OLD FIRES AND PROFITABLE GHOSTS. 

A Book of Stories

A. T. QUILLER-COUCH. 

PREFACE

The stories in this book are of _revenants_: persons who either inspirit or in body revisit old scenes, return upon old selves or oldemotions, or relate a message from a world beyond perception. "Which?"was suggested by a passage in Hawthorne's Note-books, where he proposesa story or sketch the scene of which is "to be laid within the light ofa street lantern; the time, when the lamp is near going out; and thecatastrophe to be simultaneous with the last flickering gleam. ""The Lady of the Ship" is very nearly historical. "Prisoners of War"rests on the actual adventures of two St. Ives men, Thomas Williams andJohn Short, in the years 1804-1814. "Frozen Margit" and "The SeventhMan" have--if not their originals--at least their suggestions in fact. 

One of the tales, "Once Aboard the Lugger, " is itself a _revenant_. After writing it in the form here presented, I took advice and gave itanother, under the title of "Ia. " Yet some whose opinion I value preferthe original, and to satisfy them (though I think them wrong) it isreprinted; not with intent to pad out the volume. But my readers aretoo generous to need the assurance. 

Q. 

CONTENTS

I. OCEANUS. 

II. THE SEVENTH MAN. 

III. THE ROOM OF MIRRORS. 

IV. A PAIR OF HANDS. 

V. THE LADY OF THE SHIP. 

VI. FROZEN MARGIT. 

VII. THE SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF A SMALL FREE-TRADER. 

VIII. THE MYSTERY OF JOSEPH LAQUEDEM. 

IX. PRISONERS OF WAR. 

X. A TOWN'S MEMORY. 

XI. THE LADY OF THE RED ADMIRALS. 

XII. THE PENANCE OF JOHN EMMET. 

XIII. ELISHA. 

XIV. "ONCE ABOARD THE LUGGER". 

XV. WHICH?

OCEANUS

I

My Dear Violet, --So you "gather from the tone of two or three recentletters that my spirit is creeping back to light and warmth again"?Well, after a fashion you are right. I shall never laugh again as Iused to laugh before Harry's death. The taste has gone out of thatcarelessness, and I turn even from the remembrance of it. But I can becheerful, with a cheerfulness which has found the centre of gravity. I am myself again, as people say. After months of agitation in whatseemed to be chaos the lost atom has dropped back to its place in thescheme of things, and even aspires (poor mite!) to do its infinitesimalbusiness intelligently. So might a mote in a sunbeam feel itself at onewith God!

But when you assume that my recovery has been a gradual process, you arewrong. You will think me more than ever deranged; but I assure you thatit has been brought about, not by long strivings, but suddenly--withoutpreparation of mine--_and by the immediate hand of our dead brother_. 

Yes; you shall have the whole tale. The first effect of the news ofHarry's death in October last was simply to stun me. You may rememberhow once, years ago when we were children, we rode home together acrossthe old Racecourse after a long day's skating, our skates swinging atour saddle-bows; how Harry challenged us to a gallop; and how, midway, the roan mare slipped down neck over crop on the frozen turf and hurledme clean against the face of a stone dyke. I had been thrown fromhorseback more than once before, but somehow had always found the earthfairly elastic. So I had griefs before Harry died and took some reboundof hope from each: but that cast repeated in a worse degree the oldshock--the springless brutal jar--of the stone dyke. With him the sunwent out of my sky. 

I understand that this torpor is quite common with men and womensuddenly bereaved. I believe that a whole week passed before my brainrecovered any really vital motion; and then such feeble thought as Icould exert was wholly occupied with the desperate stupidity of thewhole affair. If God were indeed shaping the world to any end, if anydesign of His underlay the activities of men, what insensate waste toquench such a heart and brain as Harry's!--to nip, as it seemed out ofmere blundering wantonness, a bud which had begun to open so generously:to sacrifice that youth and strength, that comeliness, that enthusiasm, and all for nothing! Had some campaign claimed him, had he been spentto gain a citadel or defend a flag, I had understood. But that heshould be killed on a friendly mission; attacked in ignorance by thoseEast Coast savages while bearing gifts to their king; deserted by theporters whose comfort (on their own confession) he had studiedthroughout the march; left to die, to be tortured, mutilated--and allfor no possible good: these things I could not understand. At the endhe might have escaped; but as he caught hold of his saddle by the bandbetween the holsters, it parted: it was not leather, but faced paper, the job of some cheating contractor. I thought of this, too. And Harryhad been through Chitral!

But though a man may hate, he cannot easily despise God for long. "He is great--but wasteful, " said the American. We are the dust on Hisgreat hands, and fly as He claps them carelessly in the pauses of Hiswork. Yet this theory would not do at all: for the unlucky particlesare not dust, not refuse, but exquisite and exquisitely fashioned, designed to _live_, and to every small function of life adapted with theminutest care. There were nights indeed when, walking along the shorewhere we had walked together on the night before Harry left England andlooking from the dark waters which divided me from his grave up to thenightly moon and to the stars around her, I could well believe Godwasteful of little things. Sirius flashing low, Orion's belt with thegreat nebula swinging like a pendant of diamonds; the ruby stars, Betelgueux and Aldebaran--my eyes went up beyond these to Perseusshepherding the Kids westward along the Milky way. From the rightAndromeda flashed signals to him: and above sat Cassiopeia, her mother, resting her jewelled wrists on the arms of her throne. Low in the eastJupiter trailed his satellites in the old moon's path. As they allmoved, silent, looking down on me out of the hollow spaces of the night, I could believe no splendid waste too costly for their perfection: andthe Artificer who hung them there after millions of years of patienteffort, if more intelligible than a God who produced them suddenly atwill, certainly not less divine. But walking the same shore by daylightI recognised that the shells, the mosses, the flowers I trampled on, were, each in its way, as perfect as those great stars: that on these--and on Harry--as surely as on the stars--God had spent, if not infinitepains, then at least so superlative a wisdom that to conceive of them aswastage was to deny the mind which called them forth. 

There they were: and that He who had skill to create them could blunderin using them was simply incredible. 

But this led to worse: for having to admit the infallible design, I nowbegan to admire it as an exquisite scheme of evil, and to accuse God ofemploying supreme knowledge and skill to gratify a royal lust ofcruelty. For a month and more this horrible theory justified itself inall innocent daily sights. Throughout my country walks I "saw blood. "I heard the rabbit run squeaking before the weasel; I watched thebutcher crow working steadily down the hedge. If I turned seaward Ilooked beneath the blue and saw the dog-fish gnawing on the whiting. If I walked in the garden I surprised the thrush dragging worms from theturf, the cat slinking on the nest, the spider squatting in ambush. Behind the rosy face of every well-nourished child I saw a lamb gazingup at the butcher's knife. My dear Violet, that was a hideous time!

And just then by chance a book fell into my hands--Lamartine's _Chuted'un Ange_. Do you know the Seventh and Tenth Visions of that poem, which describe the favourite amusements of the Men-gods? Before theDeluge, beyond the rude tents of the nomad shepherds, there rose cityupon city of palaces built of jasper and porphyry, splendid and utterlycorrupt; inhabited by men who called themselves gods and explored thesubtleties of all sciences to minister to their vicious pleasures. At ease on soft couches, in hanging gardens set with fountains, thesebeings feasted with every refinement of cruelty. Kneeling slaves weretheir living tables; while for their food--

 Tous les oiseaux de l'air, tous les poissons de l'onde, Tout ce qui vole ou nage ou rampe dans le monde, Mourant pour leur plaisir des plus cruels trepas De sanglantes savours composent leurs repas. . . . 

In these lines I believed that I discerned the very God of the universe, the God whom men worship--

 Dans les infames jeux de leur divin loisir Le supplice de l'homme est leur premier plaisir. Pour que leur oeil feroce a l'envi s'en repaisse Des bourreaux devant eux en immolent sans cesse. Tantot ils font lutter, dans des combats affreux, L'homme contre la brute et les hommes entre eux, Aux longs ruisseaux de sang qui coulent de la veine, Aux palpitations des membres sur l'arene, Se levant a demi de leurs lits de repos Des frissons de plaisir fremissent sur leurs peaux. Le cri de la torture est leur douce harmonie, Et leur oeil dans son oeil boit sa lente agonie. 

I charged the Supreme Power with a cruelty deliberate, ruthless, serene. Nero the tyrant once commanded a representation in grim earnest of theFlight of Icarus; and the unhappy boy who took the part, at his firstattempt to fly, fell headlong beside the Emperor's couch and spatteredhim with blood and brains. For the Emperor, says Suetonius, _perraropraesidere, ceterum accubans, parvis primum foraminibus, deinde totopodio adaperto, spectare consuerat_. So I believed that on the stage ofthis world men agonised for the delight of one cruel intelligence whichwatched from behind the curtain of a private box. 

II

In this unhappy condition of mind, then, I was lying in my library chairhere at Sevenhays, at two o'clock on the morning of January 4th. I hadjust finished another reading of the Tenth Vision and had tossed my bookinto the lap of an armchair opposite. Fire and lamp were burningbrightly. The night outside was still and soundless, with a touch offrost. 

I lay there, retracing in thought the circumstances of Harry's lastparting from me, and repeating to myself a scrap here and there from thethree letters he wrote on his way--the last of them, full of highspirits, received a full three weeks after the telegram which announcedhis death. There was a passage in this last letter describing awonderful ride he had taken alone and by moonlight on the desert; a ride(he protested) which wanted nothing of perfect happiness but me, hisfriend, riding beside him to share his wonder. There was a sentencewhich I could not recall precisely, and I left my chair and was crossingthe room towards the drawer in the writing-table where I kept hisletters, when I heard a trampling of hoofs on the gravel outside, andthen my Christian name called--with distinctness, but not at all loudly. 

I went to the window, which was unshuttered; drew up the blind and flungup the sash. The moon, in its third quarter and about an hour short ofits meridian, shone over the deodars upon the white gravel. And there, before the front door, sat Harry on his sorrel mare Vivandiere, holdingmy own Grey Sultan ready bridled and saddled. He was dressed in his oldkhaki riding suit, and his face, as he sat askew in his saddle andlooked up towards my window, wore its habitual and happy smile. 

Now, call this and what follows a dream, vision, hallucination, what youwill; but understand, please, that from the first moment, so far as Iconsidered the matter at all, I had never the least illusion that thiswas Harry in flesh and blood. I knew quite well all the while thatHarry was dead and his body in his grave. But, soul or phantom--whatever relation to Harry this might bear--it had come to me, and thegreat joy of that was enough for the time. There let us leave thequestion. I closed the window, went upstairs to my dressing-room, drewon my riding-boots and overcoat, found cap, gloves, and riding-crop, anddescended to the porch. 

Harry, as I shall call him, was still waiting there on the off side ofGrey Sultan, the farther side from the door. There could be no doubt, at any rate, that the grey was real horseflesh and blood, though heseemed unusually quiet after two days in stall. Harry freed him as Imounted, and we set off together at a walk, which we kept as far as thegate. 

Outside we took the westward road, and our horses broke into a trot. As yet we had not exchanged a word; but now he asked a question or twoabout his people and his friends; kindly, yet most casually, as onemight who returns after a week's holidaying. I answered as well as Icould, with trivial news of their health. His mother had borne thewinter better than usual--to be sure, there had been as yet no coldweather to speak of; but she and Ethel intended, I believed, to startfor the south of France early in February. He inquired about you. His comments were such as a man makes on hearing just what he expects tohear, or knows beforehand. And for some time it seemed to be tacitlytaken for granted between us that I should ask him no questions. 

"As for me--" I began, after a while. 

He checked the mare's pace a little. "I know, " he said, lookingstraight ahead between her ears; then, after a pause, "it has been a badtime for you, You are in a bad way altogether. That is why I came. "

"But it was for _you!_" I blurted out. "Harry, if only I had known why_you_ were taken--and what it was to _you!_"

He turned his face to me with the old confident comforting smile. 

"Don't you trouble about _that. That's_ nothing to make a fuss about. Death?" he went on musing--our horses had fallen to a walk again--"It looks you in the face a moment: you put out your hands: you touch--and so it is gone. My dear boy, it isn't for us that you need worry. "

"For whom, then?"

"Come, " said he, and he shook Vivandiere into a canter. 

III

I cannot remember precisely at what point in our ride the country hadceased to be familiar. But by-and-by we were climbing the lower slopesof a great down which bore no resemblance to the pastoral country aroundSevenhays. We had left the beaten road for short turf--apparently of acopper-brown hue, but this may have been the effect of the moonlight. The ground rose steadily, but with an easy inclination, and we climbedwith the wind at our backs; climbed, as it seemed, for an hour, or maybetwo, at a footpace, keeping silence. The happiness of having Harrybeside me took away all desire for speech. 

This at least was my state of mind as we mounted the long lower slopesof the down. But in time the air, hitherto so exhilarating, began tooppress my lungs, and the tranquil happiness to give way to a vaguediscomfort and apprehension. 

"What is this noise of water running?"

I reined up Grey Sultan as I put the question. At the same moment itoccurred to me that this sound of water, distant and continuous, hadbeen running in my ear for a long while. 

Harry, too, came to a halt. With a sweep of the arm that embraced thedim landscape around and ahead, he quoted softly--

 en detithei potamoio mega spenos Okeanoio antyga par pymaten sakeos pyka poietoio . . . . 

and was silent again. 

I recalled at once and distinctly the hot summer morning ten years back, when we had prepared that passage of the Eighteenth Book together in ourstudy at Clifton; I at the table, Harry lolling in the cane-seatedarmchair with the Liddell and Scott open on his knees; outside, thesunny close and the fresh green of the lime-trees. 

Now that I looked more attentively the bare down, on which we climbedlike flies, did indeed resemble a vast round shield, about the rim ofwhich this unseen water echoed. And the resemblance grew more startlingwhen, a mile or so farther on our way, as the grey dawn overtook us, Harry pointed upwards and ahead to a small boss or excrescence nowlifting itself above the long curve of the horizon. 

At first I took it for a hummock or tumulus. Then, as the day whitenedabout us, I saw it to be a building--a tall, circular barrack not unlikethe Colosseum. A question shaped itself on my lips, but something inHarry's manner forbade it. His gaze was bent steadily forward, and Ikept my wonder to myself, and also the oppression of spirit which hadnow grown to something like physical torture. 

When first the great barrack broke into sight we must have been at leasttwo miles distant. I kept my eyes fastened on it as we approached, andlittle by little made out the details of its architecture. From base tosummit--which appeared to be roofless--six courses of many hundredarches ran around the building, one above the other; and between eachpair a course, as it seemed, of plain worked stone, though I afterwardsfound it to be sculptured in low relief. The arches were cut in deeprelief and backed with undressed stone. The lowest course of all, however, was quite plain, having neither arches nor frieze; but atintervals corresponding to the eight major points of the compass--so faras I who saw but one side of it could judge--pairs of gigantic stonefigures supported archways pierced in the wall; or sluices, rather, since from every archway but one a full stream of water issued andpoured down the sides of the hill. The one dry archway was that whichfaced us with open gate, and towards which Harry led the way; foroppression and terror now weighted my hand as with lead upon GreySultan's rein. 

Harry, however, rode forward resolutely, dismounted almost in the veryshadow of the great arch, and waited, smoothing his mare's neck. But for the invitation in his eyes, which were solemn, yet without atrace of fear, I had never dared that last hundred yards. For above therush of waters I heard now a confused sound within the building--thethud and clanking of heavy machinery, and at intervals a human groan;and looking up I saw that the long friezes in bas-relief represented menand women tortured and torturing with all conceivable variety of methodand circumstance--flayed, racked, burned, torn asunder, loaded withweights, pinched with hot irons, and so on without end. And it added tothe horror of these sculptures that while the limbs and even the dressof each figure were carved with elaborate care and nicety of detail, thefaces of all--of those who applied the torture and of those who lookedon, as well as of the sufferers themselves--were left absolutely blank. On the same plan the two Titans beside the great archway had no faces. The sculptor had traced the muscles of each belly in a constriction ofanguish, and had suggested this anguish again in moulding the neck, evenin disposing the hair of the head; but the neck supported, and the locksfell around, a space of smooth stone without a feature. 

Harry allowed me no time to feed on these horrors. Signing to me todismount and leave Grey Sultan at the entrance, he led me through thelong archway or tunnel. At the end we paused again, he watching, whileI drew difficult breath. . . . 

I saw a vast amphitheatre of granite, curving away on either hand andreaching up, tier on tier, till the tiers melted in the grey skyoverhead. The lowest tier stood twenty feet above my head; yet curvedwith so lordly a perspective that on the far side of the arena, as Ilooked across, it seemed almost level with the ground; while the humanfigures about the great archway yonder were diminished to the size ofants about a hole. . . For there were human figures busy in the arena, though not a soul sat in any of the granite tiers above. A million eyeshad been less awful than those empty benches staring down in the colddawn; bench after bench repeating the horror of the featureless carvingsby the entrance-gate--repeating it in series without end, and unbroken, save at one point midway along the semicircle on my right, where theimperial seat stood out, crowned like a catafalque with plumes of purplehorse-hair, and screened close with heavy purple hangings. I saw thesecurtains shake once or twice in the morning wind. 

The floor of this amphitheatre I have spoken of as an arena; but as amatter of fact it was laid with riveted sheets of copper that recalledthe dead men's shelves in the Paris _morgue_. The centre had beenraised some few feet higher than the circumference, or possibly thewhole floor took its shape from the rounded hill of which it was theapex; and from an open sluice immediately beneath the imperial throne aflood of water gushed with a force that carried it straight to thisraised centre, over which it ran and rippled, and so drained back intothe scuppers at the circumference. Before reaching the centre it brokeand swirled around a row of what appeared to be tall iron boxes orcages, set directly in face of the throne. But for these ugly boxes thewhole floor was empty. To and from these the little human figures werehurrying, and from these too proceeded the thuds and panting and thefrequent groans that I had heard outside. 

While I stood and gazed, Harry stepped forward into the arena. "This also?" I whispered. 

He nodded, and led the way over the copper floor, where the water ranhigh as our ankles and again was drained off, until little dry spacesgrew like maps upon the surface, and in ten seconds were flooded again. He led me straight to the cages, and I saw that while the roof and threesides of these were of sheet iron, the fourth side, which faced thethrone, lay open. And I saw--in the first cage, a man scourged withrods; in the second, a body twisted on the rack; in the third, a womanwith a starving babe, and a fellow that held food to them and withdrewit quickly (the torturers wore masks on their faces, and whenever bloodflowed some threw handfuls of sawdust, and blood and sawdust togetherwere carried off by the running water); in the fourth cage, a man tied, naked and helpless, whom a masked torturer pelted with discs of gold, heavy and keen-edged; in the fifth a brasier with irons heating, and agirl's body crouched in a corner--

"I will see no more!" I cried, and turned towards the great purplecanopy. High over it the sun broke yellow on the climbing tiers ofseats. "Harry! someone is watching behind those curtains! Is it--HE?"

Harry bent his head. 

"But this is all that I believed! This is Nero, and ten times worsethan Nero! Why did you bring me here?" I flung out my hand towards thepurple throne, and finding myself close to a fellow who scatteredsawdust with both hands, made a spring to tear his mask away. But Harrystretched out an arm. 

"That will not help you, " he said. "The man has no face. "

"No face!"

"He once had a face, but it has perished. His was the face of thesesufferers. Look at them. "

I looked from cage to cage, and now saw that indeed all thesesufferers--men and women--had but one face: the same wrung brow, thesame wistful eyes, the same lips bitten in anguish. I knew the face. _We all know it_. 

"His own Son! O devil rather than God!" I fell on my knees in thegushing water and covered my eyes. 

"Stand up, listen and look!" said Harry's voice. 

"What can I see? He hides behind that curtain. "

"And the curtain?"

"It shakes continually. "

"_That is with His sobs_. Listen! What of the water?"

"It runs from the throne and about the floor. It washes off the blood. "

"That water is His tears. It flows hence down the hill, and washes allthe shores of earth. "

Then as I stood silent, conning the eddies at my feet, for the firsttime Harry took my hand. 

"Learn this, " he said. "There is no suffering in the world butultimately comes to be endured by God. "

Saying this, he drew me from the spot; gently, very gently led me away;but spoke again as we were about to pass into the shadow of the arch--

"Look once back: for a moment only. "

I looked. The curtains of the imperial seat were still drawn close, butin a flash I saw the tiers beside it, and around, and away up to thesunlit crown of the amphitheatre, thronged with forms in white raiment. And all these forms leaned forward and bowed their faces on their armsand wept. 

So we passed out beneath the archway. Grey Sultan stood outside, and asI mounted him the gate clashed behind. . . . 

IV

I turned as it clashed. And the gate was just the lodge-gate ofSevenhays. And Grey Sultan was trampling the gravel of our own drive. The morning sun slanted over the laurels on my right, and while Iwondered, the stable clock struck eight. 

The rest I leave to you; nor shall try to explain. I only know that, vision or no vision, my soul from that hour has gained a calm it neverknew before. The sufferings of my fellows still afflict me; but always, if I stand still and listen, in my own room, or in a crowded street, orin a waste spot among the moors, I can hear those waters moving roundthe world--moving on their "priest-like task "--those lustral divinetears which are Oceanus. 

THE SEVENTH MAN. 

In a one-roomed hut, high within the Arctic Circle, and only a littlesouth of the eightieth parallel, six men were sitting--much as they hadsat, evening after evening, for months. They had a clock, and by itthey divided the hours into day and night. As a matter of fact, it wasalways night. But the clock said half-past eight, and they called thetime evening. 

The hut was built of logs, with an inner skin of rough match-boarding, daubed with pitch. It measured seventeen feet by fourteen; but oppositethe door four bunks--two above and two below--took a yard off thelength, and this made the interior exactly square. Each of these bunkshad two doors, with brass latches on the inner side; so that the owner, if he chose, could shut himself up and go to sleep in a sort ofcupboard. But as a rule, he closed one of them only--that by his feet. The other swung back, with its brass latch showing. The men kept theselatches in a high state of polish. 

Across the angle of the wall, to the left of the door, and behind itwhen it opened, three hammocks were slung, one above another. No oneslept in the uppermost. 

But the feature of the hut was its fireplace; and this was merely asquare hearth-stone, raised slightly above the floor, in the middle ofthe room. Upon it, and upon a growing mountain of soft grey ash, thefire burned always. It had no chimney, and so the men lost none of itswarmth. The smoke ascended steadily and spread itself under theblackened beams and roof-boards in dense blue layers. But abouteighteen inches beneath the spring of the roof there ran a line of smalltrap-doors with sliding panels, to admit the cold air, and below thesethe room was almost clear of smoke. A newcomer's eyes might havesmarted, but these men stitched their clothes and read in comfort. To keep the up-draught steady they had plugged every chink and crevicein the match-boarding below the trap-doors with moss, and payed theseams with pitch. The fire they fed from a stack of drift and wreckwood piled to the right of the door, and fuel for the fetching strewedthe frozen beach outside--whole trees notched into lengths by lumberers'axes and washed thither from they knew not what continent. But thewreck-wood came from their own ship, the _J. R. MacNeill_, which hadbrought them from Dundee. 

They were Alexander Williamson, of Dundee, better known as The Gaffer;David Faed, also of Dundee; George Lashman, of Cardiff; Long Ede, ofHayle, in Cornwall; Charles Silchester, otherwise The Snipe, of RatcliffHighway or thereabouts; and Daniel Cooney, shipped at Tromso six weeksbefore the wreck, an Irish-American by birth and of no known address. 

The Gaffer reclined in his bunk, reading by the light of a smoky andevil-smelling lamp. He had been mate of the _J. R. MacNeill_, and wasnow captain as well as patriarch of the party. He possessed threebooks--the Bible, Milton's "Paradise Lost, " and an odd volume of"The Turkish Spy. " Just now he was reading "The Turkish Spy. "The lamplight glinted on the rim of his spectacles and on the silveryhairs in his beard, the slack of which he had tucked under the edge ofhis blanket. His lips moved as he read, and now and then he broke offto glance mildly at Faed and the Snipe, who were busy beside the firewith a greasy pack of cards; or to listen to the peevish grumbling ofLashman in the bunk below him. Lashman had taken to his bed six weeksbefore with scurvy, and complained incessantly; and though they hardlyknew it, these complaints were wearing his comrades' nerves tofiddle-strings--doing the mischief that cold and bitter hard work andthe cruel loneliness had hitherto failed to do. Long Ede lay stretchedby the fire in a bundle of skins, reading in his only book, the Bible, open now at the Song of Solomon. Cooney had finished patching a pair oftrousers, and rolled himself in his hammock, whence he stared at theroof and the moonlight streaming up there through the little trap-doorsand chivying the layers of smoke. Whenever Lashman broke out into freshquaverings of self-pity, Cooney's hands opened and shut again, till thenails dug hard into the palm. He groaned at length, exasperated beyondendurance. 

"Oh, stow it, George! Hang it all, man! . . . "

He checked himself, sharp and short: repentant, and rebuked by thesilence of the others. They were good seamen all, and tender dealingwith a sick shipmate was part of their code. 

Lashman's voice, more querulous than ever, cut into the silence like aknife--

"That's it. You've thought it for weeks, and now you say it. I've knowed it all along. I'm just an encumbrance, and the sooneryou're shut of me the better, says you. You needn't to fret. I'll besoon out of it; out of it--out there, alongside of Bill--"

"Easy there, matey. " The Snipe glanced over his shoulder and laid hiscards face downward. "Here, let me give the bed a shake up. It'll easeyer. "

"It'll make me quiet, you mean. Plucky deal you care about easin' me, any of yer!"

"Get out with yer nonsense! Dan didn' mean it. " The Snipe slipped anarm under the invalid's head and rearranged the pillow of skins andgunny-bags. 

"He didn't, didn't he? Let him say it then . . . "

The Gaffer read on, his lips moving silently. Heaven knows how he hadacquired this strayed and stained and filthy little demi-octavo with thearms of Saumarez on its book-plate--"The Sixth Volume of Letters writ bya Turkish Spy, who liv'd Five-and-Forty Years Undiscovered at Paris:Giving an Impartial Account to the _Divan_ at _Constantinople_ of themost remarkable Transactions of Europe, And discovering several_Intrigues_ and _Secrets_ of the _Christian_ Courts (especially of thatof _France_), " etc. , etc. "Written originally in _Arabick_. Translatedinto _Italian_, and from thence into _English_ by the Translator of theFirst Volume. The Eleventh Edition. London: Printed for G. Strahan, S. Ballard"--and a score of booksellers--"MDCCXLI. " Heavens knows why heread it; since he understood about one-half, and admired less thanone-tenth. The Oriental reflections struck him as mainly blasphemous. But the Gaffer's religious belief marked down nine-tenths of mankind forperdition: which perhaps made him tolerant. At any rate, he read ongravely between the puffs of his short clay--

 "_On the 19th of this Moon, the King and the whole Court were present at a Ballet, representing the grandeur of the_ French _monarchy. About the Middle of the Entertainment, there was an Antique Dance perform d by twelve Masqueraders, in the suppos'd form of_ Daemons. _But before they had advanc'd far in their Dance, they found an Interloper amongst 'em, who by encreasing the Number to thirteen, put them quite out of their Measure: For they practise every Step and Motion beforehand, till they are perfect. Being abash'd therefore at the unavoidable Blunders the thirteenth Antique made them commit, they stood still like Fools, gazing at one another: None daring to unmask, or speak a Word; for that would have put all the Spectators into a Disorder and Confusion_. Cardinal Mazarini _(who was the chief Contriver of these Entertainments, to divert the King from more serious Thoughts) stood close by the young Monarch, with the Scheme of the Ballet in his Hand. Knowing therefore that this Dance was to consist but of twelve Antiques, and taking notice that there were actually thirteen, he at first imputed it to some Mistake. But, afterwards, when he perceived the Confusion of the Dancers, he made a more narrow Enquiry into the Cause of this Disorder. To be brief, they convinced the_ Cardinal _that it could be no Error of theirs, by a kind of Demonstration, in that they had but twelve Antique Dresses of that sort, which were made on purpose for this particular Ballet. That which made it seem the greater Mystery was, that when they came behind the Scenes to uncase, and examine the Matter, they found but twelve Antiques, whereas on the Stage there were thirteen . . . _"

"Let him say it. Let him say he didn't mean it, the rotten Irishman!"

Cooney flung a leg wearily over the side of his hammock, jerked himselfout, and shuffled across to the sick man's berth. 

"Av coorse I didn' mane it. It just took me, ye see, lyin' up yondherand huggin' me thoughts in this--wilderness. I swear to ye, George: andye'll just wet your throat to show there's no bad blood, and that yebelave me. " He took up a pannikin from the floor beside the bunk, pulled a hot iron from the fire, and stirred the frozen drink. The invalid turned his shoulder pettishly. "I didn't mane it, " Cooneyrepeated. He set down the pannikin, and shuffled wearily back to hishammock. 

The Gaffer blew a long cloud and stared at the fire; at the smokemounting and the grey ash dropping; at David Faed dealing the cards andlicking his thumb between each. Long Ede shifted from one cramped elbowto another and pushed his Bible nearer the blaze, murmuring, "Take usthe foxes, the little foxes, that spoil our vines. "

"Full hand, " the Snipe announced. 

"Ay. " David Faed rolled the quid in his cheek. The cards were so thumbedand tattered that by the backs of them each player guessed prettyshrewdly what the other held. Yet they went on playing night afternight; the Snipe shrilly blessing or cursing his luck, the Scotsmanphlegmatic as a bolster. 

"Play away, man. What ails ye?" he asked. 

The Snipe had dropped both hands to his thighs and sat up, stiff andlistening. 

"Whist! Outside the door. . . . "

All listened. "I hear nothing, " said David, after ten seconds. 

"Hush, man--listen! There, again . . . "

They heard now. Cooney slipped down from his hammock, stole to the doorand listened, crouching, with his ear close to the jamb. The soundresembled breathing--or so he thought for a moment. Then it seemedrather as if some creature were softly feeling about the door--fumblingits coating of ice and frozen snow. 

Cooney listened. They all listened. Usually, as soon as they stirredfrom the scorching circle of the fire, their breath came from them inclouds. It trickled from them now in thin wisps of vapour. They couldalmost hear the soft grey ash dropping on the hearth. 

A log spluttered. Then the invalid's voice clattered in--

"It's the bears--the bears! They've come after Bill, and next it'll bemy turn. I warned you--I told you he wasn't deep enough. O Lord, havemercy . . . Mercy . . . !" He pattered off into a prayer, his voice andteeth chattering. 

"Hush!" commanded the Gaffer gently; and Lashman choked on a sob. 

"It ain't bears, " Cooney reported, still with his ear to the door. "Leastways . . . We've had bears before. The foxes, maybe . . . Let melisten. "

Long Ede murmured: "Take us the foxes, the little foxes . . . "

"I believe you're right, " the Gaffer announced cheerfully. "A bearwould sniff louder--though there's no telling. The snow was falling anhour back, and I dessay 'tis pretty thick outside. If 'tis a bear, wedon't want him fooling on the roof, and I misdoubt the drift by thenorth corner is pretty tall by this time. Is he there still?"

"I felt something then . . . Through the chink, here . . . Like a warmbreath. It's gone now. Come here, Snipe, and listen. "

"'Breath, ' eh? Did it _smell_ like bear?"

"I don't know . . . I didn't smell nothing, to notice. Here, put yourhead down, close. "

The Snipe bent his head. And at that moment the door shook gently. All stared; and saw the latch move up, up . . . And falteringly descendon the staple. They heard the click of it. 

The door was secured within by two stout bars. Against these there hadbeen no pressure. The men waited in a silence that ached. But thelatch was not lifted again. 

The Snipe, kneeling, looked up at Cooney. Cooney shivered and looked atDavid Faed. Long Ede, with his back to the fire, softly shook his feetfree of the rugs. His eyes searched for the Gaffer's face. But the oldman had drawn back into the gloom of his bunk, and the lamplight shoneonly on a grey fringe of beard. He saw Long Ede's look, though, andanswered it quietly as ever. 

"Take a brace of guns aloft, and fetch us a look round. Wait, ifthere's a chance of a shot. The trap works. I tried it this afternoonwith the small chisel. "

Long Ede lit his pipe tied down the ear-pieces of his cap, lifted alight ladder off its staples, and set it against a roof-beam: then, withthe guns under his arm, quietly mounted. His head and shoulders waveredand grew vague to sight in the smoke-wreaths. "Heard anything more?" heasked. "Nothing since, " answered the Snipe. With his shoulder Long Edepushed up the trap. They saw his head framed in a panel of moonlight, with one frosty star above it. He was wriggling through. "Pitch him upa sleeping-bag, somebody, " the Gaffer ordered, and Cooney ran with one. "Thank 'ee, mate, " said Long Ede, and closed the trap. 

They heard his feet stealthily crunching the frozen stuff across theroof. He was working towards the eaves over-lapping the door. Their breath tightened. They waited for the explosion of his gun. None came. The crunching began again: it was heard down by the veryedge of the eaves. It mounted to the blunt ridge overhead; then itceased. 

"He will not have seen aught, " David Faed muttered. 

"Listen, you. Listen by the door again. " They talked in whispers. Nothing; there was nothing to be heard. They crept back to the fire, and stood there warming themselves, keeping their eyes on the latch. It did not move. After a while Cooney slipped off to his hammock; Faedto his bunk, alongside Lashman's. The Gaffer had picked up his bookagain. The Snipe laid a couple of logs on the blaze, and remainedbeside it, cowering, with his arms stretched out as if to embrace it. His shapeless shadow wavered up and down on the bunks behind him; and, across the fire, he still stared at the latch. 

Suddenly the sick man's voice quavered out--

"It's not him they want--it's Bill! They're after Bill, out there!That was Bill trying to get in. . . . Why didn't yer open? It was Bill, I tell yer!"

At the first word the Snipe had wheeled right-about-face, and stood now, pointing, and shaking like a man with ague. 

"Matey . . . For the love of God . . . "

"I won't hush. There's something wrong here to-night. I can't sleep. It's Bill, I tell yer. See his poor hammock up there shaking. . . . "

Cooney tumbled out with an oath and a thud. "Hush it, you white-liveredswine! Hush it, or by--" His hand went behind him to his knife-sheath. 

"Dan Cooney"--the Gaffer closed his book and leaned out--"go back toyour bed. "

"I won't, Sir. Not unless--"

"Go back. "

"Flesh and blood--"

"Go back. " And for the third time that night Cooney went back. 

The Gaffer leaned a little farther over the ledge, and addressed thesick man. 

"George, I went to Bill's grave not six hours agone. The snow on itwasn't even disturbed. Neither beast nor man, but only God, can breakup the hard earth he lies under. I tell you that, and you may lay toit. Now go to sleep. "

Long Ede crouched on the frozen ridge of the hut, with his feet in thesleeping-bag, his knees drawn up, and the two guns laid across them. The creature, whatever its name, that had tried the door, was nowhere tobe seen; but he decided to wait a few minutes on the chance of a shot;that is, until the cold should drive him below. For the moment theclear tingling air was doing him good. The truth was Long Ede had begunto be afraid of himself, and the way his mind had been running for thelast forty-eight hours upon green fields and visions of spring. As he put it to himself, something inside his head was melting. Biblical texts chattered within him like running brooks, and as theyfleeted he could almost smell the blown meadow-scent. "Take us thefoxes, the little foxes . . . For our vines have tender grapes . . . A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon. . . Awake, O north wind, and come, thou south . . . Blow upon mygarden, that the spices thereof may flow out . . . " He waslight-headed, and he knew it. He must hold out. They were all goingmad; were, in fact, three parts crazed already, all except the Gaffer. And the Gaffer relied on him as his right-hand man. One glimpse of thereturning sun--one glimpse only--might save them yet. 

He gazed out over the frozen hills, and northward across the ice-pack. A few streaks of pale violet--the ghost of the Aurora--fronted the moon. He could see for miles. Bear or fox, no living creature was in sight. But who could tell what might be hiding behind any one of a thousandhummocks? He listened. He heard the slow grinding of the ice-pack offthe beach: only that. "Take us the foxes, the little foxes. . . "

This would never do. He must climb down and walk briskly, or return tothe hut. Maybe there was a bear, after all, behind one of the hummocks, and a shot, or the chance of one, would scatter his head clear of thesetom-fooling notions. He would have a search round. 

What was that, moving . . . On a hummock, not five hundred yards away?He leaned forward to gaze. 

Nothing now: but he had seen something. He lowered himself to the eavesby the north corner, and from the eaves to the drift piled there. The drift was frozen solid, but for a treacherous crust of fresh snow. His foot slipped upon this, and down he slid of a heap. 

Luckily he had been careful to sling the guns tightly at his back. He picked himself up, and unstrapping one, took a step into the brightmoon-light to examine the nipples; took two steps: and stoodstock-still. 

There, before him, on the frozen coat of snow, was a footprint. No: two, three, four--many footprints: prints of a naked human foot:right foot, left foot, both naked, and blood in each print--a littlesmear. 

It had come, then. He was mad for certain. He saw them: he put hisfingers in them; touched the frozen blood. The snow before the door wastrodden thick with them--some going, some returning. 

"The latch . . . Lifted . . . " Suddenly he recalled the figure he hadseen moving upon the hummock, and with a groan he set his face northwardand gave chase. Oh, he was mad for certain! He ran like a madman--floundering, slipping, plunging in his clumsy moccasins. "Take us thefoxes, the little foxes . . . My beloved put in his hand by the hole ofthe door, and my bowels were moved for him . . . I charge you, Odaughters of Jerusalem . . . I charge you . . . I charge you . . . "

He ran thus for three hundred yards maybe, and then stopped as suddenlyas he had started. 

His mates--they must not see these footprints, or they would go mad too:mad as he. No, he must cover them up, all within sight of the hut. And to-morrow he would come alone, and cover those farther afield. Slowly he retraced his steps. The footprints--those which pointedtowards the hut and those which pointed away from it--lay closetogether; and he knelt before each, breaking fresh snow over the hollowsand carefully hiding the blood. And now a great happiness filled hisheart; interrupted once or twice as he worked by a feeling that someonewas following and watching him. Once he turned northwards and gazed, making a telescope of his hands. He saw nothing, and fell again to hislong task. 

Within the hut the sick man cried softly to himself. Faed, the Snipe, and Cooney slept uneasily, and muttered in their dreams. The Gaffer layawake, thinking. After Bill, George Lashman; and after George? . . . Who next? And who would be the last--the unburied one? The men wereweakening fast; their wits and courage coming down at the end with arush. Faed and Long Ede were the only two to be depended on for a day. The Gaffer liked Long Ede, who was a religious man. Indeed he had agrowing suspicion that Long Ede, in spite of some amiable laxities ofbelief, was numbered among the Elect: or might be, if interceded for. The Gaffer began to intercede for him silently; but experience hadtaught him that such "wrestlings, " to be effective, must be noisy, andhe dropped off to sleep with a sense of failure . . . 

The Snipe stretched himself, yawned, and awoke. It was seven in themorning: time to prepare a cup of tea. He tossed an armful of logs onthe fire, and the noise awoke the Gaffer, who at once inquired for LongEde. He had not returned. "Go you up to the roof. The lad must befrozen. " The Snipe climbed the ladder, pushed open the trap, and cameback, reporting that Long Ede was nowhere to be seen. The old manslipped a jumper over his suits of clothing--already three deep--reachedfor a gun, and moved to the door. "Take a cup of something warm tofortify, " the Snipe advised. "The kettle won't be five minutesboiling. " But the Gaffer pushed up the heavy bolts and dragged the dooropen. 

"What in the! . . . Here, bear a hand, lads!"

Long Ede lay prone before the threshold, his out-stretched hands almosttouching it, his moccasins already covered out of sight by the powderysnow which ran and trickled incessantly--trickled between his long, dishevelled locks, and over the back of his gloves, and ran in a thinstream past the Gaffer's feet. 

They carried him in and laid him on a heap of skins by the fire. They forced rum between his clenched teeth and beat his hands and feet, and kneaded and rubbed him. A sigh fluttered on his lips: somethingbetween a sigh and a smile, half seen, half heard. His eyes opened, andhis comrades saw that it was really a smile. 

"Wot cheer, mate?" It was the Snipe who asked. 

"I--I seen . . . " The voice broke off, but he was smiling still. 

What had he seen? Not the sun, surely! By the Gaffer's reckoning thesun would not be due for a week or two yet: how many weeks he could notsay precisely, and sometimes he was glad enough that he did not know. 

They forced him to drink a couple of spoonfuls of rum, and wrapped himup warmly. Each man contributed some of his own bedding. Then theGaffer called to morning prayers, and the three sound men dropped ontheir knees with him. Now, whether by reason of their joy at Long Ede'srecovery, or because the old man was in splendid voice, they felt theirhearts uplifted that morning with a cheerfulness they had not known formonths. Long Ede lay and listened dreamily while the passion of theGaffer's thanksgiving shook the hut. His gaze wandered over their bowedforms--"The Gaffer, David Faed, Dan Cooney, the Snipe, and--and GeorgeLashman in his bunk, of course--and me. " But, then, _who was theseventh?_ He began to count. "There's myself--Lashman, in his bunk--David Faed, the Gaffer, the Snipe, Dan Cooney . . . One, two, three, four--well, but that made _seven_. Then who was the seventh? Was itGeorge who had crawled out of bed and was kneeling there? Decidedlythere were five kneeling. No: there was George, plain enough, in hisberth, and not able to move. Then who was the stranger? Wrong again:there was no stranger. He knew all these men--they were his mates. Was it--Bill? No, Bill was dead and buried: none of these was Bill, orlike Bill. Try again--One, two, three, four, five--and us two sick men, seven. The Gaffer, David Faed, Dan Cooney--have I counted Dan twice?No, that's Dan, yonder to the right, and only one of him. Five menkneeling, and two on their backs: that makes seven every time. DearGod--suppose--"

The Gaffer ceased, and in the act of rising from his knees, caught sightof Long Ede's face. While the others fetched their breakfast-cans, hestepped over, and bent and whispered--

"Tell me. Ye've seen what?"

"Seen?" Long Ede echoed. 

"Ay, seen what? Speak low--was it the sun?"

"The s--" But this time the echo died on his lips, and his face grewfull of awe uncomprehending. It frightened the Gaffer. 

"Ye'll be the better of a snatch of sleep, " said he; and was turning togo, when Long Ede stirred a hand under the edge of his rugs. 

"Seven . . . Count . . . " he whispered. 

"Lord have mercy upon us!" the Gaffer muttered to his beard as he movedaway. "Long Ede; gone crazed!"

And yet, though an hour or two ago this had been the worst that couldbefall, the Gaffer felt unusually cheerful. As for the others, theywere like different men, all that day and through the three days thatfollowed. Even Lashman ceased to complain, and, unless their eyesplayed them a trick, had taken a turn for the better. "I declare, if Idon't feel like pitching to sing!" the Snipe announced on the secondevening, as much to his own wonder as to theirs. "Then why in thunderdon't you strike up?" answered Dan Cooney, and fetched his concertina. The Snipe struck up, then and there--"Villikins and his Dinah"!What is more, the Gaffer looked up from his "Paradise Lost, " and joinedin the chorus. 

By the end of the second day, Long Ede was up and active again. He wentabout with a dazed look in his eyes. He was counting, counting tohimself, always counting. The Gaffer watched him furtively. 

Since his recovery, though his lips moved frequently, Long Ede hadscarcely uttered a word. But towards noon on the fourth day he said anextraordinary thing. 

"There's that sleeping-bag I took with me the other night. I wonder if'tis on the roof still. It will be froze pretty stiff by this. You might nip up and see, Snipe, and"--he paused--"if you find it, stowit up yonder on Bill's hammock. "

The Gaffer opened his mouth, but shut it again without speaking. The Snipe went up the ladder. 

A minute passed; and then they heard a cry from the roof--a cry thatfetched them all trembling, choking, weeping, cheering, to the foot ofthe ladder. 

"Boys! boys!--the Sun!"

Months later--it was June, and even George Lashman had recovered hisstrength--the Snipe came running with news of the whaling fleet. And onthe beach, as they watched the vessels come to anchor, Long Ede told theGaffer his story. "It was a hall--a hallu--what d'ye call it, I reckon. I was crazed, eh?" The Gaffer's eyes wandered from a brambling hoppingabout the lichen-covered boulders, and away to the sea-fowl wheelingabove the ships: and then came into his mind a tale he had read once in"The Turkish Spy. " "I wouldn't say just that, " he answered slowly. 

"Anyway, " said Long Ede, "I believe the Lord sent a miracle to us tosave us all. "

"I wouldn't say just that, either, " the Gaffer objected. "I doubt itwas meant just for you and me, and the rest were presairved, as youmight say incidentally. "

THE ROOM OF MIRRORS

A late hansom came swinging round the corner into Lennox Gardens, cutting it so fine that the near wheel ground against the kerb andjolted the driver in his little seat. The jingle of bells might havewarned me; but the horse's hoofs came noiselessly on the half-frozensnow, which lay just deep enough to hide where the pavement ended andthe road began; and, moreover, I was listening to the violins behind thefirst-floor windows of the house opposite. They were playing the"Wiener Blut. "

As it was, I had time enough and no more to skip back and get my toesout of the way. The cabby cursed me. I cursed him back so promptly andeffectively that he had to turn in his seat for another shot. The windows of the house opposite let fall their light across his redand astonished face. I laughed, and gave him another volley. My headwas hot, though my feet and hands were cold; and I felt equal to cursingdown any cabman within the four-mile radius. That second volleyfinished him. He turned to his reins again and was borne away defeated;the red eyes of his lamps peering back at me like an angry ferret's. 

Up in the lighted room shadows of men and women crossed the blinds, andstill the "Wiener Blut" went forward. 

The devil was in that waltz. He had hold of the violins and was weavingthe air with scents and visions--visions of Ascot and Henley; greenlawns, gay sunshades, midsummer heat, cool rivers flowing, muslinsrippled by light breezes; running horses and silken jackets; whitetables heaped with roses and set with silver and crystal, jewelledfingers moving in the soft candle-light, bare necks bending, diamonds, odours, bubbles in the wine; blue water and white foam beneath theleaning shadow of sails; hot air flickering over stretches of moorland;blue again--Mediterranean blue--long facades, the din of bands and KingCarnival parading beneath showers of blossom:--and all this noise andwarmth and scent and dazzle flung out into the frozen street for abeggar's portion. I had gone under. 

The door of the house opposite had been free to me once--and not sixmonths ago; freer to me perhaps than to any other. Did I long to passbehind it again? I thrust both hands into my pockets for warmth, and myright hand knocked against something hard. Yes . . . Just once. . . . 

Suddenly the door opened. A man stood on the threshold for a momentwhile the butler behind him arranged the collar of his fur overcoat. The high light in the portico flung the shadows of both down the crimsoncarpet laid on the entrance-steps. Snow had fallen and covered theedges of the carpet, which divided it like a cascade of blood pouringfrom the hall into the street. And still overhead the "Wiener Blut"went forward. 

The man paused in the bright portico, his patent-leather boots twinklingunder the lamp's rays on that comfortable carpet. I waited, expectinghim to whistle for a hansom. But he turned, gave an order to thebutler, and stepping briskly down into the street, made off eastwards. The door closed behind him. He was the man I most hated in the world. If I had longed to cross the threshold a while back it was to seek him, and for no other reason. 

