowered her eyes, conscious of a blush, and half angry that itwould not be restrained. 

"And I was talking of tea, if that happens to be one of them, " shereplied, forcing a laugh. 

"Well, well, " said Narcissus, "take M. Raoul away and give him his tea;but he must come with me afterwards, while there is light, and we willgo over the site together. I must fetch my map. "

He hurried across the hall. 

"Come, M. Raoul, " said Dorothea, stepping past her guest and leadingthe way, "by a small detour we can reach that end of the library whichis least crowded. "

He followed without lifting his eyes, apparently lost in thought. Theatrium on this side opened on a corridor which crossed the front door, and was closed by a door at either end--the one admitting to theservice rooms, the other to the library. Flat columns relieved theblank wall of this passage, with monstrous copies of Raphael's cartoonsfilling the interspaces; on the other hand four tall windows, two oneither side of the door, looked out upon the _porte cochère_, the avenue, and the rolling hills beyond Axcester. By one of these windows M. Raoulhalted--and Dorothea halted too, slightly puzzled. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, but there is one thing your brother forgets! Whatbecame of his happy colonists in the end? He told us that early in thefifth century the Emperor Honorius--was it not?--withdrew hislegions, and wrote that Britain must henceforth look after itself. Ilistened for the end of the story, but your brother did not supply it. Yet sooner or later one and the same dreadful fate must have overtakenall these pleasant scattered homes--sack and fire and slaughter--slaughter for all the men, for the women slavery and worse. Does onehear of any surviving? Out of this warm life into silence--" He pausedand shivered. "Very likely they did not guess for a long while. Look, Mademoiselle, at the Fosse Way, stretching yonder across the hills:figure yourself a daughter of the old Roman homestead standing here andwatching the little cloud of dust that meant the retreating column, thelast of your protection. You would not guess what it meant--you, towhom each day has brought its restful round; who have lived only to begood and reflect the sunshine upon all near you. And I--your slave, suppose me, standing beside you--might guess as little. "

He took a step and touched her hand. His face was still turned to thewindow. 

"Time! time!" he went on in a low voice, charged with passion. "Iteats us all! Brr--how I hate it! How I hate the grave! There lies thesting, Mademoiselle--the torture to be a captive: to feel one's bestdays slipping away, and fate still denying to us poor devils the chancewhich even the luckiest--God knows--find little enough. " He laughed, and to Dorothea the laugh sounded passing bitter. "You will notunderstand how a man feels; how even so unimportant a creature as Imust bear a sort of personal grudge against his fate. "

"I am trying to understand, " said Dorothea, gently. 

"But this you can understand, how a prisoner loves the sunshine: notbecause, through his grating, it warms him; but because it is thesunshine, and he sees it. Mademoiselle, I am not grateful; I seemerely, and adore. Some day you shall pause by this window and see acloud of dust on the Fosse Way--the last of us prisoners as they marchus from Axcester to the place of our release; and, seeing it, you shallclose the book upon a chapter, but not without remembering"--hetouched her hand again, but now his fingers closed on it, and he raisedit to his lips, --"not without remembering how and when one Frenchmansaid, 'God bless you, Mademoiselle Dorothea!'"

Dorothea's eyes were wet when, a moment later, Narcissus came bustlingthrough the atrium with a roll of papers in his hand. 

"Ah, this is luck!" he cried. "I was starting to search for you. "

He either assumed that they had visited the tea-room or forgot allabout it; and M. Raoul's look implored Dorothea not to explain. 

"Suppose we take the _triclinium_ first, on the north side of thehouse. That, sir, will tell you whether I am right or wrong about theclimate of those days. A summer parlour facing north, and with notrace of heating-flues! . . . "

He led off his captive, and Dorothea heard his expository tones gathervolume as the pair crossed the great hall beneath the dome. Then sheturned the handle of the library door, and was instantly deafened bythe babel within. 

The guests took their departure a little before sunset. M. Raoul wasnot among the long train which shook hands with her and filed down theavenue at the heels of M. De Tocqueville and General Rochambeau. Twenty minutes later, while the servants were setting the hall inorder, she heard her brother's voice beneath the window of her boudoir, explaining the system on which the Romans warmed their houses. 

She had picked up a religious book, but found herself unable to fix herattention upon it or even to sit still. Her hand still burned whereM. Raoul's lips had touched it. She recalled Endymion's prophecy thatthese entertainments would throw the domestic mechanism--always moredelicately poised on Sundays than on weekdays--completely oft itspivot. She had pledged herself to prevent this, and had made a privateappeal to the maidservants with whose Sunday-out they interfered. Theyhad responded loyally. 

Still, this was the first experiment; she would go down to the hallagain and make sure that the couches were in position, the cushionsshaken up, the pot-plants placed around the fountain so accurately thatEndymion's nice eye for small comforts could detect no excuse forsaying, "I told you so. "

As she passed along the gallery her eyes sought the pillar beside whichM. Raoul had stood during the lecture. By the foot of it a book layface downwards--a book cheaply bound between boards of mottled paper. She picked it up and read the title; it was a volume of Rousseau'sConfessions--a book of which she remembered to have heard. On theflyleaf was written the owner's name in full--"Charles Marie Fabiende Raoul. "

Dorothea hurried downstairs with it and past the servants tidying thehall. 

She looked to find M. Raoul still buttonholed and held captive byNarcissus at the eastern angle of the house. But before she reached thefront door she happened--though perhaps it was not quite accidental--to throw a glance through the window by which he had stood and talkedwith her, and saw him striding away down the avenue in the dusk. 

She returned to her room and summoned Polly. 

"You know M. Raoul? He has left, forgetting this book, which belongs tohim. Run down to the small gate, that's a good girl--you will overtakehim easily, since he is walking round by the avenue--and return it, with my compliments. "

Polly picked up her skirts and ran. A narrow path slanted down acrossthe slope of the park to the nurseries--a sheltered corner in whichthe Bayfield gardener grew his more delicate evergreens--and here asmall wicket-gate opened on the high road. 

The gate stood many feet above the road, which descended the hillbetween steep hedges. She heard M. Raoul's footstep as she reached it, and, peering over, saw him before he caught sight of her; indeed, hehad almost passed with-out when she hailed him. 

"Holloa!" He swung almost rightabout and smiled up pleasantly. "Is ithighway robbery? If so, I surrender. "

Polly laughed, showing a fine set of teeth. 

"I'm 'most out of breath, " she answered. "You've left your book behind, and my mistress sent it after you with her compliments. " She held itabove the gate. 

He sprang up the bank towards her. "And a pretty book, too, to befound in your hands! You haven't been reading it, I hope. "

"La, no! Is it wicked?"

"Much depends on where you happen to open it. Now if your sweetheart--"

"Who told you I had one?"

"Tut-tut-tut! What's his name?"

"Well, if you must know, I'm walking out with Corporal Zeally. But whatare you doing to the book?" For M. Raoul had taken out a penknife andwas slicing out page after page--in some places whole blocks of pagestogether. 

"When I've finished, I'm going to ask you to take it back to yourmistress; and then no doubt you'll be reading it on the sly. Here, Imust sit down: suppose you let me perch myself on the top bar of thegate. Also, it would be kind of you to put up an arm and prevent myoverbalancing. "

"I shouldn't think of it. "

"Oh, very well!" He climbed up, laid the book on his knee and went onslicing. "I particularly want her to read M. Rousseau's reflections onthe Pont du Gard; but I don't seem to have a book marker, unless youlend me a lock of your hair. "

"Were you the gentleman she danced with, at 'The Dogs, ' the night ofthe snowstorm?"

"The Pont du Gard, my dear, is a Roman antiquity, and has nothing todo with dancing. If, as I suppose, you refer to the 'Pont de Lodi, 'that is a totally different work of art. "

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean. "

"And I don't intend that you shall. "

He cut a small strip of braid from his coat, inserted it for abookmarker, and began to fold away the excised pages. "That's why I amkeeping these back for my own perusal, and perhaps Corporal Zeally's. "

"Do you know him?" She reached up to take the book he was holding outin his left hand, and the next instant his right arm was round her neckand he had kissed her full on the lips. "Oh, you wretch!" she cried, breaking free; and laughed, next moment, as he nearly toppled off thegate. 

"Know him? Why of course I do. " M. Raoul was reseating himself on hisperch, when he happened to throw a look down into the road, and atonce broke into immoderate laughter. "Talk of the wolf--"

Polly screamed and ran. Below, at a bend of the road, stood a stoutishfigure in the uniform of the Axcester Volunteers--scarlet, with whitefacings. It was Corporal Zeally, very slowly taking in the scene. 

M. Raoul skipped off the gate and stepped briskly past him. "Good-evening, Corporal! We're both of us a little behind time, thisevening!" said he as he went by. 

The Corporal pivoted on his heels and stared after him. 

"Dang my living buttons!" he said, reflectively. "Couldn't even waittill my back was turned, but must kiss the maid under my nose!" Hepaused and rubbed his chin. "Her looked like Polly and her zoundedlike Polly . . . Dang this dimpsey old light, I've got a good mind torun after'n and ax'n who 'twas!" He took a step down the hill, butthought better, of it. "No, I won't, " he said; "I'll go and ax Polly. "

CHAPTER VI

FATE IN A LAURELLED POST-CHAISE

All the tongues of Rumour agreed that the Bayfield entertainment hadbeen a success, and Endymion Westcote received many congratulationsupon it at the next meeting of magistrates. 

"Nonsense, nonsense!" he protested lightly. "One must do something tomake life more tolerable to the poor devils, and 'pon my word 'twasworth it to see their gratitude. They behaved admirably. You see, two-thirds of them are gentlemen, after a fashion; not, perhaps, quite inthe sense in which we understand the word, but then the--ah--modicumof French blood in my veins counteracts, I dare say, some littleinsular prejudices. "

"My dear fellow, about such men as de Tocqueville and Rochambeau therecan be no possible question. "

"Ah! I'm extremely glad to hear you say so. I feared, perhaps, the waythey managed their table-napkins--"

"Not at all. I was thinking rather of your bold attitude towardsSunday observance. What does Milliton say?"

Endymion's eyebrows went up. Mr. Milliton was the vicar of Axcesterand the living lay in the Westcotes' gift. I am not--ah--aware thatI consulted Milliton. On such questions I recognise no responsibilitysave to my own conscience. He has not been complaining, I trust?"

"Not to my knowledge. "

"Ah!" Endymion looked as if Mr. Milliton had better not. "I take, youmust know, a somewhat broad view on such matters--may I, withoutoffence, term it a liberal one? As a matter of fact I intend going yetfarther in the direction and granting permission for a small reunion onSunday evenings at 'The Dogs, ' when selections of purely sacred musicwill be performed. I shall, of course, deprecate the name 'concert ';and even 'performance' may seem to carry with it some--ah--suggestions of a theatrical nature. But, as Shakespeare says, 'What'sin a name?' Perhaps you can suggest a more suitable one?"

"A broad-minded fellow, " was the general verdict; and some admirersadded that ideas which in weaker men might seem to lean towards freethought, and even towards Jacobinism, became Mr. Westcote handsomelyenough. He knew how to carry them off, to wear them lightly asflourishes and ornaments of his robust common sense, and might betrusted not to go too far. Endymion, who had an exquisite flair for theapproval of his own class, soon learned to take an honest pride in hisliberalism and to enjoy its discreet display. 'The entertainment atBayfield' was nothing--a private experiment only; the unfamiliar mustbe handled gently; a good rule to try it on your own household beforetackling the world. As a matter of fact, old Narcissus had enjoyed it. But if the neighbouring families were really curious, and would promisenot to be shocked, they must come to "The Dogs" some Sunday evening:No, not next Sunday, but in a week or two's time when the prisoners, as intelligent fellows, would have grasped his notions. '

Sure enough, on the third Sunday he brought a round dozen of guests;and the entrance of the Bayfield party (punctually five minutes late), and their solemn taking of seats in the two front rows, thereafterbecame a feature of these entertainments. On the first occasion themusicians stopped, out of respect, in the middle of a motet ofScarlatti's; but Endymion gave orders that in future this was notto be. 

"I have been something of an amateur myself, " he explained, "and knowwhat is due to Art. "

It vexed Dorothea to note that after the first two or threeperformances some of her best friends among the prisoners absentedthemselves, General Rochambeau for one. Indeed, the General had takento declining all invitations, and rarely appeared abroad. One Marchmorning, meeting him in the High Street, she made bold to tax him withthe change and ask his reasons. 

The hour was eleven in the forenoon, the busiest of the day. In twentyminutes the London coach would be due with the mails, and this alwaysbrought the prisoners out into the street. The largest crowd gatheredin front of "The Dogs, " waiting to see the horses changed and the bagsunloaded. But a second hung around the Post Office, where theCommissary received and distributed the prisoners' letters, whilelesser groups shifted and moved about at the tail of the butchers'carts, and others laden with milk, eggs, and fresh vegetables from thecountry; for Axcester had now a daily market, and in the few minutesbefore the mail's arrival the salesmen drove their best trade. 

General Rochambeau tapped his snuffbox meditatively, like a man in twominds. But he kept a sidelong eye upon Dorothea, as she turned toacknowledge a bow from the Vicomte de Tocqueville. The Vicomte, withan air of amused contempt, was choosing a steak for his dinner, usinghis gold-ferruled walking-stick to direct the butcher how to cut itout, while his servant stood ready with a plate. 

"To tell you the truth, Mademoiselle, I find a hand at picquet withthe Admiral less fatiguing for two old gentlemen than these publicgaieties. "

"In other words, you are nursing him. They tell me he has never beenwell since that night of the snowstorm. "

"Your informants may now add that he is better; these few Spring dayshave done wonders for his rheumatism, and, indeed, he is dressed andabroad this morning. "

"Which explains why you are willing to stop and chat with me, insteadof hurrying off to the Post Office to ask for his letter--that letterwhich never comes. "

"So M. Raoul has been telling you all about us?"

Dorothea blushed. 

"He happened to speak of it, at one of my working parties--"

"He has a fine gift for the pathetic, that young man; oh, yes, and apretty humour too! I can fancy what he makes of us--poor old Damonand Pythias--while he holds the skeins; with a smile for poor oldPythias' pigtail, and a tremor of the voice for the Emperor's_tabatière_, and a tear, no doubt, for the letter which never comes. M. Raoul is great with an audience. "

"You do him injustice, General. An audience of half-a-dozen old women!"

General Rochambeau had an answer to this on his tongue, but repressedit. 

"Ah, here comes the Admiral!" he cried, as the gaunt old man cameshuffling down the street towards them, with his stoop, his cross-grained features drawn awry with twinges of rheumatism, his handscrossed above his tall cane. All Axcester laughed at his long bluesurtout, his pigtail and little round hat. But Dorothea always foundhim formidable, and wanted to run away. "Admiral, I was just about totell Miss Westcote that the time is come to congratulate her. Here iswinter past--except that of two years ago, the hardest known inAxcester; and, thanks to her subscription lists and working parties, our countrymen have never gone so well fed and warmly clad. "

"Which, " growled the Admiral, "does not explain why no less than eightof them have broken their parole. An incredible, a shameful number!"

