THE LAST GALLEY

IMPRESSIONS AND TALES

By Arthur Conan Doyle

PREFACE

I have written "Impressions and Tales" upon the title-page of thisvolume, because I have included within the same cover two styles of workwhich present an essential difference. 

The second half of the collection consists of eight stories, whichexplain themselves. 

The first half is made up of a series of pictures of the past whichmaybe regarded as trial flights towards a larger ideal which I havelong had in my mind. It has seemed to me that there is a regionbetween actual story and actual history which has never been adequatelyexploited. I could imagine, for example, a work dealing with some greathistorical epoch, and finding its interest not in the happenings toparticular individuals, their adventures and their loves, but in thefascination of the actual facts of history themselves. These facts mightbe coloured with the glamour which the writer of fiction can give, andfictitious characters and conversations might illustrate them; but nonethe less the actual drama of history and not the drama of inventionshould claim the attention of the reader. I have been tempted sometimesto try the effect upon a larger scale; but meanwhile these shortsketches, portraying various crises in the story of the human race, areto be judged as experiments in that direction. 

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. 

WINDLESHAM, CROWBOROUGH, April, 1911. 

CONTENTS

 PART I

 THE LAST GALLEY THE CONTEST THROUGH THE VEIL AN ICONOCLAST GIANT MAXIMIN THE COMING OF THE HUNS THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS THE FIRST CARGO THE HOME-COMING THE RED STAR

 PART II

 THE SILVER MIRROR THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY THE MARRIAGE OF THE BRIGADIER THE LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE OUT OF THE RUNNING "DE PROFUNDIS" THE GREAT BROWN-PERICORD MOTOR THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP

PART I. THE LAST GALLEY

"Mutato nomine, de te, Britannia, fabula narratur. "

It was a spring morning, one hundred and forty-six years before thecoming of Christ. The North African Coast, with its broad hem of goldensand, its green belt of feathery palm trees, and its background ofbarren, red-scarped hills, shimmered like a dream country in the opallight. Save for a narrow edge of snow-white surf, the Mediterranean layblue and serene as far as the eye could reach. In all its vast expansethere was no break but for a single galley, which was slowly making itsway from the direction of Sicily and heading for the distant harbour ofCarthage. 

Seen from afar it was a stately and beautiful vessel, deep red incolour, double-banked with scarlet oars, its broad, flapping sailstained with Tyrian purple, its bulwarks gleaming with brass work. Abrazen, three-pronged ram projected in front, and a high golden figureof Baal, the God of the Phoenicians, children of Canaan, shone upon theafter deck. From the single high mast above the huge sail streamed thetiger-striped flag of Carthage. So, like some stately scarlet bird, withgolden beak and wings of purple, she swam upon the face of the waters--athing of might and of beauty as seen from the distant shore. 

But approach and look at her now! What are these dark streaks which foulher white decks and dapple her brazen shields? Why do the long red oarsmove out of time, irregular, convulsive? Why are some missing from thestaring portholes, some snapped with jagged, yellow edges, some trailinginert against the side? Why are two prongs of the brazen ram twisted andbroken? See, even the high image of Baal is battered and disfigured! Byevery sign this ship has passed through some grievous trial, some day ofterror, which has left its heavy marks upon her. 

And now stand upon the deck itself, and see more closely the men who manher! There are two decks forward and aft, while in the open waist arethe double banks of seats, above and below, where the rowers, two toan oar, tug and bend at their endless task. Down the centre is a narrowplatform, along which pace a line of warders, lash in hand, who cutcruelly at the slave who pauses, be it only for an instant, to sweep thesweat from his dripping brow. But these slaves--look at them! Some arecaptured Romans, some Sicilians, many black Libyans, but all are in thelast exhaustion, their weary eyelids drooped over their eyes, theirlips thick with black crusts, and pink with bloody froth, their armsand backs moving mechanically to the hoarse chant of the overseer. Theirbodies of all tints from ivory to jet, are stripped to the waist, andevery glistening back shows the angry stripes of the warders. But it isnot from these that the blood comes which reddens the seats and tintsthe salt water washing beneath their manacled feet. Great gaping wounds, the marks of sword slash and spear stab, show crimson upon their nakedchests and shoulders, while many lie huddled and senseless athwart thebenches, careless for ever of the whips which still hiss above them. Nowwe can understand those empty portholes and those trailing oars. 

Nor were the crew in better case than their slaves. The decks werelittered with wounded and dying men. It was but a remnant who stillremained upon their feet. The most lay exhausted upon the fore-deck, while a few of the more zealous were mending their shattered armour, restringing their bows, or cleaning the deck from the marks of combat. Upon a raised platform at the base of the mast stood the sailing-masterwho conned the ship, his eyes fixed upon the distant point of Megarawhich screened the eastern side of the Bay of Carthage. On theafter-deck were gathered a number of officers, silent and brooding, glancing from time to time at two of their own class who stood apartdeep in conversation. The one, tall, dark, and wiry, with pure, Semiticfeatures, and the limbs of a giant, was Magro, the famous Carthaginiancaptain, whose name was still a terror on every shore, from Gaul tothe Euxine. The other, a white-bearded, swarthy man, with indomitablecourage and energy stamped upon every eager line of his keen, aquilineface, was Gisco the politician, a man of the highest Punic blood, aSuffete of the purple robe, and the leader of that party in the Statewhich had watched and striven amid the selfishness and slothfulness ofhis fellow-countrymen to rouse the public spirit and waken the publicconscience to the ever-increasing danger from Rome. As they talked, thetwo men glanced continually, with earnest anxious faces, towards thenorthern skyline. 

"It is certain, " said the older man, with gloom in his voice andbearing, "none have escaped save ourselves. "

"I did not leave the press of the battle whilst I saw one ship which Icould succour, " Magro answered. "As it was, we came away, as you saw, like a wolf which has a hound hanging on to either haunch. The Romandogs can show the wolf-bites which prove it. Had any other galley wonclear, they would surely be with us by now, since they have no place ofsafety save Carthage. "

The younger warrior glanced keenly ahead to the distant point whichmarked his native city. Already the low, leafy hill could be seen, dotted with the white villas of the wealthy Phoenician merchants. Abovethem, a gleaming dot against the pale blue morning sky, shone the brazenroof of the citadel of Byrsa, which capped the sloping town. 

"Already they can see us from the watch-towers, " he remarked. "Even fromafar they may know the galley of Black Magro. But which of all of themwill guess that we alone remain of all that goodly fleet which sailedout with blare of trumpet and roll of drum but one short month ago?"

The patrician smiled bitterly. "If it were not for our great ancestorsand for our beloved country, the Queen of the Waters, " said he, "I couldfind it in my heart to be glad at this destruction which has come uponthis vain and feeble generation. You have spent your life upon the seas, Magro. You do not know of know how it has been with us on the land. ButI have seen this canker grow upon us which now leads us to our death. I and others have gone down into the market-place to plead with thepeople, and been pelted with mud for our pains. Many a time haveI pointed to Rome, and said, 'Behold these people, who bear armsthemselves, each man for his own duty and pride. How can you who hidebehind mercenaries hope to stand against them?'--a hundred times I havesaid it. "

"And had they no answer?" asked the Rover. 

"Rome was far off and they could not see it, so to them it was nothing, "the old man answered. "Some thought of trade, and some of votes, andsome of profits from the State, but none would see that the Stateitself, the mother of all things, was sinking to her end. So might thebees debate who should have wax or honey when the torch was blazingwhich would bring to ashes the hive and all therein. 'Are we not rulersof the sea?' 'Was not Hannibal a great man?' Such were their cries, living ever in the past and blind to the future. Before that sun setsthere will be tearing of hair and rending of garments; what will thatnow avail us?"

"It is some sad comfort, " said Magro, "to know that what Rome holds shecannot keep. "

"Why say you that? When we go down, she is supreme in all the world. "

"For a time, and only for a time, " Magro answered, gravely. "Yet youwill smile, perchance, when I tell you how it is that I know it. Therewas a wise woman who lived in that part of the Tin Islands which jutsforth into the sea, and from her lips I have heard many things, but notone which has not come aright. Of the fall of our own country, and evenof this battle, from which we now return, she told me clearly. There ismuch strange lore amongst these savage peoples in the west of the landof Tin. "

"What said she of Rome?"

"That she also would fall, even as we, weakened by her riches and herfactions. "

Gisco rubbed his hands. "That at least makes our own fall less bitter, "said he. "But since we have fallen, and Rome will fall, who in turn mayhope to be Queen of the Waters?"

"That also I asked her, " said Magro, "and gave her my Tyrian belt withthe golden buckle as a guerdon for her answer. But, indeed, it was toohigh payment for the tale she told, which must be false if all else shesaid was true. She would have it that in coining days it was her ownland, this fog-girt isle where painted savages can scarce row a wickercoracle from point to point, which shall at last take the trident whichCarthage and Rome have dropped. "

The smile which flickered upon the old patrician's keen features diedaway suddenly, and his fingers closed upon his companion's wrist. Theother had set rigid, his head advanced, his hawk eyes upon the northernskyline. Its straight, blue horizon was broken by two low black dots. 

"Galleys!" whispered Gisco. 

The whole crew had seen them. They clustered along the starboardbulwarks, pointing and chattering. For a moment the gloom of defeat waslifted, and a buzz of joy ran from group to group at the thought thatthey were not alone--that some one had escaped the great carnage as wellas themselves. 

"By the spirit of Baal, " said Black Magro, "I could not have believedthat any could have fought clear from such a welter. Could it be youngHamilcar in the _Africa_, or is it Beneva in the blue Syrian ship? Wethree with others may form a squadron and make head against them yet. Ifwe hold our course, they will join us ere we round the harbour mole. "

Slowly the injured galley toiled on her way, and more swiftly the twonewcomers swept down from the north. Only a few miles off lay thegreen point and the white houses which flanked the great African city. Already, upon the headland, could be seen a dark group of waitingtownsmen. Gisco and Magro were still watching with puckered gaze theapproaching galleys, when the brown Libyan boatswain, with flashingteeth and gleaming eyes, rushed upon the poop, his long thin armstabbing to the north. 

"Romans!" he cried. "Romans!"

A hush had fallen over the great vessel. Only the wash of the water andthe measured rattle and beat of the oars broke in upon the silence. 

"By the horns of God's altar, I believe the fellow is right!" cried oldGisco. "See how they swoop upon us like falcons. They are full-mannedand full-oared. "

"Plain wood, unpainted, " said Magro. "See how it gleams yellow where thesun strikes it. "

"And yonder thing beneath the mast. Is it not the cursed bridge they usefor boarding?"

"So they grudge us even one, " said Magro with a bitter laugh. "Not evenone galley shall return to the old sea-mother. Well, for my part, Iwould as soon have it so. I am of a mind to stop the oars and awaitthem. "

"It is a man's thought, " answered old Gisco; "but the city will need usin the days to come. What shall it profit us to make the Roman victorycomplete? Nay, Magro, let the slaves row as they never rowed before, notfor our own safety, but for the profit of the State. "

So the great red ship laboured and lurched onwards, like a weary pantingstag which seeks shelter from his pursuers, while ever swifter and evernearer sped the two lean fierce galleys from the north. Alreadythe morning sun shone upon the lines of low Roman helmets above thebulwarks, and glistened on the silver wave where each sharp prow shotthrough the still blue water. Every moment the ships drew nearer, andthe long thin scream of the Roman trumpets grew louder upon the ear. 

Upon the high bluff of Megara there stood a great concourse of thepeople of Carthage who had hurried forth from the city upon the newsthat the galleys were in sight. They stood now, rich and poor, effeteand plebeian, white Phoenician and dark Kabyle, gazing with breathlessinterest at the spectacle before them. Some hundreds of feet beneaththem the Punic galley had drawn so close that with their naked eyesthey could see those stains of battle which told their dismal tale. TheRomans, too, were heading in such a way that it was before their veryfaces that their ship was about to be cut off; and yet of all thismultitude not one could raise a hand in its defence. Some wept inimpotent grief, some cursed with flashing eyes and knotted fists, someon their knees held up appealing hands to Baal; but neither prayer, tears, nor curses could undo the past nor mend the present. That broken, crawling galley meant that their fleet was gone. Those two fiercedarting ships meant that the hands of Rome were already at their throat. Behind them would come others and others, the innumerable trained hostsof the great Republic, long mistress of the land, now dominant alsoupon the waters. In a month, two months, three at the most, their armieswould be there, and what could all the untrained multitudes of Carthagedo to stop them?

"Nay!" cried one, more hopeful than the rest, "at least we are brave menwith arms in our hands. "

"Fool!" said another, "is it not such talk which has brought us to ourruin? What is the brave man untrained to the brave man trained? Whenyou stand before the sweep and rush of a Roman legion you may learn thedifference. "

"Then let us train!"

"Too late! A full year is needful to turn a man to a soldier. Wherewill you--where will your city be within the year? Nay, there is but onechance for us. If we give up our commerce and our colonies, if we stripourselves of all that made us great, then perchance the Roman conquerormay hold his hand. "

And already the last sea-fight of Carthage was coming swiftly to an endbefore them. Under their very eyes the two Roman galleys had shot in, one on either side of the vessel of Black Magro. They had grappled withhim, and he, desperate in his despair, had cast the crooked flukes ofhis anchors over their gunwales, and bound them to him in an irongrip, whilst with hammer and crowbar he burst great holes in his ownsheathing. The last Punic galley should never be rowed into Ostia, asight for the holiday-makers of Rome. She would lie in her own waters. And the fierce, dark soul of her rover captain glowed as he thought thatnot alone should she sink into the depths of the mother sea. 

Too late did the Romans understand the man with whom they had to deal. Their boarders who had flooded the Punic decks felt the planking sinkand sway beneath them. They rushed to gain their own vessels; but they, too, were being drawn downwards, held in the dying grip of the great redgalley. Over they went and ever over. Now the deck of Magro's ship isflush with the water, and the Romans, drawn towards it by the iron bondswhich held them, are tilted downwards, one bulwark upon the waves, onereared high in the air. Madly they strain to cast off the death gripof the galley. She is under the surface now, and ever swifter, withthe greater weight, the Roman ships heel after her. There is a rendingcrash. The wooden side is torn out of one, and mutilated, dismembered, she rights herself, and lies a helpless thing upon the water. But a lastyellow gleam in the blue water shows where her consort has been draggedto her end in the iron death-grapple of her foemen. The tiger-stripedflag of Carthage has sunk beneath the swirling surface, never more to beseen upon the face of the sea. 

For in that year a great cloud hung for seventeen days over the Africancoast, a deep black cloud which was the dark shroud of the burning city. And when the seventeen days were over, Roman ploughs were driven fromend to end of the charred ashes, and salt was scattered there as a signthat Carthage should be no more. And far off a huddle of naked, starvingfolk stood upon the distant mountains, and looked down upon the desolateplain which had once been the fairest and richest upon earth. And theyunderstood too late that it is the law of heaven that the world is givento the hardy and to the self-denying, whilst he who would escape theduties of manhood will soon be stripped of the pride, the wealth, andthe power, which are the prizes which manhood brings. 

THE CONTEST. 

In the year of our Lord 66, the Emperor Nero, being at that time in thetwenty-ninth year of his life and the thirteenth of his reign, set sailfor Greece with the strangest company and the most singular design thatany monarch has ever entertained. With ten galleys he went forthfrom Puteoli, carrying with him great stores of painted scenery andtheatrical properties, together with a number of knights and senators, whom he feared to leave behind him at Rome, and who were all marked fordeath in the course of his wanderings. In his train he took Natus, hissinging coach; Cluvius, a man with a monstrous voice, who should bawlout his titles; and a thousand trained youths who had learned to applaudin unison whenever their master sang or played in public. So deftly hadthey been taught that each had his own role to play. Some did no morethan give forth a low deep hum of speechless appreciation. Some clappedwith enthusiasm. Some, rising from approbation into absolute frenzy, shrieked, stamped, and beat sticks upon the benches. Some--and theywere the most effective--had learned from an Alexandrian a long droningmusical note which they all uttered together, so that it boomed over theassembly. With the aid of these mercenary admirers, Nero had every hope, in spite of his indifferent voice and clumsy execution, to returnto Rome, bearing with him the chaplets for song offered for freecompetition by the Greek cities. As his great gilded galley with twotiers of oars passed down the Mediterranean, the Emperor sat in hiscabin all day, his teacher by his side, rehearsing from morning tonight those compositions which he had selected, whilst every few hoursa Nubian slave massaged the Imperial throat with oil and balsam, that itmight be ready for the great ordeal which lay before it in the land ofpoetry and song. His food, his drink, and his exercise were prescribedfor him as for an athlete who trains for a contest, and the twanging ofhis lyre, with the strident notes of his voice, resounded continuallyfrom the Imperial quarters. 

Now it chanced that there lived in those days a Grecian goatherd namedPolicles, who tended and partly owned a great flock which grazed uponthe long flanks of the hills near Heroea, which is five miles north ofthe river Alpheus, and no great distance from the famous Olympia. Thisperson was noted all over the countryside as a man of strange gifts andsingular character. He was a poet who had twice been crowned for hisverses, and he was a musician to whom the use and sound of an instrumentwere so natural that one would more easily meet him without his staffthan his harp. Even in his lonely vigils on the winter hills he wouldbear it always slung over his shoulder, and would pass the long hoursby its aid, so that it had come to be part of his very self. He wasbeautiful also, swarthy and eager, with a head like Adonis, and instrength there was no one who could compete with him. But all wasruined by his disposition, which was so masterful that he would brookno opposition nor contradiction. For this reason he was continually atenmity with all his neighbours, and in his fits of temper he would spendmonths at a time in his stone hut among the mountains, hearing nothingfrom the world, and living only for his music and his goats. 

One spring morning, in the year of 67, Policles, with the aid of hisboy Dorus, had driven his goats over to a new pasturage which overlookedfrom afar the town of Olympia. Gazing down upon it from the mountain, the shepherd was surprised to see that a portion of the famousamphitheatre had been roofed in, as though some performance was beingenacted. Living far from the world and from all news, Policles couldnot imagine what was afoot, for he was well aware that the Greciangames were not due for two years to come. Surely some poetic or musicalcontest must be proceeding of which he had heard nothing. If so, therewould perhaps be some chance of his gaining the votes of the judges; andin any case he loved to hear the compositions and admire the executionof the great minstrels who assembled on such an occasion. Calling toDorus, therefore, he left the goats to his charge, and strode swiftlyaway, his harp upon his back, to see what was going forward in the town. 

When Policles came into the suburbs, he found them deserted; but he wasstill more surprised when he reached the main street to see no singlehuman being in the place. He hastened his steps, therefore, and as heapproached the theatre he was conscious of a low sustained hum whichannounced the concourse of a huge assembly. Never in all his dreams hadhe imagined any musical competition upon so vast a scale as this. Therewere some soldiers clustering outside the door; but Policles pushed hisway swiftly through them, and found himself upon the outskirts of themultitude who filled the great space formed by roofing over a portion ofthe national stadium. Looking around him, Policles saw a great number ofhis neighbours, whom he knew by sight, tightly packed upon the benches, all with their eyes fixed upon the stage. He also observed that therewere soldiers round the walls, and that a considerable part of the hallwas filled by a body of youths of foreign aspect, with white gownsand long hair. All this he perceived; but what it meant he could notimagine. He bent over to a neighbour to ask him, but a soldier proddedhim at once with the butt end of his spear, and commanded him fiercelyto hold his peace. The man whom he had addressed, thinking that Policleshad demanded a seat, pressed closer to his neighbour, and so theshepherd found himself sitting at the end of the bench which was nearestto the door. Thence he concentrated himself upon the stage, on whichMetas, a well-known minstrel from Corinth and an old friend of Policles, was singing and playing without much encouragement from the audience. To Policles it seemed that Metas was having less than his due, so heapplauded loudly, but he was surprised to observe that the soldiersfrowned at him, and that all his neighbours regarded him with somesurprise. Being a man of strong and obstinate character, he was the moreinclined to persevere in his clapping when he perceived that the generalsentiment was against him. 

But what followed filled the shepherd poet with absolute amazement. When Metas of Corinth had made his bow and withdrawn to half-hearted andperfunctory applause, there appeared upon the stage, amid the wildestenthusiasm upon the part of the audience, a most extraordinary figure. He was a short fat man, neither old nor young, with a bull neck and around, heavy face, which hung in creases in front like the dewlap of anox. He was absurdly clad in a short blue tunic, braced at the waistwith a golden belt. His neck and part of his chest were exposed, and hisshort, fat legs were bare from the buskins below to the middle of histhighs, which was as far as his tunic extended. In his hair were twogolden wings, and the same upon his heels, after the fashion of thegod Mercury. Behind him walked a negro bearing a harp, and beside hima richly dressed officer who bore rolls of music. This strange creaturetook the harp from the hands of the attendant, and advanced to the frontof the stage, whence he bowed and smiled to the cheering audience. "Thisis some foppish singer from Athens, " thought Policles to himself, butat the same time he understood that only a great master of song couldreceive such a reception from a Greek audience. This was evidently somewonderful performer whose reputation had preceded him. Policles settleddown, therefore, and prepared to give his soul up to the music. 

The blue-clad player struck several chords upon his lyre, and then burstsuddenly out into the "Ode of Niobe. " Policles sat straight up on hisbench and gazed at the stage in amazement. The tune demanded a rapidtransition from a low note to a high, and had been purposely chosen forthis reason. The low note was a grunting, a rumble, the deep discordantgrowling of an ill-conditioned dog. Then suddenly the singer threw uphis face, straightened his tubby figure, rose upon his tiptoes, andwith wagging head and scarlet cheeks emitted such a howl as the same dogmight have given had his growl been checked by a kick from his master. All the while the lyre twanged and thrummed, sometimes in front of andsometimes behind the voice of the singer. But what amazed Policles mostof all was the effect of this performance upon the audience. Every Greekwas a trained critic, and as unsparing in his hisses as he was lavishin his applause. Many a singer far better than this absurd fop had beendriven amid execration and abuse from the platform. But now, as theman stopped and wiped the abundant sweat from his fat face, the wholeassembly burst into a delirium of appreciation. The shepherd held hishands to his bursting head, and felt that his reason must be leavinghim. It was surely a dreadful musical nightmare, and he would wake soonand laugh at the remembrance. But no; the figures were real, the faceswere those of his neighbours, the cheers which resounded in his earswere indeed from an audience which filled the theatre of Olympia. The whole chorus was in full blast, the hummers humming, the shoutersbellowing, the tappers hard at work upon the benches, while every nowand then came a musical cyclone of "Incomparable! Divine!" from thetrained phalanx who intoned their applause, their united voices sweepingover the tumult as the drone of the wind dominates the roar of the sea. It was madness--insufferable madness! If this were allowed to pass, there was an end of all musical justice in Greece. Policles' consciencewould not permit him to be still. Standing upon his bench with wavinghands and upraised voice, he protested with all the strength of hislungs against the mad judgment of the audience. 

At first, amid the tumult, his action was hardly noticed. His voice wasdrowned in the universal roar which broke out afresh at each bow andsmirk from the fatuous musician. But gradually the folk round Policlesceased clapping, and stared at him in astonishment. The silence grew inever widening circles, until the whole great assembly sat mute, staringat this wild and magnificent creature who was storming at them from hisperch near the door. 

"Fools!" he cried. "What are you clapping at? What are you cheering? Isthis what you call music? Is this cat-calling to earn an Olympian prize?The fellow has not a note in his voice. You are either deaf or mad, andI for one cry shame upon you for your folly. "

Soldiers ran to pull him down, and the whole audience was in confusion, some of the bolder cheering the sentiments of the shepherd, and otherscrying that he should be cast out of the building. Meanwhile thesuccessful singer having handed his lyre to his negro attendant, wasinquiring from those around him on the stage as to the cause of theuproar. Finally a herald with an enormously powerful voice steppedforward to the front and proclaimed that if the foolish person at theback of the hall, who appeared to differ from the opinion of the restof the audience, would come forward upon the platform, he might, if hedared, exhibit his own powers, and see if he could outdo the admirableand wonderful exhibition which they had just had the privilege ofhearing. 

Policles sprang readily to his feet at the challenge, and the greatcompany making way for him to pass, he found himself a minute laterstanding in his unkempt garb, with his frayed and weather-beaten harp inhis hand, before the expectant crowd. He stood for a moment tighteninga string here and slackening another there until his chords rangtrue. Then, amid a murmur of laughter and jeers from the Roman benchesimmediately before him, he began to sing. 

He had prepared no composition, but he had trained himself to improvise, singing out of his heart for the joy of the music. He told of the landof Elis, beloved of Jupiter, in which they were gathered that day, ofthe great bare mountain slopes, of the swift shadows of the clouds, ofthe winding blue river, of the keen air of the uplands, of the chill ofthe evenings, and the beauties of earth and sky. It was all simple andchildlike, but it went to the hearts of the Olympians, for it spokeof the land which they knew and loved. Yet when he at last dropped hishand, few of them dared to applaud, and their feeble voices were drownedby a storm of hisses and groans from his opponents. He shrank back inhorror from so unusual a reception, and in an instant his blue-cladrival was in his place. If he had sung badly before, his performancenow was inconceivable. His screams, his grunts, his discords, and harshjarring cacophanies were an outrage to the very name of music. And yetevery time that he paused for breath or to wipe his streaming forehead afresh thunder of applause came rolling back from the audience. Policlessank his face in his hands and prayed that he might not be insane. Then, when the dreadful performance ceased, and the uproar of admirationshowed that the crown was certainly awarded to this impostor, a horrorof the audience, a hatred of this race of fools, and a craving for thepeace and silence of the pastures mastered every feeling in his mind. Hedashed through the mass of people waiting at the wings, and emergedin the open air. His old rival and friend Metas of Corinth was waitingthere with an anxious face. 

"Quick, Policles, quick!" he cried. "My pony is tethered behind yondergrove. A grey he is, with red trappings. Get you gone as hard as hoofwill bear you, for if you are taken you will have no easy death. "

"No easy death! What mean you, Metas? Who is the fellow?"

"Great Jupiter! did you not know? Where have you lived? It is Nerothe Emperor! Never would he pardon what you have said about his voice. Quick, man, quick, or the guards will be at your heels!"

An hour later the shepherd was well on his way to his mountain home, andabout the same time the Emperor, having received the Chaplet of Olympiafor the incomparable excellence of his performance, was making inquirieswith a frowning brow as to who the insolent person might be who haddared to utter such contemptuous criticisms. 

"Bring him to me here this instant, " said he, "and let Marcus with hisknife and branding-iron be in attendance. "

"If it please you, great Caesar, " said Arsenius Platus, the officer ofattendance, "the man cannot be found, and there are some very strangerumours flying about. "

"Rumours!" cried the angry Nero. "What do you mean, Arsenius? I tell youthat the fellow was an ignorant upstart, with the bearing of a boor andthe voice of a peacock. I tell you also that there are a good many whoare as guilty as he among the people, for I heard them with my own earsraise cheers for him when he had sung his ridiculous ode. I have halfa mind to burn their town about their ears so that they may remember myvisit. "

"It is not to be wondered at if he won their votes, Caesar, " said thesoldier, "for from what I hear it would have been no disgrace had you, even you, been conquered in this conquest. "

"I conquered! You are mad, Arsenius. What do you mean?"

"None know him, great Caesar! He came from the mountains, and hedisappeared into the mountains. You marked the wildness and strangebeauty of his face. It is whispered that for once the great god Pan hascondescended to measure himself against a mortal. "

The cloud cleared from Nero's brow. "Of course, Arsenius! You are right!No man would have dared to brave me so. What a story for Rome! Letthe messenger leave this very night, Arsenius, to tell them how theirEmperor has upheld their honour in Olympia this day. "

THROUGH THE VEIL. 

He was a great shock-headed, freckle-faced Borderer, the linealdescendant of a cattle-thieving clan in Liddesdale. In spite of hisancestry he was as solid and sober a citizen as one would wish to see, atown councillor of Melrose, an elder of the Church, and the chairman ofthe local branch of the Young Men's Christian Association. Brown was hisname--and you saw it printed up as "Brown and Handiside" over thegreat grocery stores in the High Street. His wife, Maggie Brown, was anArmstrong before her marriage, and came from an old farming stock inthe wilds of Teviothead. She was small, swarthy, and dark-eyed, with astrangely nervous temperament for a Scotch woman. No greater contrastcould be found than the big tawny man and the dark little woman; butboth were of the soil as far back as any memory could extend. 

One day--it was the first anniversary of their wedding--they had drivenover together to see the excavations of the Roman Fort at Newstead. Itwas not a particularly picturesque spot. From the northern bank of theTweed, just where the river forms a loop, there extends a gentle slopeof arable land. Across it run the trenches of the excavators, with hereand there an exposure of old stonework to show the foundations of theancient walls. It had been a huge place, for the camp was fifty acresin extent, and the fort fifteen. However, it was all made easy for themsince Mr. Brown knew the farmer to whom the land belonged. Under hisguidance they spent a long summer evening inspecting the trenches, thepits, the ramparts, and all the strange variety of objects which werewaiting to be transported to the Edinburgh Museum of Antiquities. Thebuckle of a woman's belt had been dug up that very day, and the farmerwas discoursing upon it when his eyes fell upon Mrs. Brown's face. 

"Your good leddy's tired, " said he. "Maybe you'd best rest a wee beforewe gang further. "

Brown looked at his wife. She was certainly very pale, and her dark eyeswere bright and wild. 

"What is it, Maggie? I've wearied you. I'm thinkin' it's time we wentback. "

"No, no, John, let us go on. It's wonderful! It's like a dreamlandplace. It all seems so close and so near to me. How long were the Romanshere, Mr. Cunningham?"

"A fair time, mam. If you saw the kitchen midden-pits you would guess ittook a long time to fill them. "

"And why did they leave?"

"Well, mam, by all accounts they left because they had to. The folkround could thole them no longer, so they just up and burned the fortaboot their lugs. You can see the fire marks on the stanes. "

The woman gave a quick little shudder. "A wild night--a fearsome night, "said she. "The sky must have been red that night--and these grey stones, they may have been red also. "

"Aye, I think they were red, " said her husband. "It's a queer thing, Maggie, and it may be your words that have done it; but I seem to seethat business aboot as clear as ever I saw anything in my life. Thelight shone on the water. "

"Aye, the light shone on the water. And the smoke gripped you by thethroat. And all the savages were yelling. "

The old farmer began to laugh. "The leddy will be writin' a story abootthe old fort, " said he. "I've shown many a one over it, but I neverheard it put so clear afore. Some folk have the gift. "

They had strolled along the edge of the foss, and a pit yawned upon theright of them. 

"That pit was fourteen foot deep, " said the farmer. "What d'ye think wedug oot from the bottom o't? Weel, it was just the skeleton of a man wi'a spear by his side. I'm thinkin' he was grippin' it when he died. Now, how cam' a man wi' a spear doon a hole fourteen foot deep? He wasna'buried there, for they aye burned their dead. What make ye o' that, mam?"

"He sprang doon to get clear of the savages, " said the woman. 

"Weel, it's likely enough, and a' the professors from Edinburgh couldnagie a better reason. I wish you were aye here, mam, to answer a' oordifficulties sae readily. Now, here's the altar that we foond last week. There's an inscreeption. They tell me it's Latin, and it means that themen o' this fort give thanks to God for their safety. "

They examined the old worn stone. There was a large deeply-cut "VV" uponthe top of it. "What does 'VV' stand for?" asked Brown. 

"Naebody kens, " the guide answered. 

"_Valeria Victrix_, " said the lady softly. Her face was paler than ever, her eyes far away, as one who peers down the dim aisles of overarchingcenturies. 

"What's that?" asked her husband sharply. 

She started as one who wakes from sleep. "What were we talking about?"she asked. 

"About this 'VV' upon the stone. "

"No doubt it was just the name of the Legion which put the altar up. "

"Aye, but you gave some special name. "

"Did I? How absurd! How should I ken what the name was?"

"You said something--'_Victrix_, ' I think. "

"I suppose I was guessing. It gives me the queerest feeling, this place, as if I were not myself, but someone else. "

"Aye, it's an uncanny place, " said her husband, looking round with anexpression almost of fear in his bold grey eyes. "I feel it mysel'. Ithink we'll just be wishin' you good evenin', Mr. Cunningham, and getback to Melrose before the dark sets in. "

Neither of them could shake off the strange impression which had beenleft upon them by their visit to the excavations. It was as if somemiasma had risen from those damp trenches and passed into their blood. All the evening they were silent and thoughtful, but such remarks asthey did make showed that the same subject was in the minds of each. Brown had a restless night, in which he dreamed a strange connecteddream, so vivid that he woke sweating and shivering like a frightenedhorse. He tried to convey it all to his wife as they sat together atbreakfast in the morning. 

"It was the clearest thing, Maggie, " said he. "Nothing that has evercome to me in my waking life has been more clear than that. I feel as ifthese hands were sticky with blood. "

"Tell me of it--tell me slow, " said she. 

"When it began, I was oot on a braeside. I was laying flat on theground. It was rough, and there were clumps of heather. All round mewas just darkness, but I could hear the rustle and the breathin' of men. There seemed a great multitude on every side of me, but I could seeno one. There was a low chink of steel sometimes, and then a number ofvoices would whisper 'Hush!' I had a ragged club in my hand, and it hadspikes o' iron near the end of it. My heart was beatin' quickly, and Ifelt that a moment of great danger and excitement was at hand. Once Idropped my club, and again from all round me the voices in the darknesscried, 'Hush!' I put oot my hand, and it touched the foot of anotherman lying in front of me. There was some one at my very elbow on eitherside. But they said nothin'. 

"Then we all began to move. The whole braeside seemed to be crawlin'downwards. There was a river at the bottom and a high-arched woodenbridge. Beyond the bridge were many lights--torches on a wall. Thecreepin' men all flowed towards the bridge. There had been no soundof any kind, just a velvet stillness. And then there was a cry in thedarkness, the cry of a man who has been stabbed suddenly to the hairt. That one cry swelled out for a moment, and then the roar of a thoosandfurious voices. I was runnin'. Every one was runnin'. A bright red lightshone out, and the river was a scarlet streak. I could see my companionsnow. They were more like devils than men, wild figures clad in skins, with their hair and beards streamin'. They were all mad with rage, jumpin' as they ran, their mouths open, their arms wavin', the red lightbeatin' on their faces. I ran, too, and yelled out curses like the rest. Then I heard a great cracklin' of wood, and I knew that the palisadeswere doon. There was a loud whistlin' in my ears, and I was aware thatarrows were flyin' past me. I got to the bottom of a dyke, and I saw ahand stretched doon from above. I took it, and was dragged to the top. We looked doon, and there were silver men beneath us holdin' up theirspears. Some of our folk sprang on to the spears. Then we othersfollowed, and we killed the soldiers before they could draw the spearsoot again. They shouted loud in some foreign tongue, but no mercy wasshown them. We went ower them like a wave, and trampled them doon intothe mud, for they were few, and there was no end to our numbers. 

"I found myself among buildings, and one of them was on fire. I saw theflames spoutin' through the roof. I ran on, and then I was alone amongthe buildings. Some one ran across in front o' me. It was a woman. Icaught her by the arm, and I took her chin and turned her face so as thelight of the fire would strike it. Whom think you that it was, Maggie?"

His wife moistened her dry lips. "It was I, " she said. 

He looked at her in surprise. "That's a good guess, " said he. "Yes, it was just you. Not merely like you, you understand. It was you--youyourself. I saw the same soul in your frightened eyes. You looked whiteand bonny and wonderful in the firelight. I had just one thought in myhead--to get you awa' with me; to keep you all to mysel' in my own homesomewhere beyond the hills. You clawed at my face with your nails. Iheaved you over my shoulder, and I tried to find a way oot of the lightof the burning hoose and back into the darkness. 

"Then came the thing that I mind best of all. You're ill, Maggie. ShallI stop? My God! You nave the very look on your face that you had lastnight in my dream. You screamed. He came runnin' in the firelight. Hishead was bare; his hair was black and curled; he had a naked sword inhis hand, short and broad, little more than a dagger. He stabbed at me, but he tripped and fell. I held you with one hand, and with the other--"

His wife had sprung to her feet with writhing features. 

"Marcus!" she cried. "My beautiful Marcus! Oh, you brute! you brute! youbrute!" There was a clatter of tea-cups as she fell forward senselessupon the table. 

They never talk about that strange isolated incident in their marriedlife. For an instant the curtain of the past had swung aside, and somestrange glimpse of a forgotten life had come to them. But it closeddown, never to open again. They live their narrow round--he in his shop, she in her household--and yet new and wider horizons have vaguely formedthemselves around them since that summer evening by the crumbling Romanfort. 

AN ICONOCLAST. 

It was daybreak of a March morning in the year of Christ 92. Outsidethe long Semita Alta was already thronged with people, with buyers andsellers, callers and strollers, for the Romans were so early-rising apeople that many a Patrician preferred to see his clients at six in themorning. Such was the good republican tradition, still upheld by themore conservative; but with more modern habits of luxury, a night ofpleasure and banqueting was no uncommon thing. Thus one, who had learnedthe new and yet adhered to the old, might find his hours overlap, andwithout so much as a pretence of sleep come straight from his night ofdebauch into his day of business, turning with heavy wits and an achinghead to that round of formal duties which consumed the life of a Romangentleman. 

So it was with Emilius Flaccus that March morning. He and his fellowsenator, Caius Balbus, had passed the night in one of those gloomydrinking bouts to which the Emperor Domitian summoned his chosen friendsat the high palace on the Palatine. Now, having reached the portals ofthe house of Flaccus, they stood together under the pomegranate-fringedportico which fronted the peristyle and, confident in each other's trieddiscretion, made up by the freedom of their criticism for their longself-suppression of that melancholy feast. 

"If he would but feed his guests, " said Balbus, a little red-faced, choleric nobleman with yellow-shot angry eyes. "What had we? Upon mylife, I have forgotten. Plovers' eggs, a mess of fish, some bird orother, and then his eternal apples. "

"Of which, " said Flaccus, "he ate only the apples. Do him the justice toconfess that he takes even less than he gives. At least they cannot sayof him as of Vitellius, that his teeth beggared the empire. "

"No, nor his thirst either, great as it is. That fiery Sabine wine ofhis could be had for a few sesterces the amphora. It is the common drinkof the carters at every wine-house on the country roads. I longed fora glass of my own rich Falernian or the mellow Coan that was bottled inthe year that Titus took Jerusalem. Is it even now too late? Could wenot wash this rasping stuff from our palates?"

"Nay, better come in with me now and take a bitter draught ere you goupon your way. My Greek physician Stephanos has a rare prescription fora morning head. What! Your clients await you? Well, I will see you laterat the Senate house. "

The Patrician had entered his atrium, bright with rare flowers, andmelodious with strange singing birds. At the jaws of the hall, true tohis morning duties, stood Lebs, the little Nubian slave, with snow-whitetunic and turban, a salver of glasses in one hand, whilst in the otherhe held a flask of a thin lemon-tinted liquid. The master of the housefilled up a bitter aromatic bumper, and was about to drink it off, whenhis hand was arrested by a sudden perception that something was muchamiss in his household. It was to be read all around him--in thefrightened eyes of the black boy, in the agitated face of the keeper ofthe atrium, in the gloom and silence of the little knot of ordinarii, the procurator or major-domo at their head, who had assembled to greettheir master. Stephanos the physician, Cleios the Alexandrine reader, Promus the steward each turned his head away to avoid his master'squestioning gaze. 

"What in the name of Pluto is the matter with you all?" cried the amazedsenator, whose night of potations had left him in no mood for patience. "Why do you stand moping there? Stephanos, Vacculus--is anything amiss?Here, Promus, you are the head of my household. What is it, then? Why doyou turn your eyes away from me?"

The burly steward, whose fat face was haggard and mottled with anxiety, laid his hand upon the sleeve of the domestic beside him. 

"Sergius is responsible for the atrium, my lord. It is for him to tellyou the terrible thing that has befallen in your absence. "

"Nay, it was Datus who did it. Bring him in, and let him explain ithimself, " said Sergius in a sulky voice. 

The patience of the Patrician was at an end. "Speak this instant, you rascal!" he shouted angrily. "Another minute, and I will have youdragged to the ergastulum, where, with your feet in the stocks and thegyves round your wrists, you may learn quicker obedience. Speak, I say, and without delay. "

"It is the Venus, " the man stammered; "the Greek Venus of Praxiteles. "

The senator gave a cry of apprehension and rushed to the corner of theatrium, where a little shrine, curtained off by silken drapery, held theprecious statue, the greatest art treasure of his collection--perhapsof the whole world. He tore the hangings aside and stood in speechlessanger before the outraged goddess. The red perfumed lamp which alwaysburned before her had been spilled and broken; her altar fire hadbeen quenched, her chaplet had been dashed aside. But worst ofall--insufferable sacrilege!--her own beautiful nude body of glisteningPantelic marble, as white and fair as when the inspired Greek had hewedit out five hundred years before, had been most brutally mishandled. Three fingers of the gracious outstretched hand had been struck off, andlay upon the pedestal beside her. Above her delicate breast a dark markshowed, where a blow had disfigured the marble. Emilius Flaccus, themost delicate and judicious connoisseur in Rome, stood gasping andcroaking, his hand to his throat, as he gazed at his disfiguredmasterpiece. Then he turned upon his slaves, his fury in his convulsedface; but, to his amazement, they were not looking at him, but hadall turned in attitudes of deep respect towards the opening of theperistyle. As he faced round and saw who had just entered his house, his own rage fell away from him in an instant, and his manner became ashumble as that of his servants. 

The newcomer was a man forty-three years of age, clean shaven, with amassive head, large engorged eyes, a small clear-cut nose, and thefull bull neck which was the especial mark of his breed. He had enteredthrough the peristyle with a swaggering, rolling gait, as one who walksupon his own ground, and now he stood, his hands upon his hips, lookinground him at the bowing slaves, and finally at their master, with ahalf-humorous expression upon his flushed and brutal face. 

"Why, Emilius, " said he, "I had understood that your household was thebest-ordered in Rome. What is amiss with you this morning?"