I started to follow him, my hands still in my pockets. The snow muffledour footfalls completely, for as yet the slight north-east wind hadfrozen but the thinnest crust of it. He was walking briskly, as men doin such weather, but with no appearance of hurry. At the corner ofSloane Street he halted under a lamp, pulled out his watch, consultedit, and lit a cigarette; then set off again up the street towardsKnightsbridge. 

This halt of his had let me up within twenty paces of him. He neverturned his head; but went on presenting me his back, a target not to bemissed. Why not do it now? Better now and here than in a crowdedthoroughfare. My right hand gripped the revolver more tightly. No, there was plenty of time: and I was curious to know what had broughtGervase out at this hour: why he had left his guests, or his wife'sguests, to take care of themselves: why he chose to be trudging afootthrough this infernally unpleasant snow. 

The roadway in Sloane Street was churned into a brown mass likechocolate, but the last 'bus had rolled home and left it to freeze inpeace. Half-way up the street I saw Gervase meet and pass a policeman, and altered my own pace to a lagging walk. Even so, the fellow eyed mesuspiciously as I went by--or so I thought: and guessing that he kept awatch on me, I dropped still further behind my man. But the lamps werebright at the end of the street, and I saw him turn to the right by thegreat drapery shop at the corner. 

Once past this corner I was able to put on a spurt. He crossed theroadway by the Albert Gate, and by the time he reached the Park railingsthe old distance separated us once more. Half-way up the slope he cameto a halt, by the stone drinking-trough: and flattening myself againstthe railings, I saw him try the thin ice in the trough with hisfinger-tips, but in a hesitating way, as if his thoughts ran onsomething else and he scarcely knew what he did or why he did it. It must have been half a minute before he recovered himself with a shrugof his shoulders, and plunging both hands deep in his pockets, resumedhis pace. 

As we passed Hyde Park Corner I glanced up at the clock there: the timewas between a quarter and ten minutes to one. At the entrance of DownStreet he turned aside again, and began to lead me a zigzag dancethrough the quiet thoroughfare: and I followed, still to the tune of the"Wiener Blut. "

But now, at the corner of Charles Street, I blundered against anotherpoliceman, who flashed his lantern in my face, stared after Gervase, andasked me what my game was. I demanded innocently enough to be shown thenearest way to Oxford Street, and the fellow, after pausing a moment tochew his suspicions, walked with me slowly to the south-west corner ofBerkeley Square, and pointed northwards. 

"That's your road, " he growled, "straight on. And don't you forget it!"

He stood and watched me on my way. Nor did I dare to turn aside untilwell clear of the square. At the crossing of Davies and GrosvenorStreets, however, I supposed myself safe, and halted for a moment. 

From the shadow of a porch at my elbow a thin voice accosted me. 

"Kind gentleman--"

"Heh?" I spun round on her sharply: for it was a woman, stretching outone skinny hand and gathering her rags together with the other. 

"Kind gentleman, spare a copper. I've known better days--I haveindeed. "

"Well, " said I, "as it happens, I'm in the same case. And they couldn'tbe much worse, could they?"

She drew a shuddering breath back through her teeth, but still held outher hand. I felt for my last coin, and her fingers closed on it sosharply that their long nails scraped the back of mine. 

"Kind gentleman--"

"Ay, they are kind, are they not?"

She stared at me, and in a nerveless tone let one horrible oath escapeher. 

"There'll be one less before morning, " said I, "if that's anyconsolation to you. Good night!" Setting off at a shuffling run, Idoubled back along Grosvenor Street and Bond Street to the point where Ihoped to pick up the trail again. And just there, at the issue ofBruton Street, two constables stood ready for me. 

"I thought as much, " said the one who set me on my way. "Hi, you!Wait a moment, please;" then to the other, "Best turn his pockets out, Jim. "

"If you dare to try--" I began, with my hand in my pocket: the nextmoment I found myself sprawling face downward on the sharp crust ofsnow. 

"Hullo, constables!" said a voice. "What's the row?" It was Gervase. He had turned leisurely back from the slope of Conduit Street, and camestrolling down the road with his hands in his pockets. 

"This fellow, Sir--we have reason to think he was followin' you. "

"Quite right, " Gervase answered cheerfully, "of course he was. "

"Oh, if you knew it, Sir--"

"Certainly I knew it. In fact, he was following at my invitation. "

"What for did he tell me a lie, then?" grumbled the constable, chapfallen. 

I had picked myself up by this time and was wiping my face. "Look here, " I put in, "I asked you the way to Oxford Street, that andnothing else. " And I went on to summarise my opinion of him. 

"Oh! it's you can swear a bit, " he growled. "I heard you just now. "

"Yes, " Gervase interposed suavely, drawing the glove from his right handand letting flash a diamond finger-ring in the lamp-light. "He _is_ abit of a beast, policeman, and it's not for the pleasure of it that Iwant his company. "

A sovereign passed from hand to hand. The other constable haddiscreetly drawn off a pace or two. 

"All the same, it's a rum go. "

"Yes, isn't it?" Gervase assented in his heartiest tone. "Here is mycard, in case you're not satisfied. "

"If _you're_ satisfied, Sir--"

"Quite so. Good night!" Gervase thrust both hands into his pocketsagain and strode off. I followed him, with a heart hotter than ever--followed him like a whipped cur, as they say. Yes, that was just it. He who had already robbed me of everything else had now kicked even thepedestal from under me as a figure of tragedy. Five minutes ago I hadbeen the implacable avenger tracking my unconscious victim across thecity. Heaven knows how small an excuse it was for self-respect; but onewho has lost character may yet chance to catch a dignity fromcircumstances; and to tell the truth, for all my desperate earnestness Ihad allowed my vanity to take some artistic satisfaction in the sinisterchase. It had struck me--shall I say?--as an effective ending, nor hadI failed to note that the snow lent it a romantic touch. 

And behold, the unconscious victim knew all about it, and had politelyinterfered when a couple of unromantic "Bobbies" threatened theperformance by tumbling the stalking avenger into the gutter! They hadknocked my tragedy into harlequinade as easily as you might bash in ahat; and my enemy had refined the cruelty of it by coming to the rescueand ironically restarting the poor play on lines of comedy. I saw toolate that I ought to have refused his help, to have assaulted theconstable and been hauled to the police-station. Not an impressivewind-up, to be sure; but less humiliating than this! Even so, Gervasemight have trumped the poor card by following with a gracious offer tobail me out!

As it was, I had put the whip into his hand, and must follow him like acur. The distance he kept assured me that the similitude had notescaped him. He strode on without deigning a single glance behind, still in cold derision presenting me his broad back and silentlychallenging me to shoot. And I followed, hating him worse than ever, swearing that the last five minutes should not be forgotten, but chargedfor royally when the reckoning came to be paid. 

I followed thus up Conduit Street, up Regent Street, and across theCircus. The frost had deepened and the mud in the roadway crackledunder our feet. At the Circus I began to guess, and when Gervase struckoff into Great Portland Street, and thence by half-a-dozen turningsnorthward by east, I knew to what house he was leading me. 

At the entrance of the side street in which it stood he halted andmotioned me to come close. 

"I forget, " he said with a jerk of his thumb, "if you still have theentry. These people are not particular, to be sure. "

"I have not, " I answered, and felt my cheeks burning. He could not seethis, nor could I see the lift of his eyebrows as he answered--

"Ah? I hadn't heard of it. . . . You'd better step round by the mews, then. You know the window, the one which opens into the passage leadingto Pollox Street. Wait there. It may be ten minutes before I canopen. "

I nodded. The house was a corner one, between the street and a by-lanetenanted mostly by cabmen; and at the back of it ran the mews wherethey stabled their horses. Half-way down this mews a narrow alley cutacross it at right angles: a passage un-frequented by traffic, knownonly to the stablemen, and in the daytime used only by their children, who played hop-scotch on the flagged pavement, where no one interruptedthem. You wondered at its survival--from end to end it must havemeasured a good fifty yards--in a district where every square foot ofground fetched money; until you learned that the house had belonged, inthe 'twenties, to a nobleman who left a name for eccentric profligacy, and who, as owner of the land, could afford to indulge his humours. The estate since his death was in no position to afford money foralterations, and the present tenants of the house found the passageconvenient enough. 

My footsteps disturbed no one in the sleeping mews; and doubling backnoiselessly through the passage, I took up my station beside the one lowwindow which opened upon it from the blank back premises of the house. Even with the glimmer of snow to help me, I had to grope for thewindow-sill to make sure of my bearings. The minutes crawled by, andthe only sound came from a stall where one of the horses had kickedthrough his thin straw bedding and was shuffling an uneasy hoof upon thecobbles. Then just as I too had begun to shuffle my frozen feet, Iheard a scratching sound, the unbolting of a shutter, and Gervase drewup the sash softly. 

"Nip inside!" he whispered. "No more noise than you can help. I havesent off the night porter. He tells me the bank is still going in thefront of the house--half-a-dozen playing, perhaps. "

I hoisted myself over the sill, and dropped inside. The wall of thisannexe--which had no upper floor, and invited you to mistake it for aharmless studio--was merely a sheath, so to speak. Within, a corridordivided it from the true wall of the room: and this room had no windowor top-light, though a handsome one in the roof--a dummy--beguiled theeyes of its neighbours. 

There was but one room: an apartment of really fine proportions, neverused by the tenants of the house, and known but to a few curious onesamong its frequenters. 

The story went that the late owner, Earl C--, had reason to believehimself persistently cheated at cards by his best friends, and inparticular by a Duke of the Blood Royal, who could hardly be accused tohis face. The Earl's sense of honour forbade him to accuse any meanerman while the big culprit went unrebuked. Therefore he continued tolose magnificently while he devised a new room for play: the room inwhich I now followed Gervase. 

I had stood in it once before and admired the courtly and costlythoroughness of the Earl's rebuke. I had imagined him conducting hisexpectant guests to the door, ushering them in with a wave of the hand, and taking his seat tranquilly amid the dead, embarrassed silence: hadimagined him facing the Royal Duke and asking, "Shall we cut?" with avoice of the politest inflection. 

For the room was a sheet of mirrors. Mirrors panelled the walls, thedoors, the very backs of the shutters. The tables had mirrors for tops:the whole ceiling was one vast mirror. From it depended three greatcandelabra of cut-glass, set with reflectors here, there, andeverywhere. 

I had heard that even the floor was originally of polished brass. If so, later owners must have ripped up the plates and sold them: fornow a few cheap Oriental rugs carpeted the unpolished boards. The placewas abominably dusty: the striped yellow curtains had lost half theirrings and drooped askew from their soiled vallances. Across one of thewall-panels ran an ugly scar. A smell of rat pervaded the air. The present occupiers had no use for a room so obviously unsuitable togames of chance, as they understood chance: and I doubt if a servantentered it once a month. Gervase had ordered candles and a fire: butthe chimney was out of practice, and the smoke wreathed itself slowlyabout us as we stood surrounded by the ghostly company of our reflectedselves. 

"We shall not be disturbed, " said Gervase. "I told the man I wasexpecting a friend, that our business was private, and that until hecalled I wished to be alone. I did not explain by what entrance Iexpected him. The people in the front cannot hear us. Have a cigar?"He pushed the open case towards me. Then, as I drew back, "You've noneed to be scrupulous, " he added, "seeing that they were bought withyour money. "

"If that's so, I will, " said I; and having chosen one, struck a match. Glancing round, I saw a hundred small flames spurt up, and a hundred menhold them to a hundred glowing cigar-tips. 

"After you with the match. " Gervase took it from me with a steady hand. He, too, glanced about him while he puffed. "Ugh!" He blew a longcloud, and shivered within his furred overcoat. "What a gang!"

"It takes all sorts to make a world, " said I fatuously, for lack ofanything better. 

"Don't be an infernal idiot!" he answered, flicking the dust off one ofthe gilt chairs, and afterwards cleaning a space for his elbow on thelooking-glass table. "It takes only two sorts to make the world we'velived in, and that's you and I. " He gazed slowly round the walls. "You and I, and a few fellows like us--not to mention the women, whodon't count. "

"Well, " said I, "as far as the world goes--if you must discuss it--I always found it a good enough place. "

"Because you started as an unconsidering fool: and because, afterwards, when we came to grips, you were the under-dog, and I gave you no time. My word--how I have hustled you!"

I yawned. "All right: I can wait. Only if you suppose I came here tolisten to your moral reflections--"

He pulled the cigar from between his teeth and looked at me along it. 

"I know perfectly well why you came here, " he said slowly, and paused. "Hadn't we better have it out--with the cards on the table?" He drew asmall revolver from his pocket and laid it with a light clink on thetable before him. I hesitated for a moment, then followed his example, and the silent men around us did the same. 

A smile curled his thin lips as he observed this multiplied gesture. "Yes, " he said, as if to himself, "that is what it all comes to. "

"And now, " said I, "since you know my purpose here, perhaps you willtell me yours. "

"That is just what I am trying to explain. Only you are so impatient, and it--well, it's a trifle complicated. " He puffed for a moment insilence. "Roughly, it might be enough to say that I saw you standingoutside my house a while ago; that I needed a talk with you alone, insome private place; that I guessed, if you saw me, you would follow withno more invitation; and that, so reasoning, I led you here, where no oneis likely to interrupt us. "

"Well, " I admitted, "all that seems plain sailing. "

"Quite so; but it's at this point the thing grows complicated. "He rose, and walking to the fireplace, turned his back on me and spreadhis palms to the blaze. "Well, " he asked, after a moment, gazing intothe mirror before him, "why don't you shoot?"

I thrust my hands into my trouser-pockets and leaned back staring--I daresay sulkily enough--at the two revolvers within grasp. "I've gotmy code, " I muttered. 

"The code of--these mirrors. You won't do the thing because it's notthe thing to do; because these fellows"--he waved a hand and the ghostswaved back at him--"don't do such things, and you haven't the nerve tosin off your own bat. Come"--he strolled back to his seat and leanedtowards me across the table--"it's not much to boast of, but at thiseleventh hour we must snatch what poor credit we can. You are, Isuppose, a more decent fellow for not having fired: and I--By the way, you did feel the temptation?"

I nodded. "You may put your money on that. I never see you withoutwanting to kill you. What's more, I'm going to do it. "

"And I, " he said, "knew the temptation and risked it. No: let's behonest about it. There was no risk: because, my good Sir, I know you toa hair. "

"There was, " I growled. 

"Pardon me, there was none. I came here having a word to say to you, and these mirrors have taught me how to say it. Take a look at them--the world we are leaving--that's it: and a cursed second-hand, second-class one at that. "

He paced slowly round on it, slewing his body in the chair. 

"I say a second-class one, " he resumed, "because, my dear Reggie, whenall's said and done, we are second-class, the pair of us, and pretty badsecond-class. I met you first at Harrow. Our fathers had money: theywished us to be gentlemen without well understanding what it meant: andwith unlimited pocket-money and his wits about him any boy can makehimself a power in a big school. That is what we did: towards the endwe even set the fashion for a certain set; and a rank bad fashion itwas. But, in truth, we had no business there: on every point ofbreeding we were outsiders. I suspect it was a glimmering consciousnessof this that made us hate each other from the first. We understood oneanother too well. Oh, there's no mistake about it! Whatever we'vemissed in life, you and I have hated. "

He paused, eyeing me queerly. I kept my hands in my pockets. "Go on, "I said. 

"From Harrow we went to College--the same business over again. We drifted, of course, into the same set; for already we had becomenecessary to each other. We set the pace of that set--were its apparentleaders. But in truth we were alone--you and I--as utterly alone as twoshipwrecked men on a raft. The others were shadows to us: we followedtheir code because we had to be gentlemen, but we did not understand itin the least. For, after all, the roots of that code lay in thebreeding and tradition of honour, with which we had no concern. To eachother you and I were intelligible and real; but as concerned that codeand the men who followed it by right of birth and nature, we werelooking-glass men imitating--imitating--imitating. "

"We set the pace, " said I. "You've allowed that. "

"To be sure we did. We even modified the code a bit--to its hurt;though as conscious outsiders we could dare very little. For instance, the talk of our associates about women--and no doubt their thoughts, too--grew sensibly baser. The sanctity of gambling debts, on the otherhand, we did nothing to impair: because we had money. I recall yourvirtuous indignation at the amount of paper floated by poor W---- towardsthe end of the great baccarat term. Poor devil! He paid up--or hisfather did--and took his name off the books. He's in Ceylon now, Ibelieve. At length you have earned a partial right to sympathise: or. Would have if only you had paid up. "

"Take care, Gervase. "

"My good Sir, don't miss my point. Wasn't I just as indignant with W--?If I'd been warned off Newmarket Heath, if I'd been shown the door ofthe hell we're sitting in, shouldn't I feel just as you are feeling?Try to understand!"

"You forget Elaine, I think. "

"No: I do not forget Elaine. We left College: I to add money to moneyin my father's office; you to display your accomplishments in spendingwhat your father had earned. That was the extent of the difference. To both of us, money and the indulgence it buys meant everything inlife. All I can boast of is the longer sight. The office-hours were anuisance, I admit: but I was clever enough to keep my hold on the oldset; and then, after office-hours, I met you constantly, and studied andhated you--studied you because I hated you. Elaine came between us. You fell in love with her. That I, too, should fall in love with herwas no coincidence, but the severest of logic. Given such a woman andtwo such men, no other course of fate is conceivable. She made itnecessary for me to put hate into practice. If she had not offeredherself, why, then it would have been somebody else: that's all. Good Lord!" he rapped the table, and his voice rose for the first timeabove its level tone of exposition, "you don't suppose all my study--all my years of education--were to be wasted!"

He checked himself, eyed me again, and resumed in his old voice--

"You wanted money by this time. I was a solicitor--your old collegefriend--and you came to me. I knew you would come, as surely as I knewyou would not fire that pistol just now. For years I had trained myselfto look into your mind and anticipate its working. Don't I tell youthat from the first you were the only real creature this world held forme? You were my only book, and I had to learn you: at first withoutfixed purpose, then deliberately. And when the time came I put intopractice what I knew: just that and no more. My dear Reggie, you neverhad a chance. "

"Elaine?" I muttered again. 

"Elaine was the girl for you--or for me: just that again and no more. "

"By George!" said I, letting out a laugh. "If I thought that!"

"What?"

"Why, that after ruining me, you have missed being happy!"

He sighed impatiently, and his eyes, though he kept them fastened onmine, seemed to be tiring. "I thought, " he said, "I could time yourintelligence over any fence. But to-night there's something wrong. Either I'm out of practice or your brain has been going to the deuce. What, man! You're shying at every bank! Is it drink, hey? Or hunger?"

"It might be a little of both, " I answered. "But stay a moment and letme get things straight. I stood between you and Elaine--no, give metime--between you and your aims, whatever they were. Very well. You trod over me; or, rather, you pulled me up by the roots and pitchedme into outer darkness to rot. And now it seems that, after all, youare not content. In the devil's name, why?"

"Why? Oh, cannot you see? . . . Take a look at these mirrors again--our world, I tell you. See--you and I--you and I--always you and I!Man, I pitched you into darkness as you say, and then I woke and knewthe truth--that you were necessary to me. "

"Hey?"

"_I can't do without you!_" It broke from him in a cry. "So help meGod, Reggie, it is the truth!"

I stared in his face for half a minute maybe, and broke out laughing. "Jeshurun waxed fat and--turned sentimental! A nice copy-book job youmake of it, too!"

 "_Oh, send my brother back to me-- I cannot play alone!_"

"Perhaps you'd like me to buy a broom and hire the crossing in LennoxGardens? Then you'd be able to contemplate me all day long, and nourishyour fine fat soul with delicate eating. Pah! You make me sick. "

"It's the truth, " said he quietly. 

"It may be. To me it looks a sight more like _foie gras_. Can't dowithout me, can't you? Well, I can jolly well do without you, and I'mgoing to. "

"I warn you, " he said: "I have done you an injury or two in my time, butby George if I stand up and let you shoot me--well, I hate you badlyenough, but I won't let you do it without fair warning. "

"I'll risk it anyway, " said I. 

"Very well. " He stood up, and folded his arms. "Shoot, then, and behanged!"

I put out my hand to the revolver, hesitated, and withdrew it. 

"That's not the way, " I said. "I've got my code, as I told you before. "

"Does the code forbid suicide?" he asked. 

"That's a different thing. "

"Not at all. The man who commits suicide kills an unarmed man. "

"But the unarmed man happens to be himself. "

"Suppose that in this instance your distinction won't work? Look here, "he went on, as I pushed back my chair impatiently, "I have one truthmore for you. I swear I believe that what we have hated, we two, is noteach other, but ourselves or our own likeness. I swear I believe we twohave so shared natures in hate that no power can untwist and separatethem to render each his own. But I swear also I believe that if youlift that revolver to kill, you will take aim, not at me, but byinstinct at a worse enemy--yourself, vital in my heart. "

"You have some pretty theories to-night, " I sneered. "Perhaps you'll goon to tell me which of us two has been Elaine's husband, feedingdaintily in Lennox Gardens, clothed in purple and fine linen, while theother--"

He interrupted me by picking up his revolver and striding to thefireplace again. 

"So be it, since you will have it so. Kill me, " he added, with a queerlook, "and perhaps you may go back to Lennox Gardens and enjoy all thesethings in my place. "

I took my station. Both revolvers were levelled now. I took sightalong mine at his detested face. It was white but curiously eager--hopeful even. I lowered my arm, scanning his face still; and stillscanning it, set my weapon down on the table. 

"I believe you are mad, " said I slowly. "But one thing I see--that, mador not, you're in earnest. For some reason you want me to kill you;therefore that shall wait. For some reason it is torture to you to liveand do without me: well, I'll try you with that. It will do me good tohurt you a bit. " I slipped the revolver into my pocket and tapped it. "Though I don't understand them, I won't quarrel with your sentiments solong as you suffer from them. When that fails, I'll find anotheropportunity for this. Good night. " I stepped to the door. "Reggie!"

I shut the door on his cry: crossed the corridor, and climbing outthrough the window, let myself drop into the lane. 

As my feet touched the snow a revolver-shot rang out in the room behindme. 

I caught at the frozen sill to steady myself: and crouching there, listened. Surely the report must have alarmed the house! I waited forthe sound of footsteps: waited for three minutes--perhaps longer. None came. To be sure, the room stood well apart from the house: but itwas incredible that the report should have awakened no one! My own earsstill rang with it. 

Still no footsteps came. The horse in the stable close by was stillshuffling his hoof on the cobbles. No other sound . . . 

Very stealthily I hoisted myself up on the sill again, listened, droppedinside, and tip-toed my way to the door. The candles were still burningin the Room of Mirrors. And by the light of them, as I entered, Gervasestepped to meet me. 

"Ah, it's you, " I stammered. "I heard--that is, I thought--"

And with that I saw--recognised with a catch of the breath--that thefigure I spoke to was not Gervase, but my own reflected image, steppingforward with pale face and ghastly from a mirror. Yet a moment before Icould have sworn it was Gervase. 

Gervase lay stretched on the hearthrug with his hand towards the fire. I caught up a candle, and bent over him. His features were not to berecognised. 

As I straightened myself up, with the candle in my hand, for an instantthose features, obliterated in the flesh, gazed at me in a ring, ahundred times repeated behind a hundred candles. And again, at a secondglance, I saw that the face was not Gervase's but my own. 

I set down the candle and made off, closing the door behind me. The horror of it held me by the hair, but I flung it off and pelted downthe lane and through the mews. Once in the street I breathed again, pulled myself together, and set off at a rapid walk, southwards, but notclearly knowing whither. 

As a matter of fact, I took the line by which I had come: with thesingle difference that I made straight into Berkeley Square throughBruton Street. I had, I say, no clear purpose in following this linerather than another. I had none for taking Lennox Gardens on the way tomy squalid lodgings in Chelsea. I had a purpose, no doubt; but willswear it only grew definite as I came in sight of the lamp still burningbeneath Gervase's portico. 

There was a figure, too, under the lamp--the butler--bending there androlling up the strip of red carpet. As he pulled its edges from thefrozen snow I came on him suddenly. 

"Oh, it's you, Sir!" He stood erect, and with the air of a maninfinitely relieved. 

"Gervase!"

The door opened wide and there stood Elaine in her ball-gown, a-glitterwith diamonds. 

"Gervase, dear, where have you been? We have been terribly anxious--"

She said it, looking straight down on me--on me--who stood in mytattered clothes in the full glare of the lamp. And then I heard thebutler catch his breath, and suddenly her voice trailed off in wonderand pitiful disappointment. 

"It's not Gervase! It's Reg--Mr. Travers. I beg your pardon. I thought--"

But I passed up the steps and stood before her: and said, as she drewback--

"There has been an accident. Gervase has shot himself. " I turned tothe butler. "You had better run to the police station. Stay: take thisrevolver. It won't count anything as evidence: but I ask you to examineit and make sure all the chambers are loaded. "

A thud in the hall interrupted me. I ran in and knelt beside Elaine, and as I stooped to lift her--as my hand touched her hair--this was thejealous question on my lips--

"What has _she_ to do with it. It is _I_ who cannot do without him--whomust miss him always!"

A PAIR OF HANDS

AN OLD MAID'S GHOST-STORY

"Yes, " said Miss Le Petyt, gazing into the deep fireplace and lettingher hands and her knitting lie for the moment idle in her lap. "Oh, yes, I have seen a ghost. In fact I have lived in a house with onefor quite a long time. "

"How you _could_--" began one of my host's daughters; and "_You_, AuntEmily?" cried the other at the same moment. 

Miss Le Petyt, gentle soul, withdrew her eyes from the fireplace andprotested with a gay little smile. "Well, my dears, I am not quite thecoward you take me for. And, as it happens, mine was the most harmlessghost in the world. In fact"--and here she looked at the fire again--"I was quite sorry to lose her. "

"It was a woman, then? Now _I_ think, " said Miss Blanche, "that femaleghosts are the horridest of all. They wear little shoes with high redheels, and go about _tap, tap_, wringing their hands. "

"This one wrung her hands, certainly. But I don't know about the highred heels, for I never saw her feet. Perhaps she was like the Queen ofSpain, and hadn't any. And as for the hands, it all depends _how_ youwring them. There's an elderly shop-walker at Knightsbridge, forinstance--"

"Don't be prosy, dear, when you know that we're just dying to hear thestory. "

Miss Le Petyt turned to me with a small deprecating laugh. "It's such alittle one. "

"The story, or the ghost?"

"Both. "

And this was Miss Le Petyt's story:--

"It happened when I lived down in Cornwall, at Tresillack on the southcoast. Tresillack was the name of the house, which stood quite alone atthe head of a coombe, within sound of the sea but without sight of it;for though the coombe led down to a wide open beach, it wound andtwisted half a dozen times on its way, and its overlapping sides closedthe view from the house, which was advertised as 'secluded. ' I was verypoor in those days. Your father and all of us were poor then, as Itrust, my dears, you will never be; but I was young enough to beromantic and wise enough to like independence, and this word 'secluded'took my fancy. 

"The misfortune was that it had taken the fancy, or just suited therequirements, of several previous tenants. You know, I dare say, thekind of person who rents a secluded house in the country? Well, yes, there are several kinds; but they seem to agree in being odious. No oneknows where they come from, though they soon remove all doubt aboutwhere they're 'going to, ' as the children say. 'Shady' is the word, isit not? Well, the previous tenants of Tresillack (from first to last abewildering series) had been shady with a vengeance. 

"I knew nothing of this when I first made application to the landlord, asolid yeoman inhabiting a farm at the foot of the coombe, on a cliffoverlooking the beach. To him I presented myself fearlessly as aspinster of decent family and small but assured income, intending arural life of combined seemliness and economy. He met my advancespolitely enough, but with an air of suspicion which offended me. I began by disliking him for it: afterwards I set it down as anunpleasant feature in the local character. I was doubly mistaken. Farmer Hosking was slow-witted, but as honest a man as ever stood upagainst hard times; and a more open and hospitable race than the peopleon that coast I never wish to meet. It was the caution of a child whohad burnt his fingers, not once but many times. Had I known what Iafterwards learned of Farmer Hosking's tribulations as landlord of a'secluded country residence, ' I should have approached him with thebashfulness proper to my suit and faltered as I undertook to prove thebright exception in a long line of painful experiences. He had boughtthe Tresillack estate twenty years before--on mortgage, I fancy--becausethe land adjoined his own and would pay him for tillage. But the housewas a nuisance, an incubus; and had been so from the beginning. 

"'Well, miss, ' he said, 'you're welcome to look over it; a pretty enoughplace, inside and out. There's no trouble about keys, because I've putin a housekeeper, a widow-woman, and she'll show you round. With yourleave I'll step up the coombe so far with you, and put you in your way. 'As I thanked him he paused and rubbed his chin. 'There's one thing Imust tell you, though. Whoever takes the house must take Mrs. Carkeekalong with it. '

"'Mrs. Carkeek?' I echoed dolefully. 'Is that the housekeeper?'

"'Yes: she was wife to my late hind. I'm sorry, miss, ' he added, myface telling him no doubt what sort of woman I expected Mrs. Carkeek tobe; 'but I had to make it a rule after--after some things that happened. And I dare say you won't find her so bad. Mary Carkeek's a sensiblecomfortable woman, and knows the place. She was in service there toSquire Kendall when he sold up and went: her first place it was. '

"'I may as well see the house, anyhow, ' said I dejectedly. So westarted to walk up the coombe. The path, which ran beside a littlechattering stream, was narrow for the most part, and Farmer Hosking, with an apology, strode on ahead to beat aside the brambles. But whenever its width allowed us to walk side by side I caught him fromtime to time stealing a shy inquisitive glance under his rough eyebrows. Courteously though he bore himself, it was clear that he could not summe up to his satisfaction or bring me square with his notion of a tenantfor his 'secluded country residence. '

"I don't know what foolish fancy prompted it, but about halfway up thecoombe I stopped short and asked:

"'There are no ghosts, I suppose?'

"It struck me, a moment after I had uttered it, as a supremely sillyquestion; but he took it quite seriously. 'No; I never heard tell ofany _ghosts_. ' He laid a queer sort of stress on the word. 'There'salways been trouble with servants, and maids' tongues will be runnin'. But Mary Carkeek lives up there alone, and she seems comfortableenough. '

"We walked on. By-and-by he pointed with his stick. 'It don't looklike a place for ghosts, now, do it?'

"Certainly it did not. Above an untrimmed orchard rose a terrace ofturf scattered with thorn-bushes, and above this a terrace of stone, upon which stood the prettiest cottage I had ever seen. It was long andlow and thatched; a deep verandah ran from end to end. Clematis, Banksia roses and honeysuckle climbed the posts of this verandah, andbig blooms of the Marechal Niel were clustered along its roof, beneaththe lattices of the bedroom windows. The house was small enough to becalled a cottage, and rare enough in features and in situation to conferdistinction on any tenant. It suggested what in those days we shouldhave called 'elegant' living. And I could have clapped my hands forjoy. 

"My spirits mounted still higher when Mrs. Carkeek opened the door tous. I had looked for a Mrs. Gummidge, and I found a healthymiddle-aged woman with a thoughtful but contented face, and a smilewhich, without a trace of obsequiousness, quite bore out the farmer'sdescription of her. She was a comfortable woman; and while we walkedthrough the rooms together (for Mr. Hosking waited outside) I 'took to'Mrs. Carkeek. Her speech was direct and practical; the rooms, in spiteof their faded furniture, were bright and exquisitely clean; and somehowthe very atmosphere of the house gave me a sense of well-being, offeeling at home and cared for; yes, _of being loved_. Don't laugh, mydears; for when I've done you may not think this fancy altogetherfoolish. 

"I stepped out into the verandah, and Farmer Hosking pocketed thepruning-knife which he had been using on a bush of jasmine. 

"'This is better than anything I had dreamed of, ' said I. 

"'Well, miss, that's not a wise way of beginning a bargain, if you'llexcuse me. '

"He took no advantage, however, of my admission; and we struck thebargain as we returned down the coombe to his farm, where the hiredchaise waited to convey me back to the market town. I had meant toengage a maid of my own, but now it occurred to me that I might do verywell with Mrs. Carkeek. This, too, was settled in the course of thenext day or two, and within the week I had moved into my new home. 

"I can hardly describe to you the happiness of my first month atTresillack; because (as I now believe) if I take the reasons which I hadfor being happy, one by one, there remains over something which I cannotaccount for. I was moderately young, entirely healthy; I felt myselfindependent and adventurous; the season was high summer, the weatherglorious, the garden in all the pomp of June, yet sufficiently unkemptto keep me busy, give me a sharp appetite for meals, and send me to bedin that drowsy stupor which comes of the odours of earth. I spent themost of my time out of doors, winding up the day's work as a rule with awalk down the cool valley, along the beach and back. 

"I soon found that all housework could be safely left to Mrs. Carkeek. She did not talk much; indeed her only fault (a rare one inhouse-keepers) was that she talked too little, and even when I addressedher seemed at times unable to give me her attention. It was as thoughher mind strayed off to some small job she had forgotten, and her eyeswore a listening look, as though she waited for the neglected task tospeak and remind her. But as a matter of fact she forgot nothing. Indeed, my dears, I was never so well attended to in my life. 

"Well, that is what I'm coming to. That, so to say, is just _it_. The woman not only had the rooms swept and dusted, and my meals preparedto the moment. In a hundred odd little ways this orderliness, thesepreparations, seemed to read my desires. Did I wish the roses renewedin a bowl upon the dining-table, sure enough at the next meal they wouldbe replaced by fresh ones. Mrs. Carkeek (I told myself) must havesurprised and interpreted a glance of mine. And yet I could notremember having glanced at the bowl in her presence. And how on earthhad she guessed the very roses, the very shapes and colours I hadlightly wished for? This is only an instance, you understand. Every day, and from morning to night, I happened on others, each slightenough, but all together bearing witness to a ministering intelligenceas subtle as it was untiring. 

"I am a light sleeper, as you know, with an uncomfortable knack ofwaking with the sun and roaming early. No matter how early I rose atTresillack, Mrs. Carkeek seemed to have prevented me. Finally I had toconclude that she arose and dusted and tidied as soon as she judged mesafely a-bed. For once, finding the drawing-room (where I had beensitting late) 'redded up' at four in the morning, and no trace of aplate of raspberries which I had carried thither after dinner and leftovernight, I determined to test her, and walked through to the kitchen, calling her by name. I found the kitchen as clean as a pin, and thefire laid, but no trace of Mrs. Carkeek. I walked upstairs and knockedat her door. At the second knock a sleepy voice cried out, andpresently the good woman stood before me in her nightgown, looking (Ithought) very badly scared. 

"'No, ' I said, 'it's not a burglar. But I've found out what I wanted, that you do your morning's work over night. But you mustn't wait for mewhen I choose to sit up. And now go back to your bed like a good soul, whilst I take a run down to the beach. '

"She stood blinking in the dawn. Her face was still white. 

"'Oh, miss, ' she gasped, 'I made sure you must have seen something!'

"'And so I have, ' I answered, 'but it was neither burglars nor ghosts. '

"'Thank God!' I heard her say as she turned her back to me in her greybedroom--which faced the north. And I took this for a carelessly piousexpression and ran downstairs, thinking no more of it. 

"A few days later I began to understand. 

"The plan of Tresillack house (I must explain) was simplicity itself. To the left of the hall as you entered was the dining-room; to the rightthe drawing-room, with a boudoir beyond. The foot of the stairs facedthe front door, and beside it, passing a glazed inner door, you foundtwo others right and left, the left opening on the kitchen, the right ona passage which ran by a store-cupboard under the bend of the stairs toa neat pantry with the usual shelves and linen-press, and under thewindow (which faced north) a porcelain basin and brass tap. On thefirst morning of my tenancy I had visited this pantry and turned thetap; but no water ran. I supposed this to be accidental. Mrs. Carkeekhad to wash up glass ware and crockery, and no doubt Mrs. Carkeek wouldcomplain of any failure in the water supply. 

"But the day after my surprise visit (as I called it) I had picked abasketful of roses, and carried them into the pantry as a handy place toarrange them in. I chose a china bowl and went to fill it at the tap. Again the water would not run. 

"I called Mrs. Carkeek. 'What is wrong with this tap?' I asked. 'The rest of the house is well enough supplied. '

"'I don't know, miss. I never use it. '

"'But there must be a reason; and you must find it a great nuisancewashing up the plate and glasses in the kitchen. Come around to theback with me, and we'll have a look at the cisterns. '

"'The cisterns'll be all right, miss. I assure you I don't find it atrouble. '

"But I was not to be put off. The back of the house stood but ten feetfrom a wall which was really but a stone face built against the cliffcut away by the architect. Above the cliff rose the kitchen garden, andfrom its lower path we looked over the wall's parapet upon the cisterns. There were two--a very large one, supplying the kitchen and the bathroomabove the kitchen; and a small one, obviously fed by the other, and asobviously leading, by a pipe which I could trace, to the pantry. Now the big cistern stood almost full, and yet the small one, though ona lower level, was empty. 

"'It's as plain as daylight, ' said I. 'The pipe between the two ischoked. ' And I clambered on to the parapet. 

"'I wouldn't, miss. The pantry tap is only cold water, and no use tome. From the kitchen boiler I gets it hot, you see. '

"'But I want the pantry water for my flowers. ' I bent over and groped. 'I thought as much!' said I, as I wrenched out a thick plug of cork andimmediately the water began to flow. I turned triumphantly on Mrs. Carkeek, who had grown suddenly red in the face. Her eyes were fixed onthe cork in my hand. To keep it more firmly wedged in its placesomebody had wrapped it round with a rag of calico print; and, discoloured though the rag was, I seemed to recall the pattern (a lilacsprig). Then, as our eyes met, it occurred to me that only two morningsbefore Mrs. Carkeek had worn a print gown of that same sprigged pattern. 

"I had the presence of mind to hide this very small discovery, slidingover it some quite trivial remark; and presently Mrs. Carkeek regainedher composure. But I own I felt disappointed in her. It seemed such apaltry thing to be disingenuous over. She had deliberately acted a fibbefore me; and why? Merely because she preferred the kitchen to thepantry tap. It was childish. 'But servants are all the same, ' I toldmyself. 'I must take Mrs. Carkeek as she is; and, after all, she is atreasure. '

"On the second night after this, and between eleven and twelve o'clock, I was lying in bed and reading myself sleepy over a novel of LordLytton's, when a small sound disturbed me. I listened. The sound wasclearly that of water trickling; and I set it down to rain. A shower(I told myself) had filled the water-pipes which drained the roof. Somehow I could not fix the sound. There was a water pipe against thewall just outside my window. I rose and drew up the blind. 

"To my astonishment no rain was falling; no rain had fallen. I felt theslate window-sill; some dew had gathered there--no more. There was nowind, no cloud: only a still moon high over the eastern slope of thecoombe, the distant plash of waves, and the fragrance of many roses. I went back to bed and listened again. Yes, the trickling soundcontinued, quite distinct in the silence of the house, not to beconfused for a moment with the dull murmur of the beach. After a whileit began to grate on my nerves. I caught up my candle, flung mydressing-gown about me, and stole softly downstairs. 

"Then it was simple. I traced the sound to the pantry. 'Mrs. Carkeekhas left the tap running, ' said I: and, sure enough, I found it so--athin trickle steadily running to waste in the porcelain basin. I turnedoff the tap, went contentedly back to my bed, and slept. 

"--for some hours. I opened my eyes in darkness, and at once knew whathad awakened me. The tap was running again. Now it had shut easily inmy hand, but not so easily that I could believe it had slipped openagain of its own accord. 'This is Mrs. Carkeek's doing, ' said I; and amafraid I added 'Bother Mrs. Carkeek!'

"Well, there was no help for it: so I struck a light, looked at mywatch, saw that the hour was just three o'clock, and descended thestairs again. At the pantry door I paused. I was not afraid--not onelittle bit. In fact the notion that anything might be wrong had nevercrossed my mind. But I remember thinking, with my hand on the door, that if Mrs. Carkeek were in the pantry I might happen to give her asevere fright. 

"I pushed the door open briskly. Mrs. Carkeek was not there. But something _was_ there, by the porcelain basin--something which mighthave sent me scurrying upstairs two steps at a time, but which as amatter of fact held me to the spot. My heart seemed to stand still--sostill! And in the stillness I remember setting down the brasscandlestick on a tall nest of drawers beside me. 

"Over the porcelain basin and beneath the water trickling from the tap Isaw two hands. 

"That was all--two small hands, a child's hands. I cannot tell you howthey ended. 

"No: they were not cut off. I saw them quite distinctly: just a pair ofsmall hands and the wrists, and after that--nothing. They were movingbriskly--washing themselves clean. I saw the water trickle and splashover them--not _through_ them--but just as it would on real hands. They were the hands of a little girl, too. Oh, yes, I was sure of thatat once. Boys and girls wash their hands differently. I can't justtell you what the difference is, but it's unmistakable. 

"I saw all this before my candle slipped and fell with a crash. I hadset it down without looking--for my eyes were fixed on the basin--andhad balanced it on the edge of the nest of drawers. After the crash, inthe darkness there, with the water running, I suffered some bad moments. Oddly enough, the thought uppermost with me was that I _must_ shut offthat tap before escaping. I _had_ to. And after a while I picked upall my courage, so to say, between my teeth, and with a little sobthrust out my hand and did it. Then I fled. 

"The dawn was close upon me: and as soon as the sky reddened I took mybath, dressed and went downstairs. And there at the pantry door I foundMrs. Carkeek, also dressed, with my candlestick in her hand. 

"'Ah!' said I, 'you picked it up. '

"Our eyes met. Clearly Mrs. Carkeek wished me to begin, and Idetermined at once to have it out with her. 

"'And you knew all about it. That's what accounts for your plugging upthe cistern. '

"'You saw? . . . ' she began. 

"'Yes, yes. And you must tell me all about it--never mind how bad. Is--is it--murder?'

"'Law bless you, miss, whatever put such horrors in your head?'

"'She was washing her hands. '

"'Ah, so she does, poor dear! But--murder! And dear little MissMargaret, that wouldn't go to hurt a fly!'

"'Miss Margaret?'

"'Eh, she died at seven year. Squire Kendall's only daughter; andthat's over twenty year ago. I was her nurse, miss, and I know--diphtheria it was; she took it down in the village. '

"'But how do you know it is Margaret?'

"'Those hands--why, how could I mistake, that used to be her nurse?'

"'But why does she wash them?'

"'Well, miss, being always a dainty child--and the house-work, yousee--'

"I took a long breath. 'Do you mean to tell me that all this tidyingand dusting--' I broke off. 'Is it _she_ who has been taking this careof me?'

"Mrs. Carkeek met my look steadily. 

"'Who else, miss?'

"'Poor little soul!'

"'Well now'--Mrs. Carkeek rubbed my candlestick with the edge of herapron--'I'm so glad you take it like this. For there isn't reallynothing to be afraid of--is there?' She eyed me wistfully. 'It's mybelief she loves you, miss. But only to think what a time she must havehad with the others!'

"'The others?' I echoed. 

"'The other tenants, miss: the ones afore you. '

"'Were they bad?'

"'They was awful. Didn't Farmer Hosking tell you? They carried onfearful--one after another, and each one worse than the last. "

"'What was the matter with them? Drink?'

"'Drink, miss, with some of 'em. There was the Major--he used to go madwith it, and run about the coombe in his nightshirt. Oh, scandalous!And his wife drank too--that is, if she ever _was_ his wife. Just thinkof that tender child washing Up after their nasty doings!'

"I shivered. 

"'But that wasn't the worst, miss--not by a long way. There was a pairhere--from the colonies, or so they gave out--with two children, a boyand gel, the eldest scarce six. Poor mites!'

"'Why, what happened?'

"'They beat those children, miss--your blood would boil!--_and_ starved, _and_ tortured 'em, it's my belief. You could hear their screams, I'vebeen told, away back in the high-road, and that's the best part of halfa mile. Sometimes they was locked up without food for days together. But it's my belief that little Miss Margaret managed to feed themsomehow. Oh, I can see her, creeping to the door and comforting!'

"'But perhaps she never showed herself when these awful people werehere, but took to flight until they left. '

"'You didn't never know her, miss. The brave she was! She'd have stoodup to lions. She've been here all the while: and only to think what herinnocent eyes and ears must have took in! There was another couple--'Mrs. Carkeek sunk her voice. 

"'Oh, hush!' said I, 'if I'm to have any peace of mind in this house!'

"'But you won't go, miss? She loves you, I know she do. And think whatyou might be leaving her to--what sort of tenant might come next. Forshe can't go. She've been here ever since her father sold the place. He died soon after. You musn't go!'

"Now I had resolved to go, but all of a sudden I felt how mean thisresolution was. 

"'After all, ' said I, 'there's nothing to be afraid of. '

"'That's it, miss; nothing at all. I don't even believe it's so veryuncommon. Why, I've heard my mother tell of farmhouses where the roomswere swept every night as regular as clockwork, and the floors sanded, and the pots and pans scoured, and all while the maids slept. They putit down to the piskies; but we know better, miss, and now we've got thesecret between us we can lie easy in our beds, and if we hear anything, say "God bless the child!" and go to sleep. '

"'Mrs. Carkeek, ' said I, 'there's only one condition I have to make. '

"'What's that?'

"'Why, that you let me kiss you. '

"'Oh, you dear!' said Mrs. Carkeek as we embraced: and this was as closeto familiarity as she allowed herself to go in the whole course of myacquaintance with her. 

"I spent three years at Tresillack, and all that while Mrs. Carkeeklived with me and shared the secret. Few women, I dare to say, wereever so completely wrapped around with love as we were during thosethree years. It ran through my waking life like a song: it smoothed mypillow, touched and made my table comely, in summer lifted the heads ofthe flowers as I passed, and in winter watched the fire with me and keptit bright. 

"'Why did I ever leave Tresillack?' Because one day, at the end of fiveyears, Farmer Hosking brought me word that he had sold the house--or wasabout to sell it; I forget which. There was no avoiding it, at anyrate; the purchaser being a Colonel Kendall, a brother of the oldSquire. '

"'A married man?' I asked. 

"'Yes, miss; with a family of eight. As pretty children as ever yousee, and the mother a good lady. It's the old home to Colonel Kendall. '

"'I see. And that is why you feel bound to sell. '

"'It's a good price, too, that he offers. You mustn't think but I'msorry enough--'

"'To turn me out? I thank you, Mr. Hosking; but you are doing the rightthing. '

"Since Mrs. Carkeek was to stay, the arrangement lacked nothing ofabsolute perfection--except, perhaps, that it found no room for me. 

"'_She_--Margaret-will be happy, ' I said; 'with her cousins, you know. '

"'Oh yes, miss, she will be happy, sure enough, ' Mrs. Carkeek agreed. 

"So when the time came I packed up my boxes, and tried to be cheerful. But on the last morning, when they stood corded in the hall, I sent Mrs. Carkeek upstairs upon some poor excuse, and stepped alone into thepantry. 

"'Margaret!' I whispered. 

"There was no answer at all. I had scarcely dared to hope for one. Yet I tried again, and, shutting my eyes this time, stretched out bothhands and whispered:

"'Margaret!'