"As time goes on, Admiral, they grow less patient. Hope deferred--"

_Ta-ra, tara-ra! Ta-ra, tara-ra-ra!_ The notes of the guard's hornbroke in upon Dorothea's excuse. Groups scattered, market carts werehastily backed alongside the pavement, and down the mid-thoroughfarecame the mail at a gallop, with crack of whip and rushing chime ofbits and swingle-bars. 

Dorothea watched the crowd closing round it as it drew up by "TheDogs, " and turned to note that the Admiral's face was pale and hiseyes sought those of his old friend. 

"Better leave it to me to-day, if Miss Westcote will excuse me. "

General Rochambeau lifted his hat and hurried after the crowd. 

Then Dorothea understood. The old man beside her had lost courage topick up his old habit; at the last moment his friend must go for theletter which never came. She cast about to say something; her lastwords had been of hope deferred--it would not do to take up herspeech there . . . 

The Admiral seemed to meet her eyes with an effort. He put out a hand. 

"It is not good, Mademoiselle, that a man should pity himself. Bewarehow you teach that; beware how you listen to him then. "

He turned from her abruptly and tottered away. Glancing aside, she metthe Vicomte de Tocqueville's tired smile; he was using his cane toprod the butcher and recall his attention to the half-cut steak. Butthe butcher continued to stare down the street. 

"Eh? But, dear me, it sounds like an _émeute_, " said the Vicomte, negligently; at the same time stepping to Dorothea's side. 

The murmur of the crowd in front of "The Dogs" had been swelling, andnow broke into sharp, angry cries for a moment; then settled into adull roar, and rose in a hoarse _crescendo_. The mail coach wasevidently not the centre of disturbance, though Dorothea could see itsdriver waving his arm and gesticulating from the box. The noise cameahead of it, some twenty yards lower down the hill, where the streethad suddenly grown black with people pressing and swaying. 

"There seems no danger here, whatever it is, " said the Vicomte, glancing up at the house-front above. 

"Please go and see what is the matter. I am safe enough, " Dorotheaassured him. "The folks in the house will give me shelter, ifnecessary. "

The Vicomte lifted his hat. "I will return and report promptly, if theaffair be serious. "

But it was not serious. The tumult died down, and Dorothea with herriding-switch was guarding the half-cut steak from a predatory dogwhen the Vicomte and the butcher returned together. 

"Reassure yourself, Miss Westcote, " said M. De Tocqueville. "There hasbeen no bloodshed, though bloodshed was challenged. It appears thatalmost as the coach drew up there arrived from the westward a post-chaise conveying a young naval officer from Plymouth, with despatchesand (I regret to tell it) a flag. His Britannic Majesty has capturedanother of our frigates; and the high spirited young gentleman wasmaking the most of it in all innocence, and without an idea that histriumph could offend anyone in Axcester. Unfortunately, on his way upthe street, he waved the captured tricolor under the nose of yourbrother's _protégé_, M. Raoul--"

"M. Raoul!" Dorothea caught her breath on the name. 

"And M. Raoul leapt into the chaise, then and there wrested the flagfrom him--the more easily no doubt because he expected nothing solittle and holding it aloft, challenged him to mortal combat. Theatrically, and apart from the taste of it (I report only fromhearsay), the coup must have been immensely successful. When Iarrived, your brother was restoring peace, the young Briton holdingout his hand--swearing he was sorry, begad! but how the deuce was heto have known ?--and M. Raoul saving the situation, and stilldemanding blood with a face as long as an Alexandrine:

"_'Ce drapeau glorieux auquel, en sanglotant, Se prosternent affaises vos membres, veterans!'_

"'Vary sorry, damitol, shake hands, beg your pardon. '"

The Vicomte forgot his languor, and burlesqued the scene with realtalent. 

Dorothea, however, was not amused. 

"You say my brother is at 'The Dogs, ' Monsieur? I think I will goto him. "

"You must allow me, then, to escort you. "

"Oh, the street is quite safe. Your countrymen will not suspect me ofexulting over their misfortunes. "

"Nevertheless--" he insisted, and walked beside her. 

 A mixed crowd of French and English still surrounded the chaise, towhich a couple of postboys were attaching the relay: the French nolonger furious, now that an apology had been offered and the flaghidden, but silent and sulky yet; the English inclined to think theyoung lieutenant hardly served, not to say churlishly. Frenchmen mightbe thin-skinned; but war was war, and surely Britons had a right toraise three cheers for a victory. Besides he had begged pardon at once, and offered to shake hands like a gentleman--that is, as soon as hediscovered whose feelings were hurt; for naturally the fisticuffs hadcome first, and in these Master Raoul had taken as good as he brought. As the Vicomte cleared a path for her to the porch, where Endymionstood shaking hands and bidding adieu, Dorothea caught her first andlast glimpse of this traveller, who--without knowing it, withoutseeing her face to remember it, or even learning her name--was todeflect the slow current of her life, and send it whirling down astrange channel, giddy, precipitous, to an end unguessed. 

She saw a fresh-complexioned lad, somewhat flushed and red in the face, but of frank and pleasant features; dressed in a three-cornered cocked-hat, blue coat piped with white and gilt-buttoned, white breeches andwaistcoat, and broad black sword-belt; a youngster of the sort thatloves a scrimmage or a jest, but is better in a scrimmage than in ajest when the laugh goes against him. He was eying the chaise just now, and obviously cursing the hour in which he had decorated it with laurel. 

Yet on the whole in a trying situation he bore himself well. 

"Ah, much obliged to you, Vicomte!" Endymion hailed the pair. "Therehas been a small misunderstanding, my dear Dorothea; not the slightestcause for alarm! Still, you had better pass through to the coffee-roomand wait for me. "

Dorothea dismissed M. De Tocqueville with a bow, passed into the darkpassage and pushed open the coffee-room door. 

Within sat a young man, his elbows on the table, and his face bowedupon his arms. His fingers convulsively twisted a torn scrap ofbunting; his shoulders heaved. It was M. Raoul. 

Dorothea paused in the doorway and spoke his name. He did not look up. 

She stepped towards him. 

"M. Raoul!"

A sob shook him. She laid a hand gently on his bowed head, on the darkwave of hair above his strong, shapely neck. She was full of pity, longing to comfort . . . 

"M. Raoul!"

He started, gazed up at her, and seized her hand. His eyes swam withtears, but behind the tears blazed a light which frightened her. Yet--oh, surely!--she could not mistake it. 

"Dorothea!"

He held both her hands now. He was drawing her towards him. She couldnot speak. The room swam; outside the window she heard the noise ofstarting hoofs, of wheels, of the English crowd hurrahing as the chaiserolled away. Her head almost touched M. Raoul's breast. Then she brokeloose, as her brother's step sounded in the passage. 

CHAPTER VII

LOVE AND AN OLD MAID

I pray you be gentle with Dorothea. Find, if you can, somethingadmirable in this plain spinster keeping, at the age of thirty-seven, a room in her breast adorned and ready for first love; find it pitiful, if you must, that the blind boy should mistake his lodging; only donot laugh, or your laughter may accuse you in the sequel. 

She had a most simple heart. Wonder filled it as she rode home toBayfield, and by the bridge she reined up Mercury as if to take herbearings in an unfamiliar country. At her feet rushed the Axe, swollenby spring freshets; a bullfinch, wet from his bath, bobbed on the sand-stone parapet, shook himself, and piped a note or two; away up thestream, among the alders, birds were chasing and courting; from abovethe Bayfield elms, out of spaces of blue, the larks' song fell like adin of innumerable silver hammers. Either new sense had been given her, or the rains had washed the landscape and restored obliterated lines, colours, meanings. The very leaves by the roadside were fragrant asflowers. 

For the moment it sufficed to know that she was loved, and that sheloved. She was no fool. At the back of all her wonder lay the certaintythat in the world's eyes such love as hers was absurd; that it must endwhere it began; that Raoul could never be hers, nor she escape from acaptivity as real as his. But, perhaps because she knew all this socertainly, she could put it aside. This thing had come to her: thishappiness to which, alone, in darkness, depressed by every look intothe mirror, by every casual proof that her brothers and intimatesaccepted the verdict as final, her soul had been loyal--a forgottenservant of a neglectful lord. In the silence of her own room, in hergarden, in the quiet stir of household duties, and again during thelong evenings while she sat knitting by the fire and her brotherstalked, she had pondered much upon love and puzzled herself with manyquestions. She had watched girls and their lovers, wives and theirhusbands. Can love (she had asked) draw near and pass and go its wayunrecognised? She had conned the signs. Now the hour had come, and shehad needed none of her learning--eyes, hands, and voice, she hadknown the authentic god. 

And she knew that it was not absurd; she knew herself worthy of love'sbelated condescension--not Raoul's; for the moment she scarcelythought of Raoul; for the moment Raoul's image grew faint andindefinite in the glory of being loved. Instinct, too, thrust it intothe background; for as Raoul grew definite so must his youth, hiscircumstances, the world's laughter, the barriers never to be overcome. But merely to be loved, and to rest in that knowledge awhile--herewere no barriers. The thing had happened: it was: nothing could forbidor efface it. 

Yet when she reached home, after forcing the astonished Mercury tocanter up the entire length of Bayfield hill, she must walk straightto her room, and study her face in the glass. 

"It has happened to you--to you! Why has it not transfigured you?--but then people would guess. Your teeth stand out--well, not so veryprominently--but they stand out, and that is why foreigners laugh atEnglishwomen. Yes, it has happened to you; but why? how?"It so happened that she must meet him the next day. Narcissus hadengaged him to make drawings of the Bayfield pavement, a new series tosupersede hers in an enlarged edition of the treatise. Every one ofthe _tessellae_ was to be drawn to scale, and she must meet himto-morrow in the library with her brother and receive instructions, forshe had promised to help in taking measurements. 

When the time came, and she entered the library, she did not indeeddare to lift her eyes. But Narcissus, already immersed in calculations, scarcely looked up from his paper. "Ah, there you are! Have you broughtthe India-ink?" he asked, and after a minute she marvelled at her ownself-possession. Even when he left them to work out the measurementstogether (and it flashed upon her that henceforth they would often beleft together, her immunity being taken for granted), she kept her headbowed over the papers and managed to control her voice to put one ortwo ordinary questions--until the pencil dropped from her fingers andshe felt her hand imprisoned. 

"Dorothea!"

"Oh, please, no!" she entreated hoarsely. "M. Raoul--!"

"Charles--" She attempted to draw her hand away; but, failing, liftedher eyes for mercy. They were sick and troubled. "Charles, " he insisted. 

"Charles, then. " She relented and he kissed her gaily. It was as if shedrank in the kiss and, the next moment, recoiled from it. He releasedher hand and waited, watching her. She stood upright by the table, hershoulder turned to him, her eyes gazing through the long window uponthe green stretch of lawn. She was trembling slightly. 

"It--it hurts like a wound, " she murmured, and her hand went up to herbreast. "But you must listen, please. You know--better than I--thatthis is the end. Oh, yes"--as he would have interrupted--"it isbeautiful--for me. But I am old and you are a boy, and it is all quitesilly. Please listen: even apart from this, it would be quite silly andcould end nowhere. "

He caught at her hand again, and she let it lie in his. 

"Nowhere, " she repeated, and, lifting her head, nodded twice. Her eyeswere brimming. 

"But if you love me?" he began. 

She waited a moment, but he did not finish. "Ah! there it is, you see:you cannot finish. I was afraid to meet you to-day; but now I am glad, because we can talk about it once and for all. Charles"--she hesitatedover the name--"dear, I have been thinking. Since we see this soclearly, it can be no treachery to my brothers to let our love standwhere it does. At my age"--and Dorothea laughed nervously--"one ismore easily contented than at yours. "

"I cannot bear your talking in this way. "

"Oh yes, you can, " she assured him with a practical little nod. "Idon't like it myself, but it has to be done. Now in the first place, when we meet like this there must be no kissing. " She blushed, whileher voice wavered again over the word; then, as again his hand closedupon hers, she laughed. "Well--yes, you may kiss my hand. But I mustnot have it on my conscience that I am hiding from Endymion andNarcissus what they have a right to know. Of course they would be angryif they knew that I--that I was fond of you at all; but they wouldhave no right, for they could not have forbidden or prevented it. Nowif our prospects were what folks would call happier, why then inearnest of them you might kiss me, but then you would be bound to go tomy brothers and tell them. But since it can all come to nothing--"A ghost of a smile finished the sentence. 

"This war cannot last for ever. "

"It seems to have lasted ever since I can remember. But what differencecould its ending make? Ah, yes, then I should lose you!" she cried indismay, but added with as sudden remorse: "Forgive my selfishness!"

"You are adorable, " said he, and they laughed and picked up theirpencils. 

Dorothea's casuistry might prove her ignorant of love and its perils, as a child is of fire; but having, as she deemed, discovered the limitsof her duty and set up her terms with Raoul upon them, she soondeveloped a wonderful cunning in the art of being loved. Her plainnessand the difference in their ages she took for granted, and subtlypersuaded Raoul to take for granted; she had no affectations, no_minauderies_; by instinct she avoided setting up any illusion which hecould not share; unconsciously and naturally she rested her strength onthe maternal, protective side of love. Raoul came to her with his woes, his difficulties, his quarrel against fate; and she talked them overwith him, and advised him almost as might a wise elder sister. She hadread the _Confessions_; and, in spite of the missing pages, with lessof fascination than disgust; yet had absorbed more than she knew. InRaoul she recognised certain points of likeness to his greatcountryman--points which had puzzled, her in the book. Now the bookhelped her to treat them, though she was unaware of its help. Stillless aware was she of any likeness between her and Madame de Warens, of whom (again in spite of the missing pages) she had a poor opinion. 

The business of the drawings brought Raoul to Bayfield almost daily, and, as she had foreseen, they were much alone. 

After all, since it could end in nothing, the situation had itsadvantages; no one in the household gave it a thought, apparently. Dorothea was not altogether sure about Polly; once or twice she hadcaught Polly eying her with an odd expression--once especially, whenshe had looked up as the girl was plaiting her hair, and their eyesmet in the glass. And once again Dorothea had sent her to the librarywith a note of instructions left that morning by Narcissus, and, following a few minutes later, had found her standing and talking withM. Raoul in an attitude which, without being familiar, was not quiterespectful. 

"What was she saying?" her mistress asked, a moment or two later. 

"Oh, nothing, " he answered negligently. "I suppose that class ofperson cannot be troubled to show respect to prisoners. "

That evening Dorothea rated the girl soundly for her pertness. "And Ishall speak to Zeally, " she threatened, "if anything of the kindhappens again. If Mr. Endymion is to let you two have a house when youmarry, and take in the Frenchmen as lodgers, he will want to know thatyou treat them respectfully. "

Polly wept, and was forgiven. 