"Nothing could be amiss with us now that Caesar has deigned to comeunder my roof, " said the courtier. "This is indeed a most glad surprisewhich you have prepared for me. "

"It was an afterthought, " said Domitian. "When you and the others hadleft me, I was in no mood for sleep, and so it came into my mind thatI would have a breath of morning air by coming down to you, and seeingthis Grecian Venus of yours, about which you discoursed so eloquentlybetween the cups. But, indeed, by your appearance and that of yourservants, I should judge that my visit was an ill-timed one. "

"Nay, dear master; say not so. But, indeed, it is truth that I was introuble at the moment of your welcome entrance, and this trouble was, asthe Fates have willed it, brought forth by that very statue in which youhave been graciously pleased to show your interest. There it stands, andyou can see for yourself how rudely it has been mishandled. "

"By Pluto and all the nether gods, if it were mine some of you shouldfeed the lampreys, " said the Emperor, looking round with his fierce eyesat the shrinking slaves. "You were always overmerciful, Emilius. It isthe common talk that your catenoe are rusted for want of use. But surelythis is beyond all bounds. Let me see how you handle the matter. Whom doyou hold responsible?"

"The slave Sergius is responsible, since it is his place to tend theatrium, " said Flaccus. "Stand forward, Sergius. What have you to say?"

The trembling slave advanced to his master. "If it please you, sir, themischief has been done by Datus the Christian. "

"Datus! Who is he?"

"The matulator, the scavenger, my lord. I did not know that he belongedto these horrible people, or I should not have admitted him. He camewith his broom to brush out the litter of the birds. His eyes fell uponthe Venus, and in an instant he had rushed upon her and struck her twoblows with his wooden besom. Then we fell upon him and dragged him away. But alas! alas! it was too late, for already the wretch had dashed offthe fingers of the goddess. "

The Emperor smiled grimly, while the Patrician's thin face grew palewith anger. 

"Where is the fellow?" he asked. 

"In the ergastulum, your honour, with the furca on his neck. "

"Bring him hither and summon the household. "

A few minutes later the whole back of the atrium was thronged by themotley crowd who ministered to the household needs of a great Romannobleman. There was the arcarius, or account keeper, with his stylumbehind his ear; the sleek praegustator, who sampled all foods, so as tostand between his master and poison, and beside him his predecessor, nowa half-witted idiot through the interception twenty years before of adatura draught from Canidia; the cellarman, summoned from amongst hisamphorae; the cook, with his basting-ladle in his hand; the pompousnomenclator, who ushered the guests; the cubicularius, who saw totheir accommodation; the silentiarius, who kept order in the house; thestructor, who set forth the tables; the carptor, who carved the food;the cinerarius, who lit the fires--these and many more, half-curious, half-terrified, came to the judging of Datus. Behind them a chattering, giggling swarm of Lalages, Marias, Cerusas, and Amaryllides, from thelaundries and the spinning-rooms, stood upon their tiptoes and extendedtheir pretty wondering faces over the shoulders of the men. Through thiscrowd came two stout varlets leading the culprit between them. He was asmall, dark, rough-headed man, with an unkempt beard and wild eyes whichshone, brightly with strong inward emotion. His hands were bound behindhim, and over his neck was the heavy wooden collar or furca which wasplaced upon refractory slaves. A smear of blood across his cheek showedthat he had not come uninjured from the preceding scuffle. 

"Are you Datus the scavenger?" asked the Patrician. 

The man drew himself up proudly. "Yes, " said he, "I am Datus. "

"Did you do this injury to my statue?"

"Yes, I did. "

There was an uncompromising boldness in the man's reply which compelledrespect. The wrath of his master became tinged with interest. 

"Why did you do this?" he asked. 

"Because it was my duty. "

"Why, then, was it your duty to destroy your master's property?"

"Because I am a Christian. " His eyes blazed suddenly out of his darkface. "Because there is no God but the one eternal, and all else aresticks and stones. What has this naked harlot to do with Him to whom thegreat firmament is but a garment and the earth a footstool? It was inHis service that I have broken your statue. "

Domitian looked with a smile at the Patrician. "You will make nothing ofhim, " said he. "They speak even so when they stand before the lions inthe arena. As to argument, not all the philosophers of Rome can breakthem down. Before my very face they refuse to sacrifice in my honour. Never were such impossible people to deal with. I should take a shortway with him if I were you. "

"What would Caesar advise?"

"There are the games this afternoon. I am showing the newhunting-leopard which King Juba has sent from Numidia. This slavemay give us some sport when he finds the hungry beast sniffing at hisheels. "

The Patrician considered for a moment. He had always been a father tohis servants. It was hateful to him to think of any injury befallingthem. Perhaps even now, if this strange fanatic would show his sorrowfor what he had done, it might be possible to spare him. At least it wasworth trying. 

"Your offence deserves death, " he said. "What reasons can you give whyit should not befall you, since you have injured this statue, which isworth your own price a hundred times over?"

The slave looked steadfastly at his master. "I do not fear death, " hesaid. "My sister Candida died in the arena, and I am ready to do thesame. It is true that I have injured your statue, but I am able to findyou something of far greater value in exchange. I will give you thetruth and the gospel in exchange for your broken idol. "

The Emperor laughed. "You will do nothing with him, Emilius, " he said. "I know his breed of old. He is ready to die; he says so himself. Whysave him, then?"

But the Patrician still hesitated. He would make a last effort. 

"Throw off his bonds, " he said to the guards. "Now take the furca offhis neck. So! Now, Datus, I have released you to show you that I trustyou. I have no wish to do you any hurt if you will but acknowledge yourerror, and so set a better example to my household here assembled. "

"How, then, shall I acknowledge my error?" the slave asked. 

"Bow your head before the goddess, and entreat her forgiveness forthe violence you have done her. Then perhaps you may gain my pardon aswell. "

"Put me, then, before her, " said the Christian. 

Emilius Flaccus looked triumphantly at Domitian. By kindness and tact hewas effecting that which the Emperor had failed to do by violence. Datuswalked in front of the mutilated Venus. Then with a sudden spring hetore the baton out of the hand of one of his guardians, leaped upon thepedestal, and showered his blows upon the lovely marble woman. Witha crack and a dull thud her right arm dropped to the ground. Anotherfierce blow and the left had followed. Flaccus danced and screamedwith horror, while his servants dragged the raving iconoclast from hisimpassive victim. Domitian's brutal laughter echoed through the hall. 

"Well, friend, what think you now?" he cried. "Are you wiser than yourEmperor? Can you indeed tame your Christian with kindness?"

Emilius Flaccus wiped the sweat from his brow. "He is yours, greatCaesar. Do with him as you will. "

"Let him be at the gladiators' entrance of the circus an hour beforethe games begin, " said the Emperor. "Now, Emilius, the night has been amerry one. My Ligurian galley waits by the river quay. Come, cool yourhead with a spin to Ostia ere the business of State calls you to theSenate. "

GIANT MAXIMIN. 

I THE COMING OF MAXIMIN

Many are the strange vicissitudes of history. Greatness has often sunkto the dust, and has tempered itself to its new surrounding. Smallnesshas risen aloft, has flourished for a time, and then has sunk once more. Rich monarchs have become poor monks, brave conquerors have lost theirmanhood, eunuchs and women have overthrown armies and kingdoms. Surelythere is no situation which the mind of man can invent which has nottaken shape and been played out upon the world stage. But of all thestrange careers and of all the wondrous happenings, stranger thanCharles in his monastery, or Justin on his throne, there stands the caseof Giant Maximin, what he attained, and how he attained it. Let me tellthe sober facts of history, tinged only by that colouring to which themore austere historians could not condescend. It is a record as well asa story. 

In the heart of Thrace some ten miles north of the Rhodope mountains, there is a valley which is named Harpessus, after the stream which runsdown it. Through this valley lies the main road from the east to thewest, and along the road, returning from an expedition against theAlani, there marched, upon the fifth day of the month of June inthe year 210, a small but compact Roman army. It consisted of threelegions--the Jovian, the Cappadocian, and the men of Hercules. Tenturmae of Gallic cavalry led the van, whilst the rear was covered bya regiment of Batavian Horse Guards, the immediate attendants of theEmperor Septimus Severus who had conducted the campaign in person. Thepeasants who lined the low hills which fringed the valley looked withindifference upon the long files of dusty, heavily-burdened infantry, but they broke into murmurs of delight at the gold-faced cuirassesand high brazen horse-hair helmets of the guardsmen, applauding theirstalwart figures, their martial bearing, and the stately black chargerswhich they rode. A soldier might know that it was the little weary menwith their short swords, their heavy pikes over their shoulders, andtheir square shields slung upon their backs, who were the real terror ofthe enemies of the Empire, but to the eyes of the wondering Thracians itwas this troop of glittering Apollos who bore Rome's victory upon theirbanners, and upheld the throne of the purple-togaed prince who rodebefore them. 

Among the scattered groups of peasants who looked on from a respectfuldistance at this military pageant, there were two men who attractedmuch attention from those who stood immediately around them. The one wascommonplace enough--a little grey-headed man, with uncouth dress anda frame which was bent and warped by a long life of arduous toil, goat-driving and wood-chopping among the mountains. It was theappearance of his youthful companion which had drawn the amazedobservation of the bystanders. In stature he was such a giant as isseen but once or twice in each generation of mankind. Eight feet and twoinches was his measure from his sandalled sole to the topmost curls ofhis tangled hair. Yet for all his mighty stature there was nothing heavyor clumsy in the man. His huge shoulders bore no redundant flesh, andhis figure was straight and hard and supple as a young pine tree. Afrayed suit of brown leather clung close to his giant body, and a cloakof undressed sheep-skin was slung from his shoulder. His bold blueeyes, shock of yellow hair and fair skin showed that he was of Gothic ornorthern blood, and the amazed expression upon his broad frank face ashe stared at the passing troops told of a simple and uneventful life insome back valley of the Macedonian mountains. 

"I fear your mother was right when she advised that we keep you athome, " said the old man anxiously. "Tree-cutting and wood-carrying willseem but dull work after such a sight as this. "

"When I see mother next it will be to put a golden torque round herneck, " said the young giant. "And you, daddy; I will fill your leatherpouch with gold pieces before I have done. "

The old man looked at his son with startled eyes. "You would not leaveus, Theckla! What could we do without you?"

"My place is down among yonder men, " said the young man. "I was not bornto drive goats and carry logs, but to sell this manhood of mine in thebest market. There is my market in the Emperor's own Guard. Say nothing, daddy, for my mind is set, and if you weep now it will be to laughhereafter. I will to great Rome with the soldiers. "

The daily march of the heavily laden Roman legionary was fixed at twentymiles; but on this afternoon, though only half the distance had beenaccomplished, the silver trumpets blared out their welcome news that acamp was to be formed. As the men broke their ranks, the reason of theirlight march was announced by the decurions. It was the birthday of Geta, the younger son of the Emperor, and in his honour there would be gamesand a double ration of wine. But the iron discipline of the Romanarmy required that under all circumstances certain duties should beperformed, and foremost among them that the camp should be made secure. Laying down their arms in the order of their ranks, the soldiers seizedtheir spades and axes, and worked rapidly and joyously until slopingvallum and gaping fossa girdled them round, and gave them safe refugeagainst a night attack. Then in noisy, laughing, gesticulating crowdsthey gathered in their thousands round the grassy arena where the sportswere to be held. A long green hillside sloped down to a level plain, andon this gentle incline the army lay watching the strife of the chosenathletes who contended before them. They stretched themselves in theglare of the sunshine, their heavy tunics thrown off, and their nakedlimbs sprawling, wine-cups an baskets of fruit and cakes circlingamongst them, enjoying rest and peace as only those can to whom it comesso rarely. 

The five-mile race was over, and had been won as usual by DecurionBrennus, the crack long-distance champion of the Herculians. Amid theyells of the Jovians, Capellus of the corps had carried off both thelong and the high jump. Big Brebix the Gaul had out-thrown the longguardsman Serenus with the fifty pound stone. Now, as the sun sanktowards the western ridge, and turned the Harpessus to a riband of gold, they had come to the final of the wrestling, where the pliant Greek, whose name is lost in the nickname of "Python, " was tried out againstthe bull-necked Lictor of the military police, a hairy Hercules, whoseheavy hand had in the way of duty oppressed many of the spectators. 

As the two men, stripped save for their loin-cloths, approached thewrestling-ring, cheers and counter-cheers burst from their adherents, some favouring the Lictor for his Roman blood, some the Greek from theirown private grudge. And then, of a sudden, the cheering died, heads wereturned towards the slope away from the arena, men stood up and peeredand pointed, until finally, in a strange hush, the whole great assemblyhad forgotten the athletes, and were watching a single man walkingswiftly towards them down the green curve of the hill. This hugesolitary figure, with the oaken club in his hand, the shaggy fleeceflapping from his great shoulders, and the setting sun gleaming upon ahalo of golden hair, might have been the tutelary god of the fierce andbarren mountains from which he had issued. Even the Emperor rose fromhis chair and gazed with open-eyed amazement at the extraordinary beingwho approached him. 

The man, whom we already know as Theckla the Thracian, paid no heedto the attention which he had aroused, but strode onwards, stepping aslightly as a deer, until he reached the fringe of the soldiers. Amidtheir open ranks he picked his way, sprang over the ropes which guardedthe arena, and advanced towards the Emperor, until a spear at his breastwarned him that he must go no nearer. Then he sunk upon his right kneeand called out some words in the Gothic speech. 

"Great Jupiter! Whoever saw such a body of a man!" cried the Emperor. "What says he? What is amiss with the fellow? Whence comes he, and whatis his name?"

An interpreter translated the Barbarian's answer. "He says, greatCaesar, that he is of good blood, and sprung by a Gothic father from awoman of the Alani. He says that his name is Theckla, and that he wouldfain carry a sword in Caesar's service. "

The Emperor smiled. "Some post could surely be found for such a man, were it but as janitor at the Palatine Palace, " said he to one of thePrefects. "I would fain see him walk even as he is through the forum. He would turn the heads of half the women in Rome. Talk to him, Crassus. You know his speech. "

The Roman officer turned to the giant. "Caesar says that you are to comewith him, and he will make you the servant at his door. "

The Barbarian rose, and his fair cheeks flushed with resentment. 

"I will serve Caesar as a soldier, " said he, "but I will behouse-servant to no man-not even to him. If Caesar would see what mannerof man I am, let him put one of his guardsmen up against me. "

"By the shade of Milo this is a bold fellow!" cried the Emperor. "Howsay you, Crassus? Shall he make good his words?"

"By your leave, Caesar, " said the blunt soldier, "good swordsmen are toorare in these days that we should let them slay each other for sport. Perhaps if the Barbarian would wrestle a fall--"

"Excellent!" cried the Emperor. "Here is the Python, and here Varus theLictor, each stripped for the bout. Have a look at them, Barbarian, andsee which you would choose. What does he say? He would take them both?Nay then he is either the king of wrestlers or the king of boasters, and we shall soon see which. Let him have his way, and he has himself tothank if he comes out with a broken neck. "

There was some laughter when the peasant tossed his sheep-skin mantle tothe ground and, without troubling to remove his leathern tunic, advancedtowards the two wrestlers; but it became uproarious when with a quickspring he seized the Greek under one arm and the Roman under the other, holding them as in a vice. Then with a terrific effort he tore them bothfrom the ground, carried them writhing and kicking round the arena, andfinally walking up to the Emperor's throne, threw his two athletes downin front of him. Then, bowing to Caesar, the huge Barbarian withdrew, and laid his great bulk down among the ranks of the applauding soldiers, whence he watched with stolid unconcern the conclusion of the sports. 

It was still daylight, when the last event had been decided, and thesoldiers returned to the camp. The Emperor Severus had ordered hishorse, and in the company of Crassus, his favourite prefect, rode downthe winding pathway which skirts the Harpessus, chatting over the futuredispersal of the army. They had ridden for some miles when Severus, glancing behind him, was surprised to see a huge figure which trottedlightly along at the very heels of his horse. 

"Surely this is Mercury as well as Hercules that we have found amongthe Thracian mountains, " said he with a smile. "Let us see how soon ourSyrian horses can out-distance him. "

The two Romans broke into a gallop, and did not draw rein until a goodmile had been covered at the full pace of their splendid chargers. Thenthey turned and looked back; but there, some distance off, stillrunning with a lightness and a spring which spoke of iron muscles andinexhaustible endurance, came the great Barbarian. The Roman Emperorwaited until the athlete had come up to them. 

"Why do you follow me?" he asked. "It is my hope, Caesar, that I mayalways follow you. " His flushed face as he spoke was almost level withthat of the mounted Roman. 

"By the god of war, I do not know where in all the world I could findsuch a servant!" cried the Emperor. "You shall be my own body-guard, theone nearest to me of all. "

The giant fell upon his knee. "My life and strength are yours, " he said. "I ask no more than to spend them for Caesar. "

Crassus had interpreted this short dialogue. He now turned to theEmperor. 

"If he is indeed to be always at your call, Caesar, it would be well togive the poor Barbarian some name which your lips can frame. Theckla isas uncouth and craggy a word as one of his native rocks. "

The Emperor pondered for a moment. "If I am to have the naming of him, "said he, "then surely I shall call him Maximus, for there is not such agiant upon earth. "

"Hark you, " said the Prefect. "The Emperor has deigned to give you aRoman name, since you have come into his service. Henceforth you are nolonger Theckla, but you are Maximus. Can you say it after me?"

"Maximin, " repeated the Barbarian, trying to catch the Roman word. 

The Emperor laughed at the mincing accent. "Yes, yes, Maximin let itbe. To all the world you are Maximin, the body-guard of Severus. Whenwe have reached Rome, we will soon see that your dress shall correspondwith your office. Meanwhile march with the guard until you have myfurther orders. "

So it came about that as the Roman army resumed its march next day, andleft behind it the fair valley of the Harpessus, a huge recruit, cladin brown leather, with a rude sheep-skin floating from his shoulders, marched beside the Imperial troop. But far away in the wooden farmhouseof a distant Macedonian valley two old country folk wept salt tears, andprayed to the gods for the safety of their boy who had turned his faceto Rome. 

II THE RISE OF GIANT MAXIMIN

Exactly twenty-five years had passed since the day that Theckla the hugeThracian peasant had turned into Maximin the Roman guardsman. They hadnot been good years for Rome. Gone for ever were the great Imperial daysof the Hadrians and the Trajans. Gone also the golden age of the twoAntonines, when the highest were for once the most worthy and mostwise. It had been an epoch of weak and cruel men. Severus, the swarthyAfrican, a stark grim man, had died in far away York, after fighting allthe winter with the Caledonian Highlanders--a race who have eversince worn the martial garb of the Romans. His son, known only by hisslighting nick-name of Caracalla, had reigned during six years of insanelust and cruelty, before the knife of an angry soldier avenged thedignity of the Roman name. The nonentity Macrinus had filled thedangerous throne for a single year before he also met a bloody end, and made room for the most grotesque of all monarchs, the unspeakableHeliogabalus with his foul mind and his painted face. He in turn was cutto pieces by the soldiers, and Severus Alexander, a gentle youth, scarceseventeen years of age, had been thrust into his place. For thirteenyears now he had ruled, striving with some success to put some virtueand stability into the rotting Empire, but raising many fierce enemiesas he did so-enemies whom he had not the strength nor the wit to hold incheck. 

And Giant Maximin--what of him? He had carried his eight feet of manhoodthrough the lowlands of Scotland, and the passes of the Grampians. He had seen Severus pass away, and had soldiered with his son. Hehad fought in Armenia, in Dacia, and in Germany. They had made him acenturion upon the field when with his hands he plucked out one byone the stockades of a northern village, and so cleared a path forthe stormers. His strength had been the jest and the admiration of thesoldiers. Legends about him had spread through the army and were thecommon gossip round the camp fires--of his duel with the German axemanon the Island of the Rhine, and of the blow with his fist which brokethe leg of a Scythian's horse. Gradually he had won his way upwards, until now, after quarter of a century's service he was tribune of thefourth legion and superintendent of recruits for the whole army. Theyoung soldier who had come under the glare of Maximin's eyes, or hadbeen lifted up with one huge hand while he was cuffed by the other, hadhis first lesson from him in the discipline of the service. 

It was nightfall in the camp of the fourth legion upon the Gallic shoreof the Rhine. Across the moonlit water, amid the thick forests whichstretched away to the dim horizon, lay the wild untamed German tribes. Down on the river bank the light gleamed upon the helmets of the Romansentinels who kept guard along the river. Far away a red point rose andfell in the darkness--a watch-fire of the enemy upon the further shore. 

Outside his tent, beside some smouldering logs, Giant Maximin wasseated, a dozen of his officers around him. He had changed much sincethe day when we first met him in the Valley of the Harpessus. His hugeframe was as erect as ever, and there was no sign of diminution of hisstrength. But he had aged none the less. The yellow tangle of hair wasgone, worn down by the ever-pressing helmet. The fresh young face wasdrawn and hardened, with austere lines wrought by trouble and privation. The nose was more hawk-like, the eyes more cunning, the expression morecynical and more sinister. In his youth, a child would have run tohis arms. Now it would shrink screaming from his gaze. That was whattwenty-five years with the eagles had done for Theckla the Thracianpeasant. 

He was listening now--for he was a man of few words--to the chatter ofhis centurions. One of them, Balbus the Sicilian, had been to the maincamp at Mainz, only four miles away, and had seen the Emperor Alexanderarrive that very day from Rome. The rest were eager at the news, for itwas a time of unrest, and the rumour of great changes was in the air. 

"How many had he with him?" asked Labienus, a black-browed veteran fromthe south of Gaul. "I'll wager a month's pay that he was not so trustfulas to come alone among his faithful legions. "

"He had no great force, " replied Balbus. "Ten or twelve cohorts of thePraetorians and a handful of horse. "

"Then indeed his head is in the lion's mouth, " cried Sulpicius, ahot-headed youth from the African Pentapolis. "How was he received?"

"Coldly enough. There was scarce a shout as he came down the line. "

"They are ripe for mischief, " said Labienus. "And who can wonder, whenit is we soldiers who uphold the Empire upon our spears, while the lazycitizens at Rome reap all of our sowing. Why cannot a soldier have whata soldier gains? So long as they throw us our denarius a day, they thinkthat they have done with us. "

"Aye, " croaked a grumbling old greybeard. "Our limbs, our blood, ourlives--what do they care so long as the Barbarians are held off, andthey are left in peace to their feastings and their circus? Free bread, free wine, free games--everything for the loafer at Rome. For us thefrontier guard and a soldier's fare. "

Maximin gave a deep laugh. "Old Plancus talks like that, " said he; "butwe know that for all the world he would not change his steel plate for acitizen's gown. You've earned the kennel, old hound, if you wish it. Goand gnaw your bone and growl in peace. "

"Nay, I am too old for change. I will follow the eagle till I die. Andyet I had rather die in serving a soldier master than a long-gownedSyrian who comes of a stock where the women are men and the men arewomen. "

There was a laugh from the circle of soldiers, for sedition and mutinywere rife in the camp, and even the old centurion's outbreak could notdraw a protest. Maximin raised his great mastiff head and looked atBalbus. 

"Was any name in the mouths of the soldiers?" he asked in a meaningvoice. 

There was a hush for the answer. The sigh of the wind among the pinesand the low lapping of the river swelled out louder in the silence. Balbus looked hard at his commander. 

"Two names were whispered from rank to rank, " said he. "One was AsceniusPollio, the General. The other was--"

The fiery Sulpicius sprang to his feet waving a glowing brand above hishead. 

"Maximinus!" he yelled, "Imperator Maximinus Augustus!"

Who could tell how it came about? No one had thought of it an hourbefore. And now it sprang in an instant to full accomplishment. Theshout of the frenzied young African had scarcely rung through thedarkness when from the tents, from the watch-fires, from the sentries, the answer came pealing back: "Ave, Maximinus! Ave Maximinus Augustus!"From all sides men came rushing, half-clad, wild-eyed, their eyesstaring, their mouths agape, flaming wisps of straw or flaring torchesabove their heads. The giant was caught up by scores of hands, and satenthroned upon the bull-necks of the legionaries. "To the camp!" theyyelled. "To the camp! Hail! Hail to the soldier Caesar!"

That same night Severus Alexander, the young Syrian Emperor, walkedoutside his Praetorian camp, accompanied by his friend Licinius Probus, the Captain of the Guard. They were talking gravely of the gloomyfaces and seditious bearing of the soldiers. A great foreboding of evilweighed heavily upon the Emperor's heart, and it was reflected upon thestern bearded face of his companion. 

"I like it not, " said he. "It is my counsel, Caesar, that with the firstlight of morning we make our way south once more. "

"But surely, " the Emperor answered, "I could not for shame turn my backupon the danger. What have they against me? How have I harmed them thatthey should forget their vows and rise upon me?"

"They are like children who ask always for something new. You heard themurmur as you rode along the ranks. Nay, Caesar, fly tomorrow, and yourPraetorians will see that you are not pursued. There may be some loyalcohorts among the legions, and if we join forces--"

A distant shout broke in upon their conversation--a low continued roar, like the swelling tumult of a sweeping wave. Far down the road uponwhich they stood there twinkled many moving lights, tossing and sinkingas they rapidly advanced, whilst the hoarse tumultuous bellowing brokeinto articulate words, the same tremendous words, a thousand-foldrepeated. Licinius seized the Emperor by the wrist and dragged him underthe cover of some bushes. 

"Be still, Caesar! For your life be still!" he whispered. "One word andwe are lost!"

Crouching in the darkness, they saw that wild procession pass, therushing screaming figures, the tossing arms, the bearded, distortedfaces, now scarlet and now grey, as the brandished torches waxed orwaned. They heard the rush of many feet, the clamour of hoarse voices, the clang of metal upon metal. And then suddenly, above them all, theysaw a vision of a monstrous man, a huge bowed back, a savage face, grimhawk eyes, that looked out over the swaying shields. It was seen for aninstant in a smoke-fringed circle of fire, and then it had swept on intothe night. 

"Who is he?" stammered the Emperor, clutching at his guardsman's sleeve. "They call him Caesar. "

"It is surely Maximin the Thracian peasant. " In the darkness thePraetorian officer looked with strange eyes at his master. 

"It is all over, Caesar. Let us fly your tent. "

But even as they went a second shout had broken forth tenfold louderthan the first. If the one had been the roar of the oncoming wave, theother was the full turmoil of the tempest. Twenty thousand voices fromthe camp had broken into one wild shout which echoed through the night, until the distant Germans round their watch-fires listened in wonder andalarm. 

"Ave!" cried the voices. "Ave Maximinus Augustus!"

High upon their bucklers stood the giant, and looked round him at thegreat floor of upturned faces below. His own savage soul was stirredby the clamour, but only his gleaming eyes spoke of the fire within. He waved his hand to the shouting soldiers as the huntsman waves to theleaping pack. They passed him up a coronet of oak leaves, and clashedtheir swords in homage as he placed it on his head. And then there camea swirl in the crowd before him, a little space was cleared, and thereknelt an officer in the Praetorian garb, blood upon his face, blood uponhis bared forearm, blood upon his naked sword. Licinius too had gonewith the tide. 

"Hail, Caesar, hail!" he cried, as he bowed his head before the giant. "I come from Alexander. He will trouble you no more. "

III THE FALL OF MAXIMIN

For three years the soldier Emperor had been upon the throne. His palacehad been his tent, and his people had been the legionaries. With them hewas supreme; away from them he was nothing. He had gone with them fromone frontier to the other. He had fought against Dacians, Sarmatians, and once again against the Germans. But Rome knew nothing of him, andall her turbulence rose against a master who cared so little for her orher opinion that he never deigned to set foot within her walls. Therewere cabals and conspiracies against the absent Caesar. Then his heavyhand fell upon them, and they were cuffed, even as the young soldiershad been who passed under his discipline. He knew nothing, and cared asmuch for consuls, senates, and civil laws. His own will and the powerof the sword were the only forces which he could understand. Of commerceand the arts he was as ignorant as when he left his Thracian home. Thewhole vast Empire was to him a huge machine for producing the money bywhich the legions were to be rewarded. Should he fail to get that money, his fellow soldiers would bear him a grudge. To watch their intereststhey had raised him upon their shields that night. If city funds had tobe plundered or temples desecrated, still the money must be got. Suchwas the point of view of Giant Maximin. 

But there came resistance, and all the fierce energy of the man, all thehardness which had given him the leadership of hard men, sprang forth toquell it. From his youth he had lived amidst slaughter. Life and deathwere cheap things to him. He struck savagely at all who stood up to him, and when they hit back, he struck more savagely still. His giant shadowlay black across the Empire from Britain to Syria. A strange subtlevindictiveness became also apparent in him. Omnipotence ripened everyfault and swelled it into crime. In the old days he had been rebuked forhis roughness. Now a sullen dangerous anger arose against those who hadrebuked him. He sat by the hour with his craggy chin between hishands, and his elbows resting on his knees, while he recalled all themisadventures, all the vexations of his early youth, when Roman wits hadshot their little satires upon his bulk and his ignorance. He could notwrite, but his son Verus placed the names upon his tablets, and theywere sent to the Governor of Rome. Men who had long forgotten theiroffence were called suddenly to make most bloody reparation. 

A rebellion broke out in Africa, but was quelled by his lieutenant. Butthe mere rumour of it set Rome in a turmoil. The Senate found somethingof its ancient spirit. So did the Italian people. They would not be forever bullied by the legions. As Maximin approached from the frontier, with the sack of rebellious Rome in his mind, he was faced with everysign of a national resistance. The countryside was deserted, the farmsabandoned, the fields cleared of crops and cattle. Before him lay thewalled town of Aquileia. He flung himself fiercely upon it, but was metby as fierce a resistance. The walls could not be forced, and yet therewas no food in the country round for his legions. The men were starvingand dissatisfied. What did it matter to them who was Emperor? Maximinwas no better than themselves. Why should they call down the curse ofthe whole Empire upon their heads by upholding him? He saw their sullenfaces and their averted eyes, and he knew that the end had come. 

That night he sat with his son Verus in his tent, and he spoke softlyand gently as the youth had never heard him speak before. He had spokenthus in old days with Paullina, the boy's mother; but she had been deadthese many years, and all that was soft and gentle in the big man hadpassed away with her. Now her spirit seemed very near him, and his ownwas tempered by its presence. 

"I would have you go back to the Thracian mountains, " he said. "I havetried both, boy, and I can tell you that there is no pleasure whichpower can bring which can equal the breath of the wind and the smell ofthe kine upon a summer morning. Against you they have no quarrel. Why should they mishandle you? Keep far from Rome and the Romans. OldEudoxus has money, and to spare. He awaits you with two horses outsidethe camp. Make for the valley of the Harpessus, lad. It was thencethat your father came, and there you will find his kin. Buy and stocka homestead, and keep yourself far from the paths of greatness and ofdanger. God keep you, Verus, and send you safe to Thrace. "

When his son had kissed his hand and had left him, the Emperor drew hisrobe around him and sat long in thought. In his slow brain he revolvedthe past--his early peaceful days, his years with Severus, his memoriesof Britain, his long campaigns, his strivings and battlings, all leadingto that mad night by the Rhine. His fellow soldiers had loved him then. And now he had read death in their eyes. How had he failed them? Othershe might have wronged, but they at least had no complaint against him. If he had his time again, he would think less of them and more of hispeople, he would try to win love instead of fear, he would livefor peace and not for war. If he had his time again! But there wereshuffling Steps, furtive whispers, and the low rattle of arms outsidehis tent. A bearded face looked in at him, a swarthy African face thathe knew well. He laughed, and, bearing his arm, he took his sword fromthe table beside him. 

"It is you, Sulpicius, " said he. "You have not come to cry 'AveImperator Maximin!' as once by the camp fire. You are tired of me, andby the gods I am tired of you, and glad to be at the end of it. Comeand have done with it, for I am minded to see how many of you I can takewith me when I go. "

They clustered at the door of the tent, peeping over each other'sshoulders, and none wishing to be the first to close with that laughing, mocking giant. But something was pushed forward upon a spear point, andas he saw it, Maximin groaned and his sword sank to the earth. 

"You might have spared the boy, " he sobbed. "He would not have hurt you. Have done with it then, for I will gladly follow him. "

So they closed upon him and cut and stabbed and thrust, until his kneesgave way beneath him and he dropped upon the floor. 

"The tyrant is dead!" they cried. "The tyrant is dead, " and from all thecamp beneath them and from the walls of the beleaguered city the joyouscry came echoing back, "He is dead, Maximin is dead!"

I sit in my study, and upon the table before me lies a denarius ofMaximin, as fresh as when the triumvir of the Temple of Juno Monetasent it from the mint. Around it are recorded his resoundingtitles--Imperator Maximinus, Pontifex Maximus, Tribunitia potestate, andthe rest. In the centre is the impress of a great craggy head, a massivejaw, a rude fighting face, a contracted forehead. For all the pompousroll of titles it is a peasant's face, and I see him not as the Emperorof Rome, but as the great Thracian boor who strode down the hillside onthat far-distant summer day when first the eagles beckoned him to Rome. 

THE COMING OF THE HUNS

In the middle of the fourth century the state of the Christian religionwas a scandal and a disgrace. Patient, humble, and long-suffering inadversity, it had become positive, aggressive, and unreasonable withsuccess. Paganism was not yet dead, but it was rapidly sinking, findingits most faithful supporters among the conservative aristocrats of thebest families on the one hand, and among those benighted villagers onthe other who gave their name to the expiring creed. Between thesetwo extremes the great majority of reasonable men had turned from theconception of many gods to that of one, and had rejected for ever thebeliefs of their forefathers. But with the vices of polytheism they hadalso abandoned its virtues, among which toleration and religious goodhumour had been conspicuous. The strenuous earnestness of the Christianshad compelled them to examine and define every point of their owntheology; but as they had no central authority by which such definitionscould be checked, it was not long before a hundred heresies had putforward their rival views, while the same earnestness of conviction ledthe stronger bands of schismatics to endeavour, for conscience sake, toforce their views upon the weaker, and thus to cover the Eastern worldwith confusion and strife. 

Alexandria, Antioch, and Constantinople were centres of theologicalwarfare. The whole north of Africa, too, was rent by the strife of theDonatists, who upheld their particular schism by iron flails and thewar-cry of "Praise to the Lord!" But minor local controversies sank tonothing when compared with the huge argument of the Catholic and theArian, which rent every village in twain, and divided every householdfrom the cottage to the palace. The rival doctrines of the Homoousianand of the Homoiousian, containing metaphysical differences soattenuated that they could hardly be stated, turned bishop againstbishop and congregation against congregation. The ink of the theologiansand the blood of the fanatics were spilled in floods on either side, andgentle followers of Christ were horrified to find that their faith wasresponsible for such a state of riot and bloodshed as had never yetdisgraced the religious history of the world. Many of the more earnestamong them, shocked and scandalized, slipped away to the Libyan Desert, or to the solitude of Pontus, there to await in self-denial and prayerthat second coming which was supposed to be at hand. Even in the desertsthey could not escape the echo of the distant strife, and the hermitsthemselves scowled fiercely from their dens at passing travellers whomight be contaminated by the doctrines of Athanasius or of Arius. 

Such a hermit was Simon Melas, of whom I write. A Trinitarian and aCatholic, he was shocked by the excesses of the persecution of theArians, which could be only matched by the similar outrages with whichthese same Arians in the day of their power avenged their treatment ontheir brother Christians. Weary of the whole strife, and convincedthat the end of the world was indeed at hand, he left his home inConstantinople and travelled as far as the Gothic settlements in Dacia, beyond the Danube, in search of some spot where he might be free fromthe never-ending disputes. Still journeying to the north and east, hecrossed the river which we now call the Dneister, and there, findinga rocky hill rising from an immense plain, he formed a cell near itssummit, and settled himself down to end his life in self-denial andmeditation. There were fish in the stream, the country teemed withgame, and there was an abundance of wild fruits, so that his spiritualexercises were not unduly interrupted by the search of sustenance forhis mortal frame. 

In this distant retreat he expected to find absolute solitude, but thehope was in vain. Within a week of his arrival, in an hour of worldlycuriosity, he explored the edges of the high rocky hill upon which helived. Making his way up to a cleft, which was hung with olives andmyrtles, he came upon a cave in the opening of which sat an aged man, white-bearded, white-haired, and infirm--a hermit like himself. So longhad this stranger been alone that he had almost forgotten the use of histongue; but at last, words coming more freely, he was able to conveythe information that his name was Paul of Nicopolis, that he was a Greekcitizen, and that he also had come out into the desert for the saving ofhis soul, and to escape from the contamination of heresy. 

"Little I thought, brother Simon, " said he, "that I should ever findany one else who had come so far upon the same holy errand. In all theseyears, and they are so many that I have lost count of them, I have neverseen a man, save indeed one or two wandering shepherds far out uponyonder plain. "

From where they sat, the huge steppe, covered with waving grass andgleaming with a vivid green in the sun, stretched away as level and asunbroken as the sea, to the eastern horizon. Simon Melas stared acrossit with curiosity. 

"Tell me, brother Paul, " said he, "you who have lived here so long--whatlies at the further side of that plain?"

The old man shook his head. "There is no further side to the plain, "said he. "It is the earth's boundary, and stretches away to eternity. For all these years I have sat beside it, but never once have I seenanything come across it. It is manifest that if there had been a furtherside there would certainly at some time have come some traveller fromthat direction. Over the great river yonder is the Roman post ofTyras; but that is a long day's journey from here, and they have neverdisturbed my meditations. "

"On what do you meditate, brother Paul?"

"At first I meditated on many sacred mysteries; but now, for twentyyears, I have brooded continually on the nature of the Logos. What isyour view upon that vital matter, brother Simon?"

"Surely, " said the younger man, "there can be no question as to that. The Logos is assuredly but a name used by St. John to signify theDeity. "

The old hermit gave a hoarse cry of fury, and his brown, withered facewas convulsed with anger. Seizing the huge cudgel which he kept to beatoff the wolves, he shook it murderously at his companion. 

"Out with you! Out of my cell!" he cried. "Have I lived here so longto have it polluted by a vile Trinitarian--a follower of the rascalAthanasius? Wretched idolater, learn once for all, that the Logos is intruth an emanation from the Deity, and in no sense equal or co-eternalwith Him! Out with you, I say, or I will dash out your brains with mystaff!"

It was useless to reason with the furious Arian, and Simon withdrew insadness and wonder, that at this extreme verge of the known earth thespirit of religious strife should still break upon the peaceful solitudeof the wilderness. With hanging head and heavy heart he made his waydown the valley, and climbed up once more to his own cell, which layat the crown of the hill, with the intention of never again exchangingvisits with his Arian neighbour. 

Here, for a year, dwelt Simon Melas, leading a life of solitude andprayer. There was no reason why any one should ever come to thisoutermost point of human habitation. Once a young Roman officer--CaiusCrassus--rode out a day's journey from Tyras, and climbed the hill tohave speech with the anchorite. He was of an equestrian family, andstill held his belief in the old dispensation. He looked with interestand surprise, but also with some disgust, at the ascetic arrangements ofthat humble abode. 

"Whom do you please by living in such a fashion?" he asked. 

"We show that our spirit is superior to our flesh, " Simon answered. "Ifwe fare badly in this world, we believe that we shall reap an advantagein the world to come. "

The centurion shrugged his shoulders. "There are philosophers among ourpeople, Stoics and others, who have the same idea. When I was in theHerulian Cohort of the Fourth Legion we were quartered in Rome itself, and I saw much of the Christians, but I could never learn anythingfrom them which I had not heard from my own father, whom you, in yourarrogance, would call a Pagan. It is true that we talk of numerous gods;but for many years we have not taken them very seriously. Our thoughtsupon virtue and duty and a noble life are the same as your own. "

Simon Melas shook his head. 

"If you have not the holy books, " said he, "then what guide have you todirect your steps?"

"If you will read our philosophers, and above all the divine Plato, youwill find that there are other guides who may take you to the same end. Have you by chance read the book which was written by our Emperor MarcusAurelius? Do you not discover there every virtue which man could have, although he knew nothing of your creed? Have you considered, also, thewords and actions of our late Emperor Julian, with whom I served myfirst campaign when he went out against the Persians? Where could youfind a more perfect man than he?"

"Such talk is unprofitable, and I will have no more of it, " said Simon, sternly. "Take heed while there is time, and embrace the true faith;for the end of the world is at hand, and when it comes there will be nomercy for those who have shut their eyes to the light. " So saying, heturned back once more to his praying-stool and to his crucifix, whilethe young Roman walked in deep thought down the hill, and mounting hishorse, rode off to his distant post. Simon watched him until his brazenhelmet was but a bead of light on the western edge of the great plain;for this was the first human face that he had seen in all this longyear, and there were times when his heart yearned for the voices and thefaces of his kind. 

So another year passed, and save for the chance of weather and the slowchange of the seasons, one day was as another. Every morning, when Simonopened his eyes, he saw the same grey line ripening into red in thefurthest east, until the bright rim pushed itself above that far-offhorizon across which no living creature had ever been known to come. Slowly the sun swept across the huge arch of the heavens, and as theshadows shifted from the black rocks which jutted upward from above hiscell, so did the hermit regulate his terms of prayer and meditation. There was nothing on earth to draw his eye, or to distract his mind, for the grassy plain below was as void from month to month as the heavenabove. So the long hours passed, until the red rim slipped down on thefurther side, and the day ended in the same pearl-grey shimmer withwhich it had begun. Once two ravens circled for some days round thelonely hill, and once a white fish-eagle came from the Dneister andscreamed above the hermit's head. Sometimes red dots were seen on thegreen plain where the antelopes grazed, and often a wolf howled in thedarkness from the base of the rocks. Such was the uneventful life ofSimon Melas the anchorite, until there came the day of wrath. 

It was in the late spring of the year 375 that Simon came out from hiscell, his gourd in his hand, to draw water from the spring. Darkness hadclosed in, the sun had set, but one last glimmer of rosy light restedupon a rocky peak, which jutted forth from the hill, on the further sidefrom the hermit's dwelling. As Simon came forth from under his ledge, the gourd dropped from his hand, and he stood gazing in amazement. 

