THE WHITE WOLF AND OTHER FIRESIDE TALES. 

By Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch ('Q'). 

CONTENTS. 

MIRACLE OF THE WHITE WOLF. 

SINDBAD ON BURRATOR. 

VICTOR. 

THE CAPTURE OF THE _BURGOMEISTER VAN DER WERF. 

KING O' PRUSSIA. 

THE MAN WHO COULD HAVE TOLD. 

THE CELLARS OF RUEDA. 

THE HAUNTED YACHT. 

PARSON JACK'S FORTUNE. 

THE BURGLARY CLUB. 

CONCERNING ST. JOHN OF JERUSALEM. 

COX _VERSUS_ PRETYMAN. 

THE BRIDALS OF YSSELMONDE. 

ENGLAND!

JOHN AND THE GHOSTS. 

THREE PHOTOGRAPHS. 

THE TALKING SHIPS. 

THE KEEPERS OF THE LAMP. 

TWO BOYS. 

THE SENIOR FELLOW. 

BALLAST. 

THE MIRACLE OF THE _WHITE WOLF_. 

I. --THE TALE OF SNORRI GAMLASON

In the early summer of 1358, with the breaking up of the ice, there cameto Brattahlid, in Greenland, a merchant-ship from Norway, withprovisions for the Christian settlements on the coast. The master'sname was Snorri Gamlason, and it happened that as he sailed intoEric's Fiord and warped alongside the quay, word was brought to him thatthe Bishop of Garda had arrived that day in Brattahlid, to hold aconfirmation. Whereupon this Snorri went ashore at once, and, gettingaudience of the Bishop, gave him a little book, with an account of howhe had come by it. 

The book was written in Danish, and Snorri could not understand a wordof it, being indeed unable to read or to write; but he told thistale:--

His ship, about three weeks before, had run into a calm, which lastedfor three days and two nights, and with a northerly drift she fell away, little by little, towards a range of icebergs which stretched across andahead of them in a solid chain. But about noon of the third day thecolour of the sky warned him of a worse peril, and soon there came upfrom the westward a bank of fog, with snow in it, and a wind thatincreased until they began to hear the ice grinding and breaking up--as it seemed--all around them. Snorri steered at first for thesouthward, where had been open water; but by and by found that even herewere drifting bergs. He therefore put his helm down and felt his waythrough the weather by short boards, and so, with the most of his menstationed forward to keep a look-out, fenced, as it were, with thedanger, steering and tacking, until by God's grace the fog lifted, andthe wind blew gently once more. 

And now in the clear sunshine he saw that the storm had been moreviolent than any had supposed; since the wall of ice, which before hadbeen solid, was now burst and riven in many places, and in particular tothe eastward, where a broad path of water lay before them almost like acanal, but winding here and there. Towards this Snorri steered, andentered it with a fair breeze. 

They had come, he said, but to the second bend of this waterway, when aseaman, who had climbed the mast on the chance of spying an outlet, called out in surprise that there was a ship ahead of them, but twomiles off, and running down the channel before the wind, even as they. At first he found no credit for this tale, and even when those on deckspied her mast and yard overtopping a gap between two bergs, they couldonly set it down for a mirage or cheat of eyesight in the clear weather. 

But by and by, said Snorri, they could not doubt they were in chase of aship, and, further, that they were fast overtaking her. For she steeredwith no method, and shook with every slant of wind, and anon went offbefore it like a helpless thing, until in the end she was fetched up bythe jutting foot of a berg, and there shook her sail, flapping with suchnoise that Snorri's men heard it, though yet a mile away. 

They bore down upon her, and now took note that this sail of hers wasragged and frozen, so that it flapped like a jointed board, and that herrigging hung in all ways and untended, but stiff with rime; and drawingyet nearer, they saw an ice-line about her hull, so deep that hertimbers seemed bitten through, and a great pile of frozen snow upon herpoop, banked even above her tiller; but no helmsman, and no living soulupon her. 

Then Snorri let lower his boat, and was rowed towards her; and, comingalongside, gave a hail, which was unanswered. But from the frozen pileby the tiller there stuck out a man's arm, ghastly to see. Snorri climbed on board by the waist, where her sides were low and awell reached aft from the mast to the poop. There was a cabin beneaththe poop, and another and larger room under the deck forward, betweenthe step of the mast and the bows. Into each of these he broke withaxes and bars, and in the one found nothing but some cooking-pots andbedding; but in the other--that is, the after-cabin--the door, as heburst it in, almost fell against a young man seated by a bed. So life-like was he that Snorri called aloud in the doorway, but anon, peering into the gloomy place, perceived the body to be frozen uprightand stiff, and that on the bed lay another body, of a lady slight andyoung, and very fair. She, too, was dead and frozen; yet her cheeks, albeit white as the pillow against which they rested, had not lost theirroundness. Snorri took note also of her dress and of the coverletreaching from the bed's foot to her waist, that they were of silk forthe most part, and richly embroidered, and her shift and the bed-sheetsabout her of fine linen. The man's dress was poor and coarse bycomparison; yet he carried a sword, and was plainly of gentle nurture. The sword Snorri drew from its sheath and brought away; also he took asmall box of jewels; but little else could he find on the ship, and nofood of any kind. 

His design was to leave the ship as he found it, carrying away onlythese tokens that his story, when he arrived at Brattahlid, might bereceived with faith; and to direct where the ship might be sought for. But as he quitted the cabin some of his men shouted from the deck, wherethey had discovered yet another body frozen in a drift. This was an oldman seated with crossed legs and leaning against the mast, having anink-horn slung about his neck, and almost hidden by his grey beard, andon his knee a book, which he held with a thumb frozen between two pages. 

This was the book which Snorri had brought to Brattahlid, and which theBishop of Garda read aloud to him that same afternoon, translating as hewent; the ink being fresh, the writing clerkly, and scarcely a pagedamaged by the weather. It bore no title; but the Bishop, whoafterwards caused his secretary to take a copy of the tale, gave it avery long one, beginning: "God's mercy shown in a Miracle upon certaincastaways from Jutland, at the Feast of the Nativity of His Blessed Son, our Lord, in the year MCCCLVII. , whereby He made dead trees to put forthin leaf, and comforted desperate men with summer in the midst of theFrozen Sea" . . . With much beside. But all this appears in the tale, which I will head only with the name of the writer. 

II. --PETER KURT'S MANUSCRIPT [1]

Now that our troubles are over, and I sit by the mast of our lateunhappy ship, not knowing if I am on earth or in paradise, but full-fedand warm in all my limbs, yea pierced and glowing with the love ofAlmighty God, I am resolved to take pen and use my unfrozen ink intelling out of what misery His hand hath led us to this present Eden. 

I who write this am Peter Kurt, and I was the steward of my master Ebbewhile he dwelt in his own castle of Nebbegaard. Poor he was then, andpoor, I suppose, he is still in all but love and the favour of God; butin those days the love was but an old servant's (to wit, my own), andthe favour of God not evident, but the poverty, on the other hand, bitterly apparent in all our housekeeping. We lived alone, with ahandful of servants--sometimes as few as three--in the castle whichstands between the sandhills and the woods, as you sail into VeileFiord. All these woods, as far away as to Rosenvold, had been the goodknight his father's, but were lost to us before Ebbe's birth, and leasedon pledge to the Knight Borre, of Egeskov, of whom I am to tell; andwith them went all the crew of verderers, huntsmen, grooms, prickers, and ostringers that had kept Nebbegaard cheerful the year round. His mother had died at my master's birth, and the knight himself but twoyears after, so that the lad grew up in his poverty with no heritage buta few barren acres of sand, a tumbling house, and his father's sword, and small prospect of winning the broad lands out of Borre's clutches. 

Nevertheless, under my tutoring he grew into a tall lad and a bold, agood swordsman, skilful at the tilt and in handling a boat; but nottalkative or free in his address of strangers. The most of his days hespent in fishing, or in the making and mending of gear; and hisevenings, after our lesson in sword-play, in the reading of books (ofwhich Nebbegaard had good store), and specially of the Icelanders, skalds and sagamen; also at times in the study of Latin with me, who hadbeen bred to the priesthood, but left it for love of his father, myfoster-brother, and now had no ambition of my own but to serve this ladand make him as good a man. 

But there were days when he would have naught to do with fishing or withbooks; dark days when I forbore and left him to mope by the dunes, or inthe great garden which had been his mother's, but was now a wildernessuntended. And it was then that he first met with the lady Mette. 

For as he walked there one morning, a little before noon, a swift shadowpassed overhead between him and the sun, and almost before he couldglance upward a body came dropping out of the sky and fell with a thudamong the rose-bushes by the eastern wall. It was a heron, and after itswooped the bird which had murdered it; a white ger-falcon of the kindwhich breeds in Greenland, but a trained bird, as he knew by the soundof the bells on her legs as she plunged through the bushes. Ebbe ran atonce to the corner where the birds struggled; but as he picked up thepelt he happened to glance towards the western wall, and in the gatewaythere stood a maiden with her hand on the bridle of a white palfrey. Her dog came running towards Ebbe as he stood. He beat it off, andcarrying the pelt across to its mistress, waited a moment silently, capin hand, while she called the great falcon back to its lure and leashedit to her wrist, which seemed all too slight for the weight. 

Then, as Ebbe held out the dead heron, she shook her head and laughed. "I am not sure, sir, that I have any right to it. We flushed it yonderbetween the wood and the sandhills, and, though I did not stay toconsider, I think it must belong to the owner of the shore-land. "

"It is true, " said Ebbe, "that I own the shore-land, and the forest, too, if law could enforce right. But for the bird you are welcome toit, and to as many more as you care to kill. "

Upon this she knit her brows. "The forest? But I thought that theforest was my father's? My name, " said she, "is Mette, and my father isthe Knight Borre, of Egeskov. "

"I am Ebbe of Nebbegaard, and, " said he, perceiving the mirth in hereyes, "you have heard the rhyme upon me--

 "'Ebbe from Nebbe, with all his men good, Has neither food nor firing-wood. '"

"I had not meant to be discourteous, " said she contritely; "but tell memore of these forest-lands. "

"Nay, " answered Ebbe, "hither comes riding your father with his men. Ask him for the story, and when he has told it you may know why I cannotmake him or his daughter welcome at Nebbegaard. "

To this she made no reply, but with her hand on the palfrey's bridlewent slowly back to meet her father, who reined up at a little distanceand waited, offering Ebbe no salutation. Then a groom helped her to thesaddle, and the company rode away towards Egeskov, leaving the lad withthe dead bird in his hand. 

For weeks after this meeting he moped more than usual. He had knownbefore that Sir Borre would leave no son, and that the lands ofNebbegaard, if ever to be won back, must be wrested from a woman--andthis had ever troubled him. It troubled me the less because I hopedthere might be another way than force; and even if it should come tothat, Sir Borre's past treachery had killed in me all kindness towardshis house, male or female. 

He and my old master and five other knights of the eastern coast hadbeen heavily oppressed by the Lord of Trelde, Lars Trolle, who ownedmany ships, and, though no better than a pirate, claimed a right oflevying tribute along the shore that faces Funen, upon pretence ofprotecting it. After enduring many raids and paying toll under threatfor years, these seven knights banded together to rid themselves of thisrobber; but word of their meetings being carried to Trolle, he camesecretly one night to Nebbegaard with three ships' crews, broke down thedoors, and finding the seven assembled in debate, made them prisonersand held them at ransom. My master, a poor man, could only purchaserelease by the help of his comrade, Borre, who found the ransom, buttook in exchange the lands of Nebbegaard, to hold them until repaid outof their revenues; but of these he could never after be brought to givean account. We on our side had lost the power to enforce it, and behindhis own strength he could now threaten us with Lars Trolle's, to whom hehad been reconciled. 

Therefore I felt no tenderness for Sir Borre's house, if by any meansour estates could be recovered. But after this meeting with Sir Borre'sdaughter, I could see that my young lord went heavily troubled; and Ibegan to think of other means than force. 

It may have been six months later that word fame to us of great stir andbustle at Egeskov. Sir Borre, being aged, and anxious to see hisdaughter married before he died, had proclaimed a Bride-show. Now thecustom is, and the rule, that any suitor (so he be of gentle birth) mayoffer himself in these contests; nor will the parents begin to bargainuntil he has approved himself, --a wise plan, since it lessens thedisputing, which else might be endless. So when this news reached us Ilooked at my master, and he, perceiving what I would say, answered it. 

"If Holgar will carry me, " said he, "we will ride to Egeskov. "

This Holgar was a stout roan horse, foaled at Nebbegaard, but now welladvanced in years, and the last of that red stock for which our stableshad been famous. 

"He will carry you thither, " said I; "and by God's grace, bring you homewith a bride behind you. "

Upon this my master hung his head. "Peter, " he said, "do not think Iattempt this because it is the easier way. "

"It comes easier than fighting with a woman, " I answered. "But you willfind it hard enow when the old man begins to haggle. "

I did not know then that the lad's heart was honestly given to thismaid; but so it was, and had been from the moment when she stood beforehim in the gateway. 

So to Egeskov we rode, and there found no less than forty suitorsassembled, and some with a hundred servants in retinue. Sir Borrereceived us with no care to hide his scorn, though the hour had not comefor putting it into words; and truly my master's arms wereold-fashioned, and with the dents they had honourably taken when theycased his father, made a poor battered show, for all my scouring. 

Nevertheless, I had no fear when his turn came to ride the ring. Three rides had each wooer under the lady Mette's eyes, and three ringsEbbe carried off and laid on the cushion before her. She stooped andpassed about his neck the gold chain which she held for the prize; but Ithink they exchanged no looks. Only one other rider brought two rings, and this was a son of Lars Trolle, Olaf by name, a tall young knight, and well-favoured, but disdainful; whom I knew Sir Borre must favour ifhe could. 

I could not see that the maiden favoured him above the rest, yet I kepta close eye upon this youth, and must own that in the jousting whichfollowed he carried himself well. For this the most of the wooers hadfresh horses, and I drew a long breath when, at the close of the thirdcourse, my master, with two others, remained in the lists. For it hadbeen announced to us that the last courses should be ridden on themorrow. But now Sir Borre behaved very treacherously, for perceiving(as I am sure) that the horse Holgar was overwearied and panting, hegave word that the sport should not be stayed. More by grace of Heavenit was than by force of riding that Ebbe unhorsed his next man, aknight's son from Smalling; but in the last course, which he rodeagainst Olaf of Trolle, who had stood a bye, his good honest beast cameto the tilt-cloth with knees trembling, and at a touch rolled over, though between the two lances (I will swear) there was nothing tochoose. I was quick to pick up my dear lad; but he would have none ofmy comfort, and limped away from the lists as one who had borne himselfshamefully. Yea, and my own heart was hot as I led Holgar back tostable, without waiting to see the prize claimed by one who, though afair fighter, had not won it without foul aid. 

Having stalled Holgar I had much ado to find his master again, andendless work to persuade him to quit his sulks and join the othersuitors in the hall that night, when each presented his bride-gift. Even when I had won him over, he refused to take the coffer I placed inhis hands, though it held his mother's jewels, few but precious. But entering with the last, as became his humble rank of esquire, helaid nothing at the lady's feet save his sword and the chain that sheherself had given him. 

"You bring little, Squire Ebbe, " said the Knight Borre, from his seatbeside his daughter. 

"I bring what is most precious in the world to me, " said Ebbe. 

"Your lance is broken, I believe?" said the old knight scornfully. 

"My lance is not broken, " he answered; "else you should have it to matchyour word. " And rising, without a look at Mette, whose eyes weredowncast, he strode back to the door. 

I had now given up hope, for the maid showed no sign of kindness, andthe old man and the youth were like two dogs--the very sight of the oneset the other growling. Yet--since to leave in a huff would have beendiscourteous--I prevailed on my master to bide over the morrow, and evento mount Holgar and ride forth to the hunt which was to close theBride-show. He mounted, indeed, but kept apart and well behind Metteand her brisk group of wooers. For, apart from his lack of inclination, his horse was not yet recovered; and by and by, as the prickers starteda deer, the hunt swept ahead of him and left him riding alone. 

He had a mind to turn aside and ride straight back to Nebbegaard, whither he had sent me on to announce him (and dismally enough Iobeyed), when at the end of a green glade he spied Mette returning aloneon her white palfrey. 

"For I am tired of this hunting, " she told him, as she came near. "And you? Does it weary you also, that you lag so far behind?"

"It would never weary me, " he answered; "but I have a weary horse. "

"Then let us exchange, " said she. "Though mine is but a palfrey, itwould carry you better. Your roan betrayed you yesterday, and it isbetter to borrow than to miss excelling. "

"My house, " answered Ebbe, still sulkily, "has had enough borrowing ofEgeskov; and my horse may be valueless, but he is one of the few thingsdear to me, and I must keep him. "

"Truly then, " said she, "your words were nought, last night, when youprofessed to offer me the gifts most precious to you in the world. "

And before he could reply to this, she had pricked on and was lost inthe woodland. 

Ebbe sat for a while as she left him, considering, at the crossing oftwo glades. Then he twitched Holgar's rein and turned back towardsNebbegaard. But at the edge of the wood, spying a shepherd seated belowin the plain by his flock, he rode down to the man, and called to himand said--

"Go this evening to Egeskov and greet the lady Mette, and say to herthat Ebbe of Nebbegaard could not barter his good horse, the last of hisfather's stable. But that she may know he was honest in offering herthe thing most precious to him, tell her further what thou hast seen. "

So saying, he alighted off Holgar, and, smoothing his neck, whispered aword in his ear. And the old horse turned his muzzle and rubbed itagainst his master's left palm, whose right gripped a dagger and droveit straight for the heart. This was the end of the roan stock ofNebbegaard. 

My master Ebbe reached home that night with the mire thick on his boots. Having fed him, I went to the stables, and finding no Holgar made surethat he had killed the poor beast in wrath for his discomforture at thetilt. The true reason he gave me many days after. I misjudged him, judging him by his father's temper. 

On the morrow of the Bride-show the suitors took their leave of Egeskov, under promise to return again at the month's end and hear how the ladyMette had chosen. So they went their ways, none doubting that thefortunate one would be Olaf of Trelde; and, for me, I blamed myself thatwe had ever gone to Egeskov. 

But on the third morning after the Bride-show I changed this advice verysuddenly; for going at six of the morning to unlock our postern gate, asmy custom was, I found a tall black stallion tethered there and leftwithout a keeper. His harness was of red leather, and each broadcrimson rein bore certain words embroidered: on the one "A StraightQuarrel is Soonest Mended "; on the other, "Who Will Dare LearnsSwiftness. "

Little time I lost in calling my master to admire, and having read whatwas written, he looked in my eyes and said, "I go back to Egeskov. "

"That is well done, " said I; "may the Almighty God prosper it!"

"But, " said he doubtfully, "if I determine on a strange thing, will youhelp me, Peter? I may need a dozen men; men without wives to missthem. "

"I can yet find a dozen such along the fiord, " I answered. 

"And we go on a long journey, perhaps never to return to Nebbegaard. "

"Dear master, " said I, "what matter where my old bones lie after theyhave done serving you?" He kissed me and rode away to Egeskov. 

"I thought that the Squire of Nebbe had done with us, " Sir Borre beganto sneer, when Ebbe found audience. "But the Bride-show is over, myman, and I give not my answer for a month yet. "

"Your word is long to pledge, and longer to redeem, " said Ebbe. "I know that, were I to wait a twelvemonth, you would not of free willgive me Mette. "

"Ah, you know that, do you? Well, then, you are right, Master Lackland, and the greater your impudence in hoping to wile from me through mydaughter what you could not take by force. "

Ebbe replied, "I was prepared to find it difficult, but let that pass. As touching my lack of land, I have Nebbegaard left; a poor estate andbarren, yet I think you would be glad of it, to add to the lands ofwhich you robbed us. "

"Well, " said Borre, "I would give a certain price for it, but not mydaughter, nor anything near so precious to me. "

"Give me one long ship, " said Ebbe; "the swiftest of your seven whichride in the strait between Egeskov and Stryb. You shall takeNebbegaard for her, since I am weary of living at home and care littleto live at all without Mette. "

Borre's eyes shone with greed. "I commend you, " said he; "for a stoutlad there is nothing like risking his life to win a fortune. Give me the deeds belonging to Nebbegaard, and you shall have my ship_Gold Mary_. "

"By your leave, " said Ebbe, "I have spent some time in watching yourships upon the fiord; and the ship in my mind was the _White Wolf_. "

Sir Borre laughed to find himself outwitted, for the _White Wolf_ couldoutsail all his fleet. But in any case he had the better of the bargainand could afford to show some good-humour. Moreover, though he knew notthat Mette had any tenderness for this youth, his spirits rose at theprospect of getting him out of the way. 

So the bargain was struck, and as Nebbe rode homewards to his castle forthe last time, he met the shepherd who had taken his former message. The man was waiting for him, and (as you guess) by Mette's orders. 

"Tell the lady Mette, " said Ebbe, "that I have sold Nebbegaard for the_White Wolf_, and that two nights from now my men will be aboard of her;also that I sup with her father that evening before the boat takes meoff from the Bent Ness. "

So it was that two nights later Ebbe supped at Egeskov, and was keptdrinking by the old knight for an hour maybe after the lady Mette hadrisen and left the hall for her own room. 

And at the end, after the last speeding-cup, needs must Sir Borre (whohad grown friendly beyond all belief) see him to the gate and standthere bare-headed among his torch-bearers while my master mounted theblack stallion that was to bear him to Bent Ness, three miles away, where I waited with the boat. 

But as Ebbe shook his rein, and moved out of the torchlight, came thedamsel Mette stealing out of the shadow upon the far side of the horse. He reached down a hand, and she took it, and sprang up behind him. 

"For this bout, Sir Borre, I came with a fresh horse!" called my masterblithely; and so, striking spur, galloped off into the dark. 

Little chance had Sir Borre to overtake them. The stallion was swift, our boat waiting in the lee of the Ness, the wind southerly and fresh, the _White Wolf_ ready for sea, with sail hoisted and but one smallanchor to get on board or cut away if need were. But there was no need. Before the men of Egeskov reached the Ness and found there the blackstallion roaming, its riders were sailing out of the Strait with a merrybreeze. So began our voyage. 

My master was minded to sail for Norway and take service under the king. But first, coming to the island of Laeso, he must put ashore and seek apriest, by whom he and the lady Mette were safely made man and wife. Two days he spent at the island, and then, with fresh store ofprovisions, we headed northward again. 

It was past Skagen that our troubles began, with a furious wind from thenorth-east against which there was no contending, so that we ran from itand were driven for two days and a night into the wide sea. Even whenit lessened, the wind held in the east; and we, who could handle theship, but knew little of reckoning, crept northward again in the hope tosight the coast of Norway. For two days we held on at this, lying closeby the wind, and in good spirits, although our progress was not much;but on the third blew another gale--this time from the south-east--andfor a week gale followed gale, and we went in deadly peril, yet neverlosing hope. The worst was the darkness, for the year was now drawingtowards Yule, and as we pressed farther north we lost almost all sightof the sun. 

At length, with the darkness and the bitter cold and our stores runninglow, we resolved to let the wind take us with what swiftness it might towhatsoever land it listed; and so ran westward, with darkness closingupon us, and famine and a great despair. 

But the lady Mette did not lose heart, and the worst of all (our failingcupboard) we kept from her, so that she never lacked for plenty. Truly her cheerfulness paid us back, and her love for my master, thelike of which I had not seen in this world; no, nor dreamed of. Hand in hand this pair would sit, watching the ice which was our prisonand the great North Lights, she close against Ebbe's side for warmth, and (I believe) as happy us a bird; he trembling for the end. The worst was to see her at table, pressing food to his mouth andwondering at his little hunger; while his whole body cried out for themeat, only it could not be spared. 

Though she must know soon, none of us had the heart to tell her; and notout of pity alone, but because with her must die out the last spark bywhich we warmed ourselves. 

But there came a morning--I write it as of a time long ago, and yet itwas but yesterday, praise be unto God!--there came a morning when Iawoke and found that two of our men had died in the plight, of frost andfamine. They must be hidden before my mistress discovered aught; and sobefore her hour of waking we weighted and dropped the bodies oversideinto deep water; for the ice had not yet wholly closed about us. Now asI stooped, I suppose that my legs gave way beneath me. At any rate, Ifell; and in falling struck my head against the bulwarks, and opened myeyes in that unending dusk to find the lady Mette stooping over me. 

Then somehow I was aware that she had called for wine to force down mythroat, and had been told that there was no wine; and also that withthis answer had come to her the knowledge, full and sudden, of our case. Better had we done to trust her than to hide it all this while, for sheturned to Ebbe, who stood at her shoulder, and "Is not this the feast ofYule?" she asked. My master bent his head, but without answering. 

"Ah!" she cried to him. "Now I know what I have longed to know, thatyour love is less than mine, for you can love yet be doubtful ofmiracles; while to me, now that I have loved, no miracle can be aughtbut small. " She bowed herself over me. "Art dying, old friend?Look up and learn that God, being Love, deserts not lovers. "

Then she stooped and gathered, as I thought, a handful of snow from thedeck; but lo! when she pressed it to my lips, and I tasted, it washeavenly manna. 

And looking up past her face I saw the ribbons of the North Lights fadein a great and wide sunlight, bathing the deck and my frozen limbs. Nor did they feel it only, but on the wind came the noise of bergsrending, springs breaking, birds singing, many and curious. And withthat, as I am a sinful man, I gazed up into green leaves; for either wehad sailed into Paradise or the timbers of the _White Wolf_ wereswelling with sap and pushing forth bough upon bough. Yea, and therewere roses at the mast's foot, and my fingers, as I stretched them, dabbled in mosses. While I lay there, breathing softly, as one whodreams and fears to awake, I heard her voice talking among the noises ofbirds and brooks, and by the scent it seemed to be in a garden; butwhether it spake to me or to Ebbe I knew not, nor cared. "The Lord ismy Shepherd, and guides me, " it said, "wherefore I lack nothing. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me by comfortablestreams: He reviveth my soul. Yea, though I walk through the valley ofthe shadow of death, I will fear no harm: Thy rod and Thy staff theycomfort me. " But, a little after, I knew that the voice spake to mymaster, for it said: "Let us go forth into the field, O beloved: let uslodge in the villages: let us get up betimes to the vineyard and see ifthe vine have budded, if its blossom be open, the pomegranates inflower. Even there will I give thee my love. " Then looking again I sawthat the two had gone from me and left me alone. 

But, blessed be God, they took not away the vision, and now I knowcertainly that it is no cheat. For here sit I, dipping my pen into theunfrozen ink, and, when a word will not come, looking up into the broadbranches and listening to the birds till I forget my story. It is longsince they left me; but I am full fed, and the ship floats pleasantly. After so much misery I am as one rocked on the bosom of God; and thepine resin has a pleasant smell. 

[1] The courtship of Ebbe, the poor esquire of Nebbegaard, and themaiden Mette is a traditional tale of West Jutland. A version of it wasEnglished by Thorpe from Carit Etlar's "_Eventyr og Folkesagen fraJylland_": but this, while it tells of Ebbe's adventures at the"Bride-show, " and afterwards at the hunting-party, contains no accountof the lovers' escape and voyage, or of the miracle which brought themcomfort at the last. Indeed, Master Kurt contradicts the common tale inmany ways, but above all in his ending, wherein (although he narrates amiracle) I find him worthy of belief. 

SINDBAD ON BURRATOR. 

I heard this story in a farmhouse upon Dartmoor, and I give it in thewords of the local doctor who told it. We were a reading-party ofthree undergraduates and a Christ Church don. The don had slipped on aboulder, two days before, while fishing the river Meavy, and sprainedhis ankle; hence Dr. Miles's visit. The two had made friends over thedon's fly-book and the discovery that what the doctor did not know aboutDartmoor trout was not worth knowing; hence an invitation to extend hisvisit over dinner. At dinner the talk diverged from sport to theancient tin-works, stone circles, camps and cromlechs on the tors aboutus, and from there to touch speculatively on the darker side of the oldreligions: hence at length the doctor's story, which he told over thepipes and whisky, leaning his arms upon the table and gazing at itrather than at us, as though drawing his memories out of depths belowits polished surface. 

It must be thirty--yes, thirty--years ago (he said) since I met the man, on a bright November morning, when the Dartmoor hounds were drawingBurrator Wood. Burrator House in those days belonged to the RajahBrooke--Brooke of Sarawak--who had bought it from Harry Terrell; orrather it had been bought for him by the Baroness Burdett Coutts andother admirers in England. Harry Terrell--a great sportsman in hisday--had been loth enough to part with it, and when the bargain wasfirst proposed, had named at random a price which was about double whathe had given for the place. The Rajah closed with the sum at once, asked him to make a list of everything in the house, and put a price onwhatever he cared to sell. Terrell made a full list, putting whatseemed to him fair prices on most of the furniture, and high ones--prohibitive he thought--on the sticks he had a fancy to keep. The Rajahglanced over the paper in his grand manner, and says he, "I'll take itall. " "Stop! stop!" cried Terrell, "I bain't going to let you have thebed I was married in!" "As you please; we'll strike out the bed, then, " the Rajah answered. That is how he took possession. 

Burrator House, as I daresay you know, faces across the Meavy uponBurrator Wood; and the wood, thanks to Terrell, had always been a suredraw for a fox. I had tramped over from Tavistock on this particularmorning, --for I was new to the country, a young man looking around mefor a practice, and did not yet possess a horse, --and I sat on the slopeabove the house, at the foot of the tor, watching the scene on theopposite bank. The fixture, always a favourite one, and the Rajah'shospitality--which was noble, like everything about him--had brought outa large and brightly-dressed field; and among them, in his black coat, moved Terrell on a horse twice as good as it looked. He had ridden overfrom his new home, and I daresay in the rush of old associations hadforgotten for the while that the familiar place was no longer his. 

The Rajah, a statue of a man, sat on a tall grey at the covert's edge, directly below me; and from time to time I watched him through myfield-glass. He had lately recovered from a stroke of paralysis, andwas (I am told) the wreck of his old self; but the old fire lived in theashes. He sat there, tall, lean, upright as a ramrod, with his eyesturned from the covert and gazing straight in front, over his horse'sears, on the rushing Meavy. He had forgotten the hounds; his care forhis guests was at an end; and I wondered what thoughts, what memories ofthe East, possessed him. There is always a loneliness about a greatman, don't you think? But I have never felt one to be so terribly--yes, terribly--alone as the Rajah was that morning among his guests and theDevonshire tors. 

"Every inch a king, " said a voice at my elbow, and a little man settledhimself down on the turf beside me. I set down my glasses with a start. He was a spare dry fellow of about fifty, dressed in what I took for theworking suit of a mechanic. Certainly he did not belong to the moor. He wore no collar, but a dingy yellow handkerchief knotted about histhroat, and both throat and face were seamed with wrinkles--so thicklyseamed that at first glance you might take them for tattoo-marks; but Ihad time for a second, for without troubling to meet my eyes he noddedtowards the Rajah. 

"I've cut a day's work and travelled out from Plymouth to get a sight ofhim; and I've a wife will pull my hair out when I get home and she findsI haven't been to the docks to-day; and I've had no breakfast but thirtygrains of opium; but he's worth it. "

"Thirty grains of opium!" I stared at him, incredulous. He did notturn, but, still with his eyes on the valley below us, stretched out ahand. It's fingers were gnarled, and hooked like a bird's claw, and onthe little finger a ruby flashed in the morning sunlight--not a largeruby, but of the purest pigeon's-blood shade, and in any case a stone ofprice. 

"You see this? My wife thinks it a sham one, but it's not. And someday, when I'm drunk or in low water, I shall part with it--but not yet. You've an eye for it, I see, "--and yet he was not looking towards me, --"but the Rajah, yonder, and I are the only two within a hundred milesthat can read what's in the heart of it. "

He gazed for a second or two at the stone, lifted it to his ear as iflistening, and lowering his hand to the turf, bent over it and gazedagain. "Ay, _he_ could understand and see into you, my beauty!_He_ could hear the little drums tum-a-rumbling, and the ox-bells andbangles tinkling, and the shuffle of the elephants going by; _he_ couldread the lust in you, and the blood and the sun flickering and lickinground the _kris_ that spilt it--for it's the devil you have in you, mydear. But we know you--he and I--he and I. Ah! there you go, " hemuttered as the hounds broke into cry, and the riders swept round theedge of the copse towards the sound of a view-halloo. "There you go, "he nodded after the Rajah; "but ride as you will, the East is in you, great man--its gold in your blood, its dust in your eyelids, its ownstink in your nostril; and, ride as you will, you can never escape it. "

He clasped his knees and leaned back against the slope, following thegrey horse and its rider with idolatrous gaze; and I noted that one ofthe clasped hands lacked the two middle fingers. 

"You know him?" I asked. "You have seen him out there, at Sarawak?"

"I never saw him; but I heard of him. " He smiled to himself. "It's noteasy to pass certain gates in the East without hearing tell of the RajahBrooke. "

For a while he sat nursing his knee while I filled and lit a pipe. Then he turned abruptly, and over the flame of the match I saw his eyes, the pupils clouded around the iris and, as it were, withdrawn inward andaway from the world. "Ever heard of Cagayan Sulu?" he asked. 

"Never, " said I. "Who or what is it?"

"It's an island, " said he. "It lies a matter of eighty miles off thenorth-east corner of Borneo--facing Sandakan, as you might say. "

"Who owns it?"

He seemed to be considering the question. "Well, " he answered slowly, "if you asked the Spanish Government I suppose they'd tell you the Kingof Spain; but that's a lie. If you asked the natives--the Hadji Hamid, for instance--you'd be told it belonged to them; and that's half a lie. And if you asked the Father of Lies he might tell you the truth and callme for witness. I lost two fingers there--the only English flesh everburied in those parts--so I've bought my knowledge. "

"How did you come there?" I asked, --"if it's a fair question. "

He chuckled without mirth. "As it happens, that's _not_ a fairquestion. But I'll tell you this much, I came there with a brass band. "

I began to think the man out of his mind. 

"With the instruments, that is. I'd dropped the bandmaster on the way. Look here, " he went on sharply, "the beginning is funny enough, but I'mtelling you no lies. We'll suppose there was a ship, a Britishman-of-war--name not necessary just now. "

"I think I understand, " I nodded. 

"Oh no, you don't, " said he. "I'm not a deserter--at least notexactly--or I shouldn't be telling this to you. Well, we'll supposethis ship bound from Labuan to Hong-Kong with orders to keep along thenorth side of Borneo, to start with, and do a bit of exploring by theway. This would be in 'forty-nine, when the British Government had justtaken over Labuan. _Very_ good. Next we'll suppose the captain puts inat Kudat, in Marudu Bay, to pay a polite call on the Rajah there or someunderstrapper of the Sultan's, and takes his ship's band ashore by wayof compliment, and that the band gets too drunk to play 'Annie Laurie. '"He chuckled again. "I never saw such a band as we were, down by thewater's edge; and O'Hara, the bandmaster, took on and played the fool tosuch a tune, while we waited for the boat to take us aboard, that forthe very love I bore him I had to knock him down and sit on him in aquiet corner. 

"While I sat keeping guard on him I must have dropped asleep myself; forthe next I remember was waking up to find the beach deserted and theboat gone. This put me in a sweat, of course; but after groping somewhile about the foreshore (which was as dark as the inside of your hat), I tripped over a rope and so found a native boat. O'Hara wouldn't wake, so I just lifted him on board like a sack, tossed in his cornet and mybombardon, tumbled in on top of them, and started to row for dear lifetowards the ship's light in the offing. 

"But the Rajah, or rather his servants, had filled us up with a kind ofsticky drink that only begins to work when you think it about time toleave off. I must have pulled miles towards that ship, and every time Icast an eye over my shoulder her light was shining just as far away asever. At last I remember feeling sure I was bewitched, and with that Imust have tumbled off the thwart in a sound sleep. 

"When I awoke I had both arms round the bombardon; there wasn't a sightof land, or of the ship, anywhere; and, if you please, the sun was nearsinking! This time I managed to wake up O'Hara. We had splittingheadaches, the pair of us; but we snatched up our instruments andstarted to blow on them like mad. Not a soul heard, though we blew tillthe sweat poured down us, and kept up the concert pretty well allthrough the night. You may think it funny, and I suppose we did amountto something like a joke--we two bandsmen booming away at the PopularAirs of Old England and the Huntsmen's Chorus under those everlastingstars. You wouldn't say so, if you had been the audience when O'Harabroke down and began to confess his sins. 

"Luckily the sea kept smooth, and next morning I took the oars inearnest. We had no compass, and I was famished; but I stuck to it, steering by the sun and pulling in the direction where I supposed landto lie. O'Hara kept a look-out. We saw nothing, however, and down camethe night again. 

"Though the hunger had been gnawing and griping me for hours, yet--dog-tired as I was--I curled myself at the bottom of the boat and slept, and dreamed I was on board ship again and in my hammock. A sort ofbooming in my ears awoke me. Looking up I saw daylight around--clearmorning light and blue sky--and right overhead, as it were, a greatcliff standing against the blue. And there in the face of day O'Harasat on the thwart, tugging like mad, now cricking his neck almost tostare up at the cliff, and now grinning down at me in silly triumph. 

"With that I caught at the meaning of the sound in my ears. 'You infernal fool!' I shouted, staggering up and making to snatch thepaddle from him. 'Get her nose round to it and back her!' For it wasthe noise of breaking water. 

"But I was too late. Our boat, I must tell you, was a sort of Dutchpram, about twelve feet long and narrowing at the bows, which stood wellout of water; handy enough for beaching, but not to be taken throughbreakers, by reason of its sitting low in the stern. O'Hara, as Iyelled at him, pulled his starboard paddle and brought her (for theseprams spin round easily) almost broadside on to a tall comber. As weslid up the side of it and hung there, I had a glimpse of a steep cleanfissure straight through the wall of rock ahead; and in that instantO'Hara sprawled his arms and toppled overboard. The boat and I went byhim with a rush. I saw a hand and wrist lifted above the foam, but whenI looked back for them they were gone--gone as I shot over the bar andthrough the cleft into smooth water. I shouted and pulled back to theedge of the breakers; but he was gone, and I never saw him again. 

"I suppose it was ten minutes before I took heart to look about me. I was floating on a lake of the bluest water I ever set eyes on, and ascalm as a pond except by the entrance where the spent waves, aftertumbling over the bar, spread themselves in long ripples, widening andwidening until the edge of them melted and they were gone. The banks ofthe lake rose sheer from its edge, or so steeply that I saw no way ofclimbing them--walls you might call them, a good hundred feet high, andwidening gradually towards the top, but in a circle as regular as everyou could draw with a pair of compasses. Any fool could see what hadhappened--that here was the crater of a dead volcano, one side of whichhad been broken into by the sea; but the beauty of it, sir, coming ontop of my weakness, fairly made me cry. For the walls at the top werefringed with palms and jungle trees, and hung with creepers likecurtains that trailed over the face of the cliff and down among theferns by the shore. I leaned over the boat and stared into the water. It was clear, clear--you've no notion how clear; but no bottom could Isee. It seemed to sink right through and into the sea on the other sideof the world!

"Well, all this was mighty pretty, but it didn't tell me where to find ameal; so I baled out the boat and paddled along the eastern edge of thelake searching the cliffs for a path, and after an hour or so I hit onwhat looked to me like a foot-track, zig-zagging up through the creepersand across the face of the rock. I determined to try it, made the boatfast to a clump of fern, slung O'Hara's cornet on to my side-belt andbegan to climb. 

"I saw no marks of footsteps; but the track was a path all right, thougha teazer. A dozen times I had to crawl on hands and knees under thecreepers--creepers with stems as thick as my two wrists--and once, abouttwo-thirds of the way up, I was forced to push sideways through acrevice dripping with water, and so steep under foot that I slid twiceand caked myself with mud. I very nearly gave out here; but it was door die, and after ten minutes more of scratching, pushing, andscrambling, I reached the top and sat down to mop my face and recover. 

"I daresay it was another ten minutes before I fetched breath enough andlooked about me; and as I turned my head, there, close behind me, layanother crater with another lake smiling below, all blue and peaceful asthe one I had left! I gazed from one to the other. This new crater hadno opening on the sea; its sides were steeper, though not quite so tall;and either my eyes played me a trick or its water stood at a higherlevel. I stood there, comparing the two, when suddenly against theskyline, and not two hundred yards away, I caught sight of a man. 

"He was walking towards me around the edge of the crater, and haltingevery now and then to stare down at my boat. He might be a friend, orhe might be a foe; but anyway it was not for me, in my condition, tochoose which, so I waited for him to come up. And first I saw that hecarried a spear, and wore a pair of wide dirty-white trousers and ashort coat embroidered with gold; and next that he was a true Malay, pretty well on in years, with a greyish beard falling over his chest. He had no shirt, but a scarlet sash wrapped about his waist and holdinga _kris_ and two long pistols handsomely inlaid with gold. In spite ofhis weapons he seemed a benevolent old boy. 

"He pointed towards my boat and tried me with a few questions, first inhis own language, then in Spanish, of which I knew very little beyondthe sound. But I spread out my hands towards the sea, by way ofexplaining our voyage, and then pointed to my mouth. If he understoodhe seemed in no hurry. He tapped O'Hara's cornet gingerly with twofingers. I unstrung it and made shift to play 'Home, Sweet Home. 'This delighted him; he nodded, rubbed his hands, and stepped a few pacesfrom me, then turned and began fingering his spear in a way I did notlike at all. 'It's a matter of taste, sir, ' said I, or words to thateffect, dropping the cornet like a hot potato; but he pointed towardsit, and then over a ridge inland, and I gathered I must pick it up andfollow him--which I did, and pretty quick. 

"From the top of this ridge we faced across a small plain bounded on thenorth with a tier of hills, most of which seemed by their shape to bevolcanoes, and out of action--for the sky lay quite blue and clear abovethem. The way down into this plain led through jungle; but the plainitself had been cleared of all but small clumps dotted here and there, which gave it, you might say, the look of an English park; and abouthalf-way across, in a clear stretch of lalang grass, stood a village ofwhite huts huddling round a larger and much taller house. 

"The old man led me straight towards this, and, coming closer, I sawthat the large house had a rough glacis about it and a round wallpierced with loopholes. A number of goats were feeding here and a fewsmall cattle; also the ground about the village had been cleared andplanted with fruit-trees, --mangoes, bananas, limes, and oranges, --but asyet I saw no inhabitants. The old Malay, who had kept ahead of me allthe way, walking at a fair pace, here halted and once more signed to meto blow on the cornet. I obeyed, of course, this time with 'The BritishGrenadiers. ' I declare to you it was like starting a swarm of bees. You wouldn't believe the troops that came pouring out of those fewhuts--the women in loose trousers pretty much like the men's, but witharms bare and loose _sarongs_ flung over their right shoulders, thechildren with no more clothes than a pocket-handkerchief apiece. I can't tell you what first informed me of my guide's rank among them--whether the salaams they offered him, or the richness of his dress--he was the only one with gold lace and the only one who carriedpistols--or the air with which he paraded me through the crowd, wavingthe people back to right and left, and clearing a way to a narrow doorin the wall around the great house. A man armed with a longfowling-piece saluted him at the entry; and once inside he pointed fromthe house to his own breast, as much as to say, 'I am the Chief, andthis is mine. ' I saluted him humbly. 

"A verandah ran around the four sides of the house, with a trenchbetween it and the fortified wall. A plank bridge led across the trenchto the verandah steps, where my master--or, to call him by his rightname, Hadji Hamid--halted again and clapped his hands. A couple ofyoung Malay women, dressed like those I had passed in the street, ranout in answer, and were ordered to bring me food. While it waspreparing I rested on a low chair, blinking at the sunlight on thefortified wall. It had been pierced, on the side of the house, foreleven guns, but six of the embrasures were empty, and of the fivepieces standing no two were alike in size, age, or manufacture, and thebest seemed to be a nine-pounder, strapped to its carriage with rope. Hadji Hamid saw what I was looking at, and chuckled to himself solemnly. All through the meal--which began with a mess of rice and chopped fowland ended with bananas--he sat beside me, chewing betel, touching thisthing and that, naming it in his language and making me repeat the wordsafter him. He smiled at every mistake, but never lost his patience;indeed it was clear that my quickness delighted him, and I did my best, wondering all the while what he meant to do with me. 

"Well, to be short, sir, he intended to keep me. I believe he wouldhave done it for the sake of the cornet; but before I had finishedeating, up stepped a sentry escorting a man with my bombardon under hisarm. I had left it, as you know, in the boat, and had heard no ordergiven; but the boat I never saw again, and here was my bombardon. Hadji Hamid took it in both hands, felt it all over, patted it, andended by turning it over to me and calling in dumb show for a tune. I tell you, my performance was a success. At the first blast he leanedback suddenly in his chair; at the second he turned a kind of purpleunder his yellow skin; but at the third he caught hold of his stomachand began to roll in his seat and laugh. You never saw a man laugh likeit. He made scarcely any sound; he was too near apoplexy to speak; butthe tears ran down his face, and one minute his hand would be up wavingfeebly to me to stop, the next he'd be signalling to go on again. I wanted poor O'Hara; he used to give himself airs and swear at myplaying, but among these people he and his cornet would have had tostand down. 

"They gave me a bed that night in a corner of the verandah, and nextmorning my master came himself to wake me, and took me down to thevillage bathing-pool, just below the fortifications. It hurt my modestyto find the whole mob of inhabitants gathered there and waiting, and itdidn't set me at ease, exactly, to notice that each man carried hisspear. For one nasty moment I pictured a duck-hunt, with me playingduck. But there was no cause for alarm. At a signal from Hamid, whostripped and led the way, in we tumbled together--men, women, andchildren--the men first laying their spears on the bank beside theirclothes. Six remained on shore to keep guard, and were relieved afterfive minutes by another six from the pool. There was a good deal ofsplashing and horse-play, but nothing you could call immodest, though myfair skin came in for an amount of attention I had to get used to. 

"My breakfast was served to me alone, and soon after I was summoned toattend my master in one of the state rooms of the house. I found him ona shaded platform, seated opposite an old native as well-dressed andvenerable-looking as himself, but stouter. The pair lolled on cushionsat either end of the platform, smoking and smoothing their grey beards. I understood that the visitor was a personage and (somehow) that he hadbeen sent for expressly to hear and be astonished by my performance. 

"The two instruments were brought in upon cushions, and I began to play. The visitor--who had less sense of humour than Hamid--did not laugh atall. Instead, he took the mouthpiece of his _tchibouk_ slowly from hislips and held it at a little distance, while his mouth and eyes openedwider and wider. Hamid eyed him keenly, with a kind of triumph underhis lids; and the triumph grew as the old man's stare lit up with ajealousy there was no mistaking. 

"This, too, passed as I wound up with a flourish and stood at attention, waiting for orders. The visitor put out his hand, but as I offered himthe bombardon he waved it aside impatiently and pointed to the cornet. I passed it up to him; he patted and examined it for a while, laid it onhis knee, and the two men began talking in low voices. 

"I could see that compliments were passing; but you'll guess I wasn'tprepared for what followed. Hamid stood up suddenly and whispered toone of his six guards stationed below the platform. The man went out, and returned in five minutes followed by a girl. Now that the islandgirls were beautiful I had already discovered that morning, and this onewas no exception--a small thing about five feet, with glossy black hairand the tiniest feet and hands. She seemed to me to walk nervously, asif brought up for punishment; and a thought took me--and I shall be gladof it when I come to die--that if they meant to ill-use her I might doworse than assault that venerable pair with my bombardon and end myadventures with credit. 

"My eyes were so taken up with the girl that for a full minute I paid noattention to my master. She had come to a halt under the platform, acouple of paces from me, with her eyes cast down upon the floor; and heon the platform was speaking. By and by he stopped, and glancing up Isaw that he was motioning me to leave the room. Well, they had made noshow as yet of ill-treating her; so I flung her one more look andobeyed, feeling pretty mean. I went out into the verandah, walked thelength of it and turned--and there stood the girl right before me!Her little feet had followed me so softly that I had heard nothing; andnow, as I stared at her, she crept close with a sort of sidelong motion, and knelt at my feet, at the same moment drawing her _sarong_ over herhead to hide it. Then the truth came upon me--I was married!

"Aoodya was her name. What else can I tell you about her, to describeher? She was a child, and all life came as play to her, yet sheunderstood love to the tips of her little madder-brown fingers. She was my teacher, too, and I sat at her feet day after day and learnedwhile she drilled the island-language into me; learned by the hour whileshe untwisted her hair and rubbed it with grated cocoanut, and broke offher toilet to point to this thing and that and tell me its name, laughing at my mistakes or flipping bits of betel at me by way ofreward. I had no wife at home to vex my conscience at all. All day weplayed about Hamid's verandah like two children, and Hamid watched uswith a sort of twinkle in his eye, seemingly well content. It was plainhe had taken a fancy to me, and I thought, as time passed, he grewfriendlier. 

"I blessed the old fellow, too. Had he not given me Aoodya? I puzzledmy head over this favour, until Aoodya explained. 'You see, ' she said, 'it was done to oblige the Hadji Hassan. ' This was the old man who hadlistened to my performance on the bombardon. He lived in a stockadedhouse on the far side of the island, the chieftancy of which he andHamid shared between them and without dispute. 

"'How should it oblige Hassan?' I asked. 

"'Because Hassan could not see or hear my lord and lover without longingto possess such a man for his very own. As who could?' And here sheblew me a kiss. 

"'Thank you, jewel of my heart, ' said I; 'but yet I don't see. Was it me he wanted, or the bombardon?'

"'I fancy he thought of you together; but of course he did not ask forthe big thing--that would have been greedy. He would be content withthe little one, the what-you-call cornet; and--don't you see?'

"'No doubt it's stupid of me, my dear, ' said I, 'but I'll be shot if Ido. '

"She was sitting with a lapful of pandanus leaves, blue and green, weaving a mat of them while we talked, and had just picked out a beaterfrom the tools scattered round her--a flat piece of board with abevilled edge, and shaped away to a handle. 'Stupid!' she says to me, just like so, and at the same time raps me over the hand smartly. 'He thought--if peradventure there came to us a little one--'

"'_With_ a what-you-call cornet?'--I clapped my hand to my mouth over aguffaw; and, with that, She--who had started laughing too--came to astop, with her eyes fastened on the back of it. I saw them stiffen, andthe pretty round pupils draw in and shrink to narrow slits like a cat's, and her arm went back slowly behind her, and her bosom leaned nearer andnearer. I thought she was going to spring at me, and as my silly laughdied out I turned my hand and held it palm outward, to fend her off. On the back of it was a drop of blood where the bevelled edge of thebeater had by accident broken the skin. 

"Somehow this movement of mine seemed to fetch her to bearings. Her hand came slowly forward again, hesitated, seemed to hover for amoment at her throat, then went swiftly down to her bosom between bodiceand flesh, and came up again tugging after it what looked to me a pieceof coarse thread. She tossed it into my lap as I still sat therecross-legged, and with that sprang up and raced away from me, down tothe verandah. There was no chance of catching her, and I was (to tellthe truth) a bit too much taken aback to try. I picked up the string. On it was threaded a silk purse no bigger than a shilling; and from thisI shook into my palm a small stone like an opal. I turned it over onceor twice, put it back in the purse, and stowed string, purse, and all inmy breeches' pocket. 

"I strolled down the verandah to our quarters in search of Aoodya, butthe room was empty; and after that I'm afraid I smoked and sulked forthe rest of the day, until nightfall. After playing the Hadji Hamidthrough his meal I went out to our favourite seat on the edge of the dryditch, when she came to me out of nowhere across the withered grass ofthe compound. 

"'Have you the charm, O beloved?' she whispered. 

"'Oh, it's a charm, is it?' said I, partly sulky yet. 

"'Yes, and you must never lose it--never part with it--never, above all, give it back to me. Promise me that, beloved; and I, who have weptmuch, am happy again. '

"So I promised, and she snuggled close to me, and all was as before. No more was said between us, and by next morning she seemed to haveclean forgotten the affair. But I thought of it at times, and itpuzzled me. 

"Now, as I said, my master had taken a fancy to me quite apart from thebombardon, and a token of it was his constantly taking me out ascompanion on his walks. You may think it odd that he never troubledabout my being an unbeliever--for of course he held by the Prophet, andso did all the islanders, Aoodya included. But in fact, though hispeople called themselves Mahommedans, each man treated his religion muchas he chose, and Hamid talked to me as freely as if I had been his son. 

"In this way I learned a deal of the island and its customs, and of theterms by which Hamid and Hassan between them shared its rule. But thatany others laid claim to it I had no idea, until one day as we werewalking on the coast, and not far from the crater where he had found mefirst, my master asked suddenly, 'Was I happy?'

"'Quite happy, ' I answered. 

"'You would not leave us if you could?' he went on, and began to laughquiet-like, behind his beard. 'Oho! Love, love! I that am old havebeen merry in my day. ' We walked for another mile, maybe, withoutspeaking, and came to the edge of a valley. 'Look down yonder, ' saidhe. 

"Below us, and in the mouth of the valley, which grew broad and shallowas it neared the sea, I saw a hill topped by a round wall and compound. There might have been half a dozen houses within the compound, allthatched, and above them stood up a flag painted in red and yellowstripes, and so stiff in the breeze that with half an eye you could tellit was no bunting but a sheet of tin. 

"Hullo!' said I. 'Spaniards?'

"'Puf!' Hamid grinned at the flag and spat. 'A Captain Marquinezinhabits there, with four Manila men and their wives. He is a sensiblefellow, and does no harm, and if it pleases him to hoist that toy on abamboo, he is welcome. '

"'They claim the island, then?'

"'What matters it if they claim? There was a letter once came to usfrom the Spanish Governor in Tolo. That man was a fool. He gave uswarning that by order of the Government at Manila he would send ahundred men to build a fort inland and set up a garrison. Hassan and Itook counsel together. 'He is a fool, ' said Hassan; 'but we must answerhim. ' So we answered him thus. 'Send your men. To-day they come;to-morrow they die--yet trouble not; _we_ will bury them. '

"'Were they sent?' I asked. 