April, May, June, went by, and still Dorothea lived in her dream, troubled only by dread of the day which must bring her lover's task toan end, and, with it, his almost daily visits. Bit by bit she learnedhis story. He told her of Arles, his birthplace, with its Roman masonryand amphitheatre; of a turreted terraced chateau and a family ofaristocrats lording it among the vineyards; conspiring a little laterwith other noble families, entertaining them at secret meetings of the_Chiffonne_, where oaths were taken; later again, defending itselfbehind barricades of paving-stones; last of all, marched or carried inbatches to the guillotine or the fusillade. He told of Avignon and itsPapal Castle overhanging the Rhone, the city where he had spent hisschool days, and at the age of nine had seen Patriot L'Escuyer stabbedto death in the Cordeliers' Church with women's scissors; had seenJourdan, the avenger, otherwise Coupe-tête, march flaming by at thehead of his brave _brigands d'Avignon_. He told of the sequel, thehundred and thirty men, women and babes slaughtered in the dungeon ofthe _Glacière_; of Choisi's Dragoons and Grenadiers at the gates, andhow, with roses scattered before them, they marched through the streetsto the Castle, entered the gateway and paused, brought to a stand bythe stench of putrefying flesh. He and his school mates had taken aholiday--their master being in hiding--to see the bodies lifted out. Also he had seen the search party ride out through the gates and returnagain, bringing Jourdan, with feet strapped beneath his horse's belly. He told of his journey to, Paris--his purpose to learn to paint (atsuch a time!); of the great David, fat and wheezy, back at his easel, panting from civil blood-shed; of the call to arms, his enlistment, his first campaign of 1805; of the foggy morning of Austerlitz, hiswound, and he long hours he lay in the rear of a battery on the heightof Pratzen, writhing, watching the artillerymen at work and so on, with stories of marching and fighting, nights slept out by him at fulllength on the sodden turf beside his arms. 

She had no history to tell him in exchange; she asked only to listenand to comfort. Yet so cleverly he addressed his story that the longestmonologue became, by aid of a look or pressure of the hand, aconversation in which she, his guardian angel, bore her part. Did hetalk of Avignon, for instance? It was the land of Laura and Petrarch, and she, seated with half-closed eyes beneath the Bayfield elms, sawthe pair beside the waters of Vaucluse, saw the roses and orange-treesand arid plains of Provence, and wondered at the trouble in theirspiritual love. She was not troubled; love as "a dureless content anda trustless joy" lay outside of her knowledge, and she had no desireto prove it. In this only she forgot the difference between Raoul'sage and hers. 

The day came when his work was ended. They spent a great part of thatafternoon in the garden, now in the height of its midsummer glory. Raoul was very silent. 

"But this must not end. It cannot end so!" he groaned once or twice. 

He never forgot for long his old spite against Time. 

"It will never end for me, " she murmured. 

"Of what are you made, then, that you look forward to living onshadows?--one would say, almost cheerfully! I believe you could behappy if you never saw me again!"

"Even if that had to be, " she answered gravely, "while I knew youloved me I should never be quite unhappy. But you must find a way, while you can, to come sometimes; yes, you must come. "

CHAPTER VIII

CORPORAL ZEALLY INTERVENES

Dorothea sat in the great hall of Bayfield, between the lamplight andthe moonlight, listening to the drip of the fountain beneath its tinycupola. A midsummer moon-ray fell through the uncurtained lanternbeneath the dome and spread in a small pool of silver at her feet. Beneath one of the two shaded lamps Endymion lounged in his armchairand read the Sherborne Mercury. Narcissus had carried off the other toa table across the hall by the long bookcase, and above the pot-plantsbanked about the fountain she saw it shining on his shapely grey headas he bent over a copy of the Antonine Itinerary and patiently workedout a new theory of its distances. Her own face rested in deep shadow, and she felt grateful for it as she leaned back thinking her ownthoughts. It was a whole week now since Charles had visited Bayfield, but she had encountered him that morning in Axcester High Street asshe passed up it on horseback with her brothers. Narcissus had reinedup to put some question or other about the drawings, but Endymion (whodid not share his brother's liking for M. Raoul) had ridden on, andshe had ridden on too, though reluctantly. She recalled his salute, his glance at her, and down-dropped eyes; she wondered what pointNarcissus and he had discussed, and blamed herself for not havingfound courage to ask. . . . 

The stable clock struck ten. She arose and kissed her brothers good-night. By Narcissus she paused. 

"Be careful of your eyes, dear. And if you are going to be busy withthat great book these next few evenings I will have the table broughtacross to the other side where you will be cosier. "

Narcissus came out of his calculations and looked up at her gently. "Please do not disarrange the furniture for me; a change always fidgetsme, even before I take in precisely what has happened. " He smiled. "In that I resemble my old friend Vespasian, who would have noalterations made when he visited his home--_manente villa qualisfuerat olim, ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudini deperiret_. A pleasant trait, I have always thought. "

He lit her candle and kissed her, and Dorothea went up the broadstaircase to her own room. Half-way along the corridor she stayed amoment to look down upon the hall. Endymion had dropped his newspaperand was yawning; a sure sign that Narcissus, already reabsorbed in theItinerary, would in a few moments be hurried from it to bed. 

She reached the door of her room and opened it, then checked anexclamation of annoyance. For some mysterious reason Polly hadforgotten to light her candle. This was her rule, never broken before. 

She stepped to the bellpull. Her hand was on it, when she heard thegirl's voice muttering in the next room--the boudoir. At least, itsounded like Polly's voice, though its tone was strangely subdued andlevel. "Talking to herself, " Dorothea decided, and smiled, in spite ofher annoyance, as everyone smiles who catches another in this trick. She dropped the bellpull and opened the boudoir door. 

Polly was not talking to herself. She was leaning far out of the openwindow, and at the sound of the door started back into the room with agasp and a short cry. 

"To whom were you talking?"

Dorothea had set the candle down in the bedroom. Outside the windowthe park lay spread to the soft moonshine, but the moon did not lookdirectly into the boudoir. In the half-light mistress and maid soughteach other's eyes. 

"To whom were you talking?" Dorothea demanded, sternly. 

Polly was silent for a second or two, then her chin went up defiantly. 

"To Mr. Raoul, " she muttered. 

"To M. Raoul!--to M. Raoul? I don't understand. Is M. Raoul--Oh, forgoodness sake speak, girl! What is that? I see a piece of paper inyour hand. "

Polly twisted it in her fingers, and made a movement to hide it in herpocket; but with the movement she seemed to reflect. 

"He gave it to me; I don't understand anything about it. I wasshutting the window, when he whistled to me; he gave me this. I--Ithink he meant it for you. "

Polly's tone suddenly became saucy, but her voice shook. 

Dorothea was shaking too, as her fingers closed on the note. Shevainly sought to read the girl's eyes. Her own cheeks were burning;she felt the blood rushing into them and singing in her ears. Yet inher abasement she kept her dignity, and, motioning Polly to follow, stepped into the bedroom, unfolded the letter slowly, and read it bythe candle there. 

 _"My Angel, "I have hungered now for a week. Be at your window this evening and let me, at least, be fed with a word. See what I risk for you. 

 "Yours devotedly and for ever. "_

There was no signature, but well enough Dorothea knew the handwriting. A wave of anger swelled in her heart--the first she had ever felttowards him. He had behaved selfishly. "See what I risk for you!"--but to what risk was he exposing her! He was breaking their covenanttoo; demanding that which he must know her conscience abhorred. Shehad not believed he could understand her so poorly, held her so cheap. Cheap indeed, since he had risked her secret in Polly's hand!

She turned the paper over, noting its creases. Suddenly--"You haveopened and read this!" she said. 

Polly admitted it with downcast eyes. The girl, after the firstsurprise, had demeaned herself admirably, and now stood in the attitudeproper to a confidential servant; solicitous, respectful, prepared toblink the peccadillo, even to sympathise discreetly at a hint given. 

"I'm sorry, Miss, that I opened it; I ought to have told you, but youtook me by surprise. You know, Miss, that you gave me leave to run downto my aunt's this evening; and on my way back--just as I was lettingmyself in by the nursery gate, Mr. Raoul comes tearing up the hillafter me and slips this into my hand. To tell you the truth, it ratherfrightened me being run after like that. And he said something and ranback--for nine was just striking, and in a moment the Ting-tang wouldbe ringing and he must be back to answer his name. So in my fluster Ididn't catch what he meant. When I got home and opened it, I saw mymistake. But you were downstairs at dinner--I couldn't get to speakwith you alone--I waited to tell you; and just now, when I wasdrawing the blinds, I heard a whistle--"

"M. Raoul had no right to send me such a message, Polly. I cannotthink what he means by it. Nothing that I have ever said to him--"

"No, Miss, " Polly assented readily. After a pause she added: "I supposeyou'd like me to go now? You won't be wanting your hair done to-night?"

"Certainly I wish you to stay. Is he--is M. Raoul outside?"

"I think so, Miss. Oh, yes--for certain he is. "

"Then I must insist on your staying with me while I dismiss him. "

"Very good, Miss. Would you wish me to stay here, or to come with you?"

Dorothea felt herself blushing, and her temper rose again. "For themoment, stay here. I will leave the door open and call you when youare wanted. "

She passed into the boudoir and bent to the open window. At this cornerthe foundations of the house stood some feet lower than the slope outof which they had been levelled, and she looked down upon a glacis ofsmooth turf, capped by a glimmering parapet of Bath stone. Beyondstretched the moonlit park. 

"M. Raoul!" she called, but scarcely above a whisper. 

A figure crept out from the dark angle below and climbed to the parapet. 

"Dorothea! Forgive me! Another night and no word with you--I could notbear it. "

"You are mad. You are breaking your parole and risking shame for me. Nay, you have shamed me already. Polly is here. "

"Polly is a good girl; she understands. A word, then, if you must driveme away. "

"Your _parole!_"

"I can pass the sentries. No fear of the patrol hereabouts. Your hand--let down your hand to me. I can reach it from the parapet here--withmy fingers only, not with my lips, though even that you never forbade!"

Weakly, she lowered her arm over the sill. He reached to touch it, andshe leaned her face towards his--hers in shadow, his pale in themoonlight. 

Before their fingers met, a yellow flame leapt from the angle to theleft; a loud report banged in her ears and echoed across the park; andRaoul, after swaying a second, pitched forward with a sharp cry androlled to the foot of the glacis. 

Dorothea forced herself back in the room, and stood there upright andshook, with Polly beside her holding her two hands. 

"They have shot him!"

The two women listened for a moment. All was still now. Polly steppedto the window and, closed it softly. 

"But why? What are you doing?" Dorothea asked, in a hoarse whisper. 

"They will find quite enough without that, " said the practical girl, but her voice quavered. 

"Yet if they had seen--Ah, how selfish to think of that now! Hush--that was a groan! He is alive still. "

She moved towards the window, but Polly dragged her back by main force. 

"Listen, Miss!"

Below they heard the sudden unbarring of doors, and Endymion's voicecalling for Mudge, the butler. A bell pealed in the servants' hall, stopped, and began ringing again in short and violent jerks. 

"Let me go, " commanded Dorothea. "They will never find him, under theslope there. He may be bleeding to death. I must tell--"

But Polly clung to her. "They'll find him safe enough, Miss Dorothea. There's Sam, now--hark!--at the backdoor bell: he'll tell them. "

"Sam!"

"Sam Zeally, Miss. "

"But I don't understand, " Dorothea stammered; with a sharp suspicionof treachery, she pushed the girl from her. "Was Zeally mounting guardtonight? If I thought--don't tell me it was a trap! Oh, you wickedgirl!"

"No; it wasn't, " answered Polly, sulkily. "I don't know nothing ofSam's movements. But he might be hanging about the house; and if hesaw a man talking to me, he's just as jealous as fire. "

She broke off at the sound of voices below the window. The ray of alantern, as the search-party jolted it, flashed and danced on wall andceiling of the dim boudoir. A sharp exclamation announced that Raoulwas discovered. A confused muttering followed; and then Dorothea heardEndymion's voice calling up to Mudge from the bottom of the trench. 

"Run to Miss Westcote's room and tell her we shall require lint andbandages. There is no cause for alarm, assure her; say there has beenan accident--a Frenchman overtaken out of bounds and wounded--Ithink, not seriously. If she be gone to bed, get the medicine chestand the key and bring them into the kitchen. "

Dorothea had charge of the Bayfield medicine chest, and kept it in acupboard of the boudoir. She groped for it, pulled open drawer afterdrawer, rifled them for lint and linen, and by the time Mudge tappedon the door, stood ready with the chest under one arm and a heap ofbandages in the other. 

"In the kitchen, Mr. Endymion said. I am coming at once; take thechest, run, and have as many candles lit as possible. "

Mudge ran; Dorothea followed--with Polly behind her, trembling likea leaf. 

The two women reached the kitchen as the party entered with Raoul, and supported him to a chair beside the dying fire. His face wascolourless, and he lay back and closed his eyes weakly as Endymionstooped to examine the wounded leg, with Narcissus in close attendance, and the others standing respectfully apart--Mudge, the two footmen(in their shirt sleeves), an under-gardener named Best, one of thehousemaids, and Corporal Zeally by the door in regimentals, with hisjapanned shako askew and his Brown Bess still in his hand. Behind hisshoulder, three or four of the women servants hung about the doorwayand peered in, between curiosity and terror. 

It was a part of Endymion's fastidiousness that the sight of blood--that is, of human blood--turned his stomach. In her distress Dorotheacould not help admiring how he conquered this aversion; how he kneltin his spick-and-span evening dress, and, after turning back hisruffles, unlaced the prisoner's soaked shoe and rolled down thestocking. 

He looked up gratefully as she entered. In such emergencies Narcissuswas worse than useless; but Dorothea had the nursing instinct, and herbrothers recognised it. The sight of a wound or a hurt steadied herwits, and she became practical and helpful at once. 

"A flesh wound only, I think; just above the ankle--the tendon cut, but the bone apparently not broken. "

"It may be splintered, though, " said Dorothea. "Has anyone thought ofsending for Doctor Ibbetson? He must be fetched at once. A towel, please--three or four--from the dresser there. " A footman broughtthe towels. She knelt, folded two on her lap, and, resting Raoul's footthere, drew the stocking gently from the wound. "A basin and warmwater, not too hot. Polly, you will find a small sponge in the, seconddrawer . . . " She nodded towards the medicine chest. "One of you, makeup a better fire and set on a fresh kettle . . . "

She gave her orders in a low firm voice, and continued to directeveryone thus, while she sponged the wound and drew off the stocking. Neither towards them nor towards Raoul did she lift her eyes. The barefoot of her beloved rested in her lap. She heard him groan twice, butwith no pain inflicted by her fingers; if their slightest pressure hadhurt him she would have known. She went on bathing the wound--she, who could have bathed it with her tears. As time passed, and still thedoctor did not come, she began to bandage it. She called on Polly forthe bandages; then, still without looking up, she divined that Pollywas useless--was engaged in trying to catch Zeally's eye, and warnhim or get a word with him. 