On the opposite peak a man was standing, his outline black in thefading light. He was a strange almost a deformed figure, short-statured, round-backed, with a large head, no neck, and a long rod jutting outfrom between his shoulders. He stood with his face advanced, and hisbody bent, peering very intently over the plain to the westward. In amoment he was gone, and the lonely black peak showed up hard and nakedagainst the faint eastern glimmer. Then the night closed down, and allwas black once more. 

Simon Melas stood long in bewilderment, wondering who this strangercould be. He had heard, as had every Christian, of those evil spiritswhich were wont to haunt the hermits in the Thebaid and on the skirtsof the Ethiopian waste. The strange shape of this solitary creature, its dark outline and prowling, intent attitude, suggestive rather of afierce, rapacious beast than of a man, all helped him to believe thathe had at last encountered one of those wanderers from the pit, of whoseexistence, in those days of robust faith, he had no more doubt thanof his own. Much of the night he spent in prayer, his eyes glancingcontinually at the low arch of his cell door, with its curtain of deeppurple wrought with stars. At any instant some crouching monster, somehomed abomination, might peer in upon him; and he clung with frenziedappeal to his crucifix, as his human weakness quailed at the thought. But at last his fatigue overcame his fears, and falling upon his couchof dried grass, he slept until the bright daylight brought him to hissenses. 

It was later than was his wont, and the sun was far above the horizon. As he came forth from his cell, he looked across at the peak of rock, but it stood there bare and silent. Already it seemed to him that thatstrange dark figure which had startled him so was some dream, somevision of the twilight. His gourd lay where it had fallen, and he pickedit up with the intention of going to the spring. But suddenly he wasaware of something new. The whole air was throbbing with sound. From allsides it came, rumbling, indefinite, an inarticulate mutter, low, butthick and strong, rising, falling, reverberating among the rocks, dyingaway into vague whispers, but always there. He looked round at the blue, cloudless sky in bewilderment. Then he scrambled up the rocky pinnacleabove him, and sheltering himself in its shadow, he stared out over theplain. In his wildest dream he had never imagined such a sight. 

The whole vast expanse was covered with horse-men, hundreds andthousands and tens of thousands, all riding slowly and in silence, outof the unknown east. It was the multitudinous beat of their horses'hoofs which caused that low throbbing in his ears. Some were so closeto him as he looked down upon them that he could see clearly theirthin wiry horses, and the strange humped figures of the swarthy riders, sitting forward on the withers, shapeless bundles, their short legshanging stirrupless, their bodies balanced as firmly as though they werepart of the beast. In those nearest he could see the bow and the quiver, the long spear and the short sword, with the coiled lasso behind therider, which told that this was no helpless horde of wanderers, but aformidable army upon the march. His eyes passed on from them and sweptfurther and further, but still to the very horizon, which quiveredwith movement, there was no end to this monstrous cavalry. Already thevanguard was far past the island of rock upon which he dwelt, and hecould now understand that in front of this vanguard were single scoutswho guided the course of the army, and that it was one of these whom hehad seen the evening before. 

All day, held spell-bound by this wonderful sight, the hermit crouchedin the shadow of the rocks, and all day the sea of horsemen rolledonward over the plain beneath. Simon had seen the swarming quays ofAlexandria, he had watched the mob which blocked the hippodrome ofConstantinople, yet never had he imagined such a multitude as nowdefiled beneath his eyes, coming from that eastern skyline which hadbeen the end of his world. Sometimes the dense streams of horsemenwere broken by droves of brood-mares and foals, driven along by mountedguards; sometimes there were herds of cattle; sometimes there were linesof waggons with skin canopies above them; but then once more, afterevery break, came the horsemen, the horsemen, the hundreds and thethousands and the tens of thousands, slowly, ceaselessly, silentlydrifting from the east to the west. The long day passed, the lightwaned, and the shadows fell; but still the great broad stream wasflowing by. 

But the night brought a new and even stranger sight. Simon had markedbundles of faggots upon the backs of many of the led horses, and now hesaw their use. All over the great plain, red pin-points gleamed throughthe darkness, which grew and brightened into flickering columns offlame. So far as he could see both to east and west the fires extended, until they were but points of light in the furthest distance. Whitestars shone in the vast heavens above, red ones in the great plainbelow. And from every side rose the low, confused murmur of voices, withthe lowing of oxen and the neighing of horses. 

Simon had been a soldier and a man of affairs before ever he forsook theworld, and the meaning of all that he had seen was clear to him. Historytold him how the Roman world had ever been assailed by fresh swarms ofBarbarians, coming from the outer darkness, and that the Eastern Empirehad already, in its fifty years of existence since Constantine had movedthe capital of the world to the shores of the Bosphorus, been tormentedin the same way. Gepidae and Heruli, Ostrogoths and Sarmatians, he wasfamiliar with them all. What the advanced sentinel of Europe had seenfrom this lonely outlying hill, was a fresh swarm breaking in upon theEmpire, distinguished only from the others by its enormous, incrediblesize and by the strange aspect of the warriors who composed it. Healone of all civilized men knew of the approach of this dreadful shadow, sweeping like a heavy storm-cloud from the unknown depths of the east. He thought of the little Roman posts along the Dneister, of theruined Dacian wall of Trajan behind them, and then of the scattered, defenceless villages which lay with no thought of danger over all theopen country which stretched down to the Danube. Could he but give themthe alarm! Was it not, perhaps, for that very end that God had guidedhim to the wilderness?

Then suddenly he remembered his Arian neighbour, who dwelt in the cavebeneath him. Once or twice during the last year he had caught a glimpseof his tall, bent figure hobbling round to examine the traps which helaid for quails and partridges. On one occasion they had met at thebrook; but the old theologian waved him away, as if he were aleper. What did he think now of this strange happening? Surely theirdifferences might be forgotten at such a moment. He stole down the sideof the hill, and made his way to his fellow-hermit's cave. 

But there was a terrible silence as he approached it. His heart sankat that deadly stillness in the little valley. No glimmer of light camefrom the cleft in the rocks. He entered and called, but no answer cameback. Then, with flint, steel, and the dry grass which he used fortinder, he struck a spark, and blew it into a blaze. The old hermit, his white hair dabbled with crimson, lay sprawling across the floor. The broken crucifix, with which his head had been beaten in, layin splinters across him. Simon had dropped on his knees beside him, straightening his contorted limbs, and muttering the office for thedead, when the thud of a horse's hoofs was heard ascending the littlevalley which led to the hermit's cell. The dry grass had burned down, and Simon crouched trembling in the darkness, pattering prayers to theVirgin that his strength might be upheld. 

It may have been that the newcomer had seen the gleam of the light, orit may have been that he had heard from his comrades of the old man whomthey had murdered, and that his curiosity had led him to the spot. Hestopped his horse outside the cave, and Simon, lurking in the shadowswithin, had a fair view of him in the moonlight. He slipped from hissaddle, fastened the bridle to a root, and then stood peering throughthe opening of the cell. He was a very short, thick man, with a darkface, which was gashed with three cuts upon either side. His small eyeswere sunk deep in his head, showing like black holes in the heavy, flat, hairless face. His legs were short and very bandy, so that he waddleduncouthly as he walked. 

Simon crouched in the darkest angle, and he gripped in his hand thatsame knotted cudgel which the dead theologian had once raised againsthim. As that hideous stooping head advanced into the darkness of thecell, he brought the staff down upon it with all the strength of hisright arm, and then, as the stricken savage fell forward upon his face, he struck madly again and again, until the shapeless figure lay limp andstill. One roof covered the first slain of Europe and of Asia. 

Simon's veins were throbbing and quivering with the unwonted joy ofaction. All the energy stored up in those years of repose came in aflood at this moment of need. Standing in the darkness of the cell, hesaw, as in a map of fire, the outlines of the great Barbaric host, theline of the river, the position of the settlements, the means by whichthey might be warned. Silently he waited in the shadow until the moonhad sunk. Then he flung himself upon the dead man's horse, guided itdown the gorge, and set forth at a gallop across the plain. 

There were fires on every side of him, but he kept clear of the ringsof light. Round each he could see, as he passed, the circle of sleepingwarriors, with the long lines of picketed horses. Mile after mile andleague after league stretched that huge encampment. And then, at last, he had reached the open plain which led to the river, and the fires ofthe invaders were but a dull smoulder against the black easternsky. Ever faster and faster he sped across the steppe, like a singlefluttered leaf which whirls before the storm. Even as the dawn whitenedthe sky behind him, it gleamed also upon the broad river in front, andhe flogged his weary horse through the shallows, until he plunged intoits full yellow tide. 

So it was that, as the young Roman centurion--Caius Crassus--made hismorning round in the fort of Tyras he saw a single horseman, who rodetowards him from the river. Weary and spent, drenched with water andcaked with dirt and sweat, both horse and man were at the last stage oftheir endurance. With amazement the Roman watched their progress, andrecognized in the ragged, swaying figure, with flying hair and staringeyes, the hermit of the eastern desert. He ran to meet him, and caughthim in his arms as he reeled from the saddle. 

"What is it, then?" he asked. "What is your news?"

But the hermit could only point at the rising sun. "To arms!" hecroaked. "To arms! The day of wrath is come!" And as he looked, theRoman saw--far across the river--a great dark shadow, which moved slowlyover the distant plain. 

THE LAST OF THE LEGIONS

Pontus, the Roman viceroy, sat in the atrium of his palatial villa bythe Thames, and he looked with perplexity at the scroll of papyrus whichhe had just unrolled. Before him stood the messenger who had broughtit, a swarthy little Italian, whose black eyes were glazed with wantof sleep, and his olive features darker still from dust and sweat. Theviceroy was looking fixedly at him, yet he saw him not, so full was hismind of this sudden and most unexpected order. To him it seemed as ifthe solid earth had given way beneath his feet. His life and the work ofhis life had come to irremediable ruin. 

"Very good, " he said at last in a hard dry voice, "you can go. "

The man saluted and staggered out of the hall. 

A yellow-haired British major-domo came forward for orders. 

"Is the General there?"

"He is waiting, your excellency. "

"Then show him in, and leave us together. "

A few minutes later Licinius Crassus, the head of the British militaryestablishment, had joined his chief. He was a large bearded man in awhite civilian toga, hemmed with the Patrician purple. His rough, boldfeatures, burned and seamed and lined with the long African wars, wereshadowed with anxiety as he looked with questioning eyes at the drawn, haggard face of the viceroy. 

"I fear, your excellency, that you have had bad news from Rome. "

"The worst, Crassus. It is all over with Britain. It is a questionwhether even Gaul will be held. "

"Saint Albus save us! Are the orders precise?"

"Here they are, with the Emperor's own seal. "

"But why? I had heard a rumour, but it had seemed too incredible. "

"So had I only last week, and had the fellow scourged for having spreadit. But here it is as clear as words can make it: 'Bring every man ofthe Legions by forced marches to the help of the Empire. Leave not acohort in Britain. ' These are my orders. "

"But the cause?"

"They will let the limbs wither so that the heart be stronger. Theold German hive is about to swarm once more. There are fresh crowds ofBarbarians from Dacia and Scythia. Every sword is needed to hold theAlpine passes. They cannot let three legions lie idle in Britain. "

The soldier shrugged his shoulder's. 

"When the legions go no Roman would feel that his life was safe here. For all that we have done, it is none the less the truth that it is nocountry of ours, and that we hold it as we won it by the sword. "

"Yes, every man, woman, and child of Latin blood must come with us toGaul. The galleys are already waiting at Portus Dubris. Get the ordersout, Crassus, at once. As the Valerian legion falls back from the Wallof Hadrian it can take the northern colonists with it. The Jovians canbring in the people from the west, and the Batavians can escort theeasterns if they will muster at Camboricum. You will see to it. " He sankhis face for a moment in his hands. "It is a fearsome thing, " said he, "to tear up the roots of so goodly a tree. "

"To make more space for such a crop of weeds, " said the soldierbitterly. "My God, what will be the end of these poor Britons! Fromocean to ocean there is not a tribe which will not be at the throat ofits neighbour when the last Roman Lictor has turned his back. With thesehot-headed Silures it is hard enough now to keep the swords in theirsheaths. "

"The kennel might fight as they chose among themselves until the besthound won, " said the Roman Governor. "At least the victor would keep thearts and the religion which we have brought them, and Britain would beone land. No, it is the bear from the north and the wolves from oversea, the painted savage from beyond the walls and the Saxon pirate from overthe water, who will succeed to our rule. Where we saved, they will slay;where we built, they will burn; where we planted, they will ravage. Butthe die is cast, Crassus. You will carry out the orders. "

"I will send out the messengers within an hour. This very morning therehas come news that the Barbarians are through the old gap in the wall, and their outriders as far south as Vinovia. " The Governor shrugged hisshoulders. "These things concern us no longer, " said he. Then a bittersmile broke upon his aquiline clean-shaven face. "Whom think you that Isee in audience this morning?"

"Nay, I know not. "

"Caradoc and Regnus, and Celticus the Icenian, who, like so many of thericher Britons, have been educated at Rome, and who would lay before metheir plans as to the ruling of this country. "

"And what is their plan?"

"That they themselves should do it. " The Roman soldier laughed. "Well, they will have their will, " said he, as he saluted and turned upon hisheel. "Farewell, your excellency. There are hard days coming for you andfor me. "

An hour later the British deputation was ushered into the presence ofthe Governor. They were good steadfast men, men who with a whole heart, and at some risk to themselves, had taken up their country's cause, sofar as they could see it. At the same time, they well knew that underthe mild and beneficent rule of Rome it was only when they passed fromwords to deeds that their backs or their necks would be in danger. They stood now, earnest and a little abashed, before the throne of theviceroy. Celticus was a swarthy black-bearded little Iberian. Caradocand Regnus were tall middle-aged men of the fair flaxen British type. All three were dressed in the draped yellow toga after the Latinfashion, instead of in the bracae and tunic which distinguished theirmore insular fellow-countrymen. 

"Well?" asked the Governor. 

"We are here, " said Celticus boldly, "as the spokesmen of a greatnumber of our fellow-countrymen, for the purpose of sending our petitionthrough you to the Emperor and to the Roman Senate, that we may urgeupon them the policy of allowing us to govern this country after our ownancient fashion. " He paused, as if awaiting some outburst as an answerto his own temerity; but the Governor merely nodded his head as a signthat he should proceed. "We had laws of our own before ever Caesarset foot in Britain, which have served their purpose since first ourforefathers came from the land of Ham. We are not a child among thenations, but our history goes back in our own traditions--further eventhan that of Rome, and we are galled by this yoke which you have laidupon us. "

"Are not our laws just?" asked the Governor. 

"The code of Caesar is just, but it is always the code of Caesar. Ourown laws were made for our own uses and our own circumstances, and wewould fain have them again. "

"You speak Roman as if you had been bred in the Forum; you wear a Romantoga; your hair is filleted in Roman fashion--are not these the gifts ofRome?"

"We would take all the learning and all the arts that Rome or Greececould give, but we would still be Britain, and ruled by Britons. "

The viceroy smiled. "By the rood of Saint Helena, " said he, "had youspoken thus to some of my heathen ancestors, there would have been anend to your politics. That you have dared to stand before my face andsay as much is a proof for ever of the gentleness of our rule. But Iwould reason with you for a moment upon this your request. You know wellthat this land has never been one kingdom, but was always under manychiefs and many tribes, who have made war upon each other. Would you invery truth have it so again?"

"Those were in the evil pagan days, the days of the Druid and theoak-grove, your excellency. But now we are held together by a gospel ofpeace. "

The viceroy shook his head. "If all the world were of the same wayof thinking, then it would be easier, " said he. "It may be that thisblessed doctrine of peace will be little help to you when you are faceto face with strong men who still worship the god of war. What would youdo against the Picts of the north?"

"Your excellency knows that many of the bravest legionaries are ofBritish blood. These are our defence. "

"But discipline, man, the power to command, the knowledge of war, thestrength to act--it is in these things that you would fail. Too longhave you leaned upon the crutch. "

"The times may be hard, but when we have gone through them, Britain willbe herself again. "

"Nay, she will be under a different and a harsher master, " said theRoman. "Already the pirates swarm upon the eastern coast. Were it notfor our Roman Count of the Saxon shore they would land tomorrow. I seethe day when Britain may, indeed, be one; but that will be because youand your fellows are either dead or are driven into the mountains of thewest. All goes into the melting-pot, and if a better Albion should comeforth from it, it will be after ages of strife, and neither you nor yourpeople will have part or lot in it. "

Regnus, the tall young Celt, smiled. "With the help of God and our ownright arms we should hope for a better end, " said he. "Give us but thechance, and we will bear the brunt. "

"You are as men that are lost, " said the viceroy sadly. "I see thisbroad land, with its gardens and orchards, its fair villas and itswalled towns, its bridges and its roads, all the work of Rome. Surelyit will pass even as a dream, and these three hundred years of settledorder will leave no trace behind. For learn that it will indeed be asyou wish, and that this very day the orders have come to me that thelegions are to go. "

The three Britons looked at each other in amazement. Their first impulsewas towards a wild exultation, but reflection and doubt followed closeupon its heels. 

"This is indeed wondrous news, " said Celticus. "This is a day of days tothe motherland. When do the legions go, your excellency, and what troopswill remain behind for our protection?"

"The legions go at once, " said the viceroy. "You will doubtless rejoiceto hear that within a month there will be no Roman soldier in theisland, nor, indeed, a Roman of any sort, age, or sex, if I can takethem with me. "

The faces of the Britons were shadowed, and Caradoc, a grave andthoughtful man, spoke for the first time. 

"But this is over sudden, your excellency, " said he. "There is muchtruth in what you have said about the pirates. From my villa near thefort of Anderida I saw eighty of their galleys only last week, and Iknow well that they would be on us like ravens on a dying ox. For manyyears to come it would not be possible for us to hold them off. "

The viceroy shrugged his shoulders. "It is your affair now, " said he. "Rome must look to herself. "

The last traces of joy had passed from the faces of the Britons. Suddenly the future had started up clearly before them, and they quailedat the prospect. 

"There is a rumour in the market-place, " said Celticus, "that thenorthern Barbarians are through the gap in the wall. Who is to stoptheir progress?"

"You and your fellows, " said the Roman. 

Clearer still grew the future, and there was terror in the eyes of thespokesmen as they faced it. 

"But, your excellency, if the legions should go at once, we should havethe wild Scots at York, and the Northmen in the Thames within the month. We can build ourselves up under your shield, and in a few years it wouldbe easier for us; but not now, your excellency, not now. "

"Tut, man; for years you have been clamouring in our ears and raisingthe people. Now you have got what you asked. What more would you have?Within the month you will be as free as were your ancestors beforeCaesar set foot upon your shore. "

"For God's sake, your excellency, put our words out of your head. Thematter had not been well considered. We will send to Rome. We will ridepost-haste ourselves. We will fall at the Emperor's feet. We will kneelbefore the Senate and beg that the legions remain. "

The Roman proconsul rose from his chair and motioned that the audiencewas at an end. 

"You will do what you please, " said he. "I and my men are for Italy. "

And even as he said, so was it, for before the spring had ripened intosummer, the troops were clanking down the via Aurelia on their way tothe Ligurian passes, whilst every road in Gaul was dotted with thecarts and the waggons which bore the Brito-Roman refugees on their wearyjourney to their distant country. But ere another summer had passedCelticus was dead, for he was flayed alive by the pirates and his skinnailed upon the door of a church near Caistor. Regnus, too, was dead, for he was tied to a tree and shot with arrows when the painted men cameto the sacking of Isca. Caradoc only was alive, but he was a slave toElda the red Caledonian, and his wife was mistress to Mordred the wildchief of the western Cymri. From the ruined wall in the north to Vectisin the south blood and ruin and ashes covered the fair land of Britain. And after many days it came out fairer than ever, but, even as the Romanhad said, neither the Britons nor any men of their blood came into theheritage of that which had been their own. 

THE FIRST CARGO

"Ex ovo omnia"

When you left Briton with your legion, my dear Crassus, I promised thatI would write to you from time to time when a messenger chanced to begoing to Rome, and keep you informed as to anything of interest whichmight occur in this country. Personally, I am very glad that I remainedbehind when the troops and so many of our citizens left, for though theliving is rough and the climate is infernal, still by dint of the threevoyages which I have made for amber to the Baltic, and the excellentprices which I obtained for it here, I shall soon be in a position toretire, and to spend my old age under my own fig tree, or even perhapsto buy a small villa at Baiae or Posuoli, where I could get a goodsun-bath after the continued fogs of this accursed island. I picturemyself on a little farm, and I read the Georgics as a preparation; butwhen I hear the rain falling and the wind howling, Italy seems very faraway. 

In my previous letter, I let you know how things were going in thiscountry. The poor folk, who had given up all soldiering during thecenturies that we guarded them, are now perfectly helpless before thesePicts and Scots, tattoed Barbarians from the north, who overrun thewhole country and do exactly what they please. So long as they kept tothe north, the people in the south, who are the most numerous, and alsothe most civilized of the Britons, took no heed of them; but now therascals have come as far as London, and the lazy folk in these partshave had to wake up. Vortigern, the king, is useless for anything butdrink or women, so he sent across to the Baltic to get over some of theNorth Germans, in the hope that they would come and help him. It is badenough to have a bear in your house, but it does not seem to me to mendmatters if you call in a pack of ferocious wolves as well. However, nothing better could be devised, so an invitation was sent and verypromptly accepted. And it is here that your humble friend appears uponthe scene. In the course of my amber trading I had learned the Saxonspeech, and so I was sent down in all haste to the Kentish shore that Imight be there when our new allies came. I arrived there on the very daywhen their first vessel appeared, and it is of my adventures that Iwish to tell you. It is perfectly clear to me that the landing of thesewarlike Germans in England will prove to be an event of historicalimportance, and so your inquisitive mind will not feel wearied if Itreat the matter in some detail. 

It was, then, upon the day of Mercury, immediately following the Feastof Our Blessed Lord's Ascension, that I found myself upon the south bankof the river Thames, at the point where it opens into a wide estuary. There is an island there named Thanet, which was the spot chosen for thelandfall of our visitors. Sure enough, I had no sooner ridden up thanthere was a great red ship, the first as it seems of three, coming inunder full sail. The white horse, which is the ensign of these rovers, was hanging from her topmast, and she appeared to be crowded withmen. The sun was shining brightly, and the great scarlet ship, withsnow-white sails and a line of gleaming shields slung over her side, made as fair a picture on that blue expanse as one would wish to see. 

I pushed off at once in a boat, because it had been arranged that noneof the Saxons should land until the king had come down to speak withtheir leaders. Presently I was under the ship, which had a gilded dragonin the bows, and a tier of oars along either side. As I looked up, therewas a row of helmeted heads looking down at me, and among them I saw, tomy great surprise and pleasure, that of Eric the Swart, with whom I dobusiness at Venta every year. He greeted me heartily when I reached thedeck, and became at once my guide, friend, and counsellor. This helpedme greatly with these Barbarians, for it is their nature that they arevery cold and aloof unless one of their own number can vouch for you, after which they are very hearty and hospitable. Try as they will, theyfind it hard, however, to avoid a certain suggestion of condescension, and in the baser sort, of contempt, when they are dealing with aforeigner. 

It was a great stroke of luck meeting Eric, for he was able to give mesome idea of how things stood before I was shown into the presence ofKenna, the leader of this particular ship. The crew, as I learned fromhim, was entirely made up of three tribes or families--those of Kenna, of Lanc, and of Hasta. Each of these tribes gets its name by putting theletters "ing" after the name of the chief, so that the people onboard would describe themselves as Kennings, Lancings, and Hastings. Iobserved in the Baltic that the villages were named after the family wholived in them, each keeping to itself, so that I have no doubt if thesefellows get a footing on shore, we shall see settlements with names likethese rising up among the British towns. 

The greater part of the men were sturdy fellows with red, yellow, orbrown hair, mostly the latter. To my surprise, I saw several women amongthem. Eric, in answer to my question, explained that they always taketheir women with them so far as they can, and that instead of findingthem an incumbrance as our Roman dames would be, they look upon themas helpmates and advisers. Of course, I remembered afterwards that ourexcellent and accurate Tacitus has remarked upon this characteristic ofthe Germans. All laws in the tribes are decided by votes, and a vote hasnot yet been given to the women, but many are in favour of it, and itis thought that woman and man may soon have the same power in the State, though many of the women themselves are opposed to such an innovation. I observed to Eric that it was fortunate there were several women onboard, as they could keep each other company; but he answered thatthe wives of chiefs had no desire to know the wives of the inferiorofficers, and that both of them combined against the more common women, so that any companionship was out of the question. He pointed as hespoke to Editha, the wife of Kenna, a red-faced, elderly woman, whowalked among the others, her chin in the air, taking no more notice thanif they did not exist. 

Whilst I was talking to my friend Eric, a sudden altercation broke outupon the deck, and a great number of the men paused in their work, andflocked towards the spot with faces which showed that they were deeplyinterested in the matter. Eric and I pushed our way among the others, for I was very anxious to see as much as I could of the ways and mannersof these Barbarians. A quarrel had broken out about a child, a littleblue-eyed fellow with curly yellow hair, who appeared to be greatlyamused by the hubbub of which he was the cause. On one side of him stooda white-bearded old man, of very majestic aspect, who signified by hisgestures that he claimed the lad for himself, while on the other was athin, earnest, anxious person, who strongly objected to the boy beingtaken from him. Eric whispered in my ear that the old man was the tribalhigh priest, who was the official sacrificer to their great god Woden, whilst the other was a man who took somewhat different views, not uponWoden, but upon the means by which he should be worshipped. The majorityof the crew were on the side of the old priest; but a certain number, who liked greater liberty of worship, and to invent their own prayersinstead of always repeating the official ones, followed the lead of theyounger man. The difference was too deep and too old to be healed amongthe grown men, but each had a great desire to impress their view uponthe children. This was the reason why these two were now so furious witheach other, and the argument between them ran so high that several oftheir followers on either side had drawn the short saxes, or knivesfrom which their name of Saxon is derived, when a burly, red-headed manpushed his way through the throng, and in a voice of thunder brought thecontroversy to an end. 

"You priests, who argue about the things which no man can know, are moretrouble aboard this ship than all the dangers of the sea, " he cried. "Can you not be content with worshipping Woden, over which we are allagreed, and not make so much of those small points upon which we maydiffer? If there is all this fuss about the teaching of the children, then I shall forbid either of you to teach them, and they must becontent with as much as they can learn from their mothers. "

The two angry teachers walked away with discontented faces; andKenna--for it was he who spoke--ordered that a whistle should besounded, and that the crew should assemble. I was pleased with the freebearing of these people, for though this was their greatest chief, theyshowed none of the exaggerated respect which soldiers of a legion mightshow to the Praetor, but met him on a respectful equality, which showedhow highly they rated their own manhood. 

From our Roman standard, his remarks to his men would seem very wantingin eloquence, for there were no graces nor metaphors to be found inthem, and yet they were short, strong and to the point. At any rate itwas very clear that they were to the minds of his hearers. He began byreminding them that they had left their own country because the land wasall taken up, and that there was no use returning there, since there wasno place where they could dwell as free and independent men. This islandof Britain was but sparsely inhabited, and there was a chance that everyone of them would be able to found a home of his own. 

"You, Whitta, " he said, addressing some of them by name, "you will founda Whitting hame, and you, Bucka, we shall see you in a Bucking hame, where your children, and your children's children will bless you for thebroad acres which your valour will have gained for them. " There was noword of glory or of honour in his speech, but he said that he was awarethat they would do their duty, on which they all struck their swordsupon their shields so that the Britons on the beach could hear theclang. Then, his eyes falling upon me, he asked me whether I was themessenger from Vortigern, and on my answering, he bid me follow himinto his cabin, where Lanc and Hasta the other chiefs were waiting for acouncil. 

Picture me, then, my dear Crassus, in a very low-roofed cabin, withthese three huge Barbarians seated round me. Each was clad in some sortof saffron tunic, with chain-mail shirts over it, and helmets with thehorns of oxen on either side, laid upon the table before them. Like mostof the Saxon chiefs, their beards were shaved, but they wore their hairlong and their huge light-coloured moustaches drooped down on to theirshoulders. They are gentle, slow, and somewhat heavy in their bearing, but I can well fancy that their fury is the more terrible when it doesarise. 

Their minds seem to be of a very practical and positive nature, for theyat once began to ask me a series of questions upon the numbers of theBritons, the resources of the kingdom, the conditions of its trade, andother such subjects. They then set to work arguing over the informationwhich I had given, and became so absorbed in their own contention that Ibelieve there were times when they forgot my presence. Everything, afterdue discussion, was decided between them by vote, the one who foundhimself in the minority always submitting, though sometimes with a verybad grace. Indeed, on one occasion Lanc, who usually differed from theothers, threatened to refer the matter to the general vote of the wholecrew. There was a constant conflict in the point of view; for whereasKenna and Hasta were anxious to extend the Saxon power, and to make itgreater in the eyes of the world, Lanc was of opinion that they shouldgive less thought to conquest and more to the comfort and advancement oftheir followers. At the same time it seemed to me that really Lanc wasthe more combative of the three; so much so that, even in time of peace, he could not forego this contest with his own brethren. Neither of theothers seemed very fond of him, for they were each, as was easy tosee, proud of their chieftainship, and anxious to use their authority, referring continually to those noble ancestors from whom it was derived;while Lanc, though he was equally well born, took the view of the commonmen upon every occasion, claiming that the interests of the many weresuperior to the privileges of the few. In a word, Crassus, if youcould imagine a free-booting Gracchus on one side, and two piraticalPatricians upon the other, you would understand the effect which mycompanions produced upon me. 

There was one peculiarity which I observed in their conversation whichsoothed me very much. I am fond of these Britons, among whom I havespent so much of my life, and I wish them well. It was very pleasing, therefore, to notice that these men insisted upon it in theirconversation that the whole object of their visit was the good of theIslanders. Any prospect of advantage to themselves was pushed into thebackground. I was not clear that these professions could be made toagree with the speech in which Kenna had promised a hundred hides ofland to every man on the ship; but on my making this remark, the threechiefs seemed very surprised and hurt by my suspicions, and explainedvery plausibly that, as the Britons needed them as a guard, theycould not aid them better than by settling on the soil, and so beingcontinually at hand in order to help them. In time, they said, theyhoped to raise and train the natives to such a point that they would beable to look after themselves. Lanc spoke with some degree of eloquenceupon the nobleness of the mission which they had undertaken, and theothers clattered their cups of mead (a jar of that unpleasant drink wason the table) in token of their agreement. 

I observed also how much interested, and how very earnest and intolerantthese Barbarians were in the matter of religion. Of Christianity theyknew nothing, so that although they were aware that the Britons wereChristians, they had not a notion of what their creed really was. Yetwithout examination they started by taking it for granted that theirown worship of Woden was absolutely right, and that therefore thisother creed must be absolutely wrong. "This vile religion, " "This sadsuperstition, " and "This grievous error, " were among the phrases whichthey used towards it. Instead of expressing pity for any one who hadbeen misinformed upon so serious a question, their feelings were thoseof anger, and they declared most earnestly that they would spareno pains to set the matter right, fingering the hilts of their longbroad-swords as they said so. 

Well, my dear Crassus, you will have had enough of me and of my Saxons. I have given you a short sketch of these people and their ways. SinceI began this letter, I have visited the two other ships which have comein, and as I find the same characteristics among the people on boardthem, I cannot doubt that they lie deeply in the race. For the rest, they are brave, hardy, and very pertinacious in all that they undertake;whereas the Britons, though a great deal more spirited, have not thesame steadiness of purpose, their quicker imaginations suggesting alwayssome other course, and their more fiery passions being succeeded byreaction. When I looked from the deck of the first Saxon ship, and sawthe swaying excited multitude of Britons on the beach, contrasting themwith the intent, silent men who stood beside me, it seemed to me morethan ever dangerous to call in such allies. So strongly did I feel itthat I turned to Kenna, who was also looking towards the beach. 

"You will own this island before you have finished, " said I. 

His eyes sparkled as he gazed. "Perhaps, " he cried; and then suddenlycollecting himself and thinking that he had said too much, he added--

"A temporary occupation--nothing more. "

THE HOME-COMING

In the spring of the year 528, a small brig used to run as a passengerboat between Chalcedon on the Asiatic shore and Constantinople. On themorning in question, which was that of the feast of Saint George, thevessel was crowded with excursionists who were bound for the great cityin order to take part in the religious and festive celebrations whichmarked the festival of the Megalo-martyr, one of the most choiceoccasions in the whole vast hagiology of the Eastern Church. The day wasfine and the breeze light, so that the passengers in their holiday moodwere able to enjoy without a qualm the many objects of interest whichmarked the approach to the greatest and most beautiful capital in theworld. 

On the right, as they sped up the narrow strait, there stretched theAsiatic shore, sprinkled with white villages and with numerous villaspeeping out from the woods which adorned it. In front of them, thePrince's Islands, rising as green as emeralds out of the deep sapphireblue of the Sea of Marmora, obscured for the moment the view of thecapital. As the brig rounded these, the great city burst suddenly upontheir sight, and a murmur of admiration and wonder rose from the crowdeddeck. Tier above tier it rose, white and glittering, a hundred brazenroofs and gilded statues gleaming in the sun, with high over all themagnificent shining cupola of Saint Sophia. Seen against a cloudlesssky, it was the city of a dream-too delicate, too airily lovely forearth. 

In the prow of the small vessel were two travellers of singularappearance. The one was a very beautiful boy, ten or twelve years ofage, swarthy, clear-cut, with dark, curling hair and vivacious blackeyes, full of intelligence and of the joy of living. The other was anelderly man, gaunt-faced and grey-bearded, whose stern features were litup by a smile as he observed the excitement and interest with which hisyoung companion viewed the beautiful distant city and the many vesselswhich thronged the narrow strait. 

"See! see!" cried the lad. "Look at the great red ships which sail outfrom yonder harbour. Surely, your holiness, they are the greatest of allships in the world. "

The old man, who was the abbot of the monastery of Saint Nicephorus inAntioch, laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder. 

"Be wary, Leon, and speak less loudly, for until we have seen yourmother we should keep ourselves secret. As to the red galleys they areindeed as large as any, for they are the Imperial ships of war, whichcome forth from the harbour of Theodosius. Round yonder green point isthe Golden Horn, where the merchant ships are moored. But now, Leon, ifyou follow the line of buildings past the great church, you will seea long row of pillars fronting the sea. It marks the Palace of theCaesars. "

The boy looked at it with fixed attention. "And my mother is there, " hewhispered. 

"Yes, Leon, your mother the Empress Theodora and her husband the greatJustinian dwell in yonder palace. "

The boy looked wistfully up into the old man's face. 

"Are you sure, Father Luke, that my mother will indeed be glad to seeme?"

The abbot turned away his face to avoid those questioning eyes. 

"We cannot tell, Leon. We can only try. If it should prove that there isno place for you, then there is always a welcome among the brethren ofSaint Nicephorus. "

"Why did you not tell my mother that we were coming, Father Luke? Whydid you not wait until you had her command?"

"At a distance, Leon, it would be easy to refuse you. An Imperialmessenger would have stopped us. But when she sees you, Leon--youreyes, so like her own, your face, which carries memories of one whom sheloved--then, if there be a woman's heart within her bosom, she will takeyou into it. They say that the Emperor can refuse her nothing. They haveno child of their own. There is a great future before you, Leon. When itcomes, do not forget the poor brethren of Saint Nicephorus, who took youin when you had no friend in the world. "

The old abbot spoke cheerily, but it was easy to see from his anxiouscountenance that the nearer he came to the capital the more doubtfuldid his errand appear. What had seemed easy and natural from the quietcloisters of Antioch became dubious and dark now that the golden domesof Constantinople glittered so close at hand. Ten years before, awretched woman, whose very name was an offence throughout the easternworld where she was as infamous for her dishonour as famous for herbeauty, had come to the monastery gate, and had persuaded the monks totake charge of her infant son, the child of her shame. There he had beenever since. But she, Theodora, the harlot, returning to the capital, hadby the strangest turn of Fortune's wheel caught the fancy and finallythe enduring love of Justinian the heir to the throne. Then on the deathof his uncle Justin, the young man had become the greatest monarch uponthe earth, and had raised Theodora to be not only his wife and Empress, but to be absolute ruler with powers equal to and independent of hisown. And she, the polluted one, had risen to the dignity, had cutherself sternly away from all that related to her past life, and hadshown signs already of being a great Queen, stronger and wiser than herhusband, but fierce, vindictive, and unbending, a firm support to herfriends, but a terror to her foes. This was the woman to whom the AbbotLuke of Antioch was bringing Leon, her forgotten son. If ever her mindstrayed back to the days when, abandoned by her lover Ecebolus, theGovernor of the African Pentapolis, she had made her way on foot throughAsia Minor, and left her infant with the monks, it was only to persuadeherself that the brethren cloistered far from the world would neveridentify Theodora the Empress with Theodora the dissolute wanderer, andthat the fruits of her sin would be for ever concealed from her Imperialhusband. 

The little brig had now rounded the point of the Acropolis, and thelong blue stretch of the Golden Horn lay before it. The high wall ofTheodosius lined the whole harbour, but a narrow verge of land had beenleft between it and the water's edge to serve as a quay. The vesselran alongside near the Neorion Gate, and the passengers, after a shortscrutiny from the group of helmeted guards who lounged beside it, wereallowed to pass through into the great city. 

The abbot, who had made several visits to Constantinople upon thebusiness of his monastery, walked with the assured step of one whoknows his ground; while the boy, alarmed and yet pleased by the rushof people, the roar and glitter of passing chariots, and the vista ofmagnificent buildings, held tightly to the loose gown of his guide, while staring eagerly about him in every direction. Passing through thesteep and narrow streets which led up from the water, they emerged intothe open space which surrounds the magnificent pile of Saint Sophia, thegreat church begun by Constantine, hallowed by Saint Chrysostom, and nowthe seat of the Patriarch, and the very centre of the Eastern Church. Only with many crossings and genuflections did the pious abbot succeedin passing the revered shrine of his religion, and hurried on to hisdifficult task. 

Having passed Saint Sophia, the two travellers crossed the marble-pavedAugusteum, and saw upon their right the gilded gates of the hippodromethrough which a vast crowd of people was pressing, for though themorning had been devoted to the religious ceremony, the afternoon wasgiven over to secular festivities. So great was the rush of the populacethat the two strangers had some difficulty in disengaging themselvesfrom the stream and reaching the huge arch of black marble which formedthe outer gate of the palace. Within they were fiercely ordered to haltby a gold-crested and magnificent sentinel who laid his shining spearacross their breasts until his superior officer should give thempermission to pass. The abbot had been warned, however, that allobstacles would give way if he mentioned the name of Basil the eunuch, who acted as chamberlain of the palace and also as Parakimomen--ahigh office which meant that he slept at the door of the Imperialbed-chamber. The charm worked wonderfully, for at the mention of thatpotent name the Protosphathaire, or Head of the Palace Guards, whochanced to be upon the spot, immediately detached one of his soldierswith instructions to convoy the two strangers into the presence of thechamberlain. 

Passing in succession a middle guard and an inner guard, the travellerscame at last into the palace proper, and followed their majestic guidefrom chamber to chamber, each more wonderful than the last. Marbles andgold, velvet and silver, glittering mosaics, wonderful carvings, ivoryscreens, curtains of Armenian tissue and of Indian silk, damask fromArabia, and amber from the Baltic--all these things merged themselvesin the minds of the two simple provincials, until their eyes ached andtheir senses reeled before the blaze and the glory of this, the mostmagnificent of the dwellings of man. Finally, a pair of curtains, crusted with gold, were parted, and their guide handed them over to anegro mute who stood within. A heavy, fat, brown-skinned man, with alarge, flabby, hairless face was pacing up and down the small apartment, and he turned upon them as they entered with an abominable andthreatening smile. His loose lips and pendulous cheeks were those ofa gross old woman, but above them there shone a pair of dark malignanteyes, full of fierce intensity of observation and judgment. 

"You have entered the palace by using my name, " he said. "It is one ofmy boasts that any of the populace can approach me in this way. But itis not fortunate for those who take advantage of it without due cause. "Again he smiled a smile which made the frightened boy cling tightly tothe loose serge skirts of the abbot. 

But the ecclesiastic was a man of courage. Undaunted by the sinisterappearance of the great chamberlain, or by the threat which lay in hiswords, he laid his hand upon his young companion's shoulder and facedthe eunuch with a confidential smile. 

"I have no doubt, your excellency, " said he, "that the importance of mymission has given me the right to enter the palace. The only thing whichtroubles me is whether it may not be so important as to forbid me frombroaching it to you, or indeed, to anybody save the Empress Theodora, since it is she only whom it concerns. "

The eunuch's thick eyebrows bunched together over his vicious eyes. 

"You must make good those words, " he said. "If my gracious master--theever-glorious Emperor Justinian--does not disdain to take me into hismost intimate confidence in all things, it would be strange if therewere any subject within your knowledge which I might not hear. Youare, as I gather from your garb and bearing, the abbot of some Asiaticmonastery?"

"You are right, your excellency, I am the abbot of the Monastery of St. Nicephorus in Antioch. But I repeat that I am assured that what I haveto say is for the ear of the Empress Theodora only. "

The eunuch was evidently puzzled, and his curiosity aroused by the oldman's persistence. He came nearer, his heavy face thrust forward, hisflabby brown hands, like two sponges, resting upon the table of yellowjasper before him. 

"Old man, " said he, "there is no secret which concerns the Empress whichmay not be told to me. But if you refuse to speak, it is certain thatyou will never see her. Why should I admit you, unless I know yourerrand? How should I know that you are not a Manichean heretic witha poniard in your bosom, longing for the blood of the mother of theChurch?"

The abbot hesitated no longer. "If there be a mistake in the matter, then on your head be it, " said he. "Know then that this lad Leon is theson of Theodora the Empress, left by her in our monastery within a monthof his birth ten years ago. This papyrus which I hand you will show youthat what I say is beyond all question or doubt. "

The eunuch Basil took the paper, but his eyes were fixed upon the boy, and his features showed a mixture of amazement at the news that hehad received, and of cunning speculation as to how he could turn it toprofit. 