"'They were not sent. He was a fool, yet within bounds. Neverthelessa time may come for us--not for Hassan and me, we shall die in ourbeds--but for our sons. Even for this we are prepared. ' He would havesaid more, but checked himself. (I learned later on that the islanderskept one of the craters fortified for emergency, to make a last standthere; but they never allowed me to see the place. ) 'We have gods ofour own, ' said Hamid slily, 'who will be helpful--the more so that we donot bother them over trifles. Also there are--other things; and thelake Sinquan, and another which you have not seen, are full ofcrocodiles. ' He stamped his foot. 'My son, beneath this spot therehas been fire, and still the men of Cagayan walk warily and go notwithout their spears. For you it is different; yet when you come uponaught that puzzles you, it were well to put no questions even toyourself. '

"'Not even about this?' I asked, and showed him the purse and stonewhich Aoodya had tossed to me. 

"'You are in luck's way, ' said he, 'whoever gave you that. ' He pulled asmall pouch from his breast, opened it, and showed me a stone exactlylike mine. 'It is a cocoanut pearl. Keep it near to your hand, andforget not to touch it if you hear noises in the air or a man meet youwith eyes like razors. '

"I wanted to ask him more, but he started to walk back hastily, and whenI caught him up would talk of nothing but the sugar and sweet-potatocrops, and the yield of cocoanut oil to be carried to Kudat at the nextnorth-east monsoon. I noticed that the fruit-trees planted along theshore were old, and that scores of them had ceased bearing. 'They willlast my day, ' said he. 'Let my sons plant others if they so will. ' Healways spoke in this careless way of his children, and I believe he hadmany, for an islander keeps as many wives as he can afford; but theylived about the villages, and could not be told from the otherinhabitants by any sign of rank or mark of favour he showed them. 

"For a long while I believed that Aoodya must be a daughter of his. She always denied it, but owned that she had never known her mother andhad lived in Hamid's house ever since she could remember. Anyhow, hetook the greatest care of me, and never allowed me to join theexpeditions which sailed twice a year from the island--to Palawan forpaddy, and to the north of Borneo with oil and nuts and pandanus mats. He may have mistrusted me; but more likely he forbade it out of care forme and the music I played; for the _prahus_ regularly came back withthree or four of their number missing--either capsized on the voyage orblown away towards Tawi-Tawi, where the pirates accounted for them. 

"Though I might not sail abroad he allowed me to join the tuburingparties off the shore. We would work along the reefs there in rafts ofbamboo, towing with us two or three dug-outs filled with mashed_tubur_-roots. At the right spot the dug-outs would be upset, and aftera while the fish came floating up on their sides, or belly uppermost, tobe speared by us; for the root puddles the water like milk, andstupefies them somehow without hurting the flesh, which in an hour or sois fit to eat. 

"We had been tuburing one afternoon, and put back with our basketsfilled to a spit of the shore where we had left an old islander, Kotaliby name, alone and tending a fire for our meal. Coming near we saw himstretched on the sand by his cooking-pots, and shouted to wake him, forhis fire was low. Kotali did not stir. I was one of the first to jumpashore and run to him. He lay with his legs drawn up, his handsclenched, his eyes wide open and staring at us horribly. The man was asdead as a nail. 

"I never saw people worse frightened. 'The Berbalangs!' said someone ina dreadful sort of whisper, and we started to run back to the raft forour lives--I with the rest, for the panic had taken hold of me, though Icould see no sign of an enemy. I supposed these Berbalangs, named withsuch awe, to be pirates or marauders from Tawi-Tawi or some neighbouringisland, and the first hint that reached me of anything worse was awailing sound which grew as we ran, and overhauled us, until the air wasfilled with roaring, so that I swung round to defend myself, yet couldsee nothing. To my surprise a man who had been running beside medropped on the sand, pulled a sigh of relief, and began to mop hisface--and this in the very worst of the racket. 'They are gone by, ' heshouted; 'the worse the noise the farther off they are. They have takentheir fill to-day on poor old Kotali. '

"Suddenly the noise ceased altogether, and we picked up courage toreturn and bury the body. We had a basket of limes on the raft, andthese were fetched and the juice squeezed over the grave; but no oneseemed inclined to answer the questions I put about these Berbalangs. It seemed that unless they were close at hand there was ill-luck even inmentioning them, and I walked back to the village in a good deal ofperplexity. 

"I should tell you, sir, that by this time I was the father of a fineboy; and that Aoodya doted on him. When she was not feeding him orcalling on me to admire his perfections, from the cleverness of hissmile to the beautiful shape of his toes, he lay and slept, or kicked ina basket slung on a long bamboo fastened across the rafters, Aoodyawould give the basket a pull, and this set it bobbing up and down on thespring of the bamboo for minutes at a time. 

"Now when I reached home with my string of fish, I walked round to theback of the house to clean them before going in. This took me past thewindow of our room, and glancing inside--the window was unglazed, youunderstand--I saw Aoodya standing before the cradle and talking, quickand angry, with a man posted in the doorway opening on the verandah. 

"I was not jealous. The thought never entered my head. But I droppedmy fish and whipped round to the doorway in time to catch him as heturned to go, having heard my footstep belike. 

"'Who the something-or-other are you?' I asked. 'And what's yourbusiness in my private house?'

"The man--a yellow-faced fellow, but young in figure--muttered somethingin a gibberish new to me, and made as if excusing himself. It gave mean ugly start to see that his eyes were yellow too, with long slits forpupils; but I saw too that he was afraid of me, and being in a toweringrage myself, I out with my _kris_. 

"'Now look here, ' I said; 'I don't understand what you say, but maybeyou understand this. Walk! And if I catch you here again, you'll needsomeone to sew you up. '

"I watched him as he went across the compound. The guard at the gatescarcely looked up, and if the thing hadn't been impossible, there, inthe broad daylight, I could have fancied he saw no one. I turned toAoodya and took her hands, for she was trembling from head to foot. At my touch she burst out sobbing, clung to my shoulder and begged me toprotect her. 

"'Why, of course I will, ' said I, more cheerfully than I felt by a longsight. 'If I'd known you were frightened like this, I'd have slit hisbody to match his eyes. But who is he, at all?'

"'He--he said he was my brother!' she wailed, and clung to me again. 'I cannot--I cannot!'

"'I'll brother him!' cried I. 'But what is it he wants?'

"'I cannot--I cannot!' was all she would say; and now her sobs were soloud that the child woke up screaming and had to be soothed. And thisseemed to do her good. 

"Well, I got her to bed and asleep early that night; but before morningI had a worse fright than ever. Somehow in my dream I had a feelingcome to me that the bed was empty, and sat up suddenly, half awake andscared. Aoodya had risen and was standing by the cradle, with one handon its edge; in the other was the lamp--a clam-shell fastened in a splithandle of bamboo, and holding a pith wick and a little oil. The flamewavered against her eyes as she held it up and peered into the baby'sface--and her eyes were like as I had seen them once before, anddevilish like the eyes I had seen in another face that afternoon. 

"A man never knows what he can do till the call comes. There, betwixtsleep and waking, I knew that happiness had come to an end for us. Yet I slipped out of bed very softly, took the lamp from her as gentleas you please, set it on a stool and, turning, reached out for her twowrists and held them--for how long I can't tell you. She didn't try tofend me away, or struggle at all, and not a word did I utter, but stoodholding her--the babe asleep beside us--and listened to her breathinguntil it grew easier, and she leaned to me, weak as water. 

"Then I let go, and lifting the child's head from the pillow pulledAoodya's charm, the cocoanut pearl, from my neck and hung it about his. 'That's for you, sonny, ' said I, 'and if the Berbalangs come along youcan pass them on to your father. ' I faced round on Aoodya with a smilewhich no doubt was thin enough, though honestly meant to hearten her. 'It's all right, old girl. Come back to bed, ' said I, and held her inmy arms until I fell asleep in the dawn. 

"But of course it was not all right; and after two days spent with thisdismal secret between us, and Aoodya all the while play-acting at herold tricks of love for me and the babe--as if, God knows, I doubtedthey, and not the horror, were her real self--I could stand it nolonger, but did what I ought to have done before; sought out my masterand made a clean breast of it. 

"I could see that it took the old man between wind and water. When Ihad done he sat for some time pulling his beard and eyeing me once ortwice rather queerly, as I thought. 

"'My friend, ' said he at last, 'I suppose you will be suspecting me; yetI give you my word--and the Hadji Hamid is no liar--that if Aoodya is aBerbalang, or a daughter of Berbalangs, the same was unknown to me whenI married you. '

"'I'll believe that, ' I answered; 'the more by token that I neversuspected you. '

"'She had no known father, which (as you know) is held a disgrace amongus; so much a disgrace that she grew up without suitors in spite of herlooks and my favour. Therefore I seized my chance of giving her ahusband, and in that I am not guiltless towards you; but of anythingworse I was ignorant, and for proof I am going to help you if I can. 'He frowned to himself, still tugging at his beard. 'Her mother was ofgood family, on this side of the island. Therefore she cannot be pureBerbalang, and most likely the Berbalangs have no more than a fetch uponher'--he used a word new to me, but 'fetch' I took to be the meaning ofit. 'If so, we must go to them and persuade them to take it off. They owe me something; for though, as we value peace and quiet, Hassanand I leave them alone in their own dirty village and ask no tax norhomage, we could make things uncomfortable if we chose. Yes, yes, ' saidhe, 'I think it can be done; but it will be dangerous. You are wearingyour cocoanut pearl, of course?'

"I told him that I had given it up to the baby. 

"He nodded. 'Yes, that was well done; but you must borrow it for theday. Run and fetch it at once; we have a long walk before us. '

"So I ran back, and without telling Aoodya, who was washing her linenbehind the house, slipped the pearl off the child's neck and returned toHamid. I found him, with two spears in his hand, waiting for me. He gave me one, and forth we set. 

"The Berbalangs' village stands on a sort of table-land in the hillswhich rise all the way to Mount Tebulian, near the centre of the island. After the first two miles I found myself in strange country, and Hamidkept silence and signed to me to do the same. In this way we sweated upthe slopes until, a little after noon, we reached a pass, and saw theroofs of the village over the edge of a broad step, as it were, half amile above us. Here we sat down, and Hamid, drawing a couple of limesfrom his pocket, explained that I must on no account taste any food theBerbalangs set before us unless I first sprinkled it with lime juice. It might look like curried fish, but would, as likely as not, be humanflesh disguised, the taste of which would destroy my soul and convert meinto a Berbalang; a touch of the lime juice would turn such food back toits proper shape and show me what I was being asked to eat. 

"We now moved forward again, very cautiously, and soon came to thevillage. The houses, perhaps a dozen in all, were scandalously dirty, otherwise pretty much like those in Hamid's own village. But not aliving creature could be seen. Hamid, I could tell, was puzzled, andeven a bit frightened. He put a good face on it, all the same, andbegan to walk from house to house, keeping his spear handy as he peeredin at the doors. Still not a soul could we find, barring an old goattethered and a few roaming fowls. The stink of the place sickened us, and I wanted to run, though we came across no actual horrors. In oneroom we found a pan of rice lately boiled and still smoking, andsprinkled it with lime juice. It remained good rice. Out into thestreet we went, and Hamid, growing bolder, raised a loud halloo. The noise of it sent the fowls scudding, and the hills around took it upand echoed it. 

"He looked at me. 'They must be out on the hunt, ' said he. 

"'Good Lord!' I gasped. 'And the child at home--without the pearl!'I turned and plunged for it down the slope like a madman. 

"What to do I had no idea; but I hadn't a doubt that the Berbalangs wereafter Aoodya or the child, or both, and I headed for home with the windsinging by my ears. At the foot of the pass I looked back. Hamid wasfollowing, skipping from one lava stone to another at a pace that didcredit to his old legs. He waved a hand and called--as I thought, toencourage me; and away down I pounded. 

"I must have reached the edge of the plain in twenty minutes (the climbhad taken us more than two hours), and, once there, I squeezed my elbowsinto my sides and settled into stride. Luckily the season was dry, anda fire, three weeks before, had swept over the tall lalang grass, leaving a thin layer of ash, which made running easy. For all that, Iwas pretty near dead beat when I reached the compound and ran past thesentry. The man cried out at sight of me as I went by; but I thought hewas just pattering out his challenge, being taken unawares; and knowinghe would not let off his musket if he recognised me, I paid noattention. 

"I had prepared myself (as I thought) for anything--to find Aoodya deadbeside the child, or to find them both unharmed and flourishing as I hadleft them. But what happened was that I burst in and stared around anempty room. _That_ knocked the wind out of my sails. I called twice, leaned my head against the door-post and panted; called again, and, getting no answer, walked stupidly back across the compound to the gate. 

"The sentry there was pointing. I believe he was telling me, too, thatAoodya, with the child in her arms, had passed out some while before. But as he waved a hand towards the plain I saw a figure running there, and recognised Hamid. The old man was heading, not towards us, but forthe seashore, and, plain as daylight, he was heading there with apurpose. I remembered now his cry to me from the head of the pass. So I pressed elbows to side again and lit out after him. 

"He was making for a thick patch of jungle between us and the sea, andthough I had run at least a mile out of the way I soon began tooverhaul him. But long before I reached the clump he had found anopening in it and dived out of sight, and I overtook him only when thegrowth thinned suddenly by the edge of a crater, plunging down to a lakeso exactly like Sinquan that I had to look about me and take my bearingsbefore making sure that this was another, and one I had never yet seen. 

"I caught him by the arm, and we peered down the slope together. At the foot of it, and by the edge of the lake, there ran a strip ofwhite beach; and there, and almost directly below us, were gathered theBerbalangs. 

"They were moving and pushing into place in a sort of circle around asmall bundle which at first sight I took for a heap of clothes. At thatdistance they seemed harmless enough, and, barring the strangeness ofthe spot, might have been an ordinary party of islanders forming up fora dance. But when, all of a sudden, the ring came to a standstill, anda figure stepped out of it towards the bundle in the centre, my witscame back to me, and I flung up both arms, shouting 'Aoodya! Aoodya!'

"She must have made three paces in the time my voice took to reach her. She was close to the child. Then she halted and stood for a momentgazing up at me. I saw something bright drop from her. And with thatshe stooped, caught up the child, and was racing up the slope towardsus. 

"'Steady!' muttered Hamid, as a man broke from the circle, plucked upthe knife from the sand and rushed after her. 'Steady!' he said again. 

"Aoodya had a start of twenty yards or more, and in the firsthalf-minute she actually managed to better it. Hamid, beside me, rubbeda bullet quickly on the rind of one of his lime-fruits and rammed ithome. He took an eternal time about it; and below, now, the man wasgaining. Unluckily their courses brought them into line, and twice theold man cursed softly and lowered his piece. 

"Flesh and blood could not stand this. I let out a groan and sprangdown the cliff. It was madness, and at the third step all footholdslipped from under me; but my clutch was tight on a fistful of creepers, and their tendrils were tough as a ship's rope. So down I went, nowtouching earth, now fending off from the rock with my feet, now missinghold and sprawling into a mass of leaves and roots, among which Iclutched wildly and checked myself by the first thing handy--until, withthe crack of Hamid's musket above, the vine, or whatever it was to whichI clung for the moment, gave way as if shorn by the bullet, and Ipitched a full twenty feet with a rush of loose earth and dust. 

"I fell almost at the heels of Aoodya's enemy, upon a ledge along whichhe was swiftly running her down. Hamid's bullet had missed him, andbefore I could make the third in the chase he was forty yards ahead. I saw his bare shoulders parting the creepers--threading their way inand out like a bobbin, and jogging as the pace fell slower; for now wewere all three in difficulties. Perhaps Aoodya had missed the track; atany rate the ledge we were now following grew shallower as it curvedover the corner of the beach and ran sheer over the water of the lake. A jungle tree leaned out here, with a clear drop of a hundred feet. As I closed on my man, he swerved and began to clamber out along thetrunk; and over his shoulder I saw Aoodya, with the babe in the crick ofher arm, upon a bough which swayed and sank beneath her. 

"I clutched at his ankle. He reached back with a hiss of his breath andjabbed his knife down on my left hand, cutting across the two middlefingers and pinning me through the small bones to the trunk. I tellyou, sir, I scarcely felt it. My right went down to my waist and pulledout the _kris_ there. He was the man I had caught within the verandahthree days before; these were the same eyes shining, like a cat's, backinto mine, and what I had promised him then I gave him now. But it wasHamid who killed him. For as my _kris_ went into the flank of him, above the hip, Hamid's second shot cut down through his neck. His faceat the moment rested sideways against the branch, and I suppose thebullet passed through to the bough and cost me Aoodya. For as theBerbalang fell, the bough seemed to rip away from where his cheek hadrested, and Aoodya, with my child in her arms, swung back under my feetand dropped like a stone into the lake. 

"I can't tell you, sir, how long I lay stretched out along that trunk, with the Berbalang's knife still pinned through my hand. I was staringdown into the water. Aoodya and my child never rose again; but theBerbalang came to the surface at once and floated, bobbing for a whileon the ripple, his head thrown back, his brown chest shining up at me, and the blood spreading on the water around it. 

"It was Hamid who unpinned me and led me away. He had made shift toclimb down, and while binding up my wounded hand pointed towards thebeach. It was empty. The crowd of Berbalangs had disappeared. 

"He found the track which Aoodya had missed, and as he led me up and outof the crater I heard him talking--talking. I suppose he was trying tocomfort me--he was a good fellow; but at the top I turned on him, and'Master, ' I said, 'you have tried to do me much kindness, but to-day Ihave bought my quittance. ' With that I left him standing and walkedstraight over the brow of the hill. I never looked behind me until Ireached the Spaniards' compound, and called out at the gate to be letpass. 

"Captain Marquinez was lying in a hammock in the cool of his verandahwhen the gate-keeper took me to him. He was, I think, the weariest manI ever happened on. 'So you want to leave the island?' said he when mytale was out. 'Yes, yes, I believe you; I've learnt to believe anythingof those devils up yonder. But you must wait a fortnight, till therelief-boat arrives from Jola'--"

Here the story-teller broke off as a rider upon a grey horse came at afoot-pace round the slope of Burrator below us and passed on withoutseeing. It was the Rajah, returning solitary from the hunt, and hiseyes were still fastened ahead of him. 

"Ah, great man! England is a weary hole for the likes of you and me. It's here they talk of the East, but we have loved it and hated it andknown it, and remember. Our eyes have seen--our eyes have seen. "

He stood up, pulled himself together with a kind of shiver, and suddenlyshambled away across the slope, having said no good-bye, but leaving methere at gaze. 

VICTOR. 

I. 

"You will ruin his life, " said one of the two women. As the phraseescaped her she remembered, or seemed to remember, having met with it inhalf a dozen novels. She had nerved herself for the interview which upto this moment had been desperately real; but now she felt herselflosing grip. It had all happened before . . . Somewhere; she wasreacting an old scene, going through a part; the four or fivesecond-hand words gave her this sensation. Then she reflected that theother woman, too, had perhaps met them before in some cheap novelette, and, being an uneducated person, would probably find them the moreimpressive for that. 

The other woman had in fact met them before, in the pages of _BowBells_, and been impressed by them. But since then love had found herignorant and left her wise; wiser than in her humiliation she dared toguess, and yet the wiser for being humiliated. She answered in acuriously dispassionate voice: "I think, miss, his life is ruinedalready; that is, if he sent you to say all this to me. "

"He did not. " Miss Bracy lifted the nose and chin which she inheritedfrom several highly distinguished Crusaders, and gave the denial sharplyand promptly, looking her ex-maid straight in the face. She had never--to use her own words--stood any nonsense from Bassett. 

But Bassett, formerly so docile (though, as it now turned out, sodeceitful); who had always known her place and never answered hermistress but with respect; was to-day an unrecognisable Bassett--not inthe least impudent, but as certainly not to be awed or brow-beaten. Standing in the glare of discovered misconduct, under the scourge of hershame, the poor girl had grasped some secret strength which made herinvincible. 

"But I think, miss, " she answered, "Mr. Frank must have known you wascoming. " And this Miss Bracy could not deny. She had never told a liein her life. 

"It is very likely--no, it is certain--that he guessed, " she admitted. 

"And if so, it comes to the same thing, " Bassett persisted, with a shadeof weariness in her voice. 

"You ungrateful girl! You ungrateful and quite extraordinary girl!First you inveigle that poor boy at the very outset of his career, andthen when upon a supposed point of honour he offers to marry you--"

"A 'supposed' point, miss? Do you say 'supposed'?"

"Not one in a thousand would offer such a redemption. And even hecannot know what it will mean to his life--what it will cost him. "

"I shall tell him, miss, " said Bassett quietly. 

"And his parents--what do you suppose they would say, were they alive?His poor mother, for instance?"

Bassett dismissed this point silently. To Miss Bracy the queerest thingabout the girl was the quiet practical manner she had put on sosuddenly. 

"You said, miss, that Mr. Frank wants to make amends on a 'supposed'point of honour. Don't you think it a real one?"

Miss Bracy's somewhat high cheekbones showed two red spots. "Because heoffers it, it doesn't follow that you ought to accept. And that's thewhole point, " she wound up viciously. 

Bassett sighed that she could not get her question answered. "You will excuse me, miss, but I never 'inveigled' him, as you say. That I deny; and if you ask Mr. Frank he will bear me out. Not thatit's any use trying to make you believe, " she added, with a drop back toher old level tone as she saw the other's eyebrows go up. It was indeedhopeless, Miss Bracy being one of those women who take it for grantedthat a man has been inveigled as soon as his love-affairs run counter totheir own wishes or taste; and who thereby reveal an estimate of man forwhich in the end they are pretty sure to pay heavily. All her answernow was a frankly incredulous stare. 

"You won't believe me, miss. It's not your fault, I know; you _can't_believe me. But I loved Mr. Frank. "

Miss Bracy made a funny little sound high up in her Crusader nose. That the passions of gentlemen were often ill-regulated she knew; itdisgusted her, but she recognised it as a real danger to be watched bytheir anxious relatives. That _love_, however--what she understood by_love_--could be felt by the lower orders, the people who "walkedtogether" and "kept company" before mating, was too incredible. Even if driven by evidence to admit the fact she would have set it downto the pernicious encroachment of Board School education, and remarkedthat a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. 

"'Love!' My poor child, don't profane a word you cannot possiblyunderstand. A nice love, indeed, that shows itself by ruining hislife!"

That second-hand phrase again! As it slipped out, the indomitableBassett dealt it another blow. 

"I am not sure, miss, that I love him any longer--in the same way, Imean. I should always have a regard for him--for many reasons--andbecause he behaved honourably in a way. But I couldn't quite believe inhim as I did before he showed himself weak. "

"Well, of all the--" Miss Bracy's lips were open for a word to fit thisoffence, when Bassett followed it up with a worse one. 

"I beg your pardon, miss, but you are so fond of Mr. Frank--Supposing Irefused his offer, would you marry him yourself?"

The girl, too, meant it quite seriously. In her tone was no trace ofimpudence. She had divined her adversary's secret, and thrust home thequestion with a kind of anxious honesty. Miss Bracy, red and gasping, tingling with shame, yet knew that she was not being exulted over. She dropped the unequal fight between conventional argument and nakedinsight, and stood up, woman to woman. She neither denied norexclaimed. She too told the truth. 

"Never!"--she paused. "After what has happened I would never marry mycousin. "

"I thought that, miss. You mean it, I am sure; and it eases my mind;because you have been a good mistress to me, and it would always havebeen a sorry thought that I'd stood in your way. Not that it would haveprevented me. "

"Do you still stand there and tell me that you will hold this unhappyboy to his word?"

"He's twenty-two, miss; my own age. Yes, I shall hold him to it. "

"To save yourself!"

"No, miss. "

"For his own sake, then?" Miss Bracy's laugh was passing bitter. 

"No, miss--though there might be something in that. "

"For whose then?"

The girl did not answer. But in the silence her mistress understood, and moved to the door. She was beaten, and she knew it; beaten andunforgiving, In the doorway she turned. 

"It is not for your own sake that you persist? It was not to gratifyyourself--to be made a lady--that you plotted this? Very well; youshall be taken at your word. I cannot counsel Frank against his honour;if he insists, and you still accept the sacrifice, he shall marry you. But from that hour--you understand?--you have seen the last of him. I know Frank well enough to promise it. "

She paused to let the words sink in and watch their effect. This wasnot only cruel, but a mistake; for it gave Bassett--who was past caringfor it--the last word. 

"If you do, miss, " she said drearily, yet with a mind made up, "I daresay that will be best. "

II. 

Long before I heard this story I knew three of the characters in it. Just within the harbour beside which I am writing this--on your left asyou enter it from the sea--a little creek runs up past Battery Point toa stout sea-wall with a turfed garden behind it and a low cottage, andbehind these a steep-sided valley, down which a stream tumbles to agranite conduit. It chokes and overflows the conduit, is caught againinto a granite-covered gutter by the door of the cottage, and emergesbeyond it in a small cascade upon the beach. At spring tides the seaclimbs to the foot of this cascade, and great then is the splashing. The land-birds, tits and warblers, come down to the very edge to drink;but none of them--unless it be the wagtail--will trespass on the beachbelow. The rooks and gulls, on their side, never forage above thecascade, but when the ploughing calls them inland, mount and cross thefrontier-line high overhead. All day long in summer the windows of thecottage stand open, and its rooms are filled with song; and night andday, summer and winter, the inmates move and talk, wake and sleep, tothe contending music of the waters. 

It had lain tenantless for two years, when one spring morning Miss Bracyand Mr. Frank Bracy arrived and took possession. They came (for aughtwe knew) out of nowhere; but they brought a good many boxes, six cats, and a complete set of new muslin blinds. On their way they purchased aquart of fresh milk, and Mr. Frank fed the cats while Miss Bracy put upthe blinds. In the afternoon a long van arrived with a load offurniture; and we children who had gathered to watch were rewarded by asensation when the van started by disgorging an artist's lay-figure, followed by a suit of armour. From these to a mahogany chest of drawerswith brass handles was a sad drop, and we never regained the highromance of those first few minutes; but the furniture was undeniablyhandsome, and when Miss Bracy stepped out and offered us sixpence apieceto go and annoy somebody else, we came away convinced that our visitorswere persons of exceptionally high rank. It puzzled us afterwards that, though a bargain is a bargain, not one of us had stayed to claim hissixpence. 

The newcomers brought no servants; but after a week there arrived (alsoout of nowhere) an elderly and taciturn cook. Also, Miss Bracy on thethird morning walked up to the farm at the head of the valley and hireddown the hind's second daughter for a "help. " We knew this girl, LizzieTruscott, and waylaid her on her homeward road that evening forinformation. She told us that Miss Bracy's cats had a cradle apiecelined with muslin over pink calico; that the window curtains insidereached from the ceilings to the floors; that the number of knives andforks was something cruel--one kind for fish, another for meat, and athird for fruit; that in one of the looking-glasses a body could seeherself at one time from head to feet, though why you should want alooking-glass to see your feet in when you could see them without wasmore than she knew; and, finally, that Miss Bracy had strictly forbiddenher to carry tales--a behest which, convinced that Miss Bracy haddealings with the Evil One, she meant to observe. The elderly cook whenshe arrived warned us away from the door with a dialect we did notrecognise. Her name (Lizzie reported) was Deborah, and in our haste weset her down for a Jewess; but I seem to have detected her accent since, and a few of her pet phrases, in the pages of Scottish fiction. 

This is all I can tell--so fitful are childish memories--of the comingof Miss Bracy and Mr. Frank. I cannot say, for instance, what gossip itbred, or how soon they wore down the edge of it and became, with theireccentricities, an accepted feature of the spot they had made theirhome. They made no friends, no acquaintances: everyone knew of MissBracy's cats, but few had seen them. Miss Bracy herself was on view inchurch every Sunday morning, when Mr. Frank walked with her as far asthe porch. He never entered the building, but took a country walkduring service, returning in time to meet her at the porch and escorther home. His other walks he took alone, and almost always at night. The policeman tramping towards Four Turnings after midnight to report tothe country patrol would meet him and pause for a minute's chat. Night-wandering beasts--foxes and owls and hedgehogs--knew his footstepand unlearned their first fear of it. Sometimes, but not often, youmight surprise him of an afternoon seated before an easel in someout-of-the-way corner of the cliffs; but if you paused then to look, hetoo paused and seemed inclined to smudge out his work. The Vicar put itabout that Mr. Frank had formerly been a painter of fame, and (being anastute man) one day decoyed him into his library, where hung anengraving of a picture "Amos Barton" by one F. Bracy. It had made asmall sensation at Burlington House a dozen years before; and the Vicarliked it for the pathos of its subject--an elderly clergyman beside hiswife's deathbed. To him the picture itself could have told little morethan this engraving, which utterly failed to suggest the wonderfulcolour and careful work the artist (a young man with a theory andenthusiasm to back it) had lavished on the worn carpet and valances ofthe bed, as well as on the chestnut hair of the dying woman glorified inthe red light of sunset. 

Mr. Frank glanced up at the engraving and turned his face away. It was the face of a man taken at unawares, embarrassed, almost afraid. The Vicar, who had been watching him, intending some pleasant remarkabout the picture, saw at once that something was wrong, and with greattact kept the talk upon some petty act of charity in which he sought toenlist his visitor's help. Mr. Frank listened, gave his promisehurriedly and made his escape. He never entered the Vicarage again. 

III. 

Eighteen years had passed since Miss Bracy's interview with Bassett; andnow, late on a summer afternoon, she and Mr. Frank were pacing thelittle waterside garden while they awaited their first visitor. 

Mr. Frank betrayed the greater emotion, or at any rate the greaternervousness. Since breakfast he had been unable to sit still or toapply himself to any piece of work for ten minutes together, until MissBracy suggested the lawn-mower and brought purgatory upon herself. With that lawn-mower all the afternoon he had been "rattling her brainto fiddle-strings"--as she put it--and working himself into a heat whichobliged a change of clothes before tea. The tea stood ready now on atable which Deborah had carried out into the garden--dainty linen andsilverware, and flowered china dishes heaped with cakes of which onlyScotswomen know the secrets. The sun, dropping behind Battery Point, slanted its rays down through the pine-trunks and over the fiery massedplumes of rhododendrons. Scents of jasmine and of shorn grass mingledwith the clean breath of the sea borne to the garden wall on a high tidetranquil and clear--so clear that the eye following for a hundred yardsthe lines of the cove could see the feet of the cliffs where theyrested, three fathoms down, on lily-white sand. Miss Bracy adored theseclean depths. She had missed much that life could have given; but atleast she had found a life comely and to her mind. She had sacrificedmuch; but at times she forgot how much in contemplating the modestelegance of the altar. 

She wore, this evening, a gown of purplish silk, with a light cashmerescarf about her shoulders. Nothing could make her a tall woman; but hergrey hair, dressed high _a l'imperatrice_, gave her dignity at least, and an air of old-fashioned distinction. And she was one of those fewand fortunate ladies who never need to worry about the appearance oftheir cavaliers. Mr. Frank--six feet of him, without reckoning a slightstoop--always satisfied the eye; his grey flannel suit fitted looselybut fitted well; his wide-brimmed straw hat was as faultless as hislinen; his necktie had a negligent neatness; you felt sure alike and atonce of his bootmaker and his shirtmaker; and his fresh complexion, hisprematurely white hair, his strong well-kept hands, completed theimpression of cleanliness for its own sake, of a careful physical cultas far as possible removed from foppery. 

This may have been in Miss Bracy's mind when she began: "I daresay hewill be fairly presentable, to look at. That unfortunate woman had atleast an art of dressing--a quiet taste too, quite extraordinary in oneof her station. I often wondered where she picked it up. "

Mr. Frank winced. Until the news of his wife's death came, a fortnightago, her name had not been spoken between them for years. That he andhis cousin regarded her very differently he knew; but while silence waskept it had been possible to ignore the difference. Now it surprisedhim that speech should hurt so; and, at the same moment, that his cousinshould not divine how sorely it hurt. After all _he_ was the saddestevidence of poor Bassett's "lady-like" tastes. 

"I suppose you know nothing of the school she sent him to?" Miss Bracywent on--"King William's, or whatever it is. "

"King Edward's, " Mr. Frank corrected. "Yes, I made inquiries about itat the time--ten years ago. People speak well of it. Not a publicschool, of course--at least, not quite; the line isn't so easy to drawnowadays--but it turns out gentlemen. "

In her heart Miss Bracy thought him too hopeful; but she said, "He wrote a becoming letter--his hand, by the way, curiously suggestsyours; it was quite a nice letter, and agreeably surprised me. I shouldn't wonder if his headmaster had helped him with it and cut outthe boyish heroics; for of course _she_ must have taught him to hateus. "

"My dear Laura, why in the world--" began Mr. Frank testily. 

"Oh, she had spirit!"--the encounter of long ago rose up in Miss Bracy'smemory, and she nodded her head with conviction. "Like most of thequiet ones, she had spirit. You don't suppose, I imagine, that sheforgave?"

"No. " Mr. Frank came to a halt and dug with his heel at a daisy root inthe turf. Then using his heel as a pivot he swung himself round in anawkward circle. The action was ludicrous almost, but he faced hiscousin again with serious eyes. "But it is not her heart that I doubt, "he added gently. 

Miss Bracy stared up at him, "My dear Frank, do you mean to tell me thatyou _regret_?"

Yes; as a fact he did regret, and knew that he would never cease toregret. He was not a man to nurse malice even for a wrong done to him, still less to live carelessly conscious of having wronged another. He was weak, but incurably just. And more; though self entered lastinto his regret, he knew perfectly well that the wrong had wrecked himtoo. His was a career _manque_: he had failed as a man, and it hadbroken his nerve as an artist. He was a dabbler now, with--as Heinesaid of de Musset--a fine future _behind him_, and none but an artistcan tell the bitterness of that self-knowledge. Had he kept his faithwith Bassett in spirit as in letter, he might have failed just asdecidedly; her daily companionship might have coarsened his inspiration, soured him, driven him to work cheaply, recklessly; but at least hecould have accused fate, circumstance, a boyish error, whereas now heand his own manhood shared the defeat and the responsibility. Yes, heregretted; but it would never do to let Laura know his regret. That would be to play the double traitor. She had saved him(she believed) from himself; with utterly wrong-headed loyalty she haddevoted her life to this. The other debt was irredeemable, but this atany rate could be paid. 

He evaded her question. "My dear, " he said, "what was done has beenatoned for by her, and is being atoned for by--by us. Let us think ofher without bitterness. "

Miss Bracy shook her head "I am a poor sort of Christian, " sheconfessed; "and if she has taught this boy to hate us--"

"Mr. Victor Bracy, " announced Deborah from the garden-porch behind them, and a tall youth in black stepped past her and came across the turf witha shy smile. 

The pair turned with an odd sense of confusion, almost of dismay. They were prepared for the "Victor, " but somehow they had not thought ofhim as bearing their own surname. Mr. Frank had felt the shock oncebefore, in addressing an envelope; but to Miss Bracy it was quite new. 

Yet she was the first to recover herself, and, while holding out herhand, took quick note that the boy had Frank's stature and eyes, carriedhis clothes well, and himself, if shyly, without clumsiness. She couldfind no fault with his manner of shaking hands; and when he turned tohis father, the boy's greeting was the less embarrassed of the two. Mr. Frank indeed had suddenly become conscious of his light suit andbird's-eye neckcloth. 

"But how did you come?" asked Miss Bracy. "We sent a cart to meet you--I heard no sound of wheels. "

"Yes, I saw it outside the station; but the man didn't recognise me--quite a small crowd came by the train--and of course I didn't recognisehim. So I bribed a porter to put my luggage on a barrow and come alongwith me. Half-way up the hill the cart overtook us--the driver full ofapologies. While they transhipped my things I walked on ahead--yes, listen, there it comes; and--Oh, I say, what a lovely spot!"

Miss Bracy was listening--not for the wheels and not to the story, butcritically to every word as it came from his lips. "The woman hascertainly done wonders, " was her unspoken comment. At Victor's frankoutburst, however, she flushed with something like real pleasure. Shewas proud of her cottage and garden, and had even a sort of proprietaryfeeling about the view. 

They sat down around the little tea-table; the boy first apologising forhis travel-stains (he was, in fact, as neat as a pin) and afterwardschatting gaily about his journey--not talking too much, but appealingfrom one to another with a quick deferent grace, and allowing themalways the lead. "This is better and better, " thought Miss Bracy as shepoured tea; and, after a while, "But this is amazing!" He was athorough child, too, with all his unconscious tact. The scent of alemon-verbena plant fetched him suddenly to his feet with his eyesbright. "Please let me--" he thrust his face into the bush;"I have never seen it growing like this. "

Miss Bracy looked at Mr. Frank. How utterly different it was from theirold-maidish expectations! They had pictured the scene a hundred times, and always it included some awkwardly decorous reference to the deadwoman. _This_ had been their terror--to do justice to the occasionwithout hurting the poor boy's feelings--to meet his sullen shyness, perhaps antipathy, with a welcome which somehow excused the past. Yes, the past (they had felt) required excuse to _him_. And he had madeno allusion to his mother, and obviously wished for none. Miss Bracycould not help smiling at the picture of their fears. 

The boy turned, caught her smiling, and broke into a jolly laugh at hisown absurdity. It echoed in the garden, where no one had laughed aloudfor years. 

And with that laugh Bassett's revenge began. 

IV. 

For with that laugh they began to love him. They did not--or at anyrate Miss Bracy 'did not--know it at the time. For some days theywatched him; and he, the unsuspicious one, administered a score ofshocks as again and again he took them neatly and decisively atunawares. He had accepted them at once and in entire good faith. They were (with just the right recognition of their seniority) goodcomrades in this jolliest of worlds. They were his holiday hosts, andit was not for the guest to hint (just yet) at the end of the holiday. 

He surprised them at every turn. His father's canvases filled him withadmiring awe. "Oh, but I say--however is it done?" As he stood beforethem with legs a trifle wide, he smoothed the top of his head with agesture of perplexity. And Mr. Frank, standing at his shoulder withlegs similarly spread, used the same gesture--as Miss Bracy had seen himuse it a thousand times. Yet the boy had no artistic talent--not somuch as a germ. For beauty of line and beauty of colour he inherited animpeccable eye; indeed his young senses were alive to seize all innocentdelight, --his quickness in scenting the lemon-verbena bush proved butthe first of many instances. But he began and ended with enjoyment; ofthe artist's impulse to reproduce and imitate beauty he felt nothing. Mr. Frank recognised with a pang that he had failed not only in keepinghis torch bright but in passing it on; that the true self which he hadmissed expressing must die with him barren and untransmitted. The closer he drew in affection, the farther this son of his receded, --receded in the very act of acknowledging his sonship--with a gesture, smilingly imprehensible; with eyes which allured the yearning hebaffled, and tied it to the hopeless chase. 

Mr. Frank, who worshipped flowers, was perhaps the most ineffectivegardener in England. With a trowel and the best intentions he would domore damage in twenty minutes than Miss Bracy could repair in a week. She had made a paradise in spite of him, and he contented himself withassuring her that the next tenant would dig it up and find it paved withgood intentions. The seeds he sowed--and he must have sown many pounds'worth before she stopped the wild expense--never sprouted by any chance. "Dormant, my dear Laura--dormant!" he would exclaim in springtime, rubbing his head perplexedly as he studied the empty borders. "When I die, and am buried here, they will all sprout together, and youwill have to take a hook and cut your way daily through the vegetationwhich hides my grave. " But Victor, who approached them in the frankestignorance, seemed to divine the ways of flowers at once. In the autumnhe struck cuttings of Miss Bracy's rarest roses; he removed a sicklypassion-flower from one corner of the cottage to another and restored itto health within a fortnight. Within a week after his coming he andMiss Bracy were deep in cross-fertilizing a borderful of carnations shehad raised from seed. He carried the same natural deftness into a scoreof small household repairs. He devised new cradles for Miss Bracy'scats, and those conservative animals at once accepted the improvement;he invented a cupboard for his father's canvases; he laid an electricbell from the kitchen beneath the floor of the dining-room, so that MissBracy could ring for Deborah by a mere pressure of the foot; and thewell-rope which Deborah had been used to wind up painfully was soonfitted with a wheel and balance-weight which saved four-fifths of thelabour. 

"It beats me where you learned how to do these things, " his fatherprotested. 

"But it doesn't want learning; it's all so simple--not like painting, you know. "

Mr. Frank had been corresponding with the boy's headmaster. "Yes, he isa good fellow, " said one of the letters; "just a gentle clear-mindedboy, with courage at call when he wants it, and one really remarkabletalent. You may not have discovered it, but he is a mathematician; andas different from the ordinary book-made mathematician--from the dozensof boys I send up regularly to Cambridge--as cheese is from chalk. He has a sort of passion for pure reasoning--for its processes. Of course he does not know it; but from the first it has been a pleasureto me (an old pupil of Routh's) to watch his work. 'Style' is not aword one associates as a rule with mathematics, but I can use no otherto express the quality which your boy brings to that study. . . . "

"Good Lord!" groaned Mr. Frank, who had never been able to add up hiswashing bills. 

He read the letter to Miss Bracy, and the pair began to watch Victorwith a new wonder. They were confident that no Bracy had ever been amathematician; for an uncle of theirs, now a rector in Shropshire andonce of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, where for reasons best known tohimself he had sought honours in the Mathematical Tripos and narrowlymissed the Wooden Spoon, had clearly no claim to the title. Whence inthe world did the boy derive this gift? "His mother--" Miss Bracybegan, and broke off as a puff of smoke shot out from the fireplace. It was late September; Deborah had lit the fire that morning for thefirst time since May, and the chimney never drew well at starting. Miss Bracy took the tongs in hand, but she was not thinking of thesmoke; neither was Mr. Frank, while he watched her. They were boththinking of the dead woman. The thought of her--the ghost of her--wasalways rising now between them and her boy; _she_ was the impalpablescreen they tried daily and in vain to pierce; to _her_ they had come torefer unconsciously all that was inexplicable in him. And so much wasinexplicable! They loved him now; they stretched out their hands tohim: behind _her_ he smiled at them, but through or across _her_ theirhands could never reach. 

As at first they had avoided all allusion to her, and been thankful thatthe boy's reticence made it easy, so now they grew almost feverishlyanxious to discover how he felt towards his mother's memory. They detected each other laying small traps for him, and were ashamed. They held their breath as with an air of cheerful unconsciousness hewalked past the traps, escaping them one and all. At first in herirritation Miss Bracy accused him of what she (of all women!) calledfalse pride. "He is ashamed of her. He wishes to forget, and is onlytoo glad that we began by encouraging him. " On second thoughts she knewthe charge to be undeserved and odious. His obvious simplicity gave itthe lie. Moreover she knew that a small water-colour sketch of her inher youth--a drawing of Mr. Frank's--stood on the table in the boy'sbedroom. Miss Bracy often dusted that room with her own hands. 

"And, Frank, " she confessed one day, "he kisses it! I know by thedullness on the glass when I rub it. " She did not add that she rubbedit viciously. "I tell you, " she insisted, almost with a groan, "he lives with her. She is with him in this house in spite of us; shetalks with him; his real existence is with her. He comes out of it tomake himself pleasant to us, but he goes back and tells her hissecrets. "

"Nonsense, Laura, " Mr. Frank interrupted testily. "For some reason orother the boy is getting on your nerves. It is natural, after all. "

"Natural? Yes, I see: you mean that I'm an old maid, and it's a case ofcrabbed age and youth. "

"My dear Laura, I mean nothing so rude. But, after all, we have beenliving here a great many years and it _is_ a change. "

"Frank, you can be singularly dense at times. Must I tell you in somany words that I am fond of the boy, and if he'd be only as fond of mehe might racket the house down and I'd only like him the better for it?"

Mr. Frank rubbed his head, and then with sudden resolution marched outof the house in search of Victor. He found the boy on the roof removinga patent cowl which the local mason had set up a week before to cure thesmoky chimney. 

"My dear fellow, " the father cried up, "you'll break your neck!Come down at once--I have something particular to say to you. "

Victor descended with the cowl under his arm. "Do be careful. . . . Doesn't it make you giddy, clambering about in places like that?"Mr. Frank had no head at all for a height. 

"Not a bit. . . . Just look at this silly contrivance--choked with sootin three days! The fellow who invented it ought to have his headexamined. "

"It has made you in a horrible mess, " said his father, who took nointerest in cowls, but lost his temper in a smoky house. 

"I'll run in and have a change and wash. "

"No; put the nasty thing down and come into the garden. " He opened thegate, and Victor followed, after dipping his hands in the waterfall. 

"The fact is, my boy, I've come to a decision. This has been a pleasanttime--a very pleasant time--for all of us. We have put off speaking toyou about this, but I hope you understand that this is to be your homehenceforward; that we wish it and shall be the happier for havingyou . . . "

Victor had been gazing out over the cove, but now turned and met hisfather's eyes frankly. "I have a little money, " he said. "Mother managed to put by a small sum from time to time, enough to startme in life. She did not tell me until a few days before she died: sheknew I wanted to be an engineer. "

He said this quite simply. It was the first time he had mentioned hismother. Mr. Frank felt his face flushing. 

"But your headmaster tells me it will be a thousand pities if you don'tgo to Cambridge. I am proposing that you should go there--shouldmatriculate this term. My dear boy"--he laid a hand on Victor's arm--"don't refuse me this. I have no right--perhaps--to insist; but Idaresay you can guess what your acceptance would mean to me. You canchoose your own career when the time comes. For your sake your motherwould have liked this: ask yourself if she would not. "

Mr. Frank had not looked forward to pleading like this; yet when it cameto the point this seemed his only possible attitude. Victor had removedhis gaze, and his eyes were resting now on the green sunny waves rollingin at the harbour's mouth. For almost a minute he kept silence; then--

"Yes, she would advise it, " he said. It was as though he had laid thecase before an unseen counsellor and waited submissively for the answer. Mr. Frank had gained his end and without trouble: yet he felt adisappointment he could not at once explain. He was the last man in theworld to expect a gratitude which he did not deserve; but in thesatisfaction of carrying his point he missed something, and surmisedwhat he missed. The boy had not turned to _him_ for the answer, but hadturned away and brought it to him. Father and son would never have thedeeper joy of taking counsel together heart to heart. 

V. 

So Victor went up to Trinity, and returned for the Christmas vacation onthe heels of an announcement that he had won a scholarship. He hadgrown more manly and serious, and he smoked a tobacco which sorely triedMiss Bracy's distinguished nose; but he kept the boyish laugh--the laughwhich always seemed to them to call invitingly from the door of hissoul, "Why don't you enter and read me? The house is clean and full ofgoodwill--Come!" But though they never ceased trying, they could neverpenetrate to those inner chambers. Sometimes--though they might betalking of most trivial matters--the appeal would suddenly growpathetic, almost plangent, "What is this that shuts me off from you?We sit together and love one another: why am I set apart?" Time waswhen he had seemed to them consciously reticent, almost of set purpose;but now it was they who, looking within the doorway, saw the dead womanstanding there with finger on lip. 

He made no intimate friends at Cambridge; yet was popular and somethingof a figure in his College, which had marked him down for high--perhapsthe highest--university honours, and was pleasantly astonished to findhim also a good cricketer. His good looks attracted men; they asked hisname, were told it, and exclaimed, "Bracy? Not the man Trinity isrunning for Senior Wrangler?" With this double reputation he might havewon a host of friends, and his father and Miss Bracy would gladly havewelcomed one, in hope that such companionship might exorcise the ghost:but he kept his way, liking and liked by men, yet aloof; with manyacquaintances, censorious of none, influenced by none; avoiding when hedisapproved, but not judging, and in no haste even to disapprove; easyto approach, and almost eager for goodwill, yet in the end inaccessible. 

His first Easter vacation he spent with a reading-party in Cumberland. There he first tasted the "sacred fury" of the mountains andmountain-climbing, and in Switzerland the next August it grew to be apassion. He returned to it again and again, in Cumberland playing atthe game with half a dozen fellow-undergraduates whom he had bitten withthe mania; but in Switzerland during the Long vacations giving himselfover to a glut of it, with only a guide and porter for company--sometimes alone, if he could ever be said to be alone. As inmathematics so in his sport, the cold heights were the mistresses hewooed; the peaks called to him, the rare atmosphere, the glitteringwastes. He neither scorned danger nor was daunted by it. Below in theforests he would sing aloud, but the summits held him silent. As an oldpastor at Zermatt told Mr. Frank, he would come down from a mountain"like Moses, with his face illumined. "

He started on his third visit to Switzerland early in July: in thesecond week in August Miss Bracy and Mr. Frank were to join him atChamounix, and thence the three would make a tour together. He startedin the highest spirits, and halted at the gate to wave his ice-axedefiantly. . . . 

VI. 

The clergyman who ministered to the little tin English Church boarded atthe big hotel, which kept a bedroom and a sitting-room at his disposal. They faced north from the back of the building, which stood against themountain-side; but the sitting-room had a second window at the corner ofthe block, and from this the eye went up over a plantation of dark firsto the white snowfields of the Col and the dark jagged wall of theAiguille du Geant--distant, yet as clear as if stencilled against theblue heaven. It was a delectable vision; but the clergyman, beingshort-sighted as a mole, had never seen it. He wore spectacles with aline running horizontally across them, and through these he peered atMr. Frank and Miss Bracy as if uncertain of their distance. 

Mr. Frank, in a suit of black, sat at the little round table in thecentre of the room, pressing his finger-tips into the soft nap of agaudy French table-cloth. Miss Bracy stood by the window with her backto the room, but she was listening. She too wore black. The fourthperson, at the little clergyman's elbow, was Christian the guide. It was he who spoke, while Mr. Frank dug his fingers deeper, and theclergyman nodded at every pause sympathetically, and both kept theireyes on the table-cloth, the pink and crimson roses of which on theirbackground of buff and maroon were to one a blur only, to the other apattern bitten on his brain. 

"It must have been between noon and one o'clock"--the guide was saying--"when we crossed the Col and began on the rocks. I was leading, ofcourse; the Herr next, and Michel"--this was their porter--"behind. We had halted and lunched at the foot of the rocks. They were nasty, with a coating, for the most part, of thin ice which we must knock away;but not really dangerous. The Herr was silent; not singing--he had beensinging and laughing all through the morning--but in high spirits. He kept his breath now for business. I never knew him fatigued; andthat day I had to beg him once or twice not to press the pace. Michel was tired, I think, and the wine he had taken earlier had upsethis stomach; also he had been earning wages all the winter in England asa gentleman's valet and this was his first ascent for the year, so itmay have been that his nerve was wrong. 

"The first trouble we had with him was soon after starting on the rocks. We were roped; and at the first awkward place he said, 'If one of usshould slip now, we are all lost. ' The Herr was annoyed, as I havenever seen him; and I too was angry, the more because what he said hadsome truth, but it was not, you understand, the moment to say it. Afterthis we had no great trouble until we had passed the place where HerrMummery turned back. About thirty metres from the summit we came to abit requiring caution; a small _couloir_ filled with good ice but at aslope--so!" Here Christian held his open hand aslant, but Mr. Frank didnot lift his eyes. "They anchored themselves and held me while I cutsteps--large steps--across it. On the other side there was no goodfoothold within length of the rope, so I cast off, and the Herr cameacross in my steps with Michel well anchored. It was now Michel's turn, and having now the extra length of rope brought across by the Herr, Icould go higher to a rock and moor myself firmly. The Herr was rightenough where he stood, but not to bear any strain; so I told him to castoff that I might look to Michel alone. While he unknotted his rope Iturned to examine the rock, and at that instant . . . Michel did notunderstand, or was impatient to get it over . . . At any rate he startedto cross just as the Herr had both hands busy. He slipped at the thirdstep . . . I heard, and turned again in time to see the jerk come. The Herr bent backward, but it was useless: he was torn from hisfoothold--"

The little clergyman nodded and broke in: "They were found, closetogether, on a ledge two thousand feet below. Your son, sir, was notmuch mutilated, though many limbs were broken--and his spine and neck. The bodies were found the next day and brought down. We did all thatwas possible. Shall I take you and madame to the grave?"

But the guide had not finished. "He fell almost on top of Michel, andthe two went spinning down the _couloir_ out of sight. I do not thinkthat Michel uttered any cry: but the Herr, as the strain came and hebent backwards against it, seeking to get his axe free and plantit . . . Though that would have been useless . . . The Herr cried onceand very loud . . . Such a strange cry!--"

"Madame will be glad, " interrupted the clergyman again, who had heardChristian's story at the inquest, --"Madame will be glad"--he addressedMiss Bracy, who, as he was dimly aware, had been standing throughoutwith face averted, staring up at the far-away cliffs. "The young man'slast thoughts--"

But Christian was not to be denied. He had told the story a score oftimes during the last three days, and had assured himself by everyevidence that he could tell it effectively. He was something of anegoist, too, and the climax he had in mind was that of his own emotionsin recrossing the fatal _couloir_ ropeless, with shaking knees, hauntedby the Englishman's last cry. 

"Such a strange cry, " he persisted. "His eyes were on mine for a moment. . . Then they turned from me to the _couloir_ and the great spacebelow, It was then he uttered it, stretching out his hands as the ropepulled him forward--yet not as one afraid. 'Mother!' he cried: justthat, and only once--'Mother!'"

Mr. Frank looked up sharply, and turned his head towards Miss Bracy. The clergyman and the guide also had their eyes on her, the latterwaiting for the effect of his climax. 

"It must be a consolation to you--" the clergyman began to mumble. 

But Miss Bracy did not turn. Mr. Frank withdrew his eyes from her andfixed them again on the gaudy tablecloth. She continued to stare up athe clean ice-fields, the pencilled cliffs. She did not even move. 

So Bassett was avenged. 

THE CAPTURE OF THE _BURGOMEISTER VAN DER WERF. 

A REPORTED TALE OF A DUTCHMAN AND A PRIVATEER

Yes, a heap of folks have admired that teapot. Hundreds of pounds wemust have been offered for it, first and last, since the night my wife'sgrandfather, Captain John Tackabird--or Cap'n Jacka, as he was alwayscalled--brought it into the family over the back-garden wall, and hisfunny little wife went for him with the broom-handle. Poor souls, theywere always a most affectionate couple, and religious too, but not muchto look at; and when he took and died of a seizure in the Waterloo yearshe wasn't long in following. 