"He's pale as a ghost yet, " said Endymion. "Another dose of brandymight set him up. I gave him some from my flask before bringing him in. "

"He is not going to faint, " she answered. 

"Well, I won't bother him with questions until he comes round a bit. You, Zeally, had better step into my room though, and give me yourversion of the affair. "

But as the Corporal saluted and took a step forward, the prisoneropened his eyes. 

"Before you examine Zeally, sir, let me save you what trouble I can. "He spoke faintly, but with deliberation. "I wish to deny nothing. I wasescaping, and he tracked me. He came on me as I cut across the park, and challenged. I did not answer, but ran around a corner of the houseand jumped the parapet, thinking to double along the trench there andput him off the scent--at least to dodge the bullet, if he fired. Butas I jumped for it, he winged me. A very pretty shot, too. With yourleave, sir, I 'd like to shake hands with him on it. Shake hands, Corporal!" Raoul stretched out a hand, sideways. "You're a smartfellow, and no malice between soldiers. "

Dorothea heard Polly's gasp: it seemed to her that all the room musthear it. Her own hand trembled on the bandage. She had forgotten herdanger--the all but inevitable scandal--until Raoul brought it backto her, and in the same breath saved her by his heroic lie. She couldnot profit by it, though. Her lips parted to refute it, and for thefirst time she gazed up at him, her eyes brimming with sudden love, gratitude, pride, even while they entreated against the sacrifice. Hewas smiling down with an air of faint amusement; yet beneath the lashesshe read a command which mastered her will, imposed silence. He hadtaken on a new manliness, and for the first time in the story of theirloves she felt herself dominated by something stronger than passion. Hehad swept her off her feet, before now, by boyish ardour: her humility, the marvel of being loved, had aided him; but hitherto in her heart shehad always felt her own character to be the stronger. Now he challengedher on woman's own ground--that of self-abnegation; he commanded herto his own hurt, he towered above her. She had never dreamed of a lovelike this. Beaten, despairing for him, yet proud as she had never beenin her life, she held her breath. 

Corporal Zeally was merely bewildered. His was a deliberate mind andhad hatched out the night's catastrophe after incubating it for weeks. Unconvinced by Polly's explanation of her meeting with M. Raoul at theNursery gate, he had nursed a dull jealousy and set himself to watch, and had dogged his man down at length with the slow cunning of a yokelbred of a line of poachers. Raoul's tribute to his smartness perplexedhim and almost he scented a trap. 

"Beg your pardon, Squire, " he began heavily, forgetting military formsof address, "but the gentleman don't put it right. "

"Oh, hang your British modesty!" put in Raoul with a wry laugh. "If itpleases you to represent that the whole thing was accidental and youdon't deserve to be promoted sergeant for tonight's work, at least youmight respect my vanity. "

Polly saw her opportunity. She crossed boldly and made as if to layover the Corporal's mouth the hand that would fain have boxed his ears. "Reckon this is my affair, " she announced, with an effrontery at whichone of the footmen guffawed openly. "Be modest as you please, my lad, when I've married 'ee; but I won't put up with modesty from anyoneunder a sergeant, and that I warn 'ee!"

The Corporal eyed his sweetheart without forgiveness. His mouth wasopen, but upon the word "sergeant, " he shut it again and began todigest the idea. 

"You know, of course, sir, " Endymion Westcote addressed the prisonercoldly, "to what such a confession commits you? I do not see what otherconstruction the facts admit, but it is so serious in itself and in itsconsequences that I warn you--"

"I have broken my _parole_, sir, " said Raoul, simply. "Of thetemptations you cannot judge. Of the shame I am as profoundly sensibleas you can be. The consequences I am ready to suffer. "

He sank back in his chair as Dr. Ibbetson entered. 

An hour later Dorothea said goodnight to her brother in the great hall. He had lit his candle and was mixing himself a glass of brandy andwater. 

"The sight of blood--" he excused himself. "I am sorry for the fellow, though I never liked him. I suppose, now, there was nothing between himand that girl Polly? For a moment--from Zeally's manner--" He gulpeddown the drink. "His confession was honest enough, anyhow. Poor fool!he's safe in hospital for a week, and his friends, if he has any, andthey know what it means, will pray for that week to be prolonged. "

"What does it mean?" Dorothea managed to ask. 

"It means Dartmoor. "

Dorothea's candlestick shook in her hand, and the extinguisher fell onthe floor. Her brother picked it up and restored it. 

"Naturally, " he murmured with brotherly concern, "your nerves! It hasbeen a trying night, but you comported yourself admirably, Dorothea. Ibbetson assures me he could not have tied the bandage better himself. I felt proud of my sister. " He kissed her gallantly and pulled out hiswatch. "Past twelve o'clock!--time they were round with the barouche. The sooner we get Master Raoul down to the Infirmary and pack him inbed, the better. "

As Dorothea went up the stairs she heard the sound of wheels on thegravel. 

She could not accept his sacrifice. No; a way must be found to savehim, and in her prayers that night she began to seek it. But whileshe prayed, her heart was bowed over a great joy. She had a hero fora lover!

CHAPTER IX

DOROTHEA CONFESSES

She saw no more of him, and heard very little, before the Court Martialmet. No one acquainted with the code of that age--so strait-laced inits proprieties, so full-blooded in its vices--will need to be toldthat she never dreamed of asking her brother's permission to visit thePrisoners' Infirmary. He reported--once a day, perhaps, and casually--that the patient was doing well. Dorothea ventured once to soundGeneral Rochambeau, but the old aristocrat answered stiffly that hetook no interest in _déclassés_, and plainly hinted that, in hisjudgment, M. Raoul had sinned past pardon; which but added to herremorse. From time to time she obtained some hearsay news throughPolly; but Polly's chief interest now lay in her approaching marriage. 

For the Commissary, while accepting Raoul's version of his capture, hadan intuitive gift which saved him from wholly believing in it. Indeed, his conduct of the affair, if we consider the extent of his knowledge, was nothing less than masterly. Corporal Zeally found himself asergeant within forty-eight hours, and within an hour of theannouncement he and Polly were given an audience in the Bayfieldlibrary, with the result that Parson Milliton cried their banns inAxcester Church on the following Sunday, and the bride-elect receiveda month's wages and three weeks' notice of dismissal, with a hint thatthe reason for her short retention--to instruct her successor in MissDorothea's ways--was ostensible rather than real. With Raoul's fate hedeclined to meddle. "Here, " he said in effect, "is my report, includingthe prisoner's confession. I do my simple duty in presenting it. Butthe young man was captured in my grounds; he was known to be a _protégé_of my brother's. Finding him wounded and faint with loss of blood, wenaturally did our best for him, and this again renders me perhaps toosympathetic. The law is the law, however, and must take its course. "No attitude could have been more proper or have shown better feeling. 

So Raoul, who made a rapid recovery--barring the limp which he carriedto the end of his days--was tried, condemned, and sentenced in thespace of two hours. He stuck to his story, and the court had noalternative. Dartmoor or Stapleton inevitably awaited the prisoner whobroke parole and was retaken. The night after his sentence Raoul wasmarched past the Bayfield gates under escort for Dartmoor. And Dorotheahad not intervened. 

This, of course, proves that she was of no heroical fibre. She knew it. Night after night she had lain awake, vainly contriving plans for hisdeliverance; and either she lacked inventiveness or was too honest, forno method could she discover which avoided confession of the simpletruth. As the days passed without catastrophe and without news savethat her lover was bettering in hospital, she staved off the truth, trusting that the next night would bring inspiration. Almost shehoped--being quite unwise in such matters--that his sufferings wouldbe accepted as cancelling his offence. So she played the coward. Theblow fell on the evening when Endymion announced, in casual tones, that the Court Martial was fixed for the day after next. 

That night, indeed, brought something like an inspiration; and on themorrow she rode into Axcester and called upon Polly, now a bride ofsix days' standing and domiciled in one of the Westcote cottages inChurch Street, a little beyond the bridge. For a call of state thiswas somewhat premature, but it might pass. 

Polly appeared to think it premature. Her furniture was topsy-turvy, and her hair in curl-papers; she obviously did not expect visitors, and resented this curtailment of the honeymoon. She showed it evenwhen Dorothea, after apologies, came straight to the point:

"Polly, I am very unhappy. "

"Indeed, Miss?"

"You know that I must be, since M. Raoul is going to that horriblewar-prison rather than let the truth be known. "

"But since you didn't encourage him, Miss--"

"Of course I didn't encourage him to come, " said Dorothea, quickly. 

"Why then it was his own fault, and he broke his word by breakingbounds. "

"Yes, strictly his parole was broken; but the meaning of parole is, that a prisoner promises to make no attempt to escape. M. Raoul neverdreamed of escaping, yet that is the ground of his punishment. "

"Well, " said Polly, "if he chooses to say he was escaping, I don't seehow we--I mean, how you--can help. "

"Why, by telling the truth; and that's what we ought to do, though itwas wrong of him to expose us to it. "

"To be sure it was, " Polly assented. 

"But, " urged Dorothea, "couldn't we tell the truth of what happenedwithout anyone's wanting to know more? He gave you a note, which youtook without guessing what it contained. He wished to have speech withme. Before you could give me the note and I could refuse to see him--as I should certainly have done--he had arrived. His folly deservespunishment, but no such punishment as being sent to Dartmoor. "

Polly eyed her ex-mistress shrewdly. 

"Have you burnt the note?" she asked. 

Dorothea, blushing to the roots of her hair, stammered:

"No; I kept it--it was evidence for him, you see. I wish, now--"

She broke off as Polly nodded her head. 

"I guessed you'd have kept it. And now you'll never make up your mindto burn it. You're too honest. "

"But, surely the note itself would not be called for?"

"I don't know. Folks ask curious questions in courts of law, I'vealways heard. Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but your face tells too manytales, and anyone but a fool would ask for that note before he'd beendealing with you three minutes. If he didn't, he'd ask you what was init. And then you'd be forced to tell lies--which you couldn't, tosave your soul!"

Dorothea knew this to be true. She reflected a moment. "I shoulddecline to show it, or to answer. "

Mrs. Zeally thought it about time to assert herself. "Very good, Miss. And now, how about me? They'd ask me questions, too; and I'd have youconsider, Miss Dorothea, that though not shaken down to it yet--not, as you might say, in a state to expect callers or make them properlywelcome--I'm a respectable married woman. I don't mind confessing toyou, Zeally isn't a comfortable man. He's pleased enough to besergeant, though he don't quite know how it came about; and he's thatsullen with brooding over it, that for sixpence he'd give me the strapto ease his feelings. I ain't complaining. Mr. Endymion chose to takeme on the hop and hurry up the banns, and I'm going to accommodatemyself to the man. He's three-parts of a fool, and you needn't fearbut I'll manage him. But I ain't for taking no risks, and that I tellyou fair. "

Dorothea was stunned. "You don't mean to say that Zeally suspects you?"

"Why, of course he does!" said Polly. Prudence urged her to repeatthat Zeally was three-parts of a fool; but, being nettled, she spokethe words uppermost: "Who d'ee think he'd suspect?"

Dorothea, however, was too desperately dejected to feel the prick ofthis shaft. "You will not help me, then?" was all her reply to it. 

"Why, no, Miss! if you put it in that point-blank way. A marriedwoman's got to think of her reputation first of all. "

Polly's attitude might be selfish, unfeeling; but the fundamentalincapacity for gratitude in girls of Polly's class will probablysurprise and pain their mistresses until the end of the world. Afterall, Polly was right. An attempt to clear Raoul by telling thesuperficial truth must involve terrible risks, and might at any turnenforce a choice between full confession and falsehood. 

Dorothea could not bring herself to lie, even heroically; and therewould be no heroism in lying to save herself. On the other hand, thethought of a forced confession--it might he before a tribunal--wastoo hideous. No, the suggestion had been a mad one, and Polly hadrightly thrown cold water on it. Also, it had demanded too much ofPolly, who could not be expected to jeopardise her matrimonialprospects to right a wrong for which she was not in truth responsible. 

Dorothea loved a hero, but knew she was no heroine. She called herselfa pitiful coward--unjustly, because, nurtured as she had been on theproprieties, surrounded all her days by men and women of a class mostsensitive to public opinion, who feared the breath of scandal worsethan a plague, confession for her must mean a shame unspeakable. What!Admit that she, Dorothea Westcote, had loved a French prisoner almostyoung enough to be her son! that she had given him audience at night!that he had been shot and captured beneath her window!

Unjustly, too, she accused herself, because it is the decision, notthe terror felt in deciding, which distinguishes the brave from thecowardly. If you doubt the event with Dorothea, the fault, must bemine. She was timid, but she came of a race which will endure anythingrather than the conscious anguish of doing wrong. 

Nor, had her conscience needed them, did it lack reminders. Narcissushad been persuaded to send the drawings to London to be treated bylithography, a process of which he knew nothing, but to which M. Raoul, during his studies in Paris, had given much attention, and apparentlynot without making some discoveries--unimportant perhaps, and such asmight easily reward an experimenter in an art not well past itsinfancy. At any rate, he had drawn up elaborate instructions for theLondon firm of printers, and when the proofs arrived with about a thirdof these instructions neglected and another third misunderstood, Narcissus was at his wits' end, aghast at the poorness of theimpressions, yet not knowing in the least how to correct them. 

He gave Dorothea no peace with them. Evening after evening she wasinvited to pore upon the drawings over which she and her lover had benttogether; to criticise here and offer a suggestion there; while everyline revived a memory, inflicted a pang. What suggestion could she findsave the one which must not be spoken?--to send, fetch the artist backfrom Dartmoor, and remedy all this, with so much beside!

"But, " urged Narcissus, "you and he spent hours together. I quiteunderstood that he had explained the process to you, and on thestrength of this I gave it too little attention. Of course, if onecould have foreseen--" He broke off, and added with some testiness:"I'd give fifty pounds to have the fellow back, if only for tenminutes' talk. "

"But why couldn't we?" Dorothea asked suddenly, breathlessly. 

They were alone by the table under the bookcase. On the far side ofthe hall, before the fire, Endymion dozed after a long day with thepartridges. Narcissus's words awoke a wild hope. 

"But why couldn't we?" she repeated, her voice scarcely louder than awhisper. 

"Well, that's an idea!" he chuckled. "Confound the fellow, he imposedon all of us! If we had only guessed what he intended, we might havesigned a petition telling him how necessary he had made himself, andimploring him, for our sakes, to behave like a gentleman. "

"But supposing--supposing he was innocent--that he had never meant--"She put out a hand to lay it on her brother's. "Hush!" she could havecried; but it was too late. 

"Endymion!" Narcissus called across the room, jocosely. 

"Eh! What is it?" Endymion came out of his doze. 