"Indeed, he is the very image of the Empress, " he muttered; and then, with sudden suspicion, "Is it not the chance of this likeness which hasput the scheme into your head, old man?"

"There is but one way to answer that, " said the abbot. "It is to ask theEmpress herself whether what I say is not true, and to give her the gladtidings that her boy is alive and well. "

The tone of confidence, together with the testimony of the papyrus, and the boy's beautiful face, removed the last shadow of doubt from theeunuch's mind. Here was a great fact; but what use could he make of it?Above all, what advantage could he draw from it? He stood with his fatchin in his hand, turning it over in his cunning brain. 

"Old man, " said he at last, "to how many have you told this secret?"

"To no one in the whole world, " the other answered. "There is DeaconBardas at the monastery and myself. No one else knows anything. "

"You are sure of this?"

"Absolutely certain. "

The eunuch had made up his mind. If he alone of all men in the palaceknew of this event, he would have a powerful hold over his masterfulmistress. He was certain that Justinian the Emperor knew nothing ofthis. It would be a shock to him. It might even alienate his affectionsfrom his wife. She might care to take precautions to prevent him fromknowing. And if he, Basil the eunuch, was her confederate in thoseprecautions, then how very close it must draw him to her. All thisflashed through his mind as he stood, the papyrus in his hand, lookingat the old man and the boy. 

"Stay here, " said he. "I will be with you again. " With a swift rustle ofhis silken robes he swept from the chamber. 

A few minutes had elapsed when a curtain at the end of the room waspushed aside, and the eunuch, reappearing, held it back, doubling hisunwieldy body into a profound obeisance as he did so. Through the gapcame a small alert woman, clad in golden tissue, with a loose outermantle and shoes of the Imperial purple. That colour alone showedthat she could be none other than the Empress; but the dignity of hercarriage, the fierce authority of her magnificent dark eyes, and theperfect beauty of her haughty face, all proclaimed that it could only bethat Theodora who, in spite of her lowly origin, was the most majesticas well as the most maturely lovely of all the women in her kingdom. Gone now were the buffoon tricks which the daughter of Acacius thebearward had learned in the amphitheatre; gone too was the light charmof the wanton, and what was left was the worthy mate of a great king, the measured dignity of one who was every inch an empress. 

Disregarding the two men, Theodora walked up to the boy, placed her twowhite hands upon his shoulders, and looked with a long questioninggaze, a gaze which began with hard suspicion and ended with tenderrecognition, into those large lustrous eyes which were the veryreflection of her own. At first the sensitive lad was chilled by thecold intent question of the look; but as it softened, his own spiritresponded, until suddenly, with a cry of "Mother! mother!" he casthimself into her arms, his hands locked round her neck, his face buriedin her bosom. Carried away by the sudden natural outburst of emotion, her own arms tightened round the lad's figure, and she strained himfor an instant to her heart. Then, the strength of the Empress gaininginstant command over the temporary weakness of the mother, she pushedhim back from her, and waved that they should leave her to herself. Theslaves in attendance hurried the two visitors from the room. Basil theeunuch lingered, looking down at his mistress, who had thrown herselfupon a damask couch, her lips white and her bosom heaving with thetumult of her emotion. She glanced up and met the chancellor's craftygaze, her woman's instinct reading the threat that lurked within it. 

"I am in your power, " she said. "The Emperor must never know of this. "

"I am your slave, " said the eunuch, with his ambiguous smile. "I am aninstrument in your hand. If it is your will that the Emperor should knownothing, then who is to tell him?"

"But the monk, the boy? What are we to do?"

"There is only one way for safety, " said the eunuch. 

She looked at him with horrified eyes. His spongy hands were pointingdown to the floor. There was an underground world to this beautifulpalace, a shadow that was ever close to the light, a region of dimly-litpassages, of shadowed corners, of noiseless, tongueless slaves, ofsudden, sharp screams in the darkness. To this the eunuch was pointing. 

A terrible struggle rent her breast. The beautiful boy was hers, fleshof her flesh, bone of her bone. She knew it beyond all question ordoubt. It was her one child, and her whole heart went out to him. ButJustinian! She knew the Emperor's strange limitations. Her career in thepast was forgotten. He had swept it all aside by special Imperial decreepublished throughout the Empire, as if she were new-born through thepower of his will, and her association with his person. But they werechildless, and this sight of one which was not his own would cut him tothe quick. He could dismiss her infamous past from his mind, but if ittook the concrete shape of this beautiful child, then how could he waveit aside as if it had never been? All her instincts and her intimateknowledge of the man told her that even her charm, and her influencemight fail under such circumstances to save her from ruin. Her divorcewould be as easy to him as her elevation had been. She was balancedupon a giddy pinnacle, the highest in the world, and yet the higher thedeeper the fall. Everything that earth could give was now at her feet. Was she to risk the losing of it all--for what? For a weakness which wasunworthy of an Empress, for a foolish new-born spasm of love, for thatwhich had no existence within her in the morning? How could she be sofoolish as to risk losing such a substance for such a shadow?

"Leave it to me, " said the brown watchful face above her. 

"Must it be--death?"

"There is no real safety outside. But if your heart is too merciful, then by the loss of sight and speech--"

She saw in her mind the white-hot iron approaching those glorious eyes, and she shuddered at the thought. 

"No, no! Better death than that!"

"Let it be death then. You are wise, great Empress, for there only isreal safety and assurance of silence. "

"And the monk?"

"Him also. "

"But the Holy Synod? He is a tonsured priest. What would the Patriarchdo?"

"Silence his babbling tongue. Then let them do what they will. How arewe of the palace to know that this conspirator, taken with a dagger inhis sleeve, is really what he says?"

Again she shuddered and shrank down among the cushions. 

"Speak not of it, think not of it, " said the eunuch. "Say only that youleave it in my hands. Nay, then, if you cannot say it, do but nod yourhead, and I take it as your signal. "

In that moment there flashed before Theodora's mind a vision of allher enemies, of all those who envied her rise, of all whose hatredand contempt would rise into a clamour of delight could they see thedaughter of the bearward hurled down again into that abyss from whichshe had been dragged. Her face hardened, her lips tightened, her littlehands clenched in the agony of her thought. "Do it!" she said. 

In an instant, with a terrible smile, the messenger of death hurriedfrom the room. She groaned aloud, and buried herself yet deeper amid thesilken cushions, clutching them frantically with convulsed and twitchinghands. 

The eunuch wasted no time, for this deed, once done, he became--savefor some insignificant monk in Asia Minor, whose fate would soon besealed--the only sharer of Theodora's secret, and therefore the onlyperson who could curb and bend that most imperious nature. Hurrying intothe chamber where the visitors were waiting, he gave a sinister signal, only too well known in those iron days. In an instant the black mutes inattendance seized the old man and the boy, pushing them swiftly down apassage and into a meaner portion of the palace, where the heavy smellof luscious cooking proclaimed the neighbourhood of the kitchens. A sidecorridor led to a heavily-barred iron door, and this in turn opened upona steep flight of stone steps, feebly illuminated by the glimmer of walllamps. At the head and foot stood a mute sentinel like an ebony statue, and below, along the dusky and forbidding passages from which the cellsopened, a succession of niches in the wall were each occupied by asimilar guardian. The unfortunate visitors were dragged brutally downa number of stone-flagged and dismal corridors until they descendedanother long stair which led so deeply into the earth that the dampfeeling in the heavy air and the drip of water all round showed thatthey had come down to the level of the sea. Groans and cries, like thoseof sick animals, from the various grated doors which they passed showedhow many there were who spent their whole lives in this humid andpoisonous atmosphere. 

At the end of this lowest passage was a door which opened into a singlelarge vaulted room. It was devoid of furniture, but in the centre wasa large and heavy wooden board clamped with iron. This lay upon a rudestone parapet, engraved with inscriptions beyond the wit of the easternscholars, for this old well dated from a time before the Greeks foundedByzantium, when men of Chaldea and Phoenicia built with huge unmortaredblocks, far below the level of the town of Constantine. The door wasclosed, and the eunuch beckoned to the slaves that they should removethe slab which covered the well of death. The frightened boy screamedand clung to the abbot, who, ashy-pale and trembling, was pleading hardto melt the heart of the ferocious eunuch. 

"Surely, surely, you would not slay the innocent boy!" he cried. "Whathas he done? Was it his fault that he came here? I alone--I and DeaconBardas--are to blame. Punish us, if some one must indeed be punished. We are old. It is today or tomorrow with us. But he is so young and sobeautiful, with all his life before him. Oh, sir! oh, your excellency, you would not have the heart to hurt him!"

He threw himself down and clutched at the eunuch's knees, while the boysobbed piteously and cast horror-stricken eyes at the black slaves whowere tearing the wooden slab from the ancient parapet beneath. The onlyanswer which the chamberlain gave to the frantic pleadings of the abbotwas to take a stone which lay on the coping of the well and toss itin. It could be heard clattering against the old, damp, mildewed walls, until it fell with a hollow boom into some far distant subterraneanpool. Then he again motioned with his hands, and the black slaves threwthemselves upon the boy and dragged him away from his guardian. Soshrill was his clamour that no one heard the approach of the Empress. With a swift rush she had entered the room, and her arms were round herson. 

"It shall not be! It cannot be!" she cried. "No, no, my darling! mydarling! they shall do you no hurt. I was mad to think of it--mad andwicked to dream of it. Oh, my sweet boy! To think that your mother mighthave had your blood upon her head!"

The eunuch's brows were gathered together at this failure of his plans, at this fresh example of feminine caprice. 

"Why kill them, great lady, if it pains your gracious heart?" said he. "With a knife and a branding iron they can be disarmed for ever. "

She paid no attention to his words. "Kiss me, Leon!" she cried. "Justonce let me feel my own child's soft lips rest upon mine. Now again! No, no more, or I shall weaken for what I have still to say and still to do. Old man, you are very near a natural grave, and I cannot think fromyour venerable aspect that words of falsehood would come readily to yourlips. You have indeed kept my secret all these years, have you not?"

"I have in very truth, great Empress. I swear to you by SaintNicephorus, patron of our house, that, save old Deacon Bardas, there isnone who knows. "

"Then let your lips still be sealed. If you have kept faith in the past, I see no reason why you should be a babbler in the future. And you, Leon"--she bent her wonderful eyes with a strange mixture of sternnessand of love upon the boy, "can I trust you? Will you keep a secretwhich could never help you, but would be the ruin and downfall of yourmother?"

"Oh, mother, I would not hurt you! I swear that I will be silent. "

"Then I trust you both. Such provision will be made for your monasteryand for your own personal comforts as will make you bless the day youcame to my palace. Now you may go. I wish never to see you again. IfI did, you might find me in a softer mood, or in a harder, and theone would lead to my undoing, the other to yours. But if by whisper orrumour I have reason to think that you have failed me, then you and yourmonks and your monastery will have such an end as will be a lesson forever to those who would break faith with their Empress. "

"I will never speak, " said the old abbot; "neither will DeaconBardas; neither will Leon. For all three I can answer. But there areothers--these slaves, the chancellor. We may be punished for another'sfault. "

"Not so, " said the Empress, and her eyes were like flints. "These slavesare voiceless; nor have they any means to tell those secrets which theyknow. As to you, Basil--" She raised her white hand with the same deadlygesture which he had himself used so short a time before. The blackslaves were on him like hounds on a stag. 

"Oh, my gracious mistress, dear lady, what is this? What is this? Youcannot mean it!" he screamed, in his high, cracked voice. "Oh, what haveI done? Why should I die?"

"You have turned me against my own. You have goaded me to slay my ownson. You have intended to use my secret against me. I read it in youreyes from the first. Cruel, murderous villain, taste the fate whichyou have yourself given to so many others. This is your doom. I havespoken. "

The old man and the boy hurried in horror from the vault. As theyglanced back they saw the erect inflexible, shimmering, gold-clad figureof the Empress. Beyond they had a glimpse of the green-scummed lining ofthe well, and of the great red open mouth of the eunuch, as he screamedand prayed while every tug of the straining slaves brought him one stepnearer to the brink. With their hands over their ears they rushed away, but even so they heard that last woman-like shriek, and then the heavyplunge far down in the dark abysses of the earth. 

THE RED STAR

The house of Theodosius, the famous eastern merchant, was in the bestpart of Constantinople at the Sea Point which is near the Church ofSaint Demetrius. Here he would entertain in so princely a fashion thateven the Emperor Maurice had been known to come privately from theneighbouring Bucoleon palace in order to join in the revelry. On thenight in question, however, which was the fourth of November in theyear of our Lord 630, his numerous guests had retired early, and thereremained only two intimates, both of them successful merchants likehimself, who sat with him over their wine on the marble verandah of hishouse, whence on the one side they could see the lights of the shippingin the Sea of Marmora, and on the other the beacons which marked out thecourse of the Bosphorus. Immediately at their feet lay a narrow straitof water, with the low, dark loom of the Asiatic hills beyond. A thinhaze hid the heavens, but away to the south a single great red starburned sullenly in the darkness. 

The night was cool, the light was soothing, and the three men talkedfreely, letting their minds drift back into the earlier days when theyhad staked their capital, and often their lives, on the ventures whichhad built up their present fortunes. The host spoke of his long journeysin North Africa, the land of the Moors; how he had travelled, keepingthe blue sea ever upon his right, until he had passed the ruins ofCarthage, and so on and ever on until a great tidal ocean beat upon ayellow strand before him, while on the right he could see the high rockacross the waves which marked the Pillars of Hercules. His talk wasof dark-skinned bearded men, of lions, and of monstrous serpents. ThenDemetrius, the Cilician, an austere man of sixty, told how he also hadbuilt up his mighty wealth. He spoke of a journey over the Danube andthrough the country of the fierce Huns, until he and his friends hadfound themselves in the mighty forest of Germany, on the shores of thegreat river which is called the Elbe. His stories were of huge men, sluggish of mind, but murderous in their cups, of sudden midnight broilsand nocturnal flights, of villages buried in dense woods, of bloodyheathen sacrifices, and of the bears and wolves who haunted the forestpaths. So the two elder men capped each other's stories and awoke eachother's memories, while Manuel Ducas, the young merchant of gold andostrich feathers, whose name was already known all over the Levant, satin silence and listened to their talk. At last, however, they calledupon him also for an anecdote, and leaning his cheek upon his elbow, with his eyes fixed upon the great red star which burned in the south, the younger man began to speak. 

"It is the sight of that star which brings a story into my mind, " saidhe. "I do not know its name. Old Lascaris the astronomer would tell meif I asked, but I have no desire to know. Yet at this time of the yearI always look out for it, and I never fail to see it burning in the sameplace. But it seems to me that it is redder and larger than it was. 

"It was some ten years ago that I made an expedition into Abyssinia, where I traded to such good effect that I set forth on my return withmore than a hundred camel-loads of skins, ivory, gold, spices, and otherAfrican produce. I brought them to the sea-coast at Arsinoe, and carriedthem up the Arabian Gulf in five of the small boats of the country. Finally, I landed near Saba, which is a starting-point for caravans, and, having assembled my camels and hired a guard of forty men from thewandering Arabs, I set forth for Macoraba. From this point, which isthe sacred city of the idolaters of those parts, one can always jointhe large caravans which go north twice a year to Jerusalem and thesea-coast of Syria. 

"Our route was a long and weary one. On our left hand was the ArabianGulf, lying like a pool of molten metal under the glare of day, butchanging to blood-red as the sun sank each evening behind the distantAfrican coast. On our right was a monstrous desert which extends, so faras I know, across the whole of Arabia and away to the distant kingdomof the Persians. For many days we saw no sign of life save our own long, straggling line of laden camels with their tattered, swarthy guardians. In these deserts the soft sand deadens the footfall of the animals, sothat their silent progress day after day through a scene which neverchanges, and which is itself noiseless, becomes at last like a strangedream. Often as I rode behind my caravan, and gazed at the grotesquefigures which bore my wares in front of me, I found it hard to believethat it was indeed reality, and that it was I, I, Manuel Ducas, wholived near the Theodosian Gate of Constantinople, and shouted for theGreen at the hippodrome every Sunday afternoon, who was there in sostrange a land and with such singular comrades. 

"Now and then, far out at sea, we caught sight of the white triangularsails of the boats which these people use, but as they are all pirates, we were very glad to be safely upon shore. Once or twice, too, by thewater's edge we saw dwarfish creatures-one could scarcely say if theywere men or monkeys--who burrow for homes among the seaweed, drink thepools of brackish water, and eat what they can catch. These are thefish-eaters, the Ichthyophagi, of whom old Herodotus talks--surely thelowest of all the human race. Our Arabs shrank from them with horror, for it is well known that, should you die in the desert, these littlepeople will settle on you like carrion crows, and leave not a boneunpicked. They gibbered and croaked and waved their skinny arms at usas we passed, knowing well that they could swim far out to sea if weattempted to pursue them; for it is said that even the sharks turn withdisgust from their foul bodies. 

"We had travelled in this way for ten days, camping every evening at thevile wells which offered a small quantity of abominable water. It wasour habit to rise very early and to travel very late, but to halt duringthe intolerable heat of the afternoon, when, for want of trees, we wouldcrouch in the shadow of a sandhill, or, if that were wanting, behindour own camels and merchandise, in order to escape from the insufferableglare of the sun. On the seventh day we were near the point where oneleaves the coast in order to strike inland to Macoraba. We had concludedour midday halt, and were just starting once more, the sun stillbeing so hot that we could hardly bear it, when, looking up, I saw aremarkable sight. Standing on a hillock to our right there was a manabout forty feet high, holding in his hand a spear which was the sizeof the mast of a large ship. You look surprised, my friends, and youcan therefore imagine my feelings when I saw such a sight. But my reasonsoon told me that the object in front of me was really a wanderingArab, whose form had been enormously magnified by the strange distortingeffects which the hot air of the desert is able to cause. 

"However, the actual apparition caused more alarm to my companionsthan the imagined one had to me, for with a howl of dismay they shranktogether into a frightened group, all pointing and gesticulating as theygazed at the distant figure. I then observed that the man was not alone, but that from all the sandhills a line of turbaned heads was gazing downupon us. The chief of the escort came running to me, and informed meof the cause of their terror, which was that they recognized, by somepeculiarity of their headgear, that these men belonged to the tribe ofthe Dilwas, the most ferocious and unscrupulous of the Bedouin, who hadevidently laid an ambuscade for us at this point with the intention ofseizing our caravan. When I thought of all my efforts in Abyssinia, ofthe length of my journey and of the dangers and fatigues which I hadendured, I could not bear to think of this total disaster coming upon meat the last instant and robbing me not only of my profits, but also ofmy original outlay. It was evident, however, that the robbers were toonumerous for us to attempt to defend ourselves, and that we should bevery fortunate if we escaped with our lives. Sitting upon a packet, therefore, I commended my soul to our blessed Saint Helena, while Iwatched with despairing eyes the stealthy and menacing approach of theArab robbers. 

"It may have been our own good fortune, or it may have been the handsomeoffering of beeswax candles--four to the pound--which I had mentallyvowed to the blessed Helena, but at that instant I heard a great outcryof joy from among my own followers. Standing up on the packet that Imight have a better view, I was overjoyed to see a long caravan--fivehundred camels at least-with a numerous armed guard coming along theroute from Macoraba. It is, I need not tell you, the custom of allcaravans to combine their forces against the robbers of the desert, andwith the aid of these newcomers we had become the stronger party. Themarauders recognized it at once, for they vanished as if their nativesands had swallowed them. Running up to the summit of a sandhill, I wasjust able to catch a glimpse of a dust-cloud whirling away across theyellow plain, with the long necks of their camels, the flutter of theirloose garments, and the gleam of their spears breaking out from theheart of it. So vanished the marauders. 

"Presently I found, however, that I had only exchanged one danger foranother. At first I had hoped that this new caravan might belong to someRoman citizen, or at least to some Syrian Christian, but I found thatit was entirely Arab. The trading Arabs who are settled in the numeroustowns of Arabia are, of course, very much more peaceable than theBedouin of the wilderness, those sons of Ishmael of whom we read in HolyWrit. But the Arab blood is covetous and lawless, so that when I sawseveral hundred of them formed in a semi-circle round our camels, looking with greedy eyes at my boxes of precious metals and my packetsof ostrich feathers, I feared the worst. 

"The leader of the new caravan was a man of dignified bearing andremarkable appearance. His age I would judge to be about forty. Hehad aquiline features, a noble black beard, and eyes so luminous, sosearching, and so intense that I cannot remember in all my wanderingsto have seen any which could be compared with them. To my thanks andsalutations he returned a formal bow, and stood stroking his beard andlooking in silence at the wealth which had suddenly fallen into hispower. A murmur from his followers showed the eagerness with which theyawaited the order to tall upon the plunder, and a young ruffian, whoseemed to be on intimate terms with the leader, came to his elbow andput the desires of his companions into words. 

"'Surely, oh Revered One, ' said he, 'these people and their treasurehave been delivered into our hands. When we return with it to the holyplace, who of all the Koraish will fail to see the finger of God whichhas led us?'

"But the leader shook his head. 'Nay, Ali, it may not be, ' he answered. 'This man is, as I judge, a citizen of Rome, and we may not treat him asthough he were an idolater. '

"'But he is an unbeliever, ' cried the youth, fingering a great knifewhich hung in his belt. 'Were I to be the judge, he would lose not onlyhis merchandise, but his life also, if he did not accept the faith. '

"The older man smiled and shook his head. 'Nay, Ali; you are toohot-headed, ' said he, 'seeing that there are not as yet three hundredfaithful in the world, our hands would indeed be full if we were to takethe lives and property of all who are not with us. Forget not, dear lad, that charity and honesty are the very nose-ring and halter of the truefaith. '

"'Among the faithful, ' said the ferocious youth. 

"'Nay, towards every one. It is the law of Allah. And yet'--herehis countenance darkened, and his eyes shone with a most sinisterlight--'the day may soon come when the hour of grace is past, and woe, then, to those who have not hearkened! Then shall the sword of Allah bedrawn, and it shall not be sheathed until the harvest is reaped. Firstit shall strike the idolaters on the day when my own people and kinsmen, the unbelieving Koraish, shall be scattered, and the three hundred andsixty idols of the Caaba thrust out upon the dungheaps of the town. Thenshall the Caaba be the home and temple of one God only who brooks norival on earth or in heaven. '

"The man's followers had gathered round him, their spears in theirhands, their ardent eyes fixed upon his face, and their dark featuresconvulsed with such fanatic enthusiasm as showed the hold which he hadupon their love and respect. 

"'We shall be patient, ' said he; 'but some time next year, the yearafter, the day may come when the great angel Gabriel shall bear me themessage that the time of words has gone by, and that the hour of thesword has come. We are few and weak, but if it is His will, who canstand against us? Are you of Jewish faith, stranger?' he asked. 

"I answered that I was not. 

"'The better for you, ' he answered, with the same furious anger in hisswarthy face. 'First shall the idolaters fall, and then the Jews, inthat they have not known those very prophets whom they had themselvesforetold. Then last will come the turn of the Christians, who followindeed a true Prophet, greater than Moses or Abraham, but who havesinned in that they have confounded a creature with the Creator. To eachin turn--idolater, Jew, and Christian--the day of reckoning will come. '

"The ragamuffins behind him all shook their spears as he spoke. Therewas no doubt about their earnestness, but when I looked at theirtattered dresses and simple arms, I could not help smiling to think oftheir ambitious threats, and to picture what their fate would be uponthe day of battle before the battle-axes of our Imperial Guards, or thespears of the heavy cavalry of the Armenian Themes. However, I need notsay that I was discreet enough to keep my thoughts to myself, as I hadno desire to be the first martyr in this fresh attack upon our blessedfaith. 

"It was now evening, and it was decided that the two caravans shouldcamp together--an arrangement which was the more welcome as we were byno means sure that we had seen the last of the marauders. I had invitedthe leader of the Arabs to have supper with me, and after a longexercise of prayer with his followers he came to join me, but my attemptat hospitality was thrown away, for he would not touch the excellentwine which I had unpacked for him, nor would he eat any of my dainties, contenting himself with stale bread, dried dates, and water. After thismeal we sat alone by the smouldering fire, the magnificent arch of theheavens above us of that deep, rich blue with those gleaming, clear-cutstars which can only be seen in that dry desert air. Our camp lay beforeus, and no sound reached our ears save the dull murmur of the voicesof our companions and the occasional shrill cry of a jackal among thesandhills around us. Face to face I sat with this strange man, the glowof the fire beating upon his eager and imperious features and reflectingfrom his passionate eyes. It was the strangest vigil, and one which willnever pass from my recollection. I have spoken with many wise and famousmen upon my travels, but never with one who left the impression of thisone. 

"And yet much of his talk was unintelligible to me, though, as you areaware, I speak Arabian like an Arab. It rose and fell in the strangestway. Sometimes it was the babble of a child, sometimes the incoherentraving of a fanatic, sometimes the lofty dreams of a prophet andphilosopher. There were times when his stories of demons, of miracles, of dreams, and of omens, were such as an old woman might tell to pleasethe children of an evening. There were others when, as he talked withshining face of his converse with angels, of the intentions of theCreator, and the end of the universe, I felt as if I were in thecompany of some one more than mortal, some one who was indeed the directmessenger of the Most High. 

"There were good reasons why he should treat me with such confidence. Hesaw in me a messenger to Constantinople and to the Roman Empire. Even asSaint Paul had brought Christianity to Europe, so he hoped that I mightcarry his doctrines to my native city. Alas! be the doctrines what theymay, I fear that I am not the stuff of which Pauls are made. Yet hestrove with all his heart during that long Arabian night to bring meover to his belief. He had with him a holy book, written, as he said, from the dictation of an angel, which he carried in tablets of bone inthe nose-bag of a camel. Some chapters of this he read me; but, thoughthe precepts were usually good, the language seemed wild and fanciful. There were times when I could scarce keep my countenance as I listenedto him. He planned out his future movements, and indeed, as he spoke, it was hard to remember that he was only the wandering leader of an Arabcaravan, and not one of the great ones of the earth. 

"'When God has given me sufficient power, which will be within a fewyears, ' said he, 'I will unite all Arabia under my banner. Then I willspread my doctrine over Syria and Egypt. When this has been done, I willturn to Persia, and give them the choice of the true faith or the sword. Having taken Persia, it will be easy then to overrun Asia Minor, and soto make our way to Constantinople. '

"I bit my lip to keep from laughing. 'And how long will it be beforeyour victorious troops have reached the Bosphorus?' I asked. 

"'Such things are in the hands of God, whose servants we are, ' said he. 'It may be that I shall myself have passed away before these things areaccomplished, but before the days of our children are completed, allthat I have now told you will come to pass. Look at that star, ' headded, pointing to a beautiful clear planet above our heads. 'That isthe symbol of Christ. See how serene and peaceful it shines, like Hisown teaching and the memory of His life. Now, ' he added, turning hisoutstretched hand to a dusky red star upon the horizon--the very one onwhich we are gazing now--'that is my star, which tells of wrath, of war, of a scourge upon sinners. And yet both are indeed stars, and each doesas Allah may ordain. '

"Well, that was the experience which was called to my mind by the sightof this star tonight. Red and angry, it still broods over the south, even as I saw it that night in the desert. Somewhere down yonder thatman is working and striving. He may be stabbed by some brother fanaticor slain in a tribal skirmish. If so, that is the end. But if he lives, there was that in his eyes and in his presence which tells me thatMahomet the son of Abdallah--for that was his name--will testify in somenoteworthy fashion to the faith that is in him. "

PART II. THE SILVER MIRROR

Jan. 3. --This affair of White and Wotherspoon's accounts proves to bea gigantic task. There are twenty thick ledgers to be examined andchecked. Who would be a junior partner? However, it is the first big bitof business which has been left entirely in my hands. I must justifyit. But it has to be finished so that the lawyers may have the result intime for the trial. Johnson said this morning that I should have to getthe last figure out before the twentieth of the month. Good Lord! Well, have at it, and if human brain and nerve can stand the strain, I'll winout at the other side. It means office-work from ten to five, and then asecond sitting from about eight to one in the morning. There's drama inan accountant's life. When I find myself in the still early hours, whileall the world sleeps, hunting through column after column for thosemissing figures which will turn a respected alderman into a felon, Iunderstand that it is not such a prosaic profession after all. 

On Monday I came on the first trace of defalcation. No heavy game hunterever got a finer thrill when first he caught sight of the trail of hisquarry. But I look at the twenty ledgers and think of the jungle throughwhich I have to follow him before I get my kill. Hard work--but raresport, too, in a way! I saw the fat fellow once at a City dinner, hisred face glowing above a white napkin. He looked at the little pale manat the end of the table. He would have been pale too if he could haveseen the task that would be mine. 

Jan. 6. --What perfect nonsense it is for doctors to prescribe rest whenrest is out of the question! Asses! They might as well shout to a manwho has a pack of wolves at his heels that what he wants is absolutequiet. My figures must be out by a certain date; unless they are so, Ishall lose the chance of my lifetime, so how on earth am I to rest? I'lltake a week or so after the trial. 

Perhaps I was myself a fool to go to the doctor at all. But I getnervous and highly-strung when I sit alone at my work at night. It's nota pain--only a sort of fullness of the head with an occasional mist overthe eyes. I thought perhaps some bromide, or chloral, or something ofthe kind might do me good. But stop work? It's absurd to ask such athing. It's like a long-distance race. You feel queer at first and yourheart thumps and your lungs pant, but if you have only the pluck tokeep on, you get your second wind. I'll stick to my work and wait for mysecond wind. If it never comes--all the same, I'll stick to my work. Twoledgers are done, and I am well on in the third. The rascal has coveredhis tracks well, but I pick them up for all that. 

Jan. 9. --I had not meant to go to the doctor again. And yet I have hadto. "Straining my nerves, risking a complete breakdown, even endangeringmy sanity. " That's a nice sentence to have fired off at one. Well, I'llstand the strain and I'll take the risk, and so long as I can sit in mychair and move a pen I'll follow the old sinner's slot. 

By the way, I may as well set down here the queer experience whichdrove me this second time to the doctor. I'll keep an exact record of mysymptoms and sensations, because they are interesting in themselves--"acurious psycho-physiological study, " says the doctor--and also because Iam perfectly certain that when I am through with them they will all seemblurred and unreal, like some queer dream betwixt sleeping and waking. So now, while they are fresh, I will just make a note of them, if onlyas a change of thought after the endless figures. 

There's an old silver-framed mirror in my room. It was given me by afriend who had a taste for antiquities, and he, as I happen to know, picked it up at a sale and had no notion where it came from. It's alarge thing--three feet across and two feet high--and it leans at theback of a side-table on my left as I write. The frame is flat, aboutthree inches across, and very old; far too old for hall-marks or othermethods of determining its age. The glass part projects, with a bevellededge, and has the magnificent reflecting power which is only, as itseems to me, to be found in very old mirrors. There's a feeling ofperspective when you look into it such as no modern glass can ever give. 

The mirror is so situated that as I sit at the table I can usually seenothing in it but the reflection of the red window curtains. But a queerthing happened last night. I had been working for some hours, very muchagainst the grain, with continual bouts of that mistiness of which I hadcomplained. Again and again I had to stop and clear my eyes. Well, on one of these occasions I chanced to look at the mirror. It had theoddest appearance. The red curtains which should have been reflected init were no longer there, but the glass seemed to be clouded and steamy, not on the surface, which glittered like steel, but deep down in thevery grain of it. This opacity, when I stared hard at it, appearedto slowly rotate this way and that, until it was a thick white cloudswirling in heavy wreaths. So real and solid was it, and so reasonablewas I, that I remember turning, with the idea that the curtains wereon fire. But everything was deadly still in the room--no sound save theticking of the clock, no movement save the slow gyration of that strangewoolly cloud deep in the heart of the old mirror. 

Then, as I looked, the mist, or smoke, or cloud, or whatever one maycall it, seemed to coalesce and solidify at two points quite closetogether, and I was aware, with a thrill of interest rather than offear, that these were two eyes looking out into the room. A vagueoutline of a head I could see--a woman's by the hair, but this was veryshadowy. Only the eyes were quite distinct; such eyes--dark, luminous, filled with some passionate emotion, fury or horror, I could not saywhich. Never have I seen eyes which were so full of intense, vivid life. They were not fixed upon me, but stared out into the room. Then as I saterect, passed my hand over my brow, and made a strong conscious effortto pull myself together, the dim head faded into the general opacity, the mirror slowly cleared, and there were the red curtains once again. 

A sceptic would say, no doubt, that I had dropped asleep over myfigures, and that my experience was a dream. As a matter of fact, I wasnever more vividly awake in my life. I was able to argue about iteven as I looked at it, and to tell myself that it was a subjectiveimpression--a chimera of the nerves--begotten by worry and insomnia. But why this particular shape? And who is the woman, and what is thedreadful emotion which I read in those wonderful brown eyes? They comebetween me and my work. For the first time I have done less than thedaily tally which I had marked out. Perhaps that is why I have had noabnormal sensations tonight. Tomorrow I must wake up, come what may. 

Jan. 11. --All well, and good progress with my work. I wind the net, coilafter coil, round that bulky body. But the last smile may remain withhim if my own nerves break over it. The mirror would seem to be a sortof barometer which marks my brain-pressure. Each night I have observedthat it had clouded before I reached the end of my task. 

Dr. Sinclair (who is, it seems, a bit of a psychologist) was sointerested in my account that he came round this evening to have a lookat the mirror. I had observed that something was scribbled in crabbedold characters upon the metal-work at the back. He examined this witha lens, but could make nothing of it. "Sanc. X. Pal. " was his finalreading of it, but that did not bring us any farther. He advised me toput it away into another room; but, after all, whatever I may see init is, by his own account only a symptom. It is in the cause that thedanger lies. The twenty ledgers--not the silver mirror--should be packedaway if I could only do it. I'm at the eighth now, so I progress. 

Jan. 13. -Perhaps it would have been wiser after all if I had packed awaythe mirror. I had an extraordinary experience with it last night. Andyet I find it so interesting, so fascinating, that even now I will keepit in its place. What on earth is the meaning of it all?

I suppose it was about one in the morning, and I was closing my bookspreparatory to staggering off to bed, when I saw her there in front ofme. The stage of mistiness and development must have passed unobserved, and there she was in all her beauty and passion and distress, asclear-cut as if she were really in the flesh before me. The figurewas small, but very distinct--so much so that every feature, and everydetail of dress, are stamped in my memory. She is seated on the extremeleft of the mirror. A sort of shadowy figure crouches down beside her--Ican dimly discern that it is a man--and then behind them is cloud, inwhich I see figures--figures which move. It is not a mere picture uponwhich I look. It is a scene in life, an actual episode. She crouches andquivers. The man beside her cowers down. The vague figures make abruptmovements and gestures. All my fears were swallowed up in my interest. It was maddening to see so much and not to see more. 

But I can at least describe the woman to the smallest point. She isvery beautiful and quite young--not more than five-and-twenty, I shouldjudge. Her hair is of a very rich brown, with a warm chestnut shadefining into gold at the edges. A little flat-pointed cap comes to anangle in front, and is made of lace edged with pearls. The forehead ishigh, too high perhaps for perfect beauty; but one would not have itotherwise, as it gives a touch of power and strength to what wouldotherwise be a softly feminine face. The brows are most delicatelycurved over heavy eyelids, and then come those wonderful eyes--solarge, so dark, so full of over-mastering emotion, of rage and horror, contending with a pride of self-control which holds her from sheerfrenzy! The cheeks are pale, the lips white with agony, the chin andthroat most exquisitely rounded. The figure sits and leans forward inthe chair, straining and rigid, cataleptic with horror. The dress isblack velvet, a jewel gleams like a flame in the breast, and a goldencrucifix smoulders in the shadow of a fold. This is the lady whose imagestill lives in the old silver mirror. What dire deed could it be whichhas left its impress there, so that now, in another age, if the spiritof a man be but worn down to it, he may be conscious of its presence?

One other detail: On the left side of the skirt of the black dress was, as I thought at first, a shapeless bunch of white ribbon. Then, as Ilooked more intently or as the vision defined itself more clearly, Iperceived what it was. It was the hand of a man, clenched and knotted inagony, which held on with a convulsive grasp to the fold of the dress. The rest of the crouching figure was a mere vague outline, but thatstrenuous hand shone clear on the dark background, with asinister suggestion of tragedy in its frantic clutch. The man isfrightened-horribly frightened. That I can clearly discern. What hasterrified him so? Why does he grip the woman's dress? The answer liesamongst those moving figures in the background. They have brought dangerboth to him and to her. The interest of the thing fascinated me. Ithought no more of its relation to my own nerves. I stared and staredas if in a theatre. But I could get no farther. The mist thinned. There were tumultuous movements in which all the figures were vaguelyconcerned. Then the mirror was clear once more. 

The doctor says I must drop work for a day, and I can afford to doso, for I have made good progress lately. It is quite evident that thevisions depend entirely upon my own nervous state, for I sat in front ofthe mirror for an hour tonight, with no result whatever. My soothing dayhas chased them away. I wonder whether I shall ever penetrate what theyall mean? I examined the mirror this evening under a good light, andbesides the mysterious inscription "Sanc. X. Pal. , " I was able todiscern some signs of heraldic marks, very faintly visible upon thesilver. They must be very ancient, as they are almost obliterated. Sofar as I could make out, they were three spear-heads, two above and onebelow. I will show them to the doctor when he calls tomorrow. 

Jan. 14. --Feel perfectly well again, and I intend that nothing elseshall stop me until my task is finished. The doctor was shown the markson the mirror and agreed that they were armorial bearings. He is deeplyinterested in all that I have told him, and cross-questioned meclosely on the details. It amuses me to notice how he is torn in two byconflicting desires--the one that his patient should lose his symptoms, the other that the medium--for so he regards me--should solve thismystery of the past. He advised continued rest, but did not oppose metoo violently when I declared that such a thing was out of the questionuntil the ten remaining ledgers have been checked. 

Jan. 17. --For three nights I have had no experiences--my day of rest hasborne fruit. Only a quarter of my task is left, but I must make a forcedmarch, for the lawyers are clamouring for their material. I will givethem enough and to spare. I have him fast on a hundred counts. When theyrealize what a slippery, cunning rascal he is, I should gain some creditfrom the case. False trading accounts, false balance-sheets, dividendsdrawn from capital, losses written down as profits, suppression ofworking expenses, manipulation of petty cash--it is a fine record!

Jan. 18. --Headaches, nervous twitches, mistiness, fullness of thetemples--all the premonitions of trouble, and the trouble came sureenough. And yet my real sorrow is not so much that the vision shouldcome as that it should cease before all is revealed. 

But I saw more tonight. The crouching man was as visible as thelady whose gown he clutched. He is a little swarthy fellow, with ablack-pointed beard. He has a loose gown of damask trimmed with fur. Theprevailing tints of his dress are red. What a fright the fellow is in, to be sure! He cowers and shivers and glares back over his shoulder. There is a small knife in his other hand, but he is far too tremulousand cowed to use it. Dimly now I begin to see the figures in thebackground. Fierce faces, bearded and dark, shape themselves out of themist. There is one terrible creature, a skeleton of a man, with hollowcheeks and eyes sunk in his head. He also has a knife in his hand. Onthe right of the woman stands a tall man, very young, with flaxen hair, his face sullen and dour. The beautiful woman looks up at him in appeal. So does the man on the ground. This youth seems to be the arbiter oftheir fate. The crouching man draws closer and hides himself in thewoman's skirts. The tall youth bends and tries to drag her away fromhim. So much I saw last night before the mirror cleared. Shall I neverknow what it leads to and whence it comes? It is not a mere imagination, of that I am very sure. Somewhere, some time, this scene has been acted, and this old mirror has reflected it. But when--where?

Jan. 20. --My work draws to a close, and it is time. I feel a tensenesswithin my brain, a sense of intolerable strain, which warns me thatsomething must give. I have worked myself to the limit. But tonightshould be the last night. With a supreme effort I should finish thefinal ledger and complete the case before I rise from my chair. I willdo it. I will. 

Feb. 7. --I did. My God, what an experience! I hardly know if I am strongenough yet to set it down. 

Let me explain in the first instance that I am writing this in Dr. Sinclair's private hospital some three weeks after the last entry in mydiary. On the night of January 20 my nervous system finally gave way, and I remembered nothing afterwards until I found myself three days agoin this home of rest. And I can rest with a good conscience. My work wasdone before I went under. My figures are in the solicitors' hands. Thehunt is over. 

And now I must describe that last night. I had sworn to finish my work, and so intently did I stick to it, though my head was bursting, that Iwould never look up until the last column had been added. And yet it wasfine self-restraint, for all the time I knew that wonderful things werehappening in the mirror. Every nerve in my body told me so. If I lookedup there was an end of my work. So I did not look up till all wasfinished. Then, when at last with throbbing temples I threw down my penand raised my eyes, what a sight was there!

The mirror in its silver frame was like a stage, brilliantly lit, inwhich a drama was in progress. There was no mist now. The oppressionof my nerves had wrought this amazing clarity. Every feature, everymovement, was as clear-cut as in life. To think that I, a tiredaccountant, the most prosaic of mankind, with the account-books of aswindling bankrupt before me, should be chosen of all the human race tolook upon such a scene!

It was the same scene and the same figures, but the drama had advanceda stage. The tall young man was holding the woman in his arms. Shestrained away from him and looked up at him with loathing in her face. They had torn the crouching man away from his hold upon the skirt ofher dress. A dozen of them were round him--savage men, bearded men. Theyhacked at him with knives. All seemed to strike him together. Theirarms rose and fell. The blood did not flow from him-it squirted. His reddress was dabbled in it. He threw himself this way and that, purple uponcrimson, like an over-ripe plum. Still they hacked, and still the jetsshot from him. It was horrible--horrible! They dragged him kicking tothe door. The woman looked over her shoulder at him and her mouth gaped. I heard nothing, but I knew that she was screaming. And then, whether itwas this nerve-racking vision before me, or whether, my task finished, all the overwork of the past weeks came in one crushing weight upon me, the room danced round me, the floor seemed to sink away beneath my feet, and I remembered no more. In the early morning my landlady found mestretched senseless before the silver mirror, but I knew nothing myselfuntil three days ago I awoke in the deep peace of the doctor's nursinghome. 