Ay, ay--very pleasant in their lives! though not what you would calllovely. I've heard that, through being allowed by his mother to run toosoon, Tackabird's legs grew up so bandy, the other children used todrive their hoops between them. And next, at fifteen, what must he dobut upset a bee-skip! A bee stung him, and all his hair came off, andfor three parts of his natural life be went about as bald as an egg. To cap everything, he'd scarcely began courting when he lost his lefteye in a little job with the preventive men; but none of this seemed tomake any difference to the woman. Peters her maiden name was--MaryPolly Peters; a little figure with beady black eyes. She believed thatall Captain Jacka's defects would be set right in another world, thoughnot to hinder her recognising him; and meantime the more he got chippedabout the more she doted on what was left of the man. 

Everyone in Polperro respected the couple, for Mary Polly kept herself_to_ herself, and Captain Jacka was known for the handiest man in thehaven to run a Guernsey cargo or handle a privateer, and this though hetook to privateering late in life, in the service of the "Hand andGlove" company of adventurers. By and by Mr. Zephaniah Job, who lookedafter these affairs in Polperro--free-trade and privateering both--started a second company called the "Pride of the West, " and put CaptainJacka to command their first ship, the old _Pride_ lugger; a very goodchoice, seeing that for three years together he cleared over forty percent. On the adventurers' capital. 

The more was his disappointment when they built a new lugger, the_Unity_, one hundred and sixty tons, and Job gave the command to a smartyoung fellow called Dick Hewitt, whose father held shares in the concernand money to buy votes beside. I've told you how Jacka swallowed hispride and sailed as mate under this Hewitt, and how he managed to heapcoals of fire on the company's head. Well that's one story and this isanother. I'm telling now of the second boat, when Captain Jacka, or, asyou might say, Providence--for what happened was none of his seeking, and the old boy acted throughout as innocent as a sucking-child--leftoff shaming the company as honest men, and hit them slap in theirpockets, where they could feel. 

The bottom of the quarrel was that Mr. Job, the agent, took a dislike toJacka. He was one of your sour, long-jawed sort, a bit of a lawyer, with a temper like Old Nick, and just the amount of decent feeling thatmakes a man the angrier for knowing he's unjust, especially when thefellow that's hit takes it smiling instead of cursing; and moreespecially still when he carries but one eye in his head, and be dashedif you can tell whether its twinkling back at you out of pure sweetnessof nature or because it sees a joke of its own. I believe Captain Jackatwinkled back on Mr. Job as he twinkled on the rest of the world, willing to be friends and search for the best side of everyone, if hemight be allowed. But Mr. Job couldn't be sure of this, and I'm fain toadmit the old boy was a trial to him, with his easy-going ways. Job, you see, was a stickler for order; kept his accounts like the Bankof England, all in the best penmanship, with black and red ink, andsigned his name at the end with a beautiful flourish in the shape of aswan, all done with one stroke--he having been a school-master in hisyouth, and highly respected at it until his unfortunate temper made himshy a child out of window, which drove him out of the business, as suchthings will. In young Dick Hewitt he had a captain to his mind: soapand tidiness and punctuality, and oil and rotten-stone for the verygun-swivels; all the crew touching caps, and nerve and seamanship on topof all. Jacka admired the young spark, for all his boastfulness; forhis own part he could do anything with a ship but keep her tidy. "What's the use of giving yourself on-necessary work?" he'd say in hismild manner, if he saw one of his hands coiling a rope or housing a sailneatly. "We may be wantin' it any minute, and then you'll be sorry forlabour thrown away. " The dirtiness of his decks was a caution, and thiswas the queerer because in his own parlour you might have eaten yourdinner off the floor. "I reckon, " he'd explain, "when the Lord made seaand land He meant there should be a difference, and likewise when Hemade man and woman, " and stuck to his untidiness afloat because it madehim the gladder to be at home again. Mary Polly, though she livedwithin forty yards of the sea, and was proud of her husband as anymortal woman, would never step on board a boat. The sight of one(she declared) turned her stomach, and she married their only child to ahouse-decorator. 

All this untidiness was poison to Mr. Job, and it worked inside the manuntil he was just one simmering pot of wrath, and liable to boil over atthe leastest little extra provocation. 

One day--it was the tenth of July in the year 'nine; Peter's Tide, andthe Upper Town crowded with peep-shows and ranter-go-rounds, and folkskeeping the feast--Mr. Job takes a stroll down the quay past thesweet-standings, and cocks his eye over the edge, down upon the deck ofthe old _Pride_ that was moored alongside and fitting out for a freshcruise. And there, in the shade of the quay wall, sat old Captain Jackawith a hammer, tap-tapping at a square of tinplate. 

"Hullo!" Mr. Job hailed. "Where's the crew?"

"Up riding the hobby-horses, I b'lieve, " answered Jacka, as friendly asyou please. 

"And in thirty-six hours you've engaged to have the _Pride_ ready forsea!"

"She's about ready now, " said Jacka, stopping to put a peppermint in hismouth. He had bought a packet off one of the sweet-standings, andspread it on the deck beside him. "Feast-day doesn't come round morethan once a year, and I haven't the heart to deny them, with the work sowell forward, too. " The old fellow fairly beamed across his deck, theraffle of which was something cruel. "There's a fat woman up there, too. I'm told she's well worth seeing. "

"You call that dirty mess 'being fit for sea'?" asked Mr. Job, noddingdown, but bottling up his anger after a fashion. "Look here, CaptainTackabird, you're a servant of the company; and I'll trouble you tostand up and behave respectful when the company's agent pays you a visitof inspection. "

"Cert'nly, Mr. Job. " Jacka scrambled up to his feet as mild as milk. "Beg your pardon, sir, I thought you'd just strolled down to pass thetime of day. "

"And don't flash that plaguey thing in my eyes, as you're doing. "For Jacka was standing in the sunshine now, with the tinplate in hishands blazing away like a looking-glass. 

"Very well, sir. Perhaps you'll allow me to fetch a hat out of thecabin; for my head feels the heat powerful, being so bald. They do sayit twinkles a bit, too, when the sun catches it the right way. "

So down he went to the cabin, and up he came again to find Mr. Job withhis best coat-tails spread, seated on the carriage of the _Pride's_stern-chaser. 

"Oh, Lord!" he couldn't help groaning. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing, Mr. Job, nothing. " The fact was, Jacka had smeared a dollopof honey on that very gun-carriage to keep the wasps off him while heworked. The sweet-standings, you see, always drew a swarm of wasps onfeast-days, and the old man never could abide them since his accidentwith the bee-skip. 

Mr. Job sat there with his mouth screwed up, eyeing the whole length ofthe lugger. 

"I'd like to know why you were hammering out that tinplate?" said he. "I can see with my own eyes you've been knocking dents in the deck; butI s'pose that wasn't your only object. "

"I reckoned to tack it over this here hole in the bulwarks where thetide swung her up against the quay-end. " Captain Jacka showed him theplace. 

"I'd have let you have a fresh plank if you'd only reported the damagein time. "

"Oh, " said Jacka, "a scrap of tin will answer just as well--every bit. "

"I can't think, Captain Tackabird, how it comes that you've no moreregard for appearances. Just look at the _Unity_, for instance, and howyoung Hewitt keeps her. "

"Born different, I suppose. "

"Ay, and if you don't look out you'll end different. Patching a boatwith tin!" Mr. Job let out a rasping kind of laugh. "But that'sPolperro, all over. Do you know what they tell about you, down to St. Ann's?"--Mr. Job came from St. Ann's--"They say, down there, that everyman-child in Polperro is born with a patch in the seat of his--"

Mr. Job stood up and cast a hand behind him, to explain. . . . 

"I put it there to keep off the wopses, " said Captain Jacka. 

"But what did he say?" asked Mary Polly, when her husband brought homethe tale. 

"First he said, 'I'll make you pay for this. ' Well, that was fairenough, for I ought to have warned him; but when I asked the price, andwhere the stuff could be matched--for 'twas his best suit, youunderstand--all of a sudden he stamps his foot and lets fly with themost horrible oaths. It fairly creamed my flesh to hear him. He's a man of wrath, my love, and the end of him will be worse than thebeginning. "

"I daresay; but he'll give you the sack before that happens. "

The two poor old souls looked at one another; for Job had control of allthe privateering companies in Polperro, and influence enough to starve aman out of the place. 

"Lev us take counsel of the Lord, " said the old boy, as she knew hewould. So down on their knees they went, and prayed together. Jacka even put up a petition for Mr. Job, but Mary Polly couldn't say"Amen" to that. 

The next morning Captain Jacka went down to the _Pride_ at the usualhour, but only to find his crew scrubbing decks and Mr. Job ready forhim. "There's your marching orders, " says the enemy, handing him apaper; "and if you want a character at any time, just come to me, andI'll give you a daisy. "

Well, the old chap said no word, but turned about then and there, andback along the quay like a man in a dream. All the way he kept fumblingthe document without daring to open it, and when he reached his own doorhe just sat down on the little low wall outside, laid the cursed thingon his knee, pulled a bandanna out of his breeches pocket, and polishedthe top of his poor head till it fairly blazed in the eye of the sun. 

He was sitting there, dazed and quiet, when the door opened and out cameMary Polly with a rag-mat in her hand, meaning to bang it against thewall, as her custom was. 

"Hullo!" says she, stopping short on the threshold. "Back again, like abad penny?"

"Bad enough, this time, " says her husband, without turning round; anddrops his head with a groan. 

I must say the woman's behaviour was peculiar. For first of all shestepped forward and gave his head a stroking, just as you might achild's, and then she looks up and down the street, and says, "I'm ashamed of 'ee, carryin' on like this for all the public to see. Stick your hands in your pockets, " says she. 

"What's the use of that?" But he did it. 

"Now whistle. "

"Eh?"

"Whistle a tune. "

"But I can't. "

"You can if you try; I've heard you whistlin' 'Rule Britannia' scores oftimes, or bits of it. Now I'm goin' to beat this mat and make believeto be talkin' to 'ee. At the very first sound old Mrs. Scantlebury'llpoke her head out, she always does. So you go on whistlin', and don'tmind anything I say. There'll be no peace in life for us after she getswind you've been sacked; and just now I want a little time to myself torelieve my feelin's. "

So Jacka started to whistle, feeling mighty shy, and Mary Polly pickedup the mat. 

"I wish, " says she to the mat, "you was Mr. (whang) Zephaniah (whang)Job (whang). I do dearly wish for my life you was Mr. (whang) Zephaniah(whang) Job (whang). I'd take your ugly old head with its stivery greywhiskers and I'd (bang, whang)--I'd (bang, whang)--I'd treat you likethis here mat, and lay you down for folks to wipe their shoes upon, Mr. (whang) Zephaniah (whang) Job (whang). "

"When Britain first at Heaven's command, " whistled Jacka; and the WidowScantlebury, two doors up the street, was properly taken in. An hourlater, when the news of Jacka's dismissal was all over the town, she hadto sit down and consider. "I see'd him come up the street"--this washow she told the story, being the sort of woman that never knows wherethe truth ends--"just as Mary Polly was shaking out her mat. He came uplike a whipped dog, stuck his hands in his pockets and started towhistle, for all the world like a whipped dog, you understand? Any foolcould see the man had something on his mind and wanted to break itgentle. But not she! Went on banging the mat, if you'll believe me, till my flesh ached to see a woman so dull-minded. Of course it wasn'no business of mine, tho' you _would_ think, after living with a manthirty years--" and so on, and so on. 

But when Mary Polly had relieved her feelings, and the two old soulswere in the kitchen with the door shut behind them, they came very nearto breaking down. You see, Captain Jacka had followed the trade inPolperro all his days, and his heart was in it till Mr. Job pulled himup by the roots. He and Mary Polly had saved a little, and lookedforward to leaving it to their only child--my wife's mother, that was;and anyway it wasn't enough to maintain them, let be that to touch apenny of it would have burnt their fingers. No; Captain Jacka must finda new billet. 

But in a month or so, when folks had given up sympathising--for MaryPolly hated to be pitied, and gave them no encouragement--he saw plainenough that there was no billet for him in a small place like Polperrowhere Mr. Job ruled the roost. Before Christmas his mind was made up;and early in Christmas week he said good-bye to his wife, marched up toFour Turnings with his kit on his back, and shipped on board Boutigo'sTwo-Horse Conveyance for Falmouth. 

There was a Mr. Rogers living at Falmouth who had been a shareholder inthe old "Hand and Glove" company, but had sold out over some quarrelwith Mr. Job; and to him Jacka applied. 

"I'm told that seamen are scarce, sir, " says he. "I was wondering ifyou could find me a berth anywhere, for I've 'arned forty per cent. Formy employers before now, and could do it again, but for a man of myunfortunate looks 'tis hard to get a start. "

Mr. Rogers tapped the desk with his ruler, like one considering. "Why have they turned you out?" he asked. "Anything professional?"

"How could _I_ help Mr. Job's sitting down on a lump of honey?I put it to you, sir, as a business man. "

"I'm sure I don't know, " said Mr. Rogers. "Let's have the story. "

So out it all came. "He's a man of wrath, " said Captain Jacka, "and he'll be sorry for it when he comes to die. "

"There's one or two, " said Mr. Rogers, "would like to hurry thatreckoning a bit. Well, well, I can make shift to fit you up withsomething for a week or two, and maybe by that time there'll be anopening aboard one of the Packets. Just now, in Christmas week, business is slack enough, but what do you say to going mate on a vesselas far as the Downs?"

"Nothing I should like better, " says Jacka. 

"You'd better have a look at her first, " says Mr. Rogers. 

So he takes Jacka off to the Market Strand, calls for a waterman'swherry, and inside of ten minutes they were being pulled out to theRoads. 

"There's your ship, " says Mr. Rogers, as they pushed out beyond the olddock into Carrick Roads. 

Jacka opened first his eyes and then his mouth. The vessel was a kindof top-sail schooner, but with a hull there was no mistaking, the moreby token that the tide was swinging her stern-on, and showing him a pairof windows picked out in red paint, with shutter-boards and brass hingesshining. 

"Mr. Rogers, " he said, "I han't read the _Sherborne Mercury_ lately, but is--is the war over?"

"No, nor likely to be. "

"But, Mr. Rogers, sir, either that there ship is a Dutchman or else Ibe. "

"Look at her flag, you old fool. "

"Never see'd the like of it. "

"That's the flag of the Principality of Nibby-Gibby. Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say I have. "

"No more did I till the day before yesterday, and I won't swear I've gotit right yet. But 'tis somewhere up the Baltic I understand. That there ship--her name, by the way, is the _Burgomeister Van derWerf_--is bound up Channel with sugar from Jamaica--with a licence. Maybe you folks up to Polperro don't know what that means?"

"I only know that, if I'd ran across her in the old _Pride_, I'd haveclapped a crew on board and run her into a British port and no questionsasked. "

Says Mr. Rogers, "If that's the way you Polperro men keep abreast ofBoard of Trade regulations, it strikes me you might have done worse thanlose your billet with the _Pride of the West_. "

In the time left before the waterman brought them alongside, Mr. Rogersexplained, as well as he could, the new system (as it was then) oflicences; by which the Government winked at neutral vessels carryinggoods into the enemy's ports, in spite of the blockade, and bringing usback Baltic timber for shipbuilding. 

"But a Dutchman isn' no neutral, " Captain Jacka objected. 

"I did hear, " said Mr. Rogers, stroking his chin and looking sideways, "that these licences have their market-price, and that in Amsterdam justnow it's seven hundred rix-dollars. "

"Well-a-well, if the Board of Trade's satisfied, " says Jacka, "it's notfor the likes of me to object. But if I was a Christian ruler I shouldthink twice afore invitin' such a deal of hard swearin'. "

"You'll find Captain Cornelisz a Lutheran, " Mr. Rogers assured him, "and a very sociable fellow, with the little English he can muster. "

Well, to make my story short, Jacka stepped on board and found the Dutchskipper monstrous polite and accommodating, though terrible sleepy, thereason being that, his mate falling sick at Kingston of the yellowfever, he had been forced to navigate his vessel home single-handed. He owned up, too, that he had a poor head for ciphering, so that 'twasmore by luck than good management he'd hit off the Channel at all. At any rate he was glad enough of a chance to shift off responsibilityand take a sound nap, and inside of half an hour the bargain was struckover a glass of hot schnapps. Mr. Rogers shook hands and put off forshore again, and a boat went with him to fetch Jacka's kit, which he'dleft in the office. 

At six o'clock the _Van der Werf_ weighed anchor and headed out undereasy canvas. The wind outside was almost dead contrary, E. By N. Andhalf E. , and blowing a little under half a gale, but the skipper seemedin a hurry, and Jacka didn't mind. 

"She's a good boat by all seeming, " said he as they cleared St. Anthony's light; "but she wants a sea-way. I reckon, sir, you'd betterstay on deck for a tack or two, till I find how she comes about. I'm accustomed, you see, to something a bit sharper in the bows, andjust at first that may tempt me to run it too fine. "

"Who wants you to run it fine at all?" asked Captain Cornelisz. 

"Well, naturally you'll work it in short tacks and hug the English sidepretty close. "

"Short tacks? Not a bit of it; tide'll be running up strong by timewe're out in deep water. Put her right across for France, keep herpretty full--she won't bear pinching--and let her rip. "

"Risky. "

"How's that?"

"_Chasse-marees_ are pretty thick, I'm told, once you get near t'otherside, 'specially between Morlaix and Guernsey, let alone a chance ofdropping across a French cruiser. "

"My good man, I've been stopped twice on this voyage already by Frenchcruisers: once off Brest, and the second time about fifty miles thisside of Ushant. "

"You don't tell me!" says Jacka. "How the dickens did they let you go?"

"Well, " answers the Dutchman, "I took the precaution of fitting myself_with two sets of papers_. Oh, " says he, as Jacka lets out a lowwhistle, "it's the ordinary thing in our line of business. So you justdo as I tell you and make the boards as long as you please, for I'mdropping with sleep in my boots. Keep the ship going, and if you sightanyone that looks like trouble just give me a hail down the companion, for I can talk to any frigate, British or French. "

With that he bundled away below, and Jacka, after a word or two with theman at the helm, to make sure they understood enough of each other'slingo, settled down with his pipe for the night's work. 

The wind held pretty steady, and the _Van der Werf_ made nothing of thecross-seas, being a beamy craft and fit for any weather in a sea-way. Jacka conned her very careful, and decided there was no use in drivingher; extra sail would only fling up more water without improving herspeed. So he jogged along steady, keeping her full and by, and lettingher take the seas the best way she liked them. Towards morning he evenbegan to doze a bit, till warned by a new motion of the ship that shewasn't doing her best. He opened his eyes and shouted--

"Up with your helm, ye lubber! Hard up, I tell ye, and keep her full!"

A pretty heavy spray at that moment came over the bow and took him fairin the face, and he stumbled aft in none too sweet a temper. Then hesaw what had happened: the fresh hand at the wheel had dozed off wherehe stood and let the _Van der Werf_ run up in the wind. The fellow waslittle more than a boy, and white in the face with want of sleep. Captain Jacka was always a kind-hearted man. Said he, as he flung thespokes round, and the _Van der Werf_ began to pay off: "Look here, mylad, if you can't keep a better eye open, I'll take a trick myself. So go you forward and stow yourself somewheres within call. "

With that he took the helm, and glad of it, to keep himself awake; andso held her going till daybreak. 

By eight in the morning, just as the light began creeping, and Jacka wascalculating his whereabouts, he lifted his eye over the weather-bow, and--

"Hullo!" he sings out. "What's yonder to windward?"

The lad he'd relieved jumps up from where he'd been napping beside thebitts, and runs forward. But, whatever he sang out, Jacka paid noattention; for by this time his own one eye had told him all he wantedto know, and a trifle more; and he clutched at the wheel for a momentlike a man dazed. Then, I believe, a sort of heavenly joy crept overhis face, mixed with a sort of heavenly cunning. 

"Call up the crew, " he ordered. "I'm going to put her about. The wholecrew--every man-Jack of them!"

By the time the men tumbled up, Jacka had his helm up, and the _Van derWerf_, with sheets pinned, was leaning to it and knocking up theunholiest sputter. 

"All right, my lads. Don't stand glazing at me like stuck pigs. Stand by to slacken sheets. I'm going to gybe her. "

Well, they obeyed, though not a man of them could guess what he wasafter. Over went the big mainsail with a jerk that must have pitchedCaptain Cornelisz clean out of his bunk below; for half a minute laterhe comes puffing and growling up the companion and wanting to know inhis best Dutch if this was the end of the world, and if not, what wasit?

"That's capital, " says Jacka, "for I was just about stepping down tocall you. See that lugger, yonder?" He jerked his thumb over hisshoulder at a speck in the grey from which the _Van der Werf_ was nowrunning at something like nine knots an hour. 

"Well?"

"I know that lugger, and we're running away from her. "

"Pack of stuff!" says Captain Cornelisz, or Dutch to that effect. "D'ee want to be told a dozen times that this is a licensed ship?"And he called for his flag, to hoist it. 

"Oh, drop your fancy pocket-handkerchiefs, and listen to reason, that'sa dear man! _O' course_ I know you carry a licence; but the point is--the lugger don't know. _O' course_ I'm running away from her, by yourleave; but the point is--she can run and reach three miles to our two. And lastly, _o' course_ you're master here, and can do what you please;but, if you're not pressed for time, there's money in it, and you shan'tsay I didn't give you the chance. "

Captain Cornelisz eyed Jacka for a full minute, and then a dinky littlesmile started in one eye and spread till it covered the whole of hiswide face. 

"You're a knowing one, " said he. 

"Was never considered so, " answered Jacka, very modest. 

"She's put about and after us, " said the skipper, after a long stareover his right shoulder. 

"She'll have us in less than three hours. There's one thing to be done, and that's to stow me somewheres out of the way; for if anyone on boardof her catches sight of me, the game's up. S'pose we try the lazarette, if you have such a place. I like fresh air as a rule, but for once in awhile I don't mind bein' squoze; and, as lazarettes go, yours ought tobe nice and roomy. "

"You shall have a bottle of Hollands for company, " promised CaptainCornelisz. 

So the hatch was pulled up, and down Jacka crept and curled himself upin the darkness. The Dutchman provisioned him there with a bottle ofstrong waters and a bag of biscuits, and--what's more--called down tohim so long as was prudent and kept him informed how the chase wasgoing. 

By this time the lugger--which I needn't tell you was Mr. ZephaniahJob's pet _Unity_, with Captain Dick Hewitt commanding--was closing downon the _Van der Werf_, overhauling her hand-over-fist. Down in thelazarette Jacka had scarcely finished prising the cork out of his bottleof Hollands when he heard the bang of a gun. This was the lugger'scommand to round-to and surrender; and the old boy, who had been vexinghimself with fear that some cruiser might drop in and spoil sport, putthe bottle to his mouth and drank Mr. Job's very good health. 

"For I think, " says he to himself, with a chuckle, "I can trust Cap'nDick Hewitt to put his foot into this little mess just as deep as itwill go. "

With that, being heavy after his night's watch, he tied up his chin inhis bandanna handkerchief to keep him from snoring, curled round, anddropped off to sleep like a babe. 

Well, sir, Cap'n Dick Hewitt brought-to his prize, as he reckoned her;and when he came aboard and sized up the cargo and the _Unity's_ luck, as he reckoned it, his boastfulness was neither to hold nor to bind. No such windfall had been picked up for the _Pride of the West_ duringthe four years he'd been in the company's service. He scarce stayed togive a glance at the _Van der Werf's_ papers, though Captain Corneliszwas ready for him with the wrong set. "I guess, " says he, "you'll spareyourself the trouble to pretend you ain't a Dutchman"; and when theskipper flung his arms about and began to jabber like a play-actor, 'twas "All right, Mynheer; we'll talk about that at Falmouth. Look here, boys, " he sings out to his boarding party, "we've somethinghere too good to be let out of sight. My idea is to reach back forPolperro in company, and let Mr. Job and the shareholders have a view ofher before taking her round to Falmouth. It won't cost us three hoursextra, " says he, "and a little bit of a flourish is excusable under thecircumstances. "

So up for Polperro they bore, half a dozen men from the lugger workingthe _Van der Werf_, and old Captain Jacka asleep in her lazarette tillroused out of his dreams by the rattle as they cast anchor half acable's length outside the haven. The tide was drawing to flood and theevening dusking down, and in sails Captain Dick in the _Unity_ as big asbull's beef, and shouts his news to all the loafers on the quay. 

"But come and take a look at her for yourself, " says he to Mr. Job, whohad stepped down with his best telescope. 

Job put off that evening in something like a flutter of spirits; for totell the truth half a dozen of the shareholders had been cutting uprough over his treatment of Jacka, and here was an answer for them, andproof that he'd been right in preaching up Dick Hewitt to be worth tenof the old man. 

Alongside he comes in the _Unity's_ boat, steps aboard, and makes apolite leg to Captain Cornelisz, with any amount of sham sympathy in hiseye. 

"Dear, dear, " says he, "this is a very unfort'nit business for you, Cap'n What's-your-name! In time of war I s'pose such things musthappen; but I can't help feelin' sorry for you, " says he. 

"I was thinkin' to reckon the damage at six hundred pounds, " says theDutch skipper, meek as you please. 

"Hey?" says Mr. Job. 

"Well, sir, I likes to be reasonable; but it's a question of missing theconvoy, and under the circumstances--case of illegal detention at thebest--you won't consider six hundred pounds out of the way. Of course, "says he, "I haven't been allowed to study your lugger's papers, so itmay be flat piracy. But if your skipper had taken the trouble to studymine--"

"What in thunder is he telling about?" demanded Mr. Job. 

"Only this, sir, " answered Captain Cornelisz, smiling very sweet, andpulling out his licence from his side-pocket, he read, "'And the saidvessel has our protection while bearing any flag except the French, andnotwithstanding the documents accompanying the said vessel and cargo mayrepresent the same to be destined to any neutral or hostile port, or towhomsoever such property may appear to belong. ' The wording you see, sir, is very particular, and under the circumstances I can't say lessthan six hundred pounds; but, of course, if you oblige me to take it tothe courts, there's your papers to be considered, which may raise thequestion of piracy. "

Just an hour later, when Mr. Job had returned to shore in the devil'sown temper to call a hasty meeting of his shareholders--and CaptainHewitt along with him, with his tail between his Legs--Captain Corneliszraised the trap of the lazarette. 

"I'm thinking a little fresh air's no more than you deserve, " said he. 

"But where are we, in this world?" asked Jacka. 

"So well as I can learn, 'tis a place called Polperro. "

Jacka chuckled. "Seen anything of a party called Job?"

"He's to bring me six hundred pounds before morning, " answered theDutchman, lighting his pipe. "And see here--I'm a fair-dealin' man, andI own I owe you a good twenty of it. You shall have it when you leavethe ship, and I'll chance making it right with the owners. "

"Very good of you, to be sure, " allowed Jacka. 

"But that isn't all. I owe you something on my own account, and ifthere's any small favour I can do you, in reason--"

"Well, since you put it so friendly, I'd like an hour or so ashore. "

"Ashore? What, to-night?"

"It's my home, you see, " Jacka explained; "and my old woman livesthere. "

"You don't say so? Well, you shall be put ashore as soon as you please. Anything else?"

"I see'd a very pretty teapot and sugar basin in your cabin yestiddy. I don't know if you set any particular store by them; but if you don't, my old woman's terrible fond of china, and you can deduct it out of thetwenty pounds, it you like. "

"Shouldn't think of it, " says Captain Cornelisz; "they're best Nankin, and they're yours. Anything else?"

"Well, if I might ask the loan of a pair of your breeches tillto-morrow. They seem to me a bit fuller in the seat than mine, and letalone being handy to carry the china in, they'll be a kind of disguise. For, to tell the truth, I don't want to be seen in Polperro streets tobe mixed up with this business, and my legs be so bandy that in anyordinary small clothes there's no mistaking me, even in the dark. "

So the _Van der Werf's_ boat landed Jacka that night in pitch darknesshalf a mile west of the haven, where a ridge of rock gives shelter fromthe easterly swell. And just half an hour later, as Mary Polly turnedin her sleep, she heard a stone trickle down the cliff at the back ofthe cottage and drop thud! into the yard under her window. She sat boltupright in bed. "There's some villain of a thief after my Minorca'seggs, " said she. 

Another stone trickled and fell. Like the woman of spirit she was, shejumped out of bed, crept downstairs to the kitchen, picked up the broom, and listened, with her hand on the latch of the back-door. 

She heard the scrape of a toe-plate on the wall outside. 

This was too much. "You mean, sneakin', snivellin', pilferin', egg-stealin' highwayman!" cries she, and lets fly. 

Well, sir, the sugar basin was scat to atoms, but the teapot, as yousee, didn' suffer more than a chip. The wonder was, she stayed her handat the second stroke, old Jacka being in no position to defend himselfor explain. In later days when she invited her friends to tea, she usedto put it down to instinct. "Something _warned_ me, " she'd say. But that's how the teapot came into our family. 

KING O' PRUSSIA. 

REPORTED TALE OF A SMUGGLER, A REVENUE CUTTER, AND AN OFFICIOUSMINISTER. 

You have heard tell, of course, of Captain John Carter, the famoussmuggler of Prussia Cove, and his brothers Harry, Francis, and Charles, and Captain Will Richards, "Tummels, " Carpenter Hosking, Uncle Billy, and the rest of the Cove boys; likewise of old Nan Leggo and BessieBussow that kept the Kiddlywink[1] there? Well, well, I see ouryoungsters going to school nowadays with their hair brushed, and I hearthem singing away inside the classroom for all the world as if they wereglad to grow up and pay taxes; and it makes me wonder if they can be thechildren of that old-fangled race. Sometimes I think it's high time forme to go. There was a newspaper fellow down here when the _GeneralWalker_ came ashore, and, after asking a lot of questions, he put thecase in a nutshell. "You're a link with the past, " he said; "that'swhat you are. " I don't know if he invented the expression, or if hepicked it up somewhere and used it on me, but it's a terrible cleverone. 

You mustn't think I'm boasting. I never knew Captain John; he died inthe year 'seven, and I wasn't born for twelve months after. But I'veshaken hands with Captain Harry--the one who was taken prisoner by theFrench, and came near to losing his head. He spent his latter yearsfarming at Rinsey and local preaching; a very earnest man. He gave memy first-class ticket--that was in the late twenties, and not longbefore his death. And Captain Will Richards I knew well; he took overthe business after Captain John, and lasted down to the Crimea year. I carried the coffin; eighty-five his age was, according to the plate onit; but, of course, the business had come to an end long before. 

Everybody calls it Prussia Cove in these days. The visitors ask forPrussia Cove, and go and crane their heads over. You know the place?--just east of Cuddan Point. It's three coves really; Pisky's Cove, Bessie's Cove, and Prussia. The first has no good landing, but plentyof good caves; east of that comes Bessie's, where the Kiddlywink stood, with a harbour cut in the solid rock, and a roadway, and more caves; andeast of that, with a point and a small island dividing them, comesPrussia, where John Carter had his house. Before his time it was calledPorthleah, but he got the nickname "King o' Prussia" as a boy, and itstuck to him, and now it sticks to the old place. The visitors cranetheir heads over (for you must do that to count the vessels in theharbour right underneath you), and ask foolish questions, and getanswered with a pack of lies. There's an old tale for one, about afellow who heard that the real King of Prussia had been defeated byNapoleon Bonaparte. "Ah, " says he, "I'm sorry for that man. Misfortunes never come single; not more'n six weeks ago he lost threehundred keg of brandy, by information, so I'm told. " All nonsense!Porthleah never lost but one keg in all John Carter's time, and that wasa leaky one in a pool at Pisky's which the custom-house fellows sniffedas they went by. To be sure, one day when the King was away from home, the collector came round from Penzance, seized a cargo, and carried itoff to the Custom House store. What did Carter do when he came home andheard about it? He had agreed to deliver the goods by a certain day, his character for honest business was at stake and he wasn't going todisappoint his customers. So he rode into Penzance that night, brokeopen the Custom House store, and rode back with all his kegs; nothingelse, mind you. When the officers next morning discovered what hadhappened, they allowed at once this was Carter's work, because he was anhonest man and wouldn't take anything that didn't belong to him. 

But the tale they tell oftenest is about the battery he kept on EnysPoint, and how he opened fire with it upon His Majesty's vessel; and Iwant you to have the rights of _that_ as I had it from Captain WillRichards himself. To hear folks speak you would think the King justopened fire and blazed away for the fun of it; whereas, with all hisdaring, he was the quietest, most inoffensive man in the trade, if onlyyou let him alone. Mr. Wearne, the collector, understood this, and itwas not by his fault either that the firing came about, but all throughan interfering woman and a preacher who couldn't mind his own business. 

It began in this way. Bessie Bussow had a sister-in-law married andliving over here in Ardevora--Ann Geen was the name of her--a daughterof Kitty Lemal. (You've heard tell of Kitty Lemal and her eightdaughters, and her stocking full of guineas? No? Well there's anotherstory for you one of these days. ) This Ann was the youngest of theeight, and married John Geen latish in life, just in time to bring him aboy before he left her a widow; and after her mother Kitty died she andthe boy lived together in the old house at Carne Glaze--Ugnes House[2]they used to call it. The boy, being the son of old parents, was alean, scrag-necked child, with a lollopping big head, too clever for hisyears. He had the Lemals' pluck inside him though, for all his unhandylooks; and, of course, his mother thought him a nonesuch. 

Well, with all the country talking about John Carter and his doings, youmay fancy that every boy in Ardevora wanted to grow up in a hurry and beoff to Prussia Cove a-smuggling. It took young Phoby Geen (his realname was Deiphobus) as bad as the rest. He had been over to the Covewith his mother on a visit to Bessie Bussow, and there in the Kiddlywinkthe King had patted him on his big head and given him a shilling. After that the boy gave his mother no peace. She, poor soul, wanted tomake a preacher of him, and wouldn't hear of his going; but often, afterhe had turned fifteen, she would be out of bed ten times of a night andlistening at his door to make sure he hadn't run off in the dark. 

I told you the boy was clever; and this is how he gained his end. There had always been a tale that the Ugnes House was haunted--the ghostbeing old Reginald Bottrell, Kitty Lemal's father, a very respectablesea-captain, who died in his bed with no reason whatever for beinguncomfortable in the next world. Still, "walk" he did, or was said to;and one fine day the boy came to his mother with a pretty tale. It went that, the evening before, he and his young cousin, Arch'lausBryant, had been lying stretched on their stomachs before the fire inthe big room--he reading the _Pilgrim's Progress_ by the light of theturves, and Arch'laus listening. The boys were waiting for theirsupper, and for Mrs. Geen to come back from her Saturday's shopping. Happening to look up as he turned a page, Phoby saw, on the steps whichled down into the room, a brisk, stout little gentleman, dressed in along, cutaway coat, black velvet waistcoat and breeches, black ribbedstockings, and pump shoes tied with a bow. He twinkled with brass orgilt buttons--one row down the coat and two rows down the waistcoat--andeach button was stamped with a pattern of flowers. His head was bald, except for a bit of hair at the back; he had no hat; and when he turned, after closing the door behind him, Phoby took notice that his belly wasround and as tight as a drum. The boy denied being frightened;"the gentleman, " he said, "was most pleasant-looking in all hisfeatures. I didn't take 'en for a sperat, but for somebody come to seemother. I stood up and said, 'Good eveling, sir. Mother'll be back ina minute or two if you'll take a seat. '" "I'm not come for she, butfor thee, " he said; "Deiphobus Geen, idle no longer. Arise, take myadvice, and go a-smuggling. " And with that he vanished through thedoor. 

The boy pitched this tale to his mother, and Arch'laus backed him up, adding that the ghost had turned to him and said, "Thou, too, Arch'lausin a year's time shall be a smuggler--p'r'aps sooner. " He told this tohis father and got strapped for it. But Mrs. Geen came of a family thatbelieved in ghosts. The boy's tale described his grandfather to ahair--which was not wonderful considering how often she had talked toPhoby about the old man. At any rate, after being in two minds for aweek she gave way, after a fashion, and allowed Phoby to run over toPrussia Cove to his aunt, Bessie Bussow; and Bessie--who loved spirit--had him apprenticed to Hosking, the Cove carpenter. Pretty carpenter'swork Hosking was likely to teach him!

Now, after the way of women, the deed was no sooner done than Mrs. Geenbegan to repent it. She knew very well that her dear boy would run intodanger; but she kept her trouble to herself until there arrived atArdevora a new Methodist preacher called Meakin. In those days JohnWesley himself used to pay us a visit pretty well every August orSeptember, but this year, for some reason or other, he gave us an extrarevival, and sent down this Meakin to us at the beginning of June. For a very good reason he was never sent again. 

He started very well indeed. You couldn't call him much to look at; hehad a long pair of legs which seemed differently jointed to yours andmine; no shoulders nor stomach to speak of, no-coloured hair, and aglazing, watery eye. But the wonder began when you heard his voice. It filled his clothes out suddenly like one of those indiarubbersqueakers the children blow at Whitsun Fair; and coming from a man whoselooks were all against him, it made you feel humble-minded for havingbeen so quick to judge. I think he had found out the value of this kindof surprise and went about neglecting his appearance on purpose. 

As I say, he started very well. He preached at the Stennack onSaturday, and next day near the market-place, "for the sake, " he said, "of those who could not climb the hill"--though, to be sure, theyneedn't have left their doors to hear him a mile off. There was a tidygathering--farm-carts and market-carts and gigs from all parts of thecountry round--almost as many as if he had been John Wesley himself. He preached again at five o'clock in the evening, and so fired up Mrs. Geen that by ten next morning she was down at Nance's house, where helodged, laying all her trouble before him. 

Mr. Meakin heard her out, and then took a line which altogethersurprised her. He seemed to care less for the danger her Phoby wasrunning than for the crime he was committing. Yes; he called it acrime!

"As a Christian woman, " he said, "you must know his soul's in danger. What in comparison with that does his body matter?"

Mrs. Geen hadn't any answer for this, so what she said was, "My Phoby've never given me a day's trouble since his teething. " And then, seeing the preacher was upset, and wishing to keep things as pleasant aspossible, she went on, "I don't see no crime in learning to be acarpenter. "

"By your own showing, " said Mr. Meakin, "he is in danger of being ledinto smuggling by wild companions. "

"Nothing wild about John Carter, " she held out. "A married man and assteady as you could wish to see; a man with convictions of sin, as Iknow, an' two of his brothers saved. You couldn' hear a prettierpreacher than Charles. And John, he always runs a freight most careful. I never heard of any wildness at all in connection with he--not awhisper. "

The preacher fairly stamped, and began tapping the palm of his hand withhis forefinger. 

"But the smuggling, ma'am--that's what I call your attention to!The smuggling itself is not only a crime but a sin; every bit as much asin as the violence and swearing which go with it. "

"No swearing at all, " said Ann Geen. "You don't know John Carter, oryou wouldn' suggest such a thing. Every man that swears in his employis docked sixpence out of his pay. My sister-in-law keeps the money ina box over her chimney-piece, and they drink it out together comeChristmas. "

By this the preacher was fairly dancing. "Woman!" he shouted, soon ashe could recover his mouth-speech. 

"I'm no such thing!" said she, up at once and very indignant. "And your master, John Wesley, would never have said it. "

The preacher took a gulp and tried a quieter tack. "I beg your pardon, ma'am, " says he, "but you seemed to be wilfully misunderstanding me. Let us confine ourselves to smuggling, " says he. 

"Very well, " says she; "I'm agreeable. "

"I tell you, then, that it's a sin; it's defrauding the King just asmuch as if you dipped your hand into His Majesty's pocket"--"I shouldn'dream of being so familiar, " said Mrs. Geen, but he didn't hear her--"and if you'll permit me, I'll explain how that is, " he said. 

"Well, " she allowed, folding the shawl about her which she always worein the hottest weather; "you can say what you mind to about it, so longas you help me get my Phoby back. That's what I come for. "

I daresay, now, you've sometimes heard it brought up against us in theseparts that we're like the men of Athens, always ready to listen to anynew thing. The preacher took up his parable then and there; and being, as I say, an able man in spite of his looks, within half an hour he hadactually convinced the woman that there was something to be ashamed ofin smuggling. And as soon as he'd done that, nothing would satisfy herbut to hire the pony-cart from the George and Dragon and drive thepreacher to Prussia Cove the very next day to rescue her boy from theseevil companions. "'Twould be a great thing to convince John Carter, "she said, "and a feather in your cap. And even if you don't, the placeis worth seeing, and he usually kills a pair of ducks for visitors. "

So early the next day (Tuesday, June 4), away they started; and, the daybeing hot and the pony slow, arrived at Bessie Bussow's about fouro'clock. 'Tis a pretty peaceable spot on a June afternoon, with the sundropping out to sea and right against your eyes; and this day the Coveseemed more peaceable than ordinary--the boats at anchor, no sound ofwork at all, and scarcely a sign of life but the smoke from BessieBussow's chimney. 

"Where's my boy?" was the first question Mrs. Geen put to hersister-in-law after the two women had kissed each other. 

"Out seaning, " answered Bessie, as prompt as you please. "But most likely he'll be home some time to-night. The master's got anew sean-boat, and all the boys be out working her. There's not a soulleft in the Cove barring the master himself and Uncle Billy. "

"Well, I'm glad of my life the boy's at such innocent work; but I'vecome to see John Carter and take him away. The preacher here says thatsmuggling is a sin and the soul's destruction; he's quite sure of it inhis own mind, and whiles there's any doubt I don't want my Phoby to riskit. "

"Aw?" said Bessie. "I'd dearly like to hear how he makes that out. But I han't got time to be talking just now. You'd best take him acrossand let him try to persuade John Carter, while I get your room ready. I saw John going towards his house ten minutes ago, and I'se warn he'lloffer the preacher a bed and listen to all he's got to say. "

So, having stabled the pony, Mrs. Geen and the preacher walked over toCarter's house together. They found the King in his kitchen-parlour, divided between his accounts and a mug of cider, and he made themwelcome, being always fond of preachers and having a great respect forAnn Geen because of her family. 

There was a great heap of shavings in the fire-place, for the room was asunny one, facing south by west. But the King told her where to findsome tea that had never paid duty, and she took off her bonnet andboiled the kettle in the kitchen at the back, and it wasn't till they'ddrunk a cup that she explained what had brought her, and called on thepreacher to wrestle. 

Captain John listened very politely, or seemed to, and nodded his headat the right time; but he couldn't help being a bit absent-minded. Fact was, he expected a cargo home that very evening, and didn't feel soeasy about it as usual. Up to now he had always run his stuff ingoodish-sized vessels--luggers or cutter-rigged craft running up tofifty or sixty tons as we should reckon now. But Captain Will Richardshad taken a great fancy to the Cawsand plan of using light-built openrow-boats or, as you might say, galleys, pulling eight oars, and puttogether to pass for sean-boats. After the war, when there was nolonger any privateering, vessels like Captain Carter's, carryingeighteen or twenty guns apiece, couldn't pretend to be other thansmugglers or pirates, and then these make-belief sean-boats came intouse everywhere. But just now they were a novelty. The King, persuadedby Richards, ordered one down from Cawsand, and had already used it onceor twice to meet his larger craft somewhere in a good offing andtranship their cargoes. By this he could run his kegs ashore at anystate of the tide, leaving the empty vessels to be watched or overhauledby the Customs' fellows. 

But this time--the weather being fine and settled, and the winds light--he was trying a faster game, and had sent the sean-boat right acrosschannel to Roscoff, keeping his sailing-craft in harbour. It would bedark before nine, no moon till after mid-night, and by all calculationsthe boat ought to make the cove between ten and eleven, after lying welloutside and waiting her chance. It all seemed promising enough, butsomehow the King couldn't be quite easy. 

However, he listened quietly, and the preacher talked away for one solidhour, until Uncle Billy Leggo (who had been keeping watch all theafternoon) came knocking at the door. "You'll excuse me a minute, " saidthe King, and went outside to hear the report. The weather had beenflat calm all day, with a slow ground-swell running into the cove, butwith the cool of the evening a light off-shore breeze had sprung up, andUncle Billy had just seen the Revenue cutter stealing out from Penzance. 

"Botheration!" said Captain Carter, and fined himself sixpence. Then he went back to the parlour, and the preacher started afresh. 

Twice again before supper came Uncle Billy with news of the cutter'smovements, and the second time there could be no mistaking them, for shewas dodging back and forth and lying foxy around Cuddan Point. 

All through supper the preacher talked on and on, and the King atewithout knowing what he was eating. He couldn't afford to lose thiscargo; yet Mr. Collector Wearne meant business this time, and wouldcollar the boat to a certainty unless she were warned off. But to showa light from the coast meant a hundred pounds fine or twelve months'hard labour. The King slewed round in his chair and looked at the greatpile of shavings in the fireplace. A hundred pounds fine with thechance of burning the house-thatch about his ears!

Supper over, he and his guests turned their chairs towards thefireplace. The King took flint and steel and struck a match; lit hispipe, and stared at the shavings; then dropped the light on the floor, ground it out with his heel, and puffed away thoughtfully. The preacherwent on talking. 

"Render unto Caesar . . . Tribute to whom tribute is due. That appliesto King George to-day every bit so much as it did to Caesar. "

"Caesar and King George be two different persons, " said Captain John, stopping his pipe with his thumb. 

"The principle's the same. "

"I don't see it, " said the captain. "I read my Bible, and it says thatCaesar ordered the whole world to be taxed. Now that's sense. Caesar didn't go niggling away with a duty on silk here and another onbrandy there and another on tea and another on East Indy calicoes. Mindyou, I've got no personal feeling against King George; but it does annoyme to see a man calling hisself King of England and making money inthese petty ways. "

"It's his birthday to-day, " put in Mrs. Geen; "though I didn't rememberit till I saw the flag on Ardevora church-tower this morning. "

"Is it? Then we'll drink his health, ma'am, to show there's noanimosity. " Captain John fetched a bottle of brandy and glasses andmixed drinks for his guests. Then he took his seat, reached out forflint and steel again, and says he very quietly--

"I wish the boys were at home. We'd have a bonfire. "

"Up to Walsall--that's where I come from, " said the preacher, "we alwayskept up His Majesty's birthday with a bonfire and fireworks. But youdon't seem so loyal in these parts. "

"Fireworks? Did you now?" Captain John set down the tinder-box andrubbed his chin. "Well, " said he, going to a cupboard, and glancing upon his way at the tall clock, "as it happens I've a rocket or two here--though to be sure it seems like a waste, with nobody left in the Cove tosee or raise so much as a cheer. "

"It's the spirit of the thing that counts, " said the preacher. 

"They've lain here so long, " Captain John went on in a sort of musingway, "they may be mildewed, for all I know. "

"You leave that to me, " said the preacher; "I knows all about fireworks. There don't seem nothing wrong about this one, " he said, taking it andfingering the fuse. "May I have a try with 'em?"

"Try, and welcome. I don't understand these things for my part: I onlyknow they takes up a lot of room in the cupboard, and I'll be glad tosee the last of 'em. "

So out into the night they three went together. But when they had therocket fixed, Captain John was taken that poorly he had to come back andsit in the chair, and rub his thighs and his stomach. And when, sittingthere, he heard the rocket go up, _whoosh!_ he had to rub them theharder. 

"It went off capital!" called the preacher, popping his head in at thedoor. "Can't us try another?" And now Captain John had to rub his eyesbefore turning to him. "Take the lot, " he said, and pushed the wholebundle into the preacher's hands. "Aw, if King George had a few morefriends like you! Take the lot of 'em, loyal man!" He fairly thrusthim out to door, and had to lean a hand there before he could follow, feeling weak all over to think of Collector Wearne and his men, and whattheir faces must be like, down in the Revenue cutter; but he had no timeto taste the fun of it properly, for just then he heard Bessie Bussow'svoice outside asking questions all of a screech. The first rocket hadfetched her over hot-foot and agog, and the captain had to run out andstop her tongue, and send her home with Ann Geen. But they didn't gotill the preacher had touched off every single rocket, stepping backas they went _whoosh! whoosh!_ and waving his hat and crying, "God savethe King!" "God save the King!" cried Captain John after him, andBessie stood wondering if the end of the world had come, or the masterhad gone clean out of his wits. 

The captain used to try and explain it afterwards when he told thestory. "You've seen a woman in hysterics, " he'd say, "and you know howa man feels when he wants to drop work and go on the drink for a week. Well, 'twasn' exactly one or t'other with me, but a little like both. I'm a level-headed tradesman, and known for such, but if ever that chapwalks into my house again, I'll be wise, and go straight out by the backdoor and put myself under restraint. "

After the women had gone, he took the fellow back to the kitchen, andsat putting questions to him in a reverent sort of voice, and eyeing himas awesome as Billy Bennett when he hooked the mermaid, until the poorcreature talked himself sleepy, and asked to be shown to his room. Captain Carter saw him to bed, came downstairs to the parlour again, andspread himself on the sofa for forty winks; for between the boat dodgingout to sea and the pack-horses waiting ready up at Trenowl's farm abovethe hill, there was no going to bed for him that night. 

He had been sleeping maybe for two hours, when a whistle fetched him tohis feet and out of the door like a scout. 'Twas nothing more nor lessthan the boys' arrival signal, and this was what had happened. 

When the preacher's first rocket went off, the collector, down on boardthe cutter, was taking his bit of supper in the cabin. At the sound ofit he rushed up the companion, and found all his crew on deck with theirnecks cricked back, barring one man, who that moment popped his head upthrough the fore-hatchway. "What on earth was that?" he asked. "A rocket, sir, " said the chief boatman; "just sent up from PrussiaCove. " Mr. Wearne couldn't find his breath for a moment; but when hedid, 'twas to say, "Very well, John Carter. I've a-got you this time, my dandy! I don't quite understand how you come to be such a fool. But that rocket costs you a hundred pounds, and if I'm not mistaken I'llhave your cargo 'pon top of it. "

The breeze still blew pretty steady, and he gave orders to stand outinto the bay, get an offing, and keep a sharp look-out as the moon rose. He knew that all Carter's ordinary craft, except the sean-boat, werequiet at anchor at Bessie's Cove; but he reckoned that the boat had goneout this time to meet and unload a stranger. He never dreamed she wouldbe crossing all the way to Roscoff and back on her own account. He knew, too, that Carter had a "spot" near Mousehole to fall back uponwhen a landing at Prussia Cove couldn't be worked. So he stood out toput the cutter on a line commanding both places, which, with thesoldier's wind then blowing, was easy enough; and as she pushed out hernose past Cuddan Point the whole sky began to bang with rockets. 

This puzzled him fairly, as Carter knew it would. And it puzzled theCove boys in the sean-boat as they lay on their oars about three milesfrom shore and discussed the first warning. But in one of the flashesCaptain Harry Carter, who was commanding, spied the cutter's sails quiteplain under the dark of the land, plain enough to see that she wasrunning out free. He knew that he couldn't have been seen by her in theheave of the swell, for the sean-boat lay pretty low with her heavycargo, and he'd given her a lick of grey paint at Roscoff by way ofextra precaution. So, thought he, "A signal's a signal; but brotherJohn doesn't know what I know. Let the cutter stand out as she's going, and we'll nip in round the tail of her. She can't follow into the Cove, with her draught, even if she spies us; and by daybreak we'll have thebest part of the cargo landed. " And so he did, muffling oars andcrossing over a mile to southward of the cutter, and after that way-all!and pull for the Cove. 

The preacher at John Carter's, and Mrs. Geen at Bessie Bussow's, bothwoke early next morning. But Mrs. Geen was first by a good hour, andwhat pulled the preacher out of bed was the sound of guns. He put hishead out of window, and could hardly believe it was the peaceful placehe'd come upon last evening. The beach swarmed with men like emmets. Near up, by high-water mark, men were unloading a long-boat for dearlife--some passing kegs, others slinging them to horses, others runningthe horses up the cliff under his window. At first he thought it mustbe their trampling had woke him out of sleep, but the next moment_bang!_ the room shook all about him, a cloud of smoke drifted uptowards him from the Enys Point, and through it, while 'twas clearing, he saw John Carter and another man run to the battery and begin to loadagain, with Mrs. Geen behind them waving a rammer, and dancing like apaper-woman in a cyclone. Below the mouth of the Cove tossed a boatloadof men, pulling and backing with their heads ducked, their faces on alevel with their shoulders, and all turned back towards the battery, while a big red-faced man stood up in the stern-sheets shaking his fistand dancing almost as excitedly as Mrs. Geen. Still farther out, a finecutter lay rocking on the swell, her bosom swinging and sails shaking inthe flat calm. 

The preacher dragged on his clothes somehow, tore out of the house anddown to the Point as fast as legs would carry him. "Wha--what's themeanin' of this?" he screeched, rushing up to Captain John, who wassighting one of his three little nine-pounders. 

"Blest if _I_ know!" said the captain. "We was a peaceable lot enoughtill you and Mrs. Geen came a-visiting; but you two would play Hamlet'sghost with a Quaker meeting. "

"It's my Phoby--they're after my Phoby!" screamed Mrs. Geen, and thenshe turned on the fellow behind Captain John; it was Hosking, once aman-of-war's man, and now supposed to be teaching her boy the carpentrytrade. "_This_ is what you bring en to, is it? You deceiver, you!You bare-faced villain!" (The man had a beard as big as a furze bush. )"Look at the poor lamb up there loadin' the hosses, and to think I boreand reared en for this! If you let one of they fellows lay hands on myPhoby I'll scratch out ivery eye in your head . . . "

"Stand by, Tim, " says the captain quietly. "Drat the boat! If shekeeps bobbiting about like that I shall hit her, sure 'nuff!"_Bang!_ went the little gun, and kicked backwards clean over itscarriage. The shot whizzed about six feet above the boat, and plungedinto the heaving swell between it and the cutter. "Bit too near, that. I don't want to hurt Roger Wearne, though he _do_ make such tempting, ugly faces. "

"But what do they want? What are they after?" stuttered the preacher. 

"They're after my Phoby!" cried Mrs. Geen. 

"Not a bit of it, " said Captain John good-humouredly. "From all I cansee it's the preacher here they want to collar. "

"_Me!_" screams the poor man--"_me!_"

"Well, if you _will_ go letting off rockets. I dunno what it costs upto Walsall, or wherever you come from, but down in these parts 'tis ahundred pound or twelve calendar months. "

The preacher turned white and began to shake all of a sudden like aleaf. "But I didn't mean--I had no idea--you don't intend to tell me--"he stammered. 