"And I will swear to my dying day that two little hands stole andrested--for a moment only--in mine. "

THE LADY OF THE SHIP

[_Or so much as is told of her by Paschal Tonkin, steward and major-domoto the lamented John Milliton, of Pengersick Castle, in Cornwall: of hercoming in the Portugal Ship, anno 1526; her marriage with the saidMilliton and alleged sorceries; with particulars of the Barbary menwrecked in Mount's Bay and their entertainment in the town of MarketJew. _]

My purpose is to clear the memory of my late and dear Master; and tothis end I shall tell the truth and the truth only, so far as I know it, admitting his faults, which, since he has taken them before God, no manshould now aggravate by guess-work. That he had traffic with secretarts is certain; but I believe with no purpose but to fight the Devilwith his own armoury. He never was a robber as Mr. Thomas St. Aubyn andMr. William Godolphin accused him; nor, as the vulgar pretended, alustful and bloody man. What he did was done in effort to save awoman's soul; as Jude tells us, "_Of some have compassion, that are indoubt; and others save, having mercy with fear, pulling them out of thefire, hating even the garment spotted by the flesh_"--though this, alas!my dear Master could not. And so with Jude I would end, praying for allof us and ascribing praise _to the only wise God, our Saviour, who isable to guard us from stumbling and set us faultless before His presencewith exceeding joy_. 

It was in January, 1526, after a tempest lasting three days, that theship called the _Saint Andrew_, belonging to the King of Portugal, droveashore in Gunwallo Cove, a little to the southward of Pengersick. She was bound from Flanders to Lisbon with a freight extraordinaryrich--as I know after a fashion by my own eyesight, as well as from theinventory drawn up by Master Francis Porson, an Englishman, travellingon board of her as the King of Portugal's factor. I have a copy of itby me as I write, and here are some of Master Porson's items:--

 8, 000 cakes of copper, valued by him at 3, 224 pounds. 18 blocks of silver, ' ' ' 2, 250 '. Silver vessels, plate, patens, ewers and pots, beside pearls, precious stones, and jewels of gold. Also a chest of coined money, in amount 6, 240 '. 

There was also cloth of arras, tapestry, rich hangings, satins, velvets, silks, camlets, says, satins or Bruges, with great number of bales ofFlemish and English cloth; 2, 100 barber's basins; 3, 200 latencandlesticks; a great chest of shalmers and other instruments of music;four sets of armour for the King of Portugal, much harness for hishorses, and much beside--the whole amounting at the least computation to16, 000 pounds in value. [1] And this I can believe on confirmation ofwhat I myself saw upon the beach. 

But let me have done with Master Porson and his tale, which runs thatthe _Saint Andrew_, having struck at the mouth of the cove, thereutterly perished; yet, by the grace and mercy of Almighty God, thegreater part of the crew got safely to land, and by help of many poorfolk dwelling in the neighbourhood saved all that was most valuable ofthe cargo. But shortly after (says he) there came on the scene threegentlemen, Thomas Saint Aubyn, William Godolphin, and John Milliton, with about sixty men armed in manner of war with bows and swords, andmade an assault on the shipwrecked sailors and put them in great fearand jeopardy; and in the end took from them all they had saved from thewreck, amounting to 10, 000 pounds worth of treasure--"which, " says he, "they will not yield up, nor make restitution, though they have beencalled upon to do so. "

So much then for the factor's account, which I doubt not he believed tobe true enough; albeit on his own confession he had lain hurt andunconscious upon the beach at the time, and his tale rested therefore onwhat he could learn by hearsay after his recovery; when--the matterbeing so important--he was at trouble to journey all the way to Londonand lay his complaint before the Portuguese ambassador. Moreover hemade so fair a case of it that the ambassador obtained of the EnglishCourt a Commissioner, Sir Nicholas Fleming, to travel down and pushenquiries on the spot--where Master Porson did not scruple to repeat hisaccusation, and to our faces (having indeed followed the Commissionerdown for that purpose). I must say I thought him a very honest man--notto say a brave one, seeing what words he dared to use to Mr. Saint Aubynin his own house at Clowance, calling him a mere robber. I was therewhen he said it and made me go hot and cold, knowing (if he did not)that for two pins Mr. Saint Aubyn might have had him drowned like apuppy. However, he chose to make nothing of an insult from a factor. "_Mercator tantum, _" replied he, snapping his fingers, and to my greatjoy; for any violence might have spoiled the story agreed on betweenus--that is, between Mr. Saint Aubyn, Mr. Godolphin, and me who acted asdeputy for my Master. 

This story of ours, albeit less honest, had more colour of the truththan Master Porson's hearsay. It ran that Mr. Saint Aubyn, happeningnear Gunwallo, heard of the wreck and rode to it, where presently Mr. Godolphin and my Master joined him and helped to save the men; that, inattempting to save the cargo also, a man of Mr. Saint Aubyn's--one WillCarnarthur--was drowned; that, in fact, very little was rescued; and, seeing the men destitute and without money to buy meat and drink, webought the goods in lawful bargain with the master. As for the assault, we denied it, or that we took goods to the value of ten thousand poundsfrom the sailors. All that was certainly known to be saved amounted toabout 20 pounds worth; and, in spite of many trials to recover more, which failed to pay the charges of labour, the bulk of the cargoremained in the ship and was broken up by the seas. 

This was our tale, false in parts, yet a truer one than either of us, who uttered it, believed. The only person in the plot (so to say) whoknew it to be true in substance was my Master. I, his deputy, took thisversion from him to Clowance with a mind glad enough to be relieved bymy duty from having any opinion on the matter. On the one hand, I hadthe evidence of my senses that the booty had been saved, and too muchwit to doubt that any other man would conclude it to be in my Master'spossession. On the other, I had never known him lie or deceive, orengage me to further any deceit; his word was his bond, and by practicemy word was his bond also. Further, of this affair I had already begunto wonder if a man's plain senses could be trusted, as you will hearreason by-and-by. As for Mr. Saint Aubyn and Mr. Godolphin, they had nodoubt at all that my Master was lying, and that I had come wittingly tofurther his lie. They would have drawn on him (I make no doubt) had hebrought the tale in person. From me, his intermediate, they took it asthe best to suit with the known truth and present to the Commissioner. All Cornishmen are cousins, you may say. It comes to this, rather:these gentlemen chose to accept my master's lie, and settle with himafterwards, rather than make a clean breast and be forced to wring theirsmall shares out of the Exchequer. A neighbour can be persuaded, terrified, forced; but London is always a long way off, and Londonlawyers are the devil. I say freely that (knowing no more than theydid, or I) these two gentlemen followed a reasonable policy. 

But, after we had fitted Sir Nicholas with our common story, and as Iwas mounting my horse in Clowance courtyard, Mr. Saint Aubyn came closeto my stirrup and said this by way of parting:

"You will understand, Mr. Tonkin, that to-day's tale is for to-day. But by God I will come and take my share--you may tell your master--anda trifle over! And the next time I overtake you I promise to put abullet in the back of your scrag neck. "

For answer to this--seeing that Master Porson stood at an easy distancewith his eye on us--I saluted him gravely and rode out of the courtyard. 

Now the manner of the wreck was this, and our concern with it. So nearly as I can learn, the _Saint Andrew_ came ashore at two hoursafter noon: the date, the 20th of January, 1526, and the weather at thetime coarse and foggy with a gale yet blowing from the south-west or agood west of south, but sensibly abating, and the tide wanting an hourbefore low water. 

It happened that Mr. Saint Aubyn was riding, with twenty men at hisback, homeward from Gweek, where he had spent three days on some privatebusiness, when he heard news of the wreck at a farmhouse on the road toHelleston: and so turning aside, he, whose dwelling lay farthest fromit, came first to the cove. The news reached us at Pengersick a littleafter three o'clock; as I remember because my Master was just thensettled to dinner. But he rose at once and gave word to saddle inhaste, at the same time bidding me make ready to ride with him, andfifteen others. 

So we set forth and rode--the wind lulling, but the rain coming downsteadily--and reached Gunwallo Cove with a little daylight to spare. On the beach there we found most of the foreigners landed, but seven ofthem laid out starkly, who had been drowned or brought ashore dead(for the yard had fallen on board, the day before, and no time left inthe ship's extremity to bury them): and three as good as dead--amongwhom was Master Porson, with a great wound of the scalp; also everywheregreat piles of freight, chests, bales, and casks--a few staved andtaking damage from salt water and rain, but the most in apparent goodcondition. The crew had worked very busily at the salving, and to thegreat credit of men who had come through suffering and peril of death. Mr. Saint Aubyn's band, too, had lent help, though by this time theflowing of the tide forced them to give over. But the master (as onemight say) of their endeavours was neither the Portuguese captain norMr. Saint Aubyn, but a young damsel whom I must describe moreparticularly. 

She was standing, as we rode down the beach, nigh to the water's edge;with a group of men about her, and Mr. Saint Aubyn himself listening toher orders. I can see her now as she turned at our approaching and sheand my Master looked for the first time into each other's eyes, whichafterwards were to look so often and fondly. In age she appearedeighteen or twenty; her shape a mere girl's, but her face somewhatolder, being pinched and peaked by the cold, yet the loveliest I haveever seen or shall see. Her hair, which seemed of a copper red, darkened by rain, was blown about her shoulders, and her drenched bluegown, hitched at the waist with a snakeskin girdle, flapped about her asshe turned to one or the other, using more play of hands than ourhome-bred ladies do. Her feet were bare and rosy; ruddied doubtless, bythe wind and brine, but I think partly also by the angry light of thesunsetting which broke the weather to seaward and turned the pools andthe wetted sand to the colour of blood. A hound kept beside her, shivering and now and then lowering his muzzle to sniff the oreweed, asif the brine of it puzzled him: a beast in shape somewhat like ourgrey-hounds, but longer and taller, and coated like a wolf. 

As I have tried to describe her she stood amid the men and the tangle ofthe beach; a shape majestical and yet (as we drew closer) slight andforlorn. The present cause of her gestures we made out to be adark-skinned fellow whom two of Saint Aubyn's men held prisoner with hisarms trussed behind him. On her other hand were gathered the rest ofthe Portuguese, very sullen and with dark looks whenever she turned fromthem to Saint Aubyn and from their language to the English. He, I couldsee, was perplexed, and stood fingering his beard: but his facebrightened as he came a step to meet my Master. 

"Ha!" said he, "you can help us, Milliton. You speak the Portuguese, Ibelieve?" (For my master was known to speak most of the languages ofEurope, having caught them up in his youth when his father's madnessforced him abroad. And I myself, who had accompanied him so far asVenice, could pick my way in the _lingua Franca_. ) "This fellow"--pointing at the prisoner--"has just drawn a knife on the lady here; andindeed would have killed her, but for this hound of hers. My fellowshave him tight and safe, as you see: but I was thinking by your leave tolodge him with you, yours being the nearest house for the safe keepingof such. But the plague is, " says he, "there seems to be more in thebusiness than I can fathom: for one half of these drenched villains takethe man's part, while scarce one of them seems too well disposed towardsthe lady: although to my knowledge she has worked more than any ten ofthem in salving the cargo. And heaven help me if I can understand aword of their chatter!"

My Master lifted his cap to her; and she lifted her eyes to him, butnever a word did she utter, though but a moment since she had been usingexcellent English. Only she stood, slight and helpless and (I swear)most pitiful, as one saying, "Here is my judge. I am content. "

My Master turned to the prisoner and questioned him in the Portuguese. But the fellow (a man taller than the rest and passablystraight-looking) would confess nothing but that his name was Gil Perezof Lagos, the boatswain of the wrecked ship. Questioned of the assault, he shook his head merely and shrugged his shoulders. His face waswhite: it seemed to me unaccountably, until glancing down I took note ofa torn wound above his right knee on the inside, where the hound's teethhad fastened. 

"But who is the captain of the ship?" my Master demanded in Portuguese;and they thrust forward a small man who seemed not over-willing. Indeed his face had nothing to commend him, being sharp and yellow, withsmall eyes set too near against the nose. 

"Your name?" my Master demanded of him too. 

"Affonzo Cabral, " he answered, and plunged into a long tale of the lossof his ship and how it happened. Cut short in this and asked concerningthe lady, he shrugged his shoulders and replied with an oath he knewnothing about her beyond this, that she had taken passage with him atDunquerque for Lisbon, paying him beforehand and bearing him a letterfrom the Bishop of Cambrai, which conveyed to him that she was bound onsome secret mission of politics to the Court of Lisbon. 

As I thought, two or three of the men would have murmured somethinghere, but for a look from her, who, turning to my Master, said quietlyin good English:

"That man is a villain. My name is Alicia of Bohemia, and my missionnot to be told here in public. But he best knows why he took me forpassenger, and how he has behaved towards me. Yourselves may see how Ihave saved his freight. And for the rest, sir"--here she bent her eyeson my Master very frankly--"I have proved these men, and claim to bedelivered from them. "

At this my Master knit his brows: and albeit he was a young man (scarcepast thirty) and a handsome, the deep wedge-mark showed between them asI had often seen it show over the nose of the old man his father. 

"I think, " said he to Mr. Saint Aubyn, "this should be inquired into atgreater leisure. With your leave my men shall take the prisoner toPengersick and have him there in safe keeping. And if"--with a bow--"the Lady Alicia will accept my poor shelter it will be the handier forour examining of him. For the rest, cannot we be of service in rescuingyet more of the cargo?"

But this for the while was out of question: the _Saint Andrew_ lyingwell out upon the strand, with never fewer than four or five uglybreakers between her and shore; and so balanced that every sea workedher to and fro. Moreover, her mizzen mast yet stood, as by a miracle, and the weight of it so strained at her seams that (thought I) therecould be very little left of her by the next ebb. 

By now, too, the night was closing down, and we must determine what todo with the cargo saved. Mr. Godolphin, who had arrived with his menduring my Master's colloquy, was ready with an offer of wains andpack-horses to convey the bulk of it to the outhouses at Godolphin. But this, when I interpreted it, the Portuguese captain would not hear. Nor was he more tractable to Mr. Saint Aubyn's offer to set a mixedguard of our three companies upon the stuff until daybreak. He plainlyhad his doubts of such protection: and I could not avoid some respectfor his wisdom while showing it by argument to be mere perversity. To my Master's persuasions and mine he shook his head: asking for thepresent to be allowed a little fuel and refreshment for his men, whowould camp on the beach among their goods. And to this, in the end, wehad to consent. Several times before agreeing--and perhaps more oftenthan need was--my Master consulted with the Lady Alicia. But she seemedindifferent what happened to the ship. Indeed, she might well have beenoverwearied. 

At length, the Portugals having it their own way, we parted: Mr. SaintAubyn riding off to lodge for the night with Mr. Godolphin, who tookcharge of the three wounded men; while we carried the Lady Alicia off toPengersick (whither the prisoner Gil Perez had been marched on ahead), she riding pillion behind my Master, and the rest of us at a seemlydistance. 

On reaching home I had first to busy myself with orders for the victualsto be sent down to the foreigners at the Cove, and afterwards insnatching my supper in the great hall, where already I saw my Master andthe strange lady making good cheer together at the high table. He hadbidden the housekeeper fetch out some robes that had been his mother's, and in these antique fittings the lady looked not awkwardly (as youmight suppose), but rather like some player in a masque. I know not how'twas: but whereas (saving my respect) I had always been to my dearMaster as a brother, close to his heart and thoughts, her coming did atonce remove him to a distance from me, so that I looked on the pair asif the dais were part of some other world than this, and they, pledgingeach other up there and murmuring in foreign tongues and playing withglances, as two creatures moving through a play or pisky tale withoutcare or burden of living, and yet in the end to be pitied. 

My fast broken, I bethought me of our prisoner; and catching up somemeats and a flask of wine, hurried to the strong room where he lay. ButI found him stretched on his pallet, and turning in a kind of fever: soreturned and fetched a cooling draught in place of the victuals, andwithout questioning made him drink it. He thanked me amid somerambling, light-headed talk--the most of it too quickly poured out forme to catch; but by-and-by grew easier and drowsy. I left him to sleep, putting off questions for the morning. 

But early on the morrow--between five and six o'clock--came Will Hendra, a cowkeeper, into our courtyard with a strange tale; one that disquietedif it did not altogether astonish me. The tale--as told before myMaster, whom I aroused to hear it--ran thus: that between midnight andone in the morning the Portugals in the Cove had been set upon andbeaten from the spoils by a number of men with pikes (no doubt belongingto Saint Aubyn or Godolphin, or both), and forced to flee to the cliffs. But (here came in the wonder) the assailants, having mastered the field, fell on the casks, chests, and packages, only to find them utterly emptyor filled with weed and gravel! Of freight--so Will Hendra had it fromone of Godolphin's own men, who were now searching the cliffs andcaverns--not twelve-pennyworth remained on the beach. The Portugalsmust have hidden or made away with it all. He added that their captainhad been found at the foot of the cliffs with his head battered in; butwhether by a fall or a blow taken in the affray, there was no telling. 

My Master let saddle at once and rode away for the Cove without breakinghis fast. And I went about my customary duties until full daybreak, when I paid a visit to the strong room, to see how the prisoner hadslept. 

I found him sitting up in bed and nursing his leg, the wound of whichappeared red and angry at the edges. I sent, therefore, for afomentation, and while applying it thought no harm to tell him thereport from the Cove. To my astonishment it threw him into a transport, though whether of rage or horror I could not at first tell. But hejerked his leg from my grasp, and beating the straw with both fists hecried out--

"I knew it! I knew it would be so! She is a witch--a daughter ofSatan, or his leman! It is her doing, I tell you. It is she who haskilled that fool Affonzo. She is a witch!" He fell back on the straw, his strength spent, but still beat weakly with his fists, gasping"Witch--witch!"

"Hush!" said I. "You are light-headed with your hurt. Lie quiet andlet me tend it. "

"As for my hurt, " he answered, "your tending it will do no good. The poison of that hound of hell is in me, and nothing for me but to saymy prayers. But listen you"--here he sat up again and plucked me by theshoulder as I bent over his leg. "The freight is not gone, and goodreason for why: it was never landed!"

"Hey?" said I, incredulous. 

"It was never landed. The men toiled as she ordered--Lord, how theytoiled! Without witch-craft they had never done the half of it. I tellyou they handled moonshine--wove sand. The riches they brought ashorewere emptiness; vain shows that already have turned to chips and strawand rubbish. Nay, sir"--for I drew back before these ravings--"listenfor the love of God, before the poison gets hold of me! Soon it will betoo late. . . . The evening before we sailed from Dunquerque, we wereanchored out in the tide. It was my watch. I was leaning on the railof the poop when I caught sight of her first. She was running for herlife across the dunes--running for the waterside--she and her houndbeside her. Away behind her, like ants dotted over the rises of thesand, were little figures running and pursuing. Down by the watersideone boat was waiting, with a man in it--or the Devil belike--leaning onhis oars. She whistled; he pulled close in shore. She leapt into theboat with the dog at her heels, and was half-way across towards our shipbefore the first of those after her reached the water's edge. When shehailed us I ran and fetched Affonzo the master. The rest I charge tohis folly. It was he who handed her up the ship's side. How the dogcame on board I know not: only that I leaned over the bulwarks to have alook at him, but heard a pattering noise, and there he was on deckbehind me and close beside his mistress. The boat and rower hadvanished--under the ship's stern, as I supposed, but now I have mydoubts. I saw no more of them, anyhow. 

"By this time Affonzo was reading her letter. The crowd by the water'sedge had found a boat at length--how, I know not; but it was a verylittle one, holding but six men besides the one rower, and thenover-laden. They pulled towards us and hailed just as the lady took themaster's promise and went down to seek her cabin: and one of the menstood up, a tall gentleman with a chain about his neck. Affonzo went tothe side to parley with him. 

"The tall man with the chain cried out that he was mayor or provost--I forget which--and the woman must be given up as a proved witch who hadlaid the wickedest spells upon many citizens of Dunquerque. All this hehad to shout; for Affonzo, who--either ignorantly or by choice--wasalready on Satan's side, would not suffer him to come aboard or evennigh the ship's ladder. Moreover, he drove below so many of our crew ashad gathered to the side to listen, commanding me with curses to see tothis. Yet I heard something of the mayor's accusation; which was thatthe woman had come to Dunquerque, travelling as a great lady with aretinue of servants and letters of commendation to the religious houses, on which and on many private persons of note she had bestowed relics ofour Lord and the saints, pretending it was for a penance that shejourneyed and gave the bounties: but that, at a certain hour, theserelics had turned into toads, adders, and all manner of abominableoffal, defiling the holy places and private shrines, in some instancesthe very church altars: that upon the outcry her retinue had vanished, and she herself taken to flight as we saw her running. 

"At all this Affonzo scoffed, threatening to sink the boat if furthertroubled with their importunities. And, the provost using threats inreturn, he gave order to let weigh incontinently and clear with thetide, which by this was turned to ebb. And so, amid curses which weanswered by display of our guns, we stood out from that port. Of themaster's purpose I make no guess. Either he was bewitched, or the womanhad taken him with her beauty, and he dreamed of finding favour withher. 

"This only I know, that on the second morning, she standing on deckbeside him, he offered some familiar approach; whereupon the dog flew athim, and I believe would have killed him, but was in time called off byher. Within an hour we met with the weather which after three daysdrove us ashore. Now whether Affonzo suspected her true nature or not--as I know he had taken a great fear of her--I never had time todiscover. But I know her for a witch, and for a witch I tried to makeaway with her. For the rest, may God pardon me!"

All this the man uttered not as I have written it, but with many gaspinginterruptions; and afterwards lay back as one dead. Before I could makehead or tail of my wonder, I heard cries and a clatter from thecourtyard, and ran out to see what was amiss. 

In the courtyard I found my Master with a dozen men closing the bolts ofthe great gate against a company who rained blows and hammerings on theoutside of it. My Master had dismounted, and while he called his ordersthe blood ran down his face from a cut above the forehead. As for thesmoking horses on which they had ridden in, these stood huddling, rubbing shoulders, and facing all ways like a knot of frightened colts. 

All the bolts being shut, my Master steps to the grille and speakingthrough it, "Saint Aubyn, " says he, "between gentlemen there are fitterways to dispute than brawling with servants. I am no thief or robber;as you may satisfy yourself by search and question, bringing, if youwill, Mr. Godolphin and three men to help you under protection of myword. If you will not, then I am ready for you at any time of yourchoosing. But I warn you that, if any man offers further violence to mygate, I send Master Tonkin to melt the lead, of which I have good store. So make your choice. "

He said it in English, and few of those who heard him could understand. And after a moment Saint Aubyn, who was a very courteous gentleman forall his hot temper, made answer in the same tongue. 

"If I cannot take your word, Pengersick, " said he, "be sure no searchingwill satisfy me. But that some of your men have made off with thegoods, with or without your knowledge, I am convinced. "

"If they have--" my Master was beginning, when Godolphin's sneeringlaugh broke in on his words from the other side of the gate. 

"'_If!_' '_If!_' There are too many _if's_ in this parley for mystomach. Look ye, Pengersick, will you give up the goods or no?"

Upon this my Master changed his tone. "As for Mr. Godolphin, I havethis only to say: the goods are neither his nor mine; they are not in mykeeping, nor do I believe them stolen by any of my men. For the wordsthat have passed between us to-day, he knows me well enough to be sure Ishall hold him to account, and that soon: and to that assurancecommending him, I wish you both a very good day. "

So having said, he strolled off towards the stables, leaving me tolisten at the gate, where by-and-by, after some disputing, I had thepleasure to hear our besiegers draw off and trot away towards Godolphin. Happening to take a glance upwards at the house-front, I caught sight ofthe strange lady at the window of the guest-chamber, which faced towardsthe south-east. She was leaning forth and gazing after them: but, hearing my Master's footsteps as he came from the stables, she withdrewher eyes from the road and nodded down at him gaily. 

But as he went indoors to join her at breakfast I ran after, andcatching him in the porch, besought him to have his wound seen to. "And after that, " said I, "there is another wounded man who needs yourattention. Unless you take his deposition quickly, I fear, sir, it maybe too late. "

His eyebrows went up at this, but contracted again upon the twinge ofhis wound. "I will attend to him first, " said he shortly, and led theway to the strong room. "Hullo!" was his next word, as he came to thedoor--for in my perturbation and hurry I had forgotten to lock it. 

"He is too weak to move, " I stammered, as my poor excuse. 

"Nevertheless it was not well done, " he replied, pushing past me. 

The prisoner lay on his pallet, gasping, with his eyes wide open in arigor. "Take her away!" he panted. "Take her away! She has beenhere!"

"Hey?" I cried: but my Master turned on me sharply. To this day I knownot how much of evil he suspected. 

"I will summon you if I need you. For the present you will leave ushere alone. "

Nor can I tell what passed between them for the next half-an-hour. Only that when he came forth my Master's face was white and set beneathits dry smear of blood. Passing me, who waited at the end of thecorridor, he said, but without meeting my eyes:

"Go to him. The end is near. "

I went to him. He lay pretty much as I had left him, in a kind ofstupor; out of which, within the hour, he started suddenly and began torave. Soon I had to send for a couple of our stablemen; and not toosoon. For by this he was foaming at the mouth and gnashing, the man inhim turned to beast and trying to bite, so that we were forced to straphim to his bed. I shall say no more of this, the most horrible sight ofmy life. The end came quietly, about six in the evening: and we buriedthe poor wretch that night in the orchard under the chapel wall. 

All that day, as you may guess, I saw nothing of the strange lady. And on the morrow until dinner-time I had but a glimpse of her. This was in the forenoon. She stood, with her hound beside her, in anembrasure of the wall, looking over the sea: to the eye a figure somaidenly and innocent and (in a sense) forlorn that I recalled GilPerez' tale as the merest frenzy, and wondered how I had come to listento it with any belief. Her seaward gaze would be passing over the veryspot where we had laid him: only a low wall hiding the freshly turnedearth. My Master had ridden off early: I could guess upon what errand. 

He returned shortly after noon, unhurt and looking like a man satisfiedwith his morning's work. And at dinner, watching his demeanournarrowly, I was satisfied that either he had not heard the prisoner'stale or had rejected it utterly. For he took his seat in the gayestspirits, and laughed and talked with the stranger throughout the meal. And afterwards, having fetched an old lute which had been his mother's, he sat and watched her fit new strings to it, rallying her over hertangle. But when she had it tuned and, touching it softly, began thefirst of those murmuring heathenish songs to which I have since listenedso often, pausing in my work, but never without a kind of terror atbeauty so far above my comprehending--why, then my Master laughed nomore. 

He had met Godolphin that morning and run him through the thigh. And that bitterest enemy of ours still wore a crutch a month later, whenwe faced Master Porson before the Commissioner in Saint Aubyn's house atClowance. At that conference (not to linger over the time between) theCommissioner showed himself pardonably suspicious of us all. He was adry, foxy-faced man, who spoke little and at times seemed scarce to belistening; but rather turning over some deeper matters in his brainbehind his grey-coloured eyes. But at length, Mr. Saint Aubyn havingtwice or thrice made mention of the Lady Alicia and her presence on thebeach, this Sir Nicholas looked up at me sharply, and said he--"By allaccounts this lady was a passenger shipped by the master at Dunquerque. It seems she was a foreign lady of birth, bearing letters commendatoryto the Court of Lisbon. "

"That was his story of it, " Master Porson assented. "I was below andbusy with the cargo at the time, and knew nothing of her presence onboard until we had cleared the harbour. "

"And at this moment she is a guest of Mr. Milliton's at Pengersick?"pursued Sir Nicholas, still with his eyes upon mine. I bowed, feelingmightily uneasy. "It is most necessary that I should take herevidence--and Mr. Milliton's. In all the statements received by meMr. Milliton bears no small part: his house lies at no distance fromGunwallo Cove: and I have heard much of your Cornish courtesy. It appears to me singular, therefore, that although I have been thesefour days in his neighbourhood no invitation has reached me to visithis house and have audience with him: and it argues small courtesy thaton coming here to-day in full expectation of seeing him, I should befobbed off with a deputy. "

"Though but a deputy, " I protested, "I have my Master's entireconfidence. "

"No doubt, " said he drily. "But it would be more to the point if youhad mine. It is imperative that I see Mr. Milliton of Pengersick andhear his evidence, as also this Lady Alicia's: and you may bear him myrespects and say that I intend to call upon him to-morrow. "

I bowed. It was all I could do: since the truth (for different reasons)could neither be told to him nor to the others. And the truth was thatfor two days my Master and the strange lady had not been seen atPengersick! They had vanished, and two horses with them: but when andhow I neither knew nor dared push inquiries to discover. Only theporter could have told me had he chosen; but when I questioned him helooked cunning, shook his head, and as good as hinted that I would bewiser to question nobody, but go about my business as if I shared thesecret. 

And so I did, imitating the porter's manner even before Dame Tresize, the housekeeper. But it rankled that, even while instructing me--as hedid on the eve of his departing--in the part I was to play at Clowance, my Master had chosen to shut me out of this part of his confidence. And now on the road home from Clowance I carried an anxious heart aswell as a sore. To tell the truth--that my Master was away--I had notbeen able, knowing how prompt Saint Aubyn and Godolphin might be to takethe advantage and pay us an unwelcome visit. "And indeed, " thought I, "if my Master hides one thing from me, why not another? The stuff mayindeed be stored with us: though I will not believe it without proof. "The Commissioner would come, beyond a doubt. To discover my Master'sabsence would quicken his suspicions: to deny him admittance wouldconfirm them. 

I reached home, yet could get no sleep for my quandary. But a littlebefore the dawning, while I did on my clothes, there came a knocking atthe gate followed by a clatter of hoofs in the courtyard; and hurryingdown, with but pause to light my lantern, I found my Master there andhelping the strange lady to dismount, with the porter and two sleepygrooms standing by and holding torches. Beneath the belly of the lady'shorse stood her hound, his tongue lolling and his coat a cake of mire. The night had been chilly and the nostrils of the hard-ridden beastsmade a steam among the lights we held, while above us the upper frontageof the house stood out clear between the growing daylight and the waningmoon poised above the courtlege-wall in the south-west. 

"Hey! Is that Paschal?" My Master turned as one stiff with riding. His face was ghastly pale, yet full of a sort of happiness: and I sawthat his clothes were disordered and his boots mired to their tops. "Good luck!" cried he, handing the lady down. "We can have supper atonce. "

"Supper?" I repeated it after him. 

"Or breakfast--which you choose. Have the lights lit in the hall, and atable spread. My lady will eat and drink before going to her room. "

"'My lady'?" was my echo again. 

"Just so--my lady, and my wife, and henceforward your Mistress. Lead the way, if you please! Afterwards I will talk. "

I did as I was ordered: lit the lights about the dais, spread the clothwith my own hands, fetched forth the cold meats and--for he would haveno servants aroused--waited upon them in silence and poured the wine, all in a whirl of mind. My Mistress (as I must now call her) showed nofatigue, though her skirts were soiled as if they had been draggedthrough a sea of mud. Her eyes sparkled and her bosom heaved as shewatched my Master, who ate greedily. But beyond the gallant words withwhich he pledged her welcome home to Pengersick nothing was said until, his hunger put away, he pushed back his chair and commanded me to tellwhat had happened at Clowance: which I did, pointing out the ticklishposture of affairs, and that for a certainty the Commissioner might belooked for in within a few hours. 

"Well, " said my Master, "I see no harm in his coming, nor any profit. The goods are not with us: never were with us: and there's the end ofit. "

But I was looking from him to my Mistress, who with bent brows satstudying the table before her. 

"Master Paschal, " said she after a while, as one awaking from thought, "has done his business zealously and well. I will go to my room now andrest: but let me be aroused when this visitor comes, for I believe thatI can deal with him. " And she rose and walked away to the stair, withthe hound at her heels. 

A little later I saw my Master to his room: and after that had somehours of leisure in which to fret my mind as well over what had happenedas what was likely to. It was hard on noon when the Commissionerarrived: and with him Master Porson. I led them at once to the halland, setting wine before them, sent to learn when my Master and Mistresswould be pleased to give audience. The lady came down almost at once, looking very rosy and fresh. She held a packet of papers, and havingsaluted the Commissioner graciously, motioned me to seat myself at thetable with paper and pen. 

Sir Nicholas began with some question touching her business on board the_Saint Andrew_: and in answer she drew a paper from the top of herpacket. It was spotted with sea-water, but (as I could see) yetlegible. The Commissioner studied it, showed it to Master Porson (whonodded), and handing it back politely, begged her for some particularsconcerning the wreck. 

Upon this she told the story clearly and simply. There had been a threedays' tempest: the ship had gone ashore in such and such a manner: agreat part of the cargo had undoubtedly been landed. It was on thebeach when she had left it under conduct of Mr. Milliton, who had shownher great kindness. On whomsoever its disappearance might be charged, of her host's innocence she could speak. 

My Master appearing just now saluted the Commissioner and gave hisversion very readily. 

"You may search my cellars, " he wound up, "and, if you please, interrogate my servants. My livery is known by everyone in thisneighbourhood to be purple and tawny. The seamen can tell you if any oftheir assailants wore these colours. "

"They assure me, " said Sir Nicholas, "that the night was too dark forthem to observe colours: and for that matter to disguise them would havebeen a natural precaution. There was a wounded man brought to yourhouse--one Gil Perez, the boatswain. "

"He is dead, as you doubtless know, of a bite received from this lady'shound as he was attacking her with a knife. "

"But why, madam"--the factor turned to my Mistress--"should this manhave attacked you?"

She appeared to be expecting this question, and drew from her packet asecond paper, which she unfolded quietly and spread on the table, yetkept her palm over the writing on it while she answered, "Those whoengage upon missions of State must look to meet with attacks, but not tobe asked to explain them. The mob at Dunquerque pursued me upon aridiculous charge, yet was wisely incited by men who invented it, knowing the true purpose of my mission. " She glanced from theCommissioner to Master Porson. "Sir Nicholas Fleming--surely I haveheard his name spoken, as of a good friend to the Holy Father and nottoo anxious for the Emperor's marriage with Mary Tudor?"The Commissioner started in his chair, while she turned serenely uponhis companion. "And Master Porson, " she continued, "as a faithfulservant of His Majesty of Portugal will needs be glad to see a princessof Portugal take Mary Tudor's place. Eh?"--for they were eyeing eachthe other like two detected schoolboys--"It would seem, sirs, thatthough you came together, you were better friends than you guessed. Glance your eye, Master Porson, over this paper which I shall presentlyentrust to you for furtherance; and you will agree with Sir Nicholasthat the prudent course for both of you is to forget, on leaving thishouse, that any such person as I was on board the _Saint Andrew. _"

The two peered into the parchment and drew back. "The Emperor--" Iheard the Commissioner mutter with an intake of breath. 

"And, as you perceive, in his own handwriting. " She folded up the paperand, replacing it, addressed my Master. "Your visitors, sir, deservesome refreshment for their pains and courtesy. "

And that was the end of the conference. What that paper contained Iknow as little as I know by what infernal sorcery it was prepared. Master Porson folded it up tight in his hand, glancing dubiously at SirNicholas. My lady stood smiling upon the both for a moment, thendismissed me to the kitchens upon a pretended errand. They were gonewhen I returned, nor did I again set eyes upon the Commissioner or thefactor. It is true that the Emperor did about this time break hispledge with our King Henry and marry a princess of Portugal; and some ofhigh office in England were not sorry therefore. But of this enough. 

As the days wore on and we heard no more of the wreck, my Master andMistress settled down to that retirement from the world which is bycustom allowed to the newly married, but which with them was to last tothe end. A life of love it was; but--God help us!--no life ofhappiness; rather, in process of days, a life of torment. Can I tellyou how it was? At first to see them together was like looking througha glass upon a picture; a picture gallant and beautiful yet removedbehind a screen and not of this world. Suppose now that by little andlittle the glass began to be flawed, or the picture behind it to crumble(you could not tell which) until when it smiled it smiled wryly, untilrocks toppled and figures fell askew, yet still kept up their pretenceof play against the distorted woodland. Nay, it was worse than this:fifty times worse. For while the fair show tottered, my Master andMistress clung to their love; and yet it was just their love which keptthe foundations rocking. 

They lived for each other. They neither visited nor received visits. Yet they were often, and by degrees oftener, apart; my Master locked upwith his books, my Mistress roaming the walls with her hound or seatedby her lattice high on the seaward side of the castle. Sometimes (butthis was usually on moonlit nights or windless evenings when the sunsank clear to view over our broad bay) she would take up her lute andtouch it to one of those outlandish love-chants with which she had firstwiled my Master's heart to her. As time went on, stories came to usthat these chants, which fell so softly on the ears of us as we wentabout the rooms and gardens, had been heard by fishermen riding by theirnets far in the offing--so far away (I have heard) as the Scillies; andthere were tales of men who, as they listened, had seen the ghosts ofdrowned mariners rising and falling on the moon-rays, or floating withtheir white faces thrown back while they drank in the music; yea, evenechoing the words of the song in whispers like the flutter of birds'wings. 

When first the word crept about that she was a witch I cannot certainlysay. But in time it did; and, what is more--though I will swear that noword of Gil Perez' confession ever passed my lips--the common folk soonheld it for a certainty that the cargo saved from the _Saint Andrew_ hadbeen saved by her magic only; that the plate and rich stuffs seen by myown eyes were but cheating _simulacra_, and had turned into rubbish atmidnight, scarce an hour before the assault on the Portuguese. 

I have wondered since if 'twas this rumour and some belief in it whichheld Messrs. Saint Aubyn and Godolphin from offering any further attackon us. You might say that it was open to them, so believing, to havedenounced her publicly. But in our country Holy Church had littlehold--scarce more than the King's law itself in such matters; and withinmy memory it has always come easier to us to fear witch-craft than todenounce it. Also (and it concerns my tale) the three years whichfollowed the stranding of the _Saint Andrew_ were remarkable for a greatnumber of wrecks upon our coast. In that short time we of our parishand the men of St. Hilary upon our north were between us favoured withno fewer than fourteen; the most of them vessels of good burden. Of anyhand in bringing them ashore I know our gentry to have been innocent. Still, there were pickings; and finding that my Master held aloof fromall share in such and (as far as could be) held his servants aloof, ourneighbours, though not accepting this for quittance, forbore to pressthe affair of the _Saint Andrew_ further than by spreading injurioustales and whispers. 

The marvel was that we of Pengersick (who reaped nothing of thisharvest) fell none the less under suspicion of decoying the vesselsashore. More than once in my dealings with the fishermen and tradesmenof Market Jew, I happened on hints of this; but nothing which could betaken hold of until one day a certain Peter Chynoweth of that town, coming drunk to Pengersick with a basket of fish, blurted out the tale. Said he, after I had beaten him down to a reasonable price, "Twould beeasy enough, one would think, to spare an honest man a groat of thefortune Pengersick makes on these dark nights. "

"Thou lying thief!" said I. "What new slander is this?"

"Come, come, " says he, looking roguish; "that won't do for me that haveseen the false light on Cuddan Point more times than I can count; and sohas every fisherman in the bay. "

Well, I kicked him through the gate for it, and flung his basket afterhim; but the tale could not be so dismissed. "It may be, " thought I, "some one of Pengersick has engaged upon this wickedness on his ownaccount"; and for my Master's credit I resolved to keep watch. 

I took therefore the porter into my secret, who agreed to let me throughthe gate towards midnight without telling a soul. I took a sheepskinwith me and a poignard for protection; and for a week, from midnight todawn, I played sentinel on Cuddan Point, walking to and fro, orstretched under the lee of a rock whence I could not miss any lightshown on the headland, if Peter Chynoweth's tale held any truth. 

By the eighth trial I had pretty well made up my mind (and withoutastonishment) that Peter Chynoweth was a liar. But scarcely had Ireached my post that night when, turning, I descried a radiance as of alantern, following me at some fifty paces. On the instant I gripped mypoignard and stepped behind a boulder. The light drew nearer, came, andpassed me. To my bewilderment it was no lantern, but an open flame, running close along the turf and too low for anyone to be carrying it:nor was the motion that of a light which a man carries. Moreover, though it passed me within half-a-dozen yards and lit up thestone I stood behind, I saw nobody and heard no footstep, though thewind (which was south-westerly) blew from it to me. In this breeze theflame quivered, though not violently but as it were a ball of firerolling with a flickering crest. 

It went by, and I followed it at something above walking pace until uponthe very verge of the head-land, where I had no will to risk my neck, ithalted and began to be heaved up and down much like the poop-light of avessel at sea. In this play it continued for an hour at least; then itcame steadily back towards me by the way it had gone, and as it came Iran upon it with my dagger. But it slipped by me, travelling at speedtowards the mainland; whither I pelted after it hot-foot, and so acrossthe fields towards Pengersick. Strain as I might, I could not overtakeit; yet contrived to keep it within view, and so well that I was bare ahundred yards behind when it came under the black shadow of the castleand without pause glided across the dry moat and so up the face of thewall to my lady's window, which there overhung. And into this window itpassed before my very eyes and vanished. 

I know not what emboldened me, but from the porter's lodge I wentstraight up to my Master's chamber, where (though the hour must havebeen two in the morning or thereabouts) a light was yet burning. Also--but this had become ordinary--a smell of burning gums and herbsfilled the passage leading to his door. He opened to my knock, andstood before me in his dressing-gown of sables--a tall figure of a manand youthful, though already beginning to stoop. Over his shoulder Iperceived the room swimming with coils of smoke which floated in theirwreaths from a brazier hard by the fireplace. 

I think his first motion was to thrust me away; but I caught him by thehand, and with many protestations broke into my tale, giving him no timeto forbid me. And presently he drew me inside, and shutting the door, stood upright by the table, facing me with his fingers on the rim as ifthey rested there for support. 

"Paschal, " said he, when at length I drew back, "this must not come tomy lady's ears. She has been ailing of late. "

"Ay, sir, and long since: of a disease past your curing. "

"God help us! I hope not, " said he; then broke out violently: "She isinnocent, Paschal; innocent as a child!"

"Innocent!" cried I, in a voice which showed how little I believed. 

"Paschal, " he went on, "you are my servant, but my friend also, I hope. Nay, nay, I know. I swear to you, then, these things do but happen inher sleep. In her waking senses she is mine, as one day she shall bemine wholly. But at night, when her will is dissolved in sleep, theevil spirit wakes and goes questing after its master. "

"Mahound?" I stammered, quaking. 

"Be it Satan himself, " said he, very low and resolute, "I will win herfrom him, though my own soul be the ransom. "

"Dear my Master, " I began, and would have implored him on my knees; buthe pointed to the door. "I will win her, " he repeated. "What you haveseen to-night happens more rarely now. Moreover, the summer isbeginning--"

He paused: yet I had gathered his meaning. "There will be less perilfor the ships for a while, " said I. 

Said he: "To _them_ she intends no harm. It is for her master the lightwaves. Paschal, I am an unhappy man!" He flung a hand to his forehead, but recovering himself peered at me under the shadow of it. "If youcould watch--often--as you have done to-night--you might protect othersfrom seeing--"

The wisdom of this at least I saw, and gave him my promise readily. Upon this understanding (for no more could be had) I withdrew me. 

The next day, therefore, I moved my bed to a turret-chamber on the angleof the south-eastern wall whence I could keep my lady's window in view. I was never a man to need much sleep: but if, through the year whichfollowed, the apparition escaped once or twice without my cognisance, Idare take oath this was the extent of it. It appeared more rarely, asmy Master had promised: and in the end (I think) scarce above once amonth. In form it never varied from the cresseted globe of flame I hadfirst seen, and always it took the path across the fields towards CuddanPoint. No sound went with it, or announced its going or return: andwhile it was absent, my lady's chamber would be utterly dark and silent. My custom was not to follow it (which I had proved to be useless), butto let myself out and patrol the walls, satisfying myself that nowatchers lurked about the castle. I understood now that Pengersick wasreported throughout the neighbourhood to be haunted: and such a reportis not the worst protection. These vague tales kept aloof the countrypeople who, but for them, had almost certainly happened on the secret. And night after night while I watched, my Master wrestled with the EvilOne in his room. 

The last time I saw the apparition was on the night of May 10th, 1529, more than three years after my lady's first coming to Pengersick. I was prepared for it: for she had been singing at her window a greatpart of the afternoon, and I had learnt to be warned by this mood. The night was a dark one, with flying clouds and a stiff breeze blowingup from the south-east. The flame left my lady's window at the usualhour--a few minutes after midnight--but returned some while before itsdue time. In ordinary it would be away for an hour and a half, or fromthat to two hours, but this night I had scarcely begun my rounds beforeI saw it returning across the fields. Nor was this the only surprise. For as I watched it up the wall and saw it gain my lady's window, Iheard the hound within lift up its voice in a long, shuddering howl. 

I lost no time, but made my way to my Master's room. He, too, had heardthe dog's howl, and was strangely perturbed. "It means something. It means something, " he kept repeating. He had already run to hiswife's chamber, but found her in a deep slumber and the hound (whichalways slept on the floor at her bed's foot) composing itself to sleepagain, with jowl dropped on its fore-paws. 

The next morning I had fixed to ride into the Market Jew to fetch apacket of books which was waiting there for my Master. But at theentrance of the town I found the people in great commotion, the cause ofwhich turned out to be a group of Turk men gathered at the hither end ofthe causeway leading to the Mount. One told me they were Moslems (whichindeed was apparent at first sight) and that their ship had run ashorethat night, under the Mount; but with how much damage was doubtful. She lay within sight, in a pretty safe position, and not so badly fixedbut I guessed the next tide would float her if her bottom were notbroken. The Moslems (nine in all) had rowed ashore in their boat andlanded on the causeway; but with what purpose they had no chance toexplain: for the inhabitants, catching sight of their knives andscymeters, could believe in nothing short of an intent to murder andplunder; and taking courage in numbers, had gathered (men and women) tothe causeway-head to oppose them. To be sure these fears had somewarrant in the foreigners' appearance: who with their turbans, tunics, dark faces and black naked legs made up a show which Market Jew hadnever known before nor (I dare say) will again. 

Nor had the mildness of their address any effect but to raise a freshcommotion. For, their leader advancing with outstretched hands andmaking signals that he intended no mischief but rather sued forassistance, at once a cry went up, "The Plague!" "The Plague!" at whichI believe the crowd would have scattered like sheep had not a few sturdyvolunteers with pikes and boat-hooks forbidden his nearer approach. 

Into this knot the conference had locked itself when I rode up and--thecrowd making way for me--addressed the strangers in the _lingua Franca_, explaining that my Master of Pengersick was a magistrate and would beforward to help them either with hospitality or in lending aid to gettheir ship afloat; further that they need have no apprehension of thecrowd, which had opposed them in fear, not in churlishness; yet it mightbe wise for the main body to stay and keep guard over the cargo whiletheir spokesman went with me to Pengersick. 

To this their leader at once consented; and we presently set forthtogether, he walking by my horse with an agile step and that gracefulbearing which I had not seen since my days of travel: a bearded swarthyman, extraordinarily handsome in Moorish fashion and distinguished fromhis crew not only by authority as patron of the ship, but by a naturaldignity. I judged him about forty. Me he treated with courtesy, yetwith a reticence which seemed to say he reserved his speech for myMaster. Of the wreck he said nothing except that his ship had been bymany degrees out of her bearings: and knowing that the Moorish disastersin Spain had thrown many of their chiefs into the trade of piracy I wascontented to smoke such an adventurer in this man, and set him down forone better at fighting than at navigation. 

With no more suspicion than this I reached Pengersick and, bestowing thestranger in the hall, went off to seek my Master. For the change thatcame over my dear lord's face as he heard my errand I was in no wayprepared. It was terrible. 

"Paschal, " he cried, sinking into a chair and spreading both handshelplessly on the table before him, "it is _he!_ Her time is come, andmine!"