Feb. 9. --Only today have I told Dr. Sinclair my full experience. Hehad not allowed me to speak of such matters before. He listened with anabsorbed interest. "You don't identify this with any well-known scenein history?" he asked, with suspicion in his eyes. I assured him that Iknew nothing of history. "Have you no idea whence that mirror came andto whom it once belonged?" he continued. "Have you?" I asked, for hespoke with meaning. "It's incredible, " said he, "and yet how else canone explain it? The scenes which you described before suggested it, butnow it has gone beyond all range of coincidence. I will bring you somenotes in the evening. "

Later. --He has just left me. Let me set down his words as closely as Ican recall them. He began by laying several musty volumes upon my bed. 

"These you can consult at your leisure, " said he. "I have some noteshere which you can confirm. There is not a doubt that what you have seenis the murder of Rizzio by the Scottish nobles in the presence ofMary, which occurred in March, 1566. Your description of the woman isaccurate. The high forehead and heavy eyelids combined with great beautycould hardly apply to two women. The tall young man was her husband, Darnley. Rizzio, says the chronicle, 'was dressed in a loosedressing-gown of furred damask, with hose of russet velvet. ' With onehand he clutched Mary's gown, with the other he held a dagger. Yourfierce, hollow-eyed man was Ruthven, who was new-risen from a bed ofsickness. Every detail is exact. "

"But why to me?" I asked, in bewilderment. "Why of all the human race tome?"

"Because you were in the fit mental state to receive the impression. Because you chanced to own the mirror which gave the impression. "

"The mirror! You think, then, that it was Mary's mirror--that it stoodin the room where the deed was done?"

"I am convinced that it was Mary's mirror. She had been Queen of France. Her personal property would be stamped with the Royal arms. What youtook to be three spear-heads were really the lilies of France. "

"And the inscription?"

"'Sanc. X. Pal. ' You can expand it into Sanctae Crucis Palatium. Someone has made a note upon the mirror as to whence it came. It was thePalace of the Holy Cross. "

"Holyrood!" I cried. 

"Exactly. Your mirror came from Holyrood. You have had one very singularexperience, and have escaped. I trust that you will never put yourselfinto the way of having such another. "

THE BLIGHTING OF SHARKEY

Sharkey, the abominable Sharkey, was out again. After two years of theCoromandel coast, his black barque of death, _The Happy Delivery_, wasprowling off the Spanish Main, while trader and fisher flew for dearlife at the menace of that patched fore-topsail, rising slowly over theviolet rim of the tropical sea. 

As the birds cower when the shadow of the hawk falls athwart the field, or as the jungle folk crouch and shiver when the coughing cry of thetiger is heard in the night-time, so through all the busy world ofships, from the whalers of Nantucket to the tobacco ships of Charleston, and from the Spanish supply ships of Cadiz to the sugar merchants of theMain, there spread the rumour of the black curse of the ocean. 

Some hugged the shore, ready to make for the nearest port, while othersstruck far out beyond the known lines of commerce, but none wereso stout-hearted that they did not breathe more freely when theirpassengers and cargoes were safe under the guns of some mothering fort. 

Through all the islands there ran tales of charred derelicts at sea, of sudden glares seen afar in the night-time, and of withered bodiesstretched upon the sand of waterless Bahama Keys. All the old signs werethere to show that Sharkey was at his bloody game once more. 

These fair waters and yellow-rimmed, palm-nodding islands arethe traditional home of the sea rover. First it was the gentlemanadventurer, the man of family and honour, who fought as a patriot, though he was ready to take his payment in Spanish plunder. 

Then, within a century, his debonnaire figure had passed to make roomfor the buccaneers, robbers pure and simple, yet with some organizedcode of their own, commanded by notable chieftains, and taking in handgreat concerted enterprises. 

They, too, passed with their fleets and their sacking of cities, to makeroom for the worst of all, the lonely outcast pirate, the bloody Ishmaelof the seas, at war with the whole human race. This was the vile broodwhich the early eighteenth century had spawned forth, and of them allthere was none who could compare in audacity, wickedness, and evilrepute with the unutterable Sharkey. 

It was early in May, in the year 1720, that _The Happy Delivery_ laywith her fore-yard aback some five leagues west of the Windward Passage, waiting to see what rich, helpless craft the trade-wind might bring downto her. 

Three days she had lain there, a sinister black speck, in the centre ofthe great sapphire circle of the ocean. Far to the south-east the lowblue hills of Hispaniola showed up on the skyline. 

Hour by hour as he waited without avail, Sharkey's savage temper hadrisen, for his arrogant spirit chafed against any contradiction, evenfrom Fate itself. To his quartermaster, Ned Galloway, he had saidthat night, with his odious neighing laugh, that the crew of the nextcaptured vessel should answer to him for having kept him waiting solong. 

The cabin of the pirate barque was a good-sized room, hung withmuch tarnished finery, and presenting a strange medley of luxury anddisorder. The panelling of carved and polished sandal-wood was blotchedwith foul smudges and chipped with bullet-marks fired in some drunkenrevelry. 

Rich velvets and laces were heaped upon the brocaded settees, whilemetal-work and pictures of great price filled every niche and corner, for anything which caught the pirate's fancy in the sack of a hundredvessels was thrown haphazard into his chamber. A rich, soft carpetcovered the floor, but it was mottled with wine-stains and charred withburned tobacco. 

Above, a great brass hanging-lamp threw a brilliant yellow lightupon this singular apartment, and upon the two men who sat in theirshirt-sleeves with the wine between them, and the cards in their hands, deep in a game of piquet. Both were smoking long pipes, and the thinblue reek filled the cabin and floated through the skylight above them, which, half opened, disclosed a slip of deep violet sky spangled withgreat silver stars. 

Ned Galloway, the quartermaster, was a huge New England wastrel, the onerotten branch upon a goodly Puritan family tree. His robust limbs andgiant frame were the heritage of a long line of God-fearing ancestors, while his black savage heart was all his own. Bearded to the temples, with fierce blue eyes, a tangled lion's mane of coarse, dark hair, and huge gold rings in his ears, he was the idol of the women in everywaterside hell from the Tortugas to Maracaibo on the Main. A red cap, a blue silken shirt, brown velvet breeches with gaudy knee-ribbons, andhigh sea-boots made up the costume of the rover Hercules. 

A very different figure was Captain John Sharkey. His thin, drawn, clean-shaven face was corpse-like in its pallor, and all the suns of theIndies could but turn it to a more deathly parchment tint. He waspart bald, with a few lank locks of tow-like hair, and a steep, narrowforehead. His thin nose jutted sharply forth, and near-set on eitherside of it were those filmy blue eyes, red-rimmed like those of a whitebull-terrier, from which strong men winced away in fear and loathing. His bony hands, with long, thin fingers which quivered ceaselessly likethe antennae of an insect, were toying constantly with the cards and theheap of gold moidores which lay before him. His dress was of some sombredrab material, but, indeed, the men who looked upon that fearsome facehad little thought for the costume of its owner. 

The game was brought to a sudden interruption, for the cabin door wasswung rudely open, and two rough fellows--Israel Martin, the boatswain, and Red Foley, the gunner--rushed into the cabin. In an instant Sharkeywas on his feet with a pistol in either hand and murder in his eyes. 

"Sink you for villains!" he cried. "I see well that if I do not shootone of you from time to time you will forget the man I am. What mean youby entering my cabin as though it were a Wapping alehouse?"

"Nay, Captain Sharkey, " said Martin, with a sullen frown upon hisbrick-red face, "it is even such talk as this which has set us by theears. We have had enough of it. "

"And more than enough, " said Red Foley, the gunner. "There be nomates aboard a pirate craft, and so the boatswain, the gunner, and thequarter-master are the officers. "

"Did I gainsay it?" asked Sharkey with an oath. 

"You have miscalled us and mishandled us before the men, and we scarceknow at this moment why we should risk our lives in fighting for thecabin and against the foc'sle. "

Sharkey saw that something serious was in the wind. He laid down hispistols and leaned back in his chair with a flash of his yellow fangs. 

"Nay, this is sad talk, " said he, "that two stout fellows who haveemptied many a bottle and cut many a throat with me, should now fall outover nothing. I know you to be roaring boys who would go with me againstthe devil himself if I bid you. Let the steward bring cups and drown allunkindness between us. "

"It is no time for drinking, Captain Sharkey, " said Martin. "The men areholding council round the mainmast, and may be aft at any minute. Theymean mischief, Captain Sharkey, and we have come to warn you. "

Sharkey sprang for the brass-handled sword which hung from the wall. 

"Sink them for rascals!" he cried. "When I have gutted one or two ofthem they may hear reason. "

But the others barred his frantic way to the door. 

"There are forty of them under the lead of Sweetlocks, the master, " saidMartin, "and on the open deck they would surely cut you to pieces. Herewithin the cabin it may be that we can hold them off at the points ofour pistols. "

He had hardly spoken when there came the tread of many heavy feet uponthe deck. Then there was a pause with no sound but the gentle lippingof the water against the sides of the pirate vessel. Finally, a crashingblow as from a pistol-butt fell upon the door, and an instant afterwardsSweetlocks himself, a tall, dark man, with a deep red birthmark blazingupon his cheek, strode into the cabin. His swaggering air sank somewhatas he looked into those pale and filmy eyes. 

"Captain Sharkey, " said he, "I come as spokesman of the crew. "

"So I have heard, Sweetlocks, " said the captain, softly. "I may live torip you the length of your vest for this night's work. "

"That is as it may be, Captain Sharkey, " the master answered, "but ifyou will look up you will see that I have those at my back who will notsee me mishandled. "

"Cursed if we do!" growled a deep voice from above, and glancing upwardsthe officers in the cabin were aware of a line of fierce, bearded, sun-blackened faces looking down at them through the open skylight. 

"Well, what would you have?" asked Sharkey. "Put it in words, man, andlet us have an end of it. "

"The men think, " said Sweetlocks, "that you are the devil himself, andthat there will be no luck for them whilst they sail the sea in suchcompany. Time was when we did our two or three craft a day, and everyman had women and dollars to his liking, but now for a long week we havenot raised a sail, and save for three beggarly sloops, have taken nevera vessel since we passed the Bahama Bank. Also, they know that youkilled Jack Bartholomew, the carpenter, by beating his head in with abucket, so that each of us goes in fear of his life. Also, the rum hasgiven out, and we are hard put to it for liquor. Also, you sit in yourcabin whilst it is in the articles that you should drink and roar withthe crew. For all these reasons it has been this day in general meetingdecreed--"

Sharkey had stealthily cocked a pistol under the table, so it may havebeen as well for the mutinous master that he never reached the end ofhis discourse, for even as he came to it there was a swift patter offeet upon the deck, and a ship lad, wild with his tidings, rushed intothe room. 

"A craft!" he yelled. "A great craft, and close aboard us!"

In a flash the quarrel was forgotten, and the pirates were rushing toquarters. Sure enough, surging slowly down before the gentle trade-wind, a great full-rigged ship, with all sail set, was close beside them. 

It was clear that she had come from afar and knew nothing of the ways ofthe Caribbean Sea, for she made no effort to avoid the low, dark craftwhich lay so close upon her bow, but blundered on as if her mere sizewould avail her. 

So daring was she, that for an instant the Rovers, as they flew to loosethe tackles of their guns, and hoisted their battle-lanterns, believedthat a man-of-war had caught them napping. 

But at the sight of her bulging, portless sides and merchant rig a shoutof exultation broke from amongst them, and in an instant they had swunground their fore-yard, and darting alongside they had grappled with herand flung a spray of shrieking, cursing ruffians upon her deck. 

Half a dozen seamen of the night-watch were cut down where they stood, the mate was felled by Sharkey and tossed overboard by Ned Galloway, andbefore the sleepers had time to sit up in their berths, the vessel wasin the hands of the pirates. 

The prize proved to be the full-rigged ship _Portobello_--Captain Hardy, master--bound from London to Kingston in Jamaica, with a cargo of cottongoods and hoop-iron. 

Having secured their prisoners, all huddled together in a dazed, distracted group, the pirates spread over the vessel in search ofplunder, handing all that was found to the giant quartermaster, who inturn passed it over the side of _The Happy Delivery_ and laid it underguard at the foot of her mainmast. 

The cargo was useless, but there were a thousand guineas in the ship'sstrong-box, and there were some eight or ten passengers, three of themwealthy Jamaica merchants, all bringing home well-filled boxes fromtheir London visit. 

When all the plunder was gathered, the passengers and crew were draggedto the waist, and under the cold smile of Sharkey each in turn wasthrown over the side--Sweetlocks standing by the rail and ham-stringingthem with his cutlass as they passed over, lest some strong swimmershould rise in judgment against them. A portly, grey-haired woman, thewife of one of the planters, was among the captives, but she also wasthrust screaming and clutching over the side. 

"Mercy, you hussy!" neighed Sharkey, "you are surely a good twenty yearstoo old for that. "

The captain of the _Portobello_, a hale, blue-eyed grey-beard, was thelast upon the deck. He stood, a thick-set resolute figure, in the glareof the lanterns, while Sharkey bowed and smirked before him. 

"One skipper should show courtesy to another, " said he, "and sink me ifCaptain Sharkey would be behind in good manners! I have held you to thelast, as you see, where a brave man should be; so now, my bully, youhave seen the end of them, and may step over with an easy mind. "

"So I shall, Captain Sharkey, " said the old seaman, "for I have done myduty so far as my power lay. But before I go over I would say a word inyour ear. "

"If it be to soften me, you may save your breath. You have kept uswaiting here for three days, and curse me if one of you shall live!"

"Nay, it is to tell you what you should know. You have not yet foundwhat is the true treasure aboard of this ship. "

"Not found it? Sink me, but I will slice your liver, Captain Hardy, ifyou do not make good your words! Where is this treasure you speak of?""It is not a treasure of gold, but it is a fair maid, which may be noless welcome. "

"Where is she, then? And why is she not with the others?"

"I will tell you why she is not with the others. She is the onlydaughter of the Count and Countess Ramirez, who are amongst those whomyou have murdered. Her name is Inez Ramirez, and she is of the bestblood of Spain, her father being Governor of Chagre, to which he was nowbound. It chanced that she was found to have formed an attachment, asmaids will, to one far beneath her in rank aboard this ship; so herparents, being people of great power, whose word is not to be gainsaid, constrained me to confine her close in a special cabin aft of my own. Here she was held straitly, all food being carried to her, and sheallowed to see no one. This I tell you as a last gift, though why Ishould make it to you I do not know, for indeed you are a most bloodyrascal, and it comforts me in dying to think that you will surely begallow's-meat in this world, and hell's-meat in the next. "

At the words he ran to the rail, and vaulted over into the darkness, praying as he sank into the depths of the sea, that the betrayal of thismaid might not be counted too heavily against his soul. 

The body of Captain Hardy had not yet settled upon the sand fortyfathoms deep before the pirates had rushed along the cabin gangway. There, sure enough, at the further end, was a barred door, overlooked intheir previous search. There was no key, but they beat it in with theirgunstocks, whilst shriek after shriek came from within. In the light oftheir outstretched lanterns they saw a young woman, in the very primeand fullness of her youth, crouching in a corner, her unkempt hairhanging to the ground, her dark eyes glaring with fear, her lovely formstraining away in horror from this inrush of savage blood-stained men. Rough hands seized her, she was jerked to her feet, and dragged withscream on scream to where John Sharkey awaited her. He held the lightlong and fondly to her face, then, laughing loudly, he bent forward andleft his red hand-print upon her cheek. 

"'Tis the Rover's brand, lass, that he marks his ewes. Take her to thecabin and use her well. Now, hearties, get her under water, and out toour luck once more. "

Within an hour the good ship _Portobello_ had settled down to her doom, till she lay beside her murdered passengers upon the Caribbean sand, while the pirate barque, her deck littered with plunder, was headingnorthward in search of another victim. 

There was a carouse that night in the cabin of _The Happy Delivery_, atwhich three men drank deep. They were the captain, the quartermaster, and Baldy Stable, the surgeon, a man who had held the first practice inCharleston, until, misusing a patient, he fled from justice, and tookhis skill over to the pirates. A bloated fat man he was, with a creasedneck and a great shining scalp, which gave him his name. Sharkey had putfor the moment all thought of the mutiny out of his head, knowing thatno animal is fierce when it is over-fed, and that whilst the plunder ofthe great ship was new to them he need fear no trouble from his crew. He gave himself up, therefore, to the wine and the riot, shouting androaring with his boon companions. All three were flushed and mad, ripefor any devilment, when the thought of the woman crossed the pirate'sevil mind. He yelled to the negro steward that he should bring her onthe instant. 

Inez Ramirez had now realized it all--the death of her father andmother, and her own position in the hands of their murderers. Yetcalmness had come with the knowledge, and there was no sign of terrorin her proud, dark face as she was led into the cabin, but rather astrange, firm set of the mouth and an exultant gleam of the eyes, likeone who sees great hopes in the future. She smiled at the pirate captainas he rose and seized her by the waist. 

"'Fore God! this is a lass of spirit, " cried Sharkey, passing his armround her. "She was born to be a Rover's bride. Come, my bird, and drinkto our better friendship. "

"Article Six!" hiccoughed the doctor. "All _bona robas_ in common. "

"Aye! we hold you to that, Captain Sharkey, " said Galloway. "It is sowrit in Article Six. "

"I will cut the man into ounces who comes betwixt us!" cried Sharkey, ashe turned his fish-like eyes from one to the other. "Nay, lass, the manis not born that will take you from John Sharkey. Sit here upon my knee, and place your arm round me so. Sink me, if she has not learned to loveme at sight! Tell me, my pretty, why you were so mishandled and laid inthe bilboes aboard yonder craft?"

The woman shook her head and smiled. "No Inglese--no Inglese, " shelisped. She had drunk off the bumper of wine which Sharkey held toher, and her dark eyes gleamed more brightly than before. Sitting onSharkey's knee, her arm encircled his neck, and her hand toyed withhis hair, his ear, his cheek. Even the strange quartermaster and thehardened surgeon felt a horror as they watched her, but Sharkey laughedin his joy. "Curse me, if she is not a lass of metal!" he cried, as hepressed her to him and kissed her unresisting lips. 

But a strange intent look of interest had come into the surgeon's eyesas he watched her, and his face set rigidly, as if a fearsome thoughthad entered his mind. There stole a grey pallor over his bull face, mottling all the red of the tropics and the flush of the wine. 

"Look at her hand, Captain Sharkey!" he cried. "For the Lord's sake, look at her hand!"

Sharkey stared down at the hand which had fondled him. It was of astrange dead pallor, with a yellow shiny web betwixt the fingers. Allover it was a white fluffy dust, like the flour of a new-baked loaf. Itlay thick on Sharkey's neck and cheek. With a cry of disgust he flungthe woman from his lap; but in an instant, with a wild-cat bound, and ascream of triumphant malice, she had sprung at the surgeon, who vanishedyelling under the table. One of her clawing hands grasped Galloway bythe beard, but he tore himself away, and snatching a pike, held her offfrom him as she gibbered and mowed with the blazing eyes of a maniac. 

The black steward had run in on the sudden turmoil, and among them theyforced the mad creature back into a cabin and turned the key upon her. Then the three sank panting into their chairs, and looked with eyesof horror upon each other. The same word was in the mind of each, butGalloway was the first to speak it. 

"A leper!" he cried. "She has us all, curse her!"

"Not me, " said the surgeon; "she never laid her finger on me. "

"For that matter, " cried Galloway, "it was but my beard that shetouched. I will have every hair of it off before morning. "

"Dolts that we were!" the surgeon shouted, beating his head with hishand. "Tainted or no, we shall never know a moment's peace till the yearis up and the time of danger past. 'Fore God, that merchant skipper hasleft his mark on us, and pretty fools we were to think that such a maidwould be quarantined for the cause he gave. It is easy to see now thather corruption broke forth in the journey, and that save throwing herover they had no choice but to board her up until they should come tosome port with a lazarette. "

Sharkey had sat leaning back in his chair with a ghastly face whilehe listened to the surgeon's words. He mopped himself with his redhandkerchief, and wiped away the fatal dust with which he was smeared. 

"What of me?" he croaked. "What say you, Baldy Stable? Is there a chancefor me? Curse you for a villain! speak out, or I will drub you within aninch of your life, and that inch also! Is there a chance for me, I say?"

But the surgeon shook his head. "Captain Sharkey, " said he, "it would bean ill deed to speak you false. The taint is on you. No man on whom theleper scales have rested is ever clean again. "

Sharkey's head fell forward on his chest, and he sat motionless, stricken by this great and sudden horror, looking with his smoulderingeyes into his fearsome future. Softly the mate and the surgeon rose fromtheir places, and stealing out from the poisoned air of the cabin, cameforth into the freshness of the early dawn, with the soft, scent-ladenbreeze in their faces and the first red feathers of cloud catching theearliest gleam of the rising sun as it shot its golden rays over thepalm-clad ridges of distant Hispaniola. 

That morning a second council of the Rovers was held at the base ofthe mainmast, and a deputation chosen to see the captain. They wereapproaching the after-cabins when Sharkey came forth, the old devil inhis eyes, and his bandolier with a pair of pistols over his shoulder. 

"Sink you all for villains!" he cried, "Would you dare to cross myhawse? Stand out, Sweetlocks, and I will lay you open! Here, Galloway, Martin, Foley, stand by me and lash the dogs to their kennel!"

But his officers had deserted him, and there was none to come to hisaid. There was a rush of the pirates. One was shot through the body, butan instant afterwards Sharkey had been seized and was triced to his ownmainmast. His filmy eyes looked round from face to face, and there wasnone who felt the happier for having met them. 

"Captain Sharkey, " said Sweetlocks, "you have mishandled many of us, andyou have now pistolled John Masters, besides killing Bartholomew, thecarpenter, by braining him with a bucket. All this might have beenforgiven you, in that you have been our leader for years, and that wehave signed articles to serve under you while the voyage lasts. Butnow we have heard of this bona roba on board, and we know that you arepoisoned to the marrow, and that while you rot there will be nosafety for any of us, but that we shall all be turned into filth andcorruption. Therefore, John Sharkey, we Rovers of _The Happy Delivery_, in council assembled, have decreed that while there be yet time, beforethe plague spreads, you shall be set adrift in a boat to find such afate as Fortune may be pleased to send you. "

John Sharkey said nothing, but slowly circling his head, he cursed themall with his baleful gaze. The ship's dinghy had been lowered, and hewith his hands still tied, was dropped into it on the bight of a rope. 

"Cast her off!" cried Sweetlocks. 

"Nay, hold hard a moment, Master Sweetlocks!" shouted one of the crew. "What of the wench? Is she to bide aboard and poison us all?"

"Send her off with her mate!" cried another, and the Rovers roared theirapproval. Driven forth at the end of pikes, the girl was pushed towardsthe boat. With all the spirit of Spain in her rotting body she flashedtriumphant glances on her captors. "Perros! Perros Ingleses! Lepero, Lepero!" she cried in exultation, as they thrust her over into the boat. 

"Good luck, captain! God speed you on your honeymoon!" cried a chorus ofmocking voices, as the painter was unloosed, and _The Happy Delivery_, running full before the trade-wind, left the little boat astern, a tinydot upon the vast expanse of the lonely sea. 

Extract from the log of H. M. Fifty-gun ship _Hecate_ in her cruise offthe American Main. 

"Jan. 26, 1721. --This day, the junk having become unfit for food, andfive of the crew down with scurvy, I ordered that we send two boatsashore at the nor'-western point of Hispaniola, to seek for fresh fruit, and perchance shoot some of the wild oxen with which the island abounds. 

"7 p. M. --The boats have returned with good store of green stuff and twobullocks. Mr. Woodruff, the master, reports that near the landing-placeat the edge of the forest was found the skeleton of a woman, clad inEuropean dress, of such sort as to show that she may have been a personof quality. Her head had been crushed by a great stone which lay besideher. Hard by was a grass hut, and signs that a man had dwelt therein forsome time, as was shown by charred wood, bones and other traces. Thereis a rumour upon the coast that Sharkey, the bloody pirate, was maroonedin these parts last year, but whether he has made his way into theinterior, or whether he has been picked up by some craft, there is nomeans of knowing. If he be once again afloat, then I pray that God sendhim under our guns. "

THE MARRIAGE OF THE BRIGADIER

I am speaking, my friends, of days which are long gone by, when I hadscarcely begun to build up that fame which has made my name so familiar. Among the thirty officers of the Hussars of Conflans there was nothingto indicate that I was superior in any way to the others. I can wellimagine how surprised they would all have been had they realized thatyoung Lieutenant Etienne Gerard was destined for so glorious a career, and would live to command a brigade and to receive from the Emperor'sown hands that cross which I can show you any time that you do me thehonour to visit me in my little cottage. You know, do you not, thelittle white-washed cottage with the vine in front, in the field besidethe Garonne?

People have said of me that I have never known what fear was. No doubtyou have heard them say it. For many years, out of a foolish pride, Ihave let the saying pass. And yet now, in my old age, I can afford tobe honest. The brave man dares to be frank. It is only the coward who isafraid to make admissions. So I tell you now that I also am human; thatI also have felt my skin grow cold, and my hair rise; that I have evenknown what it was to run away until my limbs could scarce support me. Itshocks you to hear it? Well, some day it may comfort you, when your owncourage has reached its limits, to know that even Etienne Gerard hasknown what it was to be afraid. I will tell you now how this experiencebefell me, and also how it brought me a wife. 

For the moment France was at peace, and we, the Hussars of Conflans, were in camp all that summer a few miles from the town of Les Andelysin Normandy. It is not a very gay place by itself, but we of the LightCavalry make all places gay which we visit, and so we passed our timevery pleasantly. Many years and many scenes have dulled my remembrance, but still the name Les Andelys brings back to me a huge ruined castle, great orchards of apple trees, and above all, a vision of the lovelymaidens of Normandy. They were the very finest of their sex, as we maybe said to have been of ours, and so we were well met in that sweetsunlit summer. Ah, the youth, the beauty, the valour, and then the dull, dead years that blurr them all! There are times when the gloriouspast weighs on my heart like lead. No, sir, no wine can wash away suchthoughts, for they are of the spirit and the soul. It is only the grossbody which responds to wine, but if you offer it for that, then I willnot refuse it. 

Now of all the maidens who dwelt in those parts there was one who wasso superior in beauty and in charm that she seemed to be very speciallymarked out for me. Her name was Marie Ravon, and her people, the Ravons, were of yeoman stock who had farmed their own land in those parts sincethe days when Duke William went to England. If I close my eyes now, Isee her as she then was, her cheeks, dusky like moss roses; her hazeleyes, so gentle and yet so full of spirit; her hair of that deepestblack which goes most fitly with poetry and with passion; her finger assupple as a young birch tree in the wind. Ah! how she swayed away fromme when first I laid my arm round it, for she was full of fire andpride, ever evading, ever resisting, fighting to the last that hersurrender might be the more sweet. Out of a hundred and forty women--Butwho can compare where all are so near perfection!

You will wonder why it should be, if this maiden was so beautiful, that I should be left without a rival. There was a very good reason, myfriends, for I so arranged it that my rivals were in the hospital. Therewas Hippolyte Lesoeur, he visited them for two Sundays; but if he lives, I dare swear that he still limps from the bullet which lodges in hisknee. Poor Victor also--up to his death at Austerlitz he wore my mark. Soon it was understood that if I could not win Marie, I should at leasthave a fair field in which to try. It was said in our camp that it wassafer to charge a square of unbroken infantry than to be seen too oftenat the farmhouse of the Ravons. 

Now let me be precise for a moment. Did I wish to marry Marie? Ah! myfriends, marriage is not for a Hussar. Today he is in Normandy; tomorrowhe is in the hills of Spain or in the bogs of Poland. What shall he dowith a wife? Would it be fair to either of them? Can it be right thathis courage should be blunted by the thought of the despair which hisdeath would bring, or is it reasonable that she should be left fearinglest every post should bring her the news of irreparable misfortune?A Hussar can but warm himself at the fire, and then hurry onwards, toohappy if he can but pass another fire from which some comfort may come. And Marie, did she wish to marry me? She knew well that when our silvertrumpets blew the march it would be over the grave of our married life. Better far to hold fast to her own people and her own soil, where sheand her husband could dwell for ever amid the rich orchards and withinsight of the great Castle of Le Galliard. Let her remember her Hussar inher dreams, but let her waking days be spent in the world as she findsit. Meanwhile we pushed such thoughts from our minds, and gave ourselvesup to a sweet companionship, each day complete in itself with never athought of the morrow. It is true that there were times when her father, a stout old gentleman with a face like one of his own apples, and hermother, a thin anxious woman of the country, gave me hints that theywould wish to be clearer as to my intentions; but in their hearts theyeach knew well that Etienne Gerard was a man of honour, and that theirdaughter was very safe as well as very happy in his keeping. So thematter stood until the night of which I speak. 

It was the Sunday evening, and I had ridden over from the camp. Therewere several of our fellows who were visiting the village, and we allleft our horses at the inn. Thence I had to walk to the Ravons, whichwas only separated by a single very large field extending to the verydoor. I was about to start when the landlord ran after me. "Excuseme, lieutenant, " said he, "it is farther by the road, and yet I shouldadvise you to take it. "

"It is a mile or more out of my way. "

"I know it. But I think that it would be wiser, " and he smiled as hespoke. 

"And why?" I asked. 

"Because, " said he, "the English bull is loose in the field. "

If it were not for that odious smile, I might have considered it. But tohold a danger over me and then to smile in such a fashion was more thanmy proud temper could bear. I indicated by a gesture what I thought ofthe English bull. 

"I will go by the shortest way, " said I. 

I had no sooner set my foot in the field than I felt that my spirit hadbetrayed me into rashness. It was a very large square field, and as Icame further out into it I felt like the cockle-shell which ventures outfrom land and sees no port save that from which it has issued. There wasa wall on every side of the field save that from which I had come. Infront of me was the farmhouse of the Ravons, with wall extending toright and left. A back door opened upon the field, and there wereseveral windows, but all were barred, as is usual in the Norman farms. I pushed on rapidly to the door, as being the only harbour of safety, walking with dignity as befits a soldier, and yet with such speed asI could summon. From the waist upwards I was unconcerned and evendebonnaire. Below, I was swift and alert. 

I had nearly reached the middle of the field when I perceived thecreature. He was rooting about with his fore feet under a large beechtree which lay upon my right hand. I did not turn my head, nor wouldthe bystander have detected that I took notice of him, but my eye waswatching him with anxiety. It may have been that he was in a contentedmood, or it may have been that he was arrested by the nonchalance of mybearing, but he made no movement in my direction. Reassured, I fixed myeyes upon the open window of Marie's bed-chamber, which was immediatelyover the back door, in the hope that those dear, tender, dark eyes, were surveying me from behind the curtains. I flourished my little cane, loitered to pick a primrose, and sang one of our devil-may-care chorusesin order to insult this English beast, and to show my love how littleI cared for danger when it stood between her and me. The creature wasabashed by my fearlessness, and so, pushing open the back door, I wasable to enter the farmhouse in safety and in honour. 

And was it not worth the danger? Had all the bulls of Castile guardedthe entrance, would it not still have been worth it? Ah, the hours, thesunny hours, which can never come back, when our youthful feet seemedscarce to touch the ground, and we lived in a sweet dreamland of our owncreation! She honoured my courage, and she loved me for it. As she laywith her flushed cheek pillowed against the silk of my dolman, lookingup at me with her wondering eyes, shining with love and admiration, shemarvelled at the stories in which I gave her some pictures of the truecharacter of her lover. 

"Has your heart never failed you? Have you never known the feeling offear?" she asked. I laughed at such a thought. What place could fearhave in the mind of a Hussar? Young as I was, I had given my proofs. I told her how I had led my squadron into a square of HungarianGrenadiers. She shuddered as she embraced me. I told her also how I hadswum my horse over the Danube at night with a message for Davoust. To befrank, it was not the Danube, nor was it so deep that I was compelled toswim, but when one is twenty and in love, one tells a story as best onecan. Many such stories I told her, while her dear eyes grew more andmore amazed. 

"Never in my dreams, Etienne, " said she, "did I believe that so brave aman existed. Lucky France that has such a soldier, lucky Marie that hassuch a lover!"

You can think how I flung myself at her feet as I murmured that I wasthe luckiest of all--I who had found some one who could appreciate andunderstand. 

It was a charming relationship, too infinitely sweet and delicate forthe interference of coarser minds. But you can understand that theparents imagined that they also had their duty to do. I played dominoeswith the old man, and I wound wool for his wife, and yet they could notbe led to believe that it was from love of them that I came thrice aweek to their farm. For some time an explanation was inevitable, andthat night it came. Marie, in delightful mutiny, was packed off to herroom, and I faced the old people in the parlour as they plied me withquestions upon my prospects and my intentions. 

"One way or the other, " they said, in their blunt country fashion. "Letus hear that you are betrothed to Marie, or let us never see your faceagain. "

I spoke of my honour, my hopes, and my future, but they remainedimmovable upon the present. I pleaded my career, but they in theirselfish way would think of nothing but their daughter. It was indeed adifficult position in which I found myself. On the one hand, I couldnot forsake my Marie; on the other, what would a young Hussar do withmarriage? At last, hard pressed, I begged them to leave the matter, ifit were only for a day. 

"I will see Marie, " said I, "I will see her without delay. It is herheart and her happiness which come before all else. "

They were not satisfied, these grumbling old people, but they couldsay no more. They bade me a short good night and I departed, fullof perplexity, for the inn. I came out by the same door which I hadentered, and I heard them lock and bar it behind me. 

I walked across the field lost in thought, with my mind entirely filledwith the arguments of the old people and the skilful replies which Ihad made to them. What should I do? I had promised to see Marie withoutdelay. What should I say to her when I did see her? Would I surrenderto her beauty and turn my back upon my profession? If Etienne Gerard'ssword were turned to a scythe, then indeed it was a bad day for theEmperor and France. Or should I harden my heart and turn away fromMarie? Or was it not possible that all might be reconciled; that I mightbe a happy husband in Normandy but a brave soldier elsewhere? All thesethoughts were buzzing in my head, when a sudden noise made me look up. The moon had come from behind a cloud, and there was the bull before me. 

He had seemed a large animal beneath the beech tree, but now he appearedenormous. He was black in colour. His head was held down, and the moonshone upon two menacing and bloodshot eyes. His tail switched swiftlyfrom side to side, and his fore feet dug into the earth. A morehorrible-looking monster was never seen in a nightmare. He was movingslowly and stealthily in my direction. 

I glanced behind me, and I found that in my distraction I had comea very long way from the edge of the field. I was more than half-wayacross it. My nearest refuge was the inn, but the bull was between meand it. Perhaps if the creature understood how little I feared him, hewould make way for me. I shrugged my shoulders and made a gesture ofcontempt. I even whistled. The creature thought I called it, for heapproached with alacrity. I kept my face boldly towards him, but Iwalked swiftly backwards. When one is young and active, one can almostrun backwards and yet keep a brave and smiling face to the enemy. As Iran I menaced the animal with my cane. Perhaps it would have beenwiser had I restrained my spirit. He regarded it as a challenge--which, indeed, was the last thing in my mind. It was a misunderstanding, but afatal one. With a snort he raised his tail and charged. 

Have you ever seen a bull charge, my friends? It is a strange sight. Youthink, perhaps, that he trots, or even that he gallops. No, it is worsethan this. It is a succession of bounds by which he advances, each moremenacing than the last. I have no fear of anything which man can do. When I deal with man, I feel that the nobility of my own attitude, thegallant ease with which I face him, will in itself go far to disarm him. What he can do, I can do, so why should I fear him? But when it is a tonof enraged beef with which you contend, it is another matter. Youcannot hope to argue, to soften, to conciliate. There is no resistancepossible. My proud assurance was all wasted upon the creature. Inan instant my ready wit had weighed every possible course, and haddetermined that no one, not the Emperor himself, could hold his ground. There was but one course--to fly. 

But one may fly in many ways. One may fly with dignity or one may fly inpanic. I fled, I trust, like a soldier. My bearing was superb thoughmy legs moved rapidly. My whole appearance was a protest against theposition in which I was placed. I smiled as I ran--the bitter smile ofthe brave man who mocks his own fate. Had all my comrades surroundedthe field, they could not have thought the less of me when they saw thedisdain with which I avoided the bull. 

But here it is that I must make my confession. When once flightcommences, though it be ever so soldierly, panic follows hard upon it. Was it not so with the Guard at Waterloo? So it was that night withEtienne Gerard. After all, there was no one to note my bearing--no onesave this accursed bull. If for a minute I forgot my dignity, who wouldbe the wiser? Every moment the thunder of the hoofs and the horriblesnorts of the monster drew nearer to my heels. Horror filled me at thethought of so ignoble a death. The brutal rage of the creature sent achill to my heart. In an instant everything was forgotten. There werein the world but two creatures, the bull and I--he trying to kill me, Istriving to escape. I put down my head and I ran--I ran for my life. 

It was for the house of the Ravons that I raced. But even as I reachedit, it flashed into my mind that there was no refuge for me there. Thedoor was locked. The lower windows were barred. The wall was high uponeither side. And the bull was nearer me with every stride. But oh, myfriends, it is at that supreme moment of danger that Etienne Gerardhas ever risen to his height. There was one path to safety, and in aninstant I had chosen it. 

I have said that the window of Marie's bedroom was above the door. Thecurtains were closed, but the folding sides were thrown open, and a lampburned in the room. Young and active, I felt that I could spring highenough to reach the edge of the window sill and to draw myself outof danger. The monster was within touch of me as I sprang. Had I beenunaided, I should have done what I had planned. But even as in a superbeffort I rose from the earth he butted me into the air. I shot throughthe curtains as if I had been fired from a gun, and I dropped upon myhands and knees in the centre of the room. 

There was, as it appears, a bed in the window, but I had passed overit in safety. As I staggered to my feet I turned towards it inconsternation, but it was empty. My Marie sat in a low chair in thecorner of the room, and her flushed cheeks showed that she had beenweeping. No doubt her parents had given her some account of what hadpassed between us. She was too amazed to move, and could only sitlooking at me with her mouth open. 

"Etienne!" she gasped. "Etienne!"

In an instant I was as full of resource as ever. There was but onecourse for a gentleman, and I took it. 

"Marie, " I cried, "forgive, oh forgive the abruptness of my return!Marie, I have seen your parents tonight. I could not return to the campwithout asking you whether you will make me for ever happy by promisingto be my wife?"

It was long before she could speak, so great was her amazement. Thenevery emotion was swept away in the one great flood of her admiration. 

"Oh, Etienne! my wonderful Etienne!" she cried, her arms round my neck. "Was ever such love! Was ever such a man! As you stand there, white andtrembling with passion, you seem to me the very hero of my dreams. Howhard you breathe, my love, and what a spring it must have been whichbrought you to my arms! At the instant that you came, I heard the trampof your war-horse without. "

There was nothing more to explain, and when one is newly betrothed, onefinds other uses for one's lips. But there was a scurry in the passageand a pounding at the panels. At the crash of my arrival the old folkhad rushed to the cellar to see if the great cider cask had toppled offthe trestles, but now they were back and eager for admittance. I flungopen the door, and stood with Marie's hand in mine. 

"Behold your son!" I said. 

Ah, the joy which I had brought to that humble household! It warms myheart still when I think of it. It did not seem too strange to themthat I should fly in through the window, for who should be a hot-headedsuitor if it is not a gallant Hussar? And if the door be locked, thenwhat way is there but the window? Once more we assembled all four inthe parlour, while the cobwebbed bottle was brought up and the ancientglories of the House of Ravon were unrolled before me. Once more I seethe heavy-raftered room, the two old smiling faces, the golden circleof the lamp-light, and she, my Marie, the bride of my youth, won sostrangely, and kept for so short a time. 

It was late when we parted. The old man came with me into the hall. 

"You can go by the front door or the back, " said he. "The back way isthe shorter. "

"I think that I will take the front way, " I answered. "It may be a bitlonger, but it will give me the more time to think of Marie. "

THE LORD OF FALCONBRIDGE

A LEGEND OF THE RING

Tom Cribb, Champion of England, having finished his active career by histwo famous battles with the terrible Molineux, had settled down into thepublic house which was known as the Union Arms, at the corner of PantonStreet in the Haymarket. Behind the bar of this hostelry there was agreen baize door which opened into a large, red-papered parlour, adornedby many sporting prints and by the numerous cups and belts which werethe treasured trophies of the famous prize-fighter's victorious career. In this snuggery it was the custom of the Corinthians of the day toassemble in order to discuss, over Tom Cribb's excellent wines, thematches of the past, to await the news of the present, and to arrangenew ones for the future. Hither also came his brother pugilists, especially such as were in poverty or distress, for the Champion'sgenerosity was proverbial, and no man of his own trade was ever turnedfrom his door if cheering words or a full meal could mend his condition. 

On the morning in question--August 25, 1818--there were but two men inthis famous snuggery. One was Cribb himself--all run to flesh since thetime seven years before, when, training for his last fight, he had donehis forty miles a day with Captain Barclay over the Highland roads. Broad and deep, as well as tall, he was a little short of twenty stonein weight, but his heavy, strong face and lion eyes showed that thespirit of the prize-fighter was not yet altogether overgrown by the fatof the publican. Though it was not eleven o'clock, a great tankard ofbitter ale stood upon the table before him, and he was busy cutting upa plug of black tobacco and rubbing the slices into powder between hishorny fingers. For all his record of desperate battles, he looked whathe was--a good-hearted, respectable householder, law-abiding and kindly, a happy and prosperous man. 