"We're in a mess with these drawings, a complete mess; and we wantMaster Raoul fetched out of Dartmoor to set us right. Come now--asCommissary, what'll you take to work it for us? Fifty pounds hasalready been offered. "

Dorothea turned from the table with a sigh for her lost chance. 

"He'd like it, " answered Endymion, grimly. "But, my dear fellow, "--he slewed himself in his chair for a look around the hall, --"praymoderate your tones. I particularly deprecate levity on such matterswithin possible hearing of the servants; that class of person neverunderstands a joke. "

Narcissus rubbed the top of his head--a trick of his in perplexity. 

"But, seriously: it has only this moment occurred to me. Couldn't thedrawings be conveyed to him, in due form, through the Commandant of thePrison? The poor fellow owes us no grudge. I believe he would be eagerto do us this small service. And, really, they have made such a messof the stones--"

"Impossible! Out of the question! And I may say now, and once for all, that the mention of that unhappy youth is repugnant to me. By goodfortune, we escaped being compromised by him; and I have refrainedfrom reminding you that your patronage of him was, to say the least, indiscreet. "

"God bless me! You don't suggest, I hope, that I encouraged him toescape!"

"I suggest nothing. But I am honestly glad to be quit of him, and takesome satisfaction in remembering that I detested the fellow from thefirst. He had too much cleverness with his bad style, or, if you preferit, was sufficiently like a gentleman to be dangerous. Pah! For hisparticular offence, I would have had the old hulks maintained in theHamoaze, with all their severities; as it is, the posturer may findDartmoor pretty stiff, but will yet have the consolation of herdingwith his betters. "

Strangely enough this speech did more to fix Dorothea's resolve thanall she had read or heard of the rigours of the war-prison. Gentlyreared though she was, physical suffering seemed to her lessintolerable than to be unjustly held in this extreme of scorn. . This was the deeper wrong; and putting herself in her lover's place, feeling with his feelings, she knew it to be by far the deeper. InDartmoor he shared the sufferings of men unfortunate but notdespicable, punished for fighting in their country's cause. But herewas a moral punishment, deserved by none but the vilest; and she hadhelped to bring it--was allowing it to rest--upon a hero!

In the long watches of that night it never occurred to her that thebrutality of her brother's contempt was over-done. And Endymion, notgiven to self-questioning at any time, was probably unconscious of adull wrath revenging itself for many pin-pricks of Master Raoul'sclever tongue. Endymion Westcote, like many pompous men, usually hurtsomebody when he indulged in a joke, and for this cause, perhaps, hada nervous dislike of wit in others. Dull in taking a jest, but almostpreternaturally clever in suspecting one, he had disliked Raoul'ssallies in proportion as they puzzled him. The remembrance of themrankled, and this had been his bull-roar of revenge. 

He spent the next morning in his office; and returning at three in theafternoon, retired to the library to draw up the usual monthly reportrequired of him as Commissary. He had been writing tor an hour or more, when Dorothea tapped at the door and entered. 

Endymion did not observe her pallor; indeed, he scarcely looked up. 

"Ah! You have come for a book? Make as little noise, then, as possible, that's a good soul. You interrupted me in a column of figures. "

He began to add them up afresh, tapping the table with the fingers ofhis left hand, as his custom was when counting. Dorothea waited. Theaddition made, he entered it, resting three shapely finger-tips on thetable's edge for the number to be carried over. 

"I wish to speak with you particularly. "

He laid down his pen resignedly. Her voice was urgent, and he knewwell enough that the occasion must be urgent when Dorothea interruptedhis work. 

"Anything wrong?"

"It--it's about M. Raoul. "

His eyebrows went up, but only to contract again upon a magisterialfrown. 

"Really, after the request I was obliged to make to Narcissus lastnight--you were present, I believe? Is it possible that I failed tomake plain my distaste?"

"Ah, but listen! It is no question of distaste, but of a great wrong. He was not trying to escape; he told you an untruth, to--to save--"

Endymion had picked up a paper-knife, and leaned back, tapping histeeth with it. 

"Do you know?" he said, "I suspected something of this kind from thefirst, though I had no idea you shared the knowledge. Zeally'scleverness struck me as a trifle too--ah--phenomenal for belief. I scented some low intrigue; and Polly's dismissal may indicate mypretty shrewd guess at the culprit. "

"But it was not Polly!"

"Eh?"

Endymion sat bolt upright. 

"You must not blame Polly. It was I whom M. Raoul came to see thatnight. "

He stared at her, incredulous. 

"My dear Dorothea, are you quite insane?"

"He wished to see me--to speak with me; he gave the girl a note forme. I knew nothing about it until I went upstairs that night, and foundher at the boudoir window. M. Raoul was outside. He had arrived beforeshe could deliver the message. "

"Quite so!" with a nasally derisive laugh. "And you really need me topoint out how prettily those turtles were befooling you?"

"Indeed, no; it was not that. "

He struck the table impatiently with the paper-knife. 

"My dear woman, do exert some common sense! What in the name of wondercould the fellow have to discuss with you at that hour? Your pardon if, finding no apparent limits to your innocence, I assume it to beillimitable, and point out that he would scarcely break bounds and playRomeo beneath the window of a middle-aged lady for the purpose ofdiscussing water-colours with her, or the exploits of Vespasian. "

The taunt brought red to Dorothea's cheeks, and stung her into courage. 

"He came to see me, " she persisted. Her voice dropped a little. "I hadcome to feel a regard for M. Raoul; and he--" She could not go on. Hereyes met her brother's for a moment, then fell before them. 

What she expected she could not tell. Certainly she did not expect whathappened, and his sudden laughter smote her like a whip. It broke in ashout of high, incontrollable mirth, and he leaned back and shook inhis chair until the tears streamed down his cheeks. 

"You!" he gasped. "You! Oh, oh, oh!"

She stood beneath the scourge, silent. She felt it curl across and bitethe very flesh, and thought it was killing her, Her bosom heaved. 

It ceased. He sat upright again, wiping his eyes. 

"But it's incredible!" he protested; "the scoundrel has fooled you allalong. Yes, of course, " he pondered; "that explains the success of thetrick, which otherwise was clumsy beyond belief; in fact, itsclumsiness puzzled me. But how was I to guess?" He pulled himself up onthe edge of another guffaw. "Look here, Dorothea, be sensible. It'sclear as daylight the fellow was after Polly, and made you his cats-paw. Face it, my dear; face it, and conquer your illusions. Iunderstand it must cost you some suffering, but, after all, you mustfind some blame in yourself--in your heart, I mean, not in yourconduct. Doubtless your conduct showed weakness, or he would never havedared--but, there, I can trust my sister. Face it; the thing's absurd!You, a woman of thirty-eight (or is it thirty-nine?), and he, if I mayjudge from appearances, young enough to be your son! Polly was hisgame--the deceitful little slut! You must see it for yourself. Andafter all, it's more natural. Immoral, I've no doubt--"

He paused in the middle of his harangue. A parliamentary candidate(unsuccessful) for Axcester had once dared to poke fun at EndymionWestcote for having asserted, in a public speech, that indecency wasworse than immorality. For the life of him Endymion could never seewhere the joke came in; but the fellow had illustrated it with such awealth of humorous instances, and had kept his ignorant audience fortwenty minutes in such fits of laughter, that he never afterwardsapproached the antithesis but he skirted it with a red face. 

And Dorothea?

The scourge might cut into her heart; it could not reach the image ofRaoul she shielded there. She knew her lover too well, and that he wasincapable of this baseness. But the injurious charge, diverted fromhim, fell upon her own defences, and, breaking them, let in the cruellight at length on her passion, her folly. This was how the worldwould see it. . . . Yes! Raoul was right--there is no enemycomparable with Time. Looks, fortune, birth, breed, unequal hearts andminds--all these Love may confound and play with; but Time whichdivides the dead from the living, sets easily between youth and age agulf which not only forbids love but derides:

 Age, I do abhor thee; Youth, I do adore thee; O, my Love, my Love is young!

She could give counsel, sympathy, care; could delight in his delights, hope in his hopes, melt with his woes, and, having wept a little, findcomfort for them. She could thrill at his footsteps, blush at hissalutation, sit happily beside him and talk or be silent, reading hismoods. He might fill her waking day, haunt her dreams, in the end passinto prison for her sake, having crowned love with martyrdom. And theworld would laugh as Endymion had laughed! Her hands went up to shutout the roar of it. A coarse amour with Polly--that could beunderstood. Polly was young. Polly . . . 

"What will you do?" she heard herself asking, and could scarcelybelieve the voice belonged to her. 

"Do? Why, if my theory be right--and I hope I've convinced you--I seeno use in meddling. The girl is respectably married. It will cause herquite unnecessary trouble if we rip this affair open again. Her husbandwill have just ground for complaint, and it might--I need not pointout--be a little awkward, eh?"

For the first time in her life Dorothea regarded her brother withsomething like contempt. But the flash gave way to a look of wearyresolve. 

"Then I must tell the truth--to others, " she said. 

It confounded him for a moment. But although here was a new Dorothea, belying all experience, his instinct for handling men and women toldhim at once what had happened. He had driven her too far. He was evenclever enough to foresee that winning her back to obedience would bea ticklish, almost desperate, business; and even sensitive enough toredden at his blunder. 

"You do not agree with my view?" he asked, tapping the table slowly. 

"I disbelieve it. I have no right to believe it, even if I had thepower. He is in prison. You must help me to set him free. If not--"

"He cannot, possibly return to Axcester. "

"Oh, what is that to me?" she cried with sudden impatience. Then hertone fell back to its dull level. "I have not been pleading for myself. "

"No, no: I understand. " His brow cleared, as a man's who faces a badbusiness and resolves to go through with it. "Well, there is only oneway to spare you and everyone. We must get him a cartel. "

"A cartel?"

"Yes--get him exchanged, and sent home to his friends. The War Officeowes me something, and will no doubt oblige me in a small affair likethis without asking questions. Oh, certainly it can be managed. I willwrite at once. "

CHAPTER X

DARTMOOR

Dorothea had the profoundest faith in her brother's ability. That hehit at once on this simple solution which had eluded her through manywakeful nights did not surprise her in the least. Nor did she doubtfor a moment that he would manage it as he promised. 

But she could not thank him. He had beaten her spirit sorely--sosorely, that for days her whole body ached with the bruise. She did notaccuse him: her one flash of contempt had lasted for an instant only, and the old habit of reverence quickly effaced it. But he had exposedher weakness; had forced her to see it, naked and pitiful, with nochivalry--either manly or brotherly--covering it; and seeing it withnothing to depend upon, she learned for the first time in her life thehigh, stern lesson of independence. 

She learned it unconsciously, but she never forgot it. And it is toEndymion's credit that he recognised the great alteration and allowedfor it. He had driven her too far. She would never again be the sameDorothea. And never again by word or look did he remind her of thathour of abasement. 

An exchange of prisoners was not to be managed in a day, and would takeweeks, perhaps six weeks or a couple of months. He discussed this withher, quietly, as a matter of business entrusted to him, explained whatsteps he had taken, what letters he had written; when he expecteddefinite news from the War Office. She met him on the same ground. "Yes, he could not have done better. " She trusted him absolutely. 

And in fact he had been better than his word. Ultimate success, to besure, was certain. It were strange if Mr. Westcote, who had opened hispurse to support a troop of Yeomanry, who held two parliamentary seatsat the Government's service and two members at call to bully the WarOffice whenever he desired, who might at any time have had a baronetcyfor the asking--it were strange indeed if Mr. Westcote could notobtain so trivial a favour as the exchange of a prisoner. He could dothis, but he could not appreciably hurry the correspondence by whichPall Mall bargained a Frenchman in the forest of Dartmoor against anEnglishman in the fortress of Briançon in the Hautes Alpes. Foreseeingdelays, he had written privately to the Commandant at Dartmoor--aMajor Sotheby, with whom he had some slight acquaintance--advising himof his efforts and requesting him to show the prisoner meanwhile allpossible indulgence. The letter contained a draft, for ten pounds, tobe spent upon small comforts at the Commandant's discretion; butM. Raoul was not to be informed of the donor, or of his approachingliberty. 

In theory--such was the routine--Raoul remained one of the Axcestercontingent of prisoners, and all reports concerning him must passthrough the Commissary's hands. In the last week of October, whenbrother and sister daily expected the cartel, arrived a report thatthe prisoner was in hospital with a sharp attack of pleurisy. MajorSotheby added a private note:-

_"I feared yesterday that the exchange would come too late for him;but to-day the Medical Officer, who has just left me, speaks hopefully. I have no doubt, however, that a winter in this climate would be fatal. The fellow's lungs are breaking down, and even if they could stand thefogs, the cold must finish him. "_

Dorothea stood by a window in the library when Endymion read this outto her; the very window through which she had been gazing that springmorning when Raoul first kissed her. To-day the first of the winter'ssnow fell gently, persistently, out of a leaden and windless sky. 

She turned. "I must go to him, " she said. 

"But to what purpose--"

"Oh, you may trust me!"

"My dear girl, that was not in my mind. " He spoke gently. "But untilthe warrant arrives--"

"We will give it until to-morrow; by every account it should reach usto-morrow. You shall take it with me. I must see him once more; onlyonce--in your presence, if you wish. "

Next morning they rode into the town together, an hour before themail's arrival. Endymion alighted at the Town House to write a businessletter or two before strolling down to the post office. Dorotheacantered on to the top of the hill, and then walked Mercury to and fro, while she watched the taller rise beyond. The snow had ceased falling;but a crisp north wind skimmed the drifts and powdered her dark habit. 

Twice she pulled out her watch; but the coach was up to time in spiteof the heavy roads; and as it topped the rise she reined Mercury to theright-about and cantered back to await it. Already the street had begunto fill as usual; and, as usual, there was General Rochambeau pickinghis way along the pavement to present himself for the Admiral'sletter--the letter which never arrived. 

Would _her_ letter never arrive?

He halted on the kerb by her stirrup. She asked after the Admiral'shealth. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, if ever he leaves his bed again, it will be amiracle. "

She was not listening. Age, age again!--it makes all the difference. Here came the coach--did it hold a letter for Raoul? Raoul was young. 

The coach rolled by with less noise than usual, on the carpet of snowchurned brown with traffic. As it passed, the guard lifted his horn andblew cheerily. She followed, telling herself it was a good omen. Duringthe long wait outside the post office she rebuked herself more thanonce for building a hope upon it. Name after name was called, and ateach call a prisoner pushed forward to the doorway for his letter. Shecaught sight of the General on the outskirts of the crowd. Her brotherwould not come out until every letter had been distributed. 

But when he appeared in the doorway she read the good news in his face. He made his way briskly towards her, the prisoners falling back togive passage. 

"Right; it has come, " he said. "Trot away home and have the valisespacked, while I run into 'The Dogs' and order the chaise. "

Once clear of the town, she galloped. There was little need to hurry, for her own valise had been packed overnight. 

Having sent Mudge to attend to her brother's, she ran to Narcissus'room--his scriptorium, as he called it. 