It was in vain that I reasoned, protesting (as I believed) that thestranger was but a chance pirate cast ashore by misadventure; and asvain that, his fears infecting me, I promised to go down and get rid ofthe fellow on some pretence. 

"No, " he insisted, "the hour is come. I must face it: and what is more, Paschal, I shall win. Another time I shall be no better prepared. Bring him to my room and then go and tell my lady that I wish to speakwith her. "

I did so. On ushering in the stranger I saw no more than the bow withwhich the two men faced each other: for at once my Master signalled meto run on my further errand. Having delivered my message at my lady'sdoor, I went down to the hall, and lingering there, saw her pass alongthe high gallery above the dais towards my lord's room, with the houndat her heels. 

Thence I climbed the stair to my own room: locked the door and anonunlocked it, to be ready at sudden need. And there I paced hour afterhour, without food, listening. From the courtyard came the noise of thegrooms chattering and splashing: but from the left wing, where lay myMaster's rooms, no sound at all. Twice I stole out along thecorridors and hung about the stair head: but could hear nothing, andcrept back in fear to be caught eavesdropping. 

It was about five in the afternoon (I think), all was still in thecourtyard, when I heard the click of a latch and, running to the window, saw the porter closing his wicket gate. A minute later, on a risebeyond the wall, I spied the Moor. His back was towards the castle andhe was walking rapidly towards Market Jew: and after him padded mylady's hound. 

I hurried along the passages and knocked at my Master's door. No oneanswered. I could not wait to knock again, but burst it open. 

On the floor at my feet lay my Master, and hard by the window myMistress with her hands crossed upon a crucifix. My Master had nocrucifix: but his face wore a smile--a happier one than it had worn foryears. 

[1] About 150, 000 pounds in present money. 

FROZEN MARGIT

_A Narrative of the sufferings of Mr. Obed Lanyon, of Vellingey-SaintAgnes, Cornwall; Margit Lanyon, his wife; and seventeen persons (mostlyAmericans) shipwrecked among the Quinaiult Tribes of the N. W. Coast ofAmerica, in the winter of 1807-8. With some remarkable Experiences ofthe said Margit Lanyon, formerly Pedersen. Written by the Survivor, Edom Lanyon, sometime a Commander in the service of the Honourable EastIndia Company. _

My twin brother Obed and I were born on the 21st of March, 1759(he being the elder by a few minutes), at Vellingey-St. Agnes, orSt. Ann's, a farm on the north coast of Cornwall, owned and cultivatedby our father Renatus Lanyon. Our mother was a Falmouth woman, daughter of a ship's captain of that port: and I suppose it was thisinclined us to a sea-faring life. At any rate, soon after our fifteenthbirthday we sailed (rather against our father's wish) on a shortcoasting voyage with our grandfather--whose name was William Dustow. 

A second voyage in the early summer of 1776 took us as far as theThames. It happened that the famous Captain Cook was just thenrecruiting for his third and (as it proved) his last voyage ofdiscovery. This set us talking and planning, and the end was that westole ashore and offered ourselves. Obed had the luck to be picked. Though very like in face, I was already the taller by two inches; and nodoubt the Captain judged I had outgrown my strength. But it surprisedme to be rejected when Obed was taken; and disappointed me more: for, letting alone the prospect of the voyage, we two (as twins, and ourparents' only children) were fond of each other out of the commondegree, and had never thought to be separated. 

To speak first of Obed:--Captain Cook put some questions, and findingthat we were under our grandfather's care, would do nothing without hisconsent. We returned to the ship and confessed to the old man, whopretended to be much annoyed. But next day he put on his best clothesand went in search of the great seaman, to Whitehall; and so the matterwas arranged. Obed sailed in July on board the _Discovery_; shared thedangers of that voyage, in which the ships followed up the N. W. Coast ofAmerica and pushed into Behring's Strait beyond the 70th parallel; was awitness, on February 4th, 1779, of his commander's tragical end; andreturned to England in October, 1780. Eleven years later he madeanother voyage to the same N. W. American Coast; this time as master'smate under Vancouver, who had kept an interest in him since they sailedtogether under Cook, and thought highly of him as a practical navigatorand draughtsman. It was my brother who, under Vancouver, drew up thefirst chart of the Straits of Fuca, which Cook had missed: and I havebeen told (by a Mr. G--, a clerk to the Admiralty) that on his return hestood well for a lieutenant's commission--the rule of the Service beingstretched now and then to favour these circumnavigating seamen, many ofwhom worked their way aft from the hawse-hole to the quarter deck. But my father and mother dying just then, and the former having slippeda particular request into his will, Obed threw up the sea and settleddown in Vellingey as a quiet yeoman farmer. 

Meanwhile, in 1779, I had entered the sea service of the Honourable EastIndia Company; and with passable good fortune had risen in it prettyfast. Enough to say, that by the spring of 1796 I was looking forwardto the command of a ship. Just then my fortune deserted me. In asudden fear of French invasion, our Government bought the four new shipswhich the Company had building (and a bad bargain they proved). This put a stop for the time to all chance of promotion; and a sharpattack of jaundice falling on top of my disappointments, I took theusual decrease of pay and the Board's promise to remember my services ona proper occasion, and hauled ashore to Vellingey for a holiday and athorough refit of health. 

I believe that the eight or nine following months which Obed and I spenttogether were the happiest in our two lives. He was glad enough toshoulder off the small business of the farm and turn--as I have seen somany men play, in a manner, at the professions they have given over--tohis favourite amusement of sounding the coast of Vellingey andcorrecting the printed charts. He kept a small lugger mainly for thispurpose, and plied her so briskly that he promised to know thesea-bottom between Kelsey Head and Godrevy Rock better than his ownfields. As for me, after years of salt water and stumping decks, Iasked nothing better than to steer a plough and smell broken soil, anddrowse after supper in an armchair, with good tobacco and Obed forcompany. 

In this way we passed the winter of 1796-7; until the lambing season, which fell midway in February. The year opened wet, with fresh southwesterly winds, which in the second week chopped suddenly; and for fourdays a continuous freezing gale blew on us from the N. W. It was thenthat the lambs began to drop; and for three nights I exchanged pipe andfireside for a lantern and the lower corner of Friar's Parc at the backof the towans, where the ewes were gathered in the lew. [1] They kept usso busy that for forty-eight hours we neither changed our clothes (atleast, I did not) nor sat down to a meal. The sand about Vellingey isalways driving, more or less; and the gale so mixed it up with fine snowthat we made our journeys to and from the house, so to speak, blindfold, and took our chance of the drifts. But the evening of the 11th promisedbetter. The wind dropped, and in an hour fell to a flat calm: then, after another hour, began to draw easily off shore--the draught itselfbeing less noticeable than the way in which it smoothed down the heavysea running. Though the cold did not lift, the weather grew tolerableonce more: and each time I crossed the townplace[2] with a lamb in myarms, I heard the surf running lower and lower in the porth belowVellingey. 

By day-break (the 12th) it was fallen to nothing: the sky still holdingsnow, but sky and sea the same colour; a heavy blueish grey, like steel. I was coming over the towans, just then, with a lamb under either arm(making twelve, that night) when I happened to look seaward, and theresaw a boat tossing, about a gunshot from the shore. 

She was a long boat, painted white; very low in the sheer, and curved atstem and stern like a Norwegian; her stem rounded off without a transom, and scarcely bluffer than her bows. She carried a mast, stepped rightforward; but no sail. She was full of people. I counted five sitting, all white with snow--one by the mast, three amidships, and one in thestern sheets, steering. At least, he had a hand on the tiller: but thepeople had given over pulling, and the boat without steerage-way wasdrifting broadside-on towards the shore with the set of the tide. 

While I stood conning her, up at the house the back-door opened, and mybrother stepped out and across the yard to milk the cows. Hismilk-pails struck against the door-post, and sounded as clear as bells. I shouted to him and pointed towards the boat: and after looking amoment, he set down his pails and started off at a run, down towards theporth. I then hurried towards the house, where I found Selina, our oldhousekeeper, in the kitchen, tending the lambs with warm milk. Handing the new-comers over to her, I caught up a line and made offhot-foot after Obed. 

At low-water (and the tide had now scarcely an hour to ebb) the sands inVellingey Porth measure a good half-mile from the footbridge at its headto the sea at its base. My legs were longer than Obed's; but I dare sayhe had arrived five minutes ahead of me. He was standing and calling tothe boat's crew to get out an oar and pull her head-to-sea: for althoughthe smoothing wind had taken most of the danger out of the breakers, they were quite able to capsize and roll over any boat that beachedherself in that lubberly fashion. 

I ran up panting, and shouted with him--"Pull her round head-to-sea, andback her in!"

Not a man moved or lifted a hand. The next moment, a wave tilted andran a dozen yards with her, but mercifully passed before it broke. A smaller one curved on the back-draught and splashed in over hergunwale as she took ground. But what knocked the wind out of our sailswas this--As the first wave canted her up, two men had rolled out of herlike logs; and the others, sitting like logs, had never so much asstirred to help!

"Good Lord!" I called out, and fumbled with my line. "What's themeaning of it?"

"The meaning is, " said Obed, "they're dead men, every mother's son. They're frozen, " said he: "I've seen frozen seamen before now. "

"I'll have in the boat, anyway, " I said. "Here, catch hold and payout!" Running in, I reached her just as she lifted again; and managedto slew her nose in-shore, but not in time to prevent half-a-hogsheadpouring over her quarter. This wave knocked her broadside-on again, andthe water shipped made her heavier to handle. But by whipping my end ofthe line round the thwart in which her mast was stepped, for Obed tohaul upon, and myself heaving at her bows, we fetched her partly roundas she lifted again, and ran her into the second line of breakers, whichwere pretty well harmless. 

"How many on board?" Obed sang out. 

"Five!" called I, having counted them. Up to this I had had enough todo with the boat; besides looking after myself. For twice the heave hadtilled me up to the armpits, and once lifted me clean off my feet; and Ihad no wish to try swimming in my sea-boots. "Five, " said I; "and twooverboard--that makes seven. Come and look here!"

"Tend to the boat first, " he said. "I've seen frozen seamen. "

"You never saw the likes of this, " I answered. So he ran in beside me. 

The boat had her name (or that of the ship she belonged to) painted inyellow and black on the gunwale strake by her port quarter--"MARGIT PEDERSEN, BERGEN": but by their faces we could not miss knowingto what country the poor creatures belonged. They were--

 1. A tall man, under middle age; seated by the mast and leaning against it (his right arm frozen to it, in fact, from the elbow up) with his back towards the bows. The snow was heaped on his head and shoulders like a double cape. This one had no hair on his face; and his complexion being very fresh and pink, and his eyes wide open, it was hard to believe him dead. Indeed, while getting in the boat, I had to speak to him twice, to make sure. 

 2. A much older man, and shorter, with a rough grey beard. He sat in the stern sheets, with his right hand frozen on the tiller. Our folk had afterwards to unship the tiller when they came to lift him out: and carried him up to the house still holding it. Later on we buried it beside him. This man wore a good blue coat and black breeches; and at first we took him to be the captain. He turned out to be the mate, Knud Lote, who had put on his best clothes when it came to leaving the ship. His eyes were screwed up, and the brine had frozen over them, like a glaze, or a big pair of spectacles. 

 3. Against his knee rested the head of a third man--one of the three I had first seen sitting amidships. When the other two toppled overboard this one had slid off the thwart and fallen against the steersman. He was an oldish man, yellow and thin and marked with the small-pox; the only one in the boat who might have come from some other country than Norway. His eyes were cast down in a quiet way, and he seemed to be smiling. He wore a seaman's loose frock, ragged breeches, and sea-boots. 

 4 and 5. Stretched along the bottom-boards lay a tall young man with straw-coloured hair and beard: and in his arms, tightly clasped, and wrapped in a shawl and seaman's jacket, a young woman. Her arms were about the young man and her face pressed close and hidden against his side. He must have taken off his jacket to warm her; for the upper part of his body had no covering but a flannel shirt and cinglet. 

While we stood there the tide drained back, leaving the bows of the boathigh and dry. As I remember, Obed was the first to speak; and he said"She has beautiful hair. " This was the bare truth: a great lock of itlay along the bottom-board like a stream of guineas poured out of asack. He climbed into the boat and lifted the shawl from her face. 

Those neighbours of ours, friends and acquaintances, who afterwards sawMargit Pedersen at Vellingey, and for whom this account is mainlywritten, will not need a description of her. Many disliked her: butnobody denied that she was a lovely woman; and I am certain that nobodycould see her face and afterwards forget it. It was, then and always, very pale: but this had nothing to do with ill health. In fact I am notsure it would have been noticeable but for the warm colour of her hairand her red lips and (especially) her eyebrows and lashes, of a deepbrown that seemed almost black. Her lips were blue with the cold, justnow: but the contrast between her eyebrows and her pale face and yellowhair struck me at once and kept me wondering: until Obed startled me bydropping the shawl and falling on his knees beside her. "Good God, Dom!" he sang out: "the girl's alive!"

The next moment, of course, I was as wild as he. "Get her out, then, " Icried, "and up to the house at once!"

"I can't loosen the man's arms!" Though less than a yard apart, we bothshouted at the top of our voices. 

"Nonsense!" I answered: but it was true all the same--as I found outwhen I stepped in to Obed's help. "We must carry up the pair as theyare, " I said. "There's no time to lose. "

We lifted them out, and making a chair of our hands and wrists, carriedthem up to Vellingey; leaving the others in the boat, now for an hourwell above reach of the tide. And here I must tell of something thathappened on the way: the first sign of Obed's madness, as I may call it. All of a sudden he stopped and panted, from the weight of our load, Isupposed. "Dom, " he said, "I believe that nine men out of ten wouldkiss her!"

I told him not to be a fool, and we walked on. In the town-place wehappened on the shepherd, Reuben Santo, and sent him off for help, andto look after the frozen people in the boat. The sight of us at thedoor nearly scared Selina into her grave: but we allowed her no time forhysterics. We laid the pair on a blanket before the open fire, and verysoon Obed was trying to force some warm milk and brandy between thegirl's lips. I think she swallowed a little: but the first time sheopened her eyes was when one of the lambs (which everyone had neglectedfor twenty minutes or so) tottered across the kitchen on his foolishlegs and began to nuzzle at her face. Obed at the moment was trying todisengage the dead man's arms. A thought struck Selina at once. "Put the lamb close against her heart, " she said. "That'll warm hermore than any fire. "

So we did, making the lamb lie down close beside her; and it had awonderful effect. In less than half-an-hour her pulse grew moderatelyfirm and she had even contrived to speak a word or two, but inNorwegian, which none of us understood. Obed by this time had loosenedthe dead man's arms; and we thought it best to get her upstairs to bedbefore the full sense of her misfortune should afflict her. Obed carried her up to the spare-room and there left her to Selina;while I saddled horse and rode in to Truro, for Doctor Mitchell. 

Much of what followed is matter of public knowledge. Our folks carriedthe dead Norwegians up to Church-town, including one of the two that hadfallen overboard (the next tide washed him in; the other never came toland); and there buried them, two days later, in separate graves, butall close together. The boat being worthless, we sawed it in two justabaft the mast and set the fore-part over the centre grave, which wasthat of Captain Pedersen, the young man we had carried up with Margit. The mast rotted and fell, some years ago, although carefully stayed: butthe boat, with the names painted on it, remains to this day. Also weset up a small wooden cross by each man's grave, with his name upon it. Margit was able, from our description, to plan out the right name foreach. 

On the third day an interpreter came over from Penzance. Margit couldnot yet leave her bed: and before he stepped up to question her, I tookhim aside and showed a small Norwegian Bible we had found in the pocketof the seaman's jacket to which she owed her life. On the first pagewas some foreign writing which I could not make out. The interpretertranslated it: first the names "Margit Hansen to Nils Pedersen": andafter them, this strange verse from the _Song of Solomon_--strange, Imean, to find written in such a place--"Let him kiss me with the kissesof his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. "

The interpreter, Mr. Scammel, went upstairs, and she told him her story. "Our vessel, " she said (I give it in brief) "was the _Margit Pedersen_, brig. She belonged to me and was called after me. We were bound forthe Tagus with a cargo of salted fish which I had bought at Bergen fromthe Lofoden smacks--fish for the Roman Catholics to eat in Lent. Nils Pedersen, the captain, was my husband: Knud Lote was mate. "Mr. Scammell having expressed some surprise that so young a man shouldhave been captain, she explained, "He was twenty-two. I made himcaptain. My father and mother died: they had not wished me to marryhim. They were proud. But they left very little money, considering;and with it I bought the brig and cargo. She was an old craft, halfrotten. We had fair weather, mostly, down the English Channel andalmost to Ushant. There we met a strong southerly gale, and in themiddle of it a pintle of our rudder gave way and the loose rudderdamaged our stern-post. We tried to bear up for Falmouth, but she wouldnot steer; and we drove up towards the Irish Coast, just missing Scilly. On the 8th the wind changed to N. W. And increased. That night, as Nilstried to lay to, she carried away her fore-mast, which had been shakyfor days. She was now leaking fast. At noon on the 9th we managed tolaunch a boat, and abandoned her. She sank at four o'clock: we saw hergo down. The weather grew colder, that night. I think it snowed allthe time: and the seas were too heavy to let the boat run. The menpulled to keep her nose to them and the wind, and so she drifted. I forget when they gave over pulling. For a night and a day I baledsteadily. After that I lay most of the time in the bottom of the boat. Our food was almost done. It was very cold. That is all I canremember. "

And this, I think, was all we ever heard from her. On his return toPenzance, Mr. Scammell sent me a Norwegian dictionary; and with the helpof it Obed and I soon managed to talk a little with her, in a mixture ofNorwegian and English. But she never wanted to speak of the past, andfell silent whenever we spoke of it. What astonished me more was that, though she told us the names of the dead men, she showed no furtherinterest in them. At first, knowing how weak she was, and fearing todistress her, I fought shy of the subject; but one day, towards the endof the third week--she being strong enough to walk a moderate distance--I plucked up courage and asked if she cared to come with me to thechurchyard. She agreed, and that afternoon, after a heavy shower, wewalked thither together. I feared what effect the first sight of herhusband's grave might work on her feelings; and all the way kept wishingthat we had omitted to set up the boat and mast. But she looked at themcalmly, and at the graves. "That is good, " she said: "you have donegreat kindness to them. I will not come any more. " And so she preparedto walk away. 

I own that this seemed to me unfeeling. Outside the churchyard I pulledfrom my pocket the small Bible. "This belongs to you, " I said: "I havekept it to help me with your language"--but I held it open at thefly-leaf. She glanced at it, "Oh yes, I gave it to Nils, my husband. You wish to keep it?"

"You were very fond of him, to judge from this, " I said; and halted, expecting her to be angry. But she halted too, and said quite coolly--looking at me straight--"Yes? Oh yes; very much. "

That same evening I spoke to Obed as we sat alone with our pipes. "I suppose, " said I as carelessly as I could, "Margit Pedersen will beleaving us before long. " He looked up sharply, and began to shift thelogs on the hearth. "What makes you say so?" he asked. "Well, she willhave friends in Bergen, and business--" "Has she written to herfriends?" he interrupted. "Not to my knowledge: but she won't bestaying here for ever, I suppose. " "When she chooses to go, she can. Are you proposing to turn her out? If so, I'd have you to mind thatVellingey is my house, and I am master here. "

This was an unworthy thing to say, and he said it with a fury thatsurprised me. Obed and I had not quarrelled since we were boys. I puta stopper on my tongue, and went on smoking: and after a while he beganto talk again in his natural way on ordinary matters. 

Margit stayed on; and to all appearance our life at Vellingey fell backinto its old groove. As a matter of fact there was all the differencein the world--a difference felt before it was seen, and not to be summedup by saying that a woman sat at our table. I believe I may quitefairly lay the blame on Obed. For the first time in our lives he kept apart of his mind hidden from me; he made show enough of frankness in histalk, but I knew him far too well to miss the suspicion behind it. Andhis suspicion bred suspicion in me. Yet though I searched, I could findnothing amiss in his outward bearing. If he were indeed in love withthe girl--her age, she told us, was twenty-one--he gave no sign uponwhich one could lay hold. And certainly Margit's bearing towards us wascool and friendly and impartial as the strictest could desire. Of thetwo, I had, perhaps, more of her company, simply because Obed spent mostof his time in the lugger, while I worked in the fields and within easyreach of an afternoon's stroll. Margit would be busy with houseworkmost of the morning, or in the kitchen, helping Selina--"domineering, "Selina preferred to call it. 

For, whatever our feelings, Selina had set her face against thenew-comer from the first. She started, no doubt, with the old woman'swhiddle that no good ever comes of a person saved from the sea. But astime went on she picked up plenty of other reasons for dislike. Margit took charge from the day she came downstairs, and had a cold wayof seeing that her orders were attended to. With about twenty words ofEnglish she at once gave battle to Selina, who had bullied us two menfrom childhood; and routed her. The old woman kept up a running fightfor a week before appealing to Obed, and this delay cost her everything. Obed flew in a rage that more than equalled her own, and had theadvantage to be unusual and quite unexpected by her. She ran from himto the kitchen, in tears; and thenceforth was a beaten woman, howevermuch she might grumble at the "foreigner" and "interloper. "

For me, I will confess, and have done with it, that before a month wasout my interest in this pale foreign woman, who moved about the house soquietly and surely, had grown to a degree that troubled me. That Obedhad suspected me before he had any cause made it no easier now to play aconcealed game at cross-purposes; and no pleasanter. In the two monthsthat followed I hated myself pretty often, and at times came near todespise myself for the thought that before long I might be hating Obed. This would never have done: and luckily I saw it in time. Towards theend of June I made application to the Board: and left Vellingey in July, to sail for Bombay on board the _Warren Hastings_, in my old capacity offirst mate. My abandoning the field to Obed would deserve some credit, had Margit ever by word or look given me the slightest reason to hope. But she had not; indeed I hoped that she had never guessed the state ofmy feelings. 

Eighteen months passed before I returned to Vellingey--this time on ashort leave. Obed had written constantly and with all the oldfamiliarity; a good deal concerning Margit--her health, her walks, herhousehold business--everything, in short, but what I expected anddreaded to hear. "Come, " I said to myself, "five minutes' start in lifeand eighteen months in courtship is no such bad allowance for Obed. Perhaps he will allow me now to have _my_ turn. "

I had this thought in my head as I drew near Vellingey in a light gighired from the Truro post-master. It was a rainy afternoon in January, and a boisterous north-wester blew the Atlantic weather in our teeth aswe mounted the rise over Vellingey churchtown. My head being bent down, I did not observe the figure of a woman coming up the village street, but looked up on hearing the sound of her clogs close beside the gig. It was Selina, tearful, carrying a bundle. 

"Whatever is the matter?" I asked, on pulling up. 

"They've turned me to door!" she moaned. "My dear, they've turned me todoor!"

She was tramping home to her cousins in St. Day parish. Not anothernight would she sleep at Vellingey--to be trampled on. Of course sheaccused the "foreign woman ": but I, it seemed, had started the quarrelthis time; or, rather, it started over the preparations for myhome-coming--some trifling matter of cookery. Selina knew my tastes. Margit professed to know them better. Such are women. 

I own that as I sent the poor soul on her way, with a promise that thegig should carry back her boxes from Vellingey and a secret resolve thatshe should return to us within a week, I could not avoid a foolishpleasure in the thought that Margit deemed my coming of such importance. Then it occurred to me that her position now as a single woman alone atVellingey lay open to scandal. The sooner I tested my growing hopes, the better. 

I did so, the second evening, after supper. Obed had stepped out tomake the round of the farm buildings and lock up. Margit had removedthe white cloth, and was setting the brass candlesticks and tobacco jaron the uncovered table. 

"What is going to happen about Selina?" I asked, from my chair. 

Margit set down a candlestick. "Selina has gone, " she said quietly. 

"But people will talk, if you stay here alone with us, or with Obed. You mustn't mind my saying this. "

"Oh, no. I suppose they will talk. "

I stood up. "I take it, " said I, "you cannot be quite blind to myfeelings, Margit. I came home on purpose to speak to you: but perhaps, if it had not been for this, I might have put off speaking for somedays. If you care for me at all, though, I think you can answer. My dear, if you will marry me it will make me a happy man. "

She was fingering the candle-base, just touching the brass with herfinger-tips and withdrawing them gently. She looked up. "I ratherthought, " she said, "you would have spoken last night. Obed asked methis morning--he gave you that chance: and I have promised to marryhim. "

"Good Lord! but this is a question of loving a man!"

"I have never said that I like you better. I shall make Obed a verygood wife. "

Less than a minute later, Obed came into the room, after slamming theback-door loudly. He did not look at our faces: but I am sure that heknew exactly what had happened. 

They were married in April, a fortnight after my leaving England onanother voyage. We parted the best of friends; and in the course of thenext seven years I spent most of my holidays with them. No married lifecould well be smoother than was Obed's and Margit's in all this time. He worshipped her to fondness; and she, without the least parade ofaffection, seemed to make his comfort and well-being the business of herlife. It hardly needs to be said that my unfortunate proposal wasignored by all of us as a thing that had never happened. 

In October, 1802, I reached the height of my ambition, being appointedto the command of the Company's ship _Macartney_, engaged in the Chinatraffic. I call her the _Macartney_: but the reader will presently seethat I have reasons for not wishing to make public the actual name ofthis vessel, which, however, will be sufficiently familiar to all whoknew me at that time and who have therefore what I may call a privateinterest in this narrative. For the same reason I shall say no more ofher than that she was a new ship, Thames-built, and more than commonlyfast; and that I commanded her from October 1802 to June 1806. 

She carried passengers, of course: and in the autumn of 1805 itsurprised and delighted me to hear from Obed that he and Margit haddetermined on a sea voyage, and wished to book their passages to theCanton River and back in the _Macartney_. I had often given thisinvitation in jest: but such voyages merely for health and pleasure werethen far from common. Yet there was no single impediment to theirgoing. They had no children: they were well-to-do: they had now a hind, or steward (one Stephens), to whose care they might comfortably leavethe farm. To be short, they sailed with me. 

On the 2nd of May 1806, the _Macartney_ dropped anchor in the CantonRiver after a fast and prosperous voyage. The events I have now torelate will appear least extraordinary to the reader who bestunderstands under what conditions the English carry on their trade withChina. Let me say, then, that in its jealousy of us foreign barbariansthe Chinese government confines our ships to the one port of Canton andreserves the right of nominating such persons as shall be permitted totrade with us. These Hong merchants (in number less than a dozen) areeach and all responsible to the Emperor for any disturbance that may becommitted by a person belonging to a foreign ship: and they in turn lookfor compensation to the European factors. So that, a Chinese mob beingthe most insolent in the world, and the spirit of British seamenproverbial, these factors often find themselves in situations of greatdelicacy, and sometimes of more than a little danger. 

It happened that on the next day after our arrival a small party of us--Margit and Obed, the second officer, Mr. Tomlinson, and I--had taken ashort stroll ashore and were returning to the boat, which lay ready bythe landing, manned by six seamen. The coxswain brought the boatalongside: and I, on the lowest step of the landing-stage, stooped tohold her steady while Margit embarked. She and Obed waited on the stepnext above, with Mr. Tomlinson close behind. A small crowd had followedus: and just then one dirty Chinaman reached forward and with a word ortwo (no doubt indecent) laid his open palm on the back of Margit's neck. Quick as thought, she lifted a hand and dealt him a rousing box in theear. I sprang up and pushed him back as he recovered. He slipped onthe green ooze of the steps and fell: this was all I saw, for the crowdmade a rush and closed. Obed and Mr. Tomlinson had hurried Margit intothe boat: I leapt after them: and we pushed off under a brisk shower ofdirt and stones. We were soon out of range, and reached the shipwithout mishap. 

Knowing the nature of a Chinese rabble, I felt glad enough that theaffair had proved no worse; and thought little more of it until earlynext morning, when Mr. Findlater, the first officer, came with a puzzledface and reported that during the night someone had attached a boat, with a dead Chinaman in it, to the chain of our small bower anchor. 

I went on deck at once. A good look at the corpse relieved me: for asfar as my recollection served, it bore no resemblance to the man I hadpushed on the landing. I told off two of the rowers of the previousday--the two whose position in the bows had given them the best view ofthe scuffle--to cut the thing adrift. They did so and came back withthe report that they had never seen the dead man before in their lives. So I tried to feel easy. 

But soon after breakfast, and almost in the full heat of the day, therecame off a galley with two of the Hong merchants and no less a personthan Mr. '--', the Chief of the H. E. I. C. 's factory. He brought seriousnews. The boat had drifted up the river and had been recovered by acrowd of Chinese, who took out the dead man and laid him on the doorstepof the factory, clamouring that he had been killed, the day before, byan Englishwoman; and threatening, unless she were given up, to seize thefirst supercargo that came out and carry him off to be strangled. 

I answered, describing the scuffle and declaring my readiness to swearthat the body bore no resemblance to the fellow whose ear Margit hadboxed. But I knew how little this testimony would avail in a Chinesecourt. The two Hong merchants assured me that their brother, the_Macartney's_ guarantor, was already in the hands of the magistrates, who had handcuffed him and were threatening him with the bamboo: that aninterdiction lay on the _Macartney's_ cargo, and Mr. '--' himself ran nosmall risk of imprisonment. 

Our position was at once absurd and extremely serious. To do himjustice, Mr. '--' at once agreed that there could be no question ofdelivering up Margit: the penalty of her offence, if proved to thesatisfaction of the Chinese magistrates, being--I can hardly bringmyself to write it--nothing short of strangulation. He could onlypromise to accept for the while the risks of delay and do his utmost tobribe the magistrates into compromising the matter for a small fine. 

He proved as good as his word. For five weeks the _Macartney_ lay atanchor without discharging a pennyweight of her cargo; and every daybrought a new threat, edict, or proclamation. At the end of the firstweek the security merchant was allowed to send his agents to offer areward of 10, 000 dollars to any man of our crew who would swear tohaving seen the Englishwoman strike the deceased. The agents conductedtheir parley from a boat, and only made off on being threatened with abucket of slops. I kept the ship's guns loaded, and set on a doublewatch, night and day. His wife's peril threw Obed into a state ofapprehension so pitiable that I began to fear for his mind. Margit, onthe other hand, behaved with the coolest composure: and I had sometrouble in persuading her to remain below decks and out of sight. She relied cheerfully on us and on the crew, every man of whom she hadbound to her (I suppose by her remarkable beauty) in the completestloyalty. 

In five weeks Mr. '--' had spent at least as many thousands of pounds; andstill matters were at a stand when, one day, Mr. Tomlinson reported aboat under our quarter demanding speech with us. I went to the side andsaw a tall lank-haired man, in a suit of white duck, standing in thestern-sheets with the tiller-lines in his hands. 

"No pigtail on me, Cap!" he bawled. "I'm Oliphant Q. Wills, of theAmerican barque _Independence_: and I want to come aboard. " He pointedto his vessel, which had entered the river soon after us, and now lay, ready for sea, two cables distant from us. 

I saw no reason for refusing; and in less than a minute he came runningup the ladder, and introduced himself again. "Business, " said he; so Iled him to my cabin. 

"Hullo!" said he, looking over the floor. "I observe you don't chew. "He glanced at the stern-window. I opened it. Our talk then ran asfollows:

Capt. W. "I've come to trade. "

Self. "Then you have come, sir, to a very bad ship. "

Capt. W. "I allowed you would say that. I know all about it, and came in consequence. I never miss a chance. "

Self. "You wish to buy, of course. "

Capt. W. "Not at all. I'm here to sell. "

Self. "What, pray?"

Capt. W. "A half-hogshead cask of pretty ordinary Geneva: _with_ a Dutchwoman inside. "

Self. "Now, where on earth could you have picked that up?"

Capt. W. (spitting out of window). "In latitude 28 degrees; in a flat calm; off a Dutch East Indiaman. The name I have at home on a bit of paper: you shall have it as warranty with the cask. The captain was drunk, and I traded with the mate. I never miss a chance. The mate said nothing of the woman inside. I believe her to be his captain's wife, preserved for burial ashore. This is painful for me to speak about; for I had the worst of the deal, and such is not my reputation. But I allowed I would sell that cask at a profit if I carried it around for a hundred years. "

Self. "What do you ask?"

Capt. W. "Well, I have been enquiring of Mr. '--', your Chief Factor here; and he tells me that your brother, Mr. Obed Lanyon, was with Cook and Vancouver, and knows the coast from Cape Flattery northwards and round by the Aleutians like the palm of his hand. Now it happens I have business up there among the Russian settlements--part trade, part exploring-- I needn't say more, for the United States' Government didn't send me to tell secrets. A man like your brother would be money in my pocket all the way: and at the end of the job I would undertake to deliver him and his wife safely at any American port within reason, with money to take them home like princes, and a trifle over. I'm a square man: and if I weren't, you couldn't be in a worse fix than you are. "

"I think, " said I, "if you do not mind waiting a few minutes, we willtrade, Mr. Wills. " With this I went on deck and hoisted my privatesignal for Mr. '--', who came alongside in less than half-an-hour. He was a practical man, and at once saw the prospect of escape held outby the American's offer, ridiculous as it may seem to those who knowlittle of Chinese law and custom. Indeed one of the magistrates hadfrankly appealed to Mr. '--' to hire a substitute for Margit among thenegro women at Macao: and our friend engaged that by spending a fewhundred additional dollars he would get the Dutchwoman's corpse acceptedas full discharge for the offence, provided that Mrs. Lanyon could besmuggled out of the Canton River. This Captain Wills readily undertookto do. Mr. '--' then suggested that his negotiations would be madeeasier by the disappearance of all implicated in the scuffle--i. E. Mr. Tomlinson and myself, as well as Obed and Mrs. Lanyon. Mr. Findlater, my first officer, could take command and work the_Macartney_ home; and Mr. '--' engaged to make our case right with theCompany, though at the cost to me of the indirect profits which acommander looks to make from a homeward voyage. We discussed this forsome while, and in the end agreed to it. Captain Wills, beingshort-handed, was even generous enough to offer me a small sum for myservices in assisting him with the navigation. 

To be short, all was arranged. That same night a boat from the_Independence_ brought the famous cask of Geneva alongside, and took usfour English people in exchange, and by 4 a. M. We were under weigh andheading for the open sea. 

The _Independence_ steered through the Formosa Strait, across theEastern Sea, and on the 25th of July entered the bay of Nangasaki underRussian colours, which she thenceforth continued to fly. Like mostEuropean captains, our American kept his straightforward dealing forcertain races only. He produced his trading articles: but the Japanesewanted nothing, and demanded to know what brought him there?He answered that he wanted water and fresh provisions (we had a plentyof both), and to prove it, ordered several butts to be started, andbrought empty on deck. This was enough for the hospitable Japanese; whonext day brought supplies of hogs, fish, and vegetables, for which theyasked no payment; besides four dozen large tubs of water, which CaptainWills emptied on deck, stopping the scuppers, and removing the plugs atnight so that the water might not be perceived. On the fourth day wegot under weigh again; our deluded friends even going so far in kindnessas to tow us out of the bay, and parting from us with cheers and muchwaving of hats and hands. 

From Nangasaki we made for Kamschatka and thence for the AleutianIslands and the American coast. On his way Captain Wills sedulouslyprosecuted the business for which his vessel had been chartered by theRussian American Company, and distributed his cargo of nankeens, silks, tea, sugar, etc. , among the Russian settlements dotted among theislands. So far, Obed's services had been in little request: and I, too, had leisure to observe and wonder at a certain remarkable changethat had come over Margit--as it seemed to me, from the time of ourentering the parallels above 50 degrees. Her usual calm bearing hadgiven way to succeeding fits of restlessness and apathy. At times shewould sit dejected for hours together; at others, she would walk thedeck without pause, her cloak thrown open to the cold wind, which sheseemed to drink like a thirsty creature. One day, the vessel beingawkwardly becalmed within a mile of an ugly-looking iceberg, herexcitement rose to something like a frenzy. The weather being hazy, Obed--who was busy with the captain taking soundings--asked me to runbelow for his glass; and there I almost fell Over Margit, who lay on thecabin floor, her whole body writhing, her hands tightly clenched upon ahandkerchief which she had torn to rags. Of course I asked what ailedher, and offered to bring help, medicines, anything. She rose inconfusion. 'It was a pain at the heart, ' she said; 'nothing more: itwould quickly pass: the cold brought it on, she thought. I would obligeher by going away; and, above all, by saying nothing to Obed. '

To what extent Obed remarked the change, I cannot tell. He now began tobe pretty busy with his soundings and sketches of the coast. We hadleft Kadjak on the 9th of October, and on the last day of the month werecruising off Queen Charlotte's Island. So far, considering the latenessof the season, we had enjoyed remarkable weather. The natives, too, were friendly beyond expectation. The sight of our vessel brought themoff in great numbers and at times we had as many as a hundred canoesabout us, the largest holding perhaps a dozen, some armed with muskets, but the most with lances and forks pointed with stags' antlers and akind of scimetar made of whale-rib. We suffered but two or threepersons to board us at a time, and traded with them for dried fish, sea-otters, beaver and reindeer skins. A string of glass beads (bluewas the favourite colour) would buy a salmon of 20 pounds weight: butfor beaver they would take nothing less valuable than China stuffs. 

Obed had warned us against the natives of Queen Charlotte's Island, aslikely to prove stronger and less friendly than any we had encountered. We felt a reasonable anxiety, therefore, when, almost as soon as wesighted the island, a thick fog came up with some wind and a heavy swellfrom the south and hid the coast completely. This lasted until November2nd at daybreak, when the weather lifted and we saw land at about eightmiles' distance. Unhappily the wind dropped at once, while the motionof the waves continued, and our sails being useless, we found ourselvesdrifting rapidly shoreward with the set of the current. In the heightof our dismay, however, a breeze sprang up from the north-west, and weworked off. 

But we were over-hasty in blessing this breeze, which before midnightgrew to a violent gale: and for two days we drove before it in muchdistress--Obed and I taking turns at conning the ship, since CaptainWills had received an awkward blow between the shoulders from theswinging of a loose block, and lay below in considerable pain andoccasionally spitting blood, which made us fear some inward hurt. During the night of the 4th, the wind moderated; but the weather turningthick again, we were hardly reassured. 

Early on the 6th Captain Wills appeared once more on deck and sent mebelow to get some sleep. I believe indeed that, had fate allowed, Icould have slept round the clock. But at ten that morning a violentshock pitched me clean out of my berth. The _Independence_ was aground. 

The place of our shipwreck you will find in 47 degrees 66 minutes N. Lat. , between Vancouver's Cape Flattery and the mouth of the ColumbiaRiver, but nearer to the former. Luckily the _Independence_ had run inupon soft ground and at high water: so that when the tide dropped shestill held together, though badly shaken and gaping in all her lowerseams. To save her was out of the question. We therefore made the bestof our way ashore in the dense fog, taking with us all our guns and thebest part of our ammunition, as well as provisions and a quantity ofsails and spars for rigging up tents. On no side of us could we seefurther than twenty paces. Of the inhabitants of this dreary spot--ifindeed it had inhabitants--we knew nothing. So we first of all cleanedand loaded our firearms, and then set to work to light a fire and erecta shelter. We had done better, as it turned out, to have divided ourcompany, and told off a fairly strong party to protect the ship. As itwas, Captain Wills remained on board with three men to cut away and takedown some of the heavier tackling. 

We had set up one tent and were at work on the second, when I heard anexclamation from Margit, who stood by the big cauldron, a few paces off, cooking our dinner of salt pork. Looking up I saw a ring of savages allabout us on the edge of the fog. 

They were brown undersized men, clothed for the most part in dirtyblankets and armed with short lances shod with iron, though one or twocarried muskets. These last I soon discovered to be toens, or elders, of the tribe. They stood and observed us with great gravity (indeed inall my acquaintance with them I never knew one to smile) and inabsolute silence. I could not tell how many the fog concealed. They made no aggressive movement. 

I called to Margit, bidding her leave the cauldron and walk quietlytowards us; and she did so. Almost at once a savage thrust his lanceinto the pot, drew out our dinner on the end of it, and laid it on thesand. One of the toens then cut up the pork with his knife and handedthe portions round, retaining a large lump for himself. 

Seeing this, some of our men were for hostilities: but I restrainedthem and we made our meal from a barrel of biscuit, eating in silencewhile the natives chewed away at the pork. The meal over, we fell towork and finished the second tent without opposition, though curiositydrew some of our visitors so near as to hamper the workmen. When thrustaside they showed no resentment, but after a minute drew near again andimpeded us as badly as ever. 

Towards nightfall the main body drew off--whither, the fog did notreveal: but one or two entered the tents with us, hung around while wesupped, and without the least invitation stretched themselves down tosleep. I own that this impudence tried my temper sorely, and Obed--theonly one of us who knew some scraps of the language of these Indians--went so far as to remonstrate with them. But if they understood, theygave no sign of understanding: and we resolved to forbear from violence, at least so long as Captain Wills and his three comrades remained awayfrom our main body and exposed to any vengeance these savages mightwreak. 

And our fears for the Captain were justified about 4 a. M. By a report offirearms in the direction of the ship. I sprang to the door and waved atorch, and in a minute or so our comrades came running in through ashower of stones and lances, several of which struck the tents. The natives, it appeared, had attempted to plunder the ship. At greatrisk Obed ran out to seek one of the toens and reason with him: but themischief happened too quickly. Some of our men caught up their musketsand fired. Our assailants at once broke up and fled; and half-a-dozenof us charged down to the water's edge, where we saw a score and morewith torches, busily setting fire to the ship. They too dispersedbefore us, leaving two of their number dead on the field and carryingoff several wounded. But we came too late to save the _Independence_, which was already ablaze in a dozen different places; nor could we makeany effort against the flames, for we knew not how sorely we might bewanted at the tents. 

So we returned and spent the rest of the night in great discomfort, theblaze of the ship colouring the fog all around, but showing us nothing. Soon after daybreak the weather lifted a little, and what we sawdiscouraged us yet further. For, except the beach on which we wereencamped, we found the whole coast covered with thick forest to thewater's edge; while our boats, in which we might have made shift toescape, had been either fired or taken off by the savages. At 10 a. M. , therefore, Captain Wills called a council of war, and informed us thathe could think of no better plan than to push on for a harbour(its name, if I mistake not, was Gray's Harbour) lying about seventymiles to the southward, where a ship of the Company was due to callearly in the spring. Obed remembered it, and added that the journeymight be quickly made, since his map showed no creek or river thatpromised to impede us, and the Indians were not likely to annoy us whilethe camp and the remains of the barque afforded any plunder. Accordingly we packed up, and having destroyed what muskets and weaponswe did not want and thrown our spare gunpowder into the sea, shortlyafter noon began our march through the forest. 

We were nineteen persons in all: and each of us carried two muskets, apistol and some pounds of ammunition, besides his share of theprovisions. The only ones more lightly laden were Margit and CaptainWills. The latter, indeed, could with pain manage to walk at all, andso clogged the pace of the party that we made but eight miles beforenight-fall, when we halted in an open space, set watches, and passed thenight with no more discomfort than came from the severe cold. 

In the morning we started early and made a good ten miles before noon. The Captain now seemed at the end of his powers and we allowed him anhour's rest while we cleaned our firearms. Margit gave no sign offatigue: but I observed that she walked alone and in silence. Indeedshe had scarcely spoken since our shipwreck. 

The ground chosen for our halt lay about mid-way down a stiff slope bywhich the forest descended to the sea, visible here and there betweenthe stems of the trees below us. Shortly before two o'clock, when wewere preparing to start again, a big stone came crashing down among ourstores; and, as we scattered in alarm, two or three others followed. Looking up, I caught sight of a couple of Indians on the crest of theslope, and fired off my rifle to frighten them. They desisted at once:but to prevent further annoyance we made for the crest, where the rockyground made walking difficult, so that we added but another five milesor so before nightfall. 

During this night the wind rose, and at length it blew and snowed sohard as to drive us off the ridge. Luckily, however, one of the mendiscovered a shallow cave in the hillside, and here we huddled andcontinued all the next day and night, waiting for the storm to abate;which no sooner happened than we were assailed again by a perfectbombardment of big stones. These, however, flew harmlessly over ourshelter. 

I was dozing at daybreak on the 10th when a seaman named Hogue woke meand called my attention to the Captain. He was stiff and cold, and haddied in the night without complaint and, as far as could be learnt, without sound. The rain of stones not being resumed with daylight, weleft his body in the cave, and pushed on over the snow in sad and sorrycondition: for our provisions now began to run short. 

Obed assumed the lead, with the consent of all. Once or twice in thecourse of the morning I observed him to pause, as if listening. The cause of this became apparent at about one in the afternoon, when I, too, heard the sound of running water: and an hour later we halted onthe edge of a broad valley, with a swift stream running through it, black between banks of snow, and on the near bank a few huts and a crowdof three hundred Indians at least. 

They had already caught sight of us: so we judged it better to advance, after looking to our arms. We were met by a toen (the same that had cutup the pork) and a chief of taller stature and pleasanter features thanwe had hitherto happened on in the country. It now appeared that theprevious silence of these people had been deliberate: for the toen atonce began to talk in a language fairly intelligible to Obed. He proposed to supply us with boats to cross the river, if we would giveup our muskets in payment. This, of course, we refused: but offeredhim the whole collection of beads and trinkets that we had brought withus in the hope of trafficking for food. After some haggling--to whichthe handsome chief, Yootramaki, listened with seeming disdain--the toenundertook to let us have the boats; and presently one appeared, paddledby three naked savages. As this would barely hold a dozen passengers, we begged for another, that we might all cross together. The toencomplied, and sent a second, but much smaller boat. In these we allowedourselves to be distributed--Obed and I with ten others in the larger, and Margit with five seamen in the smaller. 

The boats pushed out into the stream, the larger leading. The currentran deep and swift: and when, about half-way across, the nearest savageceased paddling, I supposed he did so that the others on the starboardside might more easily bring the bows round to it. Before one couldguess his true intention he had stooped and whipped out a plug from theboat's bottom, at the same time calling to his comrades, who leapt upand flung themselves overboard. The next moment he was after them, andthe whole party swimming to shore. The current swept us down andcarried us so near to a spit of the shore we had left, that the savages, who now pelted us with arrows, succeeded in killing one seaman, andwounding four others: but here most fortunately it set right across forthe opposite bank, where we contrived to land just as our boat sankbeneath us. Those in the smaller boat, however, fell into our enemy'shands, who clubbed the five seamen on the head, sparing only Margit; andthen, supposing our muskets to be wet and useless, crossed over in acanoe to attack us. 

But as Providence would have it, we had four muskets left dry--theybeing slung round us in bandoliers--and the greater part of our powderunspoiled. We met the foe with a volley which disposed of three andsank the canoe. The survivors swam for it, and I dare say reachedshore. A second canoe put off, and from the bows of it the rascallytoen (cause of all this misfortune, as we deemed) hailed Obed andoffered to let us go in peace and even restore Margit if we wouldsurrender our firearms. 

I think the coldest heart must have pitied my poor brother then. He paced the bank like a mad creature, silent, directing the mostagonised looks at his comrades and at me in particular. We turned ourfaces aside; for his wishes were madness, yet we were asking him tosacrifice what was dearest to him in the world. In his distraction thenhe tore off most of his clothes, and piling them in a heap besought thetoen to take them for the ransom; and we too stripped and stood all butnaked, adding our prayers to his. But the scoundrel, without regard ofour offering, spoke to his men, and was paddled away. 