His companion, however, was by no means in the same easy circumstances, and his countenance wore a very different expression. He was a talland well-formed man, some fifteen years younger than the Champion, andrecalling in the masterful pose of his face and in the fine spread ofhis shoulders something of the manly beauty which had distinguishedCribb at his prime. No one looking at his countenance could fail to seethat he was a fighting man by profession, and any judge of the fancy, considering his six feet in height, his thirteen stone solid muscle, and his beautifully graceful build, would admit that he had started hiscareer with advantages which, if they were only backed by the drivingpower of a stout heart, must carry him far. Tom Winter, or Spring--ashe chose to call himself--had indeed come up from his Herefordshire homewith a fine country record of local successes, which had been enhancedby two victories gained over formidable London heavy-weights. Threeweeks before, however, he had been defeated by the famous Painter, andthe set-back weighed heavily upon the young man's spirit. 

"Cheer up, lad, " said the Champion, glancing across from under histufted eyebrows at the disconsolate face of his companion. "Indeed, Tom, you take it overhard. "

The young man groaned, but made no reply. "Others have been beat beforeyou and lived to be Champions of England. Here I sit with that verytitle. Was I not beat down Broadwater way by George Nicholls in 1805?What then? I fought on, and here I am. When the big Black came fromAmerica it was not George Nicholls they sent for. I say to you--fighton, and by George, I'll see you in my own shoes yet!"

Tom Spring shook his head. "Never, if I have to fight you to get there, Daddy. "

"I can't keep it for ever, Tom. It's beyond all reason. I'm going to layit down before all London at the Fives Courts next year, and it's to youthat I want to hand it. I couldn't train down to it now, lad. My day'sdone. "

"Well, Dad, I'll never bid for it till you choose to stand aside. Afterthat, it is as it may be. "

"Well, have a rest, Tom; wait for your chance, and, meantime, there'salways a bed and crust for you here. "

Spring struck his clenched fist on his knee. "I know, Daddy! Ever sinceI came up from Fownthorpe you've been as good as a father to me. "

"I've an eye for a winner. "

"A pretty winner! Beat in forty rounds by Ned Painter. "

"You had beat him first. "

"And by the Lord, I will again!"

"So you will, lad. George Nicholls would never give me another shy. Knewtoo much, he did. Bought a butcher's shop in Bristol with the money, andthere he is to this day. "

"Yes, I'll come back on Painter, but I haven't a shilling left. Mybackers have lost faith in me. If it wasn't for you, Daddy, I'd be inthe kennel. "

"Have you nothing left, Tom?"

"Not the price of a meal. I left every penny I had, and my good name aswell, in the ring at Kingston. I'm hard put to it to live unless I canget another fight, and who's going to back me now?"

"Tut, man! the knowing ones will back you. You're the top of the list, for all Ned Painter. But there are other ways a man may earn a bit. There was a lady in here this morning--nothing flash, boy, a realtip-top out-and-outer with a coronet on her coach--asking after you. "

"Asking after me! A lady!" The young pugilist stood up with surprise anda certain horror rising in his eyes. "You don't mean, Daddy--"

"I mean nothing but what is honest, my lad. You can lay to that!"

"You said I could earn a bit. "

"So, perhaps, you can. Enough, anyhow, to tide you over your bad time. There's something in the wind there. It's to do with fightin'. She askedquestions about your height, weight, and my opinion of your prospect. You can lay that my answers did you no harm. "

"She ain't making a match, surely?"

"Well, she seemed to know a tidy bit about it. She asked about GeorgeCooper, and Richmond the Black, and Tom Oliver, always comin' back toyou, and wantin' to know if you were not the pick of the bunch. _And_trustworthy. That was the other point. Could she trust you? Lord, Tom, if you was a fightin' archangel you could hardly live up to thecharacter that I've given you. "

A drawer looked in from the bar. "If you please, Mr. Cribb, the lady'scarriage is back again. "

The Champion laid down his long clay pipe. "This way, lad, " said he, plucking his young friend by the sleeve towards the side window. "Lookthere, now! Saw you ever a more slap-up carriage? See, too, the pair ofbays--two hundred guineas apiece. Coachman, too, and footman--you'd find'em hard to beat. There she is now, stepping out of it. Wait here, lad, till I do the honours of my house. "

Tom Cribb slipped off, and young Spring remained by the window, tappingthe glass nervously with his fingers, for he was a simple-minded countrylad with no knowledge of women, and many fears of the traps which awaitthe unwary in a great city. Many stories were afloat of pugilists whohad been taken up and cast aside again by wealthy ladies, even as thegladiators were in decadent Rome. It was with some suspicion therefore, and considerable inward trepidation, that he faced round as a tallveiled figure swept into the room. He was much consoled, however, toobserve the bulky form of Tom Cribb immediately behind her as a proofthat the interview was not to be a private one. When the door wasclosed, the lady very deliberately removed her gloves. Then with fingerswhich glittered with diamonds she slowly rolled up and adjusted herheavy veil. Finally, she turned her face upon Spring. 

"Is this the man?" said she. 

They stood looking at each other with mutual interest, which warmedin both their faces into mutual admiration. What she saw was as fine afigure of a young man as England could show, none the less attractivefor the restrained shyness of his manner and the blush which flushed hischeeks. What he saw was a woman of thirty, tall, dark, queen-like, andimperious, with a lovely face, every line and feature of which told ofpride and breed, a woman born to Courts, with the instinct of commandstrong within her, and yet with all the softer woman's graces to temperand conceal the firmness of her soul. Tom Spring felt as he looked ather that he had never seen nor ever dreamed of any one so beautiful, andyet he could not shake off the instinct which warned him to be upon hisguard. Yes, it was beautiful, this face--beautiful beyond belief. But was it good, was it kind, was it true? There was some strangesubconscious repulsion which mingled with his admiration for herloveliness. As to the lady's thoughts, she had already put away all ideaof the young pugilist as a man, and regarded him now with critical eyesas a machine designed for a definite purpose. 

"I am glad to meet you, Mr. --Mr. Spring, " said she, looking him overwith as much deliberation as a dealer who is purchasing a horse. "Heis hardly as tall as I was given to understand, Mr. Cribb. You said sixfeet, I believe?"

"So he is, ma'am, but he carries it so easy. It's only the beanstalkthat looks tall. See here, I'm six foot myself, and our heads are level, except I've lost my fluff. "

"What is the chest measurement?"

"Forty-three inches, ma'am. "

"You certainly seem to be a very strong young man. And a game one, too, I hope?"

Young Spring shrugged his shoulders. 

"It's not for me to say, ma'am. "

"I can speak for that, ma'am, " said Cribb. "You read the _SportingChronicle_ for three weeks ago, ma'am. You'll see how he stood up to NedPainter until his senses were beat out of him. I waited on him, ma'am, and I know. I could show you my waistcoat now--that would let you guesswhat punishment he can take. "

The lady waved aside the illustration. "But he was beat, " said she, coldly. "The man who beat him must be the better man. "

"Saving your presence, ma'am, I think not, and outside Gentleman Jacksonmy judgment would stand against any in the ring. My lad here has beatPainter once, and will again, if your ladyship could see your way tofind the battle-money. "

The lady started and looked angrily at the Champion. 

"Why do you call me that?"

"I beg pardon. It was just my way of speaking. "

"I order you not to do it again. "

"Very good, ma'am. "

"I am here incognito. I bind you both upon your honours to make noinquiry as to who I am. If I do not get your firm promise, the matterends here. "

"Very good, ma'am. I'll promise for my own part, and so, I am sure, will Spring. But if I may be so bold, I can't help my drawers and potmentalking with your servants. "

"The coachman and footman know just as much about me as you do. But mytime is limited, so I must get to business. I think, Mr. Spring, thatyou are in want of something to do at present?"

"That is so, ma'am. "

"I understand from Mr. Cribb that you are prepared to fight any one atany weight?"

"Anything on two legs, " cried the Champion. "Who did you wish me tofight?" asked the young pugilist. 

"That cannot concern you. If you are really ready to fight any one, then the particular name can be of no importance. I have my reasons forwithholding it. "

"Very good, ma'am. "

"You have been only a few weeks out of training. How long would it takeyou to get back to your best?"

"Three weeks or a month. "

"Well, then, I will pay your training expenses and two pounds a weekover. Here are five pounds as a guarantee. You will fight when Iconsider that you are ready, and that the circumstances are favourable. If you win your fight, you shall have fifty pounds. Are you satisfiedwith the terms?"

"Very handsome, ma'am, I'm sure. "

"And remember, Mr. Spring, I choose you, not because you are the bestman--for there are two opinions about that--but because I am given tounderstand that you are a decent man whom I can trust. The terms of thismatch are to be secret. "

"I understand that. I'll say nothing. "

"It is a private match. Nothing more. You will begin your trainingtomorrow. "

"Very good, ma'am. "

"I will ask Mr. Cribb to train you. "

"I'll do that, ma'am, with pleasure. But, by your leave, does he haveanything if he loses?"

A spasm of emotion passed over the woman's face and her hands clenchedwhite with passion. 

"If he loses, not a penny, not a penny!" she cried. "He must not, shallnot lose!"

"Well, ma'am, " said Spring, "I've never heard of any such match. Butit's true that I am down at heel, and beggars can't be choosers. I'lldo just what you say. I'll train till you give the word, and then I'llfight where you tell me. I hope you'll make it a large ring. "

"Yes, " said she; "it will be a large ring. "

"And how far from London?"

"Within a hundred miles. Have you anything else to say? My time is up. "

"I'd like to ask, ma'am, " said the Champion, earnestly, "whether I canact as the lad's second when the time comes. I've waited on him the lasttwo fights. Can I give him a knee?"

"No, " said the woman, sharply. Without another word she turned andwas gone, shutting the door behind her. A few moments later the trimcarriage flashed past the window, turned down the crowded Haymarket, andwas engulfed in the traffic. 

The two men looked at each other in silence. 

"Well, blow my dicky, if this don't beat cockfightin'!" cried Tom Cribbat last. "Anyhow, there's the fiver, lad. But it's a rum go, and nomistake about it. "

After due consultation, it was agreed that Tom Spring should go intotraining at the Castle Inn on Hampstead Heath, so that Cribb could driveover and watch him. Thither Spring went on the day after the interviewwith his patroness, and he set to work at once with drugs, dumb-bells, and breathers on the common to get himself into condition. It was hard, however, to take the matter seriously, and his good-natured trainerfound the same difficulty. 

"It's the baccy I miss, Daddy, " said the young pugilist, as they sattogether on the afternoon of the third day. "Surely there can't be anyharm in my havin' a pipe?"

"Well, well, lad, it's against my conscience, but here's my box andthere's a yard o' clay, " said the Champion. "My word, I don't know whatCaptain Barclay of Ury would have said if he had seen a man smoke whenhe was in trainin'! He was the man to work you! He had me down fromsixteen to thirteen the second time I fought the Black. "

Spring had lit his pipe and was leaning back amid a haze of blue smoke. 

"It was easy for you, Daddy, to keep strict trainin' when you knew whatwas before you. You had your date and your place and your man. You knewthat in a month you would jump the ropes with ten thousand folk roundyou, and carrying maybe a hundred thousand in bets. You knew also theman you had to meet, and you wouldn't give him the better of you. Butit's all different with me. For all I know, this is just a woman's whim, and will end in nothing. If I was sure it was serious, I'd break thispipe before I would smoke it. "

Tom Cribb scratched his head in puzzlement. 

"I can make nothing of it, lad, 'cept that her money is good. Come tothink of it, how many men on the list could stand up to you for half anhour? It can't be Stringer, 'cause you've beat him. Then there's Cooper;but he's up Newcastle way. It can't be him. There's Richmond; but youwouldn't need to take your coat off to beat him. There's the Gasman; buthe's not twelve stone. And there's Bill Neat of Bristol. That's it, lad. The lady has taken into her head to put you up against either the Gasmanor Bill Neat. "

"But why not say so? I'd train hard for the Gasman and harder for BillNeat, but I'm blowed if I can train, with any heart when I'm fightin'nobody in particular and everybody in general, same as now. "

There was a sudden interruption to the speculations of the twoprize-fighters. The door opened and the lady entered. As her eyes fellupon the two men her dark, handsome face flushed with anger, and shegazed at them silently with an expression of contempt which brought themboth to their feet with hangdog faces. There they stood, their long, reeking pipes in their hands, shuffling and downcast, like two greatrough mastiffs before an angry mistress. 

"So!" said she, stamping her foot furiously. "And this is training!"

"I'm sure we're very sorry, ma'am, " said the abashed Champion. "I didn'tthink--I never for one moment supposed--"

"That I would come myself to see if you were taking my money on falsepretences? No, I dare say not. You fool!" she blazed, turning suddenlyupon Tom Spring. "You'll be beat. That will be the end of it. "

The young man looked up with an angry face. 

"I'll trouble you not to call me names, ma'am. I've my self-respect, the same as you. I'll allow that I shouldn't have smoked when I was intrainin'. But I was saying to Tom Cribb here, just before you came in, that if you would give over treatin' us as if we were children, and ifyou would tell us just who it is you want me to fight, and when, andwhere, it would be a deal easier for me to take myself in hand. "

"It's true, ma'am, " said the Champion. "I know it must be either theGasman or Bill Neat. There's no one else. So give me the office, andI'll promise to have him as fit as a trout on the day. "

The lady laughed contemptuously. 

"Do you think, " said she, "that no one can fight save those who make aliving by it?"

"By George, it's an amateur!" cried Cribb, in amazement. "But you don'tsurely ask Tom Spring to train for three weeks to meet a Corinthian?"

"I will say nothing more of who it is. It is no business of yours, " thelady answered fiercely. "All I _do_ say is, that if you do not trainI will cast you aside and take some one who will. Do not think you canfool me because I am a woman. I have learned the points of the game aswell as any man. "

"I saw that the very first word you spoke, " said Cribb. 

"Then don't forget it. I will not warn you again. If I have occasion tofind fault I shall choose another man. "

"And you won't tell me who I am to fight?"

"Not a word. But you can take it from me that at your very best it willtake you, or any man in England, all your time to master him. Now, getback this instant to your work, and never let me find you shirking itagain. " With imperious eyes she looked the two strong men down, andthen, turning on her heel, she swept out of the room. 

The Champion whistled as the door closed behind her, and mopped his browwith his red bandanna handkerchief as he looked across at his abashedcompanion. "My word, lad, " said he, "it's earnest from this day on. "

"Yes, " said Tom Spring, solemnly, "it's earnest from this day on. "

In the course of the next fortnight the lady made several surprisevisits to see that her champion was being properly prepared for thecontest which lay before him. At the most unexpected moments she wouldburst into the training quarters, but never again had she to complain ofany slackness upon his part or that of his trainer. With long boutsof the gloves, with thirty-mile walks, with mile runs at the back ofa mailcart with a bit of blood between the shafts, with interminableseries of jumps with a skipping-rope, he was sweated down until histrainer was able to proudly proclaim that "the last ounce of tallow isoff him and he is ready to fight for his life. " Only once was thelady accompanied by any one upon these visits of inspection. Upon thisoccasion a tall young man was her companion. He was graceful in figure, aristocratic in his bearing, and would have been strikingly handsome hadit not been for some accident which had shattered his nose and brokenall the symmetry of his features. He stood in silence with moody eyesand folded arms, looking at the splendid torso of the prize-fighter as, stripped to the waist, he worked with his dumbbells. 

"Don't you think he will do?" said the lady. 

The young swell shrugged his shoulders. "I don't like it, _cara mia_. Ican't pretend that I like it. "

"You must like it, George. I have set my very heart on it. "

"It is not English, you know. Lucrezia Borgia and Mediaeval Italy. Woman's love and woman's hatred are always the same, but this particularmanifestation of it seems to me out of place in nineteenth-centuryLondon. "

"Is not a lesson needed?"

"Yes, yes; but one would think there were other ways. "

"You tried another way. What did you get out of that?"

The young man smiled rather grimly, as he turned up his cuff and lookedat a puckered hole in his wrist. 

"Not much, certainly, " said he. 

"You've tried and failed. "

"Yes, I must admit it. "

"What else is there? The law?"

"Good gracious, no!"

"Then it is my turn, George, and I won't be balked. "

"I don't think any one is capable of balking you, _cara mia_. CertainlyI, for one, should never dream of trying. But I don't feel as if I couldco-operate. "

"I never asked you to. "

"No, you certainly never did. You are perfectly capable of doing italone. I think, with your leave, if you have quite done with yourprize-fighter, we will drive back to London. I would not for the worldmiss Goldoni in the Opera. "

So they drifted away; he, frivolous and dilettante, she with her face asset as Fate, leaving the fighting men to their business. 

And now the day came when Cribb was able to announce to his employerthat his man was as fit as science could make him. 

"I can do no more, ma'am. He's fit to fight for a kingdom. Another weekwould see him stale. "

The lady looked Spring over with the eye of a connoisseur. 

"I think he does you credit, " she said at last. "Today is Tuesday. Hewill fight the day after tomorrow. "

"Very good, ma'am. Where shall he go?"

"I will tell you exactly, and you will please take careful note of allthat I say. You, Mr. Cribb, will take your man down to the Golden CrossInn at Charing Cross by nine o'clock on Wednesday morning. He will takethe Brighton coach as far as Tunbridge Wells, where he will alight atthe Royal Oak Arms. There he will take such refreshment as you advisebefore a fight. He will wait at the Royal Oak Arms until he receivesa message by word, or by letter, brought him by a groom in a mulberrylivery. This message will give him his final instructions. "

"And I am not to come?"

"No, " said the lady. 

"But surely, ma'am, " he pleaded, "I may come as far as Tunbridge Wells?It's hard on a man to train a cove for a fight and then to leave him. "

"It can't be helped. You are too well known. Your arrival would spreadall over the town, and my plans might suffer. It is quite out of thequestion that you should come. "

"Well, I'll do what you tell me, but it's main hard. "

"I suppose, " said Spring, "you would have me bring my fightin' shortsand my spiked shoes?"

"No; you will kindly bring nothing whatever which may point to yourtrade. I would have you wear just those clothes in which I saw youfirst, such clothes as any mechanic or artisan might be expected towear. "

Tom Cribb's blank face had assumed an expression of absolute despair. 

"No second, no clothes, no shoes--it don't seem regular. I give you myword, ma'am, I feel ashamed to be mixed up in such a fight. I don't knowas you can call the thing a fight where there is no second. It's justa scramble--nothing more. I've gone too far to wash my hands of it now, but I wish I had never touched it. "

In spite of all professional misgivings on the part of the Champion andhis pupil, the imperious will of the woman prevailed, and everythingwas carried out exactly as she had directed. At nine o'clock Tom Springfound himself upon the box-seat of the Brighton coach, and waved hishand in goodbye to burly Tom Cribb, who stood, the admired of a ring ofwaiters and ostlers, upon the doorstep of the Golden Cross. It was inthe pleasant season when summer is mellowing into autumn, and thefirst golden patches are seen amid the beeches and the ferns. The youngcountry-bred lad breathed more freely when he had left the weary streetsof Southwark and Lewisham behind him, and he watched with delight theglorious prospect as the coach, whirled along by six dapple greys, passed by the classic grounds of Knowle, or after crossing RiversideHill skirted the vast expanse of the Weald of Kent. Past TonbridgeSchool went the coach, and on through Southborough, until it wound downa steep, curving road with strange outcrops of sandstone beside it, andhalted before a great hostelry, bearing the name which had been givenhim in his directions. He descended, entered the coffee-room, andordered the underdone steak which his trainer had recommended. Hardlyhad he finished it when a servant with a mulberry coat and a peculiarlyexpressionless face entered the apartment. 

"Beg your pardon, sir, are you Mr. Spring--Mr. Thomas Spring, ofLondon?"

"That is my name, young man. "

"Then the instructions which I had to give you are that you wait for onehour after your meal. After that time you will find me in a phaeton atthe door, and I will drive you in the right direction. "

The young pugilist had never been daunted by any experience which hadbefallen him in the ring. The rough encouragement of his backers, thesurge and shouting of the multitude, and the sight of his opponent hadalways cheered his stout heart and excited him to prove himself worthyof being the centre of such a scene. But his loneliness and uncertaintywere deadly. He flung himself down on the horse-hair couch and tried todoze, but his mind was too restless and excited. Finally he rose, andpaced up and down the empty room. Suddenly he was aware of a greatrubicund face which surveyed him from round the angle of the door. Itsowner, seeing that he was observed, pushed forward into the room. 

"I beg pardon, sir, " said he, "but surely I have the honour of talkingto Mr. Thomas Spring?"

"At your service, " said the young man. 

"Bless me! I am vastly honoured to have you under my roof! Cordery ismy name, sir, landlord of this old-fashioned inn. I thought that my eyescould not deceive me. I am a patron of the ring, sir, in my own humbleway, and was present at Moulsey in September last, when you beat JackStringer of Rawcliffe. A very fine fight, sir, and very handsomelyfought, if I may make bold to say so. I have a right to an opinion, sir, for there's never been a fight for many a year in Kent or Sussex thatyou wouldn't find Joe Cordery at the ring-side. Ask Mr. Gregson at theChop-house in Holborn and he'll tell you about old Joe Cordery. By theway, Mr. Spring, I suppose it is not business that has brought you downinto these parts? Any one can see with half an eye that you are trainedto a hair. I'd take it very kindly if you would give me the office. "

It crossed Spring's mind that if he were frank with the landlord it wasmore than likely that he would receive more information than he couldgive. He was a man of his word, however, and he remembered his promiseto his employer. 

"Just a quiet day in the country, Mr. Cordery. That's all. "

"Dear me! I had hoped there was a mill in the wind. I've a nose forthese things, Mr. Spring, and I thought I had a whiff of it. But, ofcourse, you should know best. Perhaps you will drive round with me thisafternoon and view the hop-gardens--just the right time of year, sir. "

Tom Spring was not very skilful in deception, and his stammering excusesmay not have been very convincing to the landlord, or finally persuadedhim that his original supposition was wrong. In the midst of theconversation, however, the waiter entered with the news that a phaetonwas waiting at the door. The innkeeper's eyes shone with suspicion andeagerness. 

"I thought you said you knew no one in these parts, Mr. Spring?"

"Just one kind friend, Mr. Cordery, and he has sent his gig for me. It'slikely that I will take the night coach to town. But I'll look in afteran hour or two and have a dish of tea with you. "

Outside the mulberry servant was sitting behind a fine black horse ina phaeton, which had two seats in front and two behind. Tom Springwas about to climb up beside him, when the servant whispered that hisdirections were that he should sit behind. Then the phaeton whirledaway, while the excited landlord, more convinced than ever that therewas something in the wind, rushed into his stable-yard with shrieks tohis ostlers, and in a very few minutes was in hot pursuit, waiting atevery cross-road until he could hear tidings of a black horse and amulberry livery. 

The phaeton meanwhile drove in the direction of Crowborough. Some milesout it turned from the high-road into a narrow lane spanned by a tawnyarch of beech trees. Through this golden tunnel a lady was walking, talland graceful, her back to the phaeton. As it came abreast of her shestood aside and looked up, while the coachman pulled up the horse. 

"I trust that you are at your best, " said she, looking very earnestly atthe prize-fighter. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty tidy, ma'am, I thank you. "

"I will get up beside you, Johnson. We have some way to go. You willdrive through the Lower Warren, and then take the lane which skirts theGravel Hanger. I will tell you where to stop. Go slowly, for we are notdue for twenty minutes. "

Feeling as if the whole business was some extraordinary dream, the youngpugilist passed through a network of secluded lanes, until the phaetondrew up at a wicket gate which led into a plantation of firs, chokedwith a thick undergrowth. Here the lady descended and beckoned Spring toalight. 

"Wait down the lane, " said she to the coachman. "We shall be some littletime. Now, Mr. Spring, will you kindly follow me? I have written aletter which makes an appointment. "

She passed swiftly through the plantation by a tortuous path, thenover a stile, and past another wood, loud with the deep chuckling ofpheasants. At the farther side was a fine rolling park, studded withoak trees, and stretching away to a splendid Elizabethan mansion, withbalustraded terraces athwart its front. Across the park, and making forthe wood, a solitary figure was walking. 

The lady gripped the prize-fighter by the wrist. "That is your man, "said she. 

They were standing under the shadow of the trees, so that he was veryvisible to them, while they were out of his sight. Tom Spring lookedhard at the man, who was still some hundreds of yards away. He was atall, powerful fellow, clad in a blue coat with gilt buttons, whichgleamed in the sun. He had white corded breeches and riding-boots. Hewalked with a vigorous step, and with every few strides he struckhis leg with a dog-whip which hung from his wrist. There was a greatsuggestion of purpose and of energy in the man's appearance and bearing. 

"Why, he's a gentleman!" said Spring. "Look 'ere, ma'am, this is all abit out of my line. I've nothing against the man, and he can mean me noharm. What am I to do with him?"

"Fight him! Smash him! That is what you are here for. "

Tom Spring turned on his heel with disgust. "I'm here to fight, ma'am, but not to smash a man who has no thought of fighting. It's off. "

"You don't like the look of him, " hissed the woman. "You have met yourmaster. "

"That is as may be. It is no job for me. "

The woman's face was white with vexation and anger. 

"You fool!" she cried. "Is all to go wrong at the last minute? There arefifty pounds here they are in this paper--would you refuse them?"

"It's a cowardly business. I won't do it. "

"Cowardly? You are giving the man two stone, and he can beat any amateurin England. "

The young pugilist felt relieved. After all, if he could fairly earnthat fifty pounds, a good deal depended upon his winning it. If he couldonly be sure that this was a worthy and willing antagonist!

"How do you know he is so good?" he asked. 

"I ought to know. I am his wife. "

As she spoke she turned, and was gone like a flash among the bushes. Theman was quite close now, and Tom Spring's scruples weakened as he lookedat him. He was a powerful, broad-chested fellow, about thirty, with aheavy, brutal face, great thatched eyebrows, and a hard-set mouth. Hecould not be less than fifteen stone in weight, and he carried himselflike a trained athlete. As he swung along he suddenly caught a glimpseof Spring among the trees, and he at once quickened his pace and sprangover the stile which separated them. 

"Halloa!" said he, halting a few yards from him, and staring him up anddown. "Who the devil are you, and where the devil did you come from, andwhat the devil are you doing on my property?"

His manner was even more offensive than his words. It brought a flush ofanger to Spring's cheeks. 

"See here, mister, " said he, "civil words is cheap. You've no call tospeak to me like that. "

"You infernal rascal!" cried the other. "I'll show you the way out ofthat plantation with the toe of my boot. Do you dare to stand there onmy land and talk back at me?" He advanced with a menacing face and hisdog-whip half raised. "Well, are you going?" he cried, as he swung itinto the air. 

Tom Spring jumped back to avoid the threatened blow. 

"Go slow, mister, " said he. "It's only fair that you should know whereyou are. I'm Spring, the prize-fighter. Maybe you have heard my name. "

"I thought you were a rascal of that breed, " said the man. "I've had thehandling of one or two of you gentry before, and I never found one thatcould stand up to me for five minutes. Maybe you would like to try?"

"If you hit me with that dog-whip, mister----"

"There, then!" He gave the young man a vicious cut across the shoulder. "Will that help you to fight?"

"I came here to fight, " said Tom Spring, licking his dry lips. "You candrop that whip, mister, for I _will_ fight. I'm a trained man and ready. But you would have it. Don't blame me. "

The man was stripping the blue coat from his broad shoulders. Therewas a sprigged satin vest beneath it, and they were hung together on analder branch. 

"Trained are you?" he muttered. "By the Lord, I'll train you before I amthrough!"

Any fears that Tom Spring may have had lest he should be taking someunfair advantage were set at rest by the man's assured manner and by thesplendid physique, which became more apparent as he discarded a blacksatin tie, with a great ruby glowing in its centre, and threw asidethe white collar which cramped his thick muscular neck. He then, verydeliberately, undid a pair of gold sleeve-links, and, rolling up hisshirt-sleeves, disclosed two hairy and muscular arms, which would haveserved as a model for a sculptor. 

"Come nearer the stile, " said he, when he had finished. "There is moreroom. "

The prize-fighter had kept pace with the preparations of his formidableantagonist. His own hat, coat, and vest hung suspended upon a bush. Headvanced now into the open space which the other had indicated. 

"Ruffianing or fighting?" asked the amateur, coolly. 

"Fighting. "

"Very good, " said the other. "Put up your hands, Spring. Try it out. "

They were standing facing one another in a grassy ring intersected bythe path at the outlet of the wood. The insolent and overbearing lookhad passed away from the amateur's face, but a grim half-smile was onhis lips and his eyes shone fiercely from under his tufted brows. Fromthe way in which he stood it was very clear that he was a past-master atthe game. Tom Spring, as he paced lightly to right and left, looking foran opening, became suddenly aware that neither with Stringer nor withthe redoubtable Painter himself had he ever faced a more business-likeopponent. The amateur's left was well forward, his guard low, his bodyleaning back from the haunches, and his head well out of danger. Springtried a light lead at the mark, and another at the face, but in aninstant his adversary was on to him with a shower of sledge-hammer blowswhich it took him all his time to avoid. He sprang back, but there wasno getting away from that whirlwind of muscle and bone. A heavy blowbeat down his guard, a second landed on his shoulder, and over went theprize-fighter with the other on the top of him. Both sprang to theirfeet, glared at each other, and fell into position once more. 

There could be no doubt that the amateur was not only heavier, but alsothe harder and stronger man. Twice again he rushed Spring down, once bythe weight of his blows, and once by closing and hurling him on to hisback. Such falls might have shaken the fight out of a less game man, butto Tom Spring they were but incidents in his daily trade. Though bruisedand winded he was always up again in an instant. Blood was tricklingfrom his mouth, but his steadfast blue eyes told of the unshaken spiritwithin. 

He was accustomed now to his opponent's rushing tactics, and he wasready for them. The fourth round was the same as to attack, but it wasvery different in defence. Up to now the young man had given way andbeen fought down. This time he stood his ground. As his opponentrushed in he met him with a tremendous straight hit from his left hand, delivered with the full force of his body, and doubled in effect by themomentum of the charge. So stunning was the concussion that the pugilisthimself recoiled from it across the grassy ring. The amateur staggeredback and leaned his shoulder on a tree-trunk, his hand up to his face. 

"You'd best drop it, " said Spring. "You'll get pepper if you don't. "

The other gave an inarticulate curse, and spat out a mouthful of blood. 

"Come on!" said he. 

Even now the pugilist found that he had no light task before him. Warnedby his misadventure, the heavier man no longer tried to win the battleat a rush, nor to beat down an accomplished boxer as he would a countryhawbuck at a village fair. He fought with his head and his feet as wellas with his hands. Spring had to admit in his heart that, trained tothe ring, this man must have been a match for the best. His guard wasstrong, his counter was like lightning, he took punishment like a manof iron, and when he could safely close he always brought his lighterantagonist to the ground with a shattering fall. But the one stunningblow which he had courted before he was taught respect for his adversaryweighed heavily on him all the time. His senses had lost something oftheir quickness and his blows of their sting. He was fighting, too, against a man who, of all the boxers who have made their names great, was the safest, the coolest, the least likely to give anything away, orlose an advantage gained. Slowly, gradually, round by round, he was worndown by his cool, quick-stepping, sharp-hitting antagonist. At last hestood exhausted, breathing hoarsely, his face, what could be seen of it, purple with his exertions. He had reached the limit of human endurance. His opponent stood waiting for him, bruised and beaten, but as cool, asready, as dangerous as ever. 

"You'd best drop it, I tell you, " said he. "You're done. "

But the other's manhood would not have it so. With a snarl of fury hecast his science to the winds, and rushed madly to slogging with bothhands. For a moment Spring was overborne. Then he side-stepped swiftly;there was the crash of his blow, and the amateur tossed up his arms andfell all asprawl, his great limbs outstretched, his disfigured face tothe sky. 

For a moment Tom Spring stood looking down at his unconscious opponent. The next he felt a soft, warm hand upon his bare arm. The woman was athis elbow. 

"Now is your time!" she cried, her dark eyes aflame. "Go in! Smash him!"

Spring shook her off with a cry of disgust, but she was back in aninstant. 

"I'll make it seventy-five pounds--"

"The fight's over, ma'am. I can't touch him. "

"A hundred pounds--a clear hundred! I have it here in my bodice. Wouldyou refuse a hundred?"

He turned on his heel. She darted past him and tried to kick at the faceof the prostrate man. Spring dragged her roughly away, before she coulddo him a mischief. 

"Stand clear!" he cried, giving her a shake. "You should take shame tohit a fallen man. "

With a groan the injured man turned on his side. Then he slowly satup and passed his wet hand over his face. Finally, he staggered to hisfeet. 

"Well, " he said, shrugging his broad shoulders, "it was a fair fight. I've no complaint to make. I was Jackson's favourite pupil, but I giveyou best. " Suddenly his eyes lit upon the furious face of the woman. "Hulloa, Betty!" he cried. "So I have you to thank. I might have guessedit when I had your letter. "

"Yes, my lord, " said she, with a mock curtsey. "You have me to thank. Your little wife managed it all. I lay behind those bushes, and I sawyou beaten like a hound. You haven't had all that I had planned for you, but I think it will be some little time before any woman loves you forthe sake of your appearance. Do you remember the words, my lord? Do youremember the words?"

He stood stunned for a moment. Then he snatched his whip from theground, and looked at her from under his heavy brows. 

"I believe you're the devil!" he cried. 

"I wonder what the governess will think?" said she. 

He flared into furious rage and rushed at her with his whip. Tom Springthrew himself before him with his arms out. 

"It won't do, sir; I can't stand by. "

The man glared at his wife over the prize-fighter's shoulder. 

"So it's for dear George's sake!" he said, with a bitter laugh. "Butpoor, broken-nosed George seems to have gone to the wall. Taken up witha prize-fighter, eh? Found a fancy man for yourself!"

"You liar!" she gasped. 

"Ha, my lady, that stings your pride, does it? Well, you shall standtogether in the dock for trespass and assault. What a picture--greatLord, what a picture!"

"You wouldn't, John!"

"Wouldn't I, by--! you stay there three minutes and see if I wouldn't. "He seized his clothes from the bush, and staggered off as swiftly as hecould across the field, blowing a whistle as he ran. 

"Quick! quick!" cried the woman. "There's not an instant to lose. " Herface was livid, and she was shivering and panting with apprehension. "He'll raise the country. It would be awful--awful!"

She ran swiftly down the tortuous path, Spring following after her anddressing as he went. In a field to the right a gamekeeper, his gun inhis hand, was hurrying towards the whistling. Two labourers, loadinghay, had stopped their work and were looking about them, theirpitchforks in their hands. 

But the path was empty, and the phaeton awaited them, the horse croppingthe grass by the lane-side, the driver half asleep on his perch. Thewoman sprang swiftly in and motioned Spring to stand by the wheel. 

"There is your fifty pounds, " she said, handing him a paper. "You werea fool not to turn it into a hundred when you had the chance. I've donewith you now. "

"But where am I to go?" asked the prize-fighter, gazing around him atthe winding lanes. 

"To the devil!" said she. "Drive on, Johnson!"

The phaeton whirled down the road and vanished round a curve. Tom Springwas alone. 

Everywhere over the countryside he heard shoutings and whistlings. Itwas clear that so long as she escaped the indignity of sharing his fatehis employer was perfectly indifferent as to whether he got into troubleor not. Tom Spring began to feel indifferent himself. He was wearyto death, his head was aching from the blows and falls which he hadreceived, and his feelings were raw from the treatment which he hadundergone. He walked slowly some few yards down the lane, but had noidea which way to turn to reach Tunbridge Wells. In the distance heheard the baying of dogs, and he guessed that they were being set uponhis track. In that case he could not hope to escape them, and might justas well await them where he was. He picked out a heavy stake from thehedge, and he sat down moodily waiting, in a very dangerous temper, forwhat might befall him. 

But it was a friend and not a foe who came first into sight. Round thecorner of the lane flew a small dog-cart, with a fast-trotting chestnutcob between the shafts. In it was seated the rubicund landlord of theRoyal Oak, his whip going, his face continually flying round to glancebehind him. 

"Jump in, Mr. Spring jump in!" he cried, as he reined up. "They're allcoming, dogs and men! Come on! Now, hud up, Ginger!" Not another worddid he say until two miles of lanes had been left behind them at racingspeed and they were back in safety upon the Brighton road. Then he letthe reins hang loose on the pony's back, and he slapped Tom Spring withhis fat hand upon the shoulder. 

"Splendid!" he cried, his great red face shining with ecstasy. "Oh, Lord! but it was beautiful!"

"What!" cried Spring. "You saw the fight?"

"Every round of it! By George! to think that I should have lived to havehad such a fight all to myself! Oh, but it was grand, " he cried, in afrenzy of delight, "to see his lordship go down like a pithed ox andher ladyship clapping her hands behind the bush! I guessed there wassomething in the wind, and I followed you all the way. When you stopped, I tethered little Ginger in a grove, and I crept after you through thewood. It's as well I did, for the whole parish was up!"

But Tom Spring was sitting gazing at him in blank amazement. 

"His lordship!" he gasped. 

"No less, my boy. Lord Falconbridge, Chairman of the Bench, DeputyLieutenant of the County, Peer of the Realm--that's your man. "

"Good Lord!"

"And you didn't know? It's as well, for maybe you wouldn't have whackedit in as hard if you had; and, mind you, if you hadn't, he'd have beatyou. There's not a man in this county could stand up to him. He takesthe poachers and gipsies two and three at a time. He's the terror of theplace. But you did him--did him fair. Oh, man, it was fine!"

Tom Spring was too much dazed by what he heard to do more than sit andwonder. It was not until he had got back to the comforts of the inn, andafter a bath had partaken of a solid meal, that he sent for Mr. Corderythe landlord. To him he confided the whole train of events which had ledup to his remarkable experience, and he begged him to throw such lightas he could upon it. Cordery listened with keen interest and manychuckles to the story. Finally he left the room and returned with afrayed newspaper in his hand, which he smoothed out upon his knee. 

"It's the _Pantiles Gazette_, Mr. Spring, as gossiping a rag as ever wasprinted. I expect there will be a fine column in it if ever it gets itsprying nose into this day's doings. However, we are mum and her ladyshipis mum, and, my word! his lordship is mum, though he did, in hispassion, raise the hue and cry on you. Here it is, Mr. Spring, and I'llread it to you while you smoke your pipe. It's dated July of last year, and it goes like this--

"'FRACAS IN HIGH LIFE. --It is an open secret that the differences whichhave for some years been known to exist between Lord F---- and hisbeautiful wife have come to a head during the last few days. Hislordship's devotion to sport, and also, as it is whispered, someattentions which he has shown to a humbler member of his household, have, it is said, long alienated Lady F----'s affection. Of late shehas sought consolation and friendship with a gentleman whom we willdesignate as Sir George W----n. Sir George, who is a famous ladykiller, and as well-proportioned a man as any in England, took kindly to thetask of consoling the disconsolate fair. The upshot, however, wasvastly unfortunate, both for the lady's feelings and for the gentleman'sbeauty. The two friends were surprised in a rendezvous near the houseby Lord F---- himself at the head of a party of his servants. Lord F----then and there, in spite of the shrieks of the lady, availed himself ofhis strength and skill to administer such punishment to the unfortunateLothario as would, in his own parting words, prevent any woman fromloving him again for the sake of his appearance. Lady F---- has lefthis lordship and betaken herself to London, where, no doubt, she is nowengaged in nursing the damaged Apollo. It is confidently expected that aduel will result from the affair, but no particulars have reached us upto the hour of going to press. '"

The landlord laid down the paper. "You've been moving in high life, Mr. Thomas Spring, " said he. 

The pugilist passed his hand over his battered face. "Well, Mr. Cordery, " said he, "low life is good enough for me. "

OUT OF THE RUNNING

It was on the North Side of Butser on the long swell of the HampshireDowns. Beneath, some two miles away, the grey roofs and red houses ofPetersfield peeped out from amid the trees which surrounded it. Fromthe crest of the low hills downwards the country ran in low, sweepingcurves, as though some green primeval sea had congealed in the midstof a ground swell and set for ever into long verdant rollers. At thebottom, just where the slope borders upon the plain, there stood acomfortable square brick farmhouse, with a grey plume of smoke floatingup from the chimney. Two cowhouses, a cluster of hayricks, and a broadstretch of fields, yellow with the ripening wheat, formed a fittingsetting to the dwelling of a prosperous farmer. 

The green slopes were dotted every here and there with dark clumps ofgorse bushes, all alight with the flaming yellow blossoms. To the leftlay the broad Portsmouth Road curving over the hill, with a line ofgaunt telegraph posts marking its course. Beyond a huge white chasmopened in the grass, where the great Butser chalk quarry had been sunk. From its depths rose the distant murmur of voices, and the clinking ofhammers. Just above it, between two curves of green hill, might be seena little triangle of leaden-coloured sea, flecked with a single whitesail. 

Down the Portsmouth Road two women were walking, one elderly, florid andstout, with a yellow-brown Paisley shawl and a coarse serge dress, the other young and fair, with large grey eyes, and a face which wasfreckled like a plover's egg. Her neat white blouse with its trim blackbelt, and plain, close-cut skirt, gave her an air of refinement whichwas wanting in her companion, but there was sufficient resemblancebetween them to show that they were mother and daughter. The one wasgnarled and hardened and wrinkled by rough country work, the other freshand pliant from the benign influence of the Board School; but theirstep, their slope of the shoulders, and the movement of their hips asthey walked, all marked them as of one blood. 

"Mother, I can see father in the five-acre field, " cried the younger, pointing down in the direction of the farm. 

The older woman screwed up her eyes, and shaded them with her hand. 

"Who's that with him?" she asked. 

"There's Bill. "

"Oh, he's nobody. He's a-talkin' to some one. "

"I don't know, mother. It's some one in a straw hat. Adam Wilson of theQuarry wears a straw hat. "

"Aye, of course, it's Adam sure enough. Well, I'm glad we're back hometime enough to see him. He'd have been disappointed if he had come overand you'd been away. Drat this dust! It makes one not fit to be seen. "

The same idea seemed to have occurred to her daughter, for she had takenout her handkerchief, and was flicking her sleeves and the front of herdress. 

"That's right, Dolly. There's some on your flounces. But, Lor' blessyou, Dolly, it don't matter to him. It's not your dress he looks at, butyour face. Now I shouldn't be very surprised if he hadn't come over toask you from father. "

"I think he'd best begin by asking me from myself, " remarked the girl. 