Narcissus was at home to-day, busy with the cellar accounts. He tookstock twice a year and composed a report in language worthy of asurvey of the Roman Empire. Before he could look up, Dorothea hadkissed him on the crown of his venerable head. 

"Such news, dear! Endymion has ordered a chaise from 'The Dogs, ' andis going to take me to Dartmoor!"

"Dartmoor--God bless my soul!" He rubbed his head, and added with atwinkle: "Why, what have you been doing?"

"Endymion has a cartel of exchange for M. Raoul, and we are to carryit. "

"Ah, so that is what you two have been conspiring over? I smelt a ratsomewhere. But, really, this is delightful of you--delightful of youboth. Only, why on earth should you be carrying the release yourselves, in this weather. "

"He is very ill, " said Dorothea, seriously. 

"Indeed? Poor fellow, poor fellow. Still, that scarcely explains--"

"And you will be good, and take your meals regularly when Mudge beatsthe gong? And you won't sit up late and set fire to the house? But Imust run off and tell everyone to take care of you. "

She kissed him again, and was half-way down the corridor before hecalled after her:

"Dorothea, Dorothea! the drawings!"

"Ah, to be sure; I forgot, " she murmured, as he thrust the parcel intoher hand. 

"Forgot? Forgot the drawings? But, God bless my soul!--"

He passed his hand over his grey hairs and stared down the corridorafter her. 

The roads were heavy to start, with, and beyond Chard they grewheavier. At Honiton, which our travellers reached at midnight, it wassnowing; and Dorothea, when the sleepy chamber-maid aroused her atdawn, looked out upon a forbidding world of white. The postboys weregrowling, and she half feared that Endymion would abandon the journeyfor the day. But if he lacked her zeal, he had the true Englishman'shatred of turning back. She, who had known him always for a master ofmen, learned a new awe of her splendid brother. He took command; hecross-examined landlord and postboys, pooh-poohed their objections, extracted from them in half-a-dozen curt questions more informationthan, five minutes before, they were conscious of possessing, to judgefrom the scratching of heads which produced it; finally, he handedDorothea into the chaise, sprang in himself, and closed discussionwith a slam of the door. They were driven off amid the salaams ofostler, boots, waiter, and two chambermaids, among whom he hadscattered largess with the lordliest hand. 

So the chaise ploughed through Exeter to Moreton Hampstead, where theysupped and rested for another night. But before dawn they were offagain. Snow lay in thick drifts on the skirts of the great moor, andsnow whirled about them as they climbed, until day broke upon a howlingdesert, across which Dorothea peered but could discern no features. Not leagues but years divided Bayfield from this tableland, high overall the world, uninhabited, without tree or gate or hedge. Her eyeswere heavy with lack of sleep, smarting with the bite of the northwind, which neither ceased nor eased until, towards ten o'clock, thecarriage began to lumber downhill towards Two Bridges, under the lee ofCrockern Tor. Beyond came a heavy piece of collar work, the horsesdropping to a walk as they heaved through the drifts towards adepression between two tors closing the view ahead. Dorothea's eyes, avoiding the wind, were fixed on the tor to the left, when Endymiontouched her hand and pointed towards the base of the other. There, grey--almost black--against the white hillside, a mass of masonryloomed up through the weather; the great circle of the War Prison. 

The road did not lead them to it direct. They must halt first at thebare village of Prince Town, and drink coffee and warm themselves atthe "Plume of Feathers Inn, " before facing the last few hundred yardsbeneath the lee of North Hessary. But a little before noon, Dorothea--still with a sense of being lifted on a platform miles above the worldshe knew--alighted before a tremendous archway of piled granite setin a featureless wall, and closed with a sheeted gate of iron. A grey-coated sentry, pacing here in front of his snow-capped box, challengedand demanded their business. 

"Visitors for the Commandant!" The sentry tugged at an iron bellpull, and a bell tolled twice within. Dorothea's feet were half-frozen inspite of her wraps--she stamped them in the snow while she studied thegateway and the enormous blocks which arched it, unhewn save for twowords carved in Roman capitals--"PARCERE SUBJECTIS. "

A key turned in the wicket. "Visitors for the Commandant!" Theystepped through, and after pausing a moment while the porter shot thelock again behind them, followed him across the yard to theCommandant's quarters. 

The outer wall of the great War Prison enclosed a circle of thirtyacres; within it a second wall surrounded an acre in which stood thefive rectangular blocks of the prison proper, with two slightly smallerbuildings--the one a hospital, the other set apart for the pettyofficers; and between the inner and outer walls ran a _via militaris_, close on a mile in circumference, constantly paraded by the guard, andhaving raised platforms from which the sentinels could overlook theinner wall and the area. The area was not completely circular, since, where it faced the great gate, a segment had been cut out of it for theCommandant's quarters and outbuildings and the entrance yard, acrosswhich, our travellers now followed their guide. 

The Commandant hurried out from his office to welcome them--a bustlinglittle officer with sandy hair and the kindliest possible face; atrifle self-important, obviously proud of his prison, and, after afashion, of his prisoners too; anxiously, elaborately polite in hismanner, especially towards Dorothea. 

"Major Westcote!"--he gave Endymion his full title--"My dear sir, this is indeed--And Miss Westcote?" he bowed as he was introduced, "Delighted--honoured! But what a journey! You must be famished, positively; you will be wanting luncheon at once--yes, really you mustallow me. No? A glass of sherry, then, and a biscuit at least . . . "He ran to the door, called to his orderly to bring some glasses, andcame back rubbing his hands. "It's an ill wind, as they say . . . "

"We have come with the order about which we have corresponded. "

"For that poor fellow Raoul?" The Commandant nodded gaily and smiled;and Dorothea, who had been watching his face, felt the load dissolveand roll off her heart, as a pile of snow slides from a bough in thesunshine. "He is better, I am glad to report--out of bed and fairlyconvalescent indeed. But I hope my message did not alarm youneedlessly. It was touch-and-go with him for twenty-four hours; still, he was bettering when I wrote. And to bring you all this way, and insuch weather!"

"My sister and I, " explained Endymion, "take a particular interest inhis case. "

But the voluble officer was not so easily silenced. 

"So, to be sure, I gathered. " He bowed gallantly to Dorothea. "'Owoman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please'--not, of course, that I attribute any such foibles to Miss Westcote, but forthe sake of the conclusion. "

"Can we see him?"

"Eh? Before luncheon? Oh, most assuredly, if you wish it. He has beentransferred to the Convalescents' Ward. We will step across at once. "He drew from his pocket a small master-key, attached by a steel chainto his belt, and blew into the wards thoughtfully while he studied thepaper handed to him by Endymion. "Quite in order, of course. No doubt, you and Miss Westcote would prefer to break the good news to him inprivate? Yes, yes; I will have him sent up to the Consulting Room. TheDoctor has finished his morning rounds, and you will be quite alonethere. "

He picked up his cap and escorted them out and across the court to thegate of the main prison. Beyond this Dorothea found herself in a vastsnowy yard, along two sides of which ran covered ways or piazzas opento the air, but faced with iron bars, and behind these bars flitted theforms of the prisoners at exercise, stamping the flagged pavement tokeep their starved blood in circulation. At a sight of the Commandantwith his two visitors--so small a spectacle had power to divert them--all this movement, this stamping, was hushed suddenly. Voices brokeinto chatter; faces appeared between the bars and stared. 

"Yes, " said the Commandant, reading Dorothea's thought, "a large familyto be responsible for! How many would you guess, now?"

"A thousand, at least, " she murmured. 

"Six thousand! Each of those blocks yonder will accommodate fifteenhundred men. And then there is the hospital--usually pretty full atthis season, I regret to say. Come, I won't detain you; but really inpassing you must have a look at one of our dormitories. "

He threw open a door, and she gazed in upon a long-drawn avenue of ironpillars slung with double tiers of hammocks. The place seemed cleanenough: at the far end of the vista a fatigue gang of prisoners wasbusy with pails and brushes; but either it had not been thoroughlyventilated, or the dense numbers packed in it for so many hours a dayhad given the building an atmosphere of its own, warm and unpleasant, if not precisely foetid, after the pure, stinging air of the moorland. 

"We can sleep seven hundred here, " said the Commandant; "and anotherdormitory of the same size runs overhead. The top story they use as apromenade and for indoor recreation. " He pointed to a number of grillesset in the wall at the back, at equal distances. "For air, " heexplained, "and also for keeping watch on _messieurs_. Yes, we findthat necessary. Behind each is a small chamber, hollowed mostscientifically, quite a little temple of acoustics. If Miss Westcote, now, would care to step into one and listen, while I stand below withthe Major and converse in ordinary tones--"

"No, no, " Dorothea declined, hurriedly, and with a shiver. 

It hurt her to think of Raoul herded among seven hundred miserables inthis endless barrack, his every movement overlooked, his smallestspeech overheard, by an eaves-dropping sentry. 

"I think, Endymion chimed in, my sister feels her long journey, andwould be glad to get our business over. "

"Ah, to be sure--a thousand pardons!"

The Commandant shut the door and piloted them across to the hospitalblock. Here on the threshold the same warm, acrid atmosphere assailedDorothea's nostrils, and almost choked her breathing. Their guide ledthe way up a flight of stone steps to the first floor, and down awhitewashed corridor, lit along one side with narrow barred casements. A little more than half-way down the corridor the blank wall facingthese casements was pierced by a low arched passage. Into this burrowthe Commandant dived; and, standing outside, they heard a key turnedin a lock. He reappeared and beckoned to them. 

"From the gallery here, " he whispered, "you look right down into theConvalescent Ward. "

Through the iron bars of the gallery Dorothea caught a glimpse of along bare room, with twenty or thirty dejected figures in suits andcaps of greyish-blue flannel, huddled about a stove. Some were playingat cards, others at dominoes. The murmur of their voices ascended andhummed in the little passage. 

"Hist! Your friend is below there, if you care to have a peep at him. "

But Dorothea had already drawn back. All this spying and listeningrevolted her. The polite Commandant noted the movement. 

"You prefer that he should be fetched at once?" He stepped past theminto the corridor. "Smithers!" he called. "Smithers!"

A hospital orderly appeared at a door almost opposite the passage, and saluted. 

"Run down to the Convalescent Ward and fetch up Number Two-six-seven-two. --I know the number of each of my children. I never make amistake, " he confided in Dorothea's ear. "As quick as you can, please!Stay; you may add that some visitors have called and wish to speakwith him. "

The orderly saluted again, and hurried off. 

"You wish, of course, to see him alone together?"

"I think, " answered Endymion, slowly, "my sister would prefer a wordor two with him alone. "

"Certainly. Will you step into the surgery, Miss Westcote?" Heindicated the door at which the orderly had appeared. "Smithers willnot take two minutes in fetching the prisoner; and perhaps, if youwill excuse us, a visit to the hospital itself will repay your brother. We are rather proud of our sanitation here: a glance over ourarrangements--five minutes only--"

Endymion, at a nod from Dorothea, permitted himself to be led away bythe inexorable man. 

She watched them to the end of the corridor, and had her hand on thesurgery door to push it open, when a voice from below smote her ears. 

"Number Two-six-seven-two to come to the surgery at once, to seevisitors!"

The voice rang up through the little passage behind her. She turned;the door at the end of it stood half-open; beyond it she saw the barsof the gallery, and through these a space of whitewashed wall at theend of the ward. 

She was turning again, when a babble of voices answered the orderly'sannouncement. "Raoul! Raoul!" half-a-dozen were calling, and then onespoke up sharp and distinct:

"Tenez, mon bonhomme, ce sera votre _gilet_, à coup sur!"

A burst of laughter followed. 

"C'est son _gilet_--his little Waistcoat--à chauffer la poitrine--"

"Des visiteurs, dit il? Voyons, coquin, n'y-a-t-il pas par hasard unevisiteuse de la partie. "

"Une 'Waistcoat' par example?--de quarante ans environ, le drap unpeu râpé . . . "

"Qui se nomme Dorothée--ce que veut dire le gilet dieudonné . . . "

"Easy now!" the Orderly's voice remonstrated. "Easy, I tell you, yeborn mill-clappers! There's a lady in the party, if that's what you'reasking. "

Dorothea put out a hand against the jamb of the surgery door, tosteady herself She heard the smack of a palm below and some one uttereda serio-comic groan. 

"Enfoncé! Il m'a parié dix sous qu'elle viendrait avant le jour de Pan, et aussi du tabac avec tout le Numero Six. Nous en ferons la dot deMademoiselle!" The fellow burst out singing--

 "J'ai du bon tabac Dans ma tabatière. "

"Dites donc, mon petit, "--but the cheerful epithet he bestowed onRaoul is unquotable here--"Elle ne fume pas, votre Anglaise? Ellen'est pas Créole, c'est entendu. "

Dorothea had stepped into the surgery. A small round table stood in themiddle of the room; she caught at the edge of it and rested so for amoment, for the walls seemed to be swaying and she durst not lift herhands to shut out the roars of laughter. They rang in her ears andshouted and stunned her. Her whole body writhed. 

The hubbub below sank to a confused murmur. She heard footsteps in thecorridor--the firm tramp of the orderly followed by the shuffle oflist slippers. 

"Number Two-six-seven-two is outside, ma'am. Am I to show him in?"

She bent her head and moved towards the fireplace. She heard himshuffle in, and the door shut behind him. Still she did not turn. 

"Dorothea!"--his voice shook with joy, with passion. How well sheknew that deep Provençal tremolo. She could have laughed aloud in herbitterness. 

"Dorothea!"

She faced him at length. He stood there, stretching out both hands toher. He was handsome as ever, but pale and sadly pinched. Beyond alldoubt he had suffered. His grey-blue hospital suit hung about him infolds. 

In her eyes he read at once that something was wrong--but withoutcomprehending. "You sent for me, " he stammered; "you have come--"

She found her voice and, to her surprise, it was quite firm. 

"Yes, we have brought your release, " she said; and, watching his eyes, saw the joy leap up in them, saw it quenched the next instant as hecomposed his features to a fond solicitude for her. 

"But you?" he murmured. "What has happened? Tell me--no, do not drawaway! Your hand, at least. "

Contempt, for herself or for him, gave her a moment's strength, but itbroke down again. 

"It is horrible!" was all she answered and looked about her with ashiver. 

"Ah, the place frightens you! Well, " he laughed, reassuringly, "itfrightened me at first. But for the thought of you, dearest, tocomfort--"

She stepped past him and opened the door. For a moment a wild notionseized him that she was escaping, and he put out an imploring hand;but he saw that, with her hand on the jamb, she was listening, and he, too, listened. The voices in the Convalescent Ward came up to them, scarcely muffled, through the low passage, and with them a cacklinglaugh. Then he understood. 

Their eyes met. He bowed his head. 

"Nevertheless, I have suffered. "

He said it humbly, after many seconds, and in a voice so low that itseemed a second or two before she heard. For the first time she putout a hand and touched his sleeve. 