"Here, Tummels!" Captain John hailed a man who came running down to lenda hand with the guns. "Take the preacher here and fix him on one of thehorses; sling a keg each side of him if he looks like tumbling off. Sorry to hurry you, sir, " he explained; "but 'tis for your good. You must clear out of this before the officers get sight of your face, and I don't know how much longer I can frighten 'em off. When you getup to Trenowl you can cast loose and run, and it mayn't be time wastedif you make up an _alibi_ as you go along. It don't seem hospitable, Igrant ee, but as a smuggler you're too enterprising for this littleout-o'-the-way cove. "

Tummels led the preacher away in too much of a daze to answer. He opened his mouth, but at that moment _bang!_ went Hosking withanother of the guns. By and by Captain John let out a chuckle as he sawthe poor man moving up the cliff track, swaying between two kegs andclutching at his horse's mane every time Tummels smacked the beast onthe rump. The horse he rode was almost the last. By seven o'clock theboys had cleared the whole of their cargo, and still the preventive boathung in the mouth of the Cove, pulling and backing and waiting for thechance Captain John never allowed them. 

You see, Captain Harry, having dodged in behind the cutter without beingspied, had a pretty start with the unloading. When day broke, Mr. Wearne, finding no sean-boat or suspicious craft in sight, and allowingthat there was no fear of another attempt before nightfall, had stooddown again for Prussia Cove, meaning to send in a boat (for the cutterdrew too much water) and have it out with Captain Carter about therockets. You can fancy his face when he came abreast the entrance andfound the boys working like a hive of bees. As for resistance, the Kingalways swore he hadn't an idea of it till Mrs. Geen put it into hishead. The battery was never intended for more than show. "She's awonderful woman, " he declared; but he had a monstrous respect for allthe Lemals. "Blood in every one of 'em, " he said. 

But, of course, the fun wasn't finished yet. Soon after seven, andafter the last of the cargo had been salved under their eyes, thepreventive men drew off. By a quarter past eight Wearne had worked thecutter in as close as he dared, and then opened fire with his guns. The first shot struck the 'taty-patch in front of Carter's house; thesecond plunked into the water not fifteen yards from the gun's muzzle. In the swell running she could make no practice at all, though she keptit up till midday. The boys behind the battery ran out and cheeredwhenever one flew extra wide, and this made Wearne mad. Will Richards, Tummels, and young Phoby Geen posted themselves in shelter behind thecaptain's house, and whenever a shot buried itself in the soft cliff oneof them would run with a tubbal and dig it out. All this time UncleBill Leggo, having finished loading up the kegs, was carting water fromthe stream on the beach to the kitchen garden above the house, and hisold sister Nan leading the horses (for it was a two-horse job). Richards called to him to leave out, it was too dangerous. "Now there, "said Uncle Bill, "I've been thinkin' of Nan and the hosses this bravewhile!"

At noon Wearne ceased firing, and sent off a boat towards Penzance. The Cove boys still held the battery; and the two parties had theirdinners, lit their pipes and studied each other all the longafter-noon. But towards five o'clock a riding company arrived to helpthe law, and opened a musket fire on the rear of the battery from thehedge at the top of the hill. The game was up now. The boys scatteredand took shelter in Bessie Bussow's house, and Captain John, havinghoisted a flag of truce, waited for Wearne and his boat with all thecalmness in life. 

"A pretty day's work this!" was the collector's first word as he steppedashore. 

"Amusin' from first to last, " agreed Captain John in his cordial way. 

Says the collector slowly, "Well, tastes differ. You may be right, ofcourse, but we'll begin at the beginning, and see how it works out. First, then, at nine forty-five last night you showed an unauthorisedlight for the purpose of cheating the revenue. Cost of that caper, onehundred pounds. "

"Be you talkin' of the rockets?"

"'Course I be. "

"Well then, _I_ didn't fire them, nor anyone belongin' to the Cove. I didn't set anyone to fire them, and they waren't fired to warnanybody. Let alone I have proof they was sent up by a Methody preacherto relieve his feelin's. You've known me too long, Roger Wearne, tothink me fool enough to waste a whole future joy[3] over so simple abusiness as warnin' a boat. "

"What are you tellin' me?"

"The truth, as I always do; and I advise you to believe it, or 'twon'tbe the first time you've seen too far into a brick wall. "

Wearne knew well enough what Captain John meant. Just a year before hehad paid a surprise visit to the Cove, ferreted out a locked shed andasked to be shown what was inside. The King refused. "It heldnothing, " he said, "but provisions for his brother Henry's vessel. "Of course Wearne couldn't believe this; a locked store in Prussia Covewas much too sure a thing. So first he argued, and then he broke thedoor open, and, sure enough, found innocent provisions inside just ashe'd been promised. Next morning the shed was empty. "Didn' I warn'ee, " said John, "against breaking in that door and leaving my propertyexposed. Now I'll have to make 'ee pay for it;" and pay for it Wearnedid. 

"All I know, " the captain went on, "is that a Methody preacher paid me avisit last night, with the objic (so far as I can make out, for thingshave been movin' so fast I hadn't time to question en as I wished) o'teachin' me what was due to King George. In pursooance o' which--itbeing His Majesty's birthday--he took and fired a dozen rockets I keepon the off-chance of wantin' one of these days to signal the CustomHouse at Penzance. I own 'twas a funny thing to do, but folks takestheir patriotism different. I daresay, now, _you_ didn't even remember'twas His Majesty's birthday. "

Wearne tried a fresh tack. "We'll take that yarn later on, " he said. "You can't deny a cargo was run this morning. "

"We'll allow it for the moment. But that only proves that no boat waswarned away. "

"And when I sent a boat in to capture it, you deliberately opened fire;in other words, tried to murder me, His Majesty's representative. "

"Tried to murder you? Look here. " Captain John stepped to one of hisstill loaded guns and pointed it carefully at a plank floating out atthe mouth of the Cove--a plank knocked by the cutter's guns out of UncleBill Leggo's 'taty patch, and now drifting out to sea on the first ofthe ebb. He pointed the gun carefully, let fly, and knocked the bit ofwood to flinders. "That's what I do when I try, " he said. "Why, bless'ee, I was no more in earnest than _you_ were!"

This made Wearne blush for his marksmanship. "But _you'll_ have toprove that, " he said. 

"Why, damme, " said John Carter, and fined himself another sixpence onthe spot; "if you are so partic'ler, _get out there in the boat again, and I will_. "

Well, the upshot was that after some palaver Wearne agreed to walk up tothe captain's house and reckon the accounts between them. He had misseda pretty haul and been openly defied. On the other hand he hadn't a manhurt, and he knew the King's Government still owed John Carter for alugger he had lent two years before to chase a French privateer lyingoff Ardevora. Carter had sent the lugger round at Wearne's particularrequest; she was short handed, and after a running fight of three orfour hours the Frenchman put in a shot which sent her to the bottom anddrowned fourteen hands. For this, as Wearne knew, he had never receivedproper compensation. I fancy the two came to an agreement to set onething against another and call quits. At any rate, John was put to nofurther annoyance over that day's caper. As for the preacher, I'm toldthat no person in these parts ever set eyes on him again. And Ann Geendrove home that evening with her Phoby beside her. "I'm sorry to let'ee go, my son, " said John; "but 'twould never do for me to have yourmother comin' over here too often. I've a great respect for all theLemals; but on the female side they be too frolicsome for a steady-goingtrade like mine. "

[1] Drinking-house. [2] Huguenot's house. [3] Feu de joie. 

THE MAN WHO COULD HAVE TOLD. 

It was ten o'clock--a sunny, gusty morning in early September--whenH. M. S. _Berenice_, second-class cruiser, left the Hamoaze and pushedslowly out into the Sound on her way to the China Seas. 

From the Hoe, on a grassy slope below the great hotel, John Gilbartwatched her as she thrust her long white side into view between Devil'sPoint and the wooded slopes of Mount Edgcumbe; watched her as she stolepast Drake's Island and headed up the Asia passage. She kept littlemore than steerage way, threading her path among anchored yachts gaywith bunting, and now and then politely slowing in the crowd of smallercraft under sail. For it was regatta morning. The tall club flagstaffbehind and above Gilbart's head wore its full code of signals, with blueensign on the gaff and blue burgee at the topmast head, and flutteredthem intermittently as the nor'westerly breeze broke down in flaws overthe leads of the club-house. Below him half a dozen small boys withbundles of programmes came skirmishing up the hill through the sparsegroups of onlookers. Off the promenade pier, where the excursionsteamers bumped and reeked and blew their sirens, the committee-ship laymoored in a moving swarm of rowboats, dingies, and steam-launches. Sheflew her B signal as yet, but the seconds were drawing on toward thefive-minute gun; and beyond, on the ruffled Sound, nine or ten yachtswere manoeuvring and trimming their canvas; two forty-raters dodging andplaying through the opening stage of their duel for the start; four orfive twenties taking matters easy as yet; all with jackyards hoisted. To the eastward a couple of belated twenties came creeping out fromtheir anchorage in Cattewater. 

All this Gilbart's gaze took in; with the stately merchantmen ridingbeyond the throng, and the low breakwater three miles away, and the bluehorizon beyond all. Out of that blue from time to time came the low, jarring vibration which told of an unseen gunboat at practice; and fromtime to time a puff of white smoke from the Picklecombe battery held himlistening for its louder boom. But he returned always to the _Berenice_moving away up the Asia passage, so cautiously that between whiles sheseemed to be drifting; but always moving, with the smoke blown levelfrom her buff-coloured funnels, with clean white sides and clean whiteensign, and here and there a sparkle of sunlight on rail or gun-breechor torpedo-tube. She was bound on a three-years' cruise; and Gilbart, who happened to know this and was besides something of a sentimentalist, detected pathos in this departure on a festival morning. It seemed tohim--as she swung round her stern and his quick eye caught the glint ofher gilded name with the muzzle of her six-inch gun on the platformabove, foreshortened in the middle of its white screen like a bull's-eyein a target--it seemed to him that this holiday throng took little heedof the three hundred odd men so silently going forth to do England'swork and fight her battles. On her deck yesterday afternoon he hadshaken hands and parted with a friend, a stoker on board, and had seensome pitiful good-byes. His friend Casey, to be sure, was unmarried--anun-amiable man with a cynical tongue--with no one to regret him and nodisposition to make a fuss over a three-years' exile. But at the headof the ship's ladder Gilbart had passed through a group of red-eyedwomen, one or two with babies at the breast. It was not a pretty sight:one poor creature had abandoned herself completely, and rocked to andfro holding on by the bulwarks and bellowing aloud. This and a visionof dirty wet handkerchiefs haunted him like a physical sickness. 

Gilbart considered himself an Imperialist, read his newspaperreligiously, and had shown great loyalty as secretary of a localsub-committee at the time of the Queen's Jubilee, in collectingsubscriptions among the dockyardsmen. Habitually he felt a lump in histhroat when he spoke of the Flag. His calling--that of lay-assistantand auxiliary preacher (at a pinch) to a dockyard Mission--perhapsencouraged this surface emotion; but by nature he was one of those whoneed to make a fuss to feel they are properly patriotic. To histhinking every yacht in the Sound should have dipped her flag tothe _Berenice_. 

Surely even a salute of guns would not have been too much. But no: thatis the way England dismisses her sons, without so much as a cheer!

He felt ashamed of this cold send-off; ashamed for his countrymen. "What do they know or care?" he asked himself, fastening his scorn onthe backs of an unconscious group of country-people who had raced oneanother uphill from an excursion steamer and halted panting and laughinghalf-way up the slope. It irritated him the more when he thought ofCasey's pale, derisive face. He and Casey had often argued aboutpatriotism; or rather he had done the arguing while Casey sneered. Casey was a stoker, and knew how fuel should be applied. 

Casey made no pretence to love England. Gilbart never quite knew why hetolerated him. But so it was: they had met in the reading-room of aSailors' Home, and had somehow struck up an acquaintance, even a sort ofunacknowledged friendship. Their common love of books may have helped;for Casey--Heaven knew where or how--had picked up an education farabove Gilbart's, and amazing in a common stoker. Also he wore somebaffling, attractive mystery behind his reserve. Once or twice--certainly not half a dozen times--he had at a casual word pulled openfor an instant the doors of his heart and given Gilbart a sensation oflooking into a furnace, into white-hot depths, sudden and frightening. But what chiefly won him was the knowledge that in some perverse, involuntary and quite inexplicable way he was liked by this sullenfellow, who had no other friend and sought none. He knew the liking tobe there as surely as he knew it to be shy and sullen, curt inexpression, contemptuous of itself. Had he ever troubled to examinehimself honestly, Gilbart must have acknowledged himself Casey'sinferior in all but amiability; and Casey no doubt knew this. But infriendship as in love there is usually one who likes and one who suffershimself to be liked, and the positions are not allotted by merit. Gilbart--a self-deceiver all his life--had accepted the complimentcomplacently enough. 

The _Berenice_ cleared the crowd and quickened her speed as thefive-minute gun puffed out from the committee-ship and the Blue Peterran up the halyards in the smoke. Gilbart turned his attention upon thetwo big yachts and followed their movements until the starting-gun wasfired; saw them haul up and plunge over the line so close together thatthe crews might have shaken hands; watched them as they fluttered outtheir spinnakers for the run to the eastern mark, for all the world liketwo great white moths floating side by side swiftly but with no show ofhurry. When he returned to the cruiser she was far away, almost off thewestern end of the breakwater--gone, so far as he was concerned andwhoever else might be watching her from the shore; the parting over, thethreads torn and snapped, her crew face to face now with the longvoyage. 

He drew a long breath, and was aware for the first time of a womanstanding about twenty yards on his left behind a group of chatteringholiday-makers. He saw at a glance that she did not belong to them, butwas gazing after the _Berenice_; a forlorn, tearless figure, with ahandkerchief crumpled up into a ball in her hand. Affability was a partof Gilbart's profession, and besides, he hated to see a woman suffer. He edged toward her and lifted his hat. 

"I hope, " said he, "these persons are not annoying you? They don'tunderstand, of course. I, too, have a friend on the _Berenice_. "

The woman looked at him as though she heard but could not for the momentgrasp what he said. She tightened her grip on the handkerchief and kepther lips firmly compressed. 

Gilbart saw that, though tearless, her eyes wore traces of tears--noredness, but some swelling of the lids, with dark semicirclesunderneath. 

"To them, " he went on, nodding toward the holiday-keepers, "it's onlyregatta day. To them she's only a passing ship helping to make up thepretty scene. They know nothing of the gallant hearts she carries orthe sore ones she leaves behind. If they knew, I wonder if they'd care?The ordinary Anglo-Saxon has so little imagination!"

She was staring at him now, and at length seemed to understand. But with understanding there grew in her eyes a look of anger, almost ofrepugnance. "Oh, please go away!" she said. 

He lifted his hat and obeyed; indeed, he walked off to the farthest endof the Hoe. He was hurt. He had a thin-skinned vanity, and hated tolook small even before a stranger. That snub poisoned his morning, andalthough he looked at the yachts, his mind ran all the time upon theencounter. To be sure he had brought it upon himself, but he preferredto consider that he had meant kindly--had obviously meant kindly. He tried to invent a retort, --a gentle, dignified retort which wouldhave touched her to a regret for her injustice--nothing more. Perhaps it was not yet too late to return and convey his protest under adelicate apology; or perhaps the mere sight of him, casually passing, might move her to make amends. He even strolled back some way with thisidea, but she had disappeared. 

The _Berenice_ had vanished too; around Penlee Point no doubt. He remembered the field-glasses slung in a case by his hip and wasfumbling with the leather strap when a drop of rain fell on his hand, the herald of a smart shower. A dark squall came whistling down theHamoaze; and standing there in the fringe of it he saw it strike andspread itself out like a fan over the open Sound at his feet, blottingthe sparkle out of the water, while some of the small boats heeled to itand others ran up into the wind and lay shaking. It was over in fiveminutes, and the sun broke out again before the rain ceased falling; butGilbart decided that there was more to follow. He had not come out tokeep holiday, and an unfinished manuscript waited for him in hislodgings--an address on True Manliness, to be delivered two eveningshence in the Mission Room to lads under eighteen. Though he deliveredthem without manuscript, Gilbart always prepared his addresses carefullyand kept the fair copies in his desk. He lived in hope of beingreported some day, and then--who could say but a book might be calledfor?

His lodgings lay midway down a long, dreary street of small houses, eachwith a small yard at the back, each built of brick and stuccoed, all aslike as peas, all inhabited by dockyardsmen or the families of gunners, artificers, and petty officers in the navy. Prospect Place was itsdeceptive name, and it ran parallel with three precisely similarthoroughfares--Grafton Place, Alderney Place, and Belvedere Avenue. These four--with a cross-street, where the Mission Room stood facing apawnbroker's--comprised Gilbart's field of labour. 

He reached home a little after twelve, ate his dinner, and fell to workon his manuscript. By half-past three he had finished all but theperoration. Gilbart prided himself on his perorations; and knowing fromexperience that it helped him to ideas and phrases he caught up his hatand went out for a walk. 

During that walk he did indeed catch and fix the needed sentences. But, as it happened, he was never afterward able to recall one of them. All he remembered was that much rain must have fallen; for the pavementswhich had been dry in the morning were glistening, and the roadwaysmuddy and with standing puddles. On his way homeward each of thesepuddles reflected the cold, pure light of the dying day, until ProspectPlace might have been a street in the New Jerusalem, paved with jasper, beryl, and chrysoprase. So much he remembered, and also that his feetmust have taken him back to the Hoe, where the crowd was thicker and theregatta drawing to an end--a few yachts only left to creep home under agreenish sky, out of which the wind was fast dying. He had pausedsomewhere to listen to a band: he could give no further account tohimself. 

For this was what had happened: as he entered his lodgings and closedthe front door, the letter-box behind it fell open and he saw a sealedenvelope lying inside. He picked it out and read the address. 

"Mrs. Wilcox!" he called down the passage. "When did this come?"

Mrs. Wilcox, appearing at the kitchen door and wiping her hands, couldnot tell. The midday post or else the three o'clock. There were noothers. Come to think of it, she had heard a postman's knock when shewas dishing up the dinner, but had supposed it to be next door. It sounded like next door. 

Gilbart took the letter upstairs with him. The address was in Casey'shandwriting. "Queer fellow, Casey. " He broke the seal in the littlebay window. "Just like him, though, to shake hands yesterday without aspark of feeling, and then send his good-byes to reach me after he waswell on his way. " He drew out the inclosure, unfolded it, and saw thatthe paper bore the printed address of the Sailors' Home where Caseydossed when ashore, and where writing-paper was supplied gratis. "Couldn't have come ashore after I left him: he'd paid his bill at theRest and his bag was aboard. Must have had this in his pocket all thetime; might just as well have handed it to me--with instructions not toopen it--and saved the stamp. What a secretive old chap it is!"

He held the letter close to his eyes in the waning daylight. 

 "DEAR JOHN, --By the time this reaches you we shall have started; and by then, or a little later, I shall have gone and the Berenice with me. If you ask where, I don't know; but it is where we shall never meet. 

 "You serve your country in your own way. I am going to serve mine. Perhaps I shall also be serving yours; for it is only by striking terribly and without warning that the brave men in this world can get even with the cowards who make its laws. 

 "One thing I envy you--you'll be alive to see the rage of the sheep. I am playing this hand alone and without help. So when your silly newspapers begin to cry out about secret societies, _you will know_. I never belonged to one in my life. 

 "I think I am sorriest about the way you'll think of me. But that makes no real difference, because I know it to be foolish. I have the stuff on board and the little machine. I cannot fix the time to an hour up or down; but you may take it for sure that _some time between 10 p. M. And midnight the_ Berenice _will be at the bottom of the sea_ with

 "Yours, P. C. "

While John Gilbart read this there was silence in the stuffy littleroom, and for some minutes after. Then he stepped to the mantelpiecefor the match-box and candle. A small ormolu clock ticked there, andwhile he groped for the matches he put out a hand to stop the noise, which had suddenly grown intolerable. He desisted, remembering that hedid not know how the clock worked--that Mrs. Wilcox, who wound it upreligiously on Monday mornings, was proud of it, and--anyway, _that_wasn't the machine he wanted to stop. He found a match, lit it and heldit close to the letter. 

The match burned low, scorched his fingers. He dropped it in thefender, where it flickered out, just missing the "waterfall" of shavingswith which Mrs. Wilcox decorated her fireplace in the summer months. He did not light another, but went back to the window and stood there, quite still. 

Down the street to the westward, over the wet roofs still glimmering inthe twilight, one pale green rift divided the heavy clouds, and in thatrift the last of the daylight was dying. Across the way, in the housefacing him, a woman was lighting a lamp. As a rule the inhabitants ofProspect Place did not draw the blinds of their upper rooms until theyclosed the shutters also and went to bed: and Gilbart looked straightinto the little parlour. But he saw nothing. 

He was trying--vainly trying--to bring his mind to it. Nothing reallybig had happened to him before: and his first feeling, characteristically selfish, was that this terrible thing had risen up toalter all the rest of his life. He must disentangle himself, get awayto a distance and have a look at it. His brain was buzzing. Yes, thereit rose, like a black wall between this moment and all the hours tocome; a brute barrier stretching clean across the prospect. Again andagain he brought his mind up to it as you might coax a horse up to afence; again and again it refused. Each time in the last few steps hisheart froze, extending its chill until every separate faculty hung backspringless and inert. And there was no getting round!

Why had this happened to _him_ of all people? It never for a momentoccurred to him to doubt Casey's word. He saw it now; hideous as thedeed was, Casey was capable of it--had always been capable of it. Let it go for a miserable tribute to Casey's honesty in the past thatGilbart accepted the infernal statement at once and without suspicion. He knew now that from the bottom of their intercourse this candid devilhad been grinning up at him all the time; only his own cowardly, comfortable habit of seeing the world as he wished it had kept his eyesturned from the truth. Men don't as a rule commit crimes; not one manin millions translates himself into a crime of this sort; the oddsagainst his daring it are only to be told in millions. Yet it hadhappened. Man or devil, Casey never paltered with his creed; if theworld differed from him, then it was Casey against the world; a hopelessbusiness for him, yet he would get in a blow if possible. And Casey hadgot in his blow. The incredible had happened; but (Gilbart groaned) whyhad it happened to _him?_ In his stupefaction he returned again andagain upon this, catching in the flood at that one little straw of self;not inhumanly, as callous to the ruin of others; but pitifully, meanly, because it was the one thing familiar in the roar and din. He cursedCasey; cursed him for betraying his friendship. The man had no right--He pulled up suddenly, with a laugh. After all, Casey had played thegame, had faced the music, and would go down with the _Berenice_. One soul against three hundred and fifty, perhaps; not what you wouldcall atonement; but, after all, the best he had to offer. Wonder howmany Samson pulled down with him at Gaza? Wonder if the Bible says?

"Beg pardon, Mr. Gilbart?"

It was Mrs. Wilcox standing in the doorway with his tea on a tray. 

"It--it was nothing, " he stammered. She must have heard his laugh. 

"Talking to yourself? I often hear you at it over your sermons andthings; sometimes at your dressing, too; I hears you when I'm in heredoing up the room. You'd like the lamp lit, I suppose?" She set downthe tray. 

"Not just yet. "

"Well, it's a bad habit, reading with your meals. "

"It's not worth while to bring a lamp. I must drink my tea in a hurry, and run out. I have an engagement. "

He heard her go out and close the door. "Casey had no right. It was abetrayal. If the man were bent on this infernal crime--put the atrocityof it aside for a moment--call it just an ordinary crime; . . . But whyneed he have written that letter? Why involve _him?_ Well, notinvolve, perhaps; still there was a kind of responsibility--"

His eyes had been fastened on the little parlour across the road. The woman after lighting the lamp had set it in the centre of a roundtable and left the room. Between this table and the hearth an old mansat in an arm-chair, smoking his pipe and reading a newspaper. The backof the chair was turned toward the window, but over it Gilbart could seethe crown of a grey head and small, steady puffs of smoke ascendingbetween it and the upper edge of the paper. A light appeared in theroom above; the light of a candle behind the drawn blind. It lastedthere perhaps for ten minutes, and once the woman's shadow moved acrossthe blind. 

The light went out, and after a minute or two the woman reappeared inthe parlour. She carried a work-basket, and after speaking a word withthe old man in the chair she set the basket down on the table, drew up achair and began to darn a child's stocking. Now and then she looked upas if listening for some sound or movement in the room overhead, butafter a moment or two began to ply her needle again. The needle movedmore slowly--stopped--she bowed her head over the stocking. Gilbart knew why. She was the wife of a petty officer on the_Berenice_. The old man in the chair went on reading. 

All this while a light had been growing in Gilbart's brain, and now hesaw. In this street, and the next, and the next, lived scores who hadsons, husbands, brothers on board the _Berenice_; thin walls of brickand plaster dividing to-night their sore hearts and their prayers; awhole town with its hopes and its happy days given into keeping of oneship; not its love only but its trust for life's smallest comfortsfollowing her as she moved away through the darkness. And he aloneknew! He had only to throw open the window--to fling four words intothat silent street--to shout, "The _Berenice_ is lost!"--and with thebreath of it windows would fly open, partitions fall down, and all thoseprivacies meet and answer in one terrible outcry. He put up a hand tothrust it away--this awful gift of power. He would have none of it; hewas unfit. "Oh, my God!"--it was he, not Casey, who held the realinfernal machine. It was here, not in the _Berenice_, that the levinmust fall; and he, John Gilbart, held it in his fingers. "Oh, my God, Iam unfit--thrust not this upon me!"

But there was no escape. He must take his hat and run--run to the PortAdmiral. The errand was useless, he knew; for all the while at the backof his soul's confusion some practical corners of his brain had beenworking at the problem of time--was there time to follow and prevent?There was not. He knew the _Berenice's_ natural speed to be eighteenknots. Put it at sixteen, fifteen even; still not the fastest destroyerin the port--following in a bee-line--could overtake her by midnight. And there might be, must be, delays. Yet God, too, might interfere;some providential accident might delay the cruise. _He_ must run, atany rate. He picked up his hat and ran. 

Now that he was taking action--doing something--the worst horror ofresponsibility left him for a while; he seemed to have cast some of italready off his own shoulders and on to the Admiral's. As he ran hefound time to think of Casey. Casey was doing this thing--not in hatredor in villainy for gain--but because it seemed to him right--right, orat least necessary. Casey was laying down his own life in the deed. How could man, framed in God's image, expect ultimate good out ofdevilish cruelty? Yet from the world's beginning men had murdered andtortured each other on this only plea; had butchered women and the verybabes; had stamped upon God's image and--marvel of marvels--for itssoul's salvation, not for their own advantage. At every stride Gilbartfelt his moral footing, trusted for years without question, cracking andcrumbling and swirling away in blocks. Red flames leapt into thefissures and filled them. The end of the world had surely come; but--hemust run to the Admiral! He kept that uppermost in his mind, and ran. 

The windows of the Admiralty House blazed with light. The Admiral'swife was giving a dinner and a dance, and already a small crowd hadgathered to see the earlier guests arrive. The sight dashed Gilbart. Suddenly he remembered that the letter had reached him by the afternoonpost. It was now half-past seven, and he would have to explain theinterval; for of course the Admiral would suspect the whole story atfirst. Gilbart knew the official manner; he had been privileged tostudy the fine flower of it in this particular Admiral one afternoon sixmonths before, when the great man had condescended to sit on theplatform at the Mission anniversary. "Tut, tut--a stupid practical joke"--that would be the beginning; and then would follow cross-examinationin the coldest court-martial fashion. Well, he could explain; but itwould be just as well to have the story pat beforehand. 

One minute--ten minutes went by. Cabs rattled up and private carriages;officers in glittering uniforms, ladies muffled in silk and swansdownstepped past the policeman behind whom Gilbart hesitated. This wouldnever do; better he had gone in with the story hot on his lips. He twitched the policeman's elbow. 

"May I pass, please? I want to see the Admiral. "

"That's likely, ain't it?"

"But I have a message for him; an urgent one--one that won't keep amoment!"

"Why, I have seen you hanging round here this quarter hour with thesevery eyes! 'Won't keep'? Here, you get out!"

"I tell you--"

"Oh, deliver us!" the policeman interrupted. "What's the matter withyou? Come to keep the Admiral's dinner cold while you hand over commandof the Channel Fleet?" He winked heavily at one or two of the nearestin the crowd, and they laughed. 

Gilbart eyed them savagely. He had a word in his mouth which would stoptheir laughing; and for one irrational moment he was near speaking it, near launching against half a dozen loafers the bolt which only to holdand handle had aged him ten years in an hour. The word was even on histongue when a carriage passed and at its open window a young girl leanedforward and looked out on the crowd. Her face in the light of theentrance-lamp was exquisitely fair, delicately rose and white as thecurved inner lip of a sea-shell. At her throat, where her cloak-collarfell back a little, showing its quilted lining of pale blue satin, adiamond necklace shimmered, and a rosebud of diamonds in her hairsparkled so that it seemed to dance. It caught Gilbart's eye, andsomehow it seemed to lift and remove her and the house she wasentering--the lit windows, the guests, the Admiral himself--into anotherworld. If it were real, then (like enough) this fragile thing, thisDresden goddess, owned a brother, perhaps a lover, on board the_Berenice_. If so, here was another world waiting to be shattered--aworld of silks and toys and pretty uniforms and tiny bric-a-brac--a sortof doll's house inhabited by angels at play. But could it be real?Could such a world exist and be liable as his own to _It_? Could thesame brutal touch destroy this fabric and the sordid privacies ofProspect Place--all in a run like a row of card-houses?

"Never you mind _'im_, Mister Gilbart, " said a voice at his elbow, andhe turned and looked in the face of a girl who, in an interval ofdressmaking, had once helped him with his district work. 

"Him?"

"The peeler, " Milly Sanders nodded; and it flashed on Gilbart that thepoliceman's joke, the carriage, the girl's face and these thoughts ofhis had all gone by in something less than ten seconds. "He've got the'ump to-night, that's what's the matter with 'im. " And Milly Sandersnodded again reassuringly. 

"What are you doing here?" Gilbart asked. 

"Me? Oh, it's in the way of business, as you might say. I comes hereto pick up 'ints. I s'pose now you thought 'twasn't veryfeelin'-'earted, and my Dick gone away foreign only this mornin'?"

He remembered now that the girl's zeal for Mission work had cooled eversince she had been walking-out with her Dick--a young stoker in the_Berenice_. 

"I reckon that's the last of the dinner-guests. The others won't becomin' much before ten. Well, I'm off to the 'Oe; there's going to befireworks, and that's the best place for seein'. "

"In the way of business, too, I suppose?" said Gilbart, and wondered howhe could say it. 

Milly giggled. "You 'ad me there, " she confessed. "But what's the goodto give way? I'm sure"--with conviction--"it's just what Dick wouldlike me to do. I'm going, anyway. So long!" She paused: "that is--unless you'd like to come along, too?"

It was, after all, astonishingly easy. Even if he found and convincedthe Admiral, nothing could be done. Why then should he hasten all thismisery? Was it not, rather, an act of large mercy to hold back thenews? Say that by holding his tongue he delayed it by twenty-fourhours; life after all was made up of days and not so very many of them. By silence then--it stood to reason--he gained from woe a clear day forhundreds. Meanwhile here stood one of those hundreds. Might he notgive her, under the very shadow of fate, an hour or two of actual, positive happiness? He told himself this, knowing all the while that helied. He knew that the thing was easier to put off than to do. He knewthat he took Milly's arm in his not to comfort her (although he meant todo this, too) but to drug his own conscience, and because he was mad--yes, mad--for human company and support. For hours--it seemed forweeks--he had been isolated, alone with that secret and his own soul. He could bear it no longer; he must ease the torment--only for alittle--then perhaps he would go back to the Admiral. Chatter was whathe wanted, the sound of a fellow-creature's voice, babbling no matterwhat. He knew also that he bought this respite at a price, and theprice must be paid terribly when he came to wake. And yet he found itastonishingly easy to take Milly's arm. 

"But I say, " she rattled on, "you must be soft!"

"Why?" He was drinking in the sound of her words, letting the sense runby him. 

"Why, to suppose the Admiral would see you at this time. What was itabout?"

"Please go on talking. "

"Well, I am. What did you want to see the Admiral for? Some Missionbusiness, I s'pose. . . . Oh, you needn't tell if you don't choose; I'mnot dying to hear. "

They stood side by side on the Hoe, watching the fireworks. Three orfour searchlights were playing over the Sound, turned now upon theanchored craft, now upward, following the rockets, and again downward, crisscrossing their white rays as if to catch the droppingmulti-coloured stars. "O--o--oh!" exclaimed Milly, as each shower ofrockets exploded. "But what makes you jump like that?"

"I say, " he asked after a time, "since we've come to enjoy ourselves whynot do the thing thoroughly? What do you say to the theatre afterthis?"

"The theatre! Well, you are gettin' on! That would be 'eavenly. They've got the 'Charity Girl' on this week--Gertie Lennox dancing. But don't you disapprove of that sort of thing?"

"So I--I mean I don't make a practice of it. But perhaps--once in away--"

"I love it; though 'tisn't often I gets the chance. I dunno what Dickwould say, though. "

She said it archly, meaning to suggest that Dick might be jealous. John Gilbart misunderstood. 

"But that's foolish. Why not to-night as well as any other night?What difference can it make to--to--" He broke off, laughing a littlewildly. "We'll go and give each other moral support. We'll taketickets for the pit--no, the dress circle!"

"The dress circle!" There was awe in Milly's voice; her hand went up toher head. "They make you take your 'at off there. Oh, I couldn't!"But he caught her by the arm and hurried her off almost at a run--thegirl giggling and panting and beginning to enjoy herself amazingly. 

The performance had begun; but they found seats in the front row of thedress circle, almost before she had ceased panting, and Milly wasunpinning her hat and glancing up at the gallery on the chance of anenvious friendly recognition. The lights, the colours, the clash ofbrass in the orchestra made Gilbart's head spin. A stout _tenorerobusto_ in the uniform of a naval lieutenant was parading the stage inhalos of mauve and green lime-light, and bawling his own praises to asemicircle of females. Gilbart's ear caught and retained but a line ortwo of their shrill chorus:

 Through the world so wide He's old England's pride, But we'er glad now he's come back: For he's dressed in blue, And he's always true-- Heaven bless you, dear old Jack!

The sentiments of this ditty did not materially differ from those whichGilbart was in the habit of assimilating from his morning newspaper; norwere they much more fatuously expressed. Twenty-four hours ago he mighteven have applauded them as noisily as anyone in the enraptured house. Now his gorge rose against the song, the complacent singer, the men andwomen who could be amused by such things. Could this be what theycalled the joy of living? Milly's eyes had begun to sparkle. He forgotthat in this very contempt the theatre was providing what he had come toseek--a drug for conscience. And before he recognised this the drug wasweakening. Horribly, stealthily, _It_ began to reassert itself. Thesepeople--what would happen if he stood up in his place and shouted _It?_His mind played with the temptation; he saw white faces, men standingand looking up at him, the performance on the stage arrested, theorchestra mute; almost he heard his voice ring out over the suddenfrozen consternation. No; he gripped the velvet cushion before him. "Imust sit it out. I will sit it out. "

And he did, though he suffered horribly. Milly found him a desperatelydull companion, but luckily her neighbours' dresses and ornamentsdiverted her between the acts. She would have liked an orange; but itappeared that oranges were not eaten in the dress circle. 

Outside the theatre door in the great portico Gilbart flung up bothhands and let out a long, shuddering sigh. 

"My! What's the matter with you?" asked Milly. 

"Come along and have some supper. "

He led her to a supper-room. "Well, you do know how to do things, " shesaid. But it frightened her when he ordered champagne. She looked athim nervously. "I've never tasted it, " she confessed; "and"--with aglance around the room--"and I don't think I like it. "

She drank her glassful, however, while he finished the pint bottle. Then she picked up her worn gloves. 

"Must we be going?" The end had come and worse torment must begin. 

"Of course we must; and 'igh time too, if you knew what mother'll saywhen I get home. You mustn't think I 'aven't enjoyed myself, though, "she added, "because I 'ave. "

Out in the street as they walked arm in arm she unbent still further. "I shall tell mother, of course. She won't mind when she knows it'syou, because you're so respectable. But girls 'ave to be careful. "

At her door she paused before saying good-night. She loved Dick, ofcourse; but she wondered a little what Mr. Gilbart meant. His mannerhad been so queer when he said, "Must we be going?"

For a moment she waited, half expecting him to say something, meaning tobe angry if he said it. Such was her crude idea of coquettishness. But John Gilbart merely shook hands, waited until the door closed behindher, and bent his steps toward home. 

That was in the next street. He walked briskly up to the door--thenturned on his heel and strode away rapidly. He could not go upstairs;could not face the silent hours alone. As he retreated the front doorwas opened. Mrs. Wilcox had been sitting up for him, and had heard andrecognised his footstep. He ran. After a minute the door was closedagain. 

At nine o'clock next morning a sentry on the seaward side of TregantleFort saw a man sitting below in the sunshine on the edge of the cliff, and took him for a tramp. It was John Gilbart. He had spent the nighttrudging the streets, but always returning to the pavement in front ofone or the other of the two important newspaper offices. Lights shonein the upper windows of each, but all was quiet; and he saw the menleave one by one and walk away into darkness with brisk but regularfootfall. A little before dawn he had caught the newspaper-train forthe west, left it at the first station over the Cornish border and sethis face toward the sea. His walk took him past dewy hedgerows overwhich the larks sang. But he neither saw nor heard. A deep peace hadfallen upon him. He knew himself now; had touched the bottom of hiscowardice, his falsity. He would never be happy again, but he couldnever deceive himself again; no, not though God interfered. 

He looked out on the sunshine with purged eyes. Now and then helistened, as if for some sound from the horizon or the great town behindhim. 

_Had_ God interfered? How still the world was!

THE CELLARS OF RUEDA. 

I. 

I ENTER THE CELLARS. 

It happened on a broiling afternoon in July 1812, and midway in afortnight of exquisite weather, during which Wellington and Marmontfaced each other across the Douro before opening the beautiful series ofevolutions--or, rather, of circumvolutions--which ended suddenly on the22nd, and locked the two armies in the prettiest pitched battle I havelived to see. 

For the moment neither General desired a battle. Marmont, thrust backfrom Salamanca, had found a strong position where he could safely waitfor reinforcements, and had indeed already collected near upon fortythousand of all arms, when, on the 8th, Bonnet marched into camp fromAsturias with another six thousand infantry. He had sent, too, toborrow some divisions from Caffarelli's Army of the North. But these heexpected in vain: for Bonnet's withdrawal from Asturias had laid barethe whole line of French communication, and so frightened Caffarelli forthe safety of his own districts that he at once recalled the twelvethousand men he was moving down to the Douro, and in the end sent but ahandful of cavalry, and that grudgingly. 

All this I had the honour to predict to Lord Wellington just twelvehours before Bonnet's arrival on the scene. I staked my reputation thatCaffarelli (on whom I had been watching and waiting for a month past)would not move. And Lord Wellington on the spot granted me the fewdays' rest I deserved--not so much in joy of the news (which, nevertheless, was gratifying) as because for the moment he had no workfor me. The knot was tied. He could not attack except at greatdisadvantage, for the fords were deep, and Marmont held the one bridgeat Tordesillas. His business was to hold on, covering Salamanca and theroad back to Portugal, and await Marmont's first move. 

The French front stretched as a chord across an arc of the river, whichhere takes a long sweep to the south; and the British faced it aroundthis arc, with their left, centre, and right, upon three tributarystreams--the Guarena, Trabancos, and Zapardiel--over which last, andjust before it joins the Douro, towers the rock of Rueda, crowned with aruinated castle. 

Upon this rock--for my quarters lay in face of it, on the opposite bankof the stream--I had been gazing for the best part of an idle afternoon. I was comfortable; my _cigarritos_ lay within reach; my tent gave shadeenough; and through the flapway I found myself watching a mighty prettycomedy, with the rock of Rueda for its back-scene. 

A more satisfactory one I could not have wished, and I have something ofa connoisseur's eye. To be sure, the triangular flapway narrowed thepicture, and although the upstanding rock and castle fell admirablywithin the frame, it cut off an animated scene on the left, where theirdistant shouts and laughter told me that French and British were bathingtogether in the river below and rallying each other on the battles yetto be fought. For during these weeks, and indeed through theoperations which followed up to the moment of fighting, the armiesbehaved less like foes than like two teams before a cricket-match, ortwo wrestlers who shake hands and afterwards grin amicably as they movein circles seeking for a hitch. As I lay, however, the bathing-placecould only be brought into view by craning my neck beyond the tent-door:and my posture was too well chosen to be shifted. Moreover, I had amore singular example of these amenities in face of me, on the rock ofRueda itself. 

The cliff, standing out against the sun's glare like ivory beneath theblue, and quivering with heat, was flecked here and there with smalllilac shadows; and these shadows marked the entrances of the caves withwhich Rueda was honeycombed. I had once or twice resolved to visitthese caves; for I had heard much of their renown, and even (althoughthis I disbelieved) that they contained wine enough to intoxicate allthe troops in the Peninsula. Wine in abundance they certainlycontained, and all the afternoon men singly and in clusters had beenswarming in and out of these entrances like flies about a honeypot. For whatever might be happening on the Trabancos under Lord Wellington'seye, here at Rueda, on the extreme right, discipline for the while haddisappeared: and presumably the like was true of Marmont's extreme leftholding the bridge of Tordesillas. For from the bridge a short roadwayleads to Rueda; and among the figures moving about the rock, diminishedby distance though they were, I counted quite a respectable proportionof Frenchmen. No one who loves his calling ever quite forgets it: andthough no one could well have appeared (or indeed felt) lazier, I wasreally giving my eye practice in discriminating, on this ant-hill, thedrunk from the sober, and even the moderately drunk from the incapable. 

There could be no doubt, at any rate, concerning one little Frenchmanwhom two tall British grenadiers were guiding down the cliff towards theroad. And against my will I had to drop my cigarette and laugh aloud:for the two guides were themselves unsteady, yet as desperately intentupon the job as though they handled a chest of treasure. Now they wouldprop him up and run him over a few yards of easy ground: anon, at asharp descent, one would clamber down ahead and catch the burden hiscomrade lowered by the collar, with a subsidiary grip upon belt orpantaloons. But to the Frenchman all smooth and rugged came alike: hislegs sprawled impartially: and once, having floundered on top of theleading Samaritan with a shock which rolled the pair to the very vergeof a precipice, he recovered himself, and sat up in an attitude which, at half a mile's distance, was eloquent of tipsy reproach. In short, when the procession had filed past the edge of my tent-flap, I crawledout to watch: and then it occurred to me as worth a lazy man's while tocross the Zapardiel by the pontoon bridge below and head these comediansoff upon the highroad. They promised to repay a closer view. 

So I did; gained the road, and, seating myself beside it, hailed them asthey came. 

"My friend, " said I to the leading grenadier, "you are taking a deal oftrouble with your prisoner. "

The grenadier stared at his comrade, and his comrade at him. As if bysignal they mopped their brows with their coat-sleeves. The Frenchmansat down on the road without more ado. 

"Prisoner?" mumbled the first grenadier. 

"Ay, " said I. "Who is he? He doesn't look like a general of brigade. "

"Devil take me if _I_ know. Who will he be, Bill?"

Bill stared at the Frenchman blankly, and rooted him out of the dustwith his toe. "I wonder, now! 'Picked him up, somewheres--Get up, youlittle pig, and carry your liquor like a gentleman. It was Mikeintojuced him. "

"I did not, " said Mike. 

"Very well, then, ye did not. I must have come by him some other way. "

"It was yourself tripped over him in the cellar, up yandhar. " He brokeoff and eyed me, meditating a sudden thought. "It seems mighty queer, that--speaking of a cellar as 'up yandhar. ' Now a cellar, by rights, should be in the ground, under your fut. "

"And so it is, " argued Bill; "slap in the bowels of it. "

"Ah, be quiet wid your bowels! As I was saying, sor, Bill trippedover the little fellow: and the next I knew he was crying to be tuk hometo camp, and Bill swearing to do it if it cost him his stripes. And that is where I come into this fatigue job: for the man's no friendof mine, and will not be looking it, I hope. "

"Did I so?" Bill exclaimed, regarding himself suddenly from outside, asit were, and not without admiration. "Did I promise that?Well, then"--he fixed a sternly disapproving stare on the Frenchman--"the Lord knows what possessed me; but to the bridgehead you go, if Ifight the whole of Clausel's division single-handed. Take his feet, Mike; I'm a man of my word. Hep!--ready is it? For'ard!"

For a minute or so, as they staggered down the road, I stared afterthem; and then upon an impulse mounted the track by which they haddescended. 

It was easy enough, or they had never come down alive; but the sun'srays smote hotly off the face of the rock, and at one point I narrowlymissed being brained by a stone dislodged by some drunkard above me. Already, however, the stream of tipplers had begun to set back towardsthe camp, and my main difficulty was to steer against it, avoidingdisputes as to the rule of the road. I had no intention of climbing tothe castle: my whim was--and herein again I set my training a test--towalk straight to the particular opening from which, across theZapardiel, I had seen my comedians emerge. 

I found it, not without difficulty--a broad archway of rock, so low thata man of ordinary stature must stoop to pass beneath it; with, forthreshold, a sill of dry fine earth which sloped up to a ridgeimmediately beneath the archway, and on the inner side dipped down intodarkness so abruptly that as I mounted on the outer side I found myselfstaring, at a distance of two yards or less, into the face of an old manseated within the cave, out of which his head and shoulders arose intoview as if by magic. 

"Ah!" said he calmly. "Good evening, senor. You will find goodentertainment within. " He pointed past him into absolute night, or soit seemed to my dazzled eyes. 

He spoke in Spanish, which is my native tongue--although not myancestral one. And as I crouched to pass the archway I found time tospeculate on his business in this cavern. For clearly he had not comehither to drink, and as clearly he had nothing to do with either army. At first glance I took him for a priest; but his bands, if he wore them, were hidden beneath a dark poncho fitting tightly about his throat, andhis bald head baffled any search for a tonsure. Although a small booklay open on his lap, I had interrupted no reading; for when I came uponhim his spectacles were perched high over his brows and gleamed upon melike a duplicate pair of eyes. He was patently sober, too, whichperhaps came as the greatest shock of all to me, after meeting so manyon my path who were patently the reverse. 

I answered his salutation. "But you will pardon me, excellent sir, forsaying that you perhaps mistake the entertainment I seek. We gentlemenof Spain are temperate livers, and I will confess that curiosity alonehas brought me--or say, rather, the fame of your wonderful cellars ofRueda. "

I put it thus, thinking he might perhaps be some official of the cavesor of the castle above. But he let the shot pass. His lean hands fromthe first had been fumbling with his poncho, to throw back the folds ofit in courtesy to a stranger; but this seemed no easy matter, and at asign from me he desisted. 

"I can promise you, " he answered, "nothing more amusing than the groupwith which you paused to converse just now by the road. "

"Eh? You saw me?"

"I was watching from the path outside; for I too can enjoy a timelylaugh. "

No one, I am bound to say, would have guessed it. With his long scragneck and great moons of spectacles, which he had now drawn down, thebetter to study me, he suggested an absurd combination of the vultureand the owl. 

"_Dios!_ You have good eyes, then. "

"For long distances. But they cannot see Salamanca. " His gaze wanderedfor a moment to the entrance beyond which, far below and away, a sunnylandscape twinkled, and he sighed. But before I could read any meaningin the words or the sigh, his spectacles were turned upon me again. "You are Spanish?" he asked abruptly. 

"Of Castile, for that matter; though not, I may own to you, of puredescent. I come from Aranjuez, where a Scottish ancestor, whose name Ibear, settled and married soon after the War of Succession. "

"A Scot?" He leaned forward, and his hands, which had been resting onhis lap, clutched the book nervously. "Of the Highlands?"

I nodded, wondering at his agitation. 

"Even so, senor. "

"They say that all Scotsmen in Spain know one another. Tell me, my son"--he was a priest, then, after all--"tell me, for the love of God, ifyou know where to find a certain Manuel McNeill, who, I hear, is afamous scout. "

"That, reverend father, is not always easy, as the French would tellyou; but for me, here, it happens to be very easy indeed, seeing that Iam the unworthy sinner you condescend to compliment. "

"You?" He drew back, incredulous. "You?" he repeated, thrusting thebook into his pocket and groping on the rocky soil beside him. "The finger of God, then, is in this. What have I done with my candle?Ah, here it is. Oblige me by holding it--so--while I strike a light. "I heard the rattle of a tinder-box. "They sell these candles"--here hecaught a spark and blew--"they sell these candles at the castle above. The quality is indifferent and the price excessive; but I wander atnight and pick up those which the soldiers drop--an astonishing number, I can assure you. See, it is lit!" He stretched out a hand and tookthe candle from me. "Be careful of your footsteps, for the floor isrough. "

"But, pardon me; before I follow, I have a right to know upon whatbusiness. "

He turned and peered at me, holding the candle high. "You aresuspicious, " he said, almost querulously. 

"It goes with my trade. "

"I take you to one who will be joyful to see you. Will that suffice, myson?"

"Your description, reverend father, would include many persons--from theDuke of Ragusa downwards--whom, nevertheless, I have no desire to meet. "

"Well, I will tell you, though I was planning it for a happy surprise. This person is a kinsman of yours--a Captain Alan McNeill. "

I stepped back a pace and eyed him. "Then, " said I, "your story willcertainly not suffice; for I know it to be impossible. It was only lastApril that I took leave of Captain Alan McNeill on the road to Bayonneand close to the frontier. He was then a prisoner under escort, with aletter from Marmont ordering the Governor of Bayonne to clap him inirons and forward him to Paris, where (the Marshal hinted) no harm wouldbe done by shooting him. "

"Then he must have escaped. "

"Pardon me, that again is impossible; for I should add that he was undersome kind of parole. "

"A prisoner under escort, in irons--condemned, or at least intended, tobe shot--and all the while under parole! My friend, that must surelyhave been a strange kind of parole!"

"It was, and, saving your reverence, a cursed dirty kind. But itsufficed for my kinsman, as I know to my cost. For with the help of the_partidas_ I rescued him, close to the frontier; and he--like the fool, or like the noble gentleman he was--declined his salvation, released theescort (which we had overpowered), shook hands with us, and rode forwardto his death. "

"A brave story. "

"You would say so, did you know the whole of it. There is no man alivewhose hand I could grasp as proudly as I grasped his at the last: and noother, alive or dead, of whom I could say, with the same conviction, that he made me at once think worse of myself and better of humannature. "

"He seems, then, to have a mania for improving his fellow-men; for, "said my guide, still pausing with the candle aloft and twinkling on hisspectacles, "I assure you he has been trying to make a Lutheran of_me!_"

Wholly incredulous as I was, this took me fairly between wind and water. "Did he, " I stammered, "did he happen to mention the Scarlet Woman?"

"Several times: though (in justice to his delicacy, I must say it) onlyin his delirium. "

"His delirium?"

"He has been ill; almost desperately ill. A case of sunstroke, Ibelieve. Do I understand that you believe sufficiently to follow me?"

"I cannot say that I believe. Yet if it be not Captain Alan McNeill, and if for some purpose which--to be frank with you--I cannot guess, Iam being walked into a trap, you may take credit to yourself that it hasbeen well, nay excellently, invented. I pay you that complimentbeforehand, and for my kinsman's sake, or for the sake of his memory, Iaccept the risk. "

"There is no risk, " answered the reverend father, at once leading theway: "none, that is to say, with me to guide you. "

"There is risk, then, in some degree?"

"We skirt a labyrinth, " he answered quietly. "You will have observed, of course, that no one has passed us or disturbed our talk. To be sure, the archway under which you found me is one of the 'false entrances, ' asthey are called, of Rueda cellars. There are a dozen between this andthe summit, and perhaps half a dozen below, which give easy access tothe wine-vaults, and in any of which a crowd of goers and comers wouldhave incommoded us. For the soldiers would seem--and very wisely, Imust allow--to follow a chart and confine themselves to the easieroutskirts of these caves. Wisely, because the few cellars they visitcontain Val de Penas enough to keep two armies drunk until eitherWellington enters Madrid or Marmont recaptures Salamanca. But they arenot adventurous: and the few who dare, though no doubt they penetrate tobetter wine, are not in the end to be envied. . . . Now this passage ofours is popularly, but quite erroneously, supposed to lead nowhere, andis therefore by consent avoided. "

"Excuse me, " said I, "but it was precisely by this exit that I sawemerge three men as honestly drunk as any three I have met in my life. "

For the moment he seemed to pay no heed, but stooped and held the candlelow before his feet. 

"The path, you perceive, here shelves downwards. By following it weshould find ourselves, after ten minutes or so, at the end of a _cul desac_. But see this narrow ledge to the right--pay particular heed toyour footsteps here, I pray you: it curves to the right, broadening everso little before it disappears around the corner: yet here lies the truepath, and you shall presently own it an excellent one. " He sprangforward like a goat, and turning, again held the candle low that I mightplant my feet wisely. Sure enough, just around the corner the ledgewidened at once, and we passed into a new gallery. 

"Ah, you were talking of those three drunkards? Well, they must haveemerged by following this very path. "

"Impossible. "

"Excuse me, but for a scout whose fame is acknowledged, you seem fond ofa word which Bonaparte (we are told) has banished from the dictionaries. Ask yourself, now. They were assuredly drunk, and your own eyes haveassured you there is no wine between us and daylight. My son, I haveinhabited Rueda long enough to acquire a faith in miracles, even had Ibrought none with me. Along this ledge our three drunkards strolledlike children out of the very womb of earth. They will never know whatthey escaped: should the knowledge ever come to them it ought to turntheir hair grey then and there. "

"Children and drunkards, " said I. "You know the byword?"

"And might believe it--but for much evidence on the other side. "

But I was following another thought, and for the moment did not hear himclosely. "I suppose, then, the owners guard the main entrances, butleave such as this, for instance, to be defended by their owndifficulty?"

"Why should any be guarded?" he asked, pausing to untie a second candlefrom the bunch he had suspended from his belt. 

"Eh? Surely to leave all this wine exposed in a world of thieves--"

The reverend father smiled as he lit the new candle from the stump ofhis old one. "No doubt the wine-growers did not contemplate a visitfrom two armies, and such very thirsty ones. The peasants hereaboutsare abstemious, and the few thieves count for no more than flies. For the rest--"

He was stooping again, with his candle all but level with the ledge anda few inches wide of it. Held so, it cast a feeble ray into the blackvoid below us: and down there--thirty feet down perhaps--as his talkbroke in two like a snapped guitar-string, my eyes caught a blur ofscarlet. 