I will pass over the hour that followed. We quieted Obed's ravings atlength; or rather, they ceased out of pure exhaustion. We were allstarving in fact, and the food left in our wallets would not keep a catalive for another forty-eight hours. Retiring to a clump of firs about100 yards back from the river's bank, we scooped a hole in the snow andentrenched ourselves as well as we could for the night. Some of usmanaged to sleep a little; the others tried to allay the pangs of hungerby chewing their musket-covers, the sponges on their ramrods, even theirboot-soles. 

At midnight came my turn for watching. In my weakness I may have dozed, or perhaps was light-headed. At any rate, turning after some time toglance at the sleepers, I missed Obed. An ugly suspicion seized me; Icounted the muskets. Two of these were missing. After shaking one of thesleepers by the elbow and bidding him watch, I leaped over our lowbreastwork and ran towards the river in the track of my brother'sfootsteps. Almost as I started, a flash and a report of a musket rightahead changed the current of my fears. By the light of the young moon Isaw two figures struggling and rolling together on the river's brink. They were Obed and our peculiar enemy, the toen. The body of a deadIndian lad was stretched some ten paces off beside a small canoe whichlay moored by the bank. 

Our comrades came running up as I flung myself into the struggle, and wequickly secured the toen. I believe Obed would have killed him. "Don't be a fool!" said I; "cannot you see that we now have a hostagefor Margit?" I ought at the same time to have begged his pardon for mysuspicions. As the reader already knows, Obed had a far keener ear thanI, and it had warned him of the canoe's approach. It turned outafterwards that the toen had planned this little reconnoitringexpedition on his own account, and on the chance perhaps of filching amusket or two. 

We quickly laid our plans; and at daybreak flung my gentleman, boundhand and foot, into his own canoe, which Obed and I paddled intomid-stream, while our party stood on the bank and watched. The villageopposite seemed deserted: but at Obed's hail an Indian woman ran out ofthe largest hut, and returning, must have summoned the good-lookingchief Yootramaki; who emerged in a minute or so, and came slowly downthe bank. By this time several groups of Indians had gathered and stoodlooking on, in all perhaps eighty or a hundred people. 

Obed pointed to our prisoner and made his demand. I understood him toask for the immediate ransom of Margit, and a supply of salmon and otherprovisions to take us on our journey. The chief stood considering for awhile; then spoke to a native boy, who ran to the house; and in a minuteor so Margit herself appeared, with the native woman who had first takenword of us. She came down the bank, and Yootramaki signed to Obed toaddress her; which he did. 

"Margit, " said he, pointing to the toen, "I believe that in thisscoundrel here God has provided a way out of all our troubles. We caught him last night, and have brought him along as ransom for you. But stand close to the water and be ready to jump for the boat if theymean treachery. Edom and I will see that you come to no harm. "

"My dear husband, " she answered, very quiet and slow, "I think you arewasting your time. I am sorry, but I shall not go with you. "

Obed turned a dazed look on me, and then, supposing he had not heardaright, began again--

"Stand close by the water, and jump when I give the word. All maydepend on your quickness--only be bold, my dear. I will explain after. "

"But it is I that must explain. I am not going with you: really I amnot. "

Obed turned again to me, this time with wide eyes. "God of mercy!" hecried hoarsely; "her troubles have driven her mad!"

Margit heard. "Oh no, " she said; "I am not mad. The chief here hastaken me: he seems to be the most powerful man in this tribe, and atleast he is kind. I should be mad, rather, to wander with you throughthe forests, and in the end fall into worse hands, or perhaps die ofstarvation or cold. I do not want to be frozen--again. Go away now, when you have bartered the man there for food. You have been very goodto me, but this cannot be helped. "

Obed lifted his gun: then lowered it. "Dom, " he muttered, "can youshoot her? I cannot!"

I was using all my strength, just then, to keep paddling the canoeagainst the current. I caught a glimpse of our comrades on the furtherbank: and then exactly what happened I know not. Perhaps Margit, havinggiven her answer, turned back towards the house. At any rate, shrillycrying her name, Obed sprang up and discharged his musket. The shotwent wide. With a second furious cry he stooped, caught up the helplesstoen, and held him high in air. The canoe lurched heavily, and the nextinstant I was in the water. 

I never saw Obed again: and the toen must have gone down like a stone. For me, I struck out for the far shore, but the current swept me down onthe sandy spit where we had nearly come to shipwreck, the day before. Several Indians had gathered there. One ran into the water, waist-high, lifting a club. I turned and made a last effort to swim from him, buthe flung himself on my back and bore me under. 

I recovered to find myself in an Indian hut. Margit had persuaded themto spare me, and I was now, in name at least, a slave in Yootramaki'spossession. As a matter of fact, however, I was allowed to do prettymuch as I liked; and my employment (absurd as it may sound) for the mostpart consisted in designing kites and other toys for the natives, who inmind and disposition resemble children rather than grown people--sullenand rather vicious children, I should say. 

I believe that Obed's body never came to land. Panic-stricken by hisdeath (I was told), our surviving comrades turned and fled into thewoods: and from that hour no more was heard of them. Probably theyperished of weariness and hunger; it is at least unlikely in the extremethat they found their way back among civilised men. 

Though I accompanied my master and his household northward to thevillage near Cape Flattery, where his chief residence lay, and remainedmore than three months in his service, I could never obtain speech withMargit. But I have reason to believe she accepted her new life withabsolute contentment. No doubt, though, she found the sight of me anirksome reminder: and one day early in April Yootramaki took me asideand promised me my liberty if I would travel with him as far as theStrait, where an American brig had lately arrived. Of course I acceptedhis offer with gratitude; and we set forth next day. The captain ofthis brig (the _Cordelia_) was a Mr. Best, and his business in thoseparts seemed to consist in trading old American muskets in exchange forfurs and dried fish. The Indians have no notion of repairing a gunwhich has got out of order, and Captain Best actually carried a gunsmithon board, whose knowledge enabled him to buy up at one place all theguns that wanted repairing, and sell them as new pieces at another. 

It only remains to add that the _Cordelia_ conveyed me to Valparaiso, whence I shipped for England, reaching the Downs in safety on the 4th ofApril, 1809. 

[1] Shelter from the wind. [2] Farmyard. 

THE SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF A SMALL FREE-TRADER

[_The events which are to be narrated happened in the spring of 1803, and just before the rupture of the Peace of Amiens between our countryand France; but were related to my grandfather in 1841 by one Yann, orJean, Riel, a Breton "merchant, " alias smuggler--whether or not adescendant of the famous Herve of that name, I do not know. He chancedto fall ill while visiting some friends in the small Cornishfishing-town, of which my grandfather was the only doctor; and this isone of a number of adventures recounted by him during his convalescence. I take it from my grandfather's MSS. , but am not able, at this distanceof time, to learn how closely it follows the actual words of thenarrator. 

Smuggling in 1841 was scotched, but certainly not extinct, and the visitof M. Riel to his old customers was, as likely as not, connected withbusiness. --Q. ]

"_Item, of the Cognac 25 degrees above proof, according to sample in thelittle green flask, 144 ankers at 4 gallons per anker, at 5s. 6d. Pergallon, the said ankers to be ready slung for horse-carriage. _"

"Now may the mischief fly away with these English!" cried my father, towhom my mother was reading the letter aloud. "It costs a man a workingday, with their gallons and sixpences, to find out of how much they meanto rob him at the end of it. "

"_Item, 2 ankers of colouring stuff at 4 gallons per anker, price asusual. The place to be as before, under Rope Hauen, east side ofBlackhead, unless warned: and a straight run. Come close in, any windbut easterly, and can load up horses alongside. March 24th or 25th willbe best, night tides suiting, and no moon. Horses will be there: twofenced lights, pilchard-store and beach, showing S 1/4 E to E S E. Get them in line. Same pay for freighting, and crew 17l. Per man, beinga straight run, _"

"And little enough, " was my father's comment. 

"_Item, 15 little wooden dolls, jointed at the knees and elbows, thesame as tante Yvonne used to sell for two sols at Saint Pol de Leon--_. "

"'Fifteen little wooden dolls'! 'Fifteen little woo--'. " My fatherdropped into his chair, and sat speechless, opening and shutting hismouth like a fish. 

"It is here in black and white, " said my mother. I found the letter, years after, in her kist. It was written, as were all the letters wereceived from this Cornish venturer, in a woman's hand, small anddelicate, with upstrokes like spider's thread; written in French, too, quite easy and careless. My mother held it close to the window. "'Fifteen little wooden dolls, '" she repeated, "'jointed at the kneesand elbows. '"

"Well, I've gone to sea with all sorts, from Admiral Brueys upwards; butfifteen little wooden dolls--jointed--at--the--knees!"

"I know the sort, " I put in from the hearth, where my mother had set meto watch the _bouillon_. "You can get as many as you like in the verynext street, and at two sols apiece. I will look to that part of thecargo. "

"You, for example? . . . "

"Yes, I; since you promised to take me on the very next voyage after Iwas twelve. "

"But that's impossible. This is a straight run, as they call it, andnot a mere matter of sinking the crop. "

"And next time, " I muttered bitterly, "we shall be at war with Englandagain, and then it will be the danger of privateers--always one excuseor another!"

My mother sighed as she looked out of window towards the Isle de Batz. I had been coaxing her half the morning, and she had promised me to saynothing. 

Well, the result was that I went. My father's lugger carried twelvehands--I counted myself, of course; and indeed my father did the samewhen it came to charging for the crew. Still, twelve was not anout-of-the-way number, since in these _chasse-marees_ one must lower andrehoist the big sails at every fresh tack. As it happened, however, wehad a fair wind right across from Roscoff, and made a good landfall ofthe Dodman at four in the afternoon, just twenty hours after starting. This was a trifle too early for us; so we dowsed sail, to escape notice, and waited for nightfall. As soon as it grew dark, we lowered the twotub-boats we carried--one on davits and the other inboard--and loadedthem up and started to pull for shore, leaving two men behind on thelugger. My father steered the first boat, and I the other, keepingclose in his wake--and a proud night that was for me! We had three goodmiles between us and shore; but the boats were mere shells and pulledlight even with the tubs in them. So the men took it easy. I reckonthat it was well past midnight before we saw the two lights which theletter had promised. 

After this everything went easily. The beach at Rope Hauen issteep-to; and with the light breeze there was hardly a ripple on it. On a rising tide we ran the boats in straight upon the shingle; and inless than a minute the kegs were being hove out. By the light of thelantern on the beach I could see the shifting faces of the crowd, andthe troop of horses standing behind, quite quiet, shoulder to shoulder, shaved from forelock to tail, all smooth and shining with grease. I hadheard of these Cornish horses, and how closely they were clipped; butthese beat all I had ever imagined. I could see no hair on them; and Isaw them quite close; for in the hurry each horse, as his turn came, wasrun out alongside the boat; the man who led him standing knee-deep untilthe kegs were slung across by the single girth. As soon as this wasdone, a slap on the rump sent the beast shoreward, and the man scrambledout after him. There was scarcely any talk, and no noise except thatcaused by the wading of men and horses. 

Now all this time I carried my parcel of little dolls in a satchel slungat my shoulder, and was wondering to whom I ought to deliver it. I knewa word or two of English, picked up from the smugglers that used to becommon as skate at Roscoff in those days; so I made shift to ask one ofthe men alongside where the freighter might be. As well as I could makeout, he said that the freighter was not on the beach; but he pointed toa tall man standing beside the lantern and gave me to understand thatthis was the "deputy. " So I slipped over the gunwale and waded ashoretowards him. 

As I came near, the man moved out of the light, and strolled away intothe darkness to the left, I don't know upon what errand. I ran afterhim, as I thought, but missed him. I stood still to listen. This sideof the track was quite deserted, but the noise of the runners behind me, though not loud, was enough to confuse the sound of his footsteps. After a moment, though, I heard a slight scraping of shingle, and ranforward again--plump against the warm body of some living thing. 

It was a black mare, standing here close under the cliff, with the kegsready strapped upon her. I saw the dark forms of other horses behind, and while I patted the mare's shoulder, and she turned her head to sniffand nuzzle me, another horse came up laden from the water and joined thetroop behind, no man leading or following. The queer thing about mymare, though, was that her coat had no grease on it like the others, butwas close and smooth as satin, and her mane as long as a colt's. She seemed so friendly that I, who had never sat astride a horse in mylife, took a sudden desire to try what it felt like. So I walked round, and finding a low rock on the other side, I mounted it and laid my handson her mane. 

On this she backed a foot or two and seemed uneasy, then turned hermuzzle and sniffed at my leg. "I suppose, " thought I, "a Cornish horsewon't understand my language. " But I whispered to her to be quiet, andquiet she was at once. I found that the tubs, being slung high, madequite a little cradle between them. "Just a moment, " I told myself, "and then I'll slip off and run back to the boat"; and twining thefingers of my left hand in her mane, I took a spring and landed my smallperson prone between the two kegs, with no more damage than a barkedshin-bone. 

And at that very instant I heard a shrill whistle and many sudden criesof alarm; and a noise of shouting and galloping across the beach; andwas raising my head to look when the mare rose too, upon her hind legs, and with the fling of her neck caught me a blow on the nose that made mesee stars. And then long jets of fire seemed to mingle with the stars, and I heard the _pop-pop_ of pistol-shots and more shouting. 

But before this we were off and away--I still flat on the mare's back, with a hand in her mane and my knees wedged against the tubs; away andgalloping for the head of the beach, with the whole troop of ladenhorses pounding at our heels. I could see nothing but the loom of thecliff ahead and the white shingle underfoot; and I thought of nothingbut to hold on--and well it was that I did, for else the horses behindhad certainly trampled me flat in the darkness. But all the while Iheard shouting, louder and louder, and now came more pounding of hoofsalongside, or a little ahead, and a tall man on horseback sprang out ofthe night, and, cannoning against the mare's shoulder, reached out ahand to catch her by rein, mane, or bridle. I should say that we racedin this way, side by side, for ten seconds or so. I could see the giltbuttons twinkling on his sleeve as he reached past my nose, and findingneither bit nor rein, laid his hand at length right on top of mine. Ibelieve that, till then, the riding-officer--it was he, for the nexttime I saw a riding-officer I recognised the buttons--had no guess ofanyone's being on the mare's back. But instead of the oath that Iexpected, he gave a shrill scream, and his arm dropped, for the mare hadturned and caught it in her teeth, just above the elbow. The nextmoment she picked up her stride again, and forged past him. As hedropped back, a bullet or two sang over us, and one went _ping!_ intothe right-hand keg. But I had no time to be afraid, for the mare's neckrose again and caught me another sad knock on the nose as she heavedherself up the cliff-track, and now I had work to grip the edge of thekeg, and twine my left hand tighter in her mane to prevent myselfslipping back over her tail, and on to those deadly hoofs. Up we went, the loose stones flying behind us into the bushes right and left. Farther behind I heard the scrambling of many hoofs, but whether of thetub-carriers or the troopers' horses it was not for me to guess. Themare knew, however, for as the slope grew easier, she whinnied andslackened her pace to give them time to come up. This also gave me achance to shift my seat a bit, for the edges of the kegs were nipping mycalves cruelly. The beach below us was like the wicked place in apriest's sermon--black as pitch and full of cursing--and by this timeall alive with lanterns; but they showed us nothing. There was no morefiring, though, and I saw no lights out at sea, so I hoped my father hadmanaged to push off and make for the lugger. 

We were now on a grassy down at the head of the cliff, and my mare, after starting again at a canter which rattled me abominably, passedinto an easy gallop. I declare that except for my fears--and now, asthe chill of the wind bit me, I began to be horribly afraid--it was likeswinging in a hammock to the pitch of a weatherly ship. I was not indread of falling, either; for her heels fell so lightly on the turf thatthey persuaded all fear of broken bones out of the thought of falling;but I _was_ in desperate dread of those thundering tub-carriers justbehind, who seemed to come down like a black racing wave right on top ofus, and to miss us again and again by a foot or less. The _weight_ ofthem on this wide, empty down--that was the nightmare we seemed to berunning from. 

We passed through an open gate, then another; then out upon hard roadfor half-a-mile or so (but I can tell you nothing of the actual distanceor the pace), and then through a third gate. All the gates stood open;had been left so on purpose, of course; and the grey granite side-postswere my only mile-stones throughout the journey. Every mortal thing wasstrange as mortal thing could be. Here I was, in a foreign land I hadnever seen in my life, and could not see now; on horseback for the firsttime in my life; and going the dickens knew whither, at the dickens knewwhat pace; in much certain and more possible danger; alone, and withoutspeech to explain myself when--as I supposed must happen sooner orlater--my runaway fate should shoot me among human folk. And overhead--this seemed the oddest thing of all--shone the very same stars that wereused to look in at my bedroom window over Roscoff quay. My mother hadtold me once that these were millions of miles away, and that peoplelived in them; and it came into my head as a monstrous queer thing thatthese people should be keeping me in view, and my own folk so far awayand lost to me. 

But the stars, too, began to grow faint; and little by little the fieldsand country took shape around us--plough, and grass, and plough again;then hard road, and a steep dip into a valley where branches met overthe lane and scratched the back of my head as I ducked it; then amoorland rising straight in front, and rounded hills with the daylighton them. And as I saw this, we were dashing over a granite bridge andthrough a whitewashed street, our hoofs drumming the villagers up fromtheir beds. Faces looked out of windows and were gone, like scraps of adream. But just beyond the village we passed an old labourer trudgingto his work, and he jumped into the hedge and grinned as we went by. 

We were climbing the moor now, at a lopping gallop that set the packetof dolls bob-bobbing on my back to a sort of tune. The horses behindwere nearly spent, and the sweat had worked their soaped hides into acomplete lather. But the mare generalled them all the while; andstriking on a cart-track beyond the second rise of the moor, slowed downto a walk, wheeled round and scanned the troop. As they struggled upshe whinnied loudly. A whistle answered her far down the lane, and atthe sound of it she was off again like a bird. 

The track led down into a hollow, some acres broad, like a saucerscooped between two slopes of the moor; and in the middle of it--justlow enough to be hidden from the valley beneath--stood a whitewashedfarmhouse, with a courtlege in front and green-painted gate; and by thisgate three persons watched us as we came--a man and two women. 

The man by his dress was plainly a farmer; and catching sight of me, hecalled out something I could not understand, and turned towards thewoman beside him, whom I took to be his wife. But the other woman, whostood some paces away, was a very different person--tall and slight, like a lady; grey-haired, and yet not seeming old; with long white handsand tiny high-heeled shoes, and dressed in black silk, with a lace shawlcrossed over her shoulders, and a silver whistle hanging from her neck. She came forward, holding out a handful of sugar, and spoke to the mare, if you'll believe me, in my very own Breton. 

"Good Lilith!" said she. "Ah, what a mess for me to groom! See what acoat! Good Lilith!" Then, as Lilith munched the sugar--"Who are you, little boy? I never saw you before. Explain yourself, kindly, littleboy. "

"My name is Yann, " said I; "Yann Riel. I am from Roscoff, and--O howtired, madame!"

"He is Breton! He speaks the Breton!" She clapped her hands, drew medown from my seat, and kissed me on both cheeks. 

"Yann, you shall sleep now--this instant. Tell me only how you came--aword or two--that I may repeat to the farmer. "

So I did my best, and told her about the run, and the dragoons on thebeach, and how I came on Lilith's back. 

"Wonderful, wonderful! But how came she to allow you?"

"That I know not, madame. But when I spoke to her she was quiet atonce. "

"In the Breton--you spoke in the Breton? Yes, yes, that explains--_I_taught her. Dear Lilith!" She patted the mare's neck, and broke off toclap her hands again and interpret the tale to the farmer and his wife;and the farmer growled a bit, and then they all began to laugh. 

"He says you are a 'rumgo, ' and you had better be put to bed. But thepacket on your back--your night-shirt, I suppose? You have managed itall so complete, Yann!" And she laughed merrily. 

"It holds fifteen little wooden dolls, " said I, "jointed at the kneesand elbows; and they cost two sols apiece. "

"My little dolls--you clever boy! O you clever little boy!" She kissedme twice again. "Come, and you shall sleep, and then, when you wake, you shall see. "

She took me by the hand and hurried me into the house, and upstairs to agreat bedroom with a large oaken four-post bed in it, and a narrowwooden bed beside, and a fire lit, and an arm-chair by the hearth. The four-post bed had curtains of green damask, all closely pinnedaround it, and a green valance. But she went to the little bed, whichwas hung with pink dimity, and pulled the white sheets out of it andreplaced them with others from a great wardrobe sunk in the wall. And while I sat in the chair by the fire, munching a crust of bread andfeeling half inclined to cry and more than half inclined to sleep, sheleft me, and returned with a can of hot water and a vast night-shirt ofthe farmer's, and bade me good-night. 

"Be quick and undress, little one. " She turned at the door. "The tubsare all in hiding by this time. Good-night, Yann. "

I believe I slept as soon as my head touched the sweet-smelling pillow;and I must have slept the round of the clock before I opened my eyes, for the room was now bright with candles, and in the arm-chair by thefire sat the Breton lady sewing as if for dear life. 

But the wonder of her was that she now wore a short plain dress such asgirls wear in the convent schools in Brittany, and her grey hair wastied just like a girl's. One little foot rested on the brass fender, and the firelight played on its silver shoe-buckle. 

I coughed, to let her know that I was awake, and she looked across andnodded. 

"Almost ten o'clock, Yann, and time for you to rise and have supper. And after supper--are you sorry?--another journey for you. At midnightyou start in the gig with Farmer Ellory, who will drive you to thecoast, to a town called Fowey, where some friends of his 'in the trade'are starting for Roscoff. In six hours you will be aboard ship again;and in another twenty, perhaps, you will see your mother--and yourfather too, if he escaped clear away. In little more than a day youwill be back in Brittany. But first you must lie quite still, and Iwill show you something. "

"To be sure I will, madame. "

"You must not call me that. I am the Demoiselle Heloise Keranguin. You know St. Pol de Leon, Yann?"

"Almost as well as my own town, mademoiselle. "

"And the Convent of the Grey Nuns, on the road to Morlaix, a littlebeyond the town?"

It was on my tongue to tell her that fire and soldiery had wiped iteven with the ground, during the "Terror. " But she interrupted me. Setting down her work-basket, which was heaped high with reels andparti-coloured rags of silk, she pushed a small table over to the bigbed and loaded it with candlesticks. There were three candles alreadyalight in the room, but she lit others and set them in line--brasscandlesticks, plated candlesticks, candlesticks of chinaware--fourteencandlesticks in all, and fresh candles in each. Laying a finger on herlip, she stepped to the big bed and unfastened the corking-pins whichheld the green curtains together. As she pushed the curtains back Ilifted myself on an elbow. 

It was into a real theatre that I looked. She had transformed the wholelevel of the bed into a miniature stage, with buildings of cardboard, cleverly painted, and gardens cut out of silk and velvet and laid down, and rose-trees gummed on little sticks, and a fish-pond and brook oflooking-glass, with embroidered flowers stuck along their edges, andalong the paths (of real sand) a score of little dolls walking, alldressed in the uniform of the Grey Nuns. I declare it was so real, youcould almost hear the fountain playing, with its _jet d'eau_ oftransparent beads strung on an invisible wire. 

"But how pretty, mademoiselle!" I cried. 

She clasped her hands nervously. "But is it _like_, Yann? It is solong ago that I may have forgotten. Tell me if it is like; or if thereis anything wrong. I promise not to be offended. "

"It is exactly like, mademoiselle. "

"See, here is the Mother Superior; and this is Soeur Gabrielle. I haveto make the dresses full and stiff, or they wouldn't stand up. And that, with the blue eyes, is Soeur Hyacinthe. She walks with me--this is I--as she always did. And what do you think? With the fifteendolls that you have brought I am going to have a real Pardon, andtownspeople and fisher people to stand and worship at the altar of theVirgin, there in the corner. I made it of wax, and stamped the facewith a seal that Charles gave me. He was to have been my husband when Ileft the school. "

"Indeed, mademoiselle?"

"Yes, but the soldiers burnt his house. It was but a week after I leftthe school, and the Chateau Sant-Ervoan lay but a mile from my mother'shouse. He fled to us, wounded; and we carried him to the coast--therewas a price on his head, and we, too, had to flee--and escaped over toEngland. He died on this bed, Yann. Look--"

She lifted a candle, and there on the bed's ledge I read, in giltlettering, some words I have never forgotten, though it was not untilyears after that I got a priest to explain them to me. They were"C. DE. R. COMES ET ECSUL. MDCCXCIII. "

While I stared, she set the candle down again and gently drew thecurtains round the bed. 

"Rise now and dress, dear child, or your supper will be cold and thefarmer impatient. You have done me good. Although I have written thefarmer's letters for him, it never seemed to me that I wrote to livingpeople: for all I used to know in Brittany, ten years ago, are dead. For the future I shall write to you. "

She turned at the door as she said this, and that was the last I eversaw of her. For when I passed out of the room, dressed and ready for myjourney, it was quite dark on the landing, where she met and kissed me. Then she slipped a little packet into my hand. 

"For the dolls, " she said. 

In the kitchen I slipped it out of my pocket and examined it under thetable's edge. It was a little silver crucifix, and I have kept it tothis day. 

THE MYSTERY OF JOSEPH LAQUEDEM

_A Jew, unfortunately slain on the sands of Sheba Cove, in the parish ofRuan Lanihale, August 15, 1810: or so much of it as is hereby related bythe Rev. Endymion Trist, B. D. , then vicar of that parish, in a letter toa friend. _

My dear J--, --You are right, to be sure, in supposing that I know morethan my neighbours in Ruan Lanihale concerning the unfortunate youngman, Joseph Laquedem, and more than I care to divulge; in particularconcerning his tragical relations with the girl Julia Constantine, orJuly, as she was commonly called. The vulgar knowledge amounts tolittle more than this--that Laquedem, a young Hebrew of extraordinarycommercial gifts, first came to our parish in 1807 and settled here asmanaging secretary of a privateering company at Porthlooe; that by hisaptitude and daring in this and the illicit trade he amassed arespectable fortune, and at length opened a private bank at Porthlooeand issued his own notes; that on August 15, 1810, a forced "run" which, against his custom, he was personally supervising, miscarried, and hemet his death by a carbine-shot on the sands of Sheba Cove; and, lastly, that his body was taken up and conveyed away by the girl JuliaConstantine, under the fire of the preventive men. 

The story has even in our time received what I may call some firesideembellishments; but these are the facts, and the parish knows littlebeyond them. I (as you conjecture) know a great deal more; and yetthere is a sense in which I know nothing more. You and I, my oldfriend, have come to an age when men do not care to juggle with themysteries of another world, but knowing that the time is near when allaccounts must be rendered, desire to take stock honestly of what theybelieve and what they do not. And here lies my difficulty. On the onehand I would not make public an experience which, however honestly setdown, might mislead others, and especially the young, into rash andmischievous speculations. On the other, I doubt if it be right to keeptotal silence and withhold from devout and initiated minds any glimpseof truth, or possible truth, vouchsafed to me. As the Greek said, "Plenty are the thyrsus-bearers, but few the illuminate"; and amongthese few I may surely count my old friend. 

It was in January 1807--the year of the abominable business of Tilsit--that my churchwarden, the late Mr. Ephraim Pollard, and I, in cleaningthe south wall of Lanihale Church for a fresh coat of whitewash, discovered the frescoes and charcoal drawings, as well as the brassplaque of which I sent you a tracing; and I think not above a fortnightlater that, on your suggestion, I set to work to decipher and copy outthe old churchwardens' accounts. On the Monday after Easter, at aboutnine o'clock P. M. , I was seated in the Vicarage parlour, busilytranscribing, with a couple of candles before me, when my housekeeperFrances came in with a visiting-card, and the news that a strangerdesired to speak with me. I took the card and read "Mr. JosephLaquedem. "

"Show the gentleman in, " said I. 

Now the fact is, I had just then a few guineas in my chest, and you knowwhat a price gold fetched in 1807. I dare say that for twelve monthstogether the most of my parishioners never set eyes on a piece, and anythat came along quickly found its way to the Jews. People said thatGovernment was buying up gold, through the Jews, to send to the armies. I know not the degree of truth in this, but I had some five and twentyguineas to dispose of, and had been put into correspondence with a Mr. Isaac Laquedem, a Jew residing by Plymouth Dock, whom I understood to beoffering 25s. 6d. Per guinea, or a trifle above the price then current. 

I was fingering the card when the door opened again and admitted ayoung man in a caped overcoat and tall boots bemired high above theankles. He halted on the threshold and bowed. 

"Mr. --?"

"Joseph Laquedem, " said he in a pleasant voice. 

"I guess your errand, " said I, "though it was a Mr. Isaac Laquedem whomI expected. --Your father, perhaps?"

He bowed again, and I left the room to fetch my bag of guineas. "You have had a dirty ride, " I began on my return. 

"I have walked, " he answered, lifting a muddy boot. "I beg you topardon these. "

"What, from Torpoint Ferry? And in this weather? My faith, sir, youmust be a famous pedestrian!"

He made no reply to this, but bent over the guineas, fingering them, holding them up to the candlelight, testing their edges with histhumbnail, and finally poising them one by one on the tip of hisforefinger. 

"I have a pair of scales, " suggested I. 

"Thank you, I too have a pair in my pocket. But I do not need them. The guineas are good weight, all but this one, which is possibly acouple of grains short. "

"Surely you cannot rely on your hand to tell you that?"

His eyebrows went up as he felt in his pocket and produced a smallvelvet-lined case containing a pair of scales. He was a decidedlyhandsome young man, with dark intelligent eyes and a slightly scornful--or shall I say ironical?--smile. I took particular note of thesteadiness of his hand as he adjusted the scales and weighed my guinea. 

"To be precise, " he announced, "1. 898, or practically one andnine-tenths short. "

"I should have thought, " said I, fairly astounded, "a lifetime toolittle for acquiring such delicacy of sense!"

He seemed to ponder. "I dare say you are right, sir, " he answered, andwas silent again until the business of payment was concluded. While folding the receipt he added, "I am a connoisseur of coins, sir, and not of their weight alone. "

"Antique, as well as modern?"

"Certainly. "

"In that case, " said I, "you may be able to tell me something aboutthis": and going to my bureau I took out the brass plaque which Mr. Pollard had detached from the planks of the church wall. "To be sure, it scarcely comes within the province of numismatics. "

He took the plaque. His brows contracted, and presently he laid it onthe table, drew my chair towards him in an absent-minded fashion, and, sitting down, rested his brow on his open palms. I can recall theattitude plainly, and his bent head, and the rain still glistening inthe waves of his black hair. 

"Where did you find this?" he asked, but without looking up. 

I told him. "The engraving upon it is singular. I thought thatpossibly--"

"Oh, that, " said he, "is simplicity itself. An eagle displayed, withtwo heads, the legs resting on two gates, a crescent between, animperial crown surmounting--these are the arms of the Greek Empire, thetwo gates are Rome and Constantinople. The question is, how it camewhere you found it? It was covered with plaster, you say, and theplaster whitewashed? Did you discover anything near it?"

Upon this I told him of the frescoes and charcoal drawings, and roughlydescribed them. 

His fingers began to drum upon the table. 

"Have you any documents which might tell us when the wall was firstplastered?"

"The parish accounts go back to 1594--here they are: the Registers to1663 only. I keep them in the vestry. I can find no mention ofplastering, but the entries of expenditure on whitewashing occurperiodically, the first under the year 1633. " I turned the old pagesand pointed to the entry "_Ite paide to George mason for a dayes workabout the churche after the Jew had been, and white wassche is vjd_. "

"A Jew? But a Jew had no business in England in those days. I wonderhow and why he came. " My visitor took the old volume and ran his fingerdown the leaf, then up, then turned back a page. "Perhaps this mayexplain it, " said he. "_Ite deliued Mr. Beuill to make puision for thecompanie of a fforeste barke yt came ashoare iiis ivd_. " He broke off, with a finger on the entry, and rose. "Pray forgive me, sir; I hadtaken your chair. "

"Don't mention it, " said I. "Indeed I was about to suggest that youdraw it to the fire while Frances brings in some supper. "

To be short, although he protested he must push on to the inn atPorthlooe, I persuaded him to stay the night; not so much, I confess, from desire of his company, as in the hope that if I took him to see thefrescoes next morning he might help me to elucidate their history. 

I remember now that during supper and afterwards my guest allowed memore than my share of the conversation. He made an admirable listener, quick, courteous, adaptable, yet with something in reserve (you may callit a facile tolerance, if you will) which ended by irritating me. Young men should be eager, fervid, _sublimis cupidusque_, as I wasbefore my beard grew stiff. But this young man had the air of aspectator at a play, composing himself to be amused. There was too muchwisdom in him and too little emotion. We did not, of course, touch uponany religious question--indeed, of his own opinions on any subject hedisclosed extraordinarily little: and yet as I reached my bedroom thatnight I told myself that here, behind a mask of good manners, was one ofthose perniciously modern young men who have run through all beliefs bythe age of twenty, and settled down to a polite but weary atheism. 

I fancy that under the shadow of this suspicion my own manner may havebeen cold to him next morning. Almost immediately after breakfast weset out for the church. The day was sunny and warm; the atmospherebrilliant after the night's rain. The hedges exhaled a scent of spring. And, as we entered the churchyard, I saw the girl Julia Constantineseated in her favourite angle between the porch and the south wall, threading a chain of daisies. 

"What an amazingly handsome girl!" my guest exclaimed. 

"Why, yes, " said I, "she has her good looks, poor soul!"

"Why 'poor soul'?"

"She is an imbecile, or nearly so, " said I, fitting the key in the lock. 

We entered the church. And here let me say that, although I furnishedyou at the time of their discovery with a description of the frescoesand the ruder drawings which overlay them, you can scarcely imagine thegrotesque and astonishing _coup d'oeil_ presented by the two series. To begin with the frescoes, or original series. One, as you know, represented the Crucifixion. The head of the Saviour bore a large crownof gilded thorns, and from the wound in His left side flowed acontinuous stream of red gouts of blood, extraordinarily intense incolour (and intensity of colour is no common quality infresco-painting). At the foot of the cross stood a Roman soldier, withtwo female figures in dark-coloured drapery a little to the right, andin the background a man clad in a loose dark upper coat, which reached alittle below the knees. 

The same man reappeared in the second picture, alone, but carrying atall staff or hunting spear, and advancing up a road, at the top ofwhich stood a circular building with an arched doorway and, within thedoorway, the head of a lion. The jaws of this beast were open anddepicted with the same intense red as the Saviour's blood. 

Close beside this, but further to the east, was a large ship, undersail, which from her slanting position appeared to be mounting over along swell of sea. This vessel had four masts; the two foremostfurnished with yards and square sails, the others with lateen-shapedsails, after the Greek fashion; her sides were decorated with six gailypainted bands or streaks, each separately charged with devices--a goldensaltire on a green ground, a white crescent on a blue, and so on; andeach masthead bore a crown with a flag or streamer fluttering beneath. 

Of the frescoes these alone were perfect, but fragments of others werescattered over the wall, and in particular I must mention a group ofdetached human limbs lying near the ship--a group rendered conspicuousby an isolated right hand and arm drawn on a larger scale than the rest. A gilded circlet adorned the arm, which was flexed at the elbow, thehand horizontally placed, the forefinger extended towards the west inthe direction of the picture of the Crucifixion, and the thumb shutwithin the palm beneath the other three fingers. 

So much for the frescoes. A thin coat of plaster had been laid overthem to receive the second series, which consisted of the mostdisgusting and fantastic images, traced in black. One of these drawingsrepresented Satan himself--an erect figure, with hairy paws clasped in asupplicating posture, thick black horns, and eyes which (for additionalhorror) the artist had painted red and edged with a circle of white. At his feet crawled the hindmost limb of a peculiarly loathsome monsterwith claws stuck in the soil. Close by a nun was figured, sitting in apensive attitude, her cheek resting on the back of her hand, her elbowsupported by a hideous dwarf, and at some distance a small house, orprison, with barred windows and a small doorway crossed with heavybolts. 

As I said, this upper series had been but partially scraped away, and asmy guest and I stood at a little distance, I leave you to imagine, ifyou can, the incongruous tableau; the Prince of Darkness almost touchingthe mourners beside the cross; the sorrowful nun and grinning dwarf sideby side with a ship in full sail, which again seemed to be forcing herway into a square and forbidding prison, etc. 

Mr. Laquedem conned all this for some while in silence, holding his chinwith finger and thumb. 

"And it was here you discovered the plaque?" he asked at length. 

I pointed to the exact spot. 

"H'm!" he mused, "and that ship must be Greek or Levantine by its rig. Compare the crowns on her masts, too, with that on the plaque . . . "He stepped to the wall and peered into the frescoes. "Now this hand andarm--"

"They belong to me, " said a voice immediately behind me, and turning, Isaw that the poor girl had followed us into the church. 

The young Jew had turned also. "What do you mean by that?" he askedsharply. 

"She means nothing, " I began, and made as if to tap my foreheadsignificantly. 

"Yes, I do mean something, " she persisted. "They belong to me. I remember--"

"What do you remember?"

Her expression, which for a moment had been thoughtful, wavered andchanged into a vague foolish smile. "I can't tell . . . Something . . . It was sand, I think . . . "

"Who is she?" asked Mr. Laquedem. 

"Her name is Julia Constantine. Her parents are dead; an aunt looksafter her--a sister of her mother's. "

He turned and appeared to be studying the frescoes. "JuliaConstantine--an odd name, " he muttered. "Do you know anything of herparentage?"

"Nothing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm. The family has belonged to this parish for generations. I believe Julyis the last of them. "

He faced round upon her again. "_Sand_, did you say? That's a strangething to remember. How does _sand_ come into your mind? Think, now. "

She cast down her eyes; her fingers plucked at the daisy-chain. After awhile she shook her head. "I can't think, " she answered, glancing uptimidly and pitifully. 

"Surely we are wasting time, " I suggested. To tell the truth Idisapproved of his worrying the poor girl. 

He took the daisy-chain from her, looking at me the while with somethingbetween a "by-your-leave" and a challenge. A smile played about thecorners of his mouth. 

"Let us waste a little more. " He held up the chain before her and beganto sway it gently to and fro. "Look at it, please, and stretch out yourarm; look steadily. Now your name is Julia Constantine, and you saythat the arm on the wall belongs to you. Why?"

"Because . . . If you please, sir, because of the mark. "

"What mark?"

"The mark on my arm. "

This answer seemed to discompose as well as to surprise him. He snatched at her wrist and rolled back her sleeve, somewhat roughly, as I thought. "Look here, sir!" he exclaimed, pointing to a thin redline encircling the flesh of the girl's upper arm, and from that to thearm and armlet in the fresco. 

"She has been copying it, " said I, "with a string or ribbon, which nodoubt she tied too tightly. "

"You are mistaken, sir; this is a birthmark. You have had it always?"he asked the girl. 

She nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face with the gaze of one at thesame time startled and confiding; and for the moment he too seemed to bestartled. But his smile came back as he picked up the daisy-chain andbegan once more to sway it to and fro before her. 

"And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you--eh!Tell us, how did the sand come there?"

She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us, "he repeated in a low coaxing tone. 

And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . Red sand . . . It was below me . . . And something above . . . Something like agreat tent. " She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands ofpeople. . . . " She stopped. 

"Yes, yes--there were thousands of people on the sand--"

"No, they were not on the sand. There were only two on the sand . . . The rest were around . . . Under the tent . . . My arm was out . . . Just like this. . . . "

The young man put a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord!" I heard him say, "the amphitheatre!"

"Come, sir, " I interrupted, "I think we have had enough of thisjugglery. "

But the girl's voice went on steadily as if repeating a lesson:--

"And then you came--"

"_I!_" His voice rang sharply, and I saw a horror dawn in his eyes, andgrow. "_I!_"

"And then you came, " she repeated, and broke off, her mind suddenly atfault. Automatically he began to sway the daisy-chain afresh. "We wereon board a ship . . . A funny ship . . . With a great high stern. . . . "

"Is this the same story?" he asked, lowering his voice almost to awhisper; and I could hear his breath going and coming. 

"I don't know . . . One minute I see clear, and then it all gets mixedup again . . . We were up there, stretched on deck, near the tiller . . . Another ship was chasing us . . . The men began to row, with longsweeps. . . . "

"But the sand, " he insisted, "is the sand there?"

"The sand? . . . Yes, I see the sand again . . . We are standing upon it. . . We and the crew . . . The sea is close behind us . . . Some menhave hold of me . . . They are trying to pull me away from you. . . . Ah!--"

And I declare to you that with a sob the poor girl dropped on her knees, there in the aisle, and clasped the young man about the ankles, bowingher forehead upon the insteps of his high boots. As for him, I cannothope to describe his face to you. There was something more in it thanwonder--something more than dismay, even--at the success of hisunhallowed experiment. It was as though, having prepared himselflight-heartedly to witness a play, he was seized and terrified to findhimself the principal actor. I never saw ghastlier fear on humancheeks. 

"For God's sake, sir, " I cried, stamping my foot, "relax your cursedspells! Relax them and leave us! This is a house of prayer. "

He put a hand under the girl's chin, and, raising her face, made a passor two, still with the daisy-chain in his hand. She looked about her, shivered and stood erect. "Where am I?" she asked. "Did I fall?What are you doing with my chain?" She had relapsed into her habitualchildishness of look and speech. 

I hurried them from the church, resolutely locked the door, and marchedup the path without deigning a glance at the young man. But I had notgone fifty yards when he came running after. 

"I entreat you, sir, to pardon me. I should have stopped the experimentbefore. But I was startled--thrown off my balance. I am telling youthe truth, sir!"

"Very likely, " said I. "The like has happened to other rash meddlersbefore you. "

"I declare to you I had no thought--" he began. But I interrupted him:

"'No thought, ' indeed! I bring you here to resolve me, if you can, acurious puzzle in archaeology, and you fall to playing devil's pranksupon a half-witted child. 'No thought!'--I believe you, sir. "

"And yet, " he muttered, "it is an amazing business: the sand--the_velarium_--the outstretched arm and hand--_pollice compresso_--theexact gesture of the gladiatorial shows--"

"Are you telling me, pray, of gladiatorial shows under the EasternEmpire?" I demanded scornfully. 

"Certainly not: and that, " he mused, "only makes it the more amazing. "

"Now, look here, " said I, halting in the middle of the road, "I'll hearno more of it. Here is my gate, and there lies the highroad, on toPorthlooe or back to Plymouth, as you please. I wish you good morning, sir; and if it be any consolation to you, you have spoiled my digestionfor a week. "

I am bound to say the young man took his dismissal with grace. He halted then and there and raised his hat; stood for a momentpondering; and, turning on his heel, walked quickly off towardsPorthlooe. 

It must have been a week before I learnt casually that he had obtainedemployment there as secretary to a small company owning the _LordNelson_ and the _Hand-in-hand_ privateers. His success, as you know, was rapid; and naturally in a gossiping parish I heard about it--alittle here, a little there--in all a great deal. He had bought the_Providence_ schooner; he had acted as freighter for Minards' men intheir last run with the _Morning Star_; he had slipped over to Cork andbrought home a Porthlooe prize illegally detained there; he was inLondon, fighting a salvage case in the Admiralty Court; . . . Withintwelve months he was accountant of every trading company in Porthlooe, and agent for receiving the moneys due to the Guernsey merchants. In 1809, as you know, he opened his bank and issued notes of his own. And a year later he acquired two of the best farms in the parish, Tresawl and Killifreeth, and held the fee simple of the harbour andquays. 

During the first two years of his prosperity I saw little of the man. We passed each other from time to time in the street of Porthlooe, andhe accosted me with a politeness to which, though distrusting him, Ifelt bound to respond. But he never offered conversation, and our nextinterview was wholly of my seeking. 

One evening towards the close of his second year at Porthlooe, and aboutthe date of his purchase of the _Providence_ schooner, I happened to bewalking homewards from a visit to a sick parishioner, when at CoveBottom, by the miller's footbridge, I passed two figures--a man and awoman standing there and conversing in the dusk. I could not helprecognising them; and halfway up the hill I came to a sudden resolutionand turned back. 

"Mr. Laquedem, " said I, approaching them, "I put it to you, as a man ofeducation and decent feeling, is this quite honourable?"

"I believe, sir, " he answered courteously enough, "I can convince youthat it is. But clearly this is neither the time nor the place. "

"You must excuse me, " I went on, "but I have known Julia since she was achild. "

To this he made an extraordinary answer. "No longer?" he asked; andadded, with a change of tone, "Had you not forbidden me the vicarage, sir, I might have something to say to you. "

"If it concern the girl's spiritual welfare--or yours--I shall be happyto hear it. "

"In that case, " said he, "I will do myself the pleasure of calling uponyou--shall we say to-morrow evening?"

He was as good as his word. At nine o'clock next evening--about thehour of his former visit--Frances ushered him into my parlour. The similarity of circumstance may have suggested to me to draw thecomparison; at any rate I observed then for the first time that rapidageing of his features which afterwards became a matter of commonremark. The face was no longer that of the young man who had entered myparlour two years before; already some streaks of grey showed in hisblack locks, and he seemed even to move wearily. 

"I fear you are unwell, " said I, offering a chair. 

"I have reason to believe, " he answered, "that I am dying. " And then, as I uttered some expression of dismay and concern, he cut me short. "Oh, there will be no hurry about it! I mean, perhaps, no more than thatall men carry about with them the seeds of their mortality--so why notI? But I came to talk of Julia Constantine, not of myself. "

"You may guess, Mr. Laquedem, that as her vicar, and having known herand her affliction all her life, I take something of a fatherly interestin the girl. "

"And having known her so long, do you not begin to observe some changein her, of late?"

"Why, to be sure, " said I, "she seems brighter. "

He nodded. "_I_ have done that; or rather, love has done it. "

"Be careful, sir!" I cried. "Be careful of what you are going to tellme! If you have intended or wrought any harm to that girl, I tell yousolemnly--"

But he held up a hand. "Ah, sir, be charitable! I tell you solemnlyour love is not of that kind. We who have loved, and lost, and soughteach other, and loved again through centuries, have outlearned thatrougher passion. When she was a princess of Rome and I a Christian Jewled forth to the lions--"

I stood up, grasping the back of my chair and staring. At last I knew. This young man was stark mad. 

He read my conviction at once. "I think, sir, " he went on, changinghis tone, "the learned antiquary to whom, as you told me, you weresending your tracing of the plaque, has by this time replied with someinformation about it. "

Relieved at this change of subject, I answered quietly (whileconsidering how best to get him out of the house), "My friend tells methat a similar design is found in Landulph Church, on the tomb ofTheodore Paleologus, who died in 1636. "

"Precisely; of Theodore Paleologus, descendant of the Constantines. "

I began to grasp his insane meaning. "The race, so far as we know, isextinct, " said I. 

"The race of the Constantines, " said he slowly and composedly, "is neverextinct; and while it lasts, the soul of Julia Constantine will come tobirth again and know the soul of the Jew, until--"

I waited. 

"--Until their love lifts the curse, and the Jew can die. "

"This is mere madness, " said I, my tongue blurting it out at length. 