"Yes, you have suffered, and for me. Let me go on believing that. Youdid a noble thing, and I shall try to remember you by it--to rememberthat you were capable of it. 'It was for my sake, ' I shall say, andthen I shall be proud. Oh, yes, sometimes I shall be very proud! Butin love--"

Her voice faltered, and he looked up sharply. 

"In love"--she smiled, but passing faintly--"it's the little things, is it not? It's the little things that count. "

She touched his sleeve again, and passed into the room, leaving himthere at a standstill, as Endymion and the Commandant came round thecorner at the far end of the corridor. 

"Excuse me, " said Endymion, and, stepping past Raoul without a glance, looked into the surgery. After a moment he shut the door quietly, and, standing with his back to it, addressed the prisoner: "I perceive, sir, that my sister has told you the news. We have effected an exchange foryou, and the Commandant tells me that to-morrow, if the roads permit, you will be sent down to Plymouth and released. It is unnecessary foryou to thank me; it would, indeed, be offensive. I wish you a safepassage home, and pray heaven to spare me the annoyance of seeing yourface again. "

As Raoul bowed and moved away, dragging his feet weakly in their listslippers, Mr. Westcote turned to the Commandant, who during thisaddress had kept a discreet distance. 

"With your leave, we will continue our stroll, and return for mysister in a few minutes. "

The Commandant jumped at the suggestion. 

Dorothea heard their footsteps retreating, and knew that her brother'sthoughtfulness had found her this short respite. She had dropped intothe orderly's chair, and now bowed her head upon the prison doctor'sledger, which lay open on the table before it. 

"Oh, my love! How could you do it? How could you? How could you?"

CHAPTER XI

THE NEW DOROTHEA

Two hours later they set out on their homeward journey. 

The Commandant, still voluble, escorted them to the gate. As Dorotheaclimbed into the chaise and Endymion shook up the rugs and cushions, alarge brown-paper parcel rolled out upon the snow. She gave a littlecry of dismay:

"The drawings!"

"Eh?"

"We forgot to deliver them. "

"Oh, confound the things!"

Endymion was for pitching them back into the chaise. 

"But no!" she entreated. "Why, Narcissus believes it was to deliverthem that we came!"

So the Commandant amiably charged himself to hand the parcel toM. Raoul, and waved his adieux with it as the chaise rolled away. 

Of what had passed between Dorothea and Raoul at the surgery doorEndymion knew nothing; but he had guessed at once, and now was assuredby the tone in which she had spoken of the drawings, that the chapterwas closed, the danger past. Coming, brother and sister had scarcelyexchanged a word for miles together. Now they found themselves chattingwithout effort about the landscape, the horses' pace, the Commandantand his hospitality, the arrangements of the prison, and the prospectsof a cosy dinner at Moreton Hampstead. It was all the smallest of smalltalk, and just what might be expected of two reputable middle-agedpersons returning in a post-chaise from a mild jaunt; yet beneath itran a current of feeling. In their different ways, each had been moved;each had relied upon the other for a degree of help which could not beasked in words, and had not been disappointed. 

Now that Dorothea's infatuation had escaped all risk of publiclaughter, Endymion could find leisure to admire her courage inconfessing, in persisting until the wrong was righted, and, now at thelast, in shutting the door upon the whole episode. 

And, now at the last, having shut the door upon it, Dorothea couldreflect that her brother, too, had suffered. She knew his pride, hissensitiveness, his mortal dread of ridicule. In the smart of his woundhe had turned and rent her cruelly, but had recovered himself anddefended her loyally from worse rendings. She remembered, too, that hehad distrusted Raoul from the first. 

He had been right. But had she been wholly wrong?

In the dusk of the fifth evening after their departure the chaiserolled briskly in through Bayfield great gates and up the snowy drive. Almost noiselessly though it came, Mudge had the door thrown wide andstood ready to welcome them, with Narcissus behind in the comfortableglow of the hall. 

Dorothea's limbs were stiff, and on alighting she steadied herself fora moment by the chaise-door before stepping in to kiss her brother. Inthat moment her eyes took one backward glance across the park andrested on the lights of Axcester glimmering between the naked elms. 

"Well, " demanded Narcissus, after exchange of greetings, "and what didhe say about the drawings?"

Dorothea had not expected the question in this form, and parried itwith a laugh:

"You and your drawings! I declare"--she turned to Endymion--"he hasbeen thinking of them all the time, and affects no concern in ouradventures!"

"Which, nevertheless, have been romantic to the last degree, " he added, playing up to her. 

"My dear Dorothea--" Narcissus expostulated. 

"But you are not going to evade me by any such tricks, " sheinterrupted, sternly; "for that is what it comes to. I left you withthe strictest orders to take care of yourself, and you ought to knowthat I shall answer nothing until you have been catechised. What haveyou been eating?"

"My _dear_ Dorothea!"

Narcissus gazed helplessly at Mudge; but Mudge had been seized with aflurry of his own, and misinterpreted the look as well as the sternquestion. 

"I--I reckon 'tis _me_, Miss, " he confessed. "Being partial to onions, and taking that liberty in Mr. Endymion's absence, knowing his dislikeof the effluvium--"

Such are the pitfalls of a guilty conscience on the one hand, and, onthe other, of being unexpectedly clever. 

An hour later, at dinner, Narcissus was informed that the drawings hadbeen conveyed to M. Raoul, who, doubtless, would return them withhints for correction. 

"But had he nothing to say at the time?"

"For my part, " said Endymion, sipping his wine, "I addressed but onesentence to him; and Dorothea, I daresay, exchanged but half a dozen. Considering the shortness of the interview, and that our mission--atleast, our ostensible mission"--Endymion glanced at Dorothea, with asmile at his own _finesse_--"was to carry him news of his release, you will admit--"

"Oh--ah!--to be sure; I had forgotten the release, " mutteredNarcissus, and was resigned. 

"By the way, " Dorothea asked, after a short pause, "what is happeningat 'The Dogs' tonight? All the windows are lit up in the Orange Room. I saw it as I stepped out of the chaise. "

"Yes; I have to tell you"--Narcissus turned towards his brother--"that during your absence another of the prisoners has found hisdischarge--the old Admiral. "

"Dead?"

"He died this morning: but you knew, of course, it was only a questionof days. Rochambeau was with him at the last. He has shown greatdevotion. "

"You have made all arrangements, of course?" For Narcissus was ActingCommissary in his brother's absence. 

"I rode in at once on hearing the news, which Zeally brought beforedaylight; and found the Lodge"--this was a Masonic Lodge formed amongthe prisoners, and named by them _La Paix Desiree_--"anxious to payhim something more than the full rites. With my leave they have hiredthe Orange Room, and turned it into a _chapelle ardente_; and there, Ibelieve, he is reposing now, poor old fellow. "

"He has no kith nor kin, I understand. "

"None. He was never married, and his relatives went in the Terror--the most of them (so Rochambeau tells me) in a single week. "

Dorothea had heard the same story from the General and from Raoul. Tothis old warrior his Emperor had been friends, kindred, wife, andchildren--nay, almost God. He had enjoyed Napoleon's favour, andfollowed his star from the days of the Directory: in that favour andthe future of France beneath that star his hopes had begun and ended. His private ambitions he had resigned without a word on the day whenhe put to sea out of Brest, under order from Paris, to perform a feathe knew to be impossible, with ships ill-found, under-manned, and half-victualled by cheating contractors: and he sailed cheerfully, believinghimself sacrificed to some high purpose of his master's. When, thesacrifice made, he learned that the contractors slandered him to covertheir own villainy, and that Napoleon either believed them or wasindifferent, his heart broke. Too proud at first, he had ended bydrawing up a statement and forwarding it from his captivity, with ademand for an enquiry. The answer to this was--the letter which nevercame. 

Dorothea thought of the room where she had danced and been happy: themany lights, the pagan figures merrymaking on the panels, the goddesson the ceiling with her cupids and scattered roses, and, in the centreof it all, that dead face, incongruous and calm. 

How small had been her tribulation beside his! And it was all over forhim now--wages taken, account sealed up for judgment, _parole_ ended, and no heir to trouble over him or his good name. 

Next morning she rode into Axcester, as well to do some light shoppingas because it seemed an age since her last visit, which, to be sure, was absurd, and she knew it. Happening to meet General Rochambeau, shedrew rein and very gently offered her condolence on the loss of hisold friend. 

The General pressed her hand gratefully. 

"Ah, never pity him, Mademoiselle. He carries a good pass for theElysian Fields. "

"And that is--?"

"The Emperor's _tabatière_: and, my faith! Miss Dorothea, there will besneezings in certain quarters when he opens it there. 

 "Il a du bon tabac Dans sa tabatière

"has the Admiral. He had for you (if I may say it) a quite extraordinaryrespect and affection. The saints rest his brave soul!"

The General lifted his tricorne. He never understood the tide of redwhich surged over Dorothea's face; but she conquered it, and went onto surprise him further:

"I heard of this only last night. We have been visiting Dartmoor, mybrother and I, with a release for--for that M. Raoul. "

"So I understood. " He noted that her confusion had gone as suddenly asit came. 

"But since I am back in time, and it appears I was so fortunate as towin his regard, I would ask to see him--if it be permitted, and I mayhave your escort. "

"Certainly, Mademoiselle. You will, perhaps, wish to consult yourbrother though?"

"I see no necessity, " she answered. 

* * * * * * * * *

The General was not the only one to discover a new and firmer note inDorothea's voice. Life at Bayfield slipped back into its oldcomfortable groove, but the brothers fell--and one of themconsciously--into a habit of including her in their conversations andeven of asking her advice. One day there arrived a bulky parcel forNarcissus; so bulky indeed and so suspiciously heavy, that it boresigns of several agitated official inspections, and nothing short ofofficial deference to Endymion (under cover of whom it was addressed)could account for its having come through at all. For it came fromFrance. It contained a set of the Bayfield drawings exquisitely cut instone; and within the cover was wrapped a lighter parcel addressed toMiss Dorothea Westcote--a rose-tree, with a packet of seeds tiedabout its root. 

No letter accompanied the gift, at the sentimentality of which shefound herself able to smile. But she soaked the root carefully in warmwater, and smiled again at herself, as she planted it at the foot ofthe glacis beneath her boudoir window--the very spot where Raoul hadfallen. Against expectation--for the journey had sorely withered it--the plant throve. She lived to see it grown into a fine Provence rose, draping the whole south-east corner of Bayfield with its yellow bloom. 

"After all, " she said one afternoon, stepping back in the act ofpruning it, "provided one sees things in their right light and isnot a fool--"

But this was long after the time of which we are telling. 

Folks no longer smile at sentiment. They laugh it down: by which, perhaps, no great harm would be done if their laughter came through themind; but it comes through the passions, and at the best chastises oneexcess by another--a weakness by a rage, which is weakness at itsworst. I fear Dorothea may be injured in the opinion of many by thetruth--which, nevertheless, has to be told--that her recovery washelped not a little by sentiment. What? Is a poor lady's heart to bein combustion for a while and then--pf!--the flame expelled at ablast, with all that fed it? That is the heroic cure, no doubt: buteither it kills or leaves a room swept and garnished, inviting devils. In short it is the way of tragedy, and for tragedy Dorothea had noaptitude at all. She did what she could--tidied up. 

For an instance. --She owned a small book which had once belonged to anamesake of hers--a Dorothea Westcote who had lived at the close ofthe seventeenth and opening of the eighteenth centuries, a grand-daughter of the first Westcote of Bayfield, married (so said the familyhistory) in 1704 to a squire from across the Devonshire border. Thebook was a slender one, bound in calf, gilt-edged, and stamped with agold wreath in the centre of each cover. Dorothea called it an album;but the original owner had simply written in, "Dorothea Westcote, herbook, " on the first page, with the date 1687 below, and filled four-and-twenty of its blank pages with poetry (presumably her favourite pieces), copied in a highly ornate hand. Presumably also she had wearied of thework, let the book lie, and coming to it later, turned it upside downand started with a more useful purpose: for three pages at the endcontained several household recipes in the same writing grown severer, including "Garland Wine (Mrs. Massiter's Way)" and "A good Cottage Piefor a Pore Person. "

Now the family history left no doubt that in 1687 this Dorothy had beena bare fifteen years old; and although some of the entries must havebeen made later (for at least two of them had not been composed at thetime), the bulk of the poems proved her a sprightly young lady whenevershe transcribed them. Indeed, some were so very free in calling a spadea spade, that our Dorothea, having annexed the book, years ago, on thestrength of her name, and dipped within, had closed it in sudden virginterror and thrust it away at the back of her wardrobe. 

There it had lain until disinterred in the hurried search for linen forMr. Raoul's wound. Next morning Dorothea was on the point of hiding itagain, when, as she opened the covers idly, her eyes fell on these lines

 "But at my back I alwaies hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before me lie Desarts of vast Eternitie . . . "

She read on. The poem, after all, turned out to be but a lover's appealto his mistress to give over coyness and use time while she might; butDorothea wondered why its solemn language should have hit hernamesake's fancy, and, turning a few more pages, discovered that thismerry dead girl had chosen and copied out other verses which were morethan solemn. How had she dug these gloomy gems out of Donne, Ford, Webster, and set them here among loose songs and loose epigrams from_Wit's Remembrancer_ and the like? for gems they were, though Dorotheadid not know it nor whence they came. Dorothea had small sense ofpoetry: it was the personal interest which led her on. To be sure thelittle animal (she had already begun to construct a picture of her)might have secreted these things for no more reason than their beauty, as a squirrel will pick up a ruby ring and hide it among his nuts. But why were they, all so darkly terrible? Had she, being young, beenafraid to die? Rather it seemed as if now and then, in the midst ofher mirth, she had paused and been afraid to live. 

And in the end she had married a Devonshire squire, which on the faceof it is no darkly romantic thing to do. But it was over the maidenthat our Dorothea pondered, until by and by the small shade tookfeatures and a place in her leisure time: a very companionable shade, though tantalising; and innocent, though given to mischievouslysportive hints. Dorothea sometimes wondered what her own fate wouldhave been, with this naughtiness in her young blood--and thisseriousness. 

It was sentiment, of course; but it is also a fact that this ghost ofa kinswoman brought help to her. For such a hurt as hers the specificis to get away from self and look into such human thought as is kindlyyet judicial. Some find this help in philosophy, many more in wiseDorothea had no philosophy, and no human being to consult; foradmirably as Endymion had behaved, he remained a person with obviouslimits. The General held aloof: she had no reason to fear that hesuspected her secret. And so _Natura inventrix_, casting about for acure, found and brought her this companion of her own sex frombetween the covers of a book. 

I set down the fact merely and its share in Dorothea's recovery. 

CHAPTER XII

GENERAL ROCHAMBEAU TELLS A STORY;AND THE TING-TANG RINGS FOR THE LAST TIME

More than a year had passed when, one February morning, as he left thebreakfast table, Endymion handed Dorothea a slip of paper. 