"For God's sake, " I cried, "hold the light steady!"

"To what purpose?" he asked grimly. "That is one whom Providence didnot lead out to light. See, he is broken to pieces--you can tell fromthe way he lies; and dead, too. My son, the caves of Rueda protectthemselves. "

He shuffled to the end of the ledge, and there, at the entrance of adark gallery, so low that our heads almost knocked against therock-roof, he halted again and leaned his ear against the wall on theright. 

"Sometimes where the wall is thin I have heard them crying and beatingon it with their fists. "

I shivered. The reader knows me by this time for a man of faircourage: but the bravest man on earth may be caught off his own ground, and I do not mind confessing that here was a situation for which a stoutparentage and a pretty severe training had somehow failed to provide. In short, as my guide pushed forward, I followed in knock-knee'd terror. I wanted to run. I told myself that if this indeed were a trap, and heshould turn and rush upon me, I was as a child at his mercy. And he might do worse: he might blow out the light and disappear. As the gallery narrowed and at the same time contracted in height, sothat at length we were crawling on hands and knees, this insanity grew. Two or three times I felt for my knife, with an impulse to drive itthrough his back, seize the candles and escape: nor at this moment can Isay what restrained me. 

At length, and after crawling for at least two hundred yards, withoutany warning he stood erect: and this was the worst moment of all. For as he did so the light vanished--or so nearly as to leave but thefeeblest glimmer, the reason being (and I discovered it with a sob) thathe stood in an ample vaulted chamber while I was yet beneath the roof ofthe tunnel. The first thing I saw on emerging beside him was the bellyof a great wine-tun curving out above my head, its recurve hidden, lostsomewhere in upper darkness: and the first thing I heard was the whip ofa bat's wing by the candle. My guide beat it off. 

"Better take a candle and light it from mine. These creatures breedhere in thousands--hear them now above us!"

"But what is that other sound?" I asked, and together we moved towardsit. 

Three enormous tuns stood in the chamber, and we halted by the base ofthe farthest, where, with a spilt pail beside him, lay a Britishsergeant of the 36th Regiment tranquilly snoring! That and no other wasthe sound, and a blesseder I never heard. I could have kicked thefellow awake for the mere pleasure of shaking hands with him. My guidemoved on. 

"But we are not going to leave him here!"

"Oh, as for that, his sleep is good for hours to come. If you choose, we can pick him up on our return. "

So we left him, and now I went forward with a heart strangely comforted, although on leaving the great cellar I knew myself hopelessly lost. Hitherto I might have turned, and, fortune aiding, have found daylight:but beyond the cellar the galleries ramified by the score, and we walkedso rapidly and chose between them with such apparent lack of method thatI lost count. My one consolation was the memory of a burly figure inscarlet supine beneath a wine-tun. 

I was thinking of him when, at the end of a passage to meindistinguishable from any of the dozen or so we had already followed, my guide put out a hand, and, drawing aside a goatskin curtain, revealeda small chamber with a lamp hanging from the roof, and under the lamp abed of straw, and upon the bed an emaciated man, propped and holding abook. 

His eyes were on the entrance; for he had heard our footsteps. And almost we broke into one cry of joy. It was indeed my kinsman, Captain McNeill!

II. 

CAPTAIN MCNEILL'S ADVENTURES. 

"But how on earth came you here?" was the unspoken question in the eyesof both of us; and, each reading the reflection of his own, we bothbroke out together into a laugh--though my kinsman's was all butinaudible--and after it he lay back on his pillow (an old knapsack) andpanted. 

"My story must needs be the shorter, " said I; "so let us have it overand get it out of the way. I come from watching Caffarelli in thenorth, and for the last four days have been taking a holiday andtwiddling my fingers in camp here, just across the Zapardiel. Happening this afternoon to stroll to this amazing rock, I fell in withthe reverend father here, and most incautiously told him my name: sincewhich he has been leading me a dance which may or may not have turned myhair grey. "

"The reverend father?" echoed Captain Alan. 

"He has not, " said I, turning upon my guide, who stood apart with abaffling smile, "as yet done me the honour to reciprocate my weakconfidences. "

Captain Alan too stared at him. "Are you a priest, sir?" he demanded. 

He was answered by a bow. "You didn't know it?" cried I. "It's the onething he has allowed me to discover. "

"But I understood that you were a scholar, sir--"

"The two callings are not incompatible, I hope?"

"--of the University of Salamanca: a Doctor, too. My memory is yetweak, but surely I had it from your own lips that you were a Doctor?"

"--of Moral Philosophy, " the old man answered with another bow. "Of the College of the Conception--now, alas! destroyed. "

"The care with which you have tended me, sir, has helped my mistake: andnow my gratitude for it must help my apologies. I fear I have, fromtime to time, allowed my tongue to take many liberties with yourprofession. "

"You have, to be sure, been somewhat hard with us. "

"My prejudice is an honest one, sir. "

"Of that there can be no possible doubt. "

"But it must frequently have pained you. "

"Not the least in the world, " the old Doctor assured him, almost with_bonhomie_. "Besides, you were suffering from sunstroke. "

My kinsman eyed him; and I could have laughed to watch it--that gazebetrayed a faint expiring hope that, after all, his diatribes againstthe Scarlet Woman had shaken the Doctor--upon whom (I need scarcely say)they had produced about as much effect as upon the rock of Rueda itself. And I think that, though regretfully, he must at length have realisedthis, for he sank back on the pillow again with a gentle weariness inevery line of his Don Quixote face. 

"Ah, yes, from sunstroke! My cousin"--here he turned towards me--"thisgentleman--or, as I must now learn to call him, this most reverendDoctor of Philosophy, Gil Gonsalvez de Covadonga--found me some days agostretched unconscious beside the highroad to Tordesillas, and in twoways has saved my life: first, by conveying me to this hiding-place, forthe whole _terrain_ was occupied by Marmont's troops, and I lay there inmy scarlet tunic, a windfall for the first French patrol that mightpass; and, secondly, by nursing me through delirium back to health ofmind and strength of body. "

"The latter has yet to come, Senor Capitano, " the Doctor interposed. 

And I: "My cousin, your distaste for disguise will yet be the death ofyou. But tell me, what were you doing in this neighbourhood?"

"Why, watching Marmont, to be sure, as my orders were. "

"Your orders? You don't mean to tell me that Lord Wellington knows ofyour return!"

"I reported myself to him on the nineteenth of last month in the camp onSan Christoval: he gave me my directions that same evening. "

"But, Heavens!" I cried, "it is barely a week ago that I returned fromthe north and had an hour's interview with him; and he never mentionedyour name, though aware (as he must be) that no news in the world couldgive me more joy. "

"Is that so, cousin?" He gazed at me earnestly and wistfully, as Ithought. 

"You know it is so, " I answered, turning my face away that he might notsee my emotion. 

"As for Lord Wellington's silence, " Captain Alan went on, after musing awhile, "he has a great capacity for it, as you know; and perhaps he haspersuaded himself that we work better apart. Our later performances inand around Sabugal might well excuse that belief. "

"But now I suppose you have some message for him. Is it urgent?Or will you satisfy me first how you came here--you, whom I left aprisoner on the road to Bayonne and, as I desperately thought, toexecution?"

"There is no message, for I broke down before my work had wellrecommenced; and Wellington knows of my illness and my whereabouts, sothere is no urgency. "

He glanced at the Doctor and so did I. "The reverend father's behaviourassuredly suggested urgency, " I said. 

"And was there none?" asked the old man quietly. "You sons of war chasethe oldest of human illusions: to you nothing is of moment but theimpact of brutal forces or the earthly cunning which arrays and movesthem. To me all this is less hateful than contemptible, in moment notcomparable with the joy of a single human soul. Believe me, my sons, although the French have destroyed my peerless University--fortisSalamantina, arx sapientia--I were less eager to hurry God's avenginghand on them than to bring together two souls which in the pure joy ofmeeting soar for a moment together, and, fraternising, forget thisworld. Nay, deny it not: for I saw it, standing by. Least of all beashamed of it. "

"I am not sure that I understand you, holy father, " I answered. "But you have done us a true service, and shall be rewarded by aconfession--from a stubborn heretic, too. " I glanced at Captain Alanmischievously. 

My kinsman put up a hand in protest. 

"Oh, I will prepare the way for you, " said I: "and by and by you will beastonished to find how easy it comes. " I turned to the DoctorGonsalvez. "You must know, then, my father, that the Captain and I, though we follow the same business and with degrees of success we aretoo amiable to dispute about, yet employ very different methods. He, for instance, scorns disguises, while I pride myself upon mine. And, by the way, as a Professor of Moral Philosophy, you are doubtlessused to deciding questions of casuistry?"

"For twenty years, more or less, I have presided at the publicdisputations in the Sala del Claustro of our University. "

"Then perhaps you will resolve me the moral difference between hiding ina truss of hay and hiding under a wig? For, in faith, I can see none. "

"That is matter for the private conscience, " broke in Captain Alan. 

"Pardon me, " suggested the Doctor; "you promised me a narrative, Ibelieve. "

"We'll proceed, then. Our methods--this, at least, is important--weredifferent: which made it the more distressing that the similarity of ournames confused us in our enemies' minds, who grossly mistook us for oneand the same person: which not only humiliated us as artists but endedin positive inconvenience. At Sabugal, in April last, after abewildering comedy of errors, the Duke of Ragusa captured my kinsmanhere, and held him to account for some escapade of mine, of which, as amatter of fact, he had no knowledge whatever. You follow me?"

The Doctor nodded gravely. 

"Well, Marmont showed no vindictiveness, but said in effect, 'You havedone, sir, much damage to our arms, and without stretching a point Imight have you hanged for a spy. I shall, however, treat you leniently, and send you to France into safe keeping, merely exacting your promisethat you will not consent to be released by any of the _partidas_ on thejourney through Spain. ' My cousin might have answered that he had neverdone an hour's scouting in his life save in the uniform of a Britishofficer, and nothing whatever to deserve the death of a spy. Suspecting, however, that I might be mixed up in the business, he gavehis parole and set out for the frontier under the guard of a youngcavalry officer and one trooper. 

"Meanwhile I had word of his capture: and knowing nothing of thisparole, I posted to Lord Wellington, obtained a bond for twelve thousandfrancs payable for my kinsman's rescue, sought out the guerilla chief, Mina, borrowed two men on Wellington's bond--the scoundrel would lend nomore--and actually brought off the rescue at Beasain, a few miles onthis side of the frontier. One of our shots broke the young officer'ssword-arm, the trooper was pitched from his horse and stunned, andbehold! my kinsman in our hands, safe and sound. 

"It was then, reverend father, that I first heard of his parole. He informed me of it, and while thanking me for my succour, refused toaccept it. 'Very well done, ' say you as a Doctor of Morality. But meanwhile I was searching the young officer, and finding a letterupon him from the Duke of Ragusa, broke the seal. 'Not so well done, 'say you: but again wait a moment. This letter was addressed to theGovernor of Bayonne, and gave orders that Captain McNeill, as a spy anda dangerous man, should be forwarded to Paris in irons. There was alsoa hint that a request for his execution might accompany him to Paris. And this was a prisoner who, on promise of clemency, had given hisparole! Now what, in your opinion, was a fair course for our friendhere, on proof of this dirty treachery?"

"We will reserve this as Question Number Two, " answered the Doctorgravely, "and proceed with the narrative, which (I opine) goes on to saythat Captain McNeill preferred his oath to the excuse for considering itannulled, collected his escort, shook hands with you, and went forwardto his fate. "

"A man must save his soul, " Captain McNeill explained modestly. 

"You are to me, sir, a heretic (pardon my saying it); which prevents mefrom taking as cheerful a view as I could wish concerning your soul. But assuredly you saved your honour. "

"Well, I hope so, " the Captain answered, picking up the story:"but really, in the sequel, I had to take some decisions which, obviousas they seemed at the time, have since caused me grave searchings ofheart, and upon which I shall be grateful for your opinion. "

"Am I appealed to as a priest?"

"Most certainly not, but as a Professor--a title for which, by the way, we have in Scotland an extraordinary reverence. I rode on, sir, with myescort, and that night we reached Tolosa, where the young Lieutenant--his name was Gerard--found a surgeon to set his bone. He sufferedconsiderable pain, yet insisted next morning upon proceeding with me. I imagine his motives to have been mixed; but please myself withthinking that a latent desire to serve me made one of them. On theother hand, the seal of Marmont's letter had been broken in his keeping;a serious matter for a young officer, and one which he would naturallydesire to defer explaining. At Tolosa he accounted for his wound bysome tale of brigands and a chance shot at long range. On the morrow werode to Irun and crossed the Bidassoa. We were now on French soil. Throughout the morning he had spoken little, and I too had preferred myown thoughts. But now, as we broke our fast and cracked a bottletogether at the first tavern on the French shore, I opened fire byasking him if he yet carried the Marshal's letter with the broken seal. 'To be sure, ' said he. 'And what will you do with it?' I went on. 'Why, deliver it, I suppose, to the Governor of Bayonne, to whom it isaddressed. ' 'And, when asked to account for the broken seal, you willtell him the exact truth about it and the rescue?' 'I must, 'he answered; 'and I hope my report will help you, sir. It will not bemy fault if it does not. ' 'You are an excellent fellow, ' said I;'but it will help me little. You do not know the contents of thatletter as I do--not willingly, but because it was read aloud in mypresence by the man who opened it. ' And, before he could remonstrate, Ihad told him its purport. Now, sir, that was not quite fair to theyoung man, and I am not sure that it was strictly honourable?"

Captain McNeill paused with a question in his voice. "

"Proceed, sir, " said the Doctor: "I reserve this as Question NumberThree, remarking only that the young man owed you something for havingsaved his life. "

"Just so; and that is where the unfairness came in. He wasinexpressibly shocked. 'Why, ' he cried, 'the Marshal had put you underparole!' 'So far as the frontier, ' said I. 'The promise upon which Iswore was that I would not consent to be released by the _partidas_ onmy journey through Spain. Once in France, I could not escape hisvengeance. Now for this very reason I have a right to interpret mypromise strictly, and I consider that during the past half-hour myparole has expired. ' 'I cannot deny it, ' he allowed, and took a pace ortwo up and down the room, then halted in front of me. 'You wouldsuggest, sir, that since this letter was taken from me by the_partidas_, and you and I alone know that it was restored, I owe you thefavour of suppressing it. ' 'Good Heavens! my young friend, ' Iexclaimed, 'I suggest nothing of the sort. I may ask you to risk for mysake a professional ambition which is very dear to you, but certainlynot to imperil your young soul by a falsehood. No, sir, if you willdeliver me to the Governor of Bayonne as a prisoner on honourableparole--which I will renew here and extend to the gates of that cityonly--and will then request an interview for the purpose of deliveringyour letter and explaining how the seal came to be broken, with Joly'--this was the trooper--'for witness, you will gain me all the time I hopeto need. ' 'That will be little enough, ' objected he. 'I must make themost of it, ' said I; 'and we must manage to time our arrival for theevening, when the Governor will either be supping or at the theatre, that the delay, if possible, may be of his creating. ' 'I owe you morethan this, ' said the ingenuous youth. 'And I, sir, am even ashamed ofmyself for asking so much, ' I answered. 

"Well, so we contrived it; entered Bayonne at nightfall, presentedourselves at the Citadel, and were, to our inexpressible joy, receivedby the Deputy-Governor, who heard the Lieutenant's report and endorsedthe false paper of parole which Marmont had given me, and which, infact, had now expired. The fatal letter Lieutenant Gerard kept in hispocket, while demanding an interview with the Governor himself. This (he was told) could not be granted until the morning--'the Governorwas entertaining that night'--and with a well-feigned reluctance hesaluted and withdrew. Outside the Deputy's door we parted without aword, and at the Citadel gate, having shown my pass, which left me freeto seek lodgings in the city, I halted, and, under the sentry's nose, dropped a note into the Governor's letter-box. I had written it atHendaye, and addressed it to the Duke of Ragusa; and it ran--

 "MONSIEUR LE MARECHAL, --I send this under cover of the Governor from the city of Bayonne, out of which I hope to escape to-night, having come so far in obedience to my word, which appears to be more sacred than that of a Marshal of France. My escort having been overpowered between Vittoria and Tolosa, I declined the rescue offered me, but not before your letter to the Governor had been broken open and its contents read, in my presence. This letter also I saw restored to its bearer, who during its perusal lay unconscious, of a severe and painful wound in his sword-arm. I beg to assure you that he has behaved in all respects as a gentleman of courage and honour: and, conceiving that you owe me some reparation, I shall rely on you that his prospects as a soldier are not in any way compromised by the miscarriage of your benevolent plans concerning me. "

I laughed aloud, and even the Doctor relaxed his features. 

"Bravo, kinsman!" said I. "If Marmont hates one thing more than anotherit's to see his majestic image diminished in the looking-glass. But--faith! I'd have kept that letter in my pocket until I was many milessouth of Bayonne. "

"South? You don't suppose I had any intention of escaping towards thePyrenees? Why, my dear fellow, that's the very direction in which theywere bound to search. "

"Oh, very well, " said I--a trifle nettled, I will confess--"perhaps youpreferred Paris!"

"Precisely, " was the cool answer. "I preferred Paris: and having but anhour or two to spare before the hotels closed, I at once inquired at thechief hotels if any French officer were starting that night for thecapital. The first-named, if I remember, the _Hotel du Sud_--I drewblank. At the second, the _Trois Couronnes_, I was informed that achaise and four had been ordered by no less a man than General Souham, who would start that night as soon as he returned from supping with theGovernor. I waited: the General arrived a few minutes before teno'clock: I introduced myself--"

"General Souham, " I groaned. "Reverend father, I have not yet tastedthe wine of Rueda: it appears to me that the fumes are strong enough. He tells me he introduced himself to General Souham!"

"--and, I assure you, found him excellent company. We travelled threein the chaise--the General, his aide-de-camp, and your fortunatekinsman. A second chaise followed with the General's baggage. He and the aide-de-camp at times beguiled the road with a game ofpicquet: for myself, I disapprove of cards. "

"Doubtless you told them so at an early stage?" I suggested, with a lasteffort at irony. 

"I was obliged to, seeing that the General challenged me to a _partie_;but I did not, I hope, adopt a tone inconsistent with good fellowship. We travelled through to Paris, with a few hours' break at Orleans--anopportunity which I seized to purchase a suit of clothes more congruousthan my uniform with the part I had to play in Paris. I had ventured toask General Souham's advice, and he assured me that a British officer, though a prisoner on parole, might incur some risk from the Parisian mobby wearing his uniform in public. "

"Cousin, " said I, "henceforth pursue your tale without interruption. There was a time when, in my folly, I presumed to criticise yourmethods. I apologise. "

"On leaving the tailor's shop I was accosted by a wretched creature whohad seen me alight from the chaise in His Majesty's uniform, and hadfollowed, but did not venture to introduce himself until I emerged in aless compromising garb. He was, it appeared, a British agent--and atraitor to his own country--and I gathered that a part of his dirtytrade lay in assisting British prisoners to break their parole. He assumed that I travelled on parole, and insinuated that I might haveoccasion to break it: and, with all the will in the world to crack hishead, I let the mistake and suspicion pass. For a napoleon I receivedthe address of a Parisian agent in the Rue Carcassonne, whose name Iwill confide in you, in case you should ever require his services. For truly, although I had some difficulty in persuading him that I brokeno faith in seeking to escape from France (a point in which self-respectobliged me to insist, though he himself treated it with irritatingnonchalance), this agent proved a zealous fellow, and served me well. 

"He fell in, too, with my proposals, complimented me on their boldness, and advanced me money to further them. I took a lodging _au troisieme_in the Faubourg St. Honore, and for a fortnight walked Paris without anattempt at concealment, frequenting the cafes, and spending my eveningsat the theatre. Once or twice I encountered Souham himself, with whom Ihad parted on the friendliest terms: but he did not choose to recogniseme--perhaps he had his good-natured suspicions. I lived unchallenged, though walking all the while on a razor's edge. I had reckoned on twofair chances in my favour. There was a chance that the Governor ofBayonne, on finding himself tricked, would for his own security suppressMarmont's letter, trusting that the affair would pass without inquiry:and there was the further chance that Marmont himself, on receipt of mynote, would remember the magnanimity which (to do him justice) heusually has at call, and give orders whistling off the pursuit. At any rate, I spent a fortnight in Paris; and no man questioned ortroubled me. 

"On the same morning that I paid my second weekly bill the agent calledon me with a capital plan of escape, which (being a facetious fellow) heannounced as follows: 'I wish you good morning, Mr. Buck, ' he began. 'Sir, ' I answered, 'I have no claim to such a designation. My pleasuresin Paris have been entirely respectable, and I dislike familiarity. ''Mr. Jonathan Buck, I should have said. ' 'Sir, ' I corrected him, 'if your clients are so numerous that you confuse their names, I mustremind you that mine is McNeill. ' 'Pardon me, ' he replied, 'you havethis morning inherited that of an American citizen who died suddenlylast evening in an obscure lodging near the Barriere de Pantin; and, inaddition, a passport now waiting for him at the Foreign Office, if youhave the courage to claim it. You resemble the deceased sufficiently toanswer a passport's description: and if you secure it, I advise a speedydeparture, with Nantes for your objective. ' Accordingly, that sameevening I left Paris for the Loire. "

"You had the coolness to apply for that passport?"

"And the good fortune to obtain it. If anything, my dear fellow, deserves the degree of astonishment your face expresses, it shouldrather be my consenting to use disguise, and so breaking through aself-denying ordinance on which you have sometimes rallied me. Suspense--the danger from Bayonne hourly anticipated--had perhaps shakenmy nerves. To be brief, I travelled to Nantes as Mr. Jonathan Buck, andin that name took passage in a vessel bound for Philadelphia and on thepoint (as I understood) of lifting anchor. 

"I slept that night on board the _Minnie Dwight_--this was the vessel'sname--in full hope that my troubles were at an end. But next morningher captain came to me with a long face and a report that some hitch hadoccurred between him and the port authorities over his clearing-papers. 'And how long will this detain us?' I asked, cutting short anexplanation too technical for my understanding. He answered that he hadbeen to his Consul to protest, but could promise nothing short of aweek's delay. 

"Well, I saw nothing for it but to shut the cabin-door, make a cleanbreast of my fears, and desire him to help me in devising some new plan. He was a good fellow, and ingenious too; for after he had dashed up myhopes with the news that a similar embargo lay on all foreign ships inthe port, his face cleared, and, said he, 'There's no help for it, butyou must play the sea-lawyer and I the brutal tyrant. It's hard, too, upon a man who treats his crew like his own children, and victuals hisship like an eating-house: but a seaman's rig and forty dollars is allyou need, and with this you'll fare off to the American Consul's andswear that I've made life a burden to you. ' 'Why forty dollars?' Iasked. He winked. 'That's earnest money that when you reach the UnitedStates you'll have the law of me for ill-usage. ' 'And what shall I getin exchange?' 'You will get a certificate enabling you to pass fromport as a discharged sailor seeking a ship. ' I thanked him warmly, andagreed; climbed down the ship's side in my new rig, waved an affectingfarewell to my benevolent tyrant, and sought the American Consul who (itseemed) was used to discontented seamen. At all events, he acceptedwithout suspicion his share in the dishonouring comedy, took my fortydollars, and made out my certificate. "

Here the Captain glanced at Doctor Gonsalvez, who blinked. 

Said I: "Even a Protestant must sometimes understand the relief ofconfession. "

"Armed with this, " he went on, "I made my way to the mouth of the Loire, to St. Nazaire, between which and Le Croisic lies a small island where, in the present weakness of the French marine, English ships of war aresuffered to water unmolested. For ten napoleons I bribed an oldfisherman to row me out at night to this island, which we reached atdaybreak, and to our dismay found the anchorage empty. We cast ournets, however, for a blind, and taking a few fish on our way, workedslowly down to the south-west, where my comrade (and a faithful one heproved) had heard reports of an English frigate nosing about the coast. Sure enough, between breakfast and noon we caught sight of her topmasts:but to reach her we must pass in full view and almost within point-blankrange of a coast battery. We were scarcely abreast of it when around-shot plumped into the sea ahead of us and brought us to, andalmost at once a boatful of soldiers put off to board us. 

"Their object, it turned out, was merely to warn us not to pass thebattery, or the chances were five to one that the Englishman wouldcapture us. In no way discomposed, my friend maintained that we (hepassed me off as his son) must either fish or starve; that we had come along distance, knew every inch of the coast, and ran no danger. He backed this up by bribing the soldiers with our whole morning'scatch, and in the end they contented themselves by insisting that weshould wait under the battery until nightfall and so depart. And thiswe did: but in the meanwhile, pretending our anxiety to avoid her, wecross-questioned the soldiers so precisely on the Englishman's bearingsthat, when darkness fell and we slipped our anchor, we ran straight downon her without the slightest difficulty. She was the _Agile_ sloop oftwenty-four guns, and from her deck I waved good-bye to the fisherman, scarcely more delighted by my safety than he by his napoleons, which inmy gratitude I had raised to fifteen. 

"The _Agile_ landed me in Plymouth without mishap: and so end myadventures. I ought to add, however, that, though my own conscienceheld no reproach for my trick upon Marmont, I sought and obtainedpermission from the War Office to select a prisoner of my own rank andexchange him with France; and with him I sent a precise account, whichwill afford some amusement to the Duke of Ragusa's enemies if he happento have any at headquarters. You, my cousin, will doubtless considerthis mere supererogation, but I should be glad of the reverend Doctor'sopinion. "

"We will reserve this, " said the Doctor, "as Question Number Five. "

"And you promptly reshipped for Lisbon, followed the army to Salamanca, and resumed your work?" said I. 

"Even so: but I suspect that these adventures have rattled me. I am notthe man I was: else I had not succumbed so easily to a mere_coup-de-soleil_. Will the reverend Doctor complete the narrative bydescribing how he found me?"

"In a ditch, " said the reverend Doctor placidly. "My college wasdestroyed: my beloved Salamanca in ruins. 'To a philosopher, ' said I, 'all the world is a home; but especially such wine-vaults as are foundin Rueda. ' I saddled, therefore, my mule; loaded her with a very fewbooks and still fewer sticks of furniture; more frugal even thanJuvenal's friend Umbricius, _cui tota domus redo, componitur una_. On my road, and almost under the shadow of this rock, my mule shied inthe most ladylike fashion at sight of a redcoat prostrate in the dust. The rest you can guess: but assuredly I did not guess at the time that Ihad happened on one whose story will--if ever God restores me to myUniversity--so illustrate my lectures as to make them appear that whichthey will not be--an entirely new set of compositions. "

"Well, " said I, "the hour is late: and however cheerfully you men ofconscience and of casuistry may look forward to spending the night inthese caves, I have seen enough, and have enough imagination at the backof it, to desire nothing so little. "

"I will escort you, " said the Doctor. 

"That was implied, " I answered: and after shaking hands with my kinsmanand promising to visit him on the morrow, I suffered myself to be guidedback along the horrible passages. On the way the Doctor Gonsalvezpaused more than once to chuckle, and at each remove I found thisindulgence more uncanny. 

In the great cellar we came upon the sergeant of the 36th, stillslumbering. I stirred him with my foot, and, sitting up, he amicablyinvited us to join him in a drink. I did so, the Doctor drawing it fromthe spigot into a pail. 

"Might be worse!" hiccupped the sergeant, watching me. 

I agreed that it might be a great deal worse. Between us we steered himout, through the tunnel, along the ledge, and so to the archway underwhich Venus sparkled in the purple heaven. Here the Doctor bade usgood-night, and left me to pilot my drunkard down the cliff. At thefoot he shook hands with me in a fervour of tipsy gratitude: and Ireturned the grasp with an _empressement_, a passion almost, the exactgrounds of which unless he should happen to read these lines andremember the circumstances--contingencies equally remote--he will spendhis life without surmising. 

THE HAUNTED YACHT. 

A YARN. 

If any one cares to buy the yawl _Siren_, he may have her for200 pounds, or a trifle less than the worth of her ballast, as lead goesnowadays. For sufficient reasons--to be disclosed in the course of thisnarrative--I am unable to give her builder's name, and for reasons quiteas sufficient I must admit the figures of her registered tonnage(29. 56), cut on the beam of her forecastle, to be a fraud. I will beperfectly frank; there is a mystery about the yacht. But I gave400 pounds for her in the early summer of 1890, and thought her dirtcheap. She was built under the old "Thames rule, " that is, somewherebetween 1875 and 1880, and was therefore long and narrow to begin with. She has been lengthened since. Nevertheless, though nobody could callher a dry boat, she will behave herself in any ordinary sea, and comeabout quicker than most of her type. She is fast, has sound timbers andsheathing that fits her like a skin, and her mainmast and bowsprit areparticularly fine spars of Oregon pine; her mizzen doesn't count formuch. Let me mention the newest of patent capstans--I put this into hermyself--cabins panelled in teak and pitch-pine and cushioned with redmorocco, two suits of sails, besides a big spinnaker that does notbelong to her present rig, a serviceable dinghy--well, you can see foryourselves without my saying more, that, even to break up, she is worthquite double the money. 

In what follows I shall take leave here and there to alter a name orsuppress it. With these exceptions you shall hear precisely how the_Siren_ came into my hands. 

Early in 1890 I determined, for the sake of my health, to take a longerholiday than usual, and spend the months of July, August, and Septemberin a cruise about the Channel. My notion was to cross over to theFrench coast, sail down as far as Cherbourg, recross to Salcombe, andthence idle westward to Scilly, and finish up, perhaps, with a run overto Ireland. This, I say, was my notion: you could not call it a plan, for it left me free to anchor in any port I chose, and to stay therejust as long as it amused me. One fixed intention I had, and one only--to avoid the big regattas. Money had to be considered, and I thought atfirst of hiring. I wanted something between twenty-five and forty tons, small enough to be worked by myself and a crew of three or at most threemen and a boy, and large enough to keep us occupied while at sea. 

Of course, I studied the advertisement columns, and for some time foundnothing that seemed even likely to suit. But at last in _The Field_, and in the left-hand bottom corner--where it had been squeezed by thelists of the usual well-known agencies--I came on the following:--

 "YAWL, 35 tons. For immediate SALE, that fast and comfortable cruiser _Siren_. Lately refitted and now in perfect condition throughout. Rigging, etc. , as good as new. Cabin appointments of unusual richness and taste. 400 pounds. Apply, Messrs. Dewy and Moss, Agents and Surveyors, Portside Street, F--. "

On reading this I took Lloyd's _Yacht Register_ from its shelf, andhunted for further details. _Sirens_ crowd pretty thickly in theRegister; only a little less thickly than _Undines_. Including_Sirenes_ and _Sirenas_, I found some fourteen--and not a yawl amongstthem, nor anything of her tonnage. There were two more in Lloyd's _Listof American Yachts_--one a centre-board schooner, the other acentre-board sloop; and, in a further list, I came upon a _Siren_ thathad changed her name to _Mirage_--a screw-schooner of one hundred andninety tons, owned by no less a person than the Marquis of Ormonde. On the whole it seemed pretty clear that Lloyd knew not of the existenceof this "fast and comfortable cruiser" of thirty-five tons. 

However, if half the promises of the advertisement were genuine, thechance ought not to be lost for lack of further inquiry. So I sat downthere and then and wrote a letter to the poetically-named Dewy and Moss, asking some questions in detail about the boat, and, in particular, where she was to be seen. 

The answer came by return of post. The boat had been laid up since theautumn in a sheltered creek of the F-- River, about three-quarters of amile up from the harbour side, where Messrs. Dewy and Moss transactedbusiness. The keys lay at their office, and she could be inspected atany time. Her sails, gear, and movable furniture were stored in a roomyloft at the back of Messrs, Dewy and Moss's own premises. Their clientwas a lady who wished to keep her name concealed--at any rate during thepreliminaries; but they had full power to conduct the sale. The yachtwas a bargain. The lady wished to be rid of it at once; but they mightmention that she would not take a penny less than the quoted price of400 pounds. They would be happy to deal with me in that or any otherline of business; and they enclosed their card. 

The card bore witness to the extraordinary versatility of Messrs. Dewyand Moss, if to nothing else. Here is the digest of it:--"Auctioneers; Practical Valuers; House and Estate Agents; BusinessBrokers; Ship Brokers; Accountants and Commission Merchants; Servants'Registry Office; Fire, Life, Accident, and Plate Glass InsuranceEffected; Fire Claims prepared and adjusted; Live Stock Insured; Agentsfor Gibson's Non-Slipping Cycles; Agents for Packington's Manures, thebest and cheapest for all crops; Valuations for Probate; EmigrationAgents; Private Arrangements negotiated with Creditors; Old Violinscleaned and repaired; Vice-Consulate for Norway and Sweden. "

I cannot say this card produced quite the impression which its composersno doubt desired. It seemed to me that Messrs. Dewy and Moss hadaltogether too many strings to their bow. And the railway journey toF-- was a long one. So I hesitated for two days; and on the lateafternoon of the third found myself some three hundred miles from home, standing in a windy street full of the blown odours of shipping, andpulling at a bell which sounded with terrifying alacrity just on theother side of the door. A window was thrown up, right above me, and ahead appeared (of Dewy, as it turned out), and invited me to comeupstairs. 

Mr. Dewy met me on the landing, introduced himself, and led me into hisoffice, where a fat young woman sat awkwardly upon a wooden chairseveral inches too high for her. Hastily reviewing the manyprofessional capacities in which Mr. Dewy could serve her, I decidedthat she must be a cook in search of a place. The agent gave me theonly other chair in the room--it was clear that in their various featsof commercial dexterity the firm depended very little upon furniture--and balanced himself on the edge of his knee-hole table. He was alittle, round man, and his feet dangled three inches from the floor. He looked honest enough, and spoke straightforwardly. 

"You have come about the yacht, sir. You would wish to inspect her atonce? This is most unfortunate! Your letter only reached us thisafternoon. The fact is, my partner, Mr. Moss, has gone off for the dayto N-- to attend a meeting of the Amateur Bee-keepers' Association--mypartner is an enthusiast upon bee-culture. "

The versatility of Moss began to grow bewildering. "--and will not beback until late to-night. As for me, " he consulted his watch, "I am due in half an hour's time to conduct the rehearsal of a serviceof song at the Lady Huntingdon's Chapel, down the street, where I playthe harmonium. "

The diversity of Dewy dazed me. 

"You are staying the night at F--?" he said. 

"Why, yes. I sleep at the Ship Inn, but hoped to leave earlyto-morrow. "

"Of course you could inspect the sails and gear at once; they are in theloft behind. " He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. 

"So I understand, but it would be better to see the boat first. "

"Naturally, naturally. I hope you see how I am placed? You would notdesire me, I feel sure, to disappoint the chapel members who will bewaiting presently for their rehearsal. Stay . . . Perhaps you would notgreatly object to rowing up and inspecting the yacht by yourself?Here are the keys, and my boat is at your disposal; or, if you preferit, a waterman--"

"Nothing would suit me better, if you don't mind my using the boat. "

"It will be a favour, sir, your using her, I assure you. This way, ifyou please. "

He jumped down from the table and led the way downstairs, and throughsome very rickety back premises to the quay door, where his boat laymoored to a frape. As I climbed down and cast off, Mr. Dewy pulled outhis watch again. 

"The evenings are lengthening, and you will have plenty of time. Half an hour to high water; you will have the tide with you each way. The keys will open everything on board. By the way, you can't missher--black, with a tarnished gilt line, moored beside a large whiteschooner, just three-quarters of a mile up. You can tie up the boat tothe frape on your return; to-morrow will do for the keys; at yourservice any time after nine a. M. Good evening, sir!"

Mr. Dewy turned and hurried back to his client, whose presence duringour interview he had completely ignored. 

The sun had dropped behind the tall hills that line the western shore ofthe beautiful F-- River; but a soft yellow light, too generously spreadto dazzle, suffused the whole sky, and was reflected on the tide thatstole up with scarcely a ripple. A sharp bend of the stream brought mein sight of the two yachts, not fifty yards away--their invertedreflections motionless as themselves; I rested on my oars and drifted uptowards them, conning the black yawl carefully. 

She struck me as too big for a 35-tonner, fore-shortened though shelay--a wall-sided narrow boat, but a very pretty specimen of her type. Her dismantled masts were painted white, and her upper boards had beenremoved, of course. 

Hullo!

There was a man standing on her deck. 

She lay with her nose pointing up the river and her stern towards me. The man stood by her wheel (for some idiotic reason, best known tohimself, her builder had given her a wheel instead of a tiller), whichwas covered up with tarpaulin. He stood with a hand on this tarpaulincase, and looked back over his shoulder towards me--a tall fellow with areddish beard and a clean-shaven upper lip. I was drifting close bythis time--he looking curiously at me--and I must have been studying hisfeatures for half a minute before I hailed him. 

"Yacht ahoy!" I called out. "Is that the _Siren?_"

Getting no answer, I pulled the boat close under the yacht's side, madeher fast, and climbed on board by way of the channels. 

"This is the _Siren_, eh?" I said, looking down her deck towards thewheel. 

There was no man to be seen. 

I stared around for a minute or so; ran to the opposite side and lookedover; ran aft and leaned over her taffrail; ran forward and peered overher bows. Her counter was too short to conceal a man, and her stem hadabsolutely no overhang at all; yet no man was to be seen, nor boat norsign of a man. I tried the companion: it was covered and padlocked. The sail-hatch and fore-hatch were also fastened and padlocked, and theskylights covered with tarpaulin and screwed firmly down. A mouse couldnot have found its way below, except perhaps by the stove-pipe or thepipe leading down to the chain-locker. 

I was no believer in ghosts, but I had to hit on some theory there andthen. My nerves had been out of order for a month or two, and the longrailway journey must have played havoc with them. The whole thing was ahallucination. So I told myself while pulling the coverings off theskylights, but somehow got mighty little comfort out of it; and I willnot deny that I fumbled a bit with the padlock on the main hatchway, orthat I looked down a second time before setting foot on the companionladder. 

She was a sweet ship; and the air below, though stuffy, had no taste ofbilge in it. I explored main cabin, sleeping cabins, forecastle. The movable furniture had been taken ashore, as I had been told; but thefixtures were in good order, the decorations in good taste. Not a panelhad shrunk or warped, nor could I find any leakage. At the same time Icould find no evidence that she had been visited lately by man or ghost. The only thing that seemed queer was the inscription "29. 56" on the beamin the forecastle. It certainly struck me that the surveyor must haveunder-registered her, but for the moment I thought little about it. 

Passing back through the main cabin I paused to examine one or two ofthe fittings--particularly a neat glass-fronted bookcase, with a smallsideboard below it, containing three drawers and a cellaret. The bookcase was empty and clean swept; so also were the drawers. At the bottom of the cellaret I found a couple of flags stowed--atattered yellow quarantine-signal tightly rolled into a bundle, and ared ensign neatly folded. As I lifted out the latter, there droppedfrom its folds and fell upon the cabin floor--a book. 

I picked it up--a thin quarto bound in black morocco, and rather theworse for wear. On its top side it bore the following inscription indingy gilt letters:--

 JOB'S HOTEL, PENLEVEN, VISITORS' BOOK. 

 J. JOB, _Proprietor_. 

Standing there beneath the skylight I turned its pages over, wonderingvaguely how the visitors' book of a small provincial hotel had found itsway into that drawer. It contained the usual assortment of conventionalpraise and vulgar jocosity:--

 _Mr. And the Hon. Mrs. Smith of Huddersfield, cannot speak too highly of Mrs. Job's ham and eggs. --September 15, 1881_. 

 _Arrived wet through after a 15-mile tramp along the coast; but thanks to Mr. And Mrs. Job were soon steaming over a comfortable fire. --John and Annie Watson, March, 1882. _

Note appended by a humorist:

 _Then you sat on the hob, I suppose. _

There was the politely patronising entry:

 _Being accustomed to Wolverhampton, I am greatly pleased with this coast. --F. B. W. _

The poetical effusion:

 _Majestic spot! Say, doth the sun in heaven Behold aught to equal thee, wave-washed Penleven?_ etc. 

Lighter verse:

 _Here I came to take my ease, Agreeably disappointed to find no fl-- Mrs. Job, your bread and butter Is quite too utterly, utterly utter!_

 _J. Harper, June 3rd, 1883. _

The contemplative man's ejaculation:

 _It is impossible, on viewing these Cyclopean cliffs, to repress the thought, How great is Nature, how little Man!_ (A note: _So it is, old chap!_ and a reproof in another hand: _Shut up! can't you see he's suffering?)_

The last entry was a brief one:

 _J. MacGuire, Liverpool. September 2nd, 1886. _

Twilight forced me to close the book and put it back in its place. As I did so, I glanced up involuntarily towards the skylight, as if Ihalf expected to find a pair of eyes staring down on me. Yet the bookcontained nothing but these mere trivialities. Whatever myapprehension, I was (as "J. Harper" would have said) "agreeablydisappointed. " I climbed on deck again, relocked the hatch, replacedthe tarpaulins, jumped into the boat and rowed homewards. Though thetide favoured me, it was dark before I reached Mr. Dewy's quay-door. Having, with some difficulty, found the frape, I made the boat fast. I groped my way across his back premises and out into the gaslit street;and so to the Ship Inn, a fair dinner, and a sound night's sleep. 

At ten o'clock next morning I called on Messrs. Dewy and Moss. Again Mr. Dewy received me, and again he apologised for the absence ofhis partner, who had caught an early train to attend a wrestling matchat the far end of the county. Mr. Dewy showed me the sails, gear, cushions, etc. , of the _Siren_--everything in surprising condition. I told him that I meant business, and added--

"I suppose you have all the yacht's papers?"

He stroked his chin, bent his head to one side, and asked, "Shall yourequire them?"

"Of course, " I said; "the transfer must be regular. We must have hercertificate of registry, at the very least. "

"In that case I had better write and get them from my client. "

"Is she not a resident here?"

"I don't know, " he said, "that I ought to tell you. But I see no harm--you are evidently, sir, a _bona fide_ purchaser. The lady's name isCarlingford--a widow--residing at present in Bristol. "

"This is annoying, " said I; "but if she lives anywhere near the TempleMead Station, I might skip a train there and call on her. She herselfdesired no delay, and I desire it just as little. But the papers arenecessary. "

After some little demur, he gave me the address, and we parted. At the door I turned and asked, "By the way, who was the fellow on boardthe _Siren_ last night as I rowed up to her?"

He gave me a stare of genuine surprise. "A man on board? Whoever hewas, he had no business there. I make a point of looking after theyacht myself. "

I hurried to the railway station. Soon after six that evening I knockedat Mrs. Carlingford's lodgings in an unattractive street of Bedminster, that unattractive suburb. A small maid opened the door, took my card, and showed me into a small sitting-room on the ground floor. I lookedabout me--a round table, a horsehair couch, a walnut sideboard withglass panels, a lithograph of John Wesley being rescued from the flamesof his father's rectory, a coloured photograph--

As the door opened behind me and a woman entered, I jumped back almostinto her arms. The coloured photograph, staring at me from the oppositewall above the mantelshelf, was a portrait--a portrait of the man I hadseen on board the _Siren!_

"Who is that?" I demanded, wheeling round without ceremony. 

But if I was startled, Mrs. Carlingford seemed ready to drop withfright. The little woman--she was a very small, shrinking creature, with a pallid face and large nervous eyes--put out a hand against thejamb of the door, and gasped out--

"Why do you ask? What do you want?"

"I beg your pardon, " I said; "it was merely curiosity. I thought I hadseen the face somewhere. "

"He was my husband. "

"He is dead, then?"

"Oh, why do you ask? Yes; he died abroad. " She touched her widow's capwith a shaking finger, and then covered her face with her hands. "I was there--I saw it. Why do you ask?" she repeated. 

"I beg your pardon sincerely, " I said; "it was only that the portraitreminded me of somebody--But my business here is quite different. I am come about the yacht _Siren_ which you have advertised for sale. "

She seemed more than ever inclined to run. Her voice scarcely roseabove a whisper. 

"My agents at F-- have full instructions about the sale. "

"Yes, but they tell me you have the papers. I may say that I have seenthe yacht and gear and am ready to pay the price you ask for immediatepossession. I said as much to Mr. Dewy. But the papers, of course--"

"Are they necessary?"

"Certainly they are. At least the certificate of registry or, failingthat, some reference to the port of registry, if the transfer is to bemade. I should also like to see her warrant if she has one, and hersailmaker's certificate. Messrs. Dewy and Moss could draw up theinventory. "

She still hesitated. At length she said, "I have the certificate; Iwill fetch it. The other papers, if she had any, have been lost ordestroyed. She never had a warrant. I believe my husband belonged tono Yacht Club. I understand very little of these matters. "

She left the room, and returned in five minutes or so with the opendocument in her hand. 

"But, " said I, looking over it, "this is a certificate of a vesselcalled the _Wasp_. "

"Ah, I must explain that. I wished the boat to change her name with thenew owner. Her old name--it has associations--painful ones--I shouldnot like anyone else to know her as the _Wasp_. "

"Well, " I admitted, "I can understand that. But, see here, she isentered as having one mast and carrying a cutter rig. "

"She was a cutter originally. My husband had her lengthened, in 1886, Ithink by five feet, and turned her into a yawl. It was abroad, atMalaga--"

"A curious port to choose. "

"She was built, you see, as long ago as 1875. My husband used to sayshe was a broad boat for those days, and could be lengthenedsuccessfully and turned into quite a new-looking vessel. He gave her anentirely new sheathing, too, and all her spars are new. She was notinsured, and, being in a foreign port, it was understood he would haveher newly registered when he returned, which he fully intended. So no alterations were made in the certificate here, and, I believe, herold tonnage is still carved up somewhere inside her. "

This was true enough. The figures on the certificate, 29. 56, were thoseI had seen on the beam in the forecastle. 

"My husband never lived to reach England, and when she came back to F--, though she was visited, of course, by the Custom House officer andcoastguard, nobody asked for her certificate, and so the alterations inher were never explained. She was laid up at once in the F-- River, andthere she has remained. "

Certain structural peculiarities in the main cabin--scarcely noted atthe time, but now remembered--served to confirm Mrs. Carlingford'splainly told story. On my return to London that night I hunted up someback volumes of Hunt, and satisfied myself on the matter of the _Wasp_and her owner, William Carlingford. And, to be short, the transfer wasmade on a fresh survey, the cheque sent to Mrs. Carlingford, and theyawl _Siren_ passed into my hands. 

All being settled, I wrote to my old acquaintance, Mr. Dewy, asking himto fit the vessel out, and find me a steady skipper and crew--notwithout some apprehension of hearing by return of post that Dewy andMoss were ready and willing to sign articles with me to steer and sailthe yacht in their spare moments. Perhaps the idea did not occur tothem. At any rate they found me a crew, and a good one; and I spent avery comfortable three months, cruising along the south-western coast, across to Scilly, from Scilly to Cork and back to Southampton, where onSeptember 29, 1891, I laid the yacht up for the winter. 

Thrice since have I applied to Messrs. Dewy and Moss for a crew, andalways with satisfactory results. But I must pass over 1892 and 1893and come to the summer of 1894; or, to be precise, to Wednesday, the11th of July. We had left Plymouth that morning for a run westward;but, the wind falling light towards noon, we found ourselves drifting, or doing little more, off the entrance of the small fishing haven ofPenleven. Though I had never visited Penleven I knew, on the evidenceof many picture-shows, that the place was well worth seeing. Besides, had I not the assurances of the Visitors' Book in my cabin?It occurred to me that I would anchor for an hour or two in the entranceof the haven, and eat my lunch ashore at Mr. Job's hotel. Mr. Job woulddoubtless be pleased to recover his long-lost volume, and I had no morewish than right to retain it. 

Job's hotel was unpretending. Mrs. Job offered me ham and eggs and, asan alternative, a cut off a boiled silver-side of beef, if I did notmind waiting for ten minutes or so, when her husband would be back todinner. I said that I would wait, and added that I should be pleased tomake Mr. Job's acquaintance on his return, as I had a trifling messagefor him. 

About ten minutes later, while studying a series of German lithographsin the coffee-room, I heard a heavy footstep in the passage and a knockat the door; and Mr. Job appeared, a giant of a man, with a giant'sgirth and red cheeks, which he sufflated as a preliminary of speech. 

"Good day, Mr. Job, " said I. "I won't keep you from your dinner, butthe fact is, I am the unwilling guardian of a trifle belonging to you. "And I showed him the Visitors' Book. 

I thought the man would have had an apoplectic fit there on the spot. He rolled his eyes, dropped heavily upon a chair, and began to breathehard and short. 

"Where--where--?" he gasped, and began to struggle again for breath. 

I said, "For some reason or other the sight of this book distresses you, and I think you had better not try to speak for a bit. I will tell youexactly how the book came into my possession, and afterwards you can letme have your side of the story, if you choose. " And I told him justwhat I have told the reader. 

At the conclusion, Mr. Job loosed his neckcloth and spoke--

"That book, sir, ought to be lyin' at the bottom of the sea. It waslost on the evening of September the 3rd, 1886, on board a yacht thatwent down with all hands. Now I'll tell you all about it. There was agentleman called Blake staying over at Port William that summer--that'sfour miles up the coast, you know. "

I nodded. 

". . . Staying with his wife and one son, a tall young fellow, agedabout twenty-one, maybe. They came from Liverpool--and they had a yachtwith them, that they kept in Port William harbour, anchored just belowthe bridge. She would be about thirty tons--a very pretty boat. They had only one hired hand for crew; used to work her themselves forthe most part; the lady was extraordinary clever at the helm, or at thesheets either. Very quiet people they were. You might see them mostdays that summer, anchored out on the whiting grounds. What was shecalled? The _Queen of Sheba_--cutter-rigged-quite a new boat. It was said afterwards that the owner, Mr. Blake, designed her himself. She used often to drop anchor off Penleven. Know her? Why of courseI'd know her; 'specially considerin' what happened. 

"'What was that?' A very sad case; it made a lot of talk at the time. One day--it was the third of September, '86--Mr. And Mrs. Blake and theson, they anchored off the haven and came up here to tea. I supposed atthe time they'd left their paid hand, Robertson, on board; but it turnedout he was left home at Port William that day, barkin' a small mainsailthat Mr. Blake had bought o' purpose for the fishin'. Well, Mrs. Blakeshe ordered tea, and while my missus was layin' the cloth young Mr. Blake he picks up that very book, sir, that was lyin' on the sideboard, and begins readin' it and laffin'. My wife, she goes out of the roomfor to cut the bread-and-butter, and when she comes back there was thetwo gentlemen by the window studyin' the book with their backs to theroom, and Mrs. Blake lyin' back in the chair I'm now sittin' on, an' herface turned to the wall--so. The young Mr. Blake he turns round andsays, 'This here's a very amusin' book, Mrs. Job. Would you mind myborrowing it for a day or two to copy out some of the poetry?I'll bring it back next time we put into Penleven. ' Of course my wifesays, 'No, she didn't mind. ' Then the elder Mr. Blake he says, 'I see you had a visitor here yesterday--a Mr. MacGuire. Is he in thehouse?' My wife said, 'No; the gentleman had left his traps, but he'dstarted that morning to walk to Port William to spend the day. 'Nothing more passed. They had their tea, and paid for it, and went offto their yacht. I saw that book in the young man's hand as he went downthe passage. 

"Well, sir, it was just dusking in as they weighed and stood up towardsPort William, the wind blowing pretty steady from the south'ard. At about ten minutes to seven o'clock it blew up in a sudden littlesquall--nothing to mention; the fishing-boats just noticed it, and thatwas all. But it was reckoned that squall capsized the _Queen of Sheba_. She never reached Port William, and no man ever clapped eyes on herafter twenty minutes past six, when Dick Crego declares he saw her offthe Blowth, half-way towards home, and going steady under all canvas. The affair caused a lot of stir, here and at Port William, and in thenewspapers. Short-handed as they were, of course they'd no business tocarry on as they did--'specially as my wife declares from her looks thatMrs. Blake was feelin' faint afore they started. She always seemed tome a weak, timmersome woman at the best; small and ailin' to look at. "

"And Mr. Blake?"

"Oh, he was a strong-made gentleman: tall, with a big red beard. "

"The son?"

"Took after his father, only he hadn't any beard; a fine upstandingpair. "

"And no trace was ever found of them?"

"Not a stick nor a shred. "

"But about this Visitors' Book? You'll swear they took it with them?See, there's not a stain of salt-water upon it. "

"No, there isn't; but I'll swear young Mr. Blake had it in his hand ashe went from my door. "

I said, "Mr. Job, I've kept you already too long from your dinner. Go and eat, and ask them to send in something for me. Afterwards, Iwant you to come with me and take a look at my yacht, that is lying justoutside the haven. "

As we started from the shore Mr. Job, casting his eyes over the _Siren_, remarked, "That's a very pretty yawl of yours, sir. " As we drew nearer, he began to eye her uneasily. 

"She has been lengthened some five or six feet, " I said; "she was acutter to begin with. "

"Lord help us!" then said Mr. Job, in a hoarse whisper. "She's the_Queen of Sheba_. I'd swear to her run anywhere--ay, or to that queerangle of her hawse-holes. "

A close examination confirmed Mr. Job that my yacht was no other thanthe lost _Queen of Sheba_, lengthened and altered in rig. It persuadedme, too. I turned back to Plymouth, and, leaving the boat inCattewater, drove to the Millbay Station and took a ticket for Bristol. Arriving there just twenty-four hours after my interview with Mr. Job, Imade my way to Mrs. Carlingford's lodgings. 

She had left them two years before; nothing was known of herwhereabouts. The landlady could not even tell me whether she had movedfrom Bedminster: And so I had to let the matter rest. 