"I expected you to say no less. Now look you, sir--in a few minutes Ileave you, I walk home and spend an hour or two before bedtime in addingfigures, balancing accounts; to-morrow I rise and go about my dailybusiness cheerfully, methodically, always successfully. I am thelong-headed man, making money because I know how to make it, respectedby all, with no trace of madness in me. You, if you meet me to-morrow, shall recognise none. Just now you are forced to believe me mad. Believe it then; but listen while I tell you this:--When Rome was, Iwas; when Constantinople was, I was. I was that Jew rescued from thelions. It was I who sailed from the Bosphorus in that ship, with Juliabeside me; I from whom the Moorish pirates tore her, on the beach besideTetuan; I who, centuries after, drew those obscene figures on the wallof your church--the devil, the nun, and the barred convent--when Julia, another Julia but the same soul, was denied to me and forced into anunnery. For the frescoes, too, tell _my_ history. _I_ was that figurein the dark habit, standing a little back from the cross. Tell me, sir, did you never hear of Joseph Kartophilus, Pilate's porter?"

I saw that I must humour him. "I have heard his legend, " said I;[1]"and have understood that in time he became a Christian. "

He smiled wearily. "He has travelled through many creeds; but he hasnever travelled beyond Love. And if that love can be purified of allpassion such as you suspect, he has not travelled beyond forgiveness. Many times I have known her who shall save me in the end; and now in theend I have found her and shall be able, at length, to die; have foundher, and with her all my dead loves, in the body of a girl whom you callhalf-witted--and shall be able, at length, to die. "

And with this he bent over the table, and, resting his face on his arms, sobbed aloud. I let him sob there for a while, and then touched hisshoulder gently. 

He raised his head. "Ah, " said he, in a voice which answered thegentleness of my touch, "you remind me!" And with that he deliberatelyslipped his coat off his left arm and, rolling up the shirt sleeve, bared the arm almost to the shoulder. "I want you close, " he added withhalf a smile; for I have to confess that during the process I had backeda couple of paces towards the door. He took up a candle, and held itwhile I bent and examined the thin red line which ran like a circletaround the flesh of the upper arm just below the apex of the deltoidmuscle. When I looked up I met his eyes challenging mine across theflame. 

"Mr. Laquedem, " I said, "my conviction is that you are possessed and arebeing misled by a grievous hallucination. At the same time I am notfool enough to deny that the union of flesh and spirit, so passingmysterious in everyday life (when we pause to think of it), may easilyhold mysteries deeper yet. The Church Catholic, whose servant I am, hasnever to my knowledge denied this; yet has providentially made a rule ofSt. Paul's advice to the Colossians against intruding into those thingswhich she hath not seen. In the matter of this extraordinary belief ofyours I can give you no such comfort as one honest man should offer toanother: for I do not share it. But in the more practical matter ofyour conduct towards July Constantine, it may help you to know that Ihave accepted your word and propose henceforward to trust you as agentleman. "

"I thank you, sir, " he said, as he slipped on his coat. "May I haveyour hand on that?"

"With pleasure, " I answered, and, having shaken hands, conducted him tothe door. 

From that day the affection between Joseph Laquedem and JulyConstantine, and their frequent companionship, were open and avowed. Scandal there was, to be sure; but as it blazed up like straw, so itdied down. Even the women feared to sharpen their tongues openly onLaquedem, who by this time held the purse of the district, and to offendwhom might mean an empty skivet on Saturday night. July, to be sure, was more tempting game; and one day her lover found her in the centreof a knot of women fringed by a dozen children with open mouths andears. He stepped forward. "Ladies, " said he, "the difficulty whichvexes you cannot, I feel sure, be altogether good for your small sonsand daughters. Let me put an end to it. " He bent forward andreverently took July's hand. "My dear, it appears that the depth of myrespect for you will not be credited by these ladies unless I offer youmarriage. And as I am proud of it, so forgive me if I put it beyondtheir doubt. Will you marry me?" July, blushing scarlet, covered herface with her hands, but shook her head. There was no mistaking thegesture: all the women saw it. "Condole with me, ladies!" saidLaquedem, lifting his hat and including them in an ironical bow; andplacing July's arm in his, escorted her away. 

I need not follow the history of their intimacy, of which I saw, indeed, no more than my neighbours. On two points all accounts of it agree: therapid ageing of the man during this period and the improvement in thepoor girl's intellect. Some profess to have remarked an equallyvehement heightening of her beauty; but, as my recollection serves me, she had always been a handsome maid; and I set down thetransfiguration--if such it was--entirely to the dawn and growth of herreason. To this I can add a curious scrap of evidence. I was walkingalong the cliff track, one afternoon, between Porthlooe and Lanihalechurch-town, when, a few yards ahead, I heard a man's voice declaimingin monotone some sentences which I could not catch; and rounding thecorner, came upon Laquedem and July. She was seated on a rock; and he, on a patch of turf at her feet, held open a small volume which he laidface downwards as he rose to greet me. I glanced at the back of thebook and saw it was a volume of Euripides. I made no comment, however, on this small discovery; and whether he had indeed taught the girl someGreek, or whether she merely listened for the sake of hearing his voice, I am unable to say. 

Let me come then to the last scene, of which I was one among manyspectators. 

On the morning of August 15th, 1810, and just about daybreak, I wasawakened by the sound of horses' hoofs coming down the road beyond thevicarage gate. My ear told me at once that they were many riders andmoving at a trot; and a minute later the jingle of metal gave me aninkling of the truth. I hurried to the window and pulled up the blind. Day was breaking on a grey drizzle of fog which drove up from seaward, and through this drizzle I caught sight of the last five or six scarletplumes of a troop of dragoons jogging down the hill past my bank oflaurels. 

Now our parish had stood for some weeks in apprehension of a visit fromthese gentry. The riding-officer, Mr. Luke, had threatened us with themmore than once. I knew, moreover, that a run of goods was contemplated:and without questions of mine--it did not become a parish priest inthose days to know too much--it had reached my ears that Laquedem washimself in Roscoff bargaining for the freight. But we had all learntconfidence in him by this time--his increasing bodily weakness neverseemed to affect his cleverness and resource--and no doubt occurred tome that he would contrive to checkmate this new move of theriding-officer's. Nevertheless, and partly I dare say out of curiosity, to have a good look at the soldiers, I slipped on my clothes and hurrieddownstairs and across the garden. 

My hand was on the gate when I heard footsteps, and July Constantinecame running down the hill, her red cloak flapping and her hair powderedwith mist. 

"Hullo!" said I, "nothing wrong, I hope?" She turned a white, distraught face to me in the dawn. 

"Yes, yes! All is wrong! I saw the soldiers coming--I heard them amile away, and sent up the rocket from the church-tower. But the luggerstood in--they _must_ have seen!--she stood in, and is right under ShebaPoint now--and _he_--"

I whistled. "This is serious. Let us run out towards the point; we--you, I mean--may be in time to warn them yet. "

So we set off running together. The morning breeze had a cold edge onit, but already the sun had begun to wrestle with the bank of sea-fog. While we hurried along the cliffs the shoreward fringe of it was rippedand rolled back like a tent-cloth, and through the rent I saw a broadpatch of the cove below; the sands (for the tide was at low ebb) shininglike silver; the dragoons with their greatcoats thrown back from theirscarlet breasts and their accoutrements flashing against the level rays. Seaward, the lugger loomed through the weather; but there was a crowd ofmen and black boats--half a score of them--by the water's edge, and itwas clear to me at once that a forced run had been at least attempted. 

I had pulled up, panting, on the verge of the cliff, when July caught meby the arm. 

"_The sand!_"

She pointed; and well I remember the gesture--the very gesture of thehand in the fresco--the forefinger extended, the thumb shut within thepalm. "_The sand_ . . . He told me . . . "

Her eyes were wide and fixed. She spoke, not excitedly at all, butrather as one musing, much as she had answered Laquedem on the morningwhen he waved the daisy-chain before her. 

I heard an order shouted, high up the beach, and the dragoons camecharging down across the sand. There was a scuffle close by the water'sedge; then, as the soldiers broke through the mob of free-traders andwheeled their horses round, fetlock deep in the tide, I saw a figurebreak from the crowd and run, but presently check himself and walkcomposedly towards the cliff up which climbed the footpath leading toPorthlooe. And above the hubbub of oaths and shouting, I heard a voicecrying distinctly, "Run, man! Tis after thee they are! _Man, gofaster!_"

Even then, had he gained the cliff-track, he might have escaped; for upthere no horseman could follow. But as a trooper came galloping inpursuit, he turned deliberately. There was no defiance in his attitude;of that I am sure. What followed must have been mere blunderingferocity. I saw a jet of smoke, heard the sharp crack of a firearm, andJoseph Laquedem flung up his arms and pitched forward at full length onthe sand. 

The report woke the girl as with the stab of a knife. Her cry--itpierces through my dreams at times--rang back with the echoes from therocks, and before they ceased she was halfway down the cliffside, springing as surely as a goat, and, where she found no foothold, clutching the grass, the rooted samphires and sea pinks, and sliding. While my head swam with the sight of it, she was running across thesands, was kneeling beside the body, had risen, and was staggering underthe weight of it down to the water's edge. 

"Stop her!" shouted Luke, the riding-officer. "We must have the man!Dead or alive, we must have'n!"

She gained the nearest boat, the free-traders forming up around her, andhustling the dragoons. It was old Solomon Tweedy's boat, and he, prudent man, had taken advantage of the skirmish to ease her off, sothat a push would set her afloat. He asserts that as July came up tohim she never uttered a word, but the look on her face said "Push meoff, " and though he was at that moment meditating his own escape, heobeyed and pushed the boat off "like a mazed man. " I may add that hespent three months in Bodmin Gaol for it. 

She dropped with her burden against the stern sheets, but leapt upinstantly and had the oars between the thole-pins almost as the boatfloated. She pulled a dozen strokes, and hoisted the main-sail, pulleda hundred or so, sprang forward and ran up the jib. All this while thepreventive men were straining to get off two boats in pursuit; but, asyou may guess, the free-traders did nothing to help and a great deal toimpede. And first the crews tumbled in too hurriedly, and had to climbout again (looking very foolish) and push afresh, and then one of theboats had mysteriously lost her plug and sank in half a fathom of water. July had gained a full hundred yards' offing before the pursuit began inearnest, and this meant a good deal. Once clear of the point the smallcutter could defy their rowing and reach away to the eastward with thewind just behind her beam. The riding-officer saw this, and ordered hismen to fire. They assert, and we must believe, that their object wasmerely to disable the boat by cutting up her canvas. 

Their first desultory volley did no damage. I stood there, high on thecliff, and watched the boat, making a spy-glass of my hands. She hadfetched in close under the point, and gone about on the port tack--thenext would clear--when the first shot struck her, cutting a hole throughher jib, and I expected the wind to rip the sail up immediately; yet itstood. The breeze being dead on-shore, the little boat heeled towardsus, her mainsail hiding the steerswoman. 

It was a minute later, perhaps, that I began to suspect that July washit, for she allowed the jib to shake and seemed to be running right upinto the wind. The stern swung round and I strained my eyes to catch aglimpse of her. At that moment a third volley rattled out, a bulletshore through the peak halliards, and the mainsail came down with a run. It was all over. 

The preventive men cheered and pulled with a will. I saw them runalongside, clamber into the cutter, and lift the fallen sail. 

And that was all. There was no one on board, alive or dead. Whilst thecanvas hid her, in the swift two minutes between the boat's puttingabout and her running up into the wind, July Constantine must havelifted her lover's body overboard and followed it to the bottom of thesea, There is no other explanation; and of the bond that knit these twotogether there is, when I ask myself candidly, no explanation at all, unless I give more credence than I have any wish to give to the wildtale which Joseph Laquedem told me. I have told you the facts, myfriend, and leave them to your judgment. 

[1] The legend is that as Christ left the judgment hall on His way toCalvary, Kartophilus smote Him, saying, "Man, go quicker!" and wasanswered, "I indeed go quickly; but thou shalt tarry till I come again. "

PRISONERS OF WAR

A REPORTED TALE OF ARDEVORA

You've heard tell, I dare say, about Landlord Cummins and BillyBosistow, and the great jealousy there was between them. No? Well, Isee you going about Ardevora, and making a study of us; and I know youcan read, because I've seen you doing it down to the Institute. But sometimes, when I ask you a simple little question like that, youforce me to wonder what you've been doing with yourself all these years. Why, it got into the Law Courts!

I know all about it, being related to them both after a fashion, as youmight say. Landlord Cummins--he that used to keep the Welcome Home--married an aunt of mine on my mother's side, and that's part of thestory. The boys used to call him "Calves-in-front, " because of his legsbeing put on in an unusual manner, which made him walk slow all hisdays, and that's another part of the story. And Billy Bosistow, orUncle Billy, was my father's father's' stepson. You needn't take anytrouble to get that clear in your mind, because our family never ownedhim after he came home from the French war prisons and took up with hisdrinking habits; and that comes into the story, too. 

As it happens, the occasion that took their quarrel into the Law Courtsis one of the first things I can remember. It was in the year'twenty-five. Landlord Cummins, by dint of marrying a woman with means(that was my aunt), and walking the paths of repute for eleven yearswith his funny-shaped calves, got himself elected Mayor of the Borough. You may suppose it was a proud day for him. In those times the boroughused to pay the mayor a hundred pounds a year to keep up appearances, and my mother had persuaded my father to hire a window for Election Dayopposite the Town Hall, so that she might have the satisfaction ofseeing so near a relative in his robes of dignity. 

Well, there in the window we were gathered on that July forenoon (forthe mayors in those back-a-long days weren't chosen in November as theyare now), and the sun--it was a bright day--slanting high down our sideof the street, and my mother holding me tight as we leaned out, for Iwas just rising five, and extraordinary heavy in the head. And out uponthe steps of the Town Hall stepped Landlord Cummins, Mayor, with thetown crier and maces before him, and his robes hanging handsomelyabout his calves, and his beaver hat and all the rest of theparaphernalia, prepared to march to church. 

While he stood there, bowing to a score of people, and looking as big asbull's beef, who should step out from the pavement under us but UncleBilly Bosistow! He was a ragged old scarecrow, turned a bit grey andlean with iniquitous living, but not more than half-drunk; and hestepped into the middle of the roadway and cut a low reverence to hisworship, flinging out his leg like a dancing-master. And says he, in ahigh cackle, very solemn but mocking:

"I salute thee, O Mayor! Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly beforethy God. "

"Put that dam fool in the stocks!" cried his worship, very red in thegills, and speaking vicious. And Uncle Billy was collared and marchedoff between two constables, while the procession formed up to lead thenew Mayor to church. 

Well, that, as it happened, wasn't a lucky start-off for Mr. Cummins'syear of office. For no sooner was Billy let out of the stocks than offhe went to Lawyer Mennear, who was a young man then just set up inpractice, and as keen for a job as a huer for pilchards; and betweenthem they patched up an action for false imprisonment--damages claimed, one hundred pounds. 

The case came on at Bodmin, and the Mayor was cast in damages, twenty-five pounds. He paid, of course, though with a very long face. But Billy's revenge didn't stop here. Instead of putting the money by, the old varmint laid it out in the best way he could to annoy his enemy. And the way he contrived it was this. Every free Saturday he'd put asovereign in his pocket, and start the round of the public-houses--always beginning with Cummins's own house, the Welcome Home. Cummins, you see, couldn't refuse to serve him: the law wouldn't allow it. Sohe'd pull out a brand new sovereign and slap it on the counter and eyeit. "Ah!" he'd say, "it was a dear friend gave me that there coin. Hisheart's in the right place, which is more'n can be said for his calves. Two-pennyworth of gin, please, your Worship. " The Mayor's dignitywouldn't let him serve it, so, the first day, he called his wife down. Mrs. Cummins began by trying argument. "William, " she said, "the Lordknows you wouldn't have this money if there was justice in England. Butgot it you have, and now be a sensible man and put it by for a rainyday. " "Mrs. Mayor, " answers Billy, slow and vicious, "if there was anychance of presentin' you with a silver cradle, I'd save it up andsubscribe. " After that there was nothing more to say. It hurt the poorsoul terrible, and she went upstairs again and cried as she went. Billysat on and soaked, and the Mayor, across the counter, sat and watchedhis condition, quiet-like, till the time came for refusing any moreliquor and turning him out. When that happened the old sinner wouldgather up his change and make off for another public. And the end wasthat he'd be up before the Mayor on Monday morning, charged withdrunkenness. No use to fine him; he wouldn't pay, but went to gaolinstead. "Ten years was I in prison, " he'd say, addressing the bench, "along with his Worship there. I don't know what 'twould appear to himwho came back and got the Welcome Home; but I didn't, and ten days don'tfrighten me. "

Landlord Cummins would listen to this, looking as unnatural as a bluechina cat in a thunderstorm. He fairly hated these appearances ofBilly, and they spoiled his term of office, I do believe. But all thesame he turned out a very passable Mayor. The townsfolk respected himso highly, I've heard my mother say, that they made him Ex-Mayor theyear following. 

Now you'll be wanting to know what made these two men hate each other, for friends they had been, as two men ought to be who had been takenprisoners together and spent ten years in captivity to the French, andcome home aboard the same ship like brothers. The bigger the love thebigger the hate, and no difficulty to guess there was a woman in thecase. So there was; but the way she came between them was curious, forall that. 

First of all, you must know, that up to the year 'three Abe Cummins andBill Bosistow hadn't known what it is to quarrel or miss meeting eachother every day. They went to school together, and then to the fishing, and afterwards they sailed together with the free-traders over toMount's Bay, and good seamen the both, though not a bit alike in looksand ways. Abe, the elder by a year, was a bit slow and heavy on hispins; given to reading, too, though he seemed to take it up for peaceand quietness more than for any show he made of his learning. Bill wassmarter altogether and better looking; a bit boastful, after the mannerof young chaps. He could read too, but never did much at it, thoughI've heard that on Saturday nights he was fond of ranting verses--stuffabout drink and such like--out of a book of Robert Burns's poetry he'dborrowed off Abe. 

You'd hardly have thought two young fellows so different in every waycould have hit it off as they did. But these were like two figures in apuzzle-block; their very differences seemed to make them fit. There never was such a pair since David and Jonathan, and I believe'twas partly this that kept them from running after girls. So far as Ican see, the most of the lads begin at seventeen; but these two held offsweethearting right along until Christmas of the year 'three when theycame home from Porthleven to spend a fortnight at Ardevora, and theyboth fell in love with Selina Johns. 

Selina Johns wasn't but just husband-high; turned sixteen and her haironly put up a week before, she having begged her mother's leave to twistit in plaits for the Christmas courants. And Abe and Billy each knewthe other's secret almost before he knew his own, for each, as you maysay, kept his heart like a window and looked into his friend's windowfirst. 

And what they did was to have it out like good fellows, and agree towait a couple of years, unless any third party should interfere. In twoyears' time, they agreed, Selina Johns would be wise enough to choose--and then let the best man win! No bad blood afterwards, and meanwhileno more talk than necessary--they shook hands upon that. That January, being tired of the free-trade, they shipped together on board a coasterfor the Thames, and re-shipped for the voyage homeward on board the brig_Hand and Glove_, of London. 

The _Hand and Glove_, Uriah Wilcox, master, was bound for Devonport witha cargo of copper and flour for the dockyard there, and came to anchorin the Downs on March 24th to join convoy under the _Spider_ gun-brig. On the 25th (a Sunday) it blew hard from north to west, and she let gosheet anchor. Next day the weather moderated a bit, and, heaving up hersheet anchor, she rode to her best bower. On the Tuesday, the windhaving fallen light, the master took off a new longboat from Deal. There was some hitch in delivering her, and she was scarcely broughtalongside by five the next morning when the Commodore signalled to getunder weigh. 

By reason of this delay, the _Hand and Glove_ was taken unawares, andstarted well astern of the fleet, which numbered over twenty sail ofmerchantmen; and, being a sluggard in anything short of half a gale, shemade up precious little way in the light E. N. E. Breeze. 

Soon after seven that evening, Beachy Head bearing N. W. By W. Four milesand a half, Abe Cummins on the look-out forward spied a lugger comingtowards shore upon a wind. She crossed well ahead of the _Hand andGlove_, and close--as it looked--under the stem of an East Indiamanwhich was then busy reefing topsails before night. For a while Abe lostsight of her under the dark of the land; but by-and-by the wheelman tooka glance over his shoulder, and there she was, creeping up close astern. His call fetched up Captain Wilcox, who ran aft and hailed, but got noreply. And so she came on, until, sheering close up under the _Hand andGlove's_ port quarter, she was able to heave a grapnel on board andthrow twenty well-armed Johnnies into the old brig. The Englishmen--seven in all, and taken unprepared--were soon driven below and shutdown--four in the cabin, two in the steerage, and one in the forecastle, this last being Abe Cummins. After a while the sentry over the hatchwaycalled for him to come up and show where the leading ropes were, whichhe did at the point of a cutlass. And precious soon the Johnnies hadaltered the brig's course and stood away for the coast of France, thelugger keeping her company all night. 

Early next morning the two vessels were close off Dieppe Harbour; andthere, when the tide suited, they were taken inside, and the prisonersput ashore at nightfall and lodged for three days in a filthy roundtower, swarming with vermin. On April 1--Easter Sunday, I've heard itwas--they were told to get ready for marching, and handed over, makingtwenty-five in all, with the crews of two other vessels, both brigs--the_Lisbon Packet_, bound from London to Falmouth with a general cargo, andthe _Margaret_, letter of marque of London, bound from Zante, laden withcurrants--to a lieutenant and a guard of foot soldiers. Not a man ofthem knew where they were bound. They set out through a main prettycountry, where the wheat stood nearabouts knee-high, but the roads wereheavy after the spring rains. Each man had seven shillings in hispocket, given him at parting by the captain of his vessel--the threecaptains had been left behind at Dieppe--and on they trudged for just afortnight on an allowance of 1 lb. Of brown bread and twopence-halfpennyper man per day; the bread served out regular and the money, so to say, when they could get it. Mostly they came to a town for their night'shalt, and as often as not the townsfolk drummed them to jail with whatwe call the "Rogue's March, " but in France I believe it's "Honours ofWar, " or something that sounds politer than 'tis. But there were timeswhen they had to put up at a farm house by the road, and then the poorchaps slept on straw for a treat. 

Well, on the last day of the fortnight they reached their journey'send--a great fortress on a rock standing right over the river, with atown lying around the foot of the rock, and a smaller town, reached by abridge of boats, on the far side of the river. I can't call to mind thename of the river, but the towns were called Jivvy--Great and LittleJivvy. [1] The prison stood at the very top of the rock, on the edge ofa cliff that dropped a clean 300 feet to the river: not at all a prettyplace to get clear of, and none so cheerful to live in on a day'sallowance of one pound of brown bread, half a pound of bullock's offal, three-halfpence in money (paid weekly, and the most of it deducted forprison repairs, if you please!), and now and then a noggin of peas for atreat. They found half a dozen ships' companies already there, andenjoying themselves on this diet; the crew of the _Minerva_ frigate, runashore off Cherbourg; the crew of the _Hussar_, wrecked outside Brest;and--so queerly things fall out in this world--among them a parcel ofpoor fellows from Ardevora, taken on board the privateer _Recovery_ ofthis port. 

To keep to my story, though--which is about Abe Cummins and BillyBosistow. It was just in these unhappy conditions that the differencein the two men came out. Abe took his downfall very quiet from thefirst. He had managed to keep a book in his pocket--a book of voyagesit was--and carry it with him all the way from Dieppe, and it reallydidn't seem to matter to him that he was shut up, so long as he couldsit in a corner and read about other folks travelling. In the secondyear of their captivity an English clergyman, a Mr. Wolfe, came toJivvy, and got leave from the Commandant to fit up part of the prisongranary for a place of worship and preach to the prisoners. It had agood effect on the men in general, and Abe in particular turned veryreligious. Mr. Wolfe took a fancy to him, and lent him an old book on"Navigation"--Hamilton Moore's; and over that Abe would sit by the hour, with his room-mates drunk and fighting round him, and copy out tablesand work out sums. All his money went in pen and ink instead of theliquor which the jailors smuggled in. 

Billy Bosistow was a very different pair of shoes. Although no drinkerby habit, he fretted and wore himself down at times to a lowness ofspirits in which nothing seemed to serve him but drinking, and fiercedrinking. On his better days he was everybody's favourite; but when themood fell on him he grew teasy as a bear with a sore head, and fit toset his right hand quarrelling with his left. Then came the drinkingfit, and he'd wake out of that like a man dazed, sitting in a corner andbrooding for days together. What he brooded on, of course, was means ofescape. At first, like every other prisoner in Jivvy, he had kepthimself cheerful with hopes of exchange, but it seemed the folks home inArdevora had given up trying for a release, or else letters neverreached them. And yet they must have known something of the case theirpoor kinsmen were in, for in the second year the Commandant sent for Abeand Billy, and informed them that, by the kindness of a young Englishlady, a Miss Selina Johns, their allowance was increased by two sols aday. He showed them no letter, but the increase was paid regularly foreight months; after which a new Commandant came, and it ceased. Theycould never find out if the supply ceased, or into whose pocket it wentif it came. 

From that time Bosistow had two things to brood upon--escape and Selina. But confinement is the ruination of some natures, and as year after yearwent by and his wits broke themselves on a stone wall, he grew into avery different man from the handy lad the Johnnies had taken prisoner. One thing he never gave up, and that was his pluck; and he had plenty ofuse for it when, after seven years, his chance came. 

His first contrivance was to change names with an old American in thedepot. It so happened that the captain of a French privateer hadapplied to the prison for a crew of foreigners to man his ship, thenlying at Morlaix. The trick, by oiling the jailor's palm, was managedeasily enough, and away Bosistow was marched with twenty comrades of allnations. But at the first stage some recruiting officers stopped them, insisting that they were Irish and not Americans, and must be enlistedto serve with Bonaparty's army in Spain. The prisoners to a man refusedto hear of it, and the end was they were marched back to prison indisgrace, and, to cap everything, had their English allowance stopped onpretence that they had been in the French service. Yet this brought hima second chance, for being now declared an Irishman he managed to gethimself locked up with the Irish, who had their quarters on the handierside of the prison; and that same night broke out of window with twoother fellows, got over the prison wall, and hid in the woods beyond. But on the second day a party of wood-rangers attacked them with gunsand captured them; and back they went, and were condemned to six yearsin irons. 

This, as it turned out, didn't amount to much; for, while they werewaiting to be marched off to the galleys, their jailor came with newsthat a son was born to the Emperor, and they were pardoned in honour ofit. But instead of putting them back in their old quarters, he fixedthem up for a fortnight in a room by themselves, being fearful that suchbad characters would contaminate the other prisoners. This room was anupstairs one in a building on the edge of the ramparts, and after a fewnights they broke through the ceiling into an empty chamber, which had awindow looking on the roof. With a rope made of their bedclothes theylowered themselves clean over the ramparts on to the edge of theprecipice over the river; and along this they passed--having no daylightto make them giddy--and took their way northwards across the fields. 

Well, it doesn't come into my tale to tell you what they went through. Bosistow wrote out an account of it years after, and you shall read itfor yourself. At one place they had to cross a river, and Billy being, like the most of our fishermen, no swimmer, his mates stuck him on ahurdle and pushed him over while they swam behind. They steered by thePole Star (for, you understand, they could only travel by night) andalso by a fine comet which they guessed to be in the north-west quarter. 

You see the difference between these two fellows, and how littleProvidence made of it. Back in Jivvy, Abe Cummins was staring at thissame comet out of his prison windows, and doing his sums and thinking ofSelina Johns. And here was Bosistow following it up for freedom--withthe upshot that he made the coast and was taken like a lamb in theattempt to hire a passage, and marched in irons from one jail toanother, and then clean back the whole length of France, pretty well tothe Mediterranean Sea. And then he was shut up in a prison on the verytop of the Alps [2] and twice as far from home as he had been in Jivvy. That's a moral against folks in a hurry if ever there was one. 

Well, let alone that while he was here he received a free pardon fromthe Emperor, which his persecutors took no notice of, he broke out ofprison again, and was caught and brought back half-starving. And 'twasn't till Christmas of the year 'thirteen that orders came tomarch him right away north again, with all the prisoners, to a place inthe Netherlands; and no sooner arrived than away to go again threehundred and fifty miles west-sou'-west for Tours, on the Loire river. I've figured it out on the map, and even that is enough to make a manfeel sore in his feet. But what made Bosistow glad at the time, andvicious after, was that on his way he fell in with a draft of prisoners, and, among them, with Abe Cummins, who, so to say, had reached the sameplace by walking a tenth part of the distance. And, what's more, thougha man couldn't very well get sleek in Jivvy, Abe had kept his bonesfilled out somehow, and knew enough navigation by this time to set acourse to the Channel Fleet. 'Deed, that's what he began talking abouton the first day's journey he and Billy trudged together after theirmeeting. And he began it after a spell of silence by asking, quietlike, "Have you been happening to think much about Selina Johns thislast year or two?"

"Most every day, " answered Billy. 

"So have I, " said Abe, and seemed to be pondering to himself. "She'llbe a woman growed by this time, " he went on. 

"Turnin' twenty-seven, " Billy agreed. 

"That's of it, " said Abe. "I've been thinking about her, constant. "

"Well, look'ee here, " spoke up Billy, "our little agreement holds, don'tit?--that is, if we ever get out of this here mess, and Selina hasn'tgone and taken a husband. Play fair, leave it to the maid, and let thebest man win; that's what we shook hands over. If that holds, seemin'to me the rest can wait. "

"True, true, " says Abe; but after a bit he asks rather sly-like:"And s'posin' you're the lucky one, how do'ee reckon you're going tomaintain her?"

"Why, on seaman's wages, I suppose; or else at the shoe-mending. I learnt a little of that trade in Jivvy, as you d'know. "

"Well, " says Abe, "I was reckonin' to set up school and teachnavigation. Back in Ardevora I can make between seventy and eightypounds a year at that game easy. "

Bosistow scratched his head. "You've been making the most of your time. Now I've been busy in my way, too, but seemin' to me the only trade I'velearned is prison-breakin'. Not much to keep a wife on, as you say. Still, a bargain's a bargain. "

"Oh, sutt'nly, " says Abe; "that is if your conscience allows it. "

"I reckon I'll risk that, " answers Billy, and no more passed. 

From Tours the prisoners tramped south-east again, to a town calledRiou, in the middle of France, and reached it in a snowstorm on March 1. Here they were billeted for five weeks or so, and here, one night, theywere waked up and told that Bonaparty had gone scat, and they must comeforth and dance with the townspeople in honour of it. You may be surethey heeled and toed it that night, and no girl satisfied unless she hadan Englishman for a partner. But the next day it all turned out to belies, and off they were marched again. To be short, 'twasn't till theend of April that they came to the river opposite Bordeaux, and weretaken in charge by English red-coats, who told them they were free men. On the 28th of that month Abe and Billy, with forty others, were put onboard a sloop and dropped down the river to the _Dartmouth_ frigate, from which they were drafted on to the _Lord Wellington_, and again onto the _Suffolk_ transport. And on May 4 the _Suffolk_, with six othertransports, having about fifteen hundred released prisoners on board, weighed anchor under convoy for Plymouth before a fine breeze, S. E. ByS. 

On Monday, May 9, at half-past two in the afternoon--the wind stillsteady in the same quarter, and blowing fresh--the _Suffolk_ sightedland, making out St. Michael's Mount; and fetching up to MouseholeIsland, the captain hailed a mackerel boat to come alongside and takeashore some officers with despatches. 

Abe Cummins and Billy Bosistow were both on deck, you may be sure, watching the boat as the fishermen brought her alongside. Not a wordhad been said between them on the matter that lay closest to theirminds, but while they waited Billy fetched a look at the boat andanother at Abe. "The best man wins, " he said to himself, and edged awaytowards the ladder. 

The breeze, as I said, was a fresh one, with a sea in the bay that keptthe _Suffolk_ rolling like a porpoise. A heavier lurch than ordinarysent her main channels grinding down on the mackerel boat's gunwale, smashing her upper strakes and springing her mizzen mast as sherecovered herself. 

"Be dashed, " said one of the officers, "if I trust myself in a boatthat'll go down under us between this and land!"

The rest seemed to be of his mind, too. But Billy, being quick as wellas eager, saw in a moment that the damaged strakes would be to windwardon the reach into Mousehole, and well out of harm's way in the wind thenblowing, and also that her mainsail alone would do the job easy. So just as she fell off and her crew ran aft to get the mizzen lugstowed he took a run past the officer and jumped aboard, with twofellows close on his heels--one a Penzance fellow whose name I'veforgot, and the t'other a chap from Ludgvan, Harry Cornish by name. I reckon the sight of the old shores just made them mazed as sheep, andlike sheep they followed his lead. The officers ran to stop any morefrom copying such foolishness; and if they hadn't, I believe the boatwould have been swamped there and then. As 'twas, she re-hoisted herbig lug and away-to-go for Mousehole, the three passengers sitting downto leeward with their sterns in and out of the water to help keep herdamaged side above mischief. 

So on Mousehole Quay these three stepped ashore, and the first man toshake hands with them was Capen Josiah Penny, of the _Perseverance_trading ketch, then lying snug in Mousehole Harbour. Being a hearty manhe invited them down to his cabin to take a drop of rum. The Penzancefellow, having only a short way to trudge, said "No, thank'ee, " andstarted for home with a small crowd after him. But Bosistow and Cornishagreed 'twould be more neighbourly to accept, and, to tell the truth, they didn't quite know how to behave with so many eyes upon them. Cornish had on a soldier's red jacket with white facings, and a pair ofblue trousers out at the knees, while Bosistow's trousers were of whitecloth, and he carried a japanned knapsack at the back of his red shirt:and with a white-painted straw hat apiece, you may guess they feltthemselves looking like two figures of fun. 

So down they went to the _Perseverance's_ cabin, and Capen Penny mixedthem a stiff glass of rum and called them fine fellows, and mixed themtwo more glasses while they talked; and when the time came to say"so long, " Billy was quite sure he didn't care for appearances one snapof his fingers. 

They linked arms on the quay, where they found a crowd waiting for them, and many with questions to ask about absent friends, so that fromMousehole to Penzance it was a regular procession. And then they had togo to the hotel and tell the whole story over again, and answer athousand and one questions about Penzance boys imprisoned at Jivvy. And all this meant more rum, of course. 

It was seven in the evening, and day closing in, before they took theroad again. Billy had fallen into a boastful mood, and felt his heartso warm towards Cornish that nothing would do but they must tramp ittogether so far as Nancledrea, which was a goodish bit out of Cornish'sroad to Ludgvan. By the time they reached Nancledrea Billy was sheddingtears and begging Cornish to come along to Ardevora. "I'll make a manof 'ee there, " he promised: "I will sure 'nough!" But Cornish weighedthe offer, and decided that his mother at Ludgvan would be going to bedbefore long. So coming to a house with red blinds and lights withinthey determined to have a drink before parting. 

In the tap-room they found a dozen fellows or so drinking their beer andsmoking solemn, and an upstanding woman in a black gown attending onthem. "Hullo!" says one of the men looking up, "What's this?Geezy-dancers?" [3]

"I'll soon tell 'ee about Geezy-dancers, " says Billy. "Here, Missus--apot of ale all round, and let 'em drink to two Cornish boys home fromfesterin' in French war prisons, while they've a'been diggin' taties!"

There was no resisting a sociable offer like this, and in two two's, asyou might say, Billy was boasting ahead for all he was worth, and thecompany with their mouths open--all but the landlady, who was openingher eyes instead, and wider and wider. 

"There isn' none present that remembers me, I dare say. My name'sBosistow--Billy Bosistow--from Ardevora parish. And back there I'mgoing this very night, and why? you ask. I ben't one of yourtaty-diggin' slowheads--_I_ ben't. I've broke out of prison threetimes, and now--" He nodded at the company, whose faces by this time hecouldn't very well pick out of a heap--"do any of 'ee know a maid therecalled Selina Johns? Because if so I warn 'ee of her. 'Why?' says you. Because that's the maid I'm goin' to marry, and I'm off to Ardevora todo it straight. Another pot of beer, please, missus. "

"You've had a plenty, sir, seemin' to me, " answered up the landlady, while the company tittered. 

"And is this the way"--Billy stood up very dignified--"is this the wayto welcome home a man who bled for his country? Is this yourgratitude to a man who's spent ten o' the best years of his life inslavery while you've been diggin' taties?" I can't tell you whypotatoes ran so much in the poor fellow's head; but they did, and heseemed to see the hoeing of them almost in the light of a personalinjury. He spat on the floor. "And as for you, madam, these here bootsof mine have tramped thousands of miles, and I shake off their dust uponyou, " he says. 

"I wish you'd confine yourself to that, with your dirty habits!" thelandlady answered up again, but Billy marched out with great dignitywhich was only spoiled by his mistaking the shadow across the doorwayfor a raised step. He didn't forget to slam the door after him; but hedid forget to take leave of Harry Cornish, who had walked so far out ofhis way in pure friendliness. 

For the first mile or so, what with his anger and the fresh air, Billyhad a to-do to keep his pins and fix his mind on the road. But by-and-by his brain cleared a bit, and when he reached the hill overArdevora, and saw the lights of the town below him, his mood changed, and he sat down on the turf of the slope with tears in his eyes. 

"There you be, " said he, talking to the lights, "and here be I; andsomewheres down amongst you is the dear maid I've come to marry. Not much welcome for me in Ardevora, I b'law, though I do love everystone of her streets. But there's one there that didn' forget me in mycaptivity, and won't despise me in these here rags. I wish I'd seenAbe's face when I jumped aboard the boat. Poor old Abe!--but all's fairin love and war, I reckon. He can't be here till to-morrow at earliest, so let's have a pipe o' baccy on it. "

He lit up and sucked away at his pipe, still considering the lights inthe valley. Somehow they put him in mind of Abe, and how in the olddays he and Abe used to come on them shining just so on their way homeon Saturday nights from Bessie's Cove. Poor old mate!--first of all hepictured Abe's chap-fallen face, and chuckled; then he began to wonderif Abe would call it fair play. But all was fair in love and war: hekept saying this over to himself, and then lit another pipe to think itout. 

Well, he couldn't; and so, after a third pipe, he pulled an old Frenchcloak out of his knapsack and wrapped himself in it and huddled himselfto sleep there on the slope of the hillside. 

When he woke up the sun was shining and the smoke coming up towards himfrom the chimneys, and all about him the larks a-singing just as they'dcarried on every fine morning since he'd left Ardevora. And somehow, though he had dropped asleep in a puzzle of mind, he woke up with not adoubt to trouble him. He hunted out a crust from his knapsack and madehis breakfast, and then he lit his pipe again and turned towardsPenzance. He was going to play fair. 

On he went in this frame of mind, feeling like a man almost too virtuousto go to church, until by-and-by he came in sight of Nancledrea and theinn he'd left in such a hurry over night. And who should be sitting inthe porchway, and looking into the bottom of a pint pot, but AbeCummins!

"Why, however on earth did you come here?" asked Billy. 

"Cap'en landed us between four and five this morning, " said Abe. 

"Well, " said Billy, "I'm right glad to meet you, anyway, for--tell 'eethe truth--you're the very man I was looking for. "

"Really?" says Abe, like one interested. 

"You and no other. I don't mind telling 'ee I've been through a fire oftemptation. You know why I jumped into that boat: it vexed you a bit, Idare say. And strickly speakin', mind you"--Billy took his friend bythe button-hole--"strickly speakin' I'd the right on my side. 'Let thebest man win' was our agreement. But you needn' to fret yourself: _I_ben't the man to take an advantage of an old friend, fair though it be. Man, I ha'n't been to Ardevora--I turned back. So finish your beer andcome'st along with me, and we'll walk down to Selina Johns together andask her which of us she'll choose, fair and square. "

Abe set down his mug and looked up, studying the signboard over thedoor. 

"Well, " says he, "'tis a real relief to my mind to know you've played sofair. For man and boy, Bill, I always thought it of you. "

"Yes, indeed, " says Billy, "man and boy, it always was my motto. "

"But as consarnin' Selina Johns, " Abe went on, "there ain't no suchwoman. "

"You don't tell me she's dead!"

"No; 'tis her first husband that's dead. She's Selina Widlake now. "

"How long have 'ee knowed that?"

"Maybe an hour, maybe only three-quarters. Her name's Selina Widlake, and she owns this here public. What's more, her name isn't going to beSelina Widlake, but Selina Cummins. We've fixed it up, and she's toleave Nancledrea and take the Welcome Home over to Ardevora. "

Billy Bosistow took a turn across the road, and, coming back, stuck hishands in his pockets and stared up at the sign overhead. 

"Well! And I, that was too honourable--" he began. 

"So you was, " agreed Abe, pulling out his pipe. "You can't think what acomfort that is to me. But, as it turns out, 'twouldn't have made nodifference. For she see'd you last evenin', and she was tellin' me justnow that prison hadn't improved you. In fact she didn't like eitheryour looks or your behaviour. "

I've heard that he was just in time to pop inside and bolt the doorafter him. And now you know why Billy Bosistow and Abe Cummins couldnever bear the sight of each other from that day. But there! you can'tbe first and last too, as the saying is. 

[1] Givet in the Ardennes. The river, of course, is the Meuse. 

[2] Probably Briancon in the Hautes Alpes. 

[3] Performers in a Christmas Play. 

A TOWN'S MEMORY

A PENDANT TO THE FOREGOING

The returned Emigrant was not one of those who sometimes creep back toTregarrick and scan the folk wistfully and the names over the shops tillthey bethink themselves of stepping up the hill to take a look at thecemetery, and there find all they sought. This man stood under thearchway of the Pack-horse Inn (by A. Walters), with his soft hat tiltedover his nose, a cigar in his mouth, hands in his trouser pockets, andlegs a-straddle, and smoked and eyed the passers-by with a twinkle ofhumour. 

He knew them all again, or nearly all. He had quitted Tregarrick forthe Cape at the age of fifteen, under the wing of a cousin from theMining District, had made money out there, and meant to return to makemore, and was home just now on a holiday, with gold in his pocket andthe merest trace of silver in his hair. He watched the people passing, and it all seemed very queer to him and amusing. 

They were one and all acting and behaving just as they had used to actand behave. Some were a trifle greyer, perhaps, and others stooped abit; but they went about their business in the old fashion, and theiroccupations had not changed. It was just as if he had wound up aclockwork toy before leaving England, and had returned after many yearsto find it still working. Here came old Dymond, the postman, with theusual midday delivery, light as ever, and the well-remembereddot-and-go-one gait. The maids who came out to take the letters weredifferent; in one of them the Emigrant recognised a little girl who hadonce sat facing him in the Wesleyan day-school; but the bells thatfetched them out were those on which he had sounded runaway peals informer days, and with his eyes shut he could have sworn to old Dymond'sdouble-knock. The cart that rattled its load of empty cans up thestreet belonged to Nicholas Retallack ("Old Nick"), the milkman, andthat was Retallack beside it, returning from his morning round. TheEmigrant took the cigar from his mouth and blew a lazy cloud. But forRetallack he might never have seen South Africa or known Johannesburg. Retallack had caught him surreptitiously milking the Alderney into abattered straw hat, and had threatened a summons. There had been aprevious summons with a conviction, and the Mayor had hinted at theReformatory, so the Emigrant had been packed off. And here he was, backagain; and here was Retallack trudging around, the same as ever. 

In the window across the road a saddler sat cutting out a strap, andreminding the Emigrant of a certain First of April when he had venturedin and inquired for half a pint of strap-oil. It might almost be thesame strap, as it certainly was the same saddler. 

Down at the street corner, by the clock, a couple of Town Councillorsstood chatting. While the Emigrant looked there came round the corner aruck of boys from school chivvying and shouting after an ungainly man, who turned twice and threatened them with a stick. The TownCouncillors did not interfere, and the rabble passed bawling by thePack-horse. Long before it came the Emigrant had recognised theungainly man. It was Dicky Loony, the town butt. He had chivvied theimbecile a hundred times in just the same fashion, yelling "Black Cat!"after him as these young imps were yelling--though why "Black Cat"neither he nor the imps could have told. But Dicky had always resentedit as he resented it now, wheeling round, shaking his stick, andsputtering maledictions. A stone or two flew harmlessly by. The Emigrant did not interfere. 

As yet no one had recognised him. He had arrived the night before, andtaken a room at the Pack-horse, nobody asking his name; had sat aftersupper in a corner of the smoking-room and listened to the gossip there, saying nothing. 

"Who's he travellin' for?" somebody had asked of Abel Walters, thelandlord. "He ain't a commercial. He han't got the trunks, only akit-bag. By the soft hat he wears I should say _a_ agent in advance. Likely we'll have a circus before long. "

His father and mother were dead these ten years. He had sent home moneyto pay the funeral expenses and buy a substantial headstone. But he hadnot been up to the cemetery yet. He was not a sentimental man. Still, he had expected his return to make some little stir inTregarrick, and now a shade of disappointment began to creep over hishumour. 

He flung away the end of his cigar and strolled up the sunny pavement toa sweetshop where he had once bought ha'porths of liquorice andcinnamon-rock. The legend, "E. Hosking, Maker of Cheesecakes to QueenVictoria, " still decorated the window. He entered and demanded a poundof best "fairing, " smiling at the magnificence of the order. Mrs. Hosking--her white mob--cap and apron clean as ever--offered him amacaroon for luck, and weighed out the sweets. Her hand shook more thanof old. 

"You don't remember me, Mrs. Hosking?"

"What is it you say? You must speak a little louder, please, I'm deaf. "

"You don't remember me?"

"No, I don't, " she said composedly. "I'm gone terrible blind this lastyear or two. "

The Emigrant paid for his sweets and walked out. He had bought themwith a purpose, and now bent his steps down Market Street. At the footof the hill he paused before a row of white-washed cottages. A greenfence ran along their front, and a pebbled path; and here he found astout, matronly woman bent over a wash-tub. 

"Does Mrs. Best live here?" he asked. 

The woman withdrew about a dozen pins from her mouth and answered all inone breath:--

"She isn't called Best any longer; she married agen five year ago;second husbing, he died too; she doesn' live here any more. "

With this she stuck the pins very deliberately, one by one, in the bosomof her print gown, and plunged her hands into the wash-tub again. 

The Emigrant stood nonplussed for a moment and scratched the back of hishead, tilting his soft hat still further forward on his nose. 

"She used to be very fond of me when I was a boy, " he said lamely. 

"Yes?" The tone seemed to ask what business that could be of hers. 

"She came as nurse to my mother when I was born. I suppose that madeher take a fancy to me. "

"Ah, no doubt, " replied the woman vaguely, and added, while she soapeda long black stocking, "she did a lot o' that, one time and another. ""She had a little girl of her own before I left Tregarrick, " theEmigrant persisted, not because she appeared interested--she did not, atall--but with some vague hope of making himself appear a little lesstrivial. "Lizzie she called her. I suppose you don't know what hasbecome of the old woman?"

"Well, considerin' that I'm her daughter Elizabeth"--she lengthened thename with an implied reproof--"I reckon I ought to know. "

The Emigrant's hand sought and crushed the big packet of sweets wellinto his pocket. He flushed scarlet. At the same time he could hardlykeep back a smile at his absurd mistake. To be here with lollipops fora woman of thirty and more!

"You haven't any little ones of your own?"

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Oh, well; only a question. My name is Peter Jago--Pete, I used to becalled. "

"Yes?"

He took notice that she had said nothing of her mother's whereabouts;and concluded, rightly, that the old woman must be in the workhouse. 