"Ah, but you'll have him, Dolly, when he does. "

"I'm not so sure of that, mother. " The older woman threw up her hands. "There! I don't know what the gals are coming to. I don't indeed. It'sthe Board Schools as does it. When I was a gal, if a decent young mancame a-courtin', we gave him a 'Yes' or a 'No. ' We didn't keep himhanging on like a half-clipped sheep. Now, here are you with two of themat your beck, and you can't give an answer to either of them. "

"Why, mother, that's it, " cried the daughter, with something betweena laugh and a sob. "May be if they came one at a time I'd know what tosay. "

"What have you agin Adam Wilson?"

"Nothing. But I have nothing against Elias Mason. "

"Nor I, either. But I know which is the most proper-looking young man. "

"Looks isn't everything, mother. You should hear Elias Mason talk. Youshould hear him repeat poetry. "

"Well, then, have Elias. "

"Ah, but I haven't the heart to turn against Adam. "

"There, now! I never saw such a gal. You're like a calf betwixt twohayricks; you have a nibble at the one and a nibble at the other. There's not one in a hundred as lucky as you. Here's Adam with threepound ten a week, foreman already at the Chalk Works, and likely enoughto be manager if he's spared. And there's Elias, head telegraph clerk atthe Post Office, and earning good money too. You can't keep 'em both on. You've got to take one or t'other, and it's my belief you'll get neitherif you don't stop this shilly-shally. "

"I don't care. I don't want them. What do they want to come botheringfor?"

"It's human natur', gal. They must do it. If they didn't, you'd be thefirst to cry out maybe. It's in the Scriptures. 'Man is born for woman, as the sparks fly upwards. '" She looked up out of the corner of her eyesas if not very sure of her quotation. "Why, here be that dratted Bill. The good book says as we are all made of clay, but Bill does show itmore than any lad I ever saw. "

They had turned from the road into a narrow, deeply rutted lane, whichled towards the farm. A youth was running towards them, loose-jointedand long-limbed, with a boyish, lumbering haste, clumping fearlesslywith his great yellow clogs through pool and mire. He wore browncorduroys, a dingy shirt, and a red handkerchief tied loosely round hisneck. A tattered old straw hat was tilted back upon his shock of coarse, matted, brown hair. His sleeves were turned up to the elbows, and hisarms and face were both tanned and roughened until his skin looked likethe bark of some young sapling. As he looked up at the sound of thesteps, his face with its blue eyes, brown skin, and first slight downof a tawny moustache, was not an uncomely one, were it not marred by theheavy, stolid, somewhat sulky expression of the country yokel. 

"Please, mum, " said he, touching the brim of his wreck of a hat, "measter seed ye coming. He sent to say as 'ow 'e were in the five-acrelot. "

"Run back, Bill, and say that we are coming, " answered the farmer'swife, and the awkward figure sped away upon its return journey. 

"I say, mother, what is Bill's other name?" asked the girl, with languidcuriosity. 

"He's not got one. "

"No name?"

"No, Dolly, he's a found child, and never had no father or mother thatever was heard of. We had him from the work'us when he was seven, tochop mangel wurzel, and here he's been ever since, nigh twelve year. Hewas Bill there, and he's Bill here. "

"What fun! Fancy having only one name. I wonder what they'll call hiswife?"

"I don't know. Time to talk of that when he can keep one. But now, Dollydear, here's your father and Adam Wilson comin' across the field. I wantto see you settled, Dolly. He's a steady young man. He's blue ribbon, and has money in the Post Office. "

"I wish I knew which liked me best, " said her daughter glancing fromunder her hat-brim at the approaching figures. "That's the one I shouldlike. But it's all right, mother, and I know how to find out, so don'tyou fret yourself any more. "

The suitor was a well-grown young fellow in a grey suit, with a strawhat jauntily ribboned in red and black. He was smoking, but as heapproached he thrust his pipe into his breast-pocket, and came forwardwith one hand outstretched, and the other gripping nervously at hiswatch-chain. 

"Your servant, Mrs. Foster. And how are you, Miss Dolly? Anotherfortnight of this and you will be starting on your harvest, I suppose. "

"It's bad to say beforehand what you will do in this country, " saidFarmer Foster, with an apprehensive glance round the heavens. 

"It's all God's doing, " remarked his wife piously. 

"And He does the best for us, of course. Yet He does seem these lastseasons to have kind of lost His grip over the weather. Well, maybeit will be made up to us this year. And what did you do at Horndean, mother?"

The old couple walked in front, and the other dropped behind, the youngman lingering, and taking short steps to increase the distance. 

"I say, Dolly, " he murmured at last, flushing slightly as he glanced ather, "I've been speaking to your father about--you know what. "

But Dolly didn't know what. She hadn't the slightest idea of what. She turned her pretty little freckled face up to him and was full ofcuriosity upon the point. 

Adam Wilson's face flushed to a deeper red. "You know very well, " saidhe, impatiently, "I spoke to him about marriage. "

"Oh, then it's him you want. "

"There, that's the way you always go on. It's easy to make fun, but Itell you that I am in earnest, Dolly. Your father says that he wouldhave no objection to me in the family. You know that I love you true. "

"How do I know that then?"

"I tell you so. What more can I do?"

"Did you ever do anything to prove it?"

"Set me something and see if I don't do it. "

"Then you haven't done anything yet?"

"I don't know. I've done what I could. "

"How about this?" She pulled a little crumpled sprig of dog-rose, suchas grows wild in the wayside hedges, out of her bosom. "Do you knowanything of that?"

He smiled, and was about to answer, when his brows suddenly contracted, his mouth set, and his eyes flashed angrily as they focussed somedistant object. Following his gaze, she saw a slim, dark figure, somethree fields off, walking swiftly in their direction. "It's my friend, Mr. Elias Mason, " said she. 

"Your friend!" He had lost his diffidence in his anger. "I know allabout that. What does he want here every second evening?"

"Perhaps he wonders what you want. "

"Does he? I wish he'd come and ask me. I'd let him see what I wanted. Quick too. "

"He can see it now. He has taken off his hat to me, " Dolly said, laughing. 

Her laughter was the finishing touch. He had meant to be impressive, and it seemed that he had only been ridiculous. He swung round upon hisheel. 

"Very well, Miss Foster, " said he, in a choking voice, "that's allright. We know where we are now. I didn't come here to be made a foolof, so good day to you. " He plucked at his hat, and walked furiously offin the direction from which they had come. She looked after him, halffrightened, in the hope of seeing some sign that he had relented, but hestrode onwards with a rigid neck, and vanished at a turn of the lane. 

When she turned again her other visitor was close upon her--a thin, wiry, sharp-featured man with a sallow face, and a quick, nervousmanner. 

"Good evening, Miss Foster. I thought that I would walk over as theweather was so beautiful, but I did not expect to have the good fortuneto meet you in the fields. "

"I am sure that father will be very glad to see you, Mr. Mason. You mustcome in and have a glass of milk. "

"No, thank you, Miss Foster, I should very much prefer to stay out herewith you. But I am afraid that I have interrupted you in a chat. Was notthat Mr. Adam Wilson who left you this moment?" His manner was subdued, but his questioning eyes and compressed lips told of a deeper and morefurious jealousy than that of his rival. 

"Yes. It was Mr. Adam Wilson. " There was something about Mason, acertain concentration of manner, which made it impossible for the girlto treat him lightly as she had done the other. 

"I have noticed him here several times lately. "

"Yes. He is head foreman, you know, at the big quarry. "

"Oh, indeed. He is fond of your society, Miss Foster. I can't blame himfor that, can I, since I am equally so myself. But I should like to cometo some understanding with you. You cannot have misunderstood what myfeelings are to you? I am in a position to offer you a comfortable home. Will you be my wife, Miss Foster?"

Dolly would have liked to make some jesting reply, but it was hard to befunny with those two eager, fiery eyes fixed so intently upon her own. She began to walk slowly towards the house, while he paced along besideher, still waiting for his answer. 

"You must give me a little time, Mr. Mason, " she said at last. "'Marryin haste, ' they say, 'and repent at leisure. '"

"But you shall never have cause to repent. "

"I don't know. One hears such things. "

"You shall be the happiest woman in England. "

"That sounds very nice. You are a poet, Mr. Mason, are you not?"

"I am a lover of poetry. "

"And poets are fond of flowers?"

"I am very fond of flowers. "

"Then perhaps you know something of these?" She took out the humblelittle sprig, and held it out to him with an arch questioning glance. Hetook it and pressed it to his lips. 

"I know that it has been near you, where I should wish to be, " said he. 

"Good evening, Mr. Mason!" It was Mrs. Foster who had come out to meetthem. "Where's Mr. ----? Oh--ah! Yes, of course. The teapot's on thetable, and you'd best come in afore it's over-drawn. "

When Elias Mason left the farmhouse that evening, he drew Dolly aside atthe door. 

"I won't be able to come before Saturday, " said he. 

"We shall be glad to see you, Mr. Mason. "

"I shall want my answer then. "

"Oh, I cannot give any promise, you know. "

"But I shall live in hope. "

"Well, no one can prevent you from doing that. " As she came to realizeher power over him she had lost something of her fear, and could answerhim now nearly as freely as if he were simple Adam Wilson. 

She stood at the door, leaning against the wooden porch, with the longtrailers of the honeysuckle framing her tall, slight figure. The greatred sun was low in the west, its upper rim peeping over the low hills, shooting long, dark shadows from the beech-tree in the field, from thelittle group of tawny cows, and from the man who walked away from her. She smiled to see how immense the legs were, and how tiny the body inthe great flat giant which kept pace beside him. In front of her inthe little garden the bees droned, a belated butterfly or an earlymoth fluttered slowly over the flower-beds, a thousand little creaturesbuzzed and hummed, all busy working out their tiny destinies, as she, too, was working out hers, and each doubtless looking upon their ownas the central point of the universe. A few months for the gnat, a fewyears for the girl, but each was happy now in the heavy summer air. Abeetle scuttled out upon the gravel path and bored onwards, its six legsall working hard, butting up against stones, upsetting itself on ridges, but still gathering itself up and rushing onwards to some all-importantappointment somewhere in the grass plot. A bat fluttered up from behindthe beech-tree. A breath of night air sighed softly over the hillsidewith a little tinge of the chill sea spray in its coolness. Dolly Fostershivered, and had turned to go in when her mother came out from thepassage. 

"Whatever is that Bill doing there?" she cried. 

Dolly looked, and saw for the first time that the nameless farm-labourerwas crouching under the beech, his browns and yellows blending with thebark behind him. 

"You go out o' that, Bill!" screamed the farmer's wife. 

"What be I to do?" he asked humbly, slouching forward. 

"Go, cut chaff in the barn. " He nodded and strolled away, a comicalfigure in his mud-crusted boots, his strap-tied corduroys and hisalmond-coloured skin. 

"Well, then, you've taken Elias, " said the mother, passing her handround her daughter's waist. "I seed him a-kissing your flower. Well, I'msorry for Adam, for he is a well-grown young man, a proper young man, blue ribbon, with money in the Post Office. Still some one must suffer, else how could we be purified. If the milk's left alone it won't everturn into butter. It wants troubling and stirring and churning. That'swhat we want, too, before we can turn angels. It's just the same asbutter. "

Dolly laughed. "I have not taken Elias yet, " said she. 

"No? What about Adam then?"

"Nor him either. "

"Oh, Dolly girl, can you not take advice from them that is older. I tellyou again that you'll lose them both. "

"No, no, mother. Don't you fret yourself. It's all right. But you cansee how hard it is. I like Elias, for he can speak so well, and is sosure and masterful. And I like Adam because--well, because I know verywell that Adam loves me. "

"Well, bless my heart, you can't marry them both. You'd like all thepears in the basket. "

"No, mother, but I know how to choose. You see this bit of a flower, dear. "

"It's a common dog-rose. "

"Well, where d'you think I found it?"

"In the hedge likely. "

"No, but on my window-ledge. "

"Oh, but when?"

"This morning. It was six when I got up, and there it lay fresh andsweet, and new-plucked. 'Twas the same yesterday and the day before. Every morning there it lies. It's a common flower, as you say, mother, but it is not so common to find a man who'll break short his sleep dayafter day just to show a girl that the thought of her is in his heart. "

"And which was it?"

"Ah, if I knew! I think it's Elias. He's a poet, you know, and poets donice things like that. "

"And how will you be sure?"

"I'll know before morning. He will come again, whichever it is. Andwhichever it is he's the man for me. Did father ever do that for youbefore you married?"

"I can't say he did, dear. But father was always a powerful heavysleeper. "

"Well then, mother, you needn't fret any more about me, for as sure as Istand here, I'll tell you to-morrow which of them it is to be. "

That evening the farmer's daughter set herself to clearing off all thoseodd jobs which accumulate in a large household. She polished the dark, old-fashioned furniture in the sitting-room. She cleared out the cellar, re-arranged the bins, counted up the cider, made a great cauldron fullof raspberry jam, potted, papered, and labelled it. Long after the wholehousehold was in bed she pushed on with her self-imposed tasks until thenight was far gone and she very spent and weary. Then she stirred up thesmouldering kitchen fire and made herself a cup of tea, and, carryingit up to her own room, she sat sipping it and glancing over an old boundvolume of the _Leisure Hour_. Her seat was behind the little dimitywindow curtains, whence she could see without being seen. 

The morning had broken, and a brisk wind had sprung up with the dawn. The sky was of the lightest, palest blue, with a scud of flyingwhite clouds shredded out over the face of it, dividing, coalescing, overtaking one another, but sweeping ever from the pink of the east tothe still shadowy west. The high, eager voice of the wind whistled andsang outside, rising from moan to shriek, and then sinking again to adull mutter and grumble. Dolly rose to wrap her shawl around her, and asshe sat down again in an instant her doubts were resolved, and she hadseen that for which she had waited. 

Her window faced the inner yard, and was some eight feet from theground. A man standing beneath it could not be seen from above. But shesaw enough to tell her all that she wished to know. Silently, suddenly, a hand had appeared from below, had laid a sprig of flower upon herledge, and had disappeared. It did not take two seconds; she saw noface, she heard no sound, but she had seen the hand and she wantednothing more. With a smile she threw herself upon the bed, drew a rugover her, and dropped into a heavy slumber. 

She was awakened by her mother plucking at her shoulder. 

"It's breakfast time, Dolly, but I thought you would be weary, so Ibrought you lip some bread and coffee. Sit up, like a dearie, and takeit. "

"All right, mother. Thank you. I'm all dressed, so I'll be ready to comedown soon. "

"Bless the gal, she's never had her things off! And, dearie me, here'sthe flower outside the window, sure enough! Well, and did you see whoput it there?"

"Yes, I did. "

"Who was it then?"

"It was Adam. "

"Was it now? Well, I shouldn't have thought that he had it in him. ThenAdam it's to be. Well, he's steady, and that's better than being clever, yea, seven-and-seventy fold. Did he come across the yard?"

"No, along by the wall. "

"How did you see him then?"

"I didn't see him. "

"Then how can you tell?"

"I saw his hand. "

"But d'you tell me you know Adam's hand?"

"It would be a blind man that couldn't tell it from Elias' hand. Why, the one is as brown as that coffee, and the other as white as the cup, with great blue veins all over it. "

"Well, now I shouldn't have thought of it, but so it is. Well, it'll bea busy day, Dolly. Just hark to the wind!"

It had, indeed, increased during the few hours since dawn to a veryviolent tempest. The panes of the window rattled and shook. Glancingout, Dolly saw cabbage leaves and straw whirling up past the casement. 

"The great hayrick is giving. They're all out trying to prop it up. My, but it do blow!"

It did indeed! When Dolly came downstairs it was all that she could doto push her way through the porch. All along the horizon the sky wasbrassy-yellow, but above the wind screamed and stormed, and the torn, hurrying clouds were now huddled together, and now frayed off intocountless tattered streamers. In the field near the house her fatherand three or four labourers were working with poles and ropes, hatless, their hair and beards flying, staving up a great bulging hayrick. Dollywatched them for a moment, and then, stooping her head and rounding hershoulders, with one hand up to her little black straw hat, she staggeredoff across the fields. 

Adam Wilson was at work always on a particular part of the hillside, andhither it was that she bent her steps. He saw the trim, dapper figure, with its flying skirts and hat-ribbons, and he came forward to meet herwith a great white crowbar in his hand. He walked slowly, however, andhis eyes were downcast, with the air of a man who still treasures agrievance. 

"Good mornin', Miss Foster. "

"Good morning, Mr. Wilson. Oh, if you are going to be cross with me, I'dbest go home again. "

"I'm not cross, Miss Foster. I take it very kindly that you should comeout this way on such a day. "

"I wanted to say to you--I wanted to say that I was sorry if I made youangry yesterday. I didn't mean to make fun. I didn't, indeed. It is onlymy way of talking. It was so good of you, so noble of you, to let itmake no difference. "

"None at all, Dolly. " He was quite radiant again. "If I didn't love youso, I wouldn't mind what that other chap said or did. And if I couldonly think that you cared more for me than for him--"

"I do, Adam. "

"God bless you for saying so! You've lightened my heart, Dolly. I haveto go to Portsmouth for the firm today. To-morrow night I'll come andsee you. "

"Very well, Adam, I--Oh, my God, what's that!"

A rending breaking noise in the distance, a dull rumble, and a burst ofshouts and cries. 

"The rick's down! There's been an accident!" They both started runningdown the hill. 

"Father!" panted the girl, "father!"

"He's all right!" shouted her companion, "I can see him. But there'ssome one down. They're lifting him now. And here's one running like madfor the doctor. "

A farm-labourer came rushing wildly up the lane. "Don't you go, Missey, "he cried. "A man's hurt. "

"Who?"

"It's Bill. The rick came down and the ridge-pole caught him across theback. He's dead, I think. Leastwise, there's not much life in him. I'moff for Doctor Strong!" He bent his shoulder to the wind, and lumberedoff down the road. 

"Poor Bill! Thank God it wasn't father!" They were at the edge ofthe field now in which the accident had taken place. The rick lay, ashapeless mound upon the earth, with a long thick pole protruding fromit, which had formerly supported the tarpaulin drawn across it in caseof rain. Four men were walking slowly away, one shoulder humped, onehanging, and betwixt them they bore a formless clay-coloured bundle. He might have been a clod of the earth that he tilled, so passive, sosilent, still brown, for death itself could not have taken the burn fromhis skin, but with patient, bovine eyes looking out heavily from underhalf-closed lids. He breathed jerkily, but he neither cried out norgroaned. There was something almost brutal and inhuman in his absolutestolidity. He asked no sympathy, for his life had been without it. Itwas a broken tool rather than an injured man. 

"Can I do anything, father?"

"No, lass, no. This is no place for you. I've sent for the doctor. He'llbe here soon. "

"But where are they taking him?"

"To the loft where he sleeps. "

"I'm sure he's welcome to my room, father. "

"No, no, lass. Better leave it alone. "

But the little group were passing as they spoke, and the injured lad hadheard the girl's words. 

"Thank ye kindly, Missey, " he murmured, with a little flicker of life, and then sank back again into his stolidity and his silence. 

Well, a farm hand is a useful thing, but what is a man to do with onewho has an injured spine and half his ribs smashed. Farmer Foster shookhis head and scratched his chin as he listened to the doctor's report. 

"He can't get better?"

"No. "

"Then we had better move him. "

"Where to?"

"To the work'us hospital. He came from there just this time elevenyears. It'll be like going home to him. "

"I fear that he is going home, " said the doctor gravely. "But it's outof the question to move him now. He must lie where he is for better orfor worse. "

And it certainly looked for worse rather than for better. In a littleloft above the stable he was stretched upon a tiny blue pallet whichlay upon the planks. Above were the gaunt rafters, hung with saddles, harness, old scythe blades--the hundred things which droop, like bats, from inside such buildings. Beneath them upon two pegs hung his ownpitiable wardrobe, the blue shirt and the grey, the stained trousers, and the muddy coat. A gaunt chaff-cutting machine stood at his head, anda great bin of the chaff behind it. He lay very quiet, still dumb, stilluncomplaining, his eyes fixed upon the small square window looking outat the drifting sky, and at this strange world which God has made soqueerly--so very queerly. 

An old woman, the wife of a labourer, had been set to nurse him, for thedoctor had said that he was not to be left. She moved about the room, arranging and ordering, grumbling to herself from time to time at thislonely task which had been assigned to her. There were some flowers inbroken jars upon a cross-beam, and these, with a touch of tenderness, she carried over and arranged upon a deal packing-case beside thepatient's head. He lay motionless, and as he breathed there came agritty rubbing sound from somewhere in his side, but he followed hiscompanion about with his eyes and even smiled once as she grouped theflowers round him. 

He smiled again when he heard that Mrs. Foster and her daughter had beento ask after him that evening. They had been down to the Post Officetogether, where Dolly had sent off a letter which she had very carefullydrawn up, addressed to Elias Mason, Esq. , and explaining to thatgentleman that she had formed her plans for life, and that he need sparehimself the pain of coming for his answer on the Saturday. As they cameback they stopped in the stable and inquired through the loft door asto the sufferer. From where they stood they could hear that horriblegrating sound in his breathing. Dolly hurried away with her face quitepale under her freckles. She was too young to face the horrid details ofsuffering, and yet she was a year older than this poor waif, who lay insilence, facing death itself. 

All night he lay very quiet--so quiet that were it not for that onesinister sound his nurse might have doubted whether life was still inhim. She had watched him and tended him as well as she might, but shewas herself feeble and old, and just as the morning light began to stealpalely through the small loft window, she sank back in her chair in adreamless sleep. Two hours passed, and the first voices of the men asthey gathered for their work aroused her. She sprang to her feet. Great heaven! the pallet was empty. She rushed down into the stables, distracted, wringing her hands. There was no sign of him. But the stabledoor was open. He must have walked-but how could he walk?--he must havecrawled--have writhed that way. Out she rushed, and as they heard hertale, the newly risen labourers ran with her, until the farmer with hiswife and daughter were called from their breakfast by the bustle, andjoined also in this strange chase. A whoop, a cry, and they were drawnround to the corner of the yard on which Miss Dolly's window opened. There he lay within a few yards of the window, his face upon the stones, his feet thrusting out from his tattered night-gown, and his trackmarked by the blood from his wounded knees. One hand was thrown outbefore him, and in it he held a little sprig of the pink dog-rose. 

They carried him back, cold and stiff, to the pallet in the loft, andthe old nurse drew the sheet over him and left him, for there was noneed to watch him now. The girl had gone to her room, and her motherfollowed her thither, all unnerved by this glimpse of death. 

"And to think, " said she, "that it was only _him_, after all. "

But Dolly sat at the side of her bed, and sobbed bitterly in her apron. 

"DE PROFUNDIS"

So long as the oceans are the ligaments which bind together the greatbroad-cast British Empire, so long will there be a dash of romance inour minds. For the soul is swayed by the waters, as the waters are bythe moon, and when the great highways of an empire are along such roadsas these, so full of strange sights and sounds, with danger ever runninglike a hedge on either side of the course, it is a dull mind indeedwhich does not bear away with it some trace of such a passage. Andnow, Britain lies far beyond herself, for the three-mile limit of everyseaboard is her frontier, which has been won by hammer and loom and pickrather than by arts of war. For it is written in history that neitherking nor army can bar the path to the man who having twopence in hisstrong box, and knowing well where he can turn it to threepence, setshis mind to that one end. And as the frontier has broadened, the mind ofBritain has broadened too, spreading out until all men can see that theways of the island are continental, even as those of the Continent areinsular. 

But for this a price must be paid, and the price is a grievous one. Asthe beast of old must have one young human life as a tribute every year, so to our Empire we throw from day to day the pick and flower of ouryouth. The engine is world-wide and strong, but the only fuel that willdrive it is the lives of British men. Thus it is that in the grey oldcathedrals, as we look round upon the brasses on the walls, we seestrange names, such names as they who reared those walls had neverheard, for it is in Peshawar, and Umballah, and Korti and Fort Pearsonthat the youngsters die, leaving only a precedent and a brass behindthem. But if every man had his obelisk, even where he lay, then nofrontier line need be drawn, for a cordon of British graves would evershow how high the Anglo-Celtic tide had lapped. 

This, then, as well as the waters which join us to the world, has donesomething to tinge us with romance. For when so many have their lovedones over the seas, walking amid hillmen's bullets, or swamp malaria, where death is sudden and distance great, then mind communes with mind, and strange stories arise of dream, presentiment or vision, where themother sees her dying son, and is past the first bitterness of her griefere the message comes which should have broken the news. The learnedhave of late looked into the matter and have even labelled it with aname; but what can we know more of it save that a poor strickensoul, when hard-pressed and driven, can shoot across the earth someten-thousand-mile-distant picture of its trouble to the mind which ismost akin to it. Far be it from me to say that there lies no such powerwithin us, for of all things which the brain will grasp the last willbe itself; but yet it is well to be very cautious over such matters, foronce at least I have known that which was within the laws of nature seemto be far upon the further side of them. 

John Vansittart was the younger partner of the firm of Hudson andVansittart, coffee exporters of the Island of Ceylon, three-quartersDutchman by descent, but wholly English in his sympathies. For years Ihad been his agent in London, and when in '72 he came over to Englandfor a three months' holiday, he turned to me for the introductions whichwould enable him to see something of town and country life. Armed withseven letters he left my offices, and for many weeks scrappy notes fromdifferent parts of the country let me know that he had found favourin the eyes of my friends. Then came word of his engagement to EmilyLawson, of a cadet branch of the Hereford Lawsons, and at the very tailof the first flying rumour the news of his absolute marriage, for thewooing of a wanderer must be short, and the days were already crowdingon towards the date when he must be upon his homeward journey. Theywere to return together to Colombo in one of the firm's own thousand-tonbarque-rigged sailing ships, and this was to be their princelyhoneymoon, at once a necessity and a delight. 

Those were the royal days of coffee-planting in Ceylon, before a singleseason and a rotten fungus drove a whole community through years ofdespair to one of the greatest commercial victories which pluck andingenuity ever won. Not often is it that men have the heart when theirone great industry is withered to rear up in a few years another as richto take its place, and the tea-fields of Ceylon are as true a monumentto courage as is the lion at Waterloo. But in '72 there was no cloudyet above the skyline, and the hopes of the planters were as high andas bright as the hillsides on which they reared their crops. Vansittartcame down to London with his young and beautiful wife. I was introduced, dined with them, and it was finally arranged that I, since businesscalled me also to Ceylon, should be a fellow-passenger with them on the_Eastern Star_, which was timed to sail on the following Monday. 

It was on the Sunday evening that I saw him again. He was shown upinto my rooms about nine o'clock at night, with the air of a man who isbothered and out of sorts. His hand, as I shook it, was hot and dry. 

"I wish, Atkinson, " said he, "that you could give me a little lime juiceand water. I have a beastly thirst upon me, and the more I take the moreI seem to want. "

I rang and ordered a carafe and glasses. "You are flushed, " said I. "Youdon't look the thing. "

"No, I'm clean off colour. Got a touch of rheumatism in my back, anddon't seem to taste my food. It is this vile London that is choking me. I'm not used to breathing air which has been used up by four millionlungs all sucking away on every side of you. " He flapped his crookedhands before his face, like a man who really struggles for his breath. 

"A touch of the sea will soon set you right. "

"Yes, I'm of one mind with you there. That's the thing for me. I wantno other doctor. If I don't get to sea to-morrow I'll have an illness. There are no two ways about it. " He drank off a tumbler of lime juice, and clapped his two hands with his knuckles doubled up into the small ofhis back. 

"That seems to ease me, " said he, looking at me with a filmy eye. "Now Iwant your help, Atkinson, for I am rather awkwardly placed. "

"As how?"

"This way. My wife's mother got ill and wired for her. I couldn'tgo--you know best yourself how tied I have been--so she had to go alone. Now I've had another wire to say that she can't come to-morrow, but thatshe will pick up the ship at Falmouth on Wednesday. We put in there, you know, and in, though I count it hard, Atkinson, that a man shouldbe asked to believe in a mystery, and cursed if he can't do it. Cursed, mind you, no less. " He leaned forward and began to draw a catchy breathlike a man who is poised on the very edge of a sob. 

Then first it came to my mind that I had heard much of the hard-drinkinglife of the island, and that from brandy came those wild words andfevered hands. The flushed cheek and the glazing eye were those of onewhose drink is strong upon him. Sad it was to see so noble a young manin the grip of that most bestial of all the devils. 

"You should lie down, " I said, with some severity. 

He screwed up his eyes like a man who is striving to wake himself, andlooked up with an air of surprise. 

"So I shall presently, " said he, quite rationally. "I felt quite swimmyjust now, but I am my own man again now. Let me see, what was I talkingabout? Oh ah, of course, about the wife. She joins the ship at Falmouth. Now I want to go round by water. I believe my health depends upon it. I just want a little clean first-lung air to set me on my feet again. Iask you, like a good fellow, to go to Falmouth by rail, so that in casewe should be late you may be there to look after the wife. Put up atthe Royal Hotel, and I will wire her that you are there. Her sister willbring her down, so that it will be all plain sailing. "

"I'll do it with pleasure, " said I. "In fact, I would rather go byrail, for we shall have enough and to spare of the sea before we reachColombo. I believe too that you badly need a change. Now, I should goand turn in, if I were you. "

"Yes, I will. I sleep aboard tonight. You know, " he continued, as thefilm settled down again over his eyes, "I've not slept well the lastfew nights. I've been troubled with theolololog--that is to say, theolological--hang it, " with a desperate effort, "with the doubts oftheolologicians. Wondering why the Almighty made us, you know, and whyHe made our heads swimmy, and fixed little pains into the small of ourbacks. Maybe I'll do better tonight. " He rose and steadied himself withan effort against the corner of the chair back. 

"Look here, Vansittart, " said I, gravely, stepping up to him, and layingmy hand upon his sleeve, "I can give you a shakedown here. You arenot fit to go out. You are all over the place. You've been mixing yourdrinks. "

"Drinks!" He stared at me stupidly. 

"You used to carry your liquor better than this. "

"I give you my word, Atkinson, that I have not had a drain for two days. It's not drink. I don't know what it is. I suppose you think this isdrink. " He took up my hand in his burning grasp, and passed it over hisown forehead. 

"Great Lord!" said I. 

His skin felt like a thin sheet of velvet beneath which lies aclose-packed layer of small shot. It was smooth to the touch at any oneplace, but to a finger passed along it, rough as a nutmeg grater. 

"It's all right, " said he, smiling at my startled face. "I've had theprickly heat nearly as bad. "

"But this is never prickly heat. "

"No, it's London. It's breathing bad air. But tomorrow it'll be allright. There's a surgeon aboard, so I shall be in safe hands. I must beoff now. "

"Not you, " said I, pushing him back into a chair. "This is past a joke. You don't move from here until a doctor sees you. Just stay where youare. "

I caught up my hat, and rushing round to the house of a neighbouringphysician, I brought him back with me. The room was empty and Vansittartgone. I rang the bell. The servant said that the gentleman had ordered acab the instant that I had left, and had gone off in it. He had told thecabman to drive to the docks. 

"Did the gentleman seem ill?" I asked. 

"Ill!" The man smiled. "No, sir, he was singin' his 'ardest all thetime. "

The information was not as reassuring as my servant seemed to think, butI reflected that he was going straight back to the _Eastern Star_, andthat there was a doctor aboard of her, so that there was nothing which Icould do in the matter. None the less, when I thought of his thirst, hisburning hands, his heavy eye, his tripping speech, and lastly, of thatleprous forehead, I carried with me to bed an unpleasant memory of myvisitor and his visit. 

At eleven o'clock next day I was at the docks, but the _Eastern Star_had already moved down the river, and was nearly at Gravesend. ToGravesend I went by train, but only to see her topmasts far off, witha plume of smoke from a tug in front of her. I would hear no more of myfriend until I rejoined him at Falmouth. When I got back to my offices, a telegram was awaiting me from Mrs. Vansittart, asking me to meet her;and next evening found us both at the Royal Hotel, Falmouth, where wewere to wait for the _Eastern Star_. Ten days passed, and there came nonews of her. 

They were ten days which I am not likely to forget. On the very day thatthe _Eastern Star_ had cleared from the Thames, a furious easterly galehad sprung up, and blew on from day to day for the greater part of aweek without the sign of a lull. Such a screaming, raving, long-drawnstorm has never been known on the southern coast. From our hotelwindows the sea view was all banked in haze, with a little rain-swepthalf-circle under our very eyes, churned and lashed into one tossingstretch of foam. So heavy was the wind upon the waves that little seacould rise, for the crest of each billow was torn shrieking from it, andlashed broadcast over the bay. Clouds, wind, sea, all were rushing tothe west, and there, looking down at this mad jumble of elements, Iwaited on day after day, my sole companion a white, silent woman, withterror in her eyes, her forehead pressed ever against the window, hergaze from early morning to the fall of night fixed upon that wallof grey haze through which the loom of a vessel might come. She saidnothing, but that face of hers was one long wail of fear. 

On the fifth day I took counsel with an old seaman. I should havepreferred to have done so alone, but she saw me speak with him, and wasat our side in an instant, with parted lips and a prayer in her eyes. 

"Seven days out from London, " said he, "and five in the gale. Well, theChannel's swept clear by this wind. There's three things for it. She mayhave popped into port on the French side. That's like enough. "

"No, no; he knew we were here. He would have telegraphed. "

"Ah, yes, so he would. Well, then, he might have run for it, and if hedid that he won't be very far from Madeira by now. That'll be it, marm, you may depend. "

"Or else? You said there was a third chance. "

"Did I, marm? No, only two, I think. I don't think I said anything of athird. Your ship's out there, depend upon it, away out in the Atlantic, and you'll hear of it time enough, for the weather is breaking. Nowdon't you fret, marm, and wait quiet, and you'll find a real blueCornish sky tomorrow. "

The old seaman was right in his surmise, for the next day broke calmand bright, with only a low dwindling cloud in the west to mark the lasttrailing wreaths of the storm-wrack. But still there came no word fromthe sea, and no sign of the ship. Three more weary days had passed, theweariest that I have ever spent, when there came a seafaring man to thehotel with a letter. I gave a shout of joy. It was from the captain ofthe _Eastern Star_. As I read the first lines of it I whisked my handover it, but she laid her own upon it and drew it away. "I have seenit, " said she, in a cold, quiet voice. "I may as well see the rest, too. "

"DEAR SIR, " said the letter, "Mr. Vansittart is down with the small-pox, and we are blown so faron our course that we don't know what to do, he being off his head andunfit to tell us. By dead reckoning we are but three hundred miles fromFunchal, so I take it that it is best that we should push on there, get Mr. V. Into hospital, and wait in the Bay until you come. There'sa sailing-ship due from Falmouth to Funchal in a few days' time, as Iunderstand. This goes by the brig _Marian_ of Falmouth, and five poundsis due to the master, Yours respectfully, "JNO. HINES. "

She was a wonderful woman that, only a chit of a girl fresh from school, but as quiet and strong as a man. She said nothing--only pressed herlips together tight, and put on her bonnet. 

"You are going out?" I asked. 

"Yes. "

"Can I be of use?"

"No; I am going to the doctor's. "

"To the doctor's?"

"Yes. To learn how to nurse a small-pox case. "

She was busy at that all the evening, and next morning we were off witha fine ten-knot breeze in the barque _Rose of Sharon_ for Madeira. Forfive days we made good time, and were no great way from the island; buton the sixth there fell a calm, and we lay without motion on a sea ofoil, heaving slowly, but making not a foot of way. 

At ten o'clock that night Emily Vansittart and I stood leaning on thestarboard railing of the poop, with a full moon shining at our backs, and casting a black shadow of the barque, and of our own two headsupon the shining water. From the shadow a broadening path of moonshinestretched away to the lonely sky-line, flickering and shimmering in thegentle heave of the swell. We were talking with bent heads, chattingof the calm, of the chances of wind, of the look of the sky, when therecame a sudden plop, like a rising salmon, and there, in the clear light, John Vansittart sprang out of the water and looked up at us. 

I never saw anything clearer in my life than I saw that man. The moonshone full upon him, and he was but three oars' lengths away. His facewas more puffed than when I had seen him last, mottled here and therewith dark scabs, his mouth and eyes open as one who is struck withsome overpowering surprise. He had some white stuff streaming from hisshoulders, and one hand was raised to his ear, the other crooked acrosshis breast. I saw him leap from the water into the air, and in the deadcalm the waves of his coming lapped up against the sides of the vessel. Then his figure sank back into the water again, and I heard a rending, crackling sound like a bundle of brushwood snapping in the fire on afrosty night. There were no signs of him when I looked again, but aswift swirl and eddy on the still sea still marked the spot where he hadbeen. How long I stood there, tingling to my finger-tips, holding upan unconscious woman with one hand, clutching at the rail of the vesselwith the other, was more than I could afterwards tell. I had been notedas a man of-slow and unresponsive emotions, but this time at least I wasshaken to the core. Once and twice I struck my foot upon the deck to becertain that I was indeed the master of my own senses, and that this wasnot some mad prank of an unruly brain. As I stood, still marvelling, thewoman shivered, opened her eyes, gasped, and then standing erect withher hands upon the rail, looked out over the moonlit sea with a facewhich had aged ten years in a summer night. 

"You saw his vision?" she murmured. 

"I saw something. "

"It was he! It was John! He is dead!"

I muttered some lame words of doubt. 

"Doubtless he died at this hour, " she whispered. "In hospital atMadeira. I have read of such things. His thoughts were with me. Hisvision came to me. Oh, my John, my dear, dear, lost John!"

She broke out suddenly into a storm of weeping, and I led her down intoher cabin, where I left her with her sorrow. That night a brisk breezeblew up from the east, and in the evening of the next day we passed thetwo islets of Los Desertos, and dropped anchor at sundown in the Bayof Funchal. The _Eastern Star_ lay no great distance from us, with thequarantine flag flying from her main, and her Jack half-way up her peak. 

"You see, " said Mrs. Vansittart, quickly. She was dry-eyed now, for shehad known how it would be. 

That night we received permission from the authorities to move on boardthe _Eastern Star_. The captain, Hines, was waiting upon deck withconfusion and grief contending upon his bluff face as he sought forwords with which to break this heavy tidings, but she took the storyfrom his lips. 

"I know that my husband is dead, " she said. "He died yesterday night, about ten o'clock, in hospital at Madeira, did he not?"

The seaman stared aghast. "No, marm, he died eight days ago at sea, andwe had to bury him out there, for we lay in a belt of calm, and couldnot say when we might make the land. "

Well, those are the main facts about the death of John Vansittart, andhis appearance to his wife somewhere about lat. 35 N. And long. 15 W. Aclearer case of a wraith has seldom been made out, and since then it hasbeen told as such, and put into print as such, and endorsed by a learnedsociety as such, and so floated off with many others to support therecent theory of telepathy. For myself, I hold telepathy to be proved, but I would snatch this one case from amid the evidence, and say thatI do not think that it was the wraith of John Vansittart, but JohnVansittart himself whom we saw that night leaping into the moonlightout of the depths of the Atlantic. It has ever been my belief that somestrange chance--one of those chances which seem so improbable and yet soconstantly occur--had becalmed us over the very spot where the man hadbeen buried a week before. For the rest, the surgeon tells me that theleaden weight was not too firmly fixed, and that seven days bring aboutchanges which fetch a body to the surface. Coming from the depth towhich the weight would have sunk it, he explains that it might wellattain such a velocity as to carry it clear of the water. Such is myown explanation of the matter, and if you ask me what then became ofthe body, I must recall to you that snapping, crackling sound, with theswirl in the water. The shark is a surface feeder and is plentiful inthose parts. 

THE GREAT BROWN-PERICORD MOTOR

It was a cold, foggy, dreary evening in May. Along the Strand blurredpatches of light marked the position of the lamps. The flaring shopwindows flickered vaguely with steamy brightness through the thick andheavy atmosphere. 

The high lines of houses which lead down to the Embankment were alldark and deserted, or illuminated only by the glimmering lamp of thecaretaker. At one point, however, there shone out from three windowsupon the second floor a rich flood of light, which broke the sombremonotony of the terrace. Passers-by glanced up curiously, and drew eachother's attention to the ruddy glare, for it marked the chambers ofFrancis Pericord, the inventor and electrical engineer. Long into thewatches of the night the gleam of his lamps bore witness to the untiringenergy and restless industry which was rapidly carrying him to the firstrank in his profession. 

Within the chamber sat two men. The one was Pericord himself--hawk-facedand angular, with the black hair and brisk bearing which spoke of hisCeltic origin. The other--thick, sturdy, and blue-eyed--was JeremyBrown, the well-known mechanician. They had been partners in many aninvention, in which the creative genius of the one had been aided by thepractical abilities of the other. It was a question among their friendsas to which was the better man. 

It was no chance visit which had brought Brown into Pericord's workshopat so late an hour. Business was to be done--business which was todecide the failure or success of months of work, and which might affecttheir whole careers. Between them lay a long brown table, stained andcorroded by strong acids, and littered with giant carboys, Faure'saccumulators, voltaic piles, coils of wire, and great blocks ofnon-conducting porcelain. In the midst of all this lumber there stooda singular whizzing, whirring machine, upon which the eyes of bothpartners were riveted. 

A small square metal receptacle was connected by numerous wires toa broad steel girdle, furnished on either side with two powerfulprojecting joints. The girdle was motionless, but the joints with theshort arms attached to them flashed round every few seconds, witha pause between each rhythmic turn. The power which moved them cameevidently from the metal box. A subtle odour of ozone was in the air. 

"How about the flanges, Brown?" asked the inventor. 

"They were too large to bring. They are seven foot by three. There ispower enough there to work them, however. I will answer for that. "

"Aluminium with an alloy of copper?"

"Yes. "

"See how beautifully it works. " Pericord stretched out a thin, nervoushand, and pressed a button upon the machine. The joints revolved moreslowly, and came presently to a dead stop. Again he touched a spring andthe arms shivered and woke up again into their crisp metallic life. "Theexperimenter need not exert his muscular powers, " he remarked. "He hasonly to be passive, and use his intelligence. "

"Thanks to my motor, " said Brown. 