But just fourteen days ago I received the following letter, dated from aworkhouse in one of the Midland counties:--

 "DEAR SIR, --I am a dying woman, and shall probably be dead before this reaches you. The doctor says he cannot give me forty-eight hours. It is _angina pectoris_, and I suffer horribly at times. The yacht you purchased of me is not the _Wasp_, but the _Queen of Sheba_. My husband designed her. He was a man of some property near Limerick; and he and my son were involved in some of the Irish troubles between 1881 and 1884. It was said they had joined one of the brotherhoods, and betrayed their oaths. This I am sure was not true. But it is certain we had to run for fear of assassination. After a year in Liverpool we were forced to fly south to Port William, where we brought the yacht and lived for some time in quiet, under our own names. But we knew this could not last, and had taken measures to escape when need arose. My husband had chanced, while at Liverpool, upon an old yacht, dismantled and rotting in the Mersey--but of about the same size as his own and still, of course, upon the register. He bought her of her owner--a Mr. Carlingford, and a stranger--for a very few pounds, and with her--what he valued far more--her papers; but he never completed the transfer at the Custom House. His plan was, if pressed, to escape abroad, and pass his yacht off as the _Wasp_, and himself as Mr. Carlingford. All the while we lived at Port William the _Queen of Sheba_ was kept amply provisioned for a voyage of at least three weeks, when the necessity overtook us, quite suddenly-- the name of a man, MacGuire, in the Visitors' Book of a small inn at Penleven. We left Penleven at dusk that evening, and held steadily up the coast until darkness. Then we turned the yacht's head, and ran straight across for Morlaix; but the weather continuing fine for a good fortnight (our first night at sea was the roughest in all this time), we changed our minds, cleared Ushant, and held right across for Vigo; thence, after re-victualling, we cruised slowly down the coast and through the Straits, finally reaching Malaga. There we stayed and had the yacht lengthened. My husband had sold his small property before ever we came to Port William, and had managed to invest the whole under the name of Carlingford. There was no difficulty about letters of credit. At each port on the way we had shown the Wasp's papers, and used the name of Carlingford; and at Lisbon we read in an English newspaper about the supposed capsizing of the _Queen of Sheba_. Still, we had not only to persuade the officials at the various ports that our boat was the _Wasp_. We knew that our enemies were harder to delude, and our next step was to make her as unlike the _Wasp_ or the _Queen of Sheba_ as possible. This we did by lengthening her and altering her rig. But it proved useless, as I had always feared it would. The day after we sailed from Malaga, a Spanish-speaking seaman, whom we had hired there as extra hand, came aft as if to speak to my husband (who stood at the wheel), and, halting a pace or two from him, lifted a revolver, called him by name, and shot him dead. Before he could turn, my son had knocked him senseless, and in another minute had tumbled him overboard. We buried my husband in the sea, next day. We held on, we two alone, past Gibraltar-- I steering and my son handling all the sails--and ran up for Cadiz. There we made deposition of our losses, inventing a story to account for them, and my son took the train for Paris, for we knew that our enemies had tracked the yacht, and there would be no escape for him if he clung to her. I waited for six days, and then engaged a crew and worked the yacht back to F--. I have never since set eyes on my son; but he is alive, and his hiding is known to myself and to one man only--a member of the brotherhood, who surprised the secret. To keep that man silent I spent all my remaining money; to quiet him I had to sell the yacht; and now that money, too, is gone, and I am dying in a workhouse. God help my son now! I deceived you, and yet I think I did you no great wrong. The yacht I sold you was my own, and she was worth the money. The figures on the beam were cut there by my husband before we reached Vigo, to make the yacht correspond with the _Wasp's_ certificate. If I have wronged you, I implore your pardon. --Yours truly, "CATHERINE BLAKE. "

Well, that is the end of the story. It does not, I am aware, quiteaccount for the figure I saw standing by the _Siren's_ wheel. As forthe _Wasp_, she has long since rotted to pieces on the waters of theMersey. But the question is, Have I a right to sell the _Siren?_I certainly have a right to keep her, for she is mine, sold to me in dueform by her rightful owner, and honestly paid for. But then I don'twant to keep her!

PARSON JACK'S FORTUNE. 

I. 

From Langona church tower you see nothing of the Atlantic but a wedgebetween two cliffs of a sandy creek. The cottages--thirty in all, perhaps--huddle in a semicircle of the hills about a spring of clearwater, which overflows and leaps as from a platform into the hollowcoombe, its conduit down to the sands. But Langona Church stands outmore boldly, on a high grassy meadow thrust forward like a bastion overthe stream's right flank. It has no tree, no habitation between it andthe ocean: it breaks the northerly gales for the cottages behind andunder its lee, and these gales have given its tamarisk hedge and evenits gravestones so noticeable a slant inland that, by a trick ofeyesight, the church itself seems tilted perilously forward. 

Forward, in fact--that is to say, seaward--the tower does lean; thoughbut by a foot or so, and now not perilously; the salt winds, impotentagainst its masonry, having bitten with more effect into the eartharound its base. But the church has been restored, the mischiefarrested, and the danger no longer haunts its vicar as it haunted theRev. John Flood on a bright September morning in 1885. 

He sat on a thyme-covered hummock by the valley stream, with knees drawnup and palms pressed against his aching head: sat as he had been sittingfor half an hour past, a shovel beside him and an empty sack, which hehad brought down to fill with clean river-sand. A chaffinch, fresh fromhis bath, flitted incessantly between the rail of the footbridge, adozen yards below, and the boughs of a tamarisk beside it. He paid noattention to Parson Jack. Few living creatures ever did. 

Even his parishioners--those who knew of it--felt no great concern thatParson Jack had been drunk again last night. There was no harm in theman. "He had this failing, to be sure: with a little liquor he talkedsilly, though not so silly as you might suppose. Let him alone, andhe'll find his way home somehow. Scandalous? Oh, no doubt! But youmight easily go farther and find a worse parson than Flood. "

It never occurred to them that he felt any special remorse. His agonieswere private, and his chance of redemption lay in this, that theyneither ceased nor eased with time; perhaps in this, too, that he wastedno breath in apologetics or self-pity, but blamed himself squarely likea man. 

Yet a sentimentalist in his place might have run up a long and tearfulaccount against Providence, fate, circumstances--whateversentimentalists choose to arraign rather than themselves. Five-and-twenty years before, Jack Flood had been a rowdyundergraduate of Brasenose College, Oxford; in his third year ofresidence, with more than a fair prospect of being ploughed--or, in thelanguage of that generation, "plucked"--at the end of it; a member ofthe Phoenix Wine Club, owner of a brute which he not only called a"hunter" but made to do duty for one at least twice a week; and debtoramong various Oxford tradesmen to the tune of something like 500 pounds. At this point his father--a Berkshire rector--died suddenly of aparalytic stroke, leaving Jack and his elder brother Lionel (then abroadin the new Indian Civil Service) to realise and divide an estate of 1200pounds. 

Six hundred pounds is a fair equipment for starting a young man in life;but not when he already owes five hundred, and has few brains, nodecided bent, and only a little of the most useless learning. Jack surrendered two-thirds of his patrimony to his pressing creditors, sold his hunter, read hard for a term, scrambled into his degree, andwas received, a month or two later, into Holy Orders. His father hadsent him to Brasenose College as a step to this, and Jack had lookedforward to being a parson some day--a sporting parson, be it understood. 

For the moment, however, he was almost penniless; and he had answered invain some dozen advertisements of curacies, when a college friend cameto the rescue and prevailed on a distant kinsman to offer him the livingof Langona, with a net annual stipend of 51 pounds eighteen shillingsand sixpence. There are such "livings. "

It was offered, of course, and accepted, merely as a stopgap. But twenty-five years had passed, and at Langona Parson Flood remained. It had cost him twenty of these to wipe off his Oxford debts, withinterest; but he had managed to retain the small remnant of his capital, and this with his benefice yielded an income better than a daylabourer's. That he was still a bachelor goes without saying. In the summer he fished; in the winter he followed, afoot, a pack ofharriers kept by his patron, Sir Harry Vyell of Carwithiel. These werehis recreations. He could not afford to travel, and cared little forreading. His library consisted of his Bible, two or three smallDivinity Handbooks, a _Pickwick, Stonehenge on the Dog_, and a couple of"Handley Cross" novels, with coloured illustrations by John Leech. Twice a year or thereabouts a letter reached him from his brother inCalcutta, who was apparently prospering, and had a wife and threechildren--though for some years the letters had brought no news of them. 

"Something was wrong, " Parson Jack decided after a while, finding thathis messages to them met with no answer; and he felt a delicacy inasking questions. He believed that the children had been sent home toEngland--he did not know where--and would have liked to pay them avisit. But for him a journey was out of the question. So he lived on, alone and forgotten. 

On Sundays he wore a black suit, which had lasted him for ten years, andwould have to last for another five at least. On week-days he dressedin blue guernsey and corduroys, and smoked a clay pipe. Hisbroad-brimmed clerical hat alone distinguished him from thefarm-labourers in his parish; but when at work upon the church--patchingits shingle roof, or pouring mortar into its gaping wounds--he discardedthis for a maroon-coloured cap, not unlike a biretta, which offered lesssurface to the high winds. 

He knew nothing of architecture: could not, in fact, distinguish Normanwork from Perpendicular; and at first had taken to these odd jobs ofmasonry as a handy way of killing time. He had wit enough, however, tolearn pretty soon that the whole fabric was eaten with rot and in dangerfrom every gale; and by degrees (he could not explain how) the ruin hadset up a claim on him. In his worst dreams he saw it toppling, falling;during the winter gales he lay awake listening, imagining the throes andshudders of its old beams, and would be abroad before daybreak, waitingfor the light to assure him that it yet stood. A casual tourist, happening on him at work, some summers before, had mistaken him for ahired mason, and discoursed learnedly on the beauties of the edifice andthe pity of its decay. "That's a vile job you have in hand, my friend--a bit of sheer vandalism, " said the tourist; "but I suppose the Parsonwho employs you knows no better. " Parson Jack had been within an ace ofrevealing himself, but now changed his mind and asked humbly enough whatwas amiss. Whereupon the tourist pulled out a pencil and an oldenvelope, and explained. "But there, " he broke off, "it would take me aweek to go into these matters, and you a deal longer to understand. I'd enjoy twenty minutes' talk with your Parson. The church wantsrestoration from beginning to end, and by a first-class man. It deserves no less, for it's interesting throughout; in some pointsunique. " "That would cost money now?" suggested Parson Jack, pitchinghis voice to the true Langona sing-song. "Two thousand pounds would goa long way. "--The tourist scanned the waggon-roof critically, andlowering his eyes, at length observed the Parson's smile. "Ah, I see! asum that would take some collecting hereabouts. Parson's none too welloff, eh?" "Fifty pounds a year or so. " "Scandalous! Who's the layimpropriator?" He was told. "Well, but wouldn't he help?" Parson Jackshook his head; he had never asked a penny from Sir Harry Vyell, who wasa notorious Gallio in all that concerned religion. He had a furtherreason, too. He suspected that Sir Harry chafed a little in a carelessway at his continuing to hold the living, and would be glad to see himreplaced by an incumbent with private means and no failings to beapologised for with a shrug of the shoulders. Sir Harry, he knew, wasaware of these hateful lapses, though too delicate to allude to them, and far too charitable to use them (unless under compulsion) as a leverfor getting rid of him. And this knowledge was perhaps the worst of hisshame. Yet what could he do? since to surrender Langona was to starve. "Your Parson might at least make a beginning, " pursued the tourist. "A box, now, inviting donations--that would cost nothing, and mightrelieve a visitor here and there of a spare sovereign. He could put upa second box for himself: it's quite a usual thing in churches when theparish priest is poor. You might make the suggestion, if he's not tooproud. "

"I will, " said Parson Jack, and after the tourist had gone he thoughtmuch of these two boxes. Indeed, he made and fixed up the first thatsame week, though he labelled it "For Church Repairs, " fighting shy of"Restoration" as too magniloquent. The second cost him long searchingsof heart, and he walked over and laid the case before Parson Kendall, Rector of the near parish of St. Cadox, a good Christian and a goodfellow, with whom he sometimes smoked a pipe. "Why not?" answeredParson Kendall; "it's the most ordinary thing in the world. " "But SirHarry may not like it. " The Rector chuckled. "If he doesn't, he'llconsult me; and I shall ask him why he hunts a pack by subscription. "

So the second box was nailed beside the first, and excited littlediscussion. Indeed, the pair hung in so obscure a corner--behind thefont--that at the first service only Parson Jack and the Widow Coppingwere aware of them. The Parson stumbled and hesitated so badly over theprayers that one or two worshippers felt sure he had been drinking;which was not the fact. The Widow Copping took no interest incollecting-boxes; and, besides, she could not read. So the innovationmissed fire. Moreover, it suggested neither popery nor priestcraft, andonly a fool would suspect Parson Flood of either. 

The "Parson's Box" remained, provoking no criticism. He himself had alittle plan for its contents. He would spend the money on a journey tohis nephew and nieces, if they were anywhere in England. He would findout. There was no hurry, he told himself, with a queer smile. 

There was not. The box provoked neither ill-criticism nor effusivecharity. On Trinity Sunday, when he opened it and counted out oneshilling in silver and sevenpence in coppers, Parson Jack pulled a wryface and then laughed aloud. 

II. 

_Toot--toot--toot!_

The postman's horn in the village street above him shook the Parson outof his idleness, if not out of his dark thoughts. He sprang up, grippedhis shovel, and began spading the white river-sand into his sack. 

"It is useless, after all, " said he to himself. "The crack on the southof the tower stands still, but the smaller and more dangerous one--theone on the weather side--is widening fast. This winter, even, mayfinish matters. "

He took up a few more shovelfuls. "Anyhow, it will not last my time;and since it will not--" He paused, as a thought rose before him like ablank wall. If the church fell--nay, _when_ it fell--this comrade whichhad taken possession of his purposes, his fears, his fate--thisenigmatic building of which he knew neither the history nor thefounder's name, but only its wounds--why, then his occupation was gone!He might outlive it for years, perhaps a third of a lifetime; but he hadno hopes beyond. In imagination he saw it fall, and after that--nothing. And he laughed--not the laugh with which he had counted outthe money in his collecting-box, but one of sheer self-contempt, andpassing bitter. 

The impression had been so sharp that he flung a glance up at the greytower topping the grey-green rise; and with that was aware of thepostman swinging, with long strides, down the slope towards him. 

He turned in confusion and resumed his shovelling. Why was the mancoming this way, by a path out of his daily beat? Parson Jack stoopedover his work. He wished to avoid greeting him. There was talk, nodoubt, up at the village. . . . 

But the postman was not to be denied. He stopped and hailed across thestream. 

"Hulloa, Parson! I've just left a letter for you up at the Parsonage: along blue letter, and important, by the look of it, with a seal--a man'shand coming out of a castle. Do you know it?"

"No, " answered Parson Jack. "Did you come out of your way to tell methis?"

"Not quite; though I'd do as much for 'ee any day, out of friendliness. But, tell 'ee the truth, I was sent to seek you with a message. "

"A message?"

"Sir Harry has ridden over from Carwithiel, and wants you up to church. He's there waitin' with his nephew, a narra-chested slip of a chap witha square-cut collar and a Popish sort of face. "

Parson Jack lifted his shovel and passed his palm over its blade, whichthe sand had already polished. "Thank you, " said he, "I'll be going atonce. "

But he made no motion to start while the postman stood eyeing him. A sudden selfish fear paralysed him. Had Sir Harry heard? And was thisthe end of his patron's forbearance? No; the news could not havereached Carwithiel so quickly. He had no enemy to arise early and carryit; to no living creature were even his follies of such importance. 

"Don't forget your letter, " the postman reminded him, moving off towardsthe foot-bridge. 

Parson Jack watched him as he crossed it, and until he had scaled thewestern slope and disappeared over its shoulder. Then, kneeling by thestream, he dipped his head, and let the icy water run past his temples. When he raised it again his plain face was glowing, for hard fare andlife in the open weather kept his complexion clear and ruddy. But thehand gripping the sack on his shoulder shook as he climbed the hill. 

By the lych-gate he found two saddle-horses tethered, and just outsidethe porch stood Sir Harry Vyell--a strikingly handsome man with acareless thoroughbred look; in fact, well over sixty, but apparently tenyears younger. By habit he dressed well, and was scrupulously carefulof his person; by habit, too, he remained sweet of temper and kindly ofspeech. But beneath this mask of habit the heart had withered, a whileago, to dust, and lay in the grave of his only son. 

"Ah? Good morning, Flood!" cried Sir Harry genially. Parson Jack, reassured, felt the colour rushing into his face. "I've brought over mynephew Clem to introduce to you--he's in Orders, you know--scholar ofBalliol, Fellow of All Souls, and what not. High Anglican, too--he'llbe a bishop one of these days, if money doesn't make him lazy. He's inside, dancing with delight in front of your chancel-screen--or, rather, the remains of it. Church architecture is his craze just now--that and Church History. Between ourselves"--Sir Harry glanced over hisshoulder--"he has a bee or two in his bonnet; but that's as it shouldbe. Every lad at his age wants to eat up the world. "

Parson Jack could remember no such ambition. They passed into thechurch together. 

Now the surprise which awaits you in Langona Church is its chancel, which stands high above the level of the nave, and, rising suddenlybeneath a fine Early English arch, carries the eye upward to the altarwith a strange illusion of distance. Even in those days the firstimpression was one of rare, almost singular, beauty--an impression lostin a series of small pangs as your eye rested on the ruinous details oneby one. For of the great screen nothing remained but two tall uprights, surmounted by hideous knops--the addition of some local carpenter. Between the lozenge-shaped shafts of the choir arches, the worm-riddledparclose screens dripped sawdust in little heaps. Down in the nave, bench-ends leaned askew or had been broken up, built as panels into dealpews, and daubed with paint; the floor was broken and ran in unevenwaves; the walls shed plaster, and a monstrous gallery blocked thebelfry arch. Upon this gallery Parson Jack had spent most of hiscareful, unsightly carpentry, for the simple reason that it had beenunsafe; and, for the simple reason that they had let in the rain, he hadprovided half a dozen windows with new panes, solid enough, but inappearance worthy only to cover cucumbers. 

As he entered with Sir Harry, the Rev. Clement Vyell swung round uponhim eagerly, but paused with a just perceptible start at sight of hisunclerical garb. 

"Let me introduce you, Clem. This is Mr. Flood. "

Parson Jack bowed, and let his eyes travel around the church, which hehad often enough pitied, but of which he now for the first time feltashamed. 

"We're in a sad mess, I'm afraid, " he muttered. 

"It's most interesting, nevertheless, " Clement Vyell answered. He was athin-faced youth with a high pedagogic voice. "Better a church in thiscondition than one restored out of all whooping--though I read on thebox yonder that you are collecting towards a restoration. "

Parson Jack blushed hotly. 

"You have made a start, eh? What are your funds in hand?"

"Two pounds four shillings--as yet. "

Sir Harry laughed outright; and after a moment Parson Jack laughed too--he could not help it. But Clement Vyell frowned, having no sense ofhumour. 

"I patch it up, you know--after a fashion. " Parson Jack's tone washumble enough and propitiatory; nevertheless, he glanced at hishandiwork with something like pride. "The windows, for instance--"

The younger man turned with a shudder. "I suppose now, " he saidabruptly, staring up at an arch connecting the choir-stalls with thesouthern transept, "this bit of Norman work will be as old as anythingyou have?"

That it was Norman came as news to Parson Jack. He, too, stared up atit, resting a palm on a crumbling bench-end. 

"Well, " said he ingenuously, "I'm no judge of these things, you know;but I always supposed the tower was the oldest bit. "

He broke off in confusion--not at his speech, but because ClementVyell's eyes were resting on the back of his hand, which shook with atell-tale palsy. 

"The tower, " said the young man icily, "is Perpendicular, and later than1412, at all events, when a former belfry fell in, destroyed the nave, and cracked the pavement, as you see. All this is matter of record, asyou may learn, sir, from the books which, I feel sure, my uncle will bepleased to lend you. I need not ask, perhaps, if in the course ofyour--ah--excavations you have come on any traces of the originalpre-Augustine Oratory, or of the conventual buildings which existed heretill, we are told, the middle of the thirteenth century. "

He turned away, obviously expecting no answer, addressed himselfhenceforward to Sir Harry, and ignored Parson Jack, who followed himabashed, yet secretly burning to hear more, and wondering where all thisknowledge could be obtained. 

"But it is inconceivable!" Clement Vyell protested to his uncle, half anhour later, as they rode back towards Carwithiel. "The man has had thecure of that parish for--how long, do you say?--twenty-five years, andhas never had the curiosity to discover the most rudimentary facts inits history. "

"A hard case, " assented Sir Harry. "He lifts his elbow, too. "

"Eh?"

"Drinks. " Sir Harry illustrated the idiom, lifting an imaginary glassto his mouth. "Oh, it's notorious. But what the deuce can we do?Kick him out?--not so easy; and, besides, he'd die under a hedge. You're hard on him, Clem. He has his notions of duty. Why"--theBaronet laughed--"I've seen him on the roof with a tar-bucket, caulkingthe leaks for dear life. He's a gentleman, too. "

Clement Vyell tightened his lips and rode on in silence. 

Left alone, Parson Jack stared around his church. His repairs, in whichhe had taken pride before now, seemed nakedly, hideously mean at thismoment. But a new sense fought with his dejection--a sense altogethernew to him--that his church had a history, a meaning into which he hadnever penetrated. The aisles seemed to expand, the chancel to reach upinto a distance in which space and time were confused; and, followingit, his eye rested on a patch of colour in the east window between thewooden tablets of the Law--a cluster of fragments of stained glass, rescued by some former vicar and set amid the clear panes--the legs andscarlet robe of a saint, an angel's wing, a broken legend on a scroll, part of a coat-of-arms, azure with a fesse, --wavy of gold--all throwntogether as by a kaleidoscope gone mad. Each of these scraps had once ameaning: so this church held meanings, too long ignored by him, partlyintelligible yet, soon to be mixed inextricably in a common downfall. For Clement Vyell might be wise in the history of architecture, but hiseye had not read the one plain warning which stared a common workman inthe face--that the days of this building were surely numbered, and wereprobably few. 

Parson Jack had a mind to run after him. He must learn, and speedily, all about the church, its builders, this old colony of monks. But where? In books doubtless. Where could those books be found?

He had almost reached the door, when his eye fell on the twocollecting-boxes. With a sudden thought he paused, drew a key from thepocket of his corduroys, and unlocked his own--the Parson's box. A sovereign lay within. 

He picked up the coin and considered it, a dark flush growing on hisface. Parson Jack had a temper, though few guessed it. With an efforthe controlled it now, dropped the sovereign into the box labelled"Church Repairs, " and walked slowly out. 

He had no longer a mind to run after Clement Vyell. Instead, he benthis steps towards the four-roomed cottage which he called the Parsonageand found too large for his needs. 

On the sitting-room table lay a letter, in a large blue envelope with ared seal. 

III. 

That same day, and soon after three o'clock in the afternoon, ParsonJack knocked at the door of St. Cadox Rectory. 

The Rector, a widower, usually ate his dinner in the middle of the day, and immediately afterwards retired to his study (with a glass of hotbrandy-and-water), presumably to meditate. At Parson Jack's entrance hestarted up from his arm-chair with a flushed face and a somewhatincoherent greeting, in the middle of which he suddenly observed thathis friend's face, too, was agitated. 

"But what brings you? Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"No--o, " answered Parson Jack dubiously. Then, "Oh no; on the contrary, I came to ask if you have any books bearing on this part of the world--county histories, ecclesiastical histories, and the like--especiallyecclesiastical histories. I want to read up about Langona. "

The Rector's eyes twinkled. "This is rather sudden, eh?"

"After five-and-twenty years? I suppose it is. " Parson Jack blushedlike a schoolboy; but he laughed, nevertheless, for he held news, and itbubbled within him. 

"Preparing a lecture?"

"No; the fact is"--he straightened his face--"I've just learnt of mybrother Lionel's death in India. I've never seen him since we wereboys, " he added apologetically. 

"H'm, h'm. " The Rector paid his respect to Death in a serious littlecough. "Still, I don't quite understand--"

"He has left me five thousand pounds. "

"Ah? A very tidy sum--my dear Flood, I congratulate you; with all myheart I do. You have the prospect now of many happy days. " He shookhis friend's hand warmly. "But--excuse me--what has this to do withreading ecclesiastical history, of Langona or any other place?"

"Well, " Parson Jack answered shyly, sitting down and filling his pipe, "I thought of restoring the church. "

"My dear fellow, don't be a fool--if I may speak profanely. Five thousand pounds is a tidy sum, no doubt, in Langona especially. But you'll be leaving Langona. You can buy yourself a decent littleliving, or retire and set up comfortably as a bachelor on two hundredand fifty pounds a year, with a cob, and a gig as you grow older. "

Parson Jack shook his head. "I've been paying debts all my life, withthe help of Langona, " said he, puffing slowly. "And now I see that Iowe the place repayment. But it isn't _that_ exactly, " he went on witha quickening voice and another of his shy blushes, "and I don't want youto mistake that for the real reason. The fact is, I'm attached to theplace--to the church especially. It seems a silly thing to say, when Ihaven't troubled to learn ten words of its history, and don't knowNorman work from--well, from any but my own. " He laughed grimly, bitingon his pipe-stem. "But that can be mended, I suppose--and the old barnhas become a sort of companion--and that's about the long and short ofit. "

The Rector leaned forward and tapped the bowl of his pipe reflectivelyon the fender-bars. 

"You are the residuary legatee, I take it. Your brother was unmarried?"

"Oh dear, no! Lionel was married, and had three children--two girls anda boy: 'has, ' I should say, for I imagine they're all alive--the widow, too. I don't know where they are. The lawyers merely speak of my fivethousand as a legacy; they say nothing of the rest of the will. "

"That's queer. " The Rector reached for his tobacco-jar. 

"Eh? You mean my not knowing the whereabouts of the family? Betweenourselves, I believe there was a screw loose in Lionel's domesticaffairs. I know nothing definite--positively. We corresponded now andthen, " continued Parson Jack--"say twice a year--and of late years hedropped all mention of them, and I gathered that questions were notwanted. But the wife and children are provided for, you may depend; andthere's the pension. "

"You are not an executor even?"

"No; it seems there were two; but one died. The survivor, a MajorBromham, lives in Plymouth--retired, apparently, and I suppose an oldfriend of Lionel's. It's through his solicitors that I had the news. "

"And with it the first announcement of your brother's death. It seemsqueer to me that this Major Bromham didn't send you a line of his own. How do the lawyers put it?"

"Oh, the barest announcement. Here it is; you can read for yourself:'On the instruction of our client, Major Bromham, late 16th BengalLancers, we have to inform you of the death, by syncope, at Calcutta, onthe 5th of July last, of your brother, Lionel Flood, Esq. , late of theIndian Civil Service, Assistant-Commissioner; and also that by the termsof his will, executed'--so-and-so--'of which our client is the survivingexecutor, ' etc. --all precious formal and cold-blooded. No doubt hisdeath was telegraphed home to the newspapers, and they take it forgranted that I heard or read of it. "

"Perhaps. " The Rector rose. "Shall we have a stroll through thestables? Afterwards you shall have a book or two to carry off. "

"But look here, Kendall; I came to you as a friend, you know. It seemsto me all plain sailing enough. But you seem to imply--"

"Do I? Then I am doubtless an ass. "

"You think this Major Bromham should have written to me direct--I seethat you do. Well, he lives no farther away than Plymouth. I might runup and call on him. Why, to be sure"--Parson Jack's brow cleared--"andhe can give me the address of the wife and children. "

IV. 

Parson Jack walked home with a volume of Gilbert's _Survey_ and anotherof the _Parochial History of Cornwall_ under his arm, and Parker's_Glossary_ in his skirt pocket. He began that evening with the_Parochial History_, article "Langona, " and smoked his pipe over it tillmidnight in a sort of rapture it would be hard to analyse. In fact, nodoubt it was made up of that childish delight which most men feel onreading in print what they know perfectly well already. "The easternend of the north aisle is used as a vestry, and the eastern end of thesouth aisle is impropriated to the church-warden's use. " Yes, that wasright. And the inscription on the one marble tablet was correctlygiven, and the legend over the south porch: "_Ego sum Janua, per me quiintrabit Servabitur_" But the delight of recognition was mixed withthat of discovery. The lower part of the tower was Early English, theupper Perpendicular (a pause here, and a reference to Parker); the nave, too, Perpendicular. Ah, then, it could only have been the upper part--the belfry--which fell in and destroyed the nave. What was the date?--1412. And they both had been rebuilt together--on the call of EdmundStafford, Bishop of Exeter--in the August of that year. He read on, thefamiliar at each step opening new bypaths into the unguessed. But thedelight of delights was to hug, while he read, his purpose to change allthis story of ruin, to give it a new and happier chapter, to stand outeminent among the forgotten Vicars of Langona. . . . 

The book slid from his knee to the floor with a crash. He picked it upcarefully, turned down the lamp, laughed to himself, and went off tobed, shivering but happy. 

He awoke to fresh day-dreams. Day-dreams filled the next week withvisions of the church in all its destined beauty. To be sure, they wereextravagant enough, fantasies in which flying buttresses and flamboyanttraceries waltzed around solid Norman and rigid Perpendicular, nightmares of undigested Parker. But they kept Parson Jack happy. 

He had not forgotten to answer Messrs. Cudmore's letter, thanking themfor their information, and adding that he proposed to pay a visit toPlymouth, and would call upon Major Bromham, with that gentleman'sleave, and discuss the legacy. They replied that their client was justthen in the north of Devon on a shooting-party, but would return toPlymouth by an afternoon train on the following Wednesday and grant Mr. Flood an interview. 

The tone of this letter, as of the previous one, was unmistakably cold, but Parson Jack read nothing more in it than professional formality. On the Wednesday, however, when he reached Plymouth, he presentedhimself at Messrs. Cudmore's office, and was admitted to see the head ofthe firm, the manner of his reception began to puzzle him. 

"Mr. --ah--Flood?" began Mr. Cudmore senior, with the faintest possiblebow. "Our client, Major Bromham, is not returning until late thisafternoon--by the four-forty train, in fact. I myself dictated theletter in reply to yours, and fancied I had made it explicit. "

"Oh, quite. I called merely in the hope that you would give me somefurther information about my brother's will; since, apart from thislegacy, I know nothing. "

"You must excuse me, but I prefer to leave that to the Major. In anycase, the will is to be proved without delay, and may then, as you know, be inspected for a shilling. "

Parson Jack, guileless man that he was, had a way of putting a straightquestion. "I want to know, " said he quietly, "why on earth you aretreating me like this?"

"My dear sir--" began the lawyer. But Parson Jack cut him short. 

"I, for my part, will be plain with you. I ask to see the will simplybecause I know nothing of my brother's property, and wish to see how hiswife and children are provided for. There is nothing extraordinary inthat, surely?"

"H'm"--the lawyer pondered, eyeing him. Clearly there was something inthis shabbily dressed clergyman which countered his expectations. "The person who could best satisfy you on this point would be Mrs. Flood herself; but I take it you have no desire to see her personally. "

"Mrs. Flood? Do you mean my brother's wife?"

"Certainly. "

"But--but is she here--in Plymouth?" Parson Jack's eyes opened wide. 

"I presume so. Hoe Terrace, she informs me, has been her address forthese eight years. But of course you are aware--"

"Aware, sir? I am aware of nothing. Least of all am I aware of anyreason why I should not call upon her. Hoe Terrace, did you say?What number?"

"Thirty-four. You will bear in mind that I have not advised--"

"Oh, dear me, no; you have advised nothing. Good-morning, Mr. Cudmore!"And Parson Jack, fuming, found himself in the street. 

He filled and lit his pipe, to soothe his humour. But he forgot thatthe clergy of Plymouth do not as a rule smoke clay pipes in the publicstreets, and the attention he excited puzzled and angered him yetfurther. He set it down to his threadbare coat and rustic boots. It was in no sweet mood that he strode up Hoe Terrace, eyeing thenumbers above the doors, and halted at length to knock out his pipebefore a house with an unpainted area-railing, to which a small boy inragged knickerbockers was engaged in attaching with a string the tail ofa protesting puppy. 

"I shouldn't do that if I were you, " said Parson Jack, rapping the bowlof his pipe against his boot-heel. 

"I don't suppose you would, " retorted the small boy. "But then there'ssome parsons wouldn't smoke a clay. "

Before Parson Jack could discover a repartee the door opened and a youngman with a weak chin and bright yellow boots came out laughing, followedby a good-looking girl, who turned on the step to close the door behindher. Although in black, she was outrageously over-dressed. An enormousblack feather nodded above her "picture" hat, and with one hand she heldup her skirt, revealing a white embroidered petticoat deplorably stainedwith mud. 

In the act of turning she caught sight of the small boy, and at oncebegan to rate him. 

"Haven't I told you fifty times to let that dog alone? Go indoors thisinstant and get yourself cleaned! For my part, I don't know whatTillotson means, letting you out of school so early. "

"I haven't been to school, " the boy announced, catching at a dirty sheetof newspaper which fluttered against the railing, and nonchalantlyfolding it into a cocked hat. 

"Your mumps have been all right for a week. There's not the slightestrisk of infection, and you know it. You don't tell me you've persuadedmother--"

"I haven't said a word to her, " the boy interrupted. "It isn't mumps;it's these breeches. If you can't find time to darn 'em, I'm not goingto school till somebody can. "

The young man tittered, and the girl--with a toss of her head and aglance at Parson Jack, who was pretending to tie his boot-lace--accepteddefeat. 

"Where did you pick up that puppy?" asked Parson Jack, after watchingthe pair up the street. 

"What's that to you?"

"Nothing at all; only I'm a judge of wire-haired terriers, and he has atouch of breed somewhere. Well, if you won't answer that question, I'lltry you with another. Is that Gertrude--or Ada?" He nodded up thestreet. 

"That's Ada. Gertrude is indoors, trimming a hat. You seem to know aheap about us. "

"Not much; but I'm going to call and find out more if I can. You'reRichard, I suppose?"

"Dick, for short. Ring the bell, if you like, and I'll run round andopen the door. Only don't say I didn't warn you. " This sounded like anabsurd echo of the lawyer, and set Parson Jack smiling. "We don'tsubscribe to anything, or take any truck in parsons; and the slavey hasa whitlow on her finger, and mother's having fits over the cooking. But come in, if you want to. "

"Thank you, I will. "

While Parson Jack ascended to the front door and rang at the bell, Dickskipped down the area steps, and presently opened to him with a mockstart of surprise. "Beg your pardon, " said he, "but I took you for therates, or the broker's man. " He winked as he ushered in the visitor. The running click of a sewing-machine sounded above stairs, and up fromthe basement floated an aroma of fried onions, and filled the passage. 

"First turning to the right!" admonished the boy, and stepping past him, to the head of the basement stairs, called down: "Mother! I say, mother, here's a gentleman to see you!"

"Then, " came the answer, "tell Gerty to step down and find out what hewants. I'm busy. "

Parson Jack discreetly shut the door, and fell to studying the notover-clean drawing-room, which was tricked out with muslin draperies, cheap Japanese fans, photographs--mostly of officers in the uniform ofthe Royal Marines--and such artistic trifles as painted tambourines, sabots, drain-pipes, and milking-stools. In one wicker-chair--thewicker daubed with royal-red enamel--lay a banjo; in another was curleda sleeping terrier--indubitable mother of the puppy outside. Near thedoor stood a piano with a comic opera score on the music-rest, open atNo. 12, "I'm a Cheery Fusileery--O!" and on its rosewood top an ash-trayfull of cigarette-ends and a shaded lamp the base of which neededwiping. 

The terrier awoke, yawned, and was waddling down from its couch to makefriends, when Master Dick returned. 

"Mother wants to know who you are and what's your business. Gerty wouldn't come down when she heard you weren't Jack Phillips. "

"Then tell your mother that I am your uncle, John Flood. That willsatisfy her, perhaps. "

"Whe--ew!" Dick took him in from top to toe, in a long incredulousstare; but turned and went without another word. 

It may have been five minutes before the door opened and Mrs. Floodentered, with an air nicely balanced between curiosity, _hauteur_, andinjured innocence--a shabby-genteel woman, in a widow's cap and a blackcashmere gown which had been too near the frying-pan. 

"Good morning. "

Mrs. Flood bowed stiffly, not to say stonily, folded her wristsaccurately in front of her, over her waistband, and waited. 

"I am John Flood, you know--poor Lionel's brother. I have just comefrom Cudmore & Cudmore's, the solicitors, to talk with you, if I may, about this will. It seems that I have a legacy, but beyond this I knownothing, and indeed until Messrs. Cudmore wrote I wasn't even aware ofan illness. "

Mrs. Flood's eyes seemed to answer, if such a thing could be said in aladylike way, that he might tell that to the Marines. But, withoutrelenting their hostility, she took occasion to mop them. 

"It was a cruel will, " she murmured. "My husband and I had differences;in fact, we have lived apart for many years. Still--" She broke off. "You know, of course, that he went wrong--took to living with nativesand adopted their horrible ways--in the end, I believe, turned Hindu. "

"God bless my soul! But he used to write regularly--up to the end. "

"No doubt. " The two words were full of spiteful meaning, though whatthat meaning was Parson Jack could not guess. 

"His letters gave no hint of--of this. "

Again Mrs. Flood's bitter smile gave him--politely--the lie. 

"He drank, too, " she went on, after a cold pause. "I had alwayssupposed it was the one thing those natives didn't do. We thought ofcontesting the will on the ground of undue influence and his mind beinggone. "

"Did Lionel leave them much, then?"

"'Them'?" she queried. 

"His friends over there--the natives. "

"He left nothing but this legacy of five thousand pounds, and theresidue in equal shares to his poor family. " Here her handkerchief cameinto play again. "Only, as it turns out, there isn't any residue--scarcely a penny more when all is realised--except the pension, ofcourse. " Unmasking her batteries with sudden spite, she added, "Evenbetween you I couldn't be robbed of _that!_"

Parson Jack controlled himself. He was genuinely sorry for the woman. But either cheek showed a red spot and his voice shook a little as heanswered, "This is a trifle gratuitous, then--your talk about undueinfluence. "

"The proof of the pudding is in the eating, " replied Mrs. Flood, with asmall and vicious titter; not because she believed him to be guilty orthat it would do any good, but simply because her instinct told her itwould hurt. 

"That seems to close the discussion. " Parson Jack bowed with honest, ifclumsy, dignity. "I am sorry, madam, for what you have told me; but myregrets had better be expressed to Major Bromham. "

"_Regrets_, indeed!" sniffed Mrs. Flood. 

And these were the last words he ever heard from her. A minute later hefound himself in the street, walking towards the Hoe and drawing deepbreaths as his lungs felt the sea-breeze. He had not the least notionof his direction; but as he went he muttered to himself; and for aparson's his words sounded deplorably like swearing. 

"Hi! hi!" called a shrill voice behind him. He swung right about andfound himself frowning down upon Master Dick. 

"How did you like it?" inquired that youngster, panting. "She's acaution, the mater; but it wasn't a patch on what I've heard her promiseto give you if ever she sets eyes on you. "

"Indeed? How do you know, pray?"

"Why, I listened at the door, of course, " was the unabashed reply. "But I don't believe a word of it, you know, " he added reassuringly. 

"A word of what?"

"That rot about undue influence. "

"I thank you. Did you follow me to tell me this?"

"Well, I dunno. Yes, I guess I did. You're a white man; I saw that atonce, though you _do_ smoke a clay pipe. "

"Thank you again for the reminder. " Parson Jack pulled out his clay andfilled it. "So I'm a white man?"

Dick nodded. "I'm not saying anything about the legacy. That's hardlines on us, of course; but I believe you. There's no chance of mybeing a gentleman now, like you; but"--with a wry grin--"I'm not thesort of chap to bear malice. "

They had walked on through the gate leading to the Hoe, and were in fullview now of the splendid panorama of the Sound. 

"And why shouldn't you be a gentleman?" asked Parson Jack, halting andcocking down an eye upon this queer urchin. 

"Well, there's a goodish bit against it, you'll allow. You saw whatwe're like at home. " He looked up at Parson Jack frankly enough, butinto his speech there crept a strange embarrassment, too old for hisyears. "I mean, you saw enough without my telling you; and I mustn'tgive the show away. "

"No, to be sure, " assented Parson Jack. "Dick, you've the makings of agood fellow, " he added musingly. 

But the boy's eyes had wandered to the broad sheet of water below. "Crikey, there she goes!" he cried, and jerked his arm towards anunwieldy battle-ship nosing her way out of the Hamoaze, her low bowstracing a thin line of white. For half a minute they stood watchingher. 

"She's ugly enough, in all conscience, " commented Parson Jack. 

"She's a holy terror. But perhaps you don't believe in turrets. Nor doI, to _that_ extent. It's tempting Providence. "

"In what way?"

"Top-hamper, " said Dick shortly. "But she's a terror all the same. "

"What's her name, I wonder?"

"Sakes! You don't say you don't know the old _Devastation?_ Why, it'sfifteen years or so since they launched her at Portsmouth, and I heartell she'll have to be reconstructed, though even then I guess theywon't trust her far at sea. She has no speed, either, for these days. Oh, she's a holy fraud!" And Master Dick poured in a broadside ofexpert criticism as the monster felt her way and slowly headed aroundthe Winter Buoy into the Smeaton Pass. 

"Nevertheless, you wouldn't object to be on board of her?"

"Don't!" The boy's eyes had filled on a sudden. "You mayn't mean it, but it--it hurts. "

Four hours later, in the early dusk, Parson Jack stepped into thestreet, after shaking hands with Major Bromham at the door. What ismore, the Major stood bareheaded in the doorway for some moments, andstared after him. Dick had echoed Lawyer Cudmore once that day; it wasnow the Major's turn to echo Dick. 

"That's a white man, " he muttered to himself. "Curiously like hisbrother, too--in the days before he went wrong. But Lionel Flood had asoft strake in him, and India found it out. This parson seems tougher--result of hard work and plain living, no doubt. "

His musings at this point grew involved, and he frowned. "Says he knewnothing of Lionel's affairs--offers to show me all the letters to proveit; but this behaviour of his is proof enough. Deuced handsomebehaviour, too. I wonder if he can afford it? Gad, what a pack offalsehoods that woman has poured into me! She always had a gift ofcircumstantial lying. I believe, if Lionel had kept a tight rein on herand shown her the whip now and then--but what's the use of speculating?Anyway, it's rough on the Parson, and if I hadn't to consider Dick andthe girls--"

Dusk had given way to gaslight, and Parson Jack still paced the streets, intending but still deferring to find a dinner and a night's lodging. He had shaken hands with Major Bromham in a mood of curious exaltation. He had decided almost without a struggle. To his mind the question wasa clear one of right and wrong, and no argument helped it. Still, a mandoes not renounce five thousand pounds every day of his life; and, whenhe does, has some right to pat his conscience on the back. He derivedsome pleasure, too, from picturing the pretty gratitude with which hisbeneficiaries would hear Major Bromham's message. He did not know Mrs. Flood. 

But . . . His church? He had forgotten it, or almost forgotten; and therecollection came upon him like a blow. He halted beneath a gas-lamp indismay; not in resentment at the shattering of his dream, for hescarcely thought of himself; not in doubt, for he had done rightly, andhis church could not be restored at the expense of right; but in sheerdismay before the blank certainty that now his church must fall. Nothing could save it. He must go home to it, live with it, watch it tothe inevitable end. He put out a hand against the iron pillar, and of asudden felt faint, almost sick. As a matter of fact, he had eatennothing since his early breakfast. 

A few doors down the street the bright lamp of a tavern--the Sword andFlag--caught his eye. He tottered in and asked for a glass of brandy. It did him good, and he called for another. Some soldiers entering, with a girl or two, and finding a clergyman seated with his glass inthis not over-reputable den, began to chaff. He answered gently andgood-naturedly, but with a slight stutter--enough to hint at fun ahead;and they improved upon the hint. By nine o'clock Parson Jack was sillydrunk; at eleven, when the premises were closed, the police found himspeechless; and the rest of the night he spent in the borough lock-up. 

V. 

It appeared in the newspapers, of course. "Deplorable story: Aclergyman fined for drunkenness. " This was more than even Sir Harrycould stand. 

"I'm sorry for you, Flood, " said he, when, three days later, Parson Jackappeared at Carwithiel to resign his living. "But you've taken the onlyproper course. Otherwise, you'd have driven us to an inquiry, sequestration, no end of a scandal. I've had to keep my eyes shut onceor twice in the past, as you probably guess. "

"You have shown me all the kindness you could, " answered Parson Jack. "I won't disgust you with thanks, and there are no excuses. " He pickedup his hat and turned to go. 

"Well, but look here; don't be in a hurry. What about your prospects?They're none too healthy, I'm afraid. Still, if a few pounds could giveyou a fresh start somewhere--"

"I have no prospects, but for the moment I wasn't thinking of myself. I was thinking of Langona and the old church. "

"Oh, the church is all right! Clem--my nephew--has a fad in his head. He asked me yesterday for the living--in case you resigned. I tell himit's folly; a youngster oughtn't to play with his chances. But heinsists that it will do him good to fling up Oxford and playparish-priest for a year or two. He has taken a fancy to your church, and wants to restore it. He can pay for his whims: the money's all inhis branch of the family. "

"Restore it! The church--restored!"

Sir Harry looked up sharply, for the words came in a whisper of awe, almost of terror; and looking up, he saw Parson Jack's eyes dilated as aman's who stares on a vision; but while they stared there grew in them aslow, beatific surmise. 

"The Lord taketh away, " said Parson Jack. "Blessed be the name of theLord!"

Six weeks later the Rev. Clement Vyell was inducted into the living ofLangona, vacant by the resignation of the Rev. John Flood. His firstsermon announced that the church was to be restored without delay; thatplans were even now being prepared by an eminent architect, and that, assoon as they arrived and were approved, tenders would be invited. 

Mr. Vyell was in no hurry to take possession of the Parsonage; indeed, bachelor though he was, and professed ascetic, he decided that, to behabitable, it needed a wing and a new kitchen at the back. For thepresent he accepted his uncle's invitation to use the hospitality, andthe library, of Carwithiel. Parson Jack might give up possession at hisown convenience. Nevertheless he gave it up at once, packed his fewbelongings, and hired a bedroom at the Widow Copping's. It appearedthat he, too, needed time to look about him. 

And so he loitered about Langona until the architect's plans werereceived, discussed, approved, and submitted to tender. A Bristolbuilder secured the contract. 

The day after it was signed Parson Jack walked over to Carwithiel again, and asked leave to speak with Mr. Vyell. He wore his old working suit. 

"I have come to ask a favour, sir, " said he, speaking humbly. "I hearthat the contract for the church has been given to Miles & Co. , ofBristol; and I would take it kindly if you recommended me to them as aworkman. "

The new Vicar was taken by surprise, and showed it. 

"I have picked up some knowledge of the work in these years, " ParsonJack explained timidly. "And I know the weak points in the old fabricbetter than most men. As for steadiness, " he wound up, "I only ask tobe given a trial. You must discharge me the first time I give cause ofcomplaint. "

"What on earth could I say to the man?" Mr. Vyell demanded that evening, when he discussed the application with his uncle. 

"I hope you accepted?" said Sir Harry sharply. 

"Ye-es, though I fear it was imprudent. "

"Fiddlestick! Speak a word for him to Miles; he won't find a betterworkman. "

So Parson Jack stayed at Langona, and beheld his best dream take shape, though not at his command, and yet in part by his fashioning. Nay, evensome measure of that personal pride for which he had once bargained wasrestored to him during the second year, on the day when the contractor--who shared the common knowledge of his past, but respected hisunequalled knowledge of the old fabric and its weakness, his gentleardour in learning, and his mild authority among the men--appointed himclerk of the works. In those days Parson Jack needed no man's pity, forall day long he redeemed a debt and wrought into substance an ambitionthat yet grew purer--as few ambitions do--in taking substance. And withit he wove another dream which, in the intervals of labour, would drawhim out of the churchyard and hold him at gaze there, with his eyes onthe wedge of blue sea beyond the coombe. 

From the hour of his fall no strong drink passed his lips. His was analmost desperate case, but he fought with two strong allies. It was asthough the old church, rallying under his eyes for a new lease of life, put new blood into him, repaying his love. Also he had Dick's letters. 

"Upon my word, " said Sir Harry to his nephew, "I've a mind to put Floodinto the living again when this business is over and you tire of yourwhim. I suppose there's nothing to prevent it?"

There was nothing to prevent it; but as a reward it lay outside ParsonJack's speculation, perhaps beyond his desire. His reward came to himon the afternoon when, having mounted a ladder beside the new eastwindow, he looked over his shoulder and saw Parson Kendall entering thechurchyard by the lych-gate, and ushering in a youngster--a mere boystill, but splendid in the uniform of a freshly blown naval cadet. 

Parson Jack can scarcely be said to have risen to the occasion. "Hullo, Dick!" he said, descending the ladder and holding out his hand. 

But the Rector, standing aside, made a better speech; though this, too, was short enough. 

"God fulfils Himself in many ways, " said the Rector to himself. 

THE BURGLARY CLUB. 

"Yes, " said the Judge, "I ought by this time to know something ofCornish juries. They acquit oftener than other juries, to be sure; andthe general notion is that they incline more towards mercy. Privately, I believe that mercy has very little to do with it. "

"Stupidity, " said the High Sheriff sententiously, and sipped his wine. His own obtuseness on the Bench was notorious, and had kept adding forthirty years to the Duchy's stock of harmless merriment. 

"Nothing of the sort, " snapped his lordship. "You can convict a man, Ipresume, as stupidly as you can acquit him. No: with other juries acrime is a crime, and a misdemeanour is a misdemeanour. You tell themso and they accept it. But with Cornishmen you have first to explainthat the alleged offence is illegal; next, you must satisfy them that itought to be illegal; and then, if you choose, you can proceed to provethat the prisoner committed it. They will finally discharge him on theground that he never had the advantage of such a clear exposition of thelaw as they have just enjoyed. "

"Well, but isn't that stupidity?" persisted the High Sheriff. 

The Judge turned impatiently and addressed a grey-headed man on hisleft. "Did I ever tell you, Mr. --, how I once enjoyed the hospitalityof a Cornish village, through the simple accident of being mistaken fora burglar?"

The grey-headed man--an eminent Q. C. And leader of the Western Circuit--dropped an olive into his glass of sherry. He had been dozing. Two or three guests and members of the Junior Bar drew their chairscloser. 

"It was in 1845, " the Judge began, "just after I had taken my degree, and I had been walking through Cornwall with a knapsack--no smalladventure, I can tell you, in those days. The inhabitants declined tobelieve that anyone could walk and carry a pack for the fun of thething, and I left a trail of suspicion behind me. The folks wereinvariably hospitable, though convinced that I was pursuing no good. You remember, Mr. --, that when Telemachus visited Gerenia he wasgenerously entertained, and afterwards politely asked if he happened tobe a pirate. My case was pretty similar, only my Cornish hosts did notask, but took it for granted. 

"In the first week of August--to be precise, on the 4th--I reachedPolreen Cove, and found lodging at the small inn. The spot and thepeople so pleased me that I engaged my rooms for a week. At the week'send I had decided to stay for a month. I stayed for almost two months. 

"Well, as luck would have it, I had not been in Polreen three nightsbefore there happened the first burglary within the memory of its oldestinhabitant--if burglary it was. I incline to think that Mrs. Giddy, thegeneral dealer, had left her shop-door unbolted, and that the culprit, after removing the bell--the door had two flaps, and the bell, hung on ahalf-coil of metal, was fitted to a socket inside the lower flap--hadquietly walked in and made his choice. This choice was a peculiar one--six bars of yellow soap, a cullender, some tallow candles, a pair ofalpaca boots, a pair of braces, several boxes of matches, an uncertainamount of cheese, a dozen pocket-handkerchiefs, a coloured almanack, three of Mrs. Giddy's brass weights, and the bell. He was detected twomonths later at Bristol, in the act of using one of the handkerchiefs, which illustrated the descent of Moses from Mount Sinai; and four otherhandkerchiefs were found in his possession, together with Mrs. Giddy'sbrass weights. He had disposed of the rest of the booty, and proved tobe a stowaway who had been turned out of a Cardiff schooner on Penzancequay, penniless and starving. Nothing further was proved against him, and it still puzzles me how he made his way through the length ofCornwall, Devon, and Somerset, on the not very nutritious spoils of Mrs. Giddy's shop. 

"For the moment he got clear away. Not a soul in Polreen had set eyeson him, and as he entered the village by night so he departed. 

"I know now that the excitement in the Cove was intense; that for weeksafterwards the women carried their silver teaspoons and chinaware to bedwith them; and I should explain that the housewives of Polreen areinordinately proud of their teaspoons and chinaware--heirlooms whichmark the only degrees of social importance recognised among theinhabitants of that happy Cove. A family there counts its teaspoons asour old nobility counted its quarterings; a girl is judged to have madea good, bad, or indifferent match by the number of teaspoons she'marries into'; and the extreme act of disinheritance is symbolised, notby the testamentary shilling, nor by erasing a name from the FamilyBible, but by alienating the family plate-basket. In short, teaspoonsare to the Covers what the salt-cellar was to the ancient Latin races. 

"But at the time, though I could not help observing symptoms ofsuppressed excitement, the Cove behaved with an outward calm whichstruck me as highly creditable. To be sure, the men seemed to spend anextravagant amount of their time in the tap-room of the inn, whichhappened to be immediately beneath my sitting-room. Hour after hour thesound of their muffled conversation ascended to me through theplanching, as I sat and studied--Dumas, I think. Low, monotonous, untiring, it lasted from breakfast-time until nine o'clock at night, when it ceased abruptly, the company dispersed, and each man went hometo reassure and protect his wife. I suppose some liquor was required tostart this conversation and keep it going, just as seamen use abucketful of water to start a ship's pump; but I must admit that duringmy whole stay at Polreen I never saw an inhabitant who could bedescribed as the worse for drink. 

"I did not know that this assemblage in the tap-room was unusual andclean contrary to the men's habits, and therefore may be excused for notguessing its significance. Nor was I familiar enough with Polreen tonote an even more frequent change in the atmosphere and routine of itsdaily life. When the weather is fine, down there, the men put out tosea and the women go about their work with smiles. When it blows, thewomen go about their work, but resignedly and in a temper, which the menavoid by ranging up shoulder to shoulder along the wall by the lifeboathouse, and gazing with approval at the weather; with approval, becauseit relieves them of the fatigue of argument. But should the day breakdoubtfully, and the men incline to give themselves the benefit of thedoubt, then, indeed, you will learn who are masters of the Cove. For inextreme cases the women will even invade the 'randivoo, ' and shrill isthe noise of battle until the weather declares unmistakably for one sideor the other. Does it refuse to declare itself? Then I can promise youthat half an hour will see the men routed and straggling down the beachto their boats, arching their backs and ducking their heads, may be, under the parting volley. 