"Well, I'm sorry, " he said. "I thought I might be able to do somethingfor her. "

The woman became attentive at last. 

"Any small trifle you might think o' leavin' with me, sir, it shouldduly reach her. She've failed a lot, lately. "

"Thank you; I'll think it over. Good-day. "

He strolled back to the Pack-horse and ate his dinner. Abel Walters, coming in after with a pint of port to his order, found the Emigrantwith a great packet of sugared almonds and angelica spread open besidehis cheese. 

"I suppose, sir, " said Mr. Walters, eyeing the heap, "you've travelled agreat deal in foreign parts. "

Two days passed. The Emigrant visited the cemetery, inspected hisparents' tombstone, and found about it a number of tombstones belongingto people whose faces he had not hitherto missed. But after hisexperiment upon Elizabeth Best he had not declared himself a secondtime. Indeed, his humour by this had turned sour, and his mind was madeup that, if no one recognised him spontaneously, he would leave hisnative town as quietly as he had come--would go back without revealinghimself to a soul. It would be unfair to say that he felt aggrieved;but he certainly dismissed a project, with which he had often played inSouth Africa, of erecting a public drinking-fountain on Mount Folly, asthe citizens of Tregarrick call the slope in front of the County AssizeHall. 

The third day was Sunday, and he went to church in the morning. The Vicar who preached was a stranger to him; but in the sidesman whocame down the aisle afterwards with the offertory-plate he recognisedone Billy Smithers, who had been a crony of his some twenty years ago;who had, in fact, helped him more than once to milk Retallack'sAlderney. He felt in his pocket and dropped a sovereign into the plate. The sidesman halted and rubbed his chin. 

"Han't you made a mistake?" he asked in a stage whisper. 

The Emigrant waved his hand in rather a lordly manner, and WilliamSmithers, sidesman, proceeded down the aisle, wondering, but notsuspecting. 

The Vicar recited the prayer for the whole state of Christ's Churchmilitant here on earth, and the Emigrant joined the crowd trooping outby the western door. 

But in the press just outside the door two hands suddenly seized hisright hand and shook it violently. He turned and faced--Dicky Loony. 

"Me know, eh? Pete--Mas'r Pete!" The idiot bent over his hand andmumbled it with his wry mouth, then shook it again, peering up in hisface. "Eh? Pete--Pete. Yes. All right!"

The Emigrant looked down on this poor creature at whom he had flungscores of stones, but never a kind word. And the idiot ran on:--

"Dicky, eh?"--tapping his chest. "You know--Dicky. Pete--Pete, eh?"--and he made the gesture of one flinging a stone. "Often, ha, ha!_So_ high. " He spread his hand, palm downward, about five feet from theground. 

"Well I'm blest!" said the Emigrant softly. They stood now on the greentogether, a little apart from the crowd. 

"So high, eh? Li'l boy, eh? Fling--me know!" He took the emigrant'shand again and shook it, smiling and looking him straight in the eyeswith innocent gaiety. "These boys--no good; no good now. Pete, _he_fling _so_. Li'l boy--quite li'l boy. Me know, eh? Dicky know!"

"Well, " repeated the Emigrant; "I'm blest, but this is funny!"

THE LADY OF THE RED ADMIRALS

"_All day within the dreamy house The doors upon their hinges creak'd, The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot shrieked, Or from the crevice peer'd about, Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Old voices called her from without. _"--MARIANA. 

My eyes had been occupied with the grey chimneys below, among theSpanish chestnuts, at the very moment when I slipped on the northernface of Skirrid and twisted my ankle. This indeed explains theaccident; and the accident explains why my interest in the house withthe grey chimneys suddenly became a personal one. Five miles separatedme from my inn in Aber town. But the white smoke of a goods train wentcrawling across the green and cultivated plain at my feet; and I knew, though I carried no map, that somewhere under the slope to my left musthide the country station of Llanfihangel. To reach it I must pass thehouse, and there, no doubt, would happen on someone to set me on theshortest way. 

So I picked up my walking-stick and hobbled down the hillside, albeitwith pain. Where the descent eased a little I found and followed afoot-track, which in time turned into a sunk road scored deep with oldcart-ruts, and so brought me to a desolate farmstead, slowly dropping toruin there in the perpetual shadow of the mountain. The slates that hadfallen from the roof of byre and stable lay buried already under thegrowth of nettle and mallow and wild parsnip; and the yard-wall was downin a dozen places. I shuffled through one of these gaps, and almost atonce found myself face to face with a park-fence of split oak--in yetworse repair, if that were possible. It stretched away right and leftwith promise of a noble circumference; but no hand had repaired it forat least twenty years. I counted no less than seven breaches throughwhich a man of common size might step without squeezing; availed myselfof the nearest; and having with difficulty dragged my disabled foot upthe ha-ha slope beyond, took breath at the top and looked about me. 

The edge of the ha-ha stood but fifty paces back from an avenue of themost magnificent Spanish chestnuts I have ever seen in my life. A fewof them were withering from the top; and under these many dead boughslay as they had fallen, in grass that obliterated almost all trace ofthe broad carriage-road. But nine out of ten stood hale and stout, andapparently good for centuries to come. Northward, the grey facade ofthe house glimmered and closed their green prospective, and towards it Inow made my way. 

But, I must own, this avenue daunted me, as a frame altogether toolordly for a mere limping pedestrian. And therefore I was relieved, asI drew near, to catch the sound of voices behind the shrubberies on myright hand. This determined me to take the house in flank, and Idiverged and pushed my way between the laurels in search of thespeakers. 

"A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse! Lobelia, how many horseshas your father in stable? Red, white, or grey?"

"One, Miss Wilhelmina; an' that's old Sentry-go, and father says _he'll_have to go to the knacker's before another winter. "

"Then he shall carry me there on his back: with rings on my fingers andbells on my toes"--

 She rode unto the knacker's yard, And tirled at the pin: Right glad were then the cat's-meat men To let that lady in!

--especially, Lobelia, when she alighted and sat upon the ground andbegan to tell them sad stories of the death of kings. But they cut offSentry-go's head and nailed it over the gate. So he died, and she veryimprudently married the master knacker, who had heard she was an heiressin her own right, and wanted to decorate his coat-of-arms with anescutcheon of pretence; and besides, his doctor had recommended acomplete change "--

"Law, miss, how you _do_ run on!"

The young lady who had given utterance to this amazing rigmarole stoodat the top of a terrace flight (much cracked and broken) between twoleaden statuettes (headless)--a willowy child in a large-brimmed hat, with a riding-switch in one hand and the other holding up an old tartanshawl, which she had pinned about her to imitate a horse-woman's habit. As she paced to and fro between the leaden statuettes--

 pedes vestis defluxit ad imos Et vera incessu patuit dea, --and I noted almost at once that two or three butterflies ("redadmirals" they were) floated and circled about her in the sunlight. A child of commoner make, and perhaps a year older, dressed in a buffprint frock and pink sunbonnet, looked up at her from the foot of thesteps. The faces of both were averted, and I stood there for at least aminute on the verge of the laurels, unobserved, considering the picturethey made, and the ruinous Jacobean house that formed its background. 

Never was house more eloquent of desolation. Unpainted shutters, cracking in the heat, blocked one half of its windows. Weather-stainsran down the slates from the lantern on the main roof. The lantern overthe stable had lost its vane, and the stable-clock its minute-hand. The very nails had dropped out of the gable wall, and the wistaria andGloire de Dijons they should have supported trailed down in tangles, like curtains. Grass choked the rain-pipes, and moss dappled the gravelwalk. In the border at my feet someone had attempted a clearance of theweeds; and here lay his hoe, matted with bindweed and ring-streaked withthe silvery tracks of snails. 

"Very well, Lobelia. We will be sensible house-maid and cook, and talkof business. We came out, I believe, to cut a cabbage-leaf to make anapple-pie"--

At this point happening to turn her head she caught sight of me, andstopped with a slight, embarrassed laugh. I raised my hat. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but no strangers are admitted here. "

"I beg your pardon"--I began; and with that, as I shifted mywalking-stick, my foolish ankle gave way, and plump I sat in the verymiddle of the bindweed. 

"You are ill?" She came quickly towards me, but halted a pace or twooff. "You look as if you were going to faint. "

"I'll try not to, " said I. "The fact is, I have just twisted my ankleon the side of Skirrid, and I wished to be told the shortest way to thestation. "

"I don't believe you can walk; and"--she hesitated a second, then wenton defiantly--"we have no carriage to take you. "

"I should not think of putting you to any such trouble. "

"Also, if you want to reach Aber, there is no train for the next twohours. You must come in and rest. "

"But really "--

"I am mistress here. I am Wilhelmina Van der Knoope. "

Being by this time on my feet again, I bowed and introduced myself byname. She nodded. The child had a thoughtful face--thoughtful beyondher years--and delicately shaped rather than pretty. 

"Lobelia, run in and tell the Admirals that a gentleman has called, withmy permission. "

Having dismissed the handmaiden, she observed me in silence for a fewmoments while she unpinned her tartan riding-skirt. Its removaldisclosed, not--as I had expected--a short frock, but one of quitewomanly length; and she carried it with the air of a grown woman. 

"You must make allowances, please. I think, " she mused, "yes, I reallythink you will be able to help. But you must not be surprised, mind. Can you walk alone, or will you lean a hand on my shoulder?"

I could walk alone. Of what she meant I had of course no inkling; but Isaw she was as anxious now for me to come indoors as she had been promptat first to warn me off the premises. So I hobbled after her towardsthe house. At the steps by the side-door she turned and gave me a hand. We passed across a stone-flagged hall and through a carpetless corridor, which brought us to the foot of the grand staircase: and a magnificentstaircase it was, ornate with twisted balusters and hung with finepictures, mostly by old Dutch masters. But no carpet covered the broadsteps, and the pictures were perishing in their frames for lack ofvarnish. I had halted to stare up at a big Hondecoeter that hung in thesunlight over the first short flight of stairs--an elaborate "Parliamentof Fowls"--when the girl turned the handle of a door to my right andentered. 

"Uncle Peter, here is the gentleman who has called to see you. "

As I crossed the threshold I heard a chair pushed back, and a very oldgentleman rose to welcome me at the far end of the cool and shadowyroom; a tall white-haired figure in a loose suit of holland. He did notadvance, but held out a hand tentatively, as if uncertain from whatdirection I was advancing. Almost at once I saw that he wasstone-blind. 

"But where is Uncle Melchior?" exclaimed Wilhelmina. 

"I believe he is working at accounts, " the old gentleman answered--addressing himself to vacancy, for she had already run from the room. He shook hands courteously and motioned me to find a chair, while heresumed his seat beside a little table heaped with letters, or ratherwith bundles of letters neatly tied and docketed. His right hand restedon these bundles, and his fingers tapped upon them idly for a minutebefore he spoke again. 

"You are a friend of Fritz's? of my grandson?"

"I have not the pleasure of knowing him, sir. Your niece's introductionleaves me to explain that I am just a wayfarer who had the misfortune totwist an ankle, an hour ago, on Skirrid, and crawled here to ask hisway. "

His face fell. "I was hoping that you brought news of Fritz. But youare welcome, sir, to rest your foot here; and I ask your pardon for notperceiving your misfortune. I am blind. But Wilhelmina--my grandniece--will attend to your wants. "

"She is a young lady of very large heart, " said I. He appeared toconsider for a while. "She is with me daily, but I have not seen hersince she was a small child, and I always picture her as a child. To you, no doubt, she is almost a woman grown?"

"In feeling, I should say, decidedly more woman than child; and inmanner. "

"You please me by saying so. She is to marry Fritz, and I wish that tohappen before I die. "

Receiving no answer to this--for, of course, I had nothing to say--hestartled me with a sudden question. "You disapprove of cousinsmarrying?"

I could only murmur that a great deal depended on circumstances. 

"And there are circumstances in this case. Besides, they are secondcousins only. And they both look forward to it. I am not one to forcetheir inclinations, you understand--though, of course, they know it tobe my wish--the wish of both of us, I may say; for Melchior is at onewith me in this. Wilhelmina accepts her future--speaks of it, indeed, with gaiety. And as for Fritz--though they have not seen each othersince he was a mere boy and she an infant--as for Fritz, he writes--butyou shall judge from his last letter. "

He felt among the packets and selected one. "I know one from t'other bythe knots, " he explained. "I am an old seaman! Now here is his last, written from the South Pacific station. He sends his love to 'Mina, andjokes about her being husband-high: 'but she must grow, if we are to docredit to the Van der Knoopes at the altar. ' It seems that he issomething below the traditional height of our family; but a thoroughseaman, for all his modesty. There, sir: you will find the passage onthe fourth page, near the top. "

I took the letter; and there, to be sure, read the words the old Admiralhad quoted. But it struck me that Fritz Van der Knoope used a veryladylike handwriting, and of a sort not usually taught on H. M. S. _Britannia_. 

"In two years' time the lad will be home, all being well. And then, ofcourse, we shall see. "

"Of what rank is he?"

"At present a second lieutenant. His age is but twenty-one. The Vander Knoopes have all followed the sea, as the portraits in this housewill tell you. Ay, and we have fought against England in our time. Aslate as 1672, Adrian Van der Knoope commanded a ship under De Ruyterwhen he outgeneralled the English in Southwold Bay. But since 1688 ourswords have been at the service of our adopted country; and she has usedthem, sir. "

I am afraid I was not listening. My chair faced the window, and as Iglanced at the letter in my hands enough light filtered through thetransparent "foreign" paper to throw up the watermark, and it bore thename of an English firm. 

This small discovery, quite unwillingly made, gave me a sudden sense ofshame, as though I had been playing some dishonourable trick. I washastily folding up the paper, to return it, when the door opened andWilhelmina came in, with her uncle Melchior. 

She seemed to divine in an instant what had happened; threw a swiftglance at the blind Admiral, and almost as swiftly took the letter frommy hand and restored it to the packet. The next moment, with perfectcoolness she was introducing me to her uncle Melchior. 

Melchior Van der Knoope was perhaps ten years younger than his brother, and carried his tall figure buttoned up tightly in an old-fashionedfrockcoat: a mummy of a man, with a fixed air of mild bewilderment and atrick of running his left hand through his white hair--due, no doubt, toeverlasting difficulty with the family accounts. He shook hands asceremoniously as his brother. 

"We have been talking of Fritz, " said old Peter. 

"Oh yes--of Fritz. To be sure. " Melchior answered him vaguely, andlooked at me with a puzzled smile. There was silence in the room tillhis brother spoke again. "I have been showing Mr. --Fritz's lastletter. "

"Fritz writes entertainingly, " murmured Melchior, and seemed to castabout for another word, but repeated, "--entertainingly. If the stateof your ankle permits, sir, you will perhaps take an interest in ourpictures. I shall be happy to show them to you. "

And so, with the occasional support of Melchior's arm, I began a tour ofthe house. The pictures indeed were a sufficient reward--seascapes byWillem Van der Velde, flower-portraits by Willem Van Aslet, tavern-scenes by Adrian Van Ostade; a notable Cuyp; a small Gerard Dowof peculiar richness; portraits--the Burgomaster Albert Van der Knoope, by Thomas de Keyser--the Admiral Nicholas, by Kneller--the Admiral Peter(grand-uncle of the blind Admiral), by Romney. . . . My guide seemed ashonestly proud of them as insensible of their condition, which was inalmost every case deplorable. By-and-by, in the library we came upon amodern portrait of a rosy-faced boy in a blue suit, who held (strangecombination!) a large ribstone pippin in one hand and a cricket bat inthe other--a picture altogether of such glaring demerit that I wonderedfor a moment why it hung so conspicuously over the fireplace, whileworthier paintings were elbowed into obscure corners. Then with asudden inkling I glanced at Uncle Melchior. He nodded gravely. 

"That is Fritz. "

I pulled out my watch. "I believe, " I said, "it must be time for me tobid your brother good-bye. "

"You need be in no hurry, " said Miss Wilhelmina's voice behind me. "The last train to Aber has gone at least ten minutes since. You must dine and sleep with us to-night. "

I awoke next morning between sheets of sweet-smelling linen in a carvedfour-post bed, across the head-board of which ran the motto "STEMMATAQVID FACIVNT" in faded letters of gilt. If the appearance of the room, with its tattered hangings and rickety furniture, had counted foranything, my dreams should certainly have been haunted. But, as amatter of fact, I never slept better. Possibly the lightness of thedinner (cooked by the small handmaid Lobelia) had something to do withit; possibly, too, the infectious somnolence of the two Admirals, whospoke but little during the meal, and nodded, without attempt atdissimulation, over the dessert. At any rate, shortly after nineo'clock--when Miss Wilhelmina brought out a heavy Church Service, andUncle Melchior read the lesson and collect for the day and a fewprayers, including the one "For those at Sea"--I had felt quite readyfor bed. And now, thanks to a cold compress, my ankle had mendedconsiderably. I descended to breakfast in very cheerful mind, and foundMiss Wilhelmina alone at the table. 

"Uncle Peter, " she explained, "rarely comes down before mid-day; andUncle Melchior breakfasts in his room. He is busy with the accounts. "

"So early?"

She smiled rather sadly. "They take a deal of disentangling. "

She asked how my ankle did. When I told her, and added that I mustcatch an early train back to Aber, she merely said, "I will walk to thestation with you, if I may. "

And so at ten o'clock--after I had bidden farewell to Uncle Melchior, who wore the air of one interrupted in a long sum of compound addition--we set forth. I knew the child had something on her mind, and waited. Once, by a ruinous fountain where a stone Triton blew patiently at aconch-shell plugged with turf, she paused and dug at the mortared jointsof the basin with the point of her sunshade; and I thought theconfidence was coming. But it was by the tumble-down gate at the end ofthe chestnut avenue that she turned and faced me. 

"I knew you yesterday at once, " she said. "You write novels. "

"I wish, " said I feebly, "the public were as quick at discovering me. "

"Somebody printed an 'interview' with you in '--'s Magazine a month ortwo ago. "

"There was not the slightest resemblance. "

"Please don't be silly. There was a photograph. "

"Ah, to be sure. "

"You can help me--help us all--if you will. "

"Is it about Fritz?"

She bent her head and signed to me to open the gate. Across thehigh-road a stile faced us, and a little church, with an acre framed inelms and set about with trimmed yews. She led the way to the low andwhitewashed porch, and pushed open the iron-studded door. As Ifollowed, the name of Van der Knoope repeated itself on many muraltablets. Almost at the end of the south aisle she paused and lifted afinger and pointed. 

I read--

 SACRED To the Memory of FRITZ OPDAM DE KEYSER VAN DER KNOOPE A Midshipman of the Royal Navy Who was born Oct. 21st MDCCCLXVII. And Drowned By the Capsizing of H. M. S. Viper off the North Coast of Ireland On the 17th of January MDCCCLXXXV. A youth of peculiar promise who lacked but the greater indulgence of an all-wise Providence to earn the distinction of his forefathers (of whom he was the last male representative) in his Country's service in which he laid down his young life

 ---------- Heu miserande puer! Si qua fata aspera rumpas Tu Marcellus eris. 

"Uncle Melchior had it set up. I wonder what Fritz was really like. "

"And your Uncle Peter still believes--?"

"Oh yes. I am to marry Fritz in time. That is where you must help us. It would kill Uncle Peter if he knew. But Uncle Melchior gets puzzledwhenever it comes to writing; and I am afraid of making mistakes. We've put him down in the South Pacific station at present--that willlast for two years more. But we have to invent the gossip, you know. And I thought that you--who wrote stories--"

"My dear young lady, " I said, "let me be Fritz, and you shall have aletter duly once a month. "

And my promise was kept--until, two years ago, she wrote that there wasno further need for letters, for Uncle Peter was dead. For aught Iknow, by this time Uncle Melchior may be dead also. But regularly, asthe monthly date comes round, I am Fritz Opdam de Keyser van der Knoope, a young midshipman of Her Majesty's Navy; and wonder what my affiancedbride is doing; and see her on the terrace steps with those butterfliesfloating about her. In my part of the world it is believed that thesouls of the departed pass into these winged creatures. So might thesouls of those many pictured Admirals: but some day, before long, I hopeto cross Skirrid again and see. 

THE PENANCE OF JOHN EMMET. 

I have thought fit in this story to alter all the names involved anddisguise the actual scene of it: and have done this so carefully that, although the story has a key, the reader who should search for it wouldnot only waste his time but miss even the poor satisfaction of havingguessed an idle riddle. He whom I call Parson West is now dead. He wasan entirely conscientious man; which means that he would rather do wronghimself than persuade or advise another man--above all, a young man--todo it. I am sure therefore that in burying the body of John Emmet as hedid, and enlisting my help, he did what he thought right, though theaction was undoubtedly an illegal one. Still, the question is one forcasuists; and remembering how modest a value my old friend set on hisown wisdom, I dare say that by keeping his real name out of thenarrative I am obeying what would have been his wish. His small breachof the law he was (I know) prepared to answer for cheerfully, should thefacts come to light. He has now gone where their discovery affects himnot at all. 

Parson West, then, when I made his acquaintance in 188-, had for thirtyyears been vicar of the coast-parish of Lansulyan. He had come to italmost fresh from Oxford, a young scholar with a head full of Greek, having accepted the living from his old college as a step towardspreferment. He was never to be offered another. Lansulyan parish is awide one in acreage, and the stipend exiguous even for a bachelor. Fromthe first the Parson eked out his income by preparing small annotatededitions of the Classics for the use of Schools and by taking occasionalpupils, of whom in 188- I was the latest. He could not teach mescholarship, which is a habit of mind; but he could, and in the end did, teach me how to win a scholarship, which is a sum of money paidannually. I have therefore a practical reason for thinking of him withgratitude: and I believe he liked me, while despising my Latinity anddiscommending my precociousness with tobacco. 

His pupils could never complain of distraction. The church-town--asingle street of cottages winding round a knoll of elms which hide theVicarage and all but the spire of St. Julian's Church--stands high and amile back from the coast, and looks straight upon the Menawhidden reef, a fringe of toothed rocks lying parallel with the shore and half a miledistant from it. This reef forms a breakwater for a small inlet wherethe coombe which runs below Lansulyan meets the sea. Follow the roaddownhill from the church-town and along the coombe, and you come to awhite-washed fishing haven, with a life-boat house and short sea-wall. The Porth is its only name. On the whole, if one has to live inLansulyan parish the Porth is gayer than the church-town, where from theVicarage windows you look through the trees southward upon ships movingup or down Channel in the blue distance and the white water girdlingMenawhidden; northward upon downs where herds of ponies wander at willbetween the treeless farms, and a dun-coloured British earthwork topsthe high sky-line. Dwellers among these uplands, wringing theirlivelihood from the obstinate soil by labour which never slackens, yearin and year out, from Monday morning to Saturday night, are properlydespised by the inhabitants of the Porth, who sit half their timemending nets, cultivating the social graces, and waiting for the harvestwhich they have not sown to come floating past their doors. By consequence, if a farmer wishes to learn the spiciest gossip abouthis nearest neighbour, he must travel down to the Porth for it. 

And this makes it the more marvellous that what I am about to tell, happening as it did at the very gates of the Porth, should have escapedthe sharpest eyes in the place. 

The Vicar's custom was to read with me for a couple of hours in themorning and again for an hour and a half before dinner. We had followedthis routine rigidly and punctually for three months or so when, oneevening in June, he returned from the Porth a good ten minutes late, very hot and dusty, and even so took a turn or two up and down the roomwith his hands clasped behind his coat-tails before settling down tocorrect my iambics. 

"John Emmet is dead, " he announced, pausing before the window with hisback towards me and gazing out upon the ill-kept lawn. 

"Wasn't he the coxswain of the life-boat?" I asked. 

"Ah, to be sure, you never saw him, did you? He took to his bed beforeyou came . . . A long illness. Well, well, it's all over!" Parson Westsighed. "He saved, or helped to save, a hundred and fifteen lives, first and last. A hundred and fifteen lives!"

"I've heard something of the sort down at the Porth. A hundred andfifty, I think they said. They seemed very proud of him down there. "

"Why?" The Vicar faced round on me, and added after a moment abruptly--"He didn't belong to them: he was not even born in this parish. "

"Where then?"

He disregarded the question. "Besides, the number was a hundred andfifteen: that's just the pity. "

I did not understand: but he had seated himself at table and was runningthrough my iambics. In the third verse he underlined a false quantitywith blue pencil and looked up for an explanation. While I confessedthe fault, his gaze wandered away from me and fell upon his fingersdrumming upon the table's edge. A slant of red sunshine touched thesignet-ring on his little finger, which he moved up and down watchingthe play of light on the rim of the collet. He was not listening. By-and-by he glanced up, "I beg your pardon--" stammered he, and leavingthe rest of my verses uncorrected, pointed with his pencil to theconcluding one. "That's not Greek, " he said. 

"It's in Sophocles, " I contended: and turning up the word in "Liddelland Scott, " I pushed the big lexicon under his nose. 

For a moment he paid no heed to the action; did not seem to grasp themeaning of it. Then for the first and last time in my acquaintance withhim he broke into a passion of temper. 

"What do you mean, Sir? It's offensive, I tell you: a downrightoffensive, ungentlemanly thing to do! Yes, Sir, ungentlemanly!"He crumpled up my verses and tossed them into the waste-paper basket. "We had better get on with our Tacitus. " And "Offensive!" I heard himmuttering once more, as he picked up the book and found his place. I began to construe. His outburst had disconcerted me, and no doubt Iperformed discreditably: but glancing up in some apprehension after apiece of guess-work which even to me carried no conviction, I saw thatagain he was not attending. After this, by boldly skipping eachdifficulty as it arose I managed to cover a good deal of ground withadmirable fluency. 

We dined together in silence that evening, and after dinner strolled outto the big filbert-tree under which, for a few weeks in the year, ParsonWest had his dessert laid and sipped his thin port--an old common-roomfashion to which he clung. To the end of his days he had the whitecloth removed before dessert, and the fruits and the one decanter setout upon polished mahogany. 

I glanced at him while helping myself to strawberries and cream. He satnervously folding and refolding the napkin on his knee. By-and-by hespoke, but without looking at me. 

"I lost my temper this afternoon, and I beg your pardon, my boy. "

I began to stammer my contrition for having offended him: but he cut meshort with a wave of the hand. "The fact is, " he explained, "I wasworried by something quite different. "

"By John Emmet's death, " I suggested. He nodded, and looked at mequeerly while he poured out a glass of Tarragona. 

"He was my gardener years ago, before he set up market-gardening on hisown account. "

"That's queer too, " said I. 

"What's queer?" He asked it sharply. 

"Why, to find a gardener cox'n of a life-boat. "

"He followed the sea in early life. But I'll tell you what _is_ queer, and that's his last wish. His particular desire was that I, and Ialone, should screw down the coffin. He had Trudgeon the carpenter upto measure him, and begged this of me in Trudgeon's presence and thedoctor's. What's more, I consented. "

"That's jolly unpleasant, " was my comment, for lack of a better. 

The Vicar sat silent for a while, staring across the lawn, while Iwatched a spider which had let itself down from a branch overhead andwas casting anchor on the decanter's rim. With his next question heseemed to have changed the subject. 

"Where do you keep your boat now?"

"Renatus Warne has been putting in a new strake and painting her. I shall have her down on the beach to-morrow. "

"Ah, so that's it? I cast my eye over the beach this afternoon andcouldn't see her. You haven't been trying for the conger lately. "

"We'll have a try to-morrow evening if you'll come, Sir. I wish youwould. "

The Vicar, though he seldom found time for the sport, was a famousfisherman. He shook his head; and then, leaning an arm on the table, gazed at me with sudden seriousness. 

"Look here: could you make it convenient to go fishing for conger thisnext night or two--_and to go alone?_"

I saw that he had something more to say, and waited. 

"The fact is, " he went on after a glance towards the house, "I have aticklish job to carry through--the queerest in all my experience; andunfortunately I want help as well as secrecy. After some perplexityI've resolved to ask you: because, upon my word, you're the only personI can ask. That doesn't sound flattering--eh? But it isn't yourfitness I doubt, or your nerve. I've hesitated because it isn't fair todrag you into an affair which, I must warn you, runs counter to the lawin a small way. "

I let out a low whistle. "A smuggling job?" I suggested. 

"Good Heavens, boy! What do you take me for?"

"I beg your pardon, then. But when you talk of a row-boat--at night--ajob that wants secrecy--breaking the law--"

"I'll have to tell you the whole tale, I see: and it's only fair. "

"Not a bit, " said I stoutly. "Tell me what you want done and I'll doit. Afterwards tell me your reasons, if you care to. Indeed, Sir, I'drather have it that way, if you don't mind. I was abominablydisrespectful this afternoon--"

"No more about _that_. "

"But I _was_: and with your leave, Sir, that's the form of apology I'llchoose. "

And I stood up with my hands in my pockets. 

"Nonsense, nonsense, " said the Vicar, eyeing me with a twinkle. But I nodded back in the most determined manner. 

"Your instructions, sir--that is, unless you prefer to get anotherhelper. "

"But I cannot, " pleaded he. "That's the mischief. "

"Very well, then. Your instructions, please. " And thus I had my way. 

This happened on a Tuesday. The next evening I walked down to the Porthand launched my boat. A row of idlers watched me from the long benchunder the life-boat house, and a small knot on the beach inspected myfishing-gear and lent a hand to push off. "Ben't goin' alone, be 'e?"asked Renatus Warne. "Yes, " said I. "The conger'll have 'ee then, sureenough. " One or two offered chaffingly to come out and search for me ifI shouldn't return before midnight; and a volley of facetious warningsfollowed me out upon the calm sea. 

The beach was deserted, however, when I returned. I had hooked threefine conger; and having hauled up the boat and cleaned her, I made myway back to the vicarage, well pleased, getting to bed as the clockstruck two in the morning. 

This was Thursday; and in the evening, between seven and eight o'clock, I launched the boat again under the eyes of the population and startedfishing on the inner grounds, well in sight of the Porth. Dusk fell, and with it the young moon dropped behind the western headland. Far outbeyond Menawhidden the riding-lights of a few drifters sparkled in thedarkness: but I had little to fear from them. 

The moon had no sooner disappeared than I shifted my ground, and pullingslowly down in the shore's shadow (I had greased the leathers of my oarsfor silence), ran the boat in by the point under Gunner's Meadow, beached her cunningly between two rocks, and pulled a tarpaulin over tohide her white-painted interior. My only danger now lay in blunderingagainst the coastguard: but by dodging from one big boulder to anotherand listening all the while for footsteps, I gained the withy bed at thefoot of the meadow. The night was almost pitch-black, and no one couldpossibly detect the boat unless he searched for it. 

I followed the little stream up the valley bottom, through an orchard, and struck away from it across another meadow and over the roundedshoulder of the hill to my right. This brought me in rear of akitchen-garden and a lonely cob-walled cottage, the front of which faceddown a dozen precipitous steps upon the road leading from Lansulyan tothe Porth. The cottage had but one window in the back, in the upperfloor; and just beneath it jutted out a lean-to shed, on the wooden sideof which I rapped thrice with my knuckles. 

"Hist!" The Vicar leaned out from the dark window above. "Right: it'sall ready. We must stow it in the outhouse. Trudgeon is down in theroad below, waiting for me to finish. "

No more was said. The Vicar withdrew: after a minute I heard theplanking creak: then something white glimmered in the opening of thewindow--something like a long bundle of linen, extruded inch by inch, then lowered on to the penthouse roof and let slide slowly down towardsme. 

"Got it?"

"Right. " I steadied it a moment by its feet, then let it slide into myarms, and lowered it on to the gravelled path. It was the body of JohnEmmet, in his winding-sheet. 

"Carry it into the shed, " whispered the Vicar. "I must show Trudgeonthe coffin and hand him the keys. When I've got rid of him I'll comeround. "

Somehow, the second time of handling it was far worse than the first. The chill of the corpse seemed to strike through its linen wrappers. But I lifted it inside, shut the door upon it, and stood wiping myforehead, while the Vicar closed the window cautiously, drew the blind, and pressed-to the clasp. 

A minute later I heard him calling from the front, "Mr. Trudgeon--Mr. Trudgeon"; and Trudgeon's hob-nailed boots ascending the steps. Silence followed for many minutes: then a slant of candlelight faded offthe fuchsia-bush round the corner, and the two men stumbled down thestaircase--stood muttering on the doorstep while a key grated in thelock--stumbled down the steps and stood muttering in the sunken roadway. At length they said "Good-night" and parted. I listened while the soundof their footsteps died away: Trudgeon's down the hill towards thePorth, the Vicar's up towards the church-town. 

After this I had some painful minutes. As they dragged by, anabominable curiosity took hold of me, an itch to open the door of theshed, strike a match, and have a look at the dead face I had never seen. Then came into my mind a passage in the _Republic_ which I had read afortnight before--how that one Leontius, the son of Aglaion, coming upone day from the Piraeus under the north wall of the city, observed somecorpses lying on the ground at the place of execution; and how he foughtbetween his desire to look and his abhorrence until at length, thefascination mastering him, he forced his eyes open with his fingers andran up exclaiming, "Look, wretches, look! Feed your fill on the fairsight!" . . . My seat was an inverted flower-pot, and clinging to it Ibegan to count. If the Vicar did not arrive before I reached fivehundred, why, then . . . 

"_Hist!_" He had fetched his compass round by the back of the garden, treading so softly that the signal sounded almost in my ear and fetchedme off my flower-pot in a nervous quake. He wore a heavy pea-jacket, and, as a smell of hot varnish announced, carried a dark lantern beneathit. He had strapped this to his waist-belt to leave both hands free. 

We lifted the body out and carried it across the meadow, the Vicartaking the shoulders and I the heels. And now came the real hazard ofthe night. If the coastguard or any belated wanderer should blunderupon us, we stood convicted of kidnapping a corpse, and (as the Vicarafterwards allowed) there was simply no explanation to be given. When we gained the orchard and pushed through the broken fence, everytwig that crackled fetched my heart into my mouth: and I drew my firstbreath of something like ease when at length, in the withy bed at thefoot of Gunner's Meadow, we laid our burden down behind the ruin of anold cob-wall and took a short rest before essaying the beach. 

But that breath was hardly drawn before I laid a warning hand on theVicar's sleeve. Someone was coming down the cliff-track: thecoastguard, no doubt. He halted on the wooden footbridge, struck amatch and lit his pipe. From our covert not ten yards away I saw theglow on his face as he shielded the match in the hollow of both hishands. It was the coastguard--a fellow called Simms. His match lit, Iexpected him to resume his walk. But no: he loitered there. For whatreason, on earth? Luckily his back was towards us now: but to me, as Icowered in the plashy mud and prayed against sneezing, it seemed thatthe damnatory smell of the Vicar's lantern must carry for half a mile atleast. 

And now I heard another footstep, coming from the westward, and a loosestone kicked over the cliff. Another coastguard! The pair hailed eachother, and stood on the footbridge talking together for a good threeminutes. 

Then to our infinite relief they parted with a "So long!" and each madeslowly off by the way he had come. It was just a meeting of the patrolsafter all. 

Another ten minutes must have gone by before we dared to lift the bodyagain: and after a nervous while in crossing the beach we found the boatleft high and dry by the ebb, and had an interminable job to get herdown to the water without noise. I climbed in and took the oars: theVicar lifted a sizeable stone on board and followed. 

"The Carracks, " he whispered. "That's the spot he named to me. "

So I pulled out towards the Carracks, which are three points of rocklying just within the main barrier of Menawhidden, where it breaks uptowards its western end into a maze of islets. While I pulled, theVicar knelt on the bottom-boards and made fast the stone to John Emmet'sfeet. 

Well, I need not tell the rest of our adventure at length. We reachedthe Carracks, and there the Vicar pulled out a short surplice from theimmense inner pocket of his pea-jacket, donned it, and read the burialservice in due form by the light of his dark lantern: and by the lightof it, as I arranged John Emmet's shroud, I had my first and lastglimpse of his face--a thin face, old and hollow, with greyside-whiskers: a face extraordinarily pallid: in other circumstancesperhaps not noticeable unless it were for a look of extreme wearinesswhich had lasted even into the rest of death. 

"We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body (when the sea shall give up herdead), and the life of the world to come. . . . "

Together we balanced it on the gunwale, and with the help of thestern-board tilted it over. It dropped, into fifteen fathoms of water. 

There was another funeral next day in Lansulyan churchyard--where somany have come to be buried who never in life heard the name ofLansulyan: the harvest of Menawhidden, commemorated on weather-beatenstones and, within the church, on many tablets which I used to con onSundays during the Vicar's discourses. The life-boat men had musteredin force, and altogether there was a large attendance at the graveside. At one point a fit of coughing interrupted the Vicar in his recital ofthe service. I was the one auditor, however, who understood the meaningof it. 

That evening we took our dessert again under the great elm. Somehow Ifelt certain he would choose this hour for his explanation: and in duecourse it came. 

"I'm a truth-speaking man by habit, " he began after a long gaze upwardsat the rooks now settling to roost and making a mighty pother of it. "But I'm afraid there's no getting round the fact that this afternoon Iacted a lie. And yet, on the whole, my conscience is easy. "

He sipped his wine, and went on meditatively--

"Morals have their court of equity as well as the law of the land: andwith us"--the Vicar was an old-fashioned Churchman--"that court is theprivate conscience. In this affair you insisted on putting yourconscience into my hands. Well, I took the responsibility, and chargemyself with any wrong you have committed, letting your confidence standto your credit, as well as the service you have done for me--andanother. Do you know the grey marble tablet on the south wall of thechurch--the _Nerbuddha_ monument?"

I nodded. 

"'_Sacred to the memory of Lieutenant-Colonel Victor Stanhope, C. B. , and105 Officers and Men of Her Majesty's 2-th Regiment of Foot, lost in thewreck of the Nerbuddha, East Indiaman, on Menawhidden, January 15th, 1857. . . . _' Then follows a list of the officers. Underneath, if youremember, is a separate slab to the officers and crew of the_Nerbuddha_, who behaved admirably, all the senior officers keepingorder to the last and going down with the ship. "

I nodded again, for I knew the inscriptions pretty well by heart. 

"The wreck happened in the first winter of my incumbency here. Then, asnow, I had one pupil living with me, an excellent fellow. Dick Hobartwas his name, his age seventeen or thereabouts, and my business to putsome polish on a neglected education before he entered the Army. His elder brother had been a college friend of mine, and indeed ourfamilies had been acquainted for years. 

"Dick slept in the room you now occupy. He had a habit, which I nevercured, of sitting up late over a pipe and a yellow-backed novel: and sohe happened to be dressed that night when he saw the first signal ofdistress go up from Menawhidden. He came to my room at once and calledme up: and while I tumbled out and began to dress, he ran down to Porthto give the alarm. 

"The first signal, however, had been seen by the folks down there, andhe found the whole place in a hubbub. Our first life-boat had arrivedless than three months before; but the crew got her off briskly, andwere pulling away lustily for the reef when it occurred to a few ofthose left behind that the sea running was not too formidable for acouple of seine-boats lying high on the beach: and within five minutesthese were hauled down and manned with scratch crews--Dick Hobart amongthem. 

"Three days of east wind had knocked up a heavy swell: but the wind wasblowing a moderate gale only--nothing to account for a big ship (as shewas already reported to be) finding herself on Menawhidden. Three signals only had been shown, and these in quick succession. We learned afterwards that she went down within twelve minutes ofstriking. She had dashed straight on the Carracks, with the wind wellbehind her beam, topmasts housed for the night, but, barring that, canvassed like a well-found ship sure of her sea-room. And the Carrackshad torn the bottom out of her. 

"The difficulty with the life-boat and two seine-boats was to find theposition of the wreck, the night being pitch dark and dirty, and thecalls and outcries of the poor creatures being swept down the wind tothe westward. Our fellows pulled like Trojans, however, hailing andahoying as they went; and about half-way down the line of Menawhiddenthey came on the first of the _Nerbuddha's_ boats, laden with women andchildren, in charge of the fourth officer and half-a-dozen seamen. From her they learned the vessel's name and whereabouts, and havingdirected her on her way to the Porth, hurried forward again. They passed another boat similarly laden, and presently heard thedistracting cries of swimmers, and drove straight into the wreckage andthe struggling crowd of bodies. The life-boat rescued twenty-seven, andpicked up four more on a second journey: the first seine-boat accountedfor a dozen: the second (in which Hobart pulled an oar) was lessfortunate, saving five only--and yet, as I shall tell you, my youngfriend had (and, for that matter, still has) abundant reason to bethankful for his voyage in her; for on that night he plucked from thesea the greatest treasure of his life. 

"She--for it was a small girl of seven, and he took her from the arms ofa seaman who died soon after being lifted into the boat-turned out to bethe Colonel's daughter. She had stood by her mother's side above thegangway while the women passed down the side into the boats: for thatnoble English lady had insisted that as it was the Colonel's duty tofollow his men, so it was for the Colonel's wife to wait until everyother woman and every child had filed past. The _Nerbuddha_ had gonedown under her as she stood there beside her husband, steadied by hishand on her shoulder. Both bodies were afterwards recovered. 

"Altogether fifty-two were buried in this parish: other bodies werewashed ashore or picked up from time to time, some at great distances upand down the Channel. In the end the list of those unaccounted for cameto forty, or by other accounts thirty-six. That was my first experienceof what Menawhidden could do. I have had many since: but to this dayour little church--yes, even when we decorate it for harvest-festivaland pile the sheaves within the Communion rails--remains for me the darklittle building where the bodies lay in rows waiting to be identified, and where I and half-a-dozen volunteers took turns in keeping watch dayand night while the windows shook and the damp oozed down the walls. 

"The cause of the wreck was never made clear. The helmsman had gone, and the captain (his body was among the missing), and the first, second, and third officers. But two seamen who had been successively relievedat the wheel in the early hours of the night agreed on the course set bythe captain. It was a course which must finally bring them straight onMenawhidden. Yet there was no evidence to show that the captain changedit. The men knew nothing of Channel navigation, and had simply obeyedorders. She had struck during the first mate's watch. The fourthofficer (survivor) had also been on deck. He gave evidence that hissuperior, Mr. Rands, had said nothing about the course. For his ownpart he had supposed the ship to be a good fifteen miles from the coast. They had sighted no shore-lights to warn them: but the weather was hazy. Five minutes before the catastrophe Mr. Rands had remarked that the windwas increasing, but had deferred shortening sail. The ship was an oldone, but newly rigged throughout. Her compasses had been adjusted andthe ship swung at Greenhithe, just before the voyage. Mr. Murchison, the captain, was a trusted commander of the H. E. I. C. : he came originallyfrom Liverpool, and had worked his way up in the company's service: apositive man and something of a disciplinarian, almost a martinet--not aman who would bear crossing easily. He was in his cabin, but came ondeck at once, ready dressed; and had, with Colonel Stanhope'sassistance, kept admirable order, getting out the three boats aspromptly as possible. A fourth had actually been launched, and wasbeing manned when the vessel plunged and stove her in as she went down. 

"That is as much as needs be told about the _Nerbuddha_. Let me get onto the happier part of the story, that which concerns Dick Hobart andthe small girl whom by Heaven's mercy he helped to save. Her name wasFelicia--Felicia Rose Derwent Stanhope in full. Her uncle and guardian, Sir John Derwent, came down and fetched her home, with the bodies of herfather and mother. I have told you that Dick was just then waiting forhis commission, which, by the way, his family could poorly afford topurchase. Well, in recognition of his 'gallantry' (as the old gentlemanwas good enough to term it) Sir John, who possessed a good deal ofinfluence, had him gazetted within six weeks, and to the 2-th Regiment--'for which, ' so ran the gracious letter bringing the news, 'you haveperformed the first of what I hope will be a long list of distinguishedservices. '

"Pretty, was it not? Yes, but there's prettier to come. Felicia, whowas an only child and quite an heiress in a small way, kept up from thefirst a steady correspondence with her 'preserver': childish letters, tobegin with, but Dick kept them all. In Bombay, in Abyssinia, for a fewweeks in England (when he saw her for the first time since the wreck), then back in India again, he has told me since that the world held butone woman for him, and that was the little girl growing up to womanhoodin her Bedfordshire home. 

"Well it all happened as you are guessing. Dick, who had inherited alittle money by this time, and was expecting his majority, returned toEngland in '72 on a long furlough. Needless to say he paid a visit toCressingham, where Felicia lived under the wing of a widowed aunt:equally needless to say what happened there. The engagement was a shortone--six weeks: and Dick flattered me immensely with an invitation tocome up and perform the ceremony. "

The Vicar paused, refilled his glass, and leaning back gazed up at thenow silent nests. "All this, " thought I, "may be mighty interesting inits way, but what--"

"But what, you'll be asking, has all this to do with John Emmet?I'm coming to that. On the evening of my arrival at Cressingham, Dick, who was lodging at the village inn where I too had a room, took me overto pay my respects to the ladies. We had taken our leave and werepassing down the pretty avenue of limes to the entrance gates, when hepaused and hailed a man stooping over a fountain in the Italian gardenon our left, and apparently clearing it of dead leaves. 

"'Hi! John Emmet!'

"The man straightened his back, faced round, and came towards us, touching his hat. 

"'This is the gentleman, John, who has come expressly to tie the knotnext Wednesday. You must know, ' said Dick, turning to me, 'that MissFelicia and John Emmet are sworn friends, and he owes me a mighty grudgefor taking her away. He's been gardener here for fifteen--sixteen--howmany years is it, John?'

"'Then, ' said I, 'I suppose you were here before the wreck of the_Nerbuddha_, and knew Miss Felicia's parents?'

"The man gave a start, and his hat, which he had pulled off, and withthe brim of which he was fumbling, slipped from his fingers and rolledon the turf. 

"'Oh, yes, I forgot!' put in Dick. 'I ought to have told you that Mr. West here is the Rector of Lansulyan, and was at the time of the wreck. "

"'Indeed, Sir!' John Emmet had recovered his hat, and confronted me witha face for which I spared a glance before bending my eyes on the daisiesat my feet. 'I--I took service here some months after that event. '

"'Come, Padre'--these were the next words I heard--'if you wish to produp all the daisies on Felicia's property, arise early to-morrow andbegin. But if we're to dine at the Hall to-night it's time to begetting back to the inn and changing our clothes. '

"I looked up, and my eyes fell on the retreating back of John Emmet, already half-way towards the Italian garden. "

"'Queer fellow, that--what's his name?--John Emmet, ' said I late thatnight on our return to the inn, as Dick and I mixed our whiskey andprepared for a smoke before his sitting-room fire. 

"'Tile loose, I fancy, ' answered Dick, pausing with a lighted match inhis hand. 'I've an idea that he owes me a grudge for coming here andcarrying off Felicia. '

"'What gives you that notion?'

"'Well, you see he has always been a favourite of hers. She tells methat the hours she managed to steal and spend in the garden, chattingwith John Emmet while he worked, were the happiest in her childhood. He seems to have been a kind of out-of-door protector to her, and I'llbet she twisted him round her small thumb. '

"'That's little enough to go upon, ' was my comment. 'It struck me, onthe contrary, that the man eyed you with some affection, not to saypride. '

"'Well, it's a small thing, but I can't help remembering how he took thenews of Felicia's--of our engagement. You see, it happened at afancy-dress dance. '

"'What happened?'