"_Our_ motor, " the other broke in sharply. 

"Oh, of course, " said his colleague impatiently. 

"The motor which you thought of, and which I reduced to practice--callit what you like. "

"I call it the Brown-Pericord Motor, " cried the inventor with an angryflash of his dark eyes. "You worked out the details, but the abstractthought is mine, and mine alone. "

"An abstract thought won't turn an engine, " said Brown, doggedly. 

"That was why I took you into partnership, " the other retorted, drummingnervously with his fingers upon the table. "I invent, you build. It is afair division of labour. "

Brown pursed up his lips, as though by no means satisfied upon thepoint. Seeing, however, that further argument was useless, he turnedhis attention to the machine, which was shivering and rocking with eachswing of its arms, as though a very little more would send it skimmingfrom the table. 

"Is it not splendid?" cried Pericord. 

"It is satisfactory, " said the more phlegmatic Anglo-Saxon. 

"There's immortality in it!"

"There's money in it!"

"Our names will go down with Montgolfier's. "

"With Rothschild's, I hope. "

"No, no, Brown; you take too material a view, " cried the inventor, raising his gleaming eyes from the machine to his companion. "Ourfortunes are a mere detail. Money is a thing which every heavy-wittedplutocrat in the country shares with us. My hopes rise to somethinghigher than that. Our true reward will come in the gratitude andgoodwill of the human race. "

Brown shrugged his shoulders. "You may have my share of that, " he said. "I am a practical man. We must test our invention. "

"Where can we do it?"

"That is what I wanted to speak about. It must be absolutely secret. Ifwe had private grounds of our own it would be an easy matter, but thereis no privacy in London. "

"We must take it into the country. "

"I have a suggestion to offer, " said Brown. "My brother has a place inSussex on the high land near Beachy Head. There is, I remember, a largeand lofty barn near the house. Will is in Scotland, but the key isalways at my disposal. Why not take the machine down tomorrow and testit in the barn?"

"Nothing could be better. "

"There is a train to Eastbourne at one. "

"I shall be at the station. "

"Bring the gear with you, and I will bring the flanges, " said themechanician, rising. "Tomorrow will prove whether we have been followinga shadow, or whether fortune is at our feet. One o'clock at Victoria. "He walked swiftly down the stair and was quickly reabsorbed into theflood of comfortless clammy humanity which ebbed and flowed along theStrand. 

The morning was bright and spring-like. A pale blue sky arched overLondon, with a few gauzy white clouds drifting lazily across it. Ateleven o'clock Brown might have been seen entering the Patent Officewith a great roll of parchment, diagrams, and plans under his arm. Attwelve he emerged again smiling, and, opening his pocket-book, he packedaway very carefully a small slip of official blue paper. At five minutesto one his cab rolled into Victoria Station. Two giant canvas-coveredparcels, like enormous kites, were handed down by the cabman from thetop, and consigned to the care of a guard. On the platform Pericord waspacing up and down, with long eager step and swinging arms, a tinge ofpink upon his sunken and sallow cheeks. 

"All right?" he asked. 

Brown pointed in answer to his baggage. 

"I have the motor and the girdle already packed away in the guard's van. Be careful, guard, for it is delicate machinery of great value. So! Nowwe can start with an easy conscience. "

At Eastbourne the precious motor was carried to a four-wheeler, and thegreat flanges hoisted on the top. A long drive took them to the housewhere the keys were kept, whence they set off across the barren Downs. The building which was their destination was a commonplace white-washedstructure, with straggling stables and out-houses, standing in a grassyhollow which sloped down from the edge of the chalk cliffs. It was acheerless house even when in use, but now with its smokeless chimneysand shuttered windows it looked doubly dreary. The owner had planted agrove of young larches and firs around it, but the sweeping spray hadblighted them, and they hung their withered heads in melancholy groups. It was a gloomy and forbidding spot. 

But the inventors were in no mood to be moved by such trifles. Thelonelier the place, the more fitted for their purpose. With the help ofthe cabman they carried their packages down the footpath, and laid themin the darkened dining-room. The sun was setting as the distant murmurof wheels told them that they were finally alone. 

Pericord had thrown open the shutters and the mellow evening lightstreamed in through the discoloured windows. Brown drew a knife from hispocket and cut the pack-thread with which the canvas was secured. As thebrown covering fell away it disclosed two great yellow metal fans. Thesehe leaned carefully against the wall. The girdle, the connecting-bands, and the motor were then in turn unpacked. It was dark before all was setout in order. A lamp was lit, and by its light the two men continued totighten screws, clinch rivets, and make the last preparations for theirexperiment. 

"That finishes it, " said Brown at last, stepping back and surveying themachine. 

Pericord said nothing, but his face glowed with pride and expectation. 

"We must have something to eat, " Brown remarked, laying out someprovisions which he had brought with him. 

"Afterwards. "

"No, now, " said the stolid mechanician. "I am half starved. " He pulledup to the table and made a hearty meal, while his Celtic companionstrode impatiently up and down, with twitching fingers and restlesseyes. 

"Now then, " said Brown, facing round, and brushing the crumbs from hislap, "who is to put it on?"

"I shall, " cried his companion eagerly. "What we do to-night is likelyto be historic. "

"But there is some danger, " suggested Brown. "We cannot quite tell howit may act. "

"That is nothing, " said Pericord, with a wave of his hand. 

"But there is no use our going out of our way to incur danger. "

"What then? One of us must do it. "

"Not at all. The motor would act equally well if attached to anyinanimate object. "

"That is true, " said Pericord, thoughtfully. 

"There are bricks by the barn. I have a sack here. Why should not abagful of them take your place?"

"It is a good idea. I see no objection. "

"Come on then, " and the two sallied out, bearing with them the varioussections of their machine. The moon was shining cold and clear thoughan occasional ragged cloud drifted across her face. All was still andsilent upon the Downs. They stood and listened before they entered thebarn, but not a sound came to their ears, save the dull murmur of thesea and the distant barking of a dog. Pericord journeyed backwards andforwards with all that they might need, while Brown filled a long narrowsack with bricks. 

When all was ready, the door of the barn was closed, and the lampbalanced upon an empty packing-case. The bag of bricks was laid upontwo trestles, and the broad steel girdle was buckled round it. Then thegreat flanges, the wires, and the metal box containing the motor werein turn attached to the girdle. Last of all a flat steel rudder, shapedlike a fish's tail, was secured to the bottom of the sack. 

"We must make it travel in a small circle, " said Pericord, glancinground at the bare high walls. 

"Tie the rudder down at one side, " suggested Brown. "Now it is ready. Press the connection and off she goes!"

Pericord leaned forward, his long sallow face quivering with excitement. His white nervous hands darted here and there among the wires. Brownstood impassive with critical eyes. There was a sharp burr from themachine. The huge yellow wings gave a convulsive flap. Then another. Then a third, slower and stronger, with a fuller sweep. Then a fourthwhich filled the barn with a blast of driven air. At the fifth the bagof bricks began to dance upon the trestles. At the sixth it sprang intothe air, and would have fallen to the ground, but the seventh came tosave it, and fluttered it forward through the air. Slowly rising, itflapped heavily round in a circle, like some great clumsy bird, fillingthe barn with its buzzing and whirring. In the uncertain yellow lightof the single lamp it was strange to see the loom of the ungainly thing, flapping off into the shadows, and then circling back into the narrowzone of light. 

The two men stood for a while in silence. Then Pericord threw his longarms up into the air. 

"It acts!" he cried. "The Brown-Pericord Motor acts!" He danced aboutlike a madman in his delight. Brown's eyes twinkled, and he began towhistle. 

"See how smoothly it goes, Brown!" cried the inventor. "And therudder--how well it acts! We must register it tomorrow. "

His comrade's face darkened and set. "It _is_ registered, " he said, witha forced laugh. 

"Registered?" said Pericord. "Registered?" He repeated the word first ina whisper, and then in a kind of scream. "Who has dared to register myinvention?"

"I did it this morning. There is nothing to be excited about. It is allright. "

"You registered the motor! Under whose name?"

"Under my own, " said Brown, sullenly. "I consider that I have the bestright to it. "

"And my name does not appear?"

"No, but--"

"You villain!" screamed Pericord. "You thief and villain! You wouldsteal my work! You would filch my credit! I will have that patent backif I have to tear your throat out!" A sombre fire burned in his blackeyes, and his hands writhed themselves together with passion. Brown wasno coward, but he shrank back as the other advanced upon him. 

"Keep your hands off!" he said, drawing a knife from his pocket. "I willdefend myself if you attack me. "

"You threaten me?" cried Pericord, whose face was livid with anger. "Youare a bully as well as a cheat. Will you give up the patent?"

"No, I will not. "

"Brown, I say, give it up!"

"I will not. I did the work. "

Pericord sprang madly forward with blazing eyes and clutching fingers. His companion writhed out of his grasp, but was dashed against thepacking-case, over which he fell. The lamp was extinguished, and thewhole barn plunged into darkness. A single ray of moonlight shiningthrough a narrow chink flickered over the great waving fans as they cameand went. 

"Will you give up the patent, Brown?"

There was no answer. 

"Will you give it up?"

Again no answer. Not a sound save the humming and creaking overhead. A cold pang of fear and doubt struck through Pericord's heart. He feltaimlessly about in the dark and his fingers closed upon a hand. It wascold and unresponsive. With all his anger turned to icy horror he strucka match, set the lamp up, and lit it. 

Brown lay huddled up on the other side of the packing-case. Pericordseized him in his arms, and with convulsive strength lifted him across. Then the mystery of his silence was explained. He had fallen with hisright arms doubled up under him, and his own weight had driven the knifedeeply into his body. He had died without a groan. The tragedy had beensudden, horrible, and complete. 

Pericord sat silently on the edge of the case, staring blankly down, andshivering like one with the ague, while the great Brown-Pericord Motorboomed and hurtled above him. How long he sat there can never be known. It might have been minutes or it might have been hours. A thousand madschemes flashed through his dazed brain. It was true that he had beenonly the indirect cause. But who would believe that? He glanced down athis blood-spattered clothing. Everything was against him. It would bebetter to fly than to give himself up, relying upon his innocence. Noone in London knew where they were. If he could dispose of the body hemight have a few days clear before any suspicion would be aroused. 

Suddenly a loud crash recalled him to himself. The flying sack hadgradually risen with each successive circle until it had struck againstthe rafters. The blow displaced the connecting-gear, and the machinefell heavily to the ground. Pericord undid the girdle. The motor wasuninjured. A sudden strange thought flashed upon him as he looked at it. The machine had become hateful to him. He might dispose both of it andthe body in a way that would baffle all human search. 

He threw open the barn door, and carried his companion out into themoonlight. There was a hillock outside, and on the summit of this helaid him reverently down. Then he brought from the barn the motor, thegirdle and the flanges. With trembling fingers he fastened the broadsteel belt round the dead man's waist. Then he screwed the wings intothe sockets. Beneath he slung the motor-box, fastened the wires, andswitched on the connection. For a minute or two the huge yellow fansflapped and flickered. Then the body began to move in little jumps downthe side of the hillock, gathering a gradual momentum, until at last itheaved up into the air and soared off in the moonlight. He had not usedthe rudder, but had turned the head for the south. Gradually the weirdthing rose higher, and sped faster, until it had passed over the line ofcliff, and was sweeping over the silent sea. Pericord watched it witha white drawn face, until it looked like a black bird with golden wingshalf shrouded in the mist which lay over the waters. 

In the New York State Lunatic Asylum there is a wild-eyed man whose nameand birth-place are alike unknown. His reason has been unseated by somesudden shock, the doctors say, though of what nature they are unable todetermine. "It is the most delicate machine which is most readily putout of gear, " they remark, and point, in proof of their axiom, to thecomplicated electric engines, and remarkable aeronautic machines whichthe patient is fond of devising in his more lucid moments. 

THE TERROR OF BLUE JOHN GAP

The following narrative was found among the papers of Dr. JamesHardcastle, who died of phthisis on February 4th, 1908, at 36, UpperCoventry Flats, South Kensington. Those who knew him best, whilerefusing to express an opinion upon this particular statement, areunanimous in asserting that he was a man of a sober and scientific turnof mind, absolutely devoid of imagination, and most unlikely to inventany abnormal series of events. The paper was contained in an envelope, which was docketed, "A Short Account of the Circumstances which occurrednear Miss Allerton's Farm in North-West Derbyshire in the Spring of LastYear. " The envelope was sealed, and on the other side was written inpencil--

DEAR SEATON, --

"It may interest, and perhaps pain you, to know that the incredulitywith which you met my story has prevented me from ever opening my mouthupon the subject again. I leave this record after my death, and perhapsstrangers may be found to have more confidence in me than my friend. "

Inquiry has failed to elicit who this Seaton may have been. I may addthat the visit of the deceased to Allerton's Farm, and the generalnature of the alarm there, apart from his particular explanation, havebeen absolutely established. With this foreword I append his accountexactly as he left it. It is in the form of a diary, some entries inwhich have been expanded, while a few have been erased. 

April 17. --Already I feel the benefit of this wonderful upland air. The farm of the Allertons lies fourteen hundred and twenty feet abovesea-level, so it may well be a bracing climate. Beyond the usual morningcough I have very little discomfort, and, what with the fresh milk andthe home-grown mutton, I have every chance of putting on weight. I thinkSaunderson will be pleased. 

The two Miss Allertons are charmingly quaint and kind, two dear littlehard-working old maids, who are ready to lavish all the heart whichmight have gone out to husband and to children upon an invalid stranger. Truly, the old maid is a most useful person, one of the reserve forcesof the community. They talk of the superfluous woman, but what wouldthe poor superfluous man do without her kindly presence? By the way, in their simplicity they very quickly let out the reason why Saundersonrecommended their farm. The Professor rose from the ranks himself, andI believe that in his youth he was not above scaring crows in these veryfields. 

It is a most lonely spot, and the walks are picturesque in the extreme. The farm consists of grazing land lying at the bottom of an irregularvalley. On each side are the fantastic limestone hills, formed of rockso soft that you can break it away with your hands. All this country ishollow. Could you strike it with some gigantic hammer it would boom likea drum, or possibly cave in altogether and expose some huge subterraneansea. A great sea there must surely be, for on all sides the streams runinto the mountain itself, never to reappear. There are gaps everywhereamid the rocks, and when you pass through them you find yourself ingreat caverns, which wind down into the bowels of the earth. I have asmall bicycle lamp, and it is a perpetual joy to me to carry it intothese weird solitudes, and to see the wonderful silver and black effectwhen I throw its light upon the stalactites which drape the lofty roofs. Shut off the lamp, and you are in the blackest darkness. Turn it on, andit is a scene from the Arabian Nights. 

But there is one of these strange openings in the earth which has aspecial interest, for it is the handiwork, not of nature, but of man. Ihad never heard of Blue John when I came to these parts. It is the namegiven to a peculiar mineral of a beautiful purple shade, which is onlyfound at one or two places in the world. It is so rare that an ordinaryvase of Blue John would be valued at a great price. The Romans, withthat extraordinary instinct of theirs, discovered that it was to befound in this valley, and sank a horizontal shaft deep into the mountainside. The opening of their mine has been called Blue John Gap, aclean-cut arch in the rock, the mouth all overgrown with bushes. It isa goodly passage which the Roman miners have cut, and it intersects someof the great water-worn caves, so that if you enter Blue John Gap youwould do well to mark your steps and to have a good store of candles, oryou may never make your way back to the daylight again. I have notyet gone deeply into it, but this very day I stood at the mouth of thearched tunnel, and peering down into the black recesses beyond, I vowedthat when my health returned I would devote some holiday to exploringthose mysterious depths and finding out for myself how far the Roman hadpenetrated into the Derbyshire hills. 

Strange how superstitious these countrymen are! I should have thoughtbetter of young Armitage, for he is a man of some education andcharacter, and a very fine fellow for his station in life. I wasstanding at the Blue John Gap when he came across the field to me. 

"Well, doctor, " said he, "you're not afraid, anyhow. "

"Afraid!" I answered. "Afraid of what?"

"Of it, " said he, with a jerk of his thumb towards the black vault, "ofthe Terror that lives in the Blue John Cave. "

How absurdly easy it is for a legend to arise in a lonely countryside! Iexamined him as to the reasons for his weird belief. It seems that fromtime to time sheep have been missing from the fields, carried bodilyaway, according to Armitage. That they could have wandered away of theirown accord and disappeared among the mountains was an explanation towhich he would not listen. On one occasion a pool of blood had beenfound, and some tufts of wool. That also, I pointed out, could beexplained in a perfectly natural way. Further, the nights upon whichsheep disappeared were invariably very dark, cloudy nights with no moon. This I met with the obvious retort that those were the nights which acommonplace sheep-stealer would naturally choose for his work. On oneoccasion a gap had been made in a wall, and some of the stones scatteredfor a considerable distance. Human agency again, in my opinion. Finally, Armitage clinched all his arguments by telling me that he had actuallyheard the Creature--indeed, that anyone could hear it who remained longenough at the Gap. It was a distant roaring of an immense volume. I could not but smile at this, knowing, as I do, the strangereverberations which come out of an underground water system runningamid the chasms of a limestone formation. My incredulity annoyedArmitage, so that he turned and left me with some abruptness. 

And now comes the queer point about the whole business. I was stillstanding near the mouth of the cave turning over in my mind the variousstatements of Armitage, and reflecting how readily they could beexplained away, when suddenly, from the depth of the tunnel beside me, there issued a most extraordinary sound. How shall I describe it? Firstof all it seemed to be a great distance away, far down in the bowelsof the earth. Secondly, in spite of this suggestion of distance, it wasvery loud. Lastly, it was not a boom, nor a crash, such as one wouldassociate with falling water or tumbling rock, but it was a high whine, tremulous and vibrating, almost like the whinnying of a horse. It wascertainly a most remarkable experience, and one which for a moment, Imust admit, gave a new significance to Armitage's words. I waited by theBlue John Gap for half an hour or more, but there was no return of thesound, so at last I wandered back to the farmhouse, rather mystifiedby what had occurred. Decidedly I shall explore that cavern when mystrength is restored. Of course, Armitage's explanation is too absurdfor discussion, and yet that sound was certainly very strange. It stillrings in my ears as I write. 

April 20. --In the last three days I have made several expeditions tothe Blue John Gap, and have even penetrated some short distance, but mybicycle lantern is so small and weak that I dare not trust myself veryfar. I shall do the thing more systematically. I have heard no soundat all, and could almost believe that I had been the victim of somehallucination, suggested, perhaps, by Armitage's conversation. Ofcourse, the whole idea is absurd, and yet I must confess that thosebushes at the entrance of the cave do present an appearance as if someheavy creature had forced its way through them. I begin to be keenlyinterested. I have said nothing to the Miss Allertons, for they arequite superstitious enough already, but I have bought some candles, andmean to investigate for myself. 

I observed this morning that among the numerous tufts of sheep's woolwhich lay among the bushes near the cavern there was one which wassmeared with blood. Of course, my reason tells me that if sheep wanderinto such rocky places they are likely to injure themselves, and yetsomehow that splash of crimson gave me a sudden shock, and for a momentI found myself shrinking back in horror from the old Roman arch. A fetidbreath seemed to ooze from the black depths into which I peered. Couldit indeed be possible that some nameless thing, some dreadful presence, was lurking down yonder? I should have been incapable of such feelingsin the days of my strength, but one grows more nervous and fanciful whenone's health is shaken. 

For the moment I weakened in my resolution, and was ready to leave thesecret of the old mine, if one exists, for ever unsolved. But tonight myinterest has returned and my nerves grown more steady. Tomorrow I trustthat I shall have gone more deeply into this matter. 

April 22. --Let me try and set down as accurately as I can myextraordinary experience of yesterday. I started in the afternoon, andmade my way to the Blue John Gap. I confess that my misgivings returnedas I gazed into its depths, and I wished that I had brought a companionto share my exploration. Finally, with a return of resolution, I lit mycandle, pushed my way through the briars, and descended into the rockyshaft. 

It went down at an acute angle for some fifty feet, the floor beingcovered with broken stone. Thence there extended a long, straightpassage cut in the solid rock. I am no geologist, but the lining of thiscorridor was certainly of some harder material than limestone, for therewere points where I could actually see the tool-marks which the oldminers had left in their excavation, as fresh as if they had been doneyesterday. Down this strange, old-world corridor I stumbled, my feebleflame throwing a dim circle of light around me, which made the shadowsbeyond the more threatening and obscure. Finally, I came to a spot wherethe Roman tunnel opened into a water-worn cavern--a huge hall, hung withlong white icicles of lime deposit. From this central chamber I coulddimly perceive that a number of passages worn by the subterraneanstreams wound away into the depths of the earth. I was standing therewondering whether I had better return, or whether I dare venture fartherinto this dangerous labyrinth, when my eyes fell upon something at myfeet which strongly arrested my attention. 

The greater part of the floor of the cavern was covered with bouldersof rock or with hard incrustations of lime, but at this particular pointthere had been a drip from the distant roof, which had left a patchof soft mud. In the very centre of this there was a huge mark--anill-defined blotch, deep, broad and irregular, as if a great boulder hadfallen upon it. No loose stone lay near, however, nor was there anythingto account for the impression. It was far too large to be caused by anypossible animal, and besides, there was only the one, and the patch ofmud was of such a size that no reasonable stride could have covered it. As I rose from the examination of that singular mark and then lookedround into the black shadows which hemmed me in, I must confess that Ifelt for a moment a most unpleasant sinking of my heart, and that, dowhat I could, the candle trembled in my outstretched hand. 

I soon recovered my nerve, however, when I reflected how absurd it wasto associate so huge and shapeless a mark with the track of any knownanimal. Even an elephant could not have produced it. I determined, therefore, that I would not be scared by vague and senseless fears fromcarrying out my exploration. Before proceeding, I took good note ofa curious rock formation in the wall by which I could recognize theentrance of the Roman tunnel. The precaution was very necessary, forthe great cave, so far as I could see it, was intersected by passages. Having made sure of my position, and reassured myself by examiningmy spare candles and my matches, I advanced slowly over the rocky anduneven surface of the cavern. 

And now I come to the point where I met with such sudden and desperatedisaster. A stream, some twenty feet broad, ran across my path, and Iwalked for some little distance along the bank to find a spot where Icould cross dry-shod. Finally, I came to a place where a single flatboulder lay near the centre, which I could reach in a stride. As itchanced, however, the rock had been cut away and made top-heavy by therush of the stream, so that it tilted over as I landed on it and shotme into the ice-cold water. My candle went out, and I found myselffloundering about in utter and absolute darkness. 

I staggered to my feet again, more amused than alarmed by my adventure. The candle had fallen from my hand, and was lost in the stream, but Ihad two others in my pocket, so that it was of no importance. I got oneof them ready, and drew out my box of matches to light it. Only thendid I realize my position. The box had been soaked in my fall into theriver. It was impossible to strike the matches. 

A cold hand seemed to close round my heart as I realized my position. The darkness was opaque and horrible. It was so utter that one put one'shand up to one's face as if to press off something solid. I stood still, and by an effort I steadied myself. I tried to reconstruct in my mind amap of the floor of the cavern as I had last seen it. Alas! the bearingswhich had impressed themselves upon my mind were high on the wall, andnot to be found by touch. Still, I remembered in a general way how thesides were situated, and I hoped that by groping my way along them Ishould at last come to the opening of the Roman tunnel. Moving veryslowly, and continually striking against the rocks, I set out on thisdesperate quest. 

But I very soon realized how impossible it was. In that black, velvetydarkness one lost all one's bearings in an instant. Before I had made adozen paces, I was utterly bewildered as to my whereabouts. The ripplingof the stream, which was the one sound audible, showed me where it lay, but the moment that I left its bank I was utterly lost. The ideaof finding my way back in absolute darkness through that limestonelabyrinth was clearly an impossible one. 

I sat down upon a boulder and reflected upon my unfortunate plight. Ihad not told anyone that I proposed to come to the Blue John mine, andit was unlikely that a search party would come after me. Therefore Imust trust to my own resources to get clear of the danger. There wasonly one hope, and that was that the matches might dry. When I fell intothe river, only half of me had got thoroughly wet. My left shoulder hadremained above the water. I took the box of matches, therefore, and putit into my left armpit. The moist air of the cavern might possibly becounteracted by the heat of my body, but even so, I knew that I couldnot hope to get a light for many hours. Meanwhile there was nothing forit but to wait. 

By good luck I had slipped several biscuits into my pocket before Ileft the farm-house. These I now devoured, and washed them down witha draught from that wretched stream which had been the cause of all mymisfortunes. Then I felt about for a comfortable seat among the rocks, and, having discovered a place where I could get a support for myback, I stretched out my legs and settled myself down to wait. Iwas wretchedly damp and cold, but I tried to cheer myself with thereflection that modern science prescribed open windows and walks in allweather for my disease. Gradually, lulled by the monotonous gurgle ofthe stream, and by the absolute darkness, I sank into an uneasy slumber. 

How long this lasted I cannot say. It may have been for an hour, it mayhave been for several. Suddenly I sat up on my rock couch, with everynerve thrilling and every sense acutely on the alert. Beyond all doubtI had heard a sound--some sound very distinct from the gurgling of thewaters. It had passed, but the reverberation of it still lingered in myear. Was it a search party? They would most certainly have shouted, andvague as this sound was which had wakened me, it was very distinct fromthe human voice. I sat palpitating and hardly daring to breathe. There it was again! And again! Now it had become continuous. It was atread--yes, surely it was the tread of some living creature. But what atread it was! It gave one the impression of enormous weight carried uponsponge-like feet, which gave forth a muffled but ear-filling sound. The darkness was as complete as ever, but the tread was regular anddecisive. And it was coming beyond all question in my direction. 

My skin grew cold, and my hair stood on end as I listened to that steadyand ponderous footfall. There was some creature there, and surely by thespeed of its advance, it was one which could see in the dark. I crouchedlow on my rock and tried to blend myself into it. The steps grew nearerstill, then stopped, and presently I was aware of a loud lapping andgurgling. The creature was drinking at the stream. Then again there wassilence, broken by a succession of long sniffs and snorts of tremendousvolume and energy. Had it caught the scent of me? My own nostrils werefilled by a low fetid odour, mephitic and abominable. Then I heard thesteps again. They were on my side of the stream now. The stones rattledwithin a few yards of where I lay. Hardly daring to breathe, I crouchedupon my rock. Then the steps drew away. I heard the splash as itreturned across the river, and the sound died away into the distance inthe direction from which it had come. 

For a long time I lay upon the rock, too much horrified to move. Ithought of the sound which I had heard coming from the depths of thecave, of Armitage's fears, of the strange impression in the mud, andnow came this final and absolute proof that there was indeed someinconceivable monster, something utterly unearthly and dreadful, whichlurked in the hollow of the mountain. Of its nature or form I couldframe no conception, save that it was both light-footed and gigantic. The combat between my reason, which told me that such things could notbe, and my senses, which told me that they were, raged within me as Ilay. Finally, I was almost ready to persuade myself that this experiencehad been part of some evil dream, and that my abnormal conditionmight have conjured up an hallucination. But there remained one finalexperience which removed the last possibility of doubt from my mind. 

I had taken my matches from my armpit and felt them. They seemedperfectly hard and dry. Stooping down into a crevice of the rocks, Itried one of them. To my delight it took fire at once. I lit the candle, and, with a terrified backward glance into the obscure depths of thecavern, I hurried in the direction of the Roman passage. As I did soI passed the patch of mud on which I had seen the huge imprint. Now Istood astonished before it, for there were three similar imprints uponits surface, enormous in size, irregular in outline, of a depth whichindicated the ponderous weight which had left them. Then a great terrorsurged over me. Stooping and shading my candle with my hand, I ran in afrenzy of fear to the rocky archway, hastened up it, and never stoppeduntil, with weary feet and panting lungs, I rushed up the final slope ofstones, broke through the tangle of briars, and flung myself exhaustedupon the soft grass under the peaceful light of the stars. It wasthree in the morning when I reached the farm-house, and today I am allunstrung and quivering after my terrific adventure. As yet I have toldno one. I must move warily in the matter. What would the poor lonelywomen, or the uneducated yokels here think of it if I were to tell themmy experience? Let me go to someone who can understand and advise. 

April 25. --I was laid up in bed for two days after my incredibleadventure in the cavern. I use the adjective with a very definitemeaning, for I have had an experience since which has shocked me almostas much as the other. I have said that I was looking round for someonewho could advise me. There is a Dr. Mark Johnson who practices somefew miles away, to whom I had a note of recommendation from ProfessorSaunderson. To him I drove, when I was strong enough to get about, and Irecounted to him my whole strange experience. He listened intently, andthen carefully examined me, paying special attention to my reflexes andto the pupils of my eyes. When he had finished, he refused to discussmy adventure, saying that it was entirely beyond him, but he gave methe card of a Mr. Picton at Castleton, with the advice that I shouldinstantly go to him and tell him the story exactly as I had doneto himself. He was, according to my adviser, the very man who waspre-eminently suited to help me. I went on to the station, therefore, and made my way to the little town, which is some ten miles away. Mr. Picton appeared to be a man of importance, as his brass plate wasdisplayed upon the door of a considerable building on the outskirts ofthe town. I was about to ring his bell, when some misgiving came into mymind, and, crossing to a neighbouring shop, I asked the man behind thecounter if he could tell me anything of Mr. Picton. "Why, " said he, "heis the best mad doctor in Derbyshire, and yonder is his asylum. " You canimagine that it was not long before I had shaken the dust of Castletonfrom my feet and returned to the farm, cursing all unimaginative pedantswho cannot conceive that there may be things in creation which havenever yet chanced to come across their mole's vision. After all, now that I am cooler, I can afford to admit that I have been no moresympathetic to Armitage than Dr. Johnson has been to me. 

April 27. When I was a student I had the reputation of being a man ofcourage and enterprise. I remember that when there was a ghost-hunt atColtbridge it was I who sat up in the haunted house. Is it advancingyears (after all, I am only thirty-five), or is it this physical maladywhich has caused degeneration? Certainly my heart quails when I thinkof that horrible cavern in the hill, and the certainty that it has somemonstrous occupant. What shall I do? There is not an hour in the daythat I do not debate the question. If I say nothing, then the mysteryremains unsolved. If I do say anything, then I have the alternative ofmad alarm over the whole countryside, or of absolute incredulity whichmay end in consigning me to an asylum. On the whole, I think that mybest course is to wait, and to prepare for some expedition which shallbe more deliberate and better thought out than the last. As a firststep I have been to Castleton and obtained a few essentials--a largeacetylene lantern for one thing, and a good double-barrelled sportingrifle for another. The latter I have hired, but I have bought a dozenheavy game cartridges, which would bring down a rhinoceros. Now I amready for my troglodyte friend. Give me better health and a little spateof energy, and I shall try conclusions with him yet. But who and what ishe? Ah! there is the question which stands between me and my sleep. How many theories do I form, only to discard each in turn! It is allso utterly unthinkable. And yet the cry, the footmark, the tread inthe cavern--no reasoning can get past these. I think of the old-worldlegends of dragons and of other monsters. Were they, perhaps, not suchfairy-tales as we have thought? Can it be that there is some fact whichunderlies them, and am I, of all mortals, the one who is chosen toexpose it?

May 3. --For several days I have been laid up by the vagaries of anEnglish spring, and during those days there have been developments, thetrue and sinister meaning of which no one can appreciate save myself. I may say that we have had cloudy and moonless nights of late, which according to my information were the seasons upon which sheepdisappeared. Well, sheep _have_ disappeared. Two of Miss Allerton's, oneof old Pearson's of the Cat Walk, and one of Mrs. Moulton's. Four inall during three nights. No trace is left of them at all, and thecountryside is buzzing with rumours of gipsies and of sheep-stealers. 

But there is something more serious than that. Young Armitage hasdisappeared also. He left his moorland cottage early on Wednesday nightand has never been heard of since. He was an unattached man, so there isless sensation than would otherwise be the case. The popular explanationis that he owes money, and has found a situation in some other part ofthe country, whence he will presently write for his belongings. ButI have grave misgivings. Is it not much more likely that the recenttragedy of the sheep has caused him to take some steps which may haveended in his own destruction? He may, for example, have lain in waitfor the creature and been carried off by it into the recesses of themountains. What an inconceivable fate for a civilized Englishman of thetwentieth century! And yet I feel that it is possible and even probable. But in that case, how far am I answerable both for his death and forany other mishap which may occur? Surely with the knowledge I alreadypossess it must be my duty to see that something is done, or ifnecessary to do it myself. It must be the latter, for this morning Iwent down to the local police-station and told my story. The inspectorentered it all in a large book and bowed me out with commendablegravity, but I heard a burst of laughter before I had got down hisgarden path. No doubt he was recounting my adventure to his family. 

June 10. --I am writing this, propped up in bed, six weeks after my lastentry in this journal. I have gone through a terrible shock both to mindand body, arising from such an experience as has seldom befallen a humanbeing before. But I have attained my end. The danger from the Terrorwhich dwells in the Blue John Gap has passed never to return. Thus muchat least I, a broken invalid, have done for the common good. Let me nowrecount what occurred as clearly as I may. 

The night of Friday, May 3rd, was dark and cloudy--the very night forthe monster to walk. About eleven o'clock I went from the farm-housewith my lantern and my rifle, having first left a note upon the tableof my bedroom in which I said that, if I were missing, search should bemade for me in the direction of the Gap. I made my way to the mouth ofthe Roman shaft, and, having perched myself among the rocks close to theopening, I shut off my lantern and waited patiently with my loaded rifleready to my hand. 

It was a melancholy vigil. All down the winding valley I could seethe scattered lights of the farm-houses, and the church clock ofChapel-le-Dale tolling the hours came faintly to my ears. These tokensof my fellow-men served only to make my own position seem the morelonely, and to call for a greater effort to overcome the terror whichtempted me continually to get back to the farm, and abandon for everthis dangerous quest. And yet there lies deep in every man a rootedself-respect which makes it hard for him to turn back from that whichhe has once undertaken. This feeling of personal pride was my salvationnow, and it was that alone which held me fast when every instinct of mynature was dragging me away. I am glad now that I had the strength. Inspite of all that is has cost me, my manhood is at least above reproach. 

Twelve o'clock struck in the distant church, then one, then two. It wasthe darkest hour of the night. The clouds were drifting low, and therewas not a star in the sky. An owl was hooting somewhere among the rocks, but no other sound, save the gentle sough of the wind, came to my ears. And then suddenly I heard it! From far away down the tunnel came thosemuffled steps, so soft and yet so ponderous. I heard also the rattle ofstones as they gave way under that giant tread. They drew nearer. They were close upon me. I heard the crashing of the bushes round theentrance, and then dimly through the darkness I was conscious of theloom of some enormous shape, some monstrous inchoate creature, passingswiftly and very silently out from the tunnel. I was paralysed with fearand amazement. Long as I had waited, now that it had actually come I wasunprepared for the shock. I lay motionless and breathless, whilst thegreat dark mass whisked by me and was swallowed up in the night. 

But now I nerved myself for its return. No sound came from the sleepingcountryside to tell of the horror which was loose. In no way could Ijudge how far off it was, what it was doing, or when it might be back. But not a second time should my nerve fail me, not a second time shouldit pass unchallenged. I swore it between my clenched teeth as I laid mycocked rifle across the rock. 

And yet it nearly happened. There was no warning of approach now as thecreature passed over the grass. Suddenly, like a dark, drifting shadow, the huge bulk loomed up once more before me, making for the entrance ofthe cave. Again came that paralysis of volition which held my crookedforefinger impotent upon the trigger. But with a desperate effort Ishook it off. Even as the brushwood rustled, and the monstrous beastblended with the shadow of the Gap, I fired at the retreating form. In the blaze of the gun I caught a glimpse of a great shaggy mass, something with rough and bristling hair of a withered grey colour, fading away to white in its lower parts, the huge body supported uponshort, thick, curving legs. I had just that glance, and then I heard therattle of the stones as the creature tore down into its burrow. In aninstant, with a triumphant revulsion of feeling, I had cast my fears tothe wind, and uncovering my powerful lantern, with my rifle in my hand, I sprang down from my rock and rushed after the monster down the oldRoman shaft. 

My splendid lamp cast a brilliant flood of vivid light in front of me, very different from the yellow glimmer which had aided me down thesame passage only twelve days before. As I ran, I saw the great beastlurching along before me, its huge bulk filling up the whole space fromwall to wall. Its hair looked like coarse faded oakum, and hung downin long, dense masses which swayed as it moved. It was like an enormousunclipped sheep in its fleece, but in size it was far larger than thelargest elephant, and its breadth seemed to be nearly as great as itsheight. It fills me with amazement now to think that I should have daredto follow such a horror into the bowels of the earth, but when one'sblood is up, and when one's quarry seems to be flying, the old primevalhunting-spirit awakes and prudence is cast to the wind. Rifle in hand, Iran at the top of my speed upon the trail of the monster. 

I had seen that the creature was swift. Now I was to find out to mycost that it was also very cunning. I had imagined that it was in panicflight, and that I had only to pursue it. The idea that it might turnupon me never entered my excited brain. I have already explained thatthe passage down which I was racing opened into a great central cave. Into this I rushed, fearful lest I should lose all trace of the beast. But he had turned upon his own traces, and in a moment we were face toface. 

That picture, seen in the brilliant white light of the lantern, isetched for ever upon my brain. He had reared up on his hind legs as abear would do, and stood above me, enormous, menacing--such a creatureas no nightmare had ever brought to my imagination. I have said thathe reared like a bear, and there was something bear-like--if one couldconceive a bear which was ten-fold the bulk of any bear seen uponearth--in his whole pose and attitude, in his great crooked forelegswith their ivory-white claws, in his rugged skin, and in his red, gapingmouth, fringed with monstrous fangs. Only in one point did he differfrom the bear, or from any other creature which walks the earth, andeven at that supreme moment a shudder of horror passed over me as Iobserved that the eyes which glistened in the glow of my lantern werehuge, projecting bulbs, white and sightless. For a moment his great pawsswung over my head. The next he fell forward upon me, I and my brokenlantern crashed to the earth, and I remember no more. 

When I came to myself I was back in the farm-house of the Allertons. Two days had passed since my terrible adventure in the Blue John Gap. Itseems that I had lain all night in the cave insensible from concussionof the brain, with my left arm and two ribs badly fractured. In themorning my note had been found, a search party of a dozen farmersassembled, and I had been tracked down and carried back to my bedroom, where I had lain in high delirium ever since. There was, it seems, nosign of the creature, and no bloodstain which would show that my bullethad found him as he passed. Save for my own plight and the marks uponthe mud, there was nothing to prove that what I said was true. 

Six weeks have now elapsed, and I am able to sit out once more in thesunshine. Just opposite me is the steep hillside, grey with shaly rock, and yonder on its flank is the dark cleft which marks the opening ofthe Blue John Gap. But it is no longer a source of terror. Never againthrough that ill-omened tunnel shall any strange shape flit out into theworld of men. The educated and the scientific, the Dr. Johnsons and thelike, may smile at my narrative, but the poorer folk of the countrysidehad never a doubt as to its truth. On the day after my recoveringconsciousness they assembled in their hundreds round the Blue John Gap. As the _Castleton Courier_ said:

"It was useless for our correspondent, or for any of the adventurousgentlemen who had come from Matlock, Buxton, and other parts, to offerto descend, to explore the cave to the end, and to finally test theextraordinary narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle. The country people hadtaken the matter into their own hands, and from an early hour of themorning they had worked hard in stopping up the entrance of the tunnel. There is a sharp slope where the shaft begins, and great boulders, rolled along by many willing hands, were thrust down it until theGap was absolutely sealed. So ends the episode which has caused suchexcitement throughout the country. Local opinion is fiercelydivided upon the subject. On the one hand are those who point to Dr. Hardcastle's impaired health, and to the possibility of cerebral lesionsof tubercular origin giving rise to strange hallucinations. Some _ideefixe_, according to these gentlemen, caused the doctor to wander downthe tunnel, and a fall among the rocks was sufficient to account for hisinjuries. On the other hand, a legend of a strange creature in theGap has existed for some months back, and the farmers look uponDr. Hardcastle's narrative and his personal injuries as a finalcorroboration. So the matter stands, and so the matter will continueto stand, for no definite solution seems to us to be now possible. Ittranscends human wit to give any scientific explanation which couldcover the alleged facts. "

Perhaps before the _Courier_ published these words they would have beenwise to send their representative to me. I have thought the matter out, as no one else has occasion to do, and it is possible that I mighthave removed some of the more obvious difficulties of the narrative andbrought it one degree nearer to scientific acceptance. Let me then writedown the only explanation which seems to me to elucidate what I know tomy cost to have been a series of facts. My theory may seem to bewildly improbable, but at least no one can venture to say that it isimpossible. 

My view is--and it was formed, as is shown by my diary, before mypersonal adventure--that in this part of England there is a vastsubterranean lake or sea, which is fed by the great number of streamswhich pass down through the limestone. Where there is a large collectionof water there must also be some evaporation, mists or rain, and apossibility of vegetation. This in turn suggests that there may beanimal life, arising, as the vegetable life would also do, from thoseseeds and types which had been introduced at an early period of theworld's history, when communication with the outer air was more easy. This place had then developed a fauna and flora of its own, includingsuch monsters as the one which I had seen, which may well have been theold cave-bear, enormously enlarged and modified by its new environment. For countless aeons the internal and the external creation had keptapart, growing steadily away from each other. Then there had come somerift in the depths of the mountain which had enabled one creature towander up and, by means of the Roman tunnel, to reach the open air. Likeall subterranean life, it had lost the power of sight, but this had nodoubt been compensated for by nature in other directions. Certainly ithad some means of finding its way about, and of hunting down the sheepupon the hillside. As to its choice of dark nights, it is part of mytheory that light was painful to those great white eyeballs, and that itwas only a pitch-black world which it could tolerate. Perhaps, indeed, it was the glare of my lantern which saved my life at that awful momentwhen we were face to face. So I read the riddle. I leave these factsbehind me, and if you can explain them, do so; or if you choose to doubtthem, do so. Neither your belief nor your incredulity can alter them, nor affect one whose task is nearly over. 

So ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.