"But, as I say, I did not know Polreen and its ways. It awoke no wonderin me to see the bulk of its male population ranged like statues, dayafter day, and from dawn till eve, against the wall by the lifeboathouse, talking little (or ceasing, at any rate, to talk when Iapproached), smoking much, conning a serene sky, and the dimples spreadon the sea by a gentle nor'-westerly breeze. At intervals one or twowould leisurely fall out of the line and saunter towards the inn, leaving their places to others as leisurely sauntering from the inn. It did, indeed, occur to me to wonder how they earned their living, forduring the first fortnight, beyond the occasional hauling of a crab-pot, I saw no evidence at all of labour. It was on the tip of my tongue, once or twice, to question them; but, though polite, they clearly had nowish to be communicative. 

"I found great difficulty in hiring a boat and the services of itsowner. I wished to be rowed along the coast; to try for pollack; toinspect some of Polreen's famous caves. The men were polite again; butone boat leaked badly, another had been pulled up for the carpenter toinsert a new strake, a third was too heavy, the owner of a fourth couldnot leave his business--it wouldn't pay him! At length I patched up abargain with an old fisherman named Udy--or rather Old Tom Udy, todistinguish him from his son, who was Young Tom. He owned the mostramshackle old boat in the Cove: if the others were out of repair, hiswas manifestly beyond it. I took my life in my hands and struck thebargain. 

"'When do 'ee want her?'

"'Now, at once, ' said I; 'or as soon as you have had your dinner. '

"He went back to the company by the lifeboat house. He reminded me ofsome ancient king consulting a company of stone gods. They looked athim, and he looked at them. I suppose a word or two was said; half adozen of them spat reflectively; nobody moved. Old Tom Udy came downthe beach again; we embarked and pushed off, and the row ofexpressionless faces watched us from the shore. 

"In silence we visited the famous caverns. As we emerged from the lastof these I essayed some casual talk. To tell the truth, I wasbeginning to feel the want of it, and of course I began on the firsttopic of local interest--the burglary. 

"'The odd thing to me, ' said I, 'is that you seem to have no particularsuspicions. '

"'I'd rather you didn' talk of it, ' said Old Tom Udy. 'I got my livingto get, and 'tis a day's journey to Bodmin. Tho' you musn' think, ' headded, 'that we bear any gridge. '

"'It seems to me that you men in the Cove treat the whole affair verylightly. '

"'Iss, tha's of it, ' he assented. 'Mind you, tisn' _right_, Seemin' tome 'tis a terrible thought. Here you be, for the sake of argument, aChristian man, and in beauty next door to the angels, and the only useyou make of it is to steal groceries. You don't think I'm putting ittoo strong?'

"' Not a bit. '

"'Well, I'm glad o' that, because, since you ask me, as a professingChristian, I cudn' say any less. But you musn' think we bear anygridge. '

"'I'm sure I wonder you don't. And the police still have no clue?'

"'The police? You mean Sammy Crego, the constable? Why, I've knawed enfrom a boy--pretty thing if any person in Polreen listened to he!No: us han't failed so low yet as to mind anything the constable says. '

"'Then the whole affair is as much a mystery as ever?'

"'Now, look 'ee here; I don't want to tell nothin' more about it. A still tongue makes a wise head; an' there's a pollack on the end ofyour line. '

"The wind stuck in the north-west, and day after day the regal summerweather continued. I grew tired of hauling in pollack, and determinedto have a try for the more exciting conger. The fun of this, as youknow, does not begin till night-fall, and it was seven o'clock in theevening, or thereabouts, when we pushed off from the beach. By eight wehad reached the best grounds and begun operations. An hour passed, or alittle more, and then Old Tom Udy asked when I thought of returning. 

"'Why, bless the man, ' said I, 'we've not had a bite yet!'

"He glanced at me furtively while he lit a pipe. 'I reckoned, maybe, you might have business ashore, so to speak. '

"'What earthly business should I have in Polreen at this hour?'

"'Aw, well . . . You know best . . . No affair o' mine. 'Tis a darknight, too. '

"'All the better for conger, eh?'

"'So 'tis. ' He seemed about to say more, but at that moment I felt along pull on the line, and for an hour or two the conger kept us busy. 

"It must have been a week later, at least (for the moon was drawing tothe full), that I pulled up the blind of my sitting-room a little beforemid-night, and, ravished by the beauty of the scene (for, I tell you, Polreen can be beautiful by moonlight), determined to stroll down to thebeach and smoke my last pipe there before going to bed. The door of theinn was locked, no doubt; but, the house standing on the steep slope ofthe main street, I could step easily on to the edge of the water-barrelbeneath my window and lower myself to the ground. 

"I did so. Just as I touched solid earth I heard footsteps. They paused suddenly, and, glancing up the moonlit road, I descried thegigantic figure of Wesley Truscott, the coxswain of the lifeboat. He must have seen me, for the light on the whitewashed front of the innwas almost as brilliant as day. But, whatever his business, he had nowish to meet me, for he dodged aside into the shadow of a porch, andafter a few seconds I heard him tip-toeing up the hill again. 

"I began to have my doubts about Polreen's primitive virtues. Certainly the village, as it lay bathed in moonlight, its whitewashedterraces and glimmering roofs embowered in dark clusters of fuchsia andtamarisk, seemed to harbour nothing but peace and sleeping innocence. An ebbing tide lapped the pebbles on the beach, each pebble distinct andglistening as the water left it. Far in the quiet offing the lights ofa fishing-fleet twinkled like a line of jewels through the haze. 

"Half-way down the beach I turned for a backward look at the village. 

"Now the wall by the lifeboat house looks on the Cove. Its front isturned from the village and the village street, and can only be seenfrom the beach. You may imagine my surprise, then, as I turned andfound myself face to face with a dozen tall men, standing there uprightand silent. 

"'Good Heavens!' I cried, 'what is the matter? What brings you all hereat this time of night?'

"If I was surprised, they were obviously embarrassed. They drewtogether a little, as if to avoid observation. But the moon shone fullon the wall, affording them not a scrap of shadow. 

"For a moment no one answered. Then I heard mutterings, and, as Istepped up, one of the elder men, Archelaus Warne by name, was pushedforward. 

"'We wasn' expectin' of you down here, ' he stammered, after clearing histhroat. 

"'No reason why you should, ' said I. 

"'We done our best to keep out o' your way--never thinkin' you'd beafter the boats, '--he nodded towards the boats drawn up on the beach atour feet. 

"'I'm afraid I don't understand you in the least. '

"'Well, you see, 'tis a kind o' club. '

"'Indeed?' said I, not in the least enlightened. 

"'Iss;' he turned to his companions. 'I s'pose I'd better tell en?'They nodded gravely, and he resumed. 'You see, 'tis this way: eversince that burglary there's no resting for the women. My poor back isblue all over with the cloam my missus takes to bed. And ha'f a dozentimes a night 'tis, '_Arch'laus, I'm sartin I hear some person movin'--Arch'laus, fit an' take a light and have a look downstairs, that's adear!_' An' these fellows'll tell 'ee 'tis every bit so bad with they. 'Tis right enough in the daytime, so long as the women got us 'ithinhail, but by night there's no peace nor rest. '

"One or two husbands corroborated. 

"'Well, now--I think 'twas the third night after this affair happened--I crep' downstairs for the fifth time or so just to ease the old woman'smind, and opens the door, when what do I see but Billy Polkinghornehere, sittin' on his own doorstep like a lost dog. 'Aw, ' says I, 'sothee'rt feelin' of it, too!' 'Feelin' of it!' says he, 'durned ifthis isn' the awnly place I can get a wink o' sleep!' 'Come'st waylong to Wall-end and tetch pipe, ' says I. Tha's how it began. An' now, ever since Billy thought 'pon the plan of settin' someone, turn an'turn, to watch your window, there's nothin' to hurry us. Why, only justas you came along, Billy was saying, 'Burglary!' he says, 'why, I han'tbeen so happy in mind since the _Indian Queen_ came ashore!''

"'Watch my window? Why the--' And then, as light broke on me, 'Look here, ' I said, 'you don't mean to tell me you've been suspecting_me_ of the burglary all this time!'

"'You musn' think, ' said Archelaus Warne, 'that we bear any gridge. '"

"Well, " the Judge concluded, "as I told you, the thief was apprehended aweek or two later, and my innocence established. But, oddly enough, some thirty years after I had to try a case at the Assizes here, inwhich Archelaus Warne (very old and infirm) appeared as a witness, Irecognised him at once, and, when I sent for him afterwards and inquiredafter my friends at Polreen, his first words were, 'There now--I wasn'so far wrong, after all! I knawed you must be mixed up with thesethings, wan way or 'nother. '"

CONCERNING ST. JOHN OF JERUSALEM. 

Let those who know my affection for Troy consider what my feelings were, the other day, when on my return from a brief jaunt to London I alightedat the railway station amid all the tokens of a severe and generalcatastrophe. The porter who opened the door for me had a bandaged head. George the 'bus driver carried his right arm in a sling, but professedhimself able to guide his vehicle through our tortuous streetsleft-handed. I had declined the offer, and was putting somesympathetic question, when a procession came by. Four children ofserious demeanour conveyed a groaning comrade on a stretcher, while acouple more limped after in approved splints. I stopped them, ofcourse. The rearmost sufferer--who wore on his shin-bone a wickertrellis of the sort used for covering flower-plots, and a tourniquet, contrived with a pebble and a handkerchief, about his femoral artery--informed me that it was a case of First Aid to the Injured, which he wasrendering at some risk to his own (compound) fracture. 

"It's wonderful, " said George, with a grin, "what crazes the youngsterswill pick up. "

Thereupon the truth came out. It appeared that during my absence amember of the Ambulance Association of St. John of Jerusalem haddescended upon the town with a course of lectures, and the town hadtaken up the novelty with its usual spirit. 

I said a course of lectures; but in Troy we are nothing if notthoroughgoing, and by this time (so George informed me) three courseswere in full swing. The railway servants and jetty-men (ourinstructor's earliest pupils) had arrived at restoring animation to theapparently drowned; while a mixed class, drawn from the townsfolkgenerally, were learning to bandage, and the members of our YoungWomen's Christian Association had attended but two lectures and stilldallied with the wonders of the human frame. 

George told me all about it on our way through the town--for I hadconsented to be driven on condition that he removed his arm from thesling, and he could not deny this to an old friend (as I make free tocall myself). Besides, he was bursting to talk. To be sure, he slippedit back for a few moments as we breasted the hill beyond the post-officeand his horses dropped to a walk. I fancy that he glanced at meapologetically; but since there was comparatively little dangerhereabouts I thought it more delicate to look the other way. 

"And the Chamber of Commerce has not protested?" I asked. 

We call it the "Chamber of Commerce" for euphony's sake. It is in factan association which keeps an eye upon the Parish Council, HarbourBoard, and Great Western Railway, and incites these bodies to make ourtown more attractive to visitors. It consists mainly of lodging-housekeepers, and has this summer prevailed on the Railway Company to issuecheap Saturday market tickets to Plymouth--a boon which the visitor willsoon learn (if we may take our own experience as a test) to rank highamong the minor comforts of life. 

No; the Chamber of Commerce had not protested. And yet it occurred tome more than once during the next few days that strangers attracted toTroy by its reputation as a health resort must have marvelled as theywalked our streets, where cases of sunstroke, frost-bite, snake-bite, and incipient croup challenged their pity at every corner. The verybabies took their first steps in splints, and when they tumbled wereexamined by their older playmates, and pronounced to be suffering fromapoplexy or alcoholic poisoning, as fancy happened to suggest. I believe that a single instruction in the Association's Handbook--carefully italicised there, I must admit--alone saved our risinggeneration. It ran: "_Unless perfectly sure that the patient isintoxicated, do not give the emetic_. "

To be sure, we left these extravagances to the children. But childhood, after all, is a relative term, and in Troy we pass through it to soberage by nice gradations; which take time. Already a foreign sailor whohad committed the double imprudence of drinking heavily at the Crown andAnchor, and falling asleep afterwards on the foreshore while waiting forhis boat, was complaining vigorously, through his Vice-Consul, of thevarieties of treatment practised upon his insensible body; and only thedifficulty of tracing five Esmarch bandages in a town where five hundredhad been sold in a fortnight averted a prosecution. I was even preparedfor a visit from Sir Felix Felix-Williams, our worthy Squire, who seldommisses an opportunity of turning our local enthusiasms to account, andsometimes does me the honour to enlist my help; but scarcely for theturn his suggestions took. 

"You are, of course, interested in this movement?" he began. 

"I have to be, seeing that I live in the midst of it. "

"You have joined the Ambulance Class, I hear. "

"Do you think I would neglect a precaution so obvious? Until theirenthusiasm abates, I certainly shall range myself among the First-Aidersrather than the Injured. "

"My idea was, to strike while the iron is hot. "

"Oh, " said I, "a town with so many in the fire--"

"And I thought, perhaps, if we could manage to connect it in some waywith the Primrose League--"

"But what can it have to do with the Primrose League?" I asked stiffly. I will admit now to a slight prejudice against the Ambulance business--due perhaps to the lecturer's having chosen to start it in my absence. 

Sir Felix was disappointed, and showed it. "Why, it was you, " hereminded me, "who helped us last year by setting the widows to race fora leg of mutton. "

"I was a symbolist in those days. And, excuse me, Sir Felix, it was notlast year, but the year before. Last year we had the surrender ofCronje at Paardeberg, with the widows dressed up as Boer women. "

"Is that so? I thought we had Cronje two years ago, but no doubt youare right. Now I thought that, with our Primrose fete coming on, andeverybody just now taking such an interest in the Empire--"

"To be sure!" I cried. "'First Aid to the Empire'--it will look well onthe bills. "

Sir Felix rubbed his hands together--a trick of his when he is pleased. "It's an idea, eh?"

"A brilliant one. "

"Well, but you haven't heard all. " He looked at me almost slyly. "It occurred to me, that while--er--associating this enthusiasm of ourswith the imperial idea, we might at the same time do a good turn forourselves. You think that permissible?"

"Permissible? For what else does an empire exist?"

"Quite so. As I was saying to Lady Williams, only this morning, we mustbring _home_ to less thoughtful persons a sense of its beneficence. Now it occurs to me: why go on subscribing to these great public NursingFunds, in which our mite is a mere drop in the ocean, when by sending upa nurse from our own town--she would, of course, be a member of theLeague--not only should we have the satisfaction of knowing that ourhelp is effective, but the young woman would be earning a salary andsupporting herself?"

"Admirable!" said I. "It would look so much better in the papers too. "

"You see, we have at this moment a score of young women, all natives ofthe town and members of the League, undergoing instruction from ourlecturer. After the course there will be an examination; and then, withthe lecturer's help--and the advice, if I might suggest it, of LadyWilliams, who can tell him if the candidate's family be respectable anddeserving--we can surely select a young person to do us credit. "

Sir Felix took his departure in the cheerfullest temper, and I recordhis suggestion as one eminently worthy of his head and his heart, although subsequent events have, alas! brought it to nought. I doubt ifwe shall send up a nurse from Troy; indeed, I doubt if there will evenbe an examination. 

Last evening the Young Women's Christian Association attended its sixthAmbulance lecture. The subject--roller bandaging--being a practicalone, a small boy was had in, set on the platform, and bandaged in sightof the audience--plain bandaged, reverse bandaged, figure-of-eightbandaged, bandaged on forefinger, thumb, hand, wrist and forearm, elbow, shoulder, knee, ankle, foot. He declares that he enjoyed himselfthoroughly. After each demonstration the young women took a turn andpractised with such assiduity that an hour slipped pleasantly away. The bandages were applied, the spirals neatly stitched, and the stitchespromptly snipped for the next pupil to begin. An occasional prick withthe needle evoked no more than a playful remonstrance from the boy and aripple of laughter from the fair executants. At length, alas! MissSophy Rabling, in snipping her bandage from the boy's foot, fumbled anddrove a point of the scissors sharply into his toe. 

With a howl he caught at his foot, from which one or two drops of bloodwere trickling. And the sight of it so affected Miss Sophy that shedropped upon the platform in a swoon. A class-mate in the body of thehall almost instantly followed her example. 

The lecturer, I am bound to say, behaved admirably. So far was he fromlosing his head, that he instantly seized on the accident to turn it toaccount. 

"First aid!" he cried. "Subject: Fainting. Patient No. 1, head to bepressed down below her knees and kept there for a few minutes. Patient No. 2, to be extended on the floor, care being taken to keephead and body level. A form being handy, we could, as an alternative, have hung Patient No. 1 over it, head downwards. "

But at this point, unfortunately, the humour of the situation became toomuch for Miss Gertrude Hansombody, another of the students. She beganto titter, went on to laugh uncontrollably, then to clench her hands andsob. 

"Subject: Hysterics!" called the lecturer. "Treatment: Be firm withthe patient, hold her firmly by the wrists and threaten her with coldwater--"

He spoke to empty benches. The rest of his pupils had escaped from theroom and were now on their way home, and running for dear life. 

I do not expect that St. John of Jerusalem will figure prominently inour Primrose fete. My reason for saying so is an urgent letter justreceived from Sir Felix, who wishes to confer with me in the course ofthe day. 

COX _VERSUS_ PRETYMAN. 

We are not litigious in Troy, and we obey the laws of England cheerfullyif we sometimes claim to interpret them in our own way. I leave othersto determine whether the Chief Constable's decision, that one policemanamply suffices for us, be an effect or a cause, but certain it is thatwe rarely trouble any court, and almost never that of Assize. 

This accounts in part for the popular interest awakened by the suit ofCox _versus_ Pretyman, heard a few days ago at the Bodmin Assizes. Isay "in part, " because the case presented (as the newspapers phrase it)some unusual features, and differed noticeably from the ordinary Actionfor Breach of Promise. "No harm in that, " you will say? Indeed no; andwe should have regarded it as no more than our due but for anapprehension that the conduct alleged against the defendant concerned usall by compromising the good name of our town. 

At any rate, last Wednesday found the streets full of citizens hurryingto the railway station, and throughout the morning our stationmaster haddifficulty in handling the traffic. The journey to Bodmin is not a longone as the crow flies, but, as our carpenter, Mr. Hansombody, put it, "we are not crows, and, that being the case, naturally resent beingpacked sixteen in a compartment. " Mr. Hansombody taxed the GreatWestern Company with lack of foresight in not running excursion trains, and appealed to me to support his complaint. I argued (with the generalapproval of our fellow-travellers) that there was something heartless inthe idea of an excursion to listen to the recital of a woman's wrongs, especially of Miss Cox's, whom we had known so long and esteemed. Driven from this position, Mr. Hansombody took a fresh stand on thesuperiority of the old broad-gauge carriages; and this, since it raisedno personal question, we discussed in very good humour while we unpackedand ate our luncheons. 

In the midst of our meal a lady at the far end of the compartment heaveda sigh and ejaculated "Poor thing!"--which at once set us off discussingthe case anew. We agreed that such conduct as Pretyman's wasfortunately rare amongst us. We tried to disclaim him--no easy matter, since his father and mother had been natives of Troy, and he had spentall his life in our midst. The lady in the corner challenged Mr. Hansombody to deny that our town was deteriorating--the risinggeneration more mischievous than its parents, and given to mitching fromschool, and cigarette smoking, if not to worse. 

Now this was a really damaging attack, for Mr. Hansombody not onlypresides over our School Board, but has a son in the tobacco business. He met it magnificently. "He would dismiss (he said) the cigarettequestion as one upon which--Heaven knew with how little justice!--hemight be suspected of private bias; but on the question of truancy hehad something to say, and he would say it. To begin with, he wouldadmit that the children in Troy played truant; the percentage of schoolattendance was abnormally low. Yes, he admitted the fact, and thankedthe lady for having called attention to it, since it bore upon thesubject now uppermost in our minds. He had here"--and he drew from hispocket a magazine article--"some statistics to which he would invite ourattention. They showed the average school attendance in Cornwall to belower than in any county of England or Wales. _But_"--and Mr. Hansombody raised his forefinger--"the same statistician in the verysame paper proves the average of criminal prosecutions in Cornwall to bethe lowest in England and Wales. "

"And you infer--" I began as he paused triumphantly. 

"I infer nothing, sir. I leave the inference to be drawn by ourfaddists in education, and I only hope they'll enjoy it. "

Well, apart from its bearing on Mr. Hansombody's position as Chairman ofour Board (which we forbore to examine), this discovery consoled ussomewhat and amused us a great deal until we reached Bodmin, when wehurried at once to the Assize Court. 

I have said that the action, Cox _v. _ Pretyman, was for damages forBreach of Promise of Marriage. Both parties are natives andparishioners of Fowey, and attend the same place of worship. The plaintiff, Miss Rebecca Cox, earns her living as a dressmaker'sassistant; the defendant is our watch-maker, and opened a shop of hisown but a few months before approaching Miss Cox with proposals ofmarriage. This was fifteen years ago. I may mention that some kind ofcounter-claim was put in "for goods delivered"; the goods in questionbeing a musical-box and sundry small articles for parlour amusement, such as a solitaire-tray, two packs of "Patience" cards, a race-game, and the like. But the defendant did not allege that these had been sentor accepted as whole or partial quittance of his contract to marry, andI can only suppose that he pleaded them in mitigation of damages. Miss Cox asked for one hundred and fifty pounds. 

Her evidence was given in quiet but resolute tones, and for some timedisclosed nothing sensational. The circumstances in which Mr. Pretymanhad sued for and obtained the promise of her hand differed in noimportant particular from those which ordinarily attend the_fiancailles_ of respectable young persons in Troy; and for twelve yearshis courtship ran an even course. "After this, " asserted Miss Cox, "his attentions cooled. He was friendly and kind enough when we met, and still talked of enlarging his shop-front and marrying in the nearfuture. But his visits were not frequent enough to be called courting. "Of late, though living in the same street, she had only seen him onSundays; and even so he would be occupied almost all the day and eveningwith services, Sunday school, prayer-meetings, and occasional addresses. At length she taxed him with indifference, and, finding his excusesunsatisfactory, was persuaded by her friends to bring the presentaction. She liked the man well enough; but for the last two or threeyears "his heart hadn't been in it. He didn't do any proper courting. "

Defendant's counsel (a young man) attempted in cross-examination to leadMiss Cox to reveal herself as an exacting young woman. 

"Do you assert that at length you came to see nothing of defendantduring the week?"

"Only through the shop window as I went by to my work. And of late, when he saw me coming, he would screw a magnifying glass in his eye andpretend to be busy with his watch-making. I believe he did it to avoidlooking at me, and also because he knew I couldn't bear him with hisface screwed up. It makes such a difference to his appearance. "

"Gently, gently, Miss Cox! You must not give us your mere suppositions. Now, did he never pay you a visit, or take you for a walk, say onWednesdays? That would be early-closing day, I believe. "

"Never for the last three years, sir, after he became a Freemason. Wednesdays was lodge-night. "

"Well then, on Saturday, after shop hours?"

"Yes, he used to come on Saturdays, till he was made a Forester. The Foresters meet every Saturday evening. "

"Mondays then, or Tuesdays? We haven't exhausted the week yet, MissCox. "

"No, sir. Mondays he was a Rechabite and went to tent. Tuesdays hewould be an Ancient Druid--"

"Gently! On Mondays, you say, he was a Rechabite and went to tent. What is a Rechabite? And what does he do in a tent?"

_Plaintiff_ (dissolving in tears): "Ah, sir, if I only knew!"

Here the Judge interposed. A Rechabite, he believed, went to a tent, orhabitation, for the purpose (among others) of abstaining from alcoholicdrinks. 

_Plaintiff_ (briskly): "But, my lord, you wouldn't call that propercourting!"

Defendant's counsel had taken this opportunity to resume his seat. But counsel for the plaintiff now arose, with a smile, to re-examine. 

"Did Mr. Pretyman walk out with you on Thursday evenings?"

"Oh no, sir. On Thursday evenings Mr. Pretyman was an Oddfellow. "

"I think we have only to account for Fridays, " said his lordship, afterconsulting his notes. 

"On Fridays, my lord, Mr. Pretyman was an Ancient Buffalo. "

"An Ancient Buffalo?"

"Yes, my lord (sobbing). I don't know what it means, but that was thelast straw. "

"The first question for the jury to determine, " said his lordship, alittle later, "is whether an affianced young woman, as such, has a rightto expect from her betrothed such attentions as may reasonably be takenas earnest of his desire to fulfil his contract within a reasonabletime. In the present instance, the fact that the contract was made doesnot stand in doubt; it is not disputed. Now arises a second question. Can a man who is on weekdays a Freemason, a Rechabite, an Oddfellow, aForester, an Ancient Druid, and an Ancient Buffalo, and onSundays (as I gather) a Yarmouth Bloater--"

"Plymouth Brother, my lord, " plaintiff's counsel corrected. 

"I beg your pardon--a Plymouth Brother. I say, can a man who after hisbetrothal voluntarily preoccupies himself with these multifariousfunctions be held--I will not say to have disqualified himself for thatwilling exchange of confidence which is the surest guarantee of lastinghappiness between man and wife--but to have raised such obstacles to thefulfilment of the original contract as reasonably warrant the accusationof _mala fides?_"

Well, the jury held that he could; for without troubling to leave thebox they gave their verdict for the plaintiff, and assessed the damagesat one hundred pounds. 

Towards the close of the case we all felt ashamed of Pretyman. His defence had been weak; it struck us as almost derisory; and Mr. Hansombody agreed with me in a whisper that under similar circumstanceshe or I could have made a better fight for it. The fellow had shown nosport. We blushed for our town. 

But Troy has a knack of winning its races on the post. Judgment, as thephrase goes, was on the point of being entered accordingly, when thedefendant looked up towards the Bench with a sudden, happy smile. 

"Here, wait a minute!" he said. "I have a question to put to hislordship. "

"Eh?" said the Judge. "Certainly. What is it?"

"I want to know, my lord, if I can claim the benefit of the FirstOffenders Act?"

The train on the return journey was worse crowded than ever; but nobodyminded. For we had managed to give plaintiff and defendant acompartment to themselves. 

THE BRIDALS OF YSSELMONDE. 

When the Grand Duke Ferdinand of Carinthia travelled in state to wed thePrincess Sophia of Ysselmonde, he did so by land, and for two reasons;the first being that this was the shortest way, and the second that hepossessed no ships. These, at any rate, were the reasons alleged by hisChancellor, to whom he left all arrangements. For himself, he took verylittle interest in the marriage beyond inquiring the age of his bride. "Six years, " was the answer, and this seemed to him very young, for hehad already passed his tenth birthday. 

The Pope, however, had contrived and blessed the match; so Ferdinandraised no serious objection, but in due course came to Ysselmonde withhis bodyguard of the famous Green Carinthian Archers, and two hundredhalberdiers and twelve waggons--four to carry his wardrobe, and theremaining eight piled with wedding presents. On the way, whileFerdinand looked for birds' nests, the Chancellor sang the praises ofthe Princess Sophia, who (he declared) was more beautiful than the day. "But you have never seen her, " objected Ferdinand. "No, your Highness, and that is why I contented myself with a purely conventional phrase;"and the Chancellor, who practised _finesse_ in his odd moments, began totalk of the sea, the sight of which awaited them at Ysselmonde. "And what is the sea like?" "Well, your Highness, the sea is somewhatdifficult to describe, for in fact there is nothing to compare with it. ""You have seen it, I suppose?" "Sire, I have done more; for once, whileserving as Ambassador at Venice, I had the honour to be upset in it. "

With such converse they beguiled the road until they reached Ysselmonde, and found the sea completely hidden by flags and triumphal arches. And there, after three days' feasting, the little Grand Duke and thestill smaller Princess were married in the Cathedral by the CardinalArchbishop, and the Pope's legate handed them his master's blessing in amorocco-covered case, and as they drove back to the Palace the Dutchmenwaved their hats and shouted "Boo-mp!" but the Carinthian Archers cried"Talassio!" which not only sounded better, but proved (when theyobligingly explained what it meant) that the ancestors of the Grand Dukeof Carinthia had lived in Rome long before any Pope. 

On reaching the Palace the bride and bridegroom were taken to a gildeddrawing-room, and there left to talk together, while the guests filledup the time before the banquet by admiring the presents and calculatingtheir cost. Ferdinand said, "Well, _that's_ over;" and the Princesssaid, "Yes, "--for this was their first opportunity of conversing alone. 

"You're a great deal better than I expected, " said Ferdinandreassuringly. Indeed, in her straight dress sewn with seed-pearls andher coif of Dutch lace surmounted with a little crown of diamonds, thePrincess looked quite beautiful; and he in his white satin suit, crossedwith the blue ribbon of St. John Nepomuc, was the handsomest boy she hadever seen. "Besides, " he added, "my Chancellor says you are hereditaryHigh Admiral of the Ocean--it's in the marriage settlement; and thatwould make up for a lot. Where is it?"

"The Ocean?" She felt very shy still. "I have never seen it, but Ibelieve it's somewhere at the bottom of the garden. "

"Suppose we go and have a look at it?" She was about to say that shemust ask leave of her governess, but he looked so masterful andindependent that she hadn't the courage. It gave her quite a thrill ashe took her hand and led her out through the low window to the greatstone terrace. They passed down the terrace steps into a garden ablazewith tulip beds in geometrical patterns; at the foot ran a yew hedge, and beyond it, in a side-walk, they came upon a scullion boy chasing asulphur-yellow butterfly. The Grand Duke forgot his fine manners, anddropped his bride's hand to join in the chase; but the boy no soonercaught sight of him than he fled with a cry of dismay and popped into anarbour. There, a minute later, the bride and bridegroom found himstooping over a churn and stirring with might and main. 

"What are you stirring, boy?" asked Ferdinand. 

"Praised be the Virgin!" said the boy, "I _believe_ it's an ice-puddingfor the banquet. But they shouldn't have put the ice-puddings in thesame arbour as the fireworks; for, if your Highness willallow me to say so, you can't expect old heads on young shoulders. "

"Are the fireworks in our honour too?"

"Why, of course, " the scullion answered; "everything is in your honourto-day. "

This simplified matters wonderfully. The children passed on through agate in the garden wall and came upon a clearing beside a woodstack; andthere stood a caravan with its shafts in the air. A woman sat on thetilt at the back, reading, and every now and then glancing towards twomen engaged in deadly combat in the middle of the clearing, who shoutedas they thrust at one another with long swords. 

The little Princess, who, except when driven in her state-coach to theCathedral, had never before strayed outside the garden, turned very paleand caught at her husband's hand. But he stepped forward boldly. 

"Now yield thee, caitiff, or thine hour has come!" shouted one of thefighters and flourished his blade. 

"Sooner I'll die than tum te tum te tum!" the other answered quite asfiercely. 

"Slave of thine become, " said the woman from the caravan. 

"Thank you. Sooner I'll die than slave of thine become!" He laid abouthim with fresh vigour. 

"Put down your swords, " commanded Ferdinand. 

"And now tell me who you are. "

"We are Valentine and Orson, " they answered. 

"Indeed?" Ferdinand had heard of them, and shook hands affably. "Then I'm very glad to make your acquaintance. "

"And, " said they, "we are rehearsing for the performance at the Palaceto-night in your Highnesses' honour. "

"Oh, so this is in our honour too?"

"To be sure, " said the woman; "and I am to dress up as Hymen and speakthe Epilogue in a saffron robe. It has some good lines; for instance--"

 'Ye Loves and Genial Hours, conspire To gratify this Royal Pair With Sons impetuous as their Sire, And Daughters as their Mother fair!'

"Thank you, " said Ferdinand. "But we are very busy to-day and must takeone thing at a time. Can you tell us the way to the sea, please?"

The woman pointed along a path which led to a moss-covered gate and anorchard where the apple-blossom piled itself in pink clouds against theblue sky: as they followed the path they heard her laughing, and lookedback to see her still staring after them and laughing merrily, whileValentine and Orson leaned on their swords and laughed too. 

The orchard was the prettiest in the whole world. Blackbirds playedhide-and-seek beneath the boughs, blue and white violets hid in the tallgrass around the boles, and the spaces between were carpeted withdaisies to the edge of a streamlet. Over the streamlet sang thrushesand goldfinches and bull-finches innumerable, and their voices shookdown the blossom like a fall of pink snow, which threatened to covereven the daisies. The Grand Duke and the Princess believed that allthis beauty was in their honour, no less than the chorus of the bellsfloating across the tree-tops from the city. 

"This is the best of all, " said Ferdinand as they seated themselves bythe stream. "I had no idea marriage was such fun. And they haven'teven forgotten the trout!" he cried, peering over the brink. 

"Can you make daisy-chains?" asked the Princess timidly. 

He could not; so she taught him, feeling secretly proud that there wassomething he could learn of her. When the chain was finished he flungit over his neck and kissed her. "Though I don't like kissing, as arule, " he explained. 

"And this shall be my wedding present, " said she. 

"Why, I brought you six waggon-loads!--beauties--all chosen by myChancellor. "

"But he didn't make or choose this one, " said Sophia, "and I like thisone best. " They sat silent for a moment. "Dear me, " she sighed, "what a lot we have to learn of each other's ways!"

"Hullo!" Ferdinand was staring down the glade. "What's that line at theend there, across the sky?"

Sophia turned. "I think that's the sea--yes, there is a ship upon it. "

"But why have they hung a blue cloth in front of it?"

"I expect that's in our honour too. "

They took hands and trotted to the end of the orchard; and there, beyondthe hedge, ran a canal, and beyond the canal a wide flat countrystretched away to the sea, --a land dotted with windmills and cattle andred-and-white houses with weathercocks, --a land, too, criss-crossed withcanals, whereon dozens of boats, and even some large ships, threadedtheir way like dancers in and out of the groups of cattle, or sailedpast a house so closely as almost to poke a bowsprit through the frontdoor. The weather-cocks spun and glittered, the windmills waved theirarms, the boats bowed and curtseyed to the children. Never was such asalutation. Even the blue cloth in the distance twinkled, and Ferdinandsaw at a glance that it was embroidered with silver. 

But the finest flash of all came from a barge moored in the canal justbelow them, where a middle-aged woman sat scouring a copper pan. 

"Good-day!" cried Ferdinand across the hedge. "Why are you doing that?"

"Why, in honour of the wedding, to be sure. 'Must show one's best atsuch times, if only for one's own satisfaction. " Then, as he climbedinto view and helped Sophia over the hedge, she recognised them, and, dropping her pan with a clatter, called on the saints to bless them andkeep them always. The bridal pair clambered down to the towpath, andfrom the towpath to her cabin, where she fed them (for they were hungryby this time) with bread and honey from a marvellous cupboard paintedall over with tulips: in short, they enjoyed themselves immensely. 

"Only, " said Ferdinand, "I wish they hadn't covered up the sea, for Iwanted a good look at it. "

"The sea?" said the barge-woman, all of a shiver. Then she explainedthat her two sons had been drowned in it. "Though, to be sure, " saidshe, "they died for your Majesty's honour, and, if God should give themback to me, would do so again. "

"For me?" exclaimed Sophia, opening her eyes very wide. 

"Ay, to be sure, my dear. So it's no wonder--eh?--that I should loveyou. "

By the time they said good-bye to her and hurried back through theorchard, a dew was gathering on the grass and a young moon had poisedherself above the apple-boughs. The birds here were silent; but high onthe stone terrace, when they reached it, a solitary one began to sing. From the bright windows facing the terrace came the clatter of platesand glasses, with loud outbursts of laughter. But this bird had chosenhis station beneath a dark window at the corner, and sang there unseen. It was the nightingale. 

They could not understand what he sang. "It is my window, " whisperedSophia, and began to weep in the darkness, without knowing why; for shewas not miserable in the least, but, on the contrary, very, very happy. They listened, hand in hand, by a fountain on the terrace. Through thewindows they could see the Papal legate chatting at table with the King, Sophia's father, and the Chancellor hobnobbing with the CardinalArchbishop. Only the Queen of Ysselmonde sat at the table with herwrists on the arms of her throne and her eyes looking out into thedarkness, as though she caught some whisper of the bird's song. But thechildren knew that he sang for them, not for her; for he told of all theadventures of the day, and he told not as I am telling them, but sobeautifully that the heart ached to hear. Yet his song was of two wordsonly. "Young--young--young! Love love--love!"--the same words over andover. 

A courtier came staggering out from the banqueting-hall, and the birdflew away. The children standing by the fountain watched him as hefound the water and dipped his face in it, with a groan. He wasexceedingly drunk; but as he lifted his head he caught sight of them inthe moonlight and excused himself. 

"In your Highnesses' honour, " he assured them: "'been doing my best. "

"Poor man!" said Sophia. "But how loyal!"

ENGLAND!

At Madeira seven of us were added to the first-class passengers of the_Cambuscan_, homeward bound from Cape Town; and even so the company madea poor muster in the saloon, which required a hundred and seventy feetof hurricane-deck for covering. Those were days--long before the SouthAfrican War, before the Jameson Raid even--when every ship carried out aload of miners for the Transvaal, and returned comparatively empty, though as a rule with plenty of obviously rich men and be-diamondedladies. 

But every tide has its backwash; and it so happened that the _Cambuscan_held as many second and third-class passengers as she could stow. They were--their general air proclaimed it--the failures of SouthAfrican immigration; men and women who had gone out too early and givenup the struggle just when the propitious moment arrived. Seedinessmarked the second-class; the third-class came from all parts, from theCape to Pietermaritzburg, but they might have conspired to assemble onthe _Cambuscan_ as a protest against high hopes and dreams of a promisedland. The protest, let me add, was an entirely passive one. They stoodaloof, watching the flashy gaieties of the hurricane-deck from their ownsad penumbra--a dejected, wistful, whispering throng. "They simplydon't occur, " one of the be-diamonded ladies remarked to me, and went onto praise the U-- Line for arranging it so. With nightfall--or a triflelater--they vanished; and at most, when the time came for my last pipebefore turning in, two or three figures would be left pacing thereforward, pacing and turning and pacing again. I wondered who thesefigures were, and what their thoughts. They and the sleepers hivedbeneath them belonged to another world--a world driven with ours throughwave and darkness, urged by the same propellers, controlled by the samehelmsman, separated only by thin partitions which the touch of a rockwould tear down like paper; yet, while the partitions stood, separatedas no city separates its rich and poor. Only on Sundays did these twoworlds consent to meet. They had, it appeared, a common God, and joinedfor a few minutes once a week in worshipping Him. 

The be-diamonded lady, however, was not quite accurate. Once, and onceonly--it was the second day out from Madeira--the third-class passengersdid "occur, " to the extent of organising athletic sports, and even (withthe captain's leave) of levying prize-money from the saloon-deck. Some four or five of us, when their delegate approached, were loungingbeneath the great awning and listening, or pretending to listen, to thediscourse of our only millionaire, Mr. Olstein. As usual, he recitedhis wrongs; and, as usual, the mere recital caused him to perspire. The hairs on the back of his expostulatory hand bristled withindignation, the diamonds on his fingers flashed with it. We had knownhim but two days and were passing weary of him, but allowed him to talk. He apostrophised the British Flag--his final Court of Appeal, he termedit--while we stared out over the waters. 

"We love it, " he insisted. "We never see it without a lump in ourthroats. But we ask ourselves, How long is this affection to count fornothing? What are we to get in return?"

No one answered, perhaps because no one knew. My thoughts had flownforward to a small riverside church in England, and a memorial window toone whose body had been found after Isandlwhana with the same flagwrapped around it beneath the tunic. This was _his_ reward. 

"Hey? What's this?" Mr. Olstein took the subscription list, fitted hisgold-rimmed glasses and eyed the delegate over the paper. "Athletic sports? Not much in your line, I should say. "

"No, sir;" and while the delegate bent his eyes a bright spot showed oneither cheek. He was a weedy, hollow-chested man, about six feet inheight, with tell-tale pits at the back of the neck, and a ragged beardevidently grown on the voyage. "I'm only a collector, with thecaptain's permission. "

"I see. " Mr. Olstein pulled out a sovereign. "I don't put this on_you_, mind; I can tell a consumptive with half an eye. See here"--heappealed to us--"this is just what we suffer from. You fellows withlung trouble flock to a tepid hole like Madeira, while the Cape wouldcure you in half the time: why, the voyage itself only begins to bedecent after you get south! But you won't see it; and the people who_do_ see it are just the sort who don't pay us when they come, anddamage us when they go back, --hard cases, sent out to pick up a livingas well as their health, who get stranded and hurry home half-cured. "

A young Briton in the deck-chair next to mine rose and walked offabruptly, while I fumbled for a coin, ashamed to meet the collector'seye. 

"Hullo!" Mr. Olstein grinned at me. "Our friend's in a hurry to dodgethe subscription list. "

But the young Briton turned and intercepted the collector as he movedtowards the next group. 

"It's _your_ sovereign, " said I, "that seems to be overlooked. "

Mr. Olstein saw it at his elbow and re-pocketed it. "Well, if he hasn'tthe sense to pick it up, I've some more than to whistle him back. But that'll show you the sort of fool we send out to compete withGermans and suchlike. It's enough to make a man ashamed of hiscountry. "

This happened on a Saturday morning, and in the afternoon we attendedthe sports--a depressing ceremony. The performers went through theircontests, so to speak, with bated breath and a self-consciousness which, try as we might, poisoned our applause and made it insufferablypatronising. Their backers would pluck up heart and encourage themloudly with Whitechapel catch-words, and anon would hush their voices inuneasy shame. Our collector, brave by fits in his dignity as steward, would catch the eye of a saloon-deck passenger and shrink behind theenormous rosette which some wag had pinned upon him. 

Next day I made an opportunity to speak with him, after service. It needed no pressing to extract his story, and he told it with entiresimplicity. He was a Cockney, and by trade had been a baker inBermondsey. "A wearing trade, " he said. "The most of us die beforeforty. You'd be surprised. " But he had started with a soundconstitution, and somehow persuaded himself, in spite of warnings, thathe was immune. At thirty-two he had married. "A deal later than most, "he explained--and had scarcely been married three months before lungtrouble declared itself. "I had a few pounds put by, having married solate; and it seemed a duty to Emily to give myself every chance: so wepacked up almost at once and started for South Africa. It was a wrenchto her, but the voyage out did us both all the good in the world, shebeing in a delicate state of health, and the room in Bermondsey not fitfor a woman in that condition. " The baby was born in Cape Town, fivemonths after their landing. "But they've no employment for bakers outthere, " he assured me. "We found trade very low altogether, and what Ipicked up wasn't any healthier than in London. Emily disliked theplace, too; though she'd have stayed gladly if it had been doing me anygood. And so back we're going. There's one thing: I'm safe of work. My old employer in Bermondsey has promised that all right. And thechild, you see, sir, won't suffer. There's no consumption, that I knowof, in either of our families; and Emily, you may be sure, will see he'snot brought up to be a baker. "

He announced it in the most matter-of-fact way. He was going back toEngland to die--to die speedily--and he knew it. "I should like you tosee our baby, sir, " he added. "He weighs extraordinary, for his age. My wife comes from the North of England--a very big-boned family; andhe's British, every ounce of him, though he _was_ born in South Africa. "

But the wife took a chill on entering the Bay, and remained below withthe child; nor was it until the day we sighted England that I saw thewhole family together. 

We were to pick up the Eddystone; and as this was calculated to happenat sunset, or a little after, the usual sweepstake on the saloon-deckaroused a little more than the usual excitement. For the first glimpse, whether of lighthouse or light, would give the prize to the nearestguesser. If we anticipated sunset, the clearness of the weather woulddecide between two pretty close shots: if we ran it fine, the lamp(which carries for seventeen miles and more) might upset those whostaked on daylight even at that distance from the mark. Our guesses hadbeen tabulated, and the paper pinned up in the smoking-room. 

They allowed a margin of some twenty-five knots on the twenty-fourhours' run--ranging, as nearly as I can recollect, from three hundredand thirty-five to three hundred and sixty; and the date being the lastweek of March, and sunset falling close on half-past six, a whole nebulaof guesses surrounded that hour, one or two divided only by a fewseconds. 

A strong head-wind met us in the Channel, and the backers of daylighthad almost given up hope; but it dropped in the late afternoon, and bythe log we were evidently in for a close finish. Mr. Olstein had sethis watch by the ship's chronometer, and consulted it from minute tominute. He stood by me, binocular in hand, and grew paler withexcitement as sunset drew on and the minutes scored off the guesses oneby one from the list. His guess was among the last, but not actuallythe last by half a dozen. 

We had reached a point when five minutes disposed of no less than nineguesses. The weather was dull: no one could tell precisely if the sunhad sunk or not. We were certainly within twenty miles of the rock, andby the Nautical Almanack, unless our chronometer erred, the light oughtto flash out within sixty seconds. If within forty the man sang outfrom the crow's-nest, Mr. Olstein would lose; after forty he had a wholeminute and a half for a clear win. 

The forty seconds passed. Mr. Olstein drew a long breath of relief. "But why the devil don't they light up?" he demanded after a moment. "I call you to witness what the time is by our chronometer. I'll haveit tested as soon as I step ashore, and if it's wrong I'll complain tothe Company; if it's not, I'll send the Trinity House a letter'll laythose lighthouse fellows by the heels! Punctuality, sir, in the case ofshipping--life or death--"

The cry of the man in the crow's-nest mingled with ours as a sparktouched the north-eastern horizon almost ahead of us--trembled anddied--shone out, as it seemed, more steadily--and again was quenched. 

Mr. Olstein slapped his thigh. He had won something like ten pounds andwas a joyous millionaire. "That makes twice in four voyages, " heproclaimed. 

I congratulated him and strode forward. A group of third-classpassengers had gathered by the starboard bow. They, too, had heard thecry. To all appearance they might have been an ordinary Whitechapelcrowd, and even now they scarcely lifted their voices; but theywhispered and pointed. 

"The Eddystone!"

I singled out my friend the baker. Before I could reach him he hadbroken from the group. I hailed him. Without seeming to hear, hedisappeared down the fore-companion. But by and by he emerged again, and with a baby in his arms. Evidently he had torn it from its cot. His wife followed, weak and protesting. 

The child, too, raised a wail of querulous protest; but he hugged it tohim, and running to the ship's side held it aloft. 

"England, baby!"

It turned its head, seeking the pillow or its mother; and would notlook, but broke into fresh and louder wailing. 

"England!"

He hugged it afresh. God knows of what feeling sprang the tears thatfell on its face and baptized it. But he hushed his voice, and, liftingthe child again, coaxed it to look--coaxed it with tears streaming now, and with a thrill that would not be denied--

"England, baby--England!"

JOHN AND THE GHOSTS. 

In the kingdom of Illyria there lived, not long ago, a poor wood-cutterwith three sons, who in time went forth to seek their fortunes. At theend of three years they returned by agreement, to compare their progressin the world. The eldest had become a lawyer, and the second amerchant, and each of these had won riches and friends; but John, theyoungest, who had enlisted in the army, could only show a cork leg and amedal. 

"You have made a bad business of it, " said his brothers. "Your medal isworthless except to a collector of such things, and your leg a positivedisadvantage. Fortunately we have influence, and since you are ourbrother we must see what we can do for you. "

Now the King of Illyria lived at that time in his capital, in a brickpalace at the end of the great park. He kept this park open to all, andallowed no one to build in it. But the richest citizens, who were sofond of their ruler that they could not live out of his sight, had theirhouses just beyond the park, in the rear of the Palace, on a piece ofground which they called Palace Gardens. The name was a littlemisleading, for the true gardens lay in front of the Palace, wherechildren of all classes played among the trees and flower-beds andartificial ponds, and the King sat and watched them, because he tookdelight in children, and because the sight of them cheered his onlydaughter, who had fallen into a deep melancholy. But the rich citizensclung to it, for it gave a pleasant neighbourly air to their roadway, and showed what friendliness there was between the monarch of Illyriaand his people. 

At either end you entered the roadway (if you were allowed) by an irongate, and each gate had a sentry-box beside it, and a tall beadle, and anotice-board to save him the trouble of explanation. The notice ran--

 PRIVATE. --_The Beadle has orders to refuse admittance to all Waggons, Tradesmen's Carts, Hackney Coaches, Donkeys, Beggars, Disorderly Characters, or Persons carrying Burdens_. 

A sedentary life had told so severely upon one of the two beadles thathe could no longer enter his box with dignity or read his newspaperthere with any comfort. He resigned, and John obtained the post by hisbrothers' interest, in spite of his cork leg. 

He had now a bright green suit with scarlet pipings, a gold-laced hat, afashionable address, and very little to do. But the army had taught himto be active, and for lack of anything better he fell into deepthinking. This came near to bringing him into trouble. One evening helooked out of his sentry-box and saw a mild and somewhat sad-featuredold gentleman approaching the gate. 

"No admittance, " said John. 

"Tut, tut!" said the old gentleman. "I'm the King. "

John looked at the face on his medal, and sure enough there was aresemblance. "But, all the same, your Majesty carries a burden, "--herehe pointed to the notice-board, --"and the folks along this road aremighty particular. "

The King smiled and then sighed heavily. 

"It's about the Princess, my daughter, " said he; "she has not smiled fora whole year. "

"I'll warrant I'd make her, " said John. 

"I'll warrant you could not, " said the King. "She will never smileagain until she is married. "

"Then, " answered John, "speaking in a humble way, as becomes me, why thedickens alive don't you marry her up and get done with it?"

The King shook his head. 

"There's a condition attached, " said he. "Maybe you have heard of thefamous haunted house in Puns'nby Square?"

"I've always gone by the spelling, and pronounced it Ponsonby, " saidJohn. 

"Well, the condition is that every suitor for my daughter's hand mustspend a night alone in that house; and if he survives and is ready topersevere with his wooing, he must return a year later with his brideand spend the night of his marriage there. "

"And very handy, " said John, "for there's a wedding-cake shop at thecorner. "

The King sighed again. 

"Unhappily, none survive. One hundred and fifty-five have undertakenthe adventure, and not a man of them but has either lost his wits or runfor it. "

"Well, " said John, "I've been afraid of a great many men--"

"That's a poor confession for a soldier, " put in the King. 

"--when they all happened to come at me together. But I've never yetmet the ghost that could frighten me; and if your Majesty will give methe latch-key I'll try my luck this very night. "

It could not be done in this free-and-easy way; but at eight o'clock, after John had visited the Palace and taken an oath in the Princess'spresence (which was his first sight of her), he was driven down to thehouse beside the Lord Chamberlain, who admitted him to the black fronthall, and, slamming the door upon him, scuttled out of the porch asquickly as possible and into his brougham. 

John struck a match, and as he did so heard the carriage roll away. The walls were bare, and the floor and great staircase ahead of himcarpetless. As the match flickered out he caught a glimpse of a pair offeet moving up the stairs; that was all--only feet. 

"I'll catch up with the calves on the landing, maybe, " said he; and, striking another match, he followed them up. 

The feet turned aside on the landing and led him into a room on theright. He paused on the threshold, drew a candle from his pocket, litit, and stared about him. The room was of great size, bare and dusty, with crimson hangings, gilt panels, and one huge gilt chandelier, fromwhich and from the ceiling and cornice long cobwebs trailed down likecreeping plants. Beneath the chandelier a dark smear ran along theboards. The feet crossed it towards the fireplace; and as they did so, John saw them stained with blood. They reached the fire-place andvanished. 

Scarcely had this happened, before the end of the room opposite thewindow began to glow with an unearthly light. John, whose poverty hadtaught him to be economical, promptly blew out his candle. A momentlater two men entered, bearing a coffin between them. They rested itupon the floor and, seating themselves upon it, began to cast dice. "Your soul!" "My soul!" they kept saying in hollow tones, according asthey won or lost. At length one of them--a tall man in a powdered wig, with a face extraordinarily pale--flung a hand to his brow, rose andstaggered from the room. The other sat waiting and twirling his blackmoustache, with an evil smile. John, who by this time had found a seatin a far corner, thought him the most poisonous-looking villain he hadever seen; but as the minutes passed and nothing happened, he turned hisback to the light and pulled out a penny-dreadful. His literary tastewas shocking, and when it came to romance he liked the incidents tofollow one another with great rapidity. 

He was interrupted by a blood-curdling groan, and the first ruffianbroke into the room, dragging by its grey locks the body of an old man. A young girl followed, weeping and protesting, with dishevelled hair, and behind her entered a priest with a brazier full of glowing charcoal. The girl cast herself forward on the old man's body, but the twoscoundrels dragged her from it by force. "The money!" demanded the darkone; and she drew from her bosom a small key and cast it at his feet. "My promise!" demanded the other, and seized her by the wrist as thepriest stepped forward. "Quick! over this coffin--man and wife!"She wrenched her hand away and thrust him backward. The priestretreated to the brazier and drew out a red-hot iron. 

John thought it about time to interfere. 

"I beg your pardon, " said he, stepping forward; "but I suppose youreally _are_ ghosts?"

"We are unhallowed souls, " answered the dark man impressively, "who return to blight the living with the spectacle of our awfulcrimes. "

"Meaning me?" asked John. 

"Ay, sir; and to destroy you to-night if you contract not, upon yoursoul, to return with your bride and meet us here a twelvemonth hence. "

"H'm!" said John to himself, "they are three to one; and, after all, it's what I came for. I suppose, " he added aloud, "some form ofdocument is usual in these cases?"

The dark man drew out pen and parchment. 

"Hold forth your hand, " he commanded; and as John held it out, thinkinghe meant to shake it over the bargain, the fellow drove the pen into hiswrist until the blood spurted. "Now sign!"

"Sign!" said the other villain. 

"Sign!" said the lady. 

"Oh, very well, miss. If you're in the swindle too, my mind is easier, "said John, and signed his name with a flourish. "But a bargain is abargain, and what security have I for your part in it?"

"Our signature!" said the priest terribly, at the same moment pressinghis branding-iron into John's ankle. A smell of burnt cork arose asJohn stooped and clapped his hand over the scorched stocking. When helooked up again his visitors had vanished; and a moment later thestrange light, too, died away. 

But the coffin remained for evidence that he had not been dreaming. John lit a candle and examined it. 