"'Don't be dense, Padre. Why, _it_--the engagement. The dance wasgiven by some people who live two miles from here--people calledBargrave. Felicia and I drove over. She wore an old Court dress of hergrandmother's or great-grand-mother's: I'm no hand at costumes, and canonly tell you that she looked particularly jolly in it. I went inuniform--mess uniform, that is. It's one of the minor advantages of theservice that on these occasions a man hasn't to put on a cavalier's wigand look like a goat out for a holiday. Well, as I was saying, at thisparticular dance _it_ happened. It was daybreak when we started todrive home; a perfect midsummer morning, sun shining, dew on the hedges, and the birds singing fit to split themselves. Felicia and I had a lotto say to each other, naturally; and it occurred to us to stop thecarriage at the gates and send it on while we walked up to the housetogether. We took the path leading through the Italian garden, andthere--pretty well in the same place where you saw him this afternoon--we came on John Emmet, already out and at work: or rather he was leaningon a hoe and staring after the carriage as it moved up the avenue behindthe limes. We came on him from behind, and, I suppose, suddenly. Anyhow, we scared him. I never saw such a face in my life as he turnedon us! It went all white in an instant, and then slowly whiter. No doubt our dress was unusual: but I'm not accustomed to be taken for aghost--'

"'Was it _you_ who frightened him?'

"'Yes, I think so. He kept his eyes on me, anyway: and at first, whenFelicia asked him to congratulate her, he didn't seem to hear. After abit, however, he picked up his speech and muttered something about fate, and wishing her joy--I forget what. Felicia confessed afterwards thathis face had fairly frightened her. '

"'Look here, ' I asked; 'it may seem an irrelevant question, but has the2-th made any changes in its uniform lately?--any important changes, Imean. '

"'No: the War Office has been obliging enough to leave us alone in thatrespect: out of sight out of mind, I suppose. In point of fact we'vekept the same rig--officers and men--for something like a quarter of acentury. ' He paused. 'I see what you're driving at. The man, youthink, may be an old deserter!'

"'Not so fast, please. Now here's another question. You remember thenight after the wreck of the _Nerbuddha_: the night you took a turn inLansulyan Church, watching the bodies? You came to me in the morningwith a story which I chose to laugh at--'

"'About the face at the window, you mean?' Dick gave a mock shudder. 'I suppose my nerves were shaken. I've been through some queer thingssince: but upon my soul I'd as soon face the worst of them again as takeanother spell with a line of corpses in that church of yours. '

"'But--the face?'

"'Well, at the time I'd have sworn I saw it: peering in through the lastwindow westward in the south aisle--the one above the font. I ran out, you remember, and found nobody: then I fetched a lantern and flashed itabout the churchyard. '

"'There were gravestones in plenty a man could hide behind. Should youremember the face?'

"Dick considered for a while. 'No: it didn't strike me as a face somuch as a pair of eyes; I remember the eyes only. They were lookingstraight into mine. "

"'Well, now. I've always guessed there was something queer about that_Nerbuddha_ business: though till now I've never told a soul my chiefreason for believing so. After you left me that night, and while I wasdressing, it occurred to me from the last of the three signals--the onlyone I saw--that the wreck must be somewhere near the Carracks, and thatFarmer Tregaskis had a seine-boat drawn up by the old pallace [1] atGunner's Meadow, just opposite the Carracks. '"

"'It struck me that if it were possible to knock up Tregaskis and hisboys and the farmhand who slept on the premises, and get this boatlaunched through the surf, we should reach the wreck almost as soon asthe life-boat. So I took a lantern and ran across the fields to thefarm. Lights were burning there in two or three windows, and Mrs. Tregaskis, who answered my knock, told me that her husband and the boyshad already started off--she believed for Gunner's Meadow, to launchtheir boat. There had been talk of doing so, anyhow, before they setout. Accordingly, off I pelted hot-foot for the meadow, but on reachingthe slope above it could see no lanterns either about the pallace or onthe beach. It turned out afterwards that the Tregaskis family hadindeed visited the beach, ten minutes ahead of me, but judging it beyondtheir powers to launch the boat short-handed through the surf, were bythis time on their way towards the Porth. I thought this likely enoughat the time, but resolved to run down and make sure. 

"'Hitherto I had carried my lantern unlit: but on reaching the coombebottom I halted for a moment under the lee of the pallace-wall to strikea match. In that moment, in a sudden lull of the breakers, it seemed tome that I heard a footstep on the loose stones of the beach; and havinglit my candle hastily I ran round the wall and gave a loud hail. It wasnot answered: the sound had ceased: but hurrying down the beach with mylantern held high, I presently saw a man between me and the water'sedge. I believe now that he was trying to get away unobserved: butfinding this hopeless he stood still with his hands in his pockets, andallowed me to come up. He was bare-headed, and dressed only in shirtand trousers and boots. Somehow, though I did not recognise him, Inever doubted for a moment that the man belonged either to my own or thenext parish. I was a newcomer in those days, you remember. 

"'"Hulloa!" said I, "where do you come from?"'

"'He stared at me stupidly and jerked his thumb over his shouldertowards the west. I inferred that he came from one of the shore-farmsin that direction. He looked like a middle-aged farmer--a grizzled manwith a serious, responsible face. "But you're wet through, " I said, forhis clothes were drenched. 

"'For answer he pointed towards the surf, and lifting my lantern again, I detected a small cask floating a little beyond the breakers. Now before coming to Lansulyan I had heard some ugly tales of thewrecking done in these parts, and at the sight of this I fairly lost mytemper. 'It seems to me, ' said I, "a man of your age should be ashamedof himself, lurking here for miserable booty when there are lives tosave! In God's name, if you have a spark of manhood in you, follow meto the Porth!" I swung off in a rage, and up the beach: after a momentI heard him slowly following. On the cliff track I swallowed down mywrath and waited for him to come up, meaning to expostulate more gently. He did not come up. I hailed twice, but he had vanished into the night. 

"'Now this looked ugly. And on reflection, when I reached the Porth andheard men wondering how on earth a fine ship found herself onMenawhidden in such weather, it looked uglier yet. The fellow--now Icame to think it over--had certainly shrunk from detection. Then, thirty hours later, came your story of the face, and upset mefurther. I kept my suspicions to myself, however. The matter was toograve for random talking: but I resolved to keep eyes and ears open, andif this horrible practice of wrecking did really exist, to expose itwithout mercy. 

"'Well I have lived some years since in Lansulyan: and I am absolutelysure now that no such horrors exist, if they ever existed. '

"'But the man?' was Dick's query. 

"'That's what I'm coming to. You may be sure I looked out for him: for, unlike you, I remembered the face I saw. Yet until to-day I have neverseen it since. '

"'Until to-day?'

"'Yes. The man I saw on the beach was Miss Felicia's gardener, JohnEmmet. He has shaved his beard; but I'll swear to him. '

"All that Dick could do was to pull the pipe from his mouth and give along whistle. 'But what do you make of it?' he asked with a frown. 

"'As yet, nothing. Where does the man live?'

"'In a small cottage at the end of the village, just outside the gate ofthe kitchen-garden. '

"'Married?'

"'No: a large family lives next door and he pays the eldest girl to dosome odd jobs of housework. '

"'Then to-morrow, ' said I, 'I'll pay him a call. '

"'Seen your man?' asked Dick next evening, as we walked up towards thehouse, where again we were due for dinner. 

"'I have just come from him: and what's more I have a proposition tomake to Miss Felicia, if you and she can spare me an hour this evening. '

"The upshot of our talk was that, a week later, as I drove home from thestation after my long railway journey, John Emmet sat by my side. He had taken service with me as gardener, and for nine years he servedme well. You'll hardly believe it"--here the Vicar's gaze travelledover the unkempt flower-beds--"but under John Emmet's hand this gardenof mine was a picture. The fellow would have half a day's work donebefore the rest of the parish was out of bed. I never knew a humancreature who needed less sleep--that's not the way to put it, though--the man _couldn't_ sleep: he had lost the power (so he said) ever sincethe night the _Nerbuddha_ struck. 

"So it was that every afternoon found the day's work ended in my garden, and John Emmet, in my sixteen-foot boat, exploring the currents andsoundings about Menawhidden. And almost every day I went with him. He had become a learner--for the third time in his life; and thequickest learner (in spite of his years) I have ever known, for his mindwas bent on that single purpose. I should tell you that the TrinityHouse had discovered Menawhidden at last and placed the bell-buoy there--which is and always has been entirely useless: also that the LifeboatInstitution had listened to some suggestions of mine and werere-organising the service down at the Porth. And it was now my hopethat John Emmet might become coxswain of the boat as soon as he hadlocal knowledge to back up the seamanship and aptitude for command inwhich I knew him to excel every man in the Porth. There werejealousies, of course: but he wrangled with no man, and in the end I hadmy way pretty easily. Within four years of his coming John Emmet knewmore of Menawhidden than any man in the parish; possibly more than allthe parish put together. And to-day the parish is proud of him and hisrecord. 

"But they do not know--and you are to be one of the four persons in theworld who know--that _John Emmet was no other than John Murchison, thecaptain who lost the 'Nerbuddha'!_ He had come ashore in the darknesssome five minutes before I had surprised him on the beach: had comeashore clinging to the keg which I saw floating just beyond thebreakers. Then and there, stunned and confounded by the consequences ofhis carelessness, he had played the coward for the first and last timein his life. He had run away--and Heaven knows if in his shoes I shouldnot have done the same. For two nights and a day a hideous fascinationtied him to the spot. It was his face Dick had seen at the window. The man had been hiding all day in the trench by the north wall of thechurchyard; as Dick ran out with a lantern he slipped behind agravestone, and when Dick gave up the search, he broke cover and fledinland. He changed his name: let this be his excuse, he had neitherwife nor child. The man knew something of gardening: he had a couple ofpounds and some odd shillings in his pocket--enough to take him to oneof the big midland towns--Wolverhampton, I think--where he found work asa jobbing gardener. But something of the fascination which had held himlurking about Lansulyan, drove him to Cressingham, which--he learnedfrom the newspaper accounts of the wreck--was Colonel Stanhope's countryseat. Or perhaps he had some vague idea that Heaven would grant him achance to make amends. You understand now how the little Felicia becamehis idol. 

"At Lansulyan he had but two desires. The first was to live until hehad saved as many lives as his carelessness had lost in the _Nerbuddha_. For it was nothing worse, but mere forgetfulness to change the course:one of those dreadful lapses of memory which baffle all Board of Tradeinquiry. You may light, and buoy, and beacon every danger along thecoast, and still you leave that small kink in the skipper's brain whichwill cast away a ship for all your care. The second of his desires youhave helped me to fulfil. He wished in death to be John Murchisonagain, and lie where his ship lies: lie with his grand error atoned for. John Emmet needs no gravestone: for John Emmet lived but to earn JohnMurchison's right to a half-forgotten tablet describing him as a braveman. And I believe that Heaven, which does not count by tally, hasgranted his wish. "

[1] Pilchard store. 

ELISHA

A rough track--something between a footpath and a water course--led downthe mountain-side through groves of evergreen oak, and reached the Plainof Jezreel at the point where the road from Samaria and the southdivided into two--its main stem still climbing due north towardsNazareth, while the branch bent back eastward and by south across theflat, arable country to join the Carmel road at Megiddo. 

An old man came painfully down the mountain-track. He wore a whiteburnoos, and a brown garment of camel's hair, with a leathern belt thatgirt it high about his bare legs. He carried a staff, and tapped theground carefully before planting his feet. It was the time of barleyharvest, and a scorching afternoon. On the burnt plain below, the roadto Megiddo shone and quivered in the heat. But he could not see it. Cataract veiled his eyes and blurred the whole landscape for them. 

The track now wound about a foot-hill that broke away in a sharp slopeon his right and plunged to a stony ravine. Once or twice he paused onits edge and peered downward, as if seeking for a landmark. He wasleaning forward to peer again, but suddenly straightened his body andlistened. 

Far down in the valley a solitary dog howled. But the old man's ear hadcaught another sound, that came from the track, not far in front. 

_Cling--cling--clink! Cling--clink!_

It was the sound of hammering; of stone on metal. 

_Cling--cling--clink!_

He stepped forward briskly, rounded an angle of rock, and found himselfface to face with a man--as well as he could see, a tall man--standingupright by a heap of stones on the left edge of the path. 

"May it be well with you, my son: and with every man who repairs a pathfor the traveller. But tell me if the way be unsafe hereabouts? For myeyes are very dim, and it is now many years since last I came over thehills to Shunem. "

The man did not reply. 

"--So many years that for nigh upon an hour I have been saying, 'Surelyhere should Shunem come in sight--or here--its white walls among theoaks below--the house of Miriam of Shunem'. But I forget the curtain onmy eyes, and the oaks will have grown tall. "

Still there came no answer. Slightly nettled, the old man went on--

"My son, it is said 'To return a word before hearing the matter isfolly. ' But also, 'Every man shall kiss the lips of him who answerethfit words. ' And further, 'To the aged every stranger shall be a staff, nor shall he twice inquire his way. ' Though I may not scan thy face, thou scannest mine; and I, who now am blind, have been a seer inIsrael. "

As he ceased, another figure--a woman's--stepped out, as it seemed tohim, from behind the man; stepped forward and touched him on the arm. 

"Hail, then, Elisha, son of Shaphat!"

"Thou knowest? . . . "

"Who better than Miriam of Shunem? Put near thy face and look. "

"My eyes are very dim. "

"And the oaks are higher than Shunem. My face has changed: my voicealso. "

"For the moment it was strange to me. As I came along I was reckoningthy years at three-score. "

"Mayst add five. "

"We may not complain. And thy son, how fares he?"

"That is he, behind us. He is a good son, and leaves his elders tospeak first. If we sit awhile and talk he will wait for us. "

"And thy house and the farm-steading?"

The woman threw a glance down towards the valley, and answered quickly--

"My master, shall we not sit awhile? The track here looks towards theplain. Sit, and through my eyes thou shalt see again distant Carmel andthe fields between that used so to delight thee. Ah! not there!"

The old man had made as if to seat himself on one of the larger stoneson the edge of the heap. But she prevented him quickly; was gone for amoment; and returned, rolling a moss-covered boulder to the right-handof the path. The prophet sat himself down on this, and she on theground at his feet. 

"Just here, from my window below, I saw thee coming down the mountainwith Gehazi, thy servant, on that day when it was promised to me that Ishould bear a son. "

He nodded. 

"For as often as we passed by, " he said, "we found food and a littleroom prepared upon the wall. 'Thou hast been careful for us, ' said I, 'with all this care. What is to be done for thee? Shall I speak to theKing for thee, or to the captain of the host?' Thine answer was, 'I dwell in Shunem, among my own people. '"

"There is no greener spot in Israel. "

"'But, ' said my servant Gehazi, 'Every spot is greener where a childplays. ' Therefore this child was promised thee. "

She said, "But once a year the plain is yellow and not green; yellowaway to the foot of Carmel; and that is in this season of the barleyharvest. It was on such a day as this that my son fell in the fieldamong the reapers, and his father brought him in and set him on myknees. On such a day as this I left him dead, and saddled the ass androde between the same yellow fields to Megiddo, and thence towardsCarmel, seeking thee. See the white road winding, and the long bluechine yonder, by the sea. By and by, when the sun sinks over it, theblue chine and the oaks beneath will turn to one dark colour; and thatwill be the hour that I met thee on the slope, and lighted off the assand caught thee by the feet. As yet it is all parched fields and sky ofbrass and a white road running endless--endless. "

"But what are these black shadows that pass between me and the sun?"

"They are crows, my master. "

"What should they do here in these numbers?"

The woman rose and flung a stone at the birds. Seating herself again, she said--

"Below, the reapers narrow the circle of the corn; and there are conieswithin the circle. The kites and crows know it. "

"But that day of which thou hast spoken--it ended in gladness. The Lord restored thy son to thee. "

"Thou rather, man of God. "

"My daughter, His mercy was very great upon thee. Speak no blasphemy, thou of all women. "

"The Lord had denied me a son; but thou persuadedst Him, and He gave meone. Again, the Lord had taken my child in the harvest-field, but onthy wrestling gave him back. And again the Lord meditated to take mychild by famine, but at thy warning I arose and conveyed him into theland of the Philistines, nor returned to Shunem till seven years' end. My master, thou art a prophet in Israel, but I am thinking--"

She broke off, rose, and flung another stone at the birds. 

"My daughter, think not slightly of God's wisdom. "

"Nay, man of God, I am thinking that God was wiser than thou or I. "

The old prophet rose from his stone. His dull eyes tried to read herface. She touched his hand. 

"Come, and see. "

The figure of the man still stood, three paces behind them, uprightagainst the hillside, as when Elisha had first turned the corner andcome upon him. But now, led by Miriam, the prophet drew quite close andpeered. Dimly, and then less dimly, he discerned first that the headhad fallen forward on the breast, and that the hair upon the scalp wascaked in dry blood; next, that the figure did not stand of its own willat all, but was held upright to a stout post by an iron ring about theneck and a rope about the waist. He put out a finger and touched theface. It was cold. 

"Thy son?"

"They stoned him with these stones. His wife stood by. "

"The Syrians?"

"The Syrians. They went northward before noon, taking her. The plainis otherwise burnt than on the day when I sought across it for his saketo Carmel. "

"Well did King David entreat the hand of the Lord rather than the handof man. I had not heard of thy son's marrying. "

"Five years ago he went down with a gift to Philistia, to them thatsheltered us in the famine. He brought back this woman. "

"She betrayed him?"

"He heard her speak with a Syrian, and fled up the hill. From thelittle window in the wall--see, it smokes yet--she called and pointedafter him. And they ran and overtook him. With this iron they fastenedhim, and with these stones they stoned him. Man of God, I am thinkingthat God was wiser than thou or I. "

The old man stood musing, and touched the heap of stones gently, stoneafter stone, with the end of his staff. 

"He was wiser. "

_Cling--cling--clink!_

Miriam had taken up a stone, and with it was hammering feebly, impotently, upon the rivets in the iron band. 

As the sun dropped below Carmel the prophet cast down his staff andstretched out two groping hands to help her. 

"ONCE ABOARD THE LUGGER"

Early last Fall there died in Troy an old man and his wife. The womanwent first, and the husband took a chill at her grave's edge, when hestood bareheaded in a lashing shower. The loose earth crumbled underhis feet, trickled over, and dropped on her coffin-lid. Through twolong nights he lay on his bed without sleeping and listened to thissound. At first it ran in his ears perpetually, but afterwards he heardit at intervals only, in the pauses of acute suffering. On the seventhday he died, of pleuro-pneumonia; and on the tenth (a Sunday) theyburied him. For just fifty years the dead man had been minister of theIndependent chapel on the hill, and had laid down his pastorate twoyears before, on his golden wedding-day. Consequently there was afuneral sermon, and the young man, his successor, chose II. Samuel, i. 23, for his text--"Lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in theirdeath they were not divided. " Himself a newly-married man, he waxeddithyrambic on the sustained affection and accord of the departedcouple. "Truly, " he wound up, "such marriages as theirs were made inHeaven. " And could they have heard, the two bodies in the cemetery hadnot denied it; but the woman, after the fashion of women, would havequalified the young minister's assertion in her secret heart. 

When, at the close of the year 1839, the Rev. Samuel Bax visited Troyfor the first time, to preach his trial sermon at Salem Chapel, hearrived by Boutigo's van, late on a Saturday night, and departed againfor Plymouth at seven o'clock on Monday morning. He had just turnedtwenty-one, and looked younger, and the zeal of his calling was strongupon him. Moreover he was shaken with nervous anxiety for the successof his sermon; so that it is no marvel if he carried away but blurredand misty impressions of the little port and the congregation that satbeneath him that morning, ostensibly reverent, but actually on thepounce for heresy or any sign of weakness. Their impressions, at anyrate, were sharp enough. They counted his thumps upon the desk, notedhis one reference to "the original Greek, " saw and remembered the flushon his young face and the glow in his eyes as he hammered the doctrineof the redemption out of original sin. The deacons fixed the subject ofthese trial sermons, and had chosen original sin on the ground that agood beginning was half the battle. The maids in the congregation knewbeforehand that he was unmarried, and came out of chapel knowing alsothat his eyes were brown, that his hair had a reddish tinge in certainlights; that one of his cuffs was frayed slightly, but his black coathad scarcely been worn a dozen times; with other trifles. They loiteredby the chapel door until he came out in company with Deacon Snowden, whowas conveying him off to dinner. The deacon on week days washarbour-master of the port, and on Sundays afforded himself roasted duckfor dinner. Lizzie Snowden walked at her father's right hand. She wasa slightly bloodless blonde, tall, with a pretty complexion, and hairupon which it was rumoured she could sit if she were so minded. The girls watched the young preacher and his entertainers as they moveddown the hill, the deacon talking and his daughter turning her headaside as if it were merely in the half of the world on her right handthat she took the least interest. 

"That's to show 'en the big plait, " commented one of the group behind. "He can't turn his head t'wards her, but it stares 'en in the face. "

"An' her features look best from the left side, as everybody knows. "

"I reckon, if he's chosen minister, that Lizzie'll have 'en, " said atall, lanky girl. She was apprenticed to a dressmaker and engaged to ayoung tin-smith. Having laid aside ambition on her own account, sheflung in this remark as an apple of discord. 

"Jenifer Hosken has a chance. He's fair-skinned hissel', an' Lizzie'stoo near his own colour. Black's mate is white, as they say. "

"There's Sue Tregraine. She'll have more money than either, when herfather dies. "

"What, marry one o' Ruan!" the speaker tittered despitefully. 

"Why not?"

The only answer was a shrug. Ruan is a small town that faces Troyacross the diminutive harbour, or perhaps I should say that Troy looksdown upon it at this slight distance. When a Trojan speaks of it hesays, "Across the water, " with as much implied contempt as though hemeant Botany Bay. There is no cogent reason for this, except that thepoorer class at Ruan earns its livelihood by fishing. In the eyes ofits neighbours the shadow of this lonely calling is cast upwards uponits wealthier inhabitants. Troy depends on commerce, and in the days ofwhich I write employed these wealthier men of Ruan to build ships forit. Further it did not condescend. Intermarriage between the towns wasalmost unheard of, and even now it is rare. Yet they are connected by apenny ferry. 

"Her father's a shipbuilder, " urged Sue Tregraine's supporter. 

"He might so well keep crab pots, for all the chance she'll have. "

Now there was a Ruan girl standing just outside this group, and sheheard what was said. Her name was Nance Trewartha and her father was afisherman, who did in fact keep crab-pots. Moreover, she was his onlychild, and helped him at his trade. She could handle a boat as well asa man, she knew every sea mark up and down the coast for thirty miles, she could cut up bait, and her hands were horny with handling ropes fromher childhood. But on Sundays she wore gloves, and came across theferry to chapel, and was as wise as any of her sex. She had knownbefore coming out of her pew that the young minister had a well shapedback to his head and a gold ring on his little finger with somebody'shair in the collet, under a crystal. She was dark, straight, and lissomof figure, with ripe lips and eyes as black as sloes, and she hoped thatthe hair in the minister's ring was his mother's. She was well aware ofher social inferiority; but--the truth may be told--she chose to forgetit that morning, and to wonder what this young man would be like as ahusband. She had looked up into his face during sermon time, devouringhis boyish features, noticing his refined accent, marking every gesture. Certainly he was comely and desirable. As he walked down the hill byDeacon Snowden's side, she was perfectly conscious of the longing in herheart, but prepared to put a stop to it, and go home to dinner as soonas he had turned the corner and passed out of sight. Then came thatunhappy remark about the crab-pots. She bit her lip for a moment, turned, and walked slowly off towards the ferry, full of thought. 

Three weeks after, the Rev. Samuel Bax received his call. 

He arrived, to assume his duties, in the waning light of a soft Januaryday. Boutigo's van set him down, with a carpet-bag, band-box, and chestof books, at the door of the lodgings which Deacon Snowden had taken forhim. The house stood in the North Street, as it is called. It was asmall, yellow-washed building, containing just half-a-dozen rooms, andof these the two set apart for the minister looked straight upon theharbour. Under his sitting-room window was a little garden, and at theend of the garden a low wall with a stretch of water beyond it, and abarque that lay at anchor but a stone's throw away, as it seemed, itsmasts stretching high against the misty hillside. A green-painted doorwas let into the garden wall--a door with two flaps, the upper of whichstood open; and through this opening he caught another glimpse of greywater. 

The landlady, who showed him into this room, and at once began toexplain that the furniture was better than it looked, was hardlyprepared for the rapture with which he stared out of the window. His boyhood had been spent in a sooty Lancashire town, and to him thegreen garden, the quay-door, the barque, and the stilly water, seemed tofall little short of Paradise. 

"I reckoned you'd like it, " she said. "An' to be sure, 'tis a blessingyou do. "

He turned his stare upon her for a moment. She was a benign-lookingwoman of about fifty, in a short-skirted grey gown and widow's cap. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, leavin' out the kitchen, there's but four rooms, two for youan' two for me; two facin' the harbour, an' two facin' the street. Now, if you'd took a dislike to this look-out, I must ha' put you over thestreet, an' moved in here myself. I _do_ like the street, too. There'sso much more goin' on. "

"I think this arrangement will be better in every way, " said the youngminister. 

"I'm glad of it. Iss, there's no denyin' that I'm main glad. From upstairs you can see right down the harbour, which is prettieragain. Would'ee like to see it now? O' course you would--an' it'll beso much handier for me answerin' the door, too. There's a back door atthe end o' the passage. You've only to slip a bolt an' you'm out in thegarden--out to your boat, if you choose to keep one. But the garden's atidy little spot to walk up an' down in an' make up your sermons, wi'nobody to overlook you but the folk next door; an' they'm church-goers. "

After supper that evening, the young minister unpacked his books and wasabout to arrange them, but drifted to the window instead. He paused fora minute or two with his face close to the pane, and then flung up thesash. A faint north wind breathed down the harbour, scarcely rufflingthe water. Around and above him the frosty sky flashed with innumerablestars, and over the barque's masts, behind the long chine of the easternhill, a soft radiance heralded the rising moon. It was a young moon, and, while he waited, her thin horn pushed up through the furze brake onthe hill's summit and she mounted into the free heaven. With upturnedeye the young minister followed her course for twenty minutes, notconsciously observant; for he was thinking over his ambitions, and athis time of life these are apt to soar with the moon. Though possessedwith zeal for good work in this small seaside town, he intended thatTroy should be but a stepping-stone in his journey. He meant to go far. And while he meditated his future, forgetting the chill in the nightair, it was being decided for him by a stronger will than his own. More than this, that will had already passed into action. His destinywas actually launched on the full spring tide that sucked the crevicesof the grey wall at the garden's end. 

A slight sound drew the minister's gaze down from the moon to thequay-door. Its upper flap still stood open, allowing a square ofmoonlight to pierce the straight black shadow of the garden wall. 

In this square of moonlight were now framed the head and shoulders of ahuman being. The young man felt a slight chill run down his spine. He leant forward out of the window and challenged the apparition, batinghis tone as all people bate it at that hour. 

"Who are you?" he demanded. 

There was no reply for a moment, though he felt sure his voice must havecarried to the quay-door. The figure paused for a second or two, thenunbarred the lower flap of the door and advanced across the wall'sshadow to the centre of the bright grass-plat under the window. It wasthe figure of a young woman. Her head was bare and her sleeves turnedup to the elbows. She wore no cloak or wrap to cover her from the nightair, and her short-skirted, coarse frock was open at the neck. As sheturned up her face to the window, the minister could see by the moon'srays that it was well-favoured. 

"Be you the new preacher?" she asked, resting a hand on her hip andspeaking softly up to him. 

"I am the new Independent minister. "

"Then I've come for you. "

"Come for me?"

"Iss; my name's Nance Trewartha, an' you'm wanted across the water, quick as possible. Old Mrs. Slade's a-dyin' to-night, over yonder. "

"She wants me?"

"She's one o' your congregation, an' can't die easy till you've seenher. I reckon she's got something 'pon her mind; an' I was to fetch youover, quick as I could. "

As she spoke the church clock down in the town chimed out the hour, andimmediately after, ten strokes sounded on the clear air. 

The minister consulted his own watch and seemed to be considering. 

"Very well, " said he after a pause. "I'll come. I suppose I must crossby the ferry. "

"Ferry's closed this two hours, an' you needn't wake up any in thehouse. I've brought father's boat to the ladder below, an' I'll bringyou back again. You've only to step out here by the back door. An'wrap yourself up, for 'tis a brave distance. "

"Very well. I suppose it's really serious. "

"Mortal. I'm glad you'll come, " she added simply. 

The young man nodded down in a friendly manner, and going back into theroom, slipped on his overcoat, picked up his hat, and turned the lampdown carefully. Then he struck a match, found his way to the back-door, and unbarred it. The girl was waiting for him, still in the centre ofthe grass-plat. 

"I'm glad you've come, " she repeated, but this time there was somethinglike constraint in her voice. As he pulled-to the door softly shemoved, and led the way down to the water-side. 

From the quay-door a long ladder ran down to the water. At low waterone had to descend twenty feet and more; but now the high tide left butthree of its rungs uncovered. At the young minister's feet a smallfishing-boat lay ready, moored by a short painter to the ladder. The girl stepped lightly down and held up a hand. 

"Thank you, " said the young man with dignity, "but I do not want help. "

She made no answer to this; but as he stepped down, went forward andunmoored the painter. Then she pushed gently away from the ladder, hoisted the small foresail, and, returning to her companion, stoodbeside him for a moment with her hand on the tiller. 

"Better slack the fore-sheet, " she said suddenly. 

The young man looked helplessly at her. He had not the slightest ideaof her meaning, did not in fact know the difference between a fore-sheetand a mainsail. And it was just to find out the depth of his ignorancethat she had spoken. 

"Never mind, " she said, "I'll do it myself. " She slackened and madefast the rope, and took hold of the tiller again. The sails shook andfilled softly as they glided out from under the wall. The soft breezeblew straight behind them, the tide was just beginning to ebb. She loosed the main sheet a little, and the water hissed as they spundown under the grey town towards the harbour's mouth. 

A dozen vessels lay at anchor below the town quay, their lamps showing astrange orange yellow in the moonlight; between them the minister sawthe cottages of Ruan glimmering on the eastern shore, and over it thecoast-guard flagstaff, faintly pencilled above the sky-line. It seemedto him that they were not shaping their course for the little town. 

"I thought you told me, " he said at length, "that Mrs. --the dyingwoman--lived across there. "

The girl shook her head. "Not in Ruan itsel'--Ruan parish. We'll haveto go round the point. "

She was leaning back and gazing straight before her, towards theharbour's mouth. The boat was one of the class that serves along thatcoast for hook-and-line as well as drift net fishing, clinker-built, about twenty-seven feet in the keel, and nine in beam. It had no deckbeyond a small cuddy forward, on top of which a light hoar-frost wasgathering as they moved. The minister stood beside the girl, andwithdrew his eyes from this cuddy roof to contemplate her. 

"Do you mean to say, " he asked, "that you don't take cold, wearing nowrap or bonnet on frosty nights like this?"

She let the tiller go for a moment, took his hand by the wrist, and laidit on her own bare arm. He felt the flesh, but it was firm and warm. Then he withdrew his hand hastily, without finding anything to say. His eyes avoided hers. When, after half a minute, he looked at heragain, her gaze was fixed straight ahead, upon the misty stretch of seabeyond the harbour's mouth. 

In a minute or two they were gliding out between the tall cliff and thereef of rocks that guard this entrance on either side. On the reefstood a wooden cross, painted white, warning vessels to give a wideberth; on the cliff a grey castle, with a battery before it, under theguns of which they spun seaward, still with the wind astern. 

Outside, the sea lay as smooth as within the harbour. The wind blewsteadily off the shore, so that, close-hauled, one might fetch up ordown Channel with equal ease. The girl began to flatten the sails, andasked her companion to bear a hand. Their hands met over a rope, andthe man noted with surprise that the girl's was feverishly hot. Then she brought the boat's nose round to the eastward and, heelinggently over the dark water, they began to skirt the misty coast with thebreeze on their left cheeks. 

"How much farther?" asked the minister. 

She nodded towards the first point in the direction of Plymouth. He turned his coat-collar up about his ears and wondered if his dutywould often take him on such journeys as this. Also he felt thankfulthat the sea was smooth. He might, or might not, be given tosea-sickness: but somehow he was sincerely glad that he had not to beput to the test for the first time in this girl's presence. 

They passed the small headland and still the boat held on its way. 

"I had no idea you were going to take me this distance. Didn't youpromise me the house lay just beyond the point we've just passed?"

To his amazement the girl drew herself up, looked him straight in theface and said--

"There's no such place. "

"_What?_"

"There's no such place. There's nobody ill at all. I told you a lie. "

"You told me a lie--then why in the name of common sense am I here?"

"Because, young man--because, sir, I'm sick o' love for you, an' Iwant'ee to marry me. "

"Great heaven!" the young minister muttered, recoiling. "Is the girlmad?"

"Ah, but look at me, sir!" She seemed to grow still taller as she stoodthere, resting one hand on the tiller and gazing at him with perfectlyserious eyes. "Look at me well before you take up with some other o'the girls. To-morrow they'll be all after 'ee, an' this'll be my onlychance; for my father's no better'n a plain fisherman, an' they're allabove me in money an' rank. I be but a Ruan girl, an' my family isnaught. But look at me well; there's none stronger nor comelier, northat'll love thee so dear!"

The young man gasped. "Set me ashore at once!" he commanded, stampinghis foot. 

"Nay, that I will not till thou promise, an' that's flat. Dear lad, listen--an' consent, consent--an' I swear to thee thou'll never be sorryfor't. "

"I never heard such awful impropriety in my life. Turn back; I orderyou to steer back to the harbour at once!"

She shook her head. "No, lad; I won't. An' what's more, you don't knowhow to handle a boat, an' couldn't get back by yoursel', not in amonth. "

"This is stark madness. You--you abandoned woman, how long do you meanto keep me here?"

"Till thou give in to me. We'm goin' straight t'wards Plymouth now, an'if th' wind holds--as 'twill--we'll be off the Rame in two hours. If you haven't said me yes by that maybe we'll go on; or perhaps we'llrun across to the coast o' France--"

"Girl, do you know that if I'm not back by day-break, I'm ruined!"

"And oh, man, man! Can't 'ee see that I'm ruined, too, if I turn backwithout your word? How shall I show my face in Troy streets again, tellme?"

At this sudden transference of responsibility the minister wasstaggered. 

"You should have thought of that before, " he said, employing the oneobvious answer. 

"O' course I thought of it. But for love o' you I made up my mind torisk it. An' now there's no goin' back. " She paused a moment and thenadded, as a thought struck her, "Why, lad, doesn' that prove I love 'eeuncommon?"

"I prefer not to consider the question. Once more--will you go back?"

"I can't. "

He bit his lips and moved forward to the cuddy, on the roof of which heseated himself sulkily. The girl tossed him an end of rope. 

"Dear, better coil that up an' sit 'pon it. The frost'll strike a chillinto thee. "

With this she resumed her old attitude by the tiller. Her eyes werefixed ahead, her gaze passing just over the minister's hat. When heglanced up he saw the rime twinkling on her shoulders and the star-shinein her dark eyes. Around them the heavens blazed with constellations. Never had the minister seen them so multitudinous or so resplendent. Never before had the firmament seemed so alive to him. He could almosthear it breathe. And beneath the stars the little boat raced eastward, with the reef-points pattering on its tan sails. 

Neither spoke. For the most part the minister avoided the girl's eyes, and sat nursing his wrath. The whole affair was ludicrous; but it meantthe sudden ruin of his good name, at the very start of his career. This was the word he kept grinding between his teeth--"ruin, " "ruin. "Whenever it pleased this mad creature to set him ashore, he must writeto Deacon Snowden for his boxes and resign all connection with Troy. But would he ever get rid of the scandal? Could he ever be sure that, to whatever distance he might flee, it would not follow him? Had he notbetter abandon his calling, once and for all? It was hard. 

A star shot down from the Milky Way and disappeared in darkness behindthe girl's shoulders. His eyes, following it, encountered hers. She left the tiller and came slowly forward. 

"In three minutes we'll open Plymouth Sound, " she said quietly, and thenwith a sharp gesture flung both arms out towards him. "Oh, lad, thinkbetter o't an' turn back wi' me! Say you'll marry me, for I'm perishin'o' love!"

The moonshine fell on her throat and extended arms. Her lips wereparted, her head was thrown back a little, and for the first time theyoung minister saw that she was a beautiful woman. 

"Ay, look, look at me!" she pleaded. "That's what I've wanted 'ee to doall along. Take my hands: they'm shapely to look at and strong to workfor 'ee. "

Hardly knowing what he did, the young man took them; then in a moment helet them go--but too late; they were about his neck. 

With that he sealed his fate for good or ill. He bent forward a littleand their lips met. 

So steady was the wind that the boat still held on her course; but nosooner had the girl received the kiss than she dropped her arms, walkedoff, and shifted the helm. 

"Unfasten the sheet there, " she commanded, "and duck your head clear. "

As soon as their faces were set for home, the minister walked back tothe cuddy roof and sat down to reflect. Not a word was spoken till theyreached the harbour's mouth again, and then he pulled out his watch. It was half-past four in the morning. 

Outside the Battery Point the girl hauled down the sails and got out thesweeps; and together they pulled up under the still sleeping town to theminister's quay-door. He was clumsy at this work, but she instructedhim in whispers, and they managed to reach the ladder as the clocks werestriking five. The tide was far down by this time, and she held theboat close to the ladder while he prepared to climb. With his foot onthe first round, he turned. She was white as a ghost, and tremblingfrom top to toe. 

"Nance--did you say your name was Nance?"

She nodded. 

"What's the matter?"

"I'll--I'll let you off, if you want to be let off. "

"I'm not sure that I do, " he said, and stealing softly up the ladder, stood at the top and watched her boat as she steered it back to Ruan. 

Three months after, they were married, to the indignant amazement of theminister's congregation. It almost cost him his pulpit, but he held onand triumphed. There is no reason to believe that he ever repented ofhis choice, or rather of Nance's. To be sure, she had kidnapped him bya lie; but perhaps she wiped it out by fifty years of honest affection. On that point, however, I, who tell the tale, will not dogmatise. 

WHICH?

The scene was a street in the West End of London, a little south ofEaton Square: the hour just twenty-five minutes short of midnight. 

A wind from the North Sea had been blowing all day across the Thamesmarshes, and collecting what it could carry; and the shop-keepers hadscarcely drawn their iron shutters before a thin fog drifted up fromlamp-post to lamp-post and filled the intervals with total darkness--allbut one, where, half-way down the street on the left-hand side, anenterprising florist had set up an electric lamp at his private cost, toshine upon his window and attract the attention of rich people as theydrove by on their way to the theatres. At nine o'clock he closed hisbusiness: but the lamp shone on until midnight, to give the rich peopleanother chance, on their way home, of reading that F. Stillman wasprepared to decorate dinner-tables and ball-rooms, and to supply bridalbouquets or mourning wreaths at short notice. 

The stream of homeward-bound carriages had come to a sudden lull. The red eyes of a belated four-wheeler vanished in the fog, and theflorist's lamp flung down its ugly incandescent stare on an emptypavement. Himself in darkness, a policeman on the other side of thestreet flashed his lantern twice, closed the slide and halted for amoment to listen by an area railing. 

Halting so, he heard a rapid footfall at the upper corner of the street. It drew nearer. A man suddenly stepped into the circle of light on thepavement, as if upon a miniature stage; and as suddenly paused to gazeupward at the big white globe. 

He was a middle-aged man, dressed in an ill-fitting suit of broad-cloth, with a shabby silk hat and country-made boots. He stared up at theglobe, as if to take his bearings in the fog; then pulled out a watch. 

As the light streamed down upon its dial, a woman sidled out from thehollow of a shop-door behind him, and touched his elbow. 

"Deary!" she began. "Going home, deary?"

"Heh? Let me alone, please, " said the man roughly. "I am not thatsort. " She had almost slipped her arm in his before he turned to speak;but now she caught it away, gasping. Mock globes danced before his eyesand for the moment he saw nothing but these: did not see that first shewould have run, then moved her hands up to cover her face. Before theycould do so he saw it, all white and damned. 

"Annie!"

"Oh, Willy . . . " She put out a hand as if to ward him off, but droppedboth arms before her and stood, swaying them ever so slightly. 

"So this . . . So _this_ . . . " He choked upon the words. 

She nodded, hardening her eyes to meet his. "He left me. He sent nomoney--"

"I see. "

"I was afraid. "

"Afraid?"

"Afraid to do it . . . Suddenly . . . To put an end. . . . It's not soeasy to starve, really. Oh, Willy, can't you hit me?"

He seemed to be reflecting. "I--I say, " he said abruptly, "can't wetalk? Can't we get away somewhere and talk?"

Her limp arms seemed to answer: they asked, as plainly as words, "What is there to say?"

"I don't know. . . . Somewhere out of this infernal light. I want tothink. There must be somewhere, away from this light . . . " He brokeoff. "At home, now, I can think. I am always thinking at home. "

"At home . . . " the woman echoed. 

"And you must think too?"

"Always: everywhere. "

"Ah!" he ran on, as one talking against time: "but what do you supposeI think about, nine times out of ten? Why"--and he uttered it with anair of foolish triumph--"of the chances that we might meet . . . Andwhat would happen. Have you ever thought of that?"

"Always: everywhere . . . Of that . . . And the children. "

"Grace looks after them. "

"I know. I get word. She is kind. "

"You think of them?"

"Don't, Willy!"

He harked back. "Do you know, whenever I've thought of it . . . Thechance of our meeting . . . I've wondered what I should say. Hundredsand hundreds of times I've made up my mind what to say. Why, only justnow--I've come from the theatre: I still go to the theatre sometimes;it's a splendid thing to distract your thoughts: takes you out of_yourself--Frou--Frou_, it was . . . The finest play in the world . . . Next to _East Lynne_. It made me cry, to-night, and the people in thepit stared at me. But one mustn't be ashamed of a little honestemotion, before strangers. And when a thing comes _home_ to a man . . . So you've thought of it too--the chance of our running against oneanother?"

"Every day and all the day long I've gone fearing it: especially inMarch and September, when I knew you'd be up in town buying for theseason. All the day long I've gone watching the street ahead of me . . . Watching in fear of you. . . . "

"But I never guessed it would happen like this. " He stared upirritably, as though the lamp were to blame for upsetting hiscalculations. The woman followed his eyes. 

"Yes . . . The lamp, " she assented. "Something held my face up to it, just now, when I wanted to hide. It's like as if our souls were nakedunder it, and there is nothing to say. "

"Eh? but there is. I tell you I've thought it out so often!I've thought it all out, or almost all; and that can't mean nothing. "He cleared his throat. "I've made allowances, too--" he beganmagnanimously. 

But for the moment she was not listening. "Yes, yes . . . " She hadturned her face aside and was gazing out into the darkness. "Look atthe gas-jets, Willy--in the fog. What do they remind you of?That Christmas-tree . . . After Dick was born. . . . Don't you rememberhow he mistook the oranges on it for lanterns and wanted to blow themout . . . How he kicked to get at them . . . "

"It's odd: I was thinking of Dick, just now, when you--when you spoke tome. The lamp put me in mind of him. I was wondering what it cost. We have nothing like it at home. Of course, if I bought one for theshop, people would talk--'drawing attention, ' they'd say, after what hashappened. But I thought that Dick, perhaps . . . When he grows up andenters the business . . . Perhaps he might propose such a thing, andthen I shan't say no. I should carry it off lightly . . . After all, it's the shop it would call attention to . . . Not the house. And onemust advertise in these days. "

She was looking at him steadily now. "Yes, " she assented, "people wouldtalk. "

"And they pity me. I do hate to be pitied, in that way. Even thepeople up here, at the old lodgings . . . I won't come to them again. If I thought the children . . . One never can tell how much childrenknow--"

"Don't, Willy!"

He plunged a hand into his pocket. "I daresay, now, you're starving?"

Her arms began to sway again, and she laughed quietly, hideously. "Don't--don't--don't! I make money. That's the worst. I make money. Oh, why don't you hit me? Why was you always a soft man?"

For a moment he stood horribly revolted. But his weakness had a betterside, and he showed it now. 

"I say, Annie . . . Is it so bad?"

"It is hell. "

"'Soft'?" he harked back again. "It might take some courage to besoft. "

She peered at him eagerly; then sighed. "But you haven't that sort ofcourage, Willy. "

"They would say . . . " he went on musing, "I wonder what they would say?. . . Come back to the lamp, " he cried with sudden peevishness. "Don't look out there . . . This circle of light on the pavement . . . Like a map of the world. "

"With only our two shadows on it. "

"If it were all the world . . . " He peered around, searching thedarkness. "If there were nothing to concern us beyond, and we couldstay always inside it . . . "

"--With the light shining straight down on us, and our shadows close atour feet, and so small! But directly we moved beyond they wouldlengthen, lengthen . . . "

"'Forsaking all other'--that's what the Service says. And what doesthat mean if we cannot stand apart from all and render account to eachother only? I tell you I've made allowances. I didn't make any in theold days, being wrapped up in the shop and the chapel, and you notcaring for either. There was fault on my side: I've come to see that. "

"I'd liefer you struck me, Willy, instead of making allowances. "

"Oh, come, that's nonsense. It seems to me, Annie, there's nothing wecouldn't help to mend together. It would never be the same, of course:but we can understand . . . Or at least overlook. " In his magnanimityhe caught at high thoughts. "This light above us--what if it were theTruth?"

"Truth doesn't overlook, " she answered, with a hopeless scorn whichpuzzled him. "No, no, " she went on rapidly, yet more gently, "Truthknows of the world outside, and is wakeful. If we move a step ourshadows will lengthen. They will touch all bright things--they willfall across the children. Willy, we cannot move!"

"I see . . . "

"Ah?" She craned forward and almost touched his arm again. 

"Annie, it comes to me now--I see for the first time how happy we mighthave been. How came we two to kill love?"

The woman gave a cry, almost of joy. Her fingers touched his sleevenow. "We have not killed love. We--I--had stunned him: but (O, I see!)he has picked up his weapons again and is fighting. He is bewilderedhere, in this great light, and he fights at random . . . Fights to makeyou strong and me weak, you weak and me strong. We can never be oneagain, never. One of us must fall, must be beaten . . . He does not seethis, but O, Willy, he fights . . . He fights!"

"He shall fight for you. Annie, come home!"

"No, no--for you--and the children!"

"Come!"

"Think of the people!" She held him off, shaking her head, but her eyeswere wistful, intent upon his. "You have lived it down. . . . It wouldall begin again. Look at me . . . Think of the talk . . . "

"Let them say what they choose. . . I wonder what they would say . . . "

The Policeman stepped forward and across the road-way. He had heardnothing, and completely misunderstood all he had seen. 

"Come, you must move on there, you two!" he commanded harshly. 

Suddenly, as he said it, the light above was extinguished. 

"Hullo!" He paused, half-way across. "Twelve o'clock already!Then what's taken my watch?"

A pair of feet tip-toed away in the darkness for a few yards, then brokeinto a nervous run. 

As a matter of fact it still wanted five minutes of midnight. And whilethe Policeman fumbled for his watch and slipped back the slide of hislantern, the white flame leaped back into the blind eye above and blazeddown as fiercely as ever. 

"Something wrong with the connection, I suppose, " said the Policeman, glancing up and then down at the solitary figure left standing under thelamp. 

"Why, hullo! . . . " said he again. 

But which was it?--the man or the woman?