"Do you think we can entertain at dinner next Wednesday? If you canmanage it, I wish these invitations written out and despatched beforenoon. "

"Next Wednesday?" Dorothea's eyebrows went up. Invitations to dine atBayfield had always, as we know, been issued just three weeks ahead. 

"If it will not inconvenience you, " he answered; and his manner added, as plainly as words, "I beg that you will not press for my reasons. "He was booted already for his ride into Axcester. 

Dorothea ran her eye down the list: The Vicomte de Tocqueville, GeneralRochambeau. . . . All the prisoners of distinction were included aswell as the chief notables of the neighbourhood, which made it a longone, even without a full balance of ladies. 

She went off to her room at once and penned the letters--twenty-fivein all. 

Naturally, this break in the Bayfield custom set speculation goingamong the invited; but it is doubtful if Narcissus, any more thanDorothea, knew the reason of it. And on Wednesday, when the guestsassembled, the only one who might be suspected of sharing Endymion'ssecret was (oddly enough) General Rochambeau. The old fellow seemedten years younger, and wore an air of sportiveness, almost of raillery, as he caught his host's eye. The compliments he paid Lady Batesonacross the table were prodigious, and gave that good soul a hazysensation of being wafted back to the court of Louis XV, and behavingbrilliantly under the circumstances. 

"Really, my dear Mr. Westcote, " she protested at length, being achartered utterer of indiscretions which (as she delighted to prove)Endymion would not tolerate in others, but took from her and allowed, with a magisterial smile, to pass, --"really, I trust you have nottaken off the General's parole, or to-morrow I shall have to lock mygates for fear of a chaise-and-pair. "

"Ah, to-morrow!" the General echoed, turning to Endymion, with a twinkleof malice in his eye. "But when Mr. Westcote releases us, it will be enmasse; and then, believe me, I shall come with an army, since Iunderrate neither the strength of the fortress nor the feeling of thecountry. "

"That reminds me, " put in a Mr. Saxby, of Yeovil, or near by, "we haveheard of no escape or attempts at escape from Axcester this winter. Icongratulate you, Westcote--if the General will not think itoffensive. "

"Reassure yourself, my dear sir. " General Rochambeau bowed. "No, " hecontinued, lifting his eyes for a moment towards Dorothea, "in one wayor another we are rid of our fence-breakers, and the rest must sharethe credit with our Commissary. "

"And yet the temptation--, " began Lady Bateson. 

"Is great, Madame, for some temperaments. But the Vicomte, here, and Ihave tried to teach our poor compatriots that in resisting it theyfight for France as surely as if they stormed a breach. And, by theway, I heard a story this morning--if the company would care to hear--"

They begged him to tell it. 

"But not if the ladies leave us to our wine. " He turned to Dorothea. "If Miss Westcote will rally and stay her forces, good; for, though itcame to me casually in a letter, it is a tale of the sort which usedto be fashionable in my youth--ah! long before M. Le Tocquevilleremembers--and for the telling it demanded an audience of ladies, which must help me, who am rusty, to recapture the style, if I can. "

He pushed back his chair and, crossing his legs, leaned forward andpushed his fingers across the polished mahogany till they touched thebase of a wine-glass beside his plate. One or two of the guests smiledat this formal opening. The Vicomte's eyes showed something ofamusement behind their apathy. But all listened. 

"My tale, Miss Dorothea, is of a certain M. Benest, who until a fewweeks ago was a prisoner on parole in one of your towns on the southcoast. He had been _chef de hune_ (which, as you know, is chief pettyofficer) of the _Embuscade_ frigate, captured by Sir John Warren. Inthe action which lost her M. Benest lost a leg, and was placed in anEnglish hospital, where they gave him a wooden one. 

"Now how it came about that on his discharge he was allowed to live ina town--call it a village, rather--a haven, at any rate--where fora couple of napoleons he might have found a boat any night of the weekto smuggle him over to Roscoff, is more than I can tell you. It may bethat he had once borne another name than Benest, one to commandprivileges: since many of my countrymen, as you know, have found itprudent in recent years to change their names and take up withcallings below their real rank. There, at any rate, he was; and on theday after his arrival, he and the Rector of the parish--who was alsoa magistrate--took a walk and marked out the bounds together: twomiles along the coast to the east, two miles along the coast to thewest, and two miles up the valley behind the town. At the end of thesetwo miles the valley itself branched into two and climbed inland, theroad branching likewise; and M. Benest's mark was the signpost at theangle. 

"Well, at first he walked little, because of his wooden leg. He hadlodgings with a widow in a white-washed cottage overlooking theharbour-side, and seemed happy enough there, tending a monstergeranium which grew against the house-wall, or pottering about thequay and making friends with the children. For the children soon pickedup an affection for him, seeing that he was never too busy to drop hisgardening and come and be umpire at their games of 'tig' or 'prisoners'bars. ' Also he had stories for them, and halfpennies or sweetmeats inmysterious pockets, and songs which he taught them: _Giroflé, girofla_, and _Compagnons de la Marjolaine_, and _Les Petits Bateaux_--do youknow it?--

 "'Papa, les p'tits bateaux Qui vont sur I'eau, Ont-ils des jambes? --Mais oui, petit beta, S'ils n'en avaient pas, ils n' march'raient pas!'

"In short, M. Benest, with his loose blue coat and three-cornerednaval cap, endeared himself to the children, and through the childrento everyone. 

"It was some time before he began to take walks; and I believe he hadbeen living in the town for six months, when one day, having stumpedup the valley road for a change, and just as he was facing about forthe return journey, he heard a voice in his own language singing tothe air of _Vive Henri Quatre_. 

"The voice was shaky and, I dare say, uncertain in its upper notes;but it fetched M. Benest right-about-face again. He perceived that itcame from the garden of a solitary cottage up the road, a gunshot andmore beyond his signpost. But a tall hedge interrupted his view, and, though he stared long and earnestly, all he could see that day was apea-stick nodding above it. 

"He came again, however, --not the next day, but the day after, --andwas rewarded by a glimpse of a white cap with bows which seemed atthat distance of a purplish colour. Its wearer was standing in thegateway and exchanging a word with the Rector, who had reined up hishorse in the road. 

"M. Benest walked home and made inquiries; but his landlady could onlytell him that the cottage was rented by two ladies, sisters, --she hadheard that they came from the West Indies, --who saw nobody, butwished only to be let alone. One of them, who suffered from anincurable complaint, was never seen; the other could be seen on finedays in her garden, where she worked vigorously; and what the pairlived on was a mystery, for they bought nothing in the town or oftheir neighbours. 

"On learning this, M. Benest became very cunning indeed. He bought afishing rod. 

"For I ought to have told you that a stream ran down the valley besidethe road, and it contained trout--perhaps as many as a dozen. M. Benest had no desire to catch them; but, you see, he was forced toacquire some show of expertness in order to deceive the wayfarers whopaused and watched him; and in time (I am told) the fish, after beingunhooked once or twice and restored apologetically to the water, cameto enjoy disconcerting him. You must understand that he had no foolishillusions concerning the white cap and purplish ribbons--theMademoiselle Henriette, as he discovered she was called. He only knewthat here were two women, his compatriots, poor certainly, often hungryperhaps, shipwrecked so close to him upon this corner of (pardon me, Miss Dorothea) an unfriendly land, yet divided from any comfort hecould bring by fifty yards of road and his word of honour. She must beof the true blood of France who quavered out _Vive Henri Quatre_ soresolutely over her digging and hoeing: but the sound of a French voicemight hearten her as hers had heartened him. Therefore he sang lustilywhile he angled--which is not good for sport; and when he caught afish, broke into paeans addressed less to the captive--with which, between you and me, he was secretly annoyed--than to an ear unseen, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. 

"But there came a day--how shall I tell it?--when calamity fell uponthe cottage. For some time the farmers up the valley had been missingsheep. What so easy now as to suspect the two women who were neverknown to buy either bread or butcher's meat? You can guess! A rabblemarched up from the town and broke in upon them. It found nothing, ofcourse; and I am told that at sight of the face of the poor eldersister it fled back in panic, leaving the place a wreck. 

"It so happened that M. Benest had pretermitted his angling, thatafternoon, for a stroll along the cliff: but he heard the news on hisreturn, from his landlady, while he sat at tea--that is to say, heheard a part of it, for before the story was out he had set down histeacup, caught up hat and stick, and stumped out of the house. The mostof the townspeople were indoors at tea, discussing the sensation; thefew he encountered had no greeting from him. He looked neither to theright nor to the left; had no ears for his friends, the trout, as theyrose at the evening flies. He reached the signpost and--walked pastit! He stumped straight up to the garden gate, which stood ajar, andpushed it wide with his stick. 

"There were signs of trampling on the flower-beds; but--for it wasJuly--the whole garden blazed with hollyhocks, oeillets, sweetWilliams, sweet peas, above all with that yellow flower--mimulus, monkey flower, is it not?--which grows so profusely in gardens besidestreams. The air was weighted with scent of the réséda and of thejasmine which climbed the wall and almost choked the roses. 

"The cottage door stood ajar also. He thrust this open too, and forthe first time stood face to face with Mademoiselle Henriette. 

"She sat by the kitchen table, with one arm flung across it, and herbody bowed with grief. At her feet lay a trodden bunch of the monkeyflowers: and at the tap-tap of his wooden leg on the threshold shesprang up and faced him, across the yellow blossoms. 

"'Mademoiselle, ' he began, 'I have just learnt--but it is an infamy!_Permettez_--I am French, I also, though you do not know me perhaps. '

"And with that M. Benest stammered and came to a halt, for her eyeswere worse than woeful. They were accusing--yes, accusing _him_. Ofwhat? _Nom de tonnerre_, what had he done?

"'You, Monsieur! _You_--an officer of France!'

"_'Mais quel rapport y a-t-il?'_

"'Your _parole_, Monsieur!'

"_'Peste!_ I forgot, ' said M. Benest, half to himself. 

"'Forgot? Forgot your _parole? Mais ecoutez donc! Nous savons souffrir, nous autres franfaises . . . Et la petite qui meurt--et--et moi quimourrai Presqu' a l'heure--mais nous nous en tenons a' ne pasdishonorer la Patrie a la fin. Ca finira bien, sous-officier--allez-vous--allez-vous en. Mais allez!'_

"She stamped her foot upon the flowers, and M. Benest turned and fledfrom her. Nay, in his haste, taking a short-cut towards the signpost, he plunged his wooden leg deep in the marsh, and tumbled helpless, overwhelmed with shame. 

"He never passed the signpost again, nor caught another glimpse ofMademoiselle Henriette's cap. Three days later the Rector broke intothe cottage and discovered her seated, dead and stiff, her handsstained with digging her sister's grave. 

"And the cottage had no new tenant. Only M. Benest continued to eye itwistfully, as he cast his flies and pondered on his offence, which shehad died without forgiving. 

"But one July, two years after her death, a patch of gold appeared onthe marsh below the hedge--a patch of the monkey-flower. Some seedshad been blown thither, or carried down by the stream. 

"Next July the patch had doubled its length. 

"'The flowers are travelling towards me, ' said M. Benest. 

"And year by year the stream brought them nearer. That was a terribleJuly for him when they came within two feet of the signpost; but hewould not stretch a hand beyond it. 

"'She coquets with her forgiveness, the poor Mademoiselle Henriette. But I can wait: _'faut pas deshonorer la patrie a la fin!'_

"Before the next July he had made sure of one plant at least on hisside of the signpost; and fished beside it day after day, fearful lestsome animal should browse upon it. But when the happy morning came forit to open, and M. Benest knelt beside his prize, he drew back a hand. 

"'Is it quite open?' he asked. 'Better wait, since all is safe, for thesun to warm it a little longer. '

"And he waited, until a trout, to remind him, perhaps, took a fly witha splash beneath his nose. Then, with a start, M. Benest's fingersclosed and snapped off the yellow blossom. 

"'She has forgiven me, ' said he. Now I can forgive myself. '"

For a moment or two, though his story was ended, the General continuedto toy with the stem of his wine glass. One or two of the guests cried"Bravo!" But Lady Bateson's eyes were wet, and Dorothea gazed hard fora while into the polished surface of the mahogany before she recalledherself, and, with a nod, swept the ladies away to the drawing-room. 

Later, in a pause between two songs, the General dropped into a seatbeside her. 

"Can you guess who sent me that story?" he asked. "It was M. Raoul;and he travelled across from Plymouth in the ship with this M. Benest, who happened to get his exchange at about the same time. It was cleverof him to worm out the story--if, indeed, he did not invent it. Butthat young man has genius for pathos. "

"I did not know that you corresponded. "

"Indeed, nor did I. He chose to write. I may answer; and, again, I maynot. To tell you the truth, I have never been sure if we condemned himquite justly. "

Dorothea found herself able to look straight into the kindly old eyes. 

"It was a beautiful story. Did you tell it for me?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle, in thanks and in contrition. We are all prisonersin this world; but while it is certain you have made fortitude easierfor us, I have suspected that there was a time when I, for one, mighthave been bolder and repaid you, but stood aside. Also, I think you nolonger require help. "

"No longer, General. But what you say is true: we are all prisonershere, or sentries at the best. " And Dorothea, resting her fan on herlap, let these lines fall from her, not consciously quoting, butmusing on each word as it fell:

 "Brutus and Cato might discharge their souls, And give them furloughs for another world; But we, like sentries, are obliged to stand In starless nights, and wait the appointed hour. "

The General stared. 

"Ah, Mademoiselle, what poet taught you that?"

"It was a kinswoman, " she answered, and caught herself blushing. "I donot know the author. "

* * * * * * * * *

The secret of the Commissary's dinner-party came out early next morning, when the call came for the prisoners to leave Axcester. And, wheneverDorothea looked back on this epoch in her life, what she found mostwonderful was the suddenness of its end. As day broke in a drizzle, andbefore she was well awake, a troop of dragoons, followed by a companyof the 52nd Regiment of foot, passed the Bayfield gates on the way toAxcester. The troopers entered the town while the Ting-tang wassounding, and before the roll could be called the prisoners weresurrounded. Their release had come; and though many had sighed for itfor years, it found them quite unprepared. 

Their release had come; but first they must be marched through thelength of the country to Kelso, there to await the formalities ofexchange. At four in the afternoon the infantry marched out with thefirst great batch. Early next morning the rest--owners of furniture, granted a few hours to arrange for its storage or sale--followed theircomrades. There was no cloud of dust upon the road for Dorothea towatch. They departed in sheets of rain and under the dusk of dawn. Shenever again saw General Rochambeau. 

It is recorded that in his fifty-seventh year Endymion Westcote married(but the bride was not Lady Bateson), and that children were born tohim. Narcissus lived on at Bayfield and compiled at his leisure a_History of Axcester_, which mentions the decoration of the Orange Roomby "a young Frenchman of talent, who has been good enough to assistthe author in a most important work. " But Dorothea preferred herindependence and a cottage not far from the bridge, where Endymion'schildren might romp as they listed, but never seemed to disturb itsexquisite order.