"Just the thing for me, " he exclaimed, finding it to be a mere shell ofpine-boards, loosely nailed together and painted black. "I wasbeginning to shiver. " He knocked the coffin to pieces, crammed theminto the fireplace, and very soon had a grand fire blazing, before whichhe sat and finished his penny-dreadful, and so dropped off into a soundsleep. 

The Lord Chamberlain arrived early in the morning, and, finding himstretched there, at first broke into lamentations over the fate of yetanother personable young man; but soon changed his tune when John satup, and, rubbing his eyes, demanded to be told the time. 

"But are you really alive? We must drive back and tell his Majesty atonce!"

"Stay a moment, " said John. "There's a brother of mine, a lawyer, inthe city. He will be arriving at his office about this time, and youmust drive me there; for I have a document here of a sort, and must haveit stamped, to be on the safe side. "

So into the city he was driven beside the Lord Chamberlain, and therehad his leg stamped and filed for reference; and, having purchasedanother, was conveyed to the Palace, where the King received him withopen arms. 

He was now a favoured guest at Court, and had frequent opportunities ofseeing and conversing with the Princess, with whom he soon fell deeplyin love. But as the months passed and the time drew near for theirmarriage, he grew silent and thoughtful, for he feared to expose her, even in his company, to the sights he had witnessed in the hauntedhouse. 

He thought and thought, until one fine afternoon he snapped his fingerssuddenly, and after that went about whistling. A fortnight before theday fixed for the wedding he drove into the city again--but this time tothe office of his other brother, the merchant. 

"I want, " he said, "a loan of a thousand pounds. "

"Nothing easier, " said his brother. "Here are eight hundred and fifty. Of the remainder I shall keep fifty as interest for the first year atfive per cent. , and the odd hundred should purchase a premium ofinsurance for two thousand pounds, which I will retain as securityagainst accidents. "

This seemed not only fair but brotherly. John pocketed his eighthundred and fifty pounds, shook his creditor affectionately by the hand, and hurried westward. 

The marriage was celebrated with great pomp; and in the evening theKing, who had been shedding tears at intervals throughout theceremonies, accompanied his daughter to the haunted house. The Princesswas pale. John, on the contrary, who sat facing her father in thestate-coach, smiled with a cheerfulness which, under the circumstances, seemed a trifle ill-bred. The wedding-guests followed in twenty-fourchariots. Their cards of invitation had said "Two to five-thirty p. M. , "and it was now eight o'clock; but they could not resist the temptationto see the last of "the poor dear thing, " as they agreed to call thebride. 

The King sat silent during the drive; he was preparing his farewellspeech, which he meant to deliver in the porch. But arriving andperceiving a crowd about it, and also, to his vast astonishment, a redbaize carpet on the perron, and a butler bowing in the doorway with twofootmen behind him, he coughed down his exordium, and led his daughterinto the hall amid showers of rice and confetti. The bridegroomfollowed; and so did the wedding-guests, since no one opposed them. 

The hall and staircase were decorated with palms and pot-plants, flagsand emblems of Illyria; and in the great drawing-room--which theyentered while John persuaded the King to a seat--they found many rows ofmorocco-covered chairs, a miniature stage with a drop representing theplay-scene in _Hamlet_, a row of footlights, a boudoir-grand piano, anda man seated at the keyboard whom they recognised as a performer in muchdemand at suburban dances. 

The company had scarcely seated itself, before a strange light began toilluminate that end of the room at which the stage stood, andimmediately the curtain rose to the overture of M. Offenbach's _Orpheeaux Enfers_, the pianist continuing with great spirit until a round ofapplause greeted the entrance of the two spectral performers. 

Its effect upon them was in the highest degree disconcerting. They setdown the coffin, and, after a brief and hurried conference in anundertone, the black-mustachioed ghost advanced to the footlights, singled out John from the audience, and with a terrific scowl demandedto know the reason of this extraordinary gathering. 

"Come, come, my dear sir, " answered John, "our contract, if you willstudy it, allows me to invite whom I choose; it merely insists that mybride and I must be present, as you see we are. Pray go on with yourpart, and assure yourself it is no use to try the high horse with me. "

The dark ghost looked at his partner, who shuffled uneasily. 

"I told you, " said he, "we should have trouble with this fellow. I had a presentiment of it when he came to spend the night here withoutbringing a bull-dog. That frightening of the bull-dog out of his witshas always been our most effective bit of business. "

Hereupon the dark ghost took another tone. 

"Our fair but unfortunate victim has a sore throat to-night, " heannounced. "The performance is consequently postponed;" and he seatedhimself sulkily upon the coffin, when the limelight-man from the wingspromptly bathed him in a flood of the most beautiful rose-colour. "Oh, this is intolerable!" he exclaimed, starting to his feet. 

"It is not first-rate, I agree, " said John, "but, such as it is, we hadbetter go through with it. Should the company doubt its genuineness, Ican go around afterwards and show the brand on the cork. " Here hetapped the leg, which he had been careful to bring with him. 

Before this evidence of contract the ghosts' resistance collapsed. They seated themselves on the coffin and began the casting of dice; theperformance proceeded, but in a half-hearted and perfunctory manner, notwithstanding the vivacious efforts of the limelight-man. 

The tall ghost struck his brow and fled from the stage. There werecries of "Call him back!" But John explained that this was part of thedrama, and no encores would be allowed; whereupon the audience fell tohissing the villain, who now sat alone with the most lifelike expressionof malignity. 

"Oh, hang it!" he expostulated after a while, "I am doing this underprotest, and you need not make it worse for a fellow. I draw the lineat hissing. "

"It's the usual thing, " explained John affably. 

But when the ghostly lady walked on, and in the act of falling on herfather's body was interrupted by the pianist, who handed up an immensebouquet, the performers held another hurried colloquy. 

"Look here, " said the dark-browed villain, stepping forward andaddressing John; "what will you take to call it quits?"

"I'll take, " said John, "the key which the lady has just handed you. And if the treasure is at all commensurate with the fuss you have beenmaking about it, we'll let bygones be bygones. "

Well, it did; and John, having counted it out behind the curtain, cameforward and asked the pianist to play "God save the King"; and so, having bowed his guests to the door, took possession of the hauntedhouse and lived in it many years with his bride, in high renown andprosperity. 

THREE PHOTOGRAPHS. 

"Photograph all the prisoners? But why?" demanded Sir FelixFelix-Williams. Old Canon Kempe shrugged his shoulders; AdmiralTrewbody turned the pages of the Home Secretary's letter. They sat atthe baize-covered table in the Magistrates' Room--the last of theVisiting Justices who met, under the old _regime_, to receive theGovernor's report and look after the welfare of the prisoners inTregarrick County Gaol. 

"But why, in the name of common-sense?" Sir Felix persisted. 

"I suppose, " hazarded the Admiral, "it helps the police in identifyingcriminals. "

"But the letter says '_all_ the prisoners. ' You don't seriously tell methat anyone wants a photograph to identify Poacher Tresize, whom I'vecommitted a score of times if I've committed him once? And perhapsyou'll explain to me this further demand for a 'Composite Photograph' ofall the prisoners, male and female. A 'Composite Photograph!'--have youever seen one?"

"No, " the Admiral mused; "but I see what the Home Office is driving at. Someone has been persuading them to test these new theories incriminology the doctors are so busy with, especially in Italy. "

"In Italy!" pish'd Sir Felix Felix-Williams. 

"My dear Sir Felix, science has no nationality. " The Admiral was aFellow of the Royal Geographical Society, and kept a microscope to amusehis leisure. 

"It has _some_ proper limits, I should hope, " Sir Felix retorted. It annoyed him--a Chairman of Quarter Sessions for close upon twentyyears--to be told that the science of criminology was yet in itsinfancy; and he glanced mischievously at the Canon, who might besupposed to have a professional quarrel with scientific men. But theCanon was a wary fighter and no waster of powder and shot. 

"Well, well, " said he, "I don't see what harm it can do, or what good. If the Home Secretary wants his Composite Photograph, let him have it. The only question is, Have we a photographer who knows how to make one?Or must we send the negatives up to Whitehall?"

So the Visiting Justices sent for the local photographer and consultedhim. And he, being a clever fellow, declared it was easy enough--a mere question of care in superimposing the negatives. He had neveractually made the experiment; his clients (so he called his customers)preferring to be photographed singly or in family groups. But he askedto be given a trial, and suggested (to be on the safe side) preparingtwo or three of these composite prints, between which the Justices mightchoose at their next meeting. 

This was resolved, and the resolution entered in the minutes; and nextday the photographer set to work. Some of the prisoners resisted and"made faces" in front of the camera, squinting and pulling the mosthorrible mouths. A female shoplifter sat under protest, because she wasnot allowed to send home for an evening gown. But the most consentedobediently, and Jim Tresize even asked for a copy to take home to hiswife. 

The Admiral (who had married late in life) resided with his wife andyoung family in a neat villa just outside the town, where his hobby wasto grow pelargoniums. The photographer passed the gate daily on his wayto and from the prison, and was usually hailed and catechised on hisprogress. 

His patience with the recalcitrant prisoners delighted the Admiral, whomore than once assured his wife that Smithers was an intelligent fellowand quite an artist in his way. "I wonder how he manages it, " said Mrs. Trewbody. "He told baby last autumn that a little bird would fly out ofthe camera when he took off the cap, and everyone allows that the resultis most lifelike. But I don't like the idea, and I think it may injurehis trade. "

The Admiral could not always follow his wife's reasoning. "What is ityou dislike?" he asked. 

"Well, it's not nice to think of oneself going into the same camera hehas been using on those wretched prisoners. It's sentiment, I daresay;but I had the same feeling when he stuck up Harry's photograph in hisshowcase at the railway station, among all kinds of objectionablepersons, and I requested him to remove it. "

The Admiral laughed indulgently, being one of those men who find acharm, even a subtle flattery, in their wives' silliness. 

"I agree with you, " he said, "that it's not pleasant to be exposed topublic gaze among a crowd of people one would never think of knowing. I don't suppose it would actually encourage familiarity; at the sametime there's an air of promiscuity about it--I won't say disrespect--which, ahem! jars. But with the prisoners it's different, --my attitudeto them is scientific, if I may say so. I look upon them as a raceapart, almost of another world, and as such I find them extremelyinteresting. The possibility of mixing with them on any terms ofintimacy doesn't occur. I am aware, my dear, " he wound up graciously, "that you women seldom understand this mental detachment, being bynature unscientific, and all the more charming for your prejudices. "

At the next meeting of Justices Smithers the photographer presentedhimself, and produced his prints with a curious air of diffidence. 

"I have, " he explained, "brought three for your Worships' selection, andcan honestly assure your Worships that my pains have been endless. What puzzles me, however, is that although in all three the sameportraits have been imposed, and in the same order, the results aresurprisingly different. The cause of these differences I cannot detect, though I have gone over the process several times and step by step; butout of some two dozen experiments I may say that all the results answerpretty closely to one or another of these three types. " Mr. Smithers, who had spent much time in rehearsing this little speech, handed upphotograph No. 1; and Sir Felix adjusted his spectacles. 

"Villainous!" he exclaimed, recoiling. 

The Canon and the Admiral bent over it together. 

"Most repulsive!" said the Admiral. 

"Here indeed, "--the Canon was more impressive, --"here indeed is anobject-lesson in the effects of crime! Is it possible that to _this_Man's passions can degrade his divinely inherited features? Were it notaltogether too horrible, I would have this picture framed and glazed andhung up in every cottage home in the land. "

"My dear fellow, " interrupted Sir Felix, "we cannot possibly let thismonstrosity go up to Whitehall as representative of the inmates ofTregarrick Gaol! It would mean an inquiry on the spot. It would evenreflect upon _us_. Ours is a decent county, as counties go, and Iprotest it shall not, with my consent, be injured by any such libel. "

Mr. Smithers handed up photograph No. 2. 

"This looks better, " began Sir Felix; and with that he gave a slightstart, and passed the photograph to the Canon. The Canon, too, started, and stole a quick glance at Sir Felix: their eyes met. 

"It certainly is singular"--stammered Sir Felix. "I fancied--withoutirreverence--But you detected it too?" he wound up incoherently. 

"May I have a look?" The Admiral peered over the Canon's hand, who, however, did not relinquish the photograph but turned on Smitherswith sudden severity. 

"I presume, sir, this is not an audacious joke?"

"I assure your Worship--" protested the photographer. "I had somethoughts of tearing it up, but thought it wouldn't be honest. "

"You did rightly, " the Canon answered; "but, now that we have seen it, Ihave no such scruple. " He tore the print across, and across again. "Even in this, " he said, with a glance at the Admiral, who winced, "we may perhaps read a lesson, or at least a warning, that man'spresumption in extending the bounds of his knowledge--or, as I shouldprefer to call it, his curiosity--may--er--bring him face to facewith--"

But the Canon's speech tailed off as he regarded the torn pieces ofcardboard in his hand. He felt that the others had been seriouslyperturbed and were not listening: he himself was conscious of a shocktoo serious for that glib emollient--usually so efficacious--the soundof his own voice. He perceived that it did not impose even on thephotographer. An uncomfortable silence fell on the room. 

Sir Felix was the first to recover. "Put it in the waste-paper basket:no, in the fire!" he commanded, and turned to Smithers. "Surely betweenthese two extremes--"

"I was on the point of suggesting that your Worships would find No. 3more satisfactory, " the photographer interrupted, forgetting his mannersin his anxiety to restore these three gentlemen to their ease. His own discomfort was acute, and he overacted, as a man will who hasunwittingly surprised a State secret and wishes to assure everyone ofhis obtuseness. 

Sir Felix studied No. 3. "This appears to me a very ordinaryphotograph. Without being positively displeasing, the face is one youmight pass in the street any day, and forget. "

"I hope it suggests no--no well-known features?" put in the Canonnervously. 

"None at all, I think: but see for yourself. To me it seems--althoughhazy, of course--the kind of thing the Home Office might find helpful. "

"It is less distinct than the others. " The Admiral pulled his whiskers. 

"And for that reason the more obviously composite--which is what we arerequired to furnish. No, indeed, I can find nothing amiss with it, andI think, gentlemen, if you are agreed, we will forward this print. "

No. 3 was passed accordingly, the photographer withdrew, and the threeJustices turned to other business, which occupied them for a full twohours. 

But, I pray you, mark the sequel. 

Mr. Smithers, in his relief and delight at the Magistrates' approbation, hurried home, fished out a copy of No. 3, exposed it proudly in his shopwindow, and went off to the Packhorse Inn for a drink. 

Less than an hour later, Mrs. Trewbody, having packed her family intothe jingle for their afternoon's ride with Miss Platt, the governess, strolled down into the town to do some light shopping; and, happening topass the photographer's window, came to a standstill with a little gasp. 

A moment later she entered the shop; and Mrs. Smithers, answering theshop bell, found that she had taken the photograph from the window andwas examining it eagerly. 

"This is quite a surprise, Mrs. Smithers. A capital photograph! May Iask how many copies my husband ordered?"

"I'm not aware, ma'am, that the Admiral has ordered any as yet; though Iheard Smithers say only this morning as he hoped he'd be pleased withit. "

"I think I can answer for that, although he _is_ particular. But Ihappen to know he disapproves of these things being exposed in thewindow. I'll take this copy home with me, if I may. Has your husbandprinted any more?"

"Well no, ma'am. There was one other copy; but Lady Felix-Williamshappened to be passing just now, and spied it, and nothing would do butshe must take it away with her. "

"Lady Felix-Williams?" Mrs. Trewbody stiffened with sudden distrust. "Now, what would Lady Felix-Williams want with this?"

"I'm sure I can't tell you, ma'am: but she was delighted. 'A capitallikeness, ' she said; 'I've never seen a photograph before that caughtjust that expression of his. '"

"I should very much like to know what _she_ has to do with hisexpression, " Mrs. Trewbody murmured to herself, between wonder andincipient alarm. But she concealed her feelings, good lady; and, havingpaid for her purchase, carried it home in her muff and stuck it uprightagainst one of the Sevres candlesticks on her boudoir mantel-shelf. 

And there the Admiral discovered it three-quarters of an hour later. He came home wanting his tea; and, finding the boudoir empty, advancedto ring the bell. At that moment his eyes fell on Smithers' replica ofthe very photograph he had passed for furtherance to the Home Secretary. He picked it up and gave vent to a long whistle. 

"Now, how the dickens--"

His wife appeared in the doorway, with Harry, Dicky, and Theophilaclinging to her skirts, fresh from their ride, and boisterous. 

"My dear Emily, where in the world did you get hold of this?"

He held the photograph towards her at arm's length, and the childrenrushed forward to examine it. 

"Papa! papa!" they shouted together, capering around it. "Oh, mammy, isn't it him _exactly?_"

THE TALKING SHIPS. 

He was a happy boy, for he lived beside a harbour, and just below thelast bend where the river swept out of steep woodlands into view of thesea. A half-ruined castle, with a battery of antiquated guns, stillmade-believe to protect the entrance to the harbour, and looked acrossit upon a ridge of rocks surmounted by a wooden cross, which the Trinitypilots kept in repair. Between the cross and the fort, for as long ashe could remember, a procession of ships had come sailing in to anchorby the great red buoy immediately beneath his nursery window. They belonged to all nations, and hailed from all imaginable ports; andfrom the day his nurse had first stood him upon a chair to watch them, these had been the great interest of his life. He soon came to knowthem all--French brigs and _chasse-marees_, Russian fore-and-afters, Dutch billyboys, galliots from the East coast, and Thames hay-bargeswith vanes and wind-boards. He could tell you why the Italians weredeep in the keel, why the Danes were manned by youngsters, and why theseyoungsters deserted, although their skippers looked, and indeed were, such good-natured fellows; what food the French crews hunted in theseaweed under the cliff, and when the Baltic traders would be drivensouthward by the ice. Once acquainted with a vessel, he would recogniseher at any distance, though by what signs he could no more tell than wewhy we recognise a friend. 

On his seventh birthday he was given a sailing boat, on condition thathe learned to read; but, although he kept by the bargain honestly, atthe end of a month he handled her better than he was likely to handlehis book in a year. He had a companion and instructor, of course--a pensioner who had left the Navy to become in turn fisherman, yachtsman, able seaman on board a dozen sailing vessels, and nowyachtsman again. His name was Billy, and he taught the boy manymysteries, from the tying of knots to the reading of weather-signs;how to beach a boat, how to take a conger off the hook, how to gaff acuttle and avoid its ink. . . . In return the boy gave him his heart, and even something like worship. 

One fine day, as they tacked to and fro a mile and more from theharbour's mouth, whiffing for mackerel, the boy looked up from his seatby the tiller. "I say, Billy, did you speak?"

Billy, seated on the thwart and leaning with both arms on the weathergunwale, turned his head lazily. "Not a word this half-hour, " heanswered. 

"Well now, I thought not; but somebody, or something--spoke just now. "The boy blushed, for Billy was looking at him quizzically. "It's notthe first time I've heard it, either, " he went on; "sometimes it soundsright astern, and sometimes close beside me. "

"What does it say?" asked Billy, re-lighting his pipe. 

"I don't know that it _says_ anything, and yet it seems to speak outquite clearly. Five or six times I've heard it, and usually on smoothdays like this, when the wind's steady. "

Billy nodded. "That's right, sonny; I've heard it scores of times. And they say. . . . But, there, I don't believe a word of it. "

"What do they say?"

"They say that 'tis the voice of drowned men down below, and that theyhail their names whenever a boat passes. "

The boy stared at the water. He knew it for a floor through which helet down his trammels and crab-pots into wonderland--a twilight withforests and meadows of its own, in which all the marvels of all thefairy-books were possible; but the terror of it had never clouded hisdelight. 

"Nonsense, Billy; the voice I hear is always quite cheerful andfriendly--not a bit like a dead man's. "

"I tell what I'm told, " answered Billy, and the subject dropped. 

But the boy did not cease thinking about the voice; and some time afterhe came, as it seemed, upon a clue. His father had set him to readShakespeare; and, taking down the first of twelve volumes from theshelf, he began upon the first play, _The Tempest_. He was prepared toyawn, but the first scene flung open a door to him, and he stepped intoa new world, a childish Ferdinand roaming an Isle of Voices. He resigned Miranda to the grown-up prince, for whom (as he saw at aglance, being wise in the ways of story-books) she was eminently fitted. It was in Ariel, perched with harp upon the shrouds of the king's ship, that he recognised the unseen familiar of his own voyaging. "O spirit, be my friend--speak to me often!" As children will, he gave Prospero'sisland a local habitation in the tangled cliff-garden, tethered Calibanin the tool-shed, and watched the white surf far withdrawn, or listenedto its murmur between the lordly boles of the red-currant bushes. For the first time he became aware of some limitations in Billy. 

He had long been aware of some serious limitations in his nurse: shecould not, for instance, sail a boat, and her only knot was a "granny. "He never dreamed of despising her, being an affectionate boy; but moreand more he went his own way without consulting her. Yet it was shewho--unconsciously and quite as if it were nothing out of the way--handed him the clue. 

A flagstaff stood in the garden on a grassy platform, half-way down thecliff-side, and the boy at his earnest wish had been given charge of it. On weekdays, as a rule he hoisted two flags--an ensign on the gaff, anda single code-flag at the mast-head; but on Sundays he usually ran upthree or four, and with the help of the code-book spelt out some messageto the harbour. Sometimes, too, if an old friend happened to take upher moorings at the red buoy below, he would have her code-lettershoisted to welcome her, or would greet and speed her with such signalsas K. T. N. , "Glad to see you, " and B. R. D. , or B. Q. R. , meaning "Good-bye, ""A pleasant passage. " Skippers fell into the habit of dipping theirflags to him as they were towed out to sea, and a few amused themselveswhile at anchor by pulling out their bags of bunting and signallinghumorous conversations, though their topmasts reached so near to theboy's platform that they might with less labour have talked through aspeaking-trumpet. 

One morning before Christmas six vessels lay below at the buoy, mooredstem to stem in two tiers of three; and, after hoisting his signal(C. P. B. H. For "Christmas Eve"), he ran indoors with the news that allsix were answering with bushes of holly at their topmast heads, whileone--a Danish barquentine--had rove stronger halliards and carried atall fir-tree at the main, its branches reaching many feet above hertruck. 

"Christmas is Christmas, " said his nurse. "When I was young, at suchtimes there wouldn't be a ship in the harbour without its talking-bush. "

"What is a talking-bush?" the boy asked. 

"And you pretend to be a sailor! Well, well--not to know what happenson Christmas night when the clocks strike twelve!"

The boy's eyes grew round. "Do--the--ships--talk?"

"Why, of course they do! For my part, I wonder what Billy teaches you. "

Late that evening, when the household supposed him to be in bed, the boycrept down through the moonlit garden to the dinghy which Billy had lefton its frape under the cliff. But for their riding-lights, the vesselsat the buoy lay asleep. The crews of the foreigners had turned in; the_Nubian_, of Runcorn, had no soul on board but a night-watchman, nowsoundly dozing in the forecastle; and the _Touch-me-not_ was deserted. The _Touch-me-not_ belonged to the port, and her skipper, CaptainTangye, looked after her in harbour when he had paid off all hands. Usually he slept on board; but to-night, after trimming his lamp, he hadrowed ashore to spend Christmas with his family--for which, since heowned a majority of the shares, no one was likely to blame him. He hadeven left the accommodation-ladder hanging over her side, to be handyfor boarding her in the morning. 

All this the boy had noted; and accordingly, having pushed across in thedinghy, he climbed the _Touch-me-not's_ ladder and dropped upon deckwith a bundle of rugs and his father's greatcoat under his arm. 

He looked about him and listened. There was no sound at all but the lapof tide between the ships, and the voice of a preacher travelling overthe water from a shed far down the harbour, where the Salvation Army washolding a midnight service. Captain Tangye had snugged down his shipfor the night: ropes were coiled, deckhouses padlocked, the spokes ofthe wheel covered against dew and frost. The boy found the slack of astout hawser coiled beneath the taffrail--a circular fort into which hecrept with his rugs, and nestled down warmly; and then for half an hourlay listening. But only the preacher's voice broke the silence of theharbour. On--on it went, rising and falling. . . . 

Away in the little town the church clock chimed the quarter. "It musthave missed striking the hour, " thought the boy, and he peered over theedge of his shelter. The preacher's voice had ceased; but another wasspeaking, and close beside him. 

"You'd be surprised, " it said, "how simple one's pleasures grow withage. This is the twelfth Christmas I've spent at home, and I assure youI quite look forward to it: that's a confession, eh?--from one who hassailed under Nelson and smelt powder in his time. " The boy knew that hemust be listening to the _Touch-me-not_, whose keelson came from an oldline-of-battle ship. "To be sure, " the voice went on graciously, "a great deal depends on one's company. "

"Talking of powder, " said the _Nubian_, creaking gently on herstern-moorings, "reminds me of a terrible adventure. My very firstvoyage was to the mouth of a river on the West Coast of Africa, wheretwo native tribes were at war. Somehow, my owner--a scoundrelly fellowin the Midlands--had wind of the quarrel, and that the tribe nearest thecoast needed gunpowder. We sailed from Cardiff with fifteen hundredbarrels duly labelled, and the natives came out to meet us at theriver-mouth and rafted them ashore; but the barrels, if you will believeme, held nothing but sifted coal-dust. Off we went before the trick wasdiscovered, and with six thousand pounds' worth of ivory in my hold. But the worst villainy was to come; for my owner, pretending that he hadopened up a profitable trade, and having his ivory to show for it, soldme to a London firm, who loaded me with real gunpowder and sent me out, six months later, to the same river, but with a new skipper and adifferent crew. The natives knew me at once, and came swarming out incanoes as soon as we dropped anchor. The captain, who of coursesuspected nothing, allowed them to crowd on board; and I declare thatwithin five minutes they had clubbed him and every man of the crew andtossed their bodies to the sharks. Then they cut my hawsers and towedme over the river-bar; and, having landed a good half of my barrels, they built and lit a fire around them in derision. I can hear theexplosion still; my poor upper-works have been crazy ever since. It destroyed almost all the fighters of the tribe, who had formed a ringto dance around the fire. The rest fled inland, and I never saw themagain, but lay abandoned for months as they had anchored me, between theruined huts and a sandy spit alive with mosquitoes--until somehow aBritish tramp-steamer heard of me at one of the trading stations up thecoast. She brought down a crew to man and work me home. But my ownercould not pay the salvage; so the parties who owned the steamer--a Runcorn firm--paid him fifty pounds and kept me for their services. A surveyor examined me, and reported that I should never be fit formuch: the explosion had shaken me to pieces. I might do for thecoasting trade--that was all; and in that I've remained. "

"Owners are rogues, for the most part, " commented the Danishbarquentine, rubbing against the _Touch-me-nots_ fender as if to nudgeher. "There's the _Maria Stella Maris_ yonder can tell us a tale of thefood they store us with. She went through a mutiny once, I've heard. "

"I'd rather not talk of it, " put in the Italian hastily, and a shudderran through her timbers. "It's a dreadful recollection, and I have thatby my mizzen-mast which all the holystone in the world can never scour. "

"But I've had a mutiny, too!" said the Dutch galliot, with a voice ofgreat importance; and this time the boy felt sure that the vesselsnudged one another. 

"It happened, " the galliot went on, "between my skipper and his _vrauw_, who was to all purpose our mate, and as good a mate as ever I sailedwith. But she would not believe the world was round. The skipper tooka Dutch cheese and tried to explain things: he moved the cheese round, as it might be, from west to east, and argued and argued, until at last, being a persevering man, he did really persuade her, but it took a wholevoyage, and by the time he succeeded we were near home again, and in theNorth Sea Canal. The moment she was convinced, what must the woman dobut go ashore to an aunt of hers who lived at Zaandam, and refuse toreturn on board, though her man went on his bended knees to her!'I will not, ' she said; 'and _that's_ flat, at any rate. ' The poor manhad to start afresh, undo every one of his arguments, and prove theearth flat again, before she would trust herself to travel. It cost usa week, but for my part I didn't grudge it. Your cliffs and deep-waterharbours don't appeal to me. Give me a canal with windmills andsummer-houses where you can look in on the families drinking tea as yousail by; give me, above all, a canal on Sundays, when the folks walkalong the towing-path in their best clothes, and you feel as if you weregoing to church with them. "

"Give me rather, " said the Norwegian barque from Christiansund, "a fiord with forests running straight up to the snow mountains, andwater so deep that no ship's anchor can reach it. "

"I have seen most waters, " the Dane announced calmly and proudly. "As you see, I am very particular about my paint, for a ship ought tokeep up her beauty and look as young as she can. But I have an ice-markaround my breast which is usually taken for a proof of experience, andas a philosopher I say that all waters are tolerable enough if onecarries the talisman. "

"But can a ship be beautiful?" and "What is the talisman?" asked theItalian and the _Nubian_ together. 

"One at a time, please. My dear, " she addressed the Italian, "the point is, that men, whom we serve, think us beautiful indeed. It seems strange to us, who carry the thought of the forests we haveleft; and on warm days, when the sap awakes in us and tries to climbagain, forgetting its weakness, we miss the green boughs and the moss atour feet and the birds overhead. But I have studied my reflection oftenenough in calm weather, and begin to see what men have in mind when theyadmire us. "

"And the talisman?" asked the _Nubian_ again. 

"The talisman? There is no one cure for useless regret, but each mustchoose his own. With me it is the thought of the child after whom I waschristened. The day they launched me was her first birthday, and she asmall thing held in the crook of her mother's arm: when the bottle swungagainst my stem the wine spurted, and some drops of it fell on her face. The mother did not see me take the water--she was too busy wiping thedrops away. But it was a successful launch, and I have brought thefamily luck, while she has brought them happiness. Because of it, andbecause our names are alike, her parents think of us together; andsometimes, when one begins to talk of 'Thekla, ' the other will not knowfor a moment which of us is meant. They drink my health, too, on herbirthday, which is the fourteenth of May; and you know King Solomon'sverse for the fourteenth--'She is like the merchants' ships, shebringeth her food from afar. ' This is what I have done while she wasgrowing; for King Solomon wrote it for a wife, of course. But now Ishall yield up my trust, for when I return she is to be married. Sheshall bind that verse upon her with a coral necklace I carry for mygift, and it shall dance on her white throat when her husband leads herout to open the wedding-ball. "

"Since you are so fond of children, " said the _Touch-me-not_, "tell me, what shall we do for the one I have on my deck? He is the small boy whosignalled Christmas to us from the garden above; and he dreams ofnothing but the sea, though his parents wish him to stick to his booksand go to college. "

The Dane did not answer for a moment. She was considering. "Whereverhe goes, " she said at length, "and whatever he does, he will find thatto serve much is to renounce much. Let us show him that what isrenounced may yet come back in beautiful thoughts. "

And it seemed to the boy that, as she ceased, a star dropped out of thesky and poised itself above the fir-tree on her maintopmast; and thatthe bare mast beneath it put forth branches, while upon every branch, asit spread, a globe of fire dropped from the star, until a giganticChristmas-tree soared from the deck away up to heaven. In the blaze ofit the boy saw the miracle run from ship to ship--the timber burstinginto leaf with the song of birds and the scent of tropical plants. Across the avenue of teak which had been the _Nubian's_ bulwarks he sawthe Dutchman's galley, now a summer-house set in parterres of tulips. Beyond it the sails of the _Maria Stella Maris_, shaken from the yards, were piling themselves into snowy mountains, their foot-ropes and bracestrailing down and breaking into leaves and clusters of the vine. He heard the murmur of streams flowing, the hum of bees, the whetting ofthe scythes--even the stir of insects' wings among the grasses. From truck to keelson the ships were wavering, dissolving part from partinto remote but unforgotten hiding-places whence the masteringadventurer had torn them to bind and yoke them in service. Divine theservice, but immortal also the longing to return! "But there theglorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams;wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship passthereby. "

The boy heard the words; but before he understood them a hand was on hisshoulder, and another voice speaking above him. 

"God bless us! it's you, is it? Here's a nice tale to tell your father, I must say!" He opened his eyes, and above Captain Tangye's shoulderthe branches faded, the lights died out, and the masts stood strippedand bare for service against the cold dawn. 

THE KEEPERS OF THE LAMP. 

It was in a purple twilight of May that I first saw the lamp shining. For me, a child of seven, the voyage had been a tiring one: it seemedmany hours since, with a ringing of bells, and hearts adventurouslythrobbing with the screw of our small steamboat, we had backed andswung, casting our wash in waves along the quay-walls, and so, after apause during which we held our breath and drifted from the line ofwatching faces, had headed away for the great empty sky-line beyondwhich the islands lay. I knew that they lay yonder; for, the eveningbefore, my father had led me up a tall hill and pointed them out to me--black specks in the red ball of the sun. But to-day, as hour after hourwent by with the pant of the engines, the lift and slide of the Atlanticswell, the tonic wind humming against the stays, my eyes grew heavy, andat length my head dropped against my father's shoulder. And then--to meit seemed the next instant--he woke me up and pointed towards theislands as they rose out of the indigo sea. At first they looked ratherlike low-lying clouds, but after a minute or two there was no mistakingthem; for, as if they had just discovered _us_, they hung out lamp afterlamp, some steady, some intermittent, but all of them gleaming yellowalong the floor of the sea save one, a crimson light which hid andshowed itself again northward of the rest. Crimson was my favouritecolour in those days, and even as I dropped back into sleep I decidedthat I liked this lamp the best of all. 

I awoke again to the sound of voices. We were passing a pilot-boat outthere on the watch for ships. Her crew hailed us as we went by, and Isaw their faces in the green radiance of our starboard light--gaunt, dark faces, altogether foreign. One of the men, the oldest, wasbareheaded, with long grey locks, and wore a yellow neckcloth with hisshirt open below it, and his naked chest showing. Their voices as theyanswered our skipper were clear and gay like the voices of children. 

And, next, we were alongside a quay. Our seats, our bulwarks, even ourdecks, shone with dew. A crowd stood on the dim quay-edge and lookeddown on us, and chattered, but in soft voices. There was a policemantoo, and I wondered how _he_ came there. Above this shadowy movingcrowd rode the stars I had known at home. I took my father's hand. Atthe head of the gangway he stooped, hoisted me on his shoulders, andcarried me up and up through narrow mysterious streets, around darkcorners, past belated islanders hurrying down to the steamer; but alwaysupward, until he pushed open a door and set me down blinking in awhitewashed bedroom lit by a couple of candles: and with that camesleep. 

Happy days followed: blue and white days--days vaulted and floored withblue, flashing with white granite, with the rush of white water beneaththe shadow of the leaning sail, with white cirrus clouds, with whitewings of seabirds. It was the height of the nesting season, and thebirds had brought us to the islands; my father with paint-box andcamera--though, our time being short, he relied almost wholly on thelatter. A naturalist, and by temper the gentlest of men, in his methodshe was a born pioneer. You can hardly imagine how cumbrous andwell-nigh hopeless a business it was in those days, not so long past, topursue after wild life with a camera; but a thousand dishearteningfailures left him still grasping the inviolable shade, still confidentthat in photography, if it could only be given with rapidity andprecision, lay the naturalist's hope. Blurred negatives were all thespoil, and, sorry enough, we bore back after long days of tossing andclimbing among the Outer Islands; but we had the reward of living amongthe birds. They filled our thoughts, our lives for the time:--greatcormorants and northern divers, flitting red-legged oyster-catchers, shags spreading their wings to the wind and sun, sea-parrots, murrs, razor-bills, gannets questing by ones and twos--now poised, now droppinglike plummets with a resounding splash; sandpipers and curlews dottingthe beaches, and wading; tern, common gulls, herring-gulls, andkittiwakes, and, at nightfall, shearwaters popping from their holes andswimming and skimming around our boat as we headed for home. And then, the nests we discovered!--nay, the nests that at times we walked among, picking our steps like egg-dancers!--nests boldly planted on the barerock ledges; nests snugly hidden among the clusters of blue thrift andthe massed sea-pinks. They bloomed everywhere, these sea-pinks; sheetupon sheet of pale rose-colour, soon to show paler and fade before therosy splendours of the mesembryanthemum. But the thrift had no rival tofear, condensing blue heaven and blue sea in the flower it liftedagainst both; and to lie prone and make a frame of it for some windingchannel when the tide-rip flashed and tossed was to send the eyeplunging into blue like an Eastern diver after pearls. 

But when after sunset the blue deepened to violet, always in the heartof it glowed the crimson light upon Off Island. Night after night Iwatched it from my window, and wondered what manner of people they werewho tended it, living out yonder on a rock where no grass grew, and in aroar of tide which the inhabitants of the greater islands heard on stilldays in the few inland valleys where it was possible to lose sight ofthe sea. I knew that thousands of puffins bred there, and we were tovisit the rock some day; but, what with the tides and an all butceaseless ground swell, our opportunity was long in coming, and Old Seth(our boatman) kept putting it off until I began to disbelieve in italtogether. 

It came, though, at last, with a cloudless morning and a north-easterlybreeze, brisk and steady, the clearest day in a fortnight of clear days. We were heading northward close-hauled through a sound dividing two ofthe greater islands--Old Seth at the tiller, my father tending thesheet, and I perched on the weather gunwale and peering over and down onthe purple reefs we seemed to avoid so narrowly--when Seth lifted hisvoice in a shout, and then, with a word of warning, paid out sheet, brought the boat's nose round and ran her in towards a silver-whitebeach on our left. As we downed sail, I saw a girl on the bank abovethe beach, leaning on a hoe and gazing at us over a low hedge ofveronica. 

Seth hailed her again, and she came running to the waterside. There shestood and eyed us shyly: a dark-haired girl, bare-headed, and with thedust of the potato-patch on her shoes and ankles. 

"Any message for Reub Hicks, my dear? We'm bound over to Off Island. "

She hesitated, looking from Seth to us; and while she hesitated a flushmounted to her tanned face and deepened there. 

"Come, " Old Seth coaxed her, "you needn' be afeard to trust us with yourlittle secrets. "

She seemed, at all events, to have made up her mind to trust us. From the pocket of her skirt she drew a tattered, paper-covered book, opened it, and was about to tear out a couple of pages, but paused. 

"I'd like to send it, " said she; but still paused, and at length passedthe open book to Seth. 

"I see. " He nodded. "Seems a pity--don't it?--to tear up good printedstuff. Tell 'ee what, " he suggested: "you leave me take the book overas 'tis, and this evenin', if you'll be waitin' here, I'll bring it backsafe. "

She brightened at once. "That'll do brave. Tell 'en I hope he'skeepin' well, and give my love to the others. "

"Right you are, " promised Seth cheerfully, pushing off. 

"And don't you forget!" she called after us. 

Seth laughed. "That's a very good girl, now, " he commented as hesettled himself to the tiller again. "Must be a poor job courtin' witha light-house man: not much walkin' together for they. No harm, Is'pose, in your seem' the maid's book. " He handed it to my father, whoshook his head. 

"Aw, " went on Seth, guessing why he hesitated, "there's no writin' init--only print. " He held the book open. It was a nautical almanack, and night by night the girl had pencilled out the hour of sunset. Night by night the first flash of the Off Island lamp carried herlover's message to her, and, as Seth explained (but it needed noexplanation), at that signal she blotted out yet one more of the daysbetween her and the marriage day. 

Off Island rose from the sea a sheer mass of granite, about a hundredand fifty feet in height, and all but inaccessible had it not been for arock stair-way hewn out by the Brethren of the Trinity House. The keepers had spied our boat, and a tall young man stood on one of thelower steps to welcome us: not Reuben, but Reuben's younger brother Sam. Reuben met us at the top of the staircase, where the puffins built sothickly that a false step would almost certainly send the foot crashingthrough the roof of one of their oddly shaped houses. He too was a tallyouth; an inch or two taller, maybe, than his brother, whom we had leftin charge of the boat. It would have puzzled you to guess their ages. Young they surely were, but much gazing in the face of the salt wind hadcreased the corners of their eyes, and their faces wore a beautifulgravity, as though they had been captured young and dedicated to somepriestly service. 

Reuben touched his cap, and, taking the book from Seth without a word, led us to the cottage, where his mother stood scouring a deal table: alittle woman with dark eyes like beads, and thin grey hair tucked withina grey muslin cap. She had kilted her gown high and tucked up hersleeves, and looked to me, for all the world, like a doll on a penwiper. But her hands were busy continually; the small room shone and gleamedwith her tireless cleansing and polishing; and in the midst of it hereyes sparkled with expectation of news from the outer world. 

Seth understood her, and rattled at once into a recital of all thehappenings on the islands: births, marriages, and deaths, sickness, courtship, and boat-building, the price of market-stuff, and the namesof vessels newly arrived in the roads. But after a minute she turnedfrom him to my father. 

"'Tis all so narrow, sir--Seth's news. I want to know what's happenin'in the world. "

Now, much was happening in those May weeks--much all over Europe, butmuch indeed in France, where Paris was passing through the sharp agoniesof the Commune. The latest my father had to tell was almost a week old;but two days before we set sail for the islands the Versaillais troopshad swept the boulevards, and every steamer had brought newspapers fromthe mainland. Mrs. Hicks' eyes grew bigger and rounder as she listened;but she had listened a very short while before she cried--

"Father must hear this! He's up polishin' the lantern, sir. Beggingyour pardon, but he must hear you tell it; he must indeed. " Withimmense pride she added, "He was over to France, one time. "

She marched us off to the lantern, up the winding stairway, up theladder, and into the great glass cage, where stood an old man busilypolishing the brass reflector. 

"Father, here's a gentleman come, with news from France!"

As the old man came forward with a fumbling step, my father drew a thickbundle from his coat pocket. "I've brought you some newspapers, " saidhe; "they will tell you more than I can. "

He held them out, but the wife interposed hurriedly. "Not to him, sir. Give them to Reuben, if you please, and thank you. But he, sir--he'sblind. "

I looked, as my father looked. A film covered both pupils of the oldman's eyes. 

"He've been blind these seven years, " Reuben explained in a low voice. "Me and Sam are the regular keepers now; but the Board lets him live onhere, and he's terrible clever at polishing. "

"He knows the lamp so well as ever he did, " broke in the old woman;"the leastest little scratch, he don't miss it. How he doesn' break hispoor neck is more'n I can tell; but he don't--though 'tis a sore trial. "

While they explained, the old man's hand went out to caress the lamp, but stopped within an inch of the sparkling lenses. 

"Iss, " said he musingly, "with this here cataract I misses a brave lot. There's a lot to be seen up here, for a man with eyesight. Will 'eetell me, please sir, what's the news from France? I was over there, onetime. "

It turned out he had once paid a visit to one of the small Breton ports:Roscoff I think it was, and have a suspicion that smuggling lay at thebottom of the business there. 

"Well now, " he commented as my father told something of his tale, "I wouldn' have thought it of the Johnnies. They treated me verypleasant, and I speak of a man as I find en. " He turned his sightlesseyes on the family he had brought up to think well of Frenchmen. 

"They are different folk in Paris. "

"Iss, that's a big place. Cherbourg's a big place, too, they tell me. I came near going there, one time; but my travellin's over. It _do_give a man something to think over, though. I wish my son here couldhave travelled a bit before settlin' down. "

But Reuben, on the far side of the lantern, was turning the pages of thetattered almanack. 

"Well-a-well!" said the old woman. "A body must be thankful for goodsons, and mine be that. But I'd love to end my days settin' in a windowand watchin' folks go by to church. "

It was past seven o'clock when we hoisted sail again, and as we drewnear the greater islands a crimson flash shot out over the sea in ourwake. On a dim beach ahead stood a girl waiting. 

TWO BOYS. 

I daresay they never saw, and perhaps never will see, one another. I met them on separate railway journeys, and the dates are divided byfive years almost. One boy was travelling third-class, the other first. The age of each when I made his very slight acquaintance (with the one Idid not even exchange a word) was about fourteen. Almost certainlytheir lives and their stories have no connection outside of my thoughts. But I think of them often, and together. They have grown up; theyounger will be a man by this time; if I met them now, their alteredfaces would probably be quite strange to me. Yet the two boys remain myfriends, and that is why I take leave to include them among thesestories of my friends. 

I. 

The first boy (I never heard his name) was seated in the third-classsmoking-carriage when I joined my train at Plymouth; seated beside hismother, an over-heated countrywoman in a state of subsiding fussiness. We had a good five minutes to wait, but, as such women always will, shehad made a bolt for the first door within reach. Of course she foundherself in a smoking compartment, and of course she disliked tobacco, but could not, although she made two false starts, make up her mind tochange. She had dropped upon one of the middle seats and dragged herboy down into the next, thus leaving me the only vacant corner. The others were occupied by a couple of drovers and a middle-aged manwith a newspaper, which he read column by column, advertisements andall, without raising his eyes for a moment. 

The guard just outside the carriage door had his whistle to his lips, and his green flag lifted ready to wave, when the woman asked--"Can anyone tell me if this train goes to London?"

The drovers and I assured her that it did. 

"It stops at Bristol, doesn't it? My ticket is for Bristol. "

The train was in motion by this time. We set her mind at ease. She opened a limp basket (called a "frail" I believe), produced an appleand offered it to the boy. He shook his head. 

He was a passably good-looking coltish boy, in a best suit which he hadoutgrown, and a hard black hat, the brim of which annoyed him when heleaned back. A binding of black braid advertised what it was meant toconceal--that the cuffs of his jacket had been lengthened; yet as he satwith his hands crossed in his lap he displayed a deal of wrist. 

His eyes took my liking at once; eyes of a good grey-black--or, shall Isay, of a grey with fine glooms in it. They looked at you straight butwithout staring; neither furtively nor with embarrassment, norcuriously, nor again sleepily, but with that rare blend of candour andreserve which allowed you to see that he was thinking his own thoughts, and had no reason to be ashamed of them. Having taken stock of us, hegazed thoughtfully out of window. His mother sighed from time to time, and searched her basket to make sure that this, that, or the othertrifle had not been left behind. The drovers conversed apart; themiddle-aged man (who sat facing the engine) read away pertinaciously athis newspaper, which he kept folded small by reason of the strongsoutherly breeze playing in through the open window; and I divided myattention between the landscape and the map at the beginning ofStevenson's _Kidnapped_--then barely a week old, a delight to beapproached with trepidation. 

So we were sitting when the train crawled over the metals beyondTeignmouth Station, gathered speed, and swung into full view of the opensea. As the first strong breath of it came rushing in at the window Iheard a shuffle of feet. The boy had risen, and with his eyes wasasking our leave to stand by the door. I drew in my knees to make wayfor him, and so, after a moment, did the middle-aged man. He did notthank us, but stepped past politely enough and stood with his hand onthe leathern window-strap. I stared out of the little side window, wondering what had caught his attention. 

And while I wondered, suddenly the child broke into song!

It was the queerest artless performance: it had no tune in it, nointelligible words--it was just a chant rising and falling as the surfat the base of the sea-wall boomed and tossed its spray on the windfanning his face. And while he chanted, his serious eyes devoured theblue leagues right away to the horizon. 

The drovers at the far end of the compartment turned their faces inwardand grinned. The middle-aged man looked across at me behind the boy'sback with half a smile and resumed his reading. The mother laughedapologetically--

"'Tis his way. He won't be so crazed for it in a few weeks' time, Ireckon. He's goin' up to Bristol to be bound apprentice to his uncle. His uncle's master of a sailing ship. "

But the boy did not hear. There are four or five tunnels in the redsandstone between Teignmouth and Dawlish, and through these he sang onin a low repressed voice, which broke out high and clear and strong aswe swept again into the large wind and sunshine. At Dawlish Station wedrew up for a minute, and a porter on the up platform nodded to one ofthe drovers and asked, "What's the matter with 'ee, in there?""Nothin', nothin'; we've got a smokin'-concert on, " said the drover. Across the rails a group waiting for the down train stood and stared atthe boy, whispered, and smiled; and I can still recall the fascinatedgaze of a plump urchin of six as he gripped with one hand a wooden spadeand with the other his mother's skirt. 

But the boy sang on heedless, and still sang on as we left Dawlishbehind. There was no jubilation in his chant, but through it all thereran and rang out from time to time a note of high challenge. Perhaps Iread too much in it, for in the heart of a boy many thoughts singtogether before they come to birth, --and to the destinies we see sodistinctly he marches through a haze, drawn onward by incommunicableyearnings. But as, unseen by him, I glanced up at his blown hair andeager parted lips, the chant seemed to grow articulate--

"O Sea, I am coming! O fate, waiting and waited for, I salute you!Friend or adversary, we meet to try each other: for your wonders I haveeyes, for your trials a heart. Use me, for I am ready!"

As we turned inland and ran beside the shore of the Exe, his song dieddown and ceased. For a while he stood conning the river, the boats, thered cliffs and whitewashed towns on the farther bank; and so, as we camein sight of the cathedral towers, stepped back and dropped into hisseat. 

"Well now, " said his mother, "you _be_ a funny boy!"

For a moment he did not seem to hear; then started and came out of hisday-dream with a furious blush. I looked away. 

II. 

The second boy wore a well-cut Eton suit, and sat in the smokingcompartment of a padded corridor carriage, with a silk-lined overcoatbeside him and a silver-mounted suit-case in the rack above. He was notsmoking, nor was he reading; but he sat on a great pile of papers andmagazines, and stared straight in front of him--that is to say, straightat me. 

His stare, though constant and unrelenting, was not in the leastoffensive--it had no curiosity in it: he had obviously beencontemplating the cushions before I intruded, and since I had chosen tooccupy his field of vision he contemplated me. 

I had no speaking acquaintance with the boy; but he bore the features ofhis family, and his initials were on the suit-case above. So I knew himfor the only son of a man who had once shown me civility, the youngestand least extravagantly wealthy of three rich brothers. Since one ofthese brothers had never married and now was not likely to, it laybeyond guessing what wealth the boy would inherit some day. 

He was by no means ill-looking, and quite certainly no fool. His facecarried the stamp of his father's ability. It puzzled me what he couldbe doing with that pile of papers and magazines; or why, having burdenedhimself with them, he should choose to sit and stare instead of readingthem. For his station lay but a twenty minutes' run below mine, and itwas impossible that in the time he could have glanced through the halfof them. 

He had been staring at me, or through me, maybe for half an hour, whenour train slowed down and came to a standstill above the steep valleybetween Bodmin Road and Doublebois. After a couple of minutes' wait, the boy rose and went to the window in the corridor to see what washappening; and I took this opportunity to glance across at the papersscattered on the vacant seat. They included three or four sixpenny andthreepenny magazines; a large illustrated paper (_Black and White_, Ithink); half a dozen penny weeklies--_Tit-bits_, _Answers_, _Pearson'sWeekly_, _Cassell's Saturday Journal_; I forget what others: halfpennypapers in a heap--all kinds of _Cuts_, _Snippets_, _Siftings_, _Echoes_, _Snapshots_, and _Side-lights_; _Pars about People_, _ChristianSweepings_, _Our Happy Fireside_, and _The Masher_. Many lay facedownward, coyly hiding their titles but disclosing such headlines as"Facts about the Flag, " "Books which have influenced the Bishop ofLondon, " "He gave 'em Fits!" "Our Unique Competition, " "Mr. CecilRhodes: a Powerful Personality, " "What becomes of old Stage Scenery. "

In the midst of my survey the train began to move forward again, and theboy came back to his seat. 

"It's only some platelayers on the viaduct, " he explained. "They heldup their flag against us. I suppose they were just finishing a job. "

"Nasty place to leave the rails, " said I, glancing over the parapet uponthe green tree-tops fifty feet below us. "

"I was thinking that, " said he, and a queer tremor in his young voicemade me glance at him sharply. Then suddenly I understood--or thought Idid. 

"You, at any rate, are pretty well insured, " said I. 

"Twenty thousand pounds, and a little over: the coupons cost four andtwopence altogether, and then at the end of the journey you can use upall the reading. "

"Wonderful!" I kept a serious face. "And I suppose all this time you'vebeen staring at me, amazed by the recklessness of your elders. "

He flushed slightly. "Have I been staring? I beg your pardon, I'msure: it's a trick I have. I begin thinking of things, and then--"

"Thinking, I suppose, of how it would feel to be in a collision, or whatit would be like to leap such a parapet as that and find ourselvesdropping--dropping--into space? But you shouldn't, really. It isn'thealthy in a boy like you: and if you'll listen to one who has knownwhat nerves are, it may too easily grow to mean something worse. "

"But it isn't that--exactly, " he protested; "though of course all thatcomes into it. I'm not a--a funk, sir! I was thinking more of the--of what would come _afterwards_, you know. "

"Oh dear!" I groaned to myself. "It's worse than ever: here's a littleprig worrying about his soul. I shouldn't advise you to trouble aboutthat, either, " I said aloud. 

"But I don't _trouble_ about it. " He hesitated, and stumbled into aburst of confidence. "You see, I'm no good at games--athletics and thatsort of thing--"

Again he stopped, and I nodded to encourage him. 

"And I'm no swell at schoolwork, either. I went to school late, andafter home it all seems so _young_--if you understand?"

I thought I did. With his polite grown-up manner I could understand hisisolation among the urchins, the masters, and all the interests ofan ordinary school. 

"But my father--you know him, don't you?--he's disappointed about it. He'd like me to bring home prizes or cups. I don't think he'd mind whatit was, so long as he could be proud about it. Of course he never_says_ anything: but a fellow gets to know. "

"I daresay you're right, " I said. "But what has this to do withinsuring yourself for twenty thousand pounds?"

"Well, you see, I'm to go into the Bank some day: and I expect my fatherthinks I shall be just as big a duffer at that. I know he does. But I'm not, if he'd only trust me a bit. So now if we were to smashup--collide, go off the rails, run over a bridge, or something of thatsort--just think how he'd feel when he found out I'd cleared twentythousand by it!"

"So that's what you were picturing to yourself?"

He nodded. "That, and the smash, and all. I kept saying, 'Now--if itcomes this moment?' And I wondered a little how it would take _you_suddenly: whether you'd start up or fall forward--and if you would sayanything. "

"You are a cheerful companion!"

He grinned politely. "And afterwards--just before the train stopped Ihad a splendid idea. I began making my will. You see, I knowsomething about investments. I read about them every day. "

"In the _Boy's Own Paper?_"

"We take in the _Standard_ in our school library, and I have it all tomyself unless there's a war on. I've heard my father say often thatit's a very reliable paper, and so it is, for I've tried it for twoyears now. So if I left a will telling just how the twenty thousandought to be invested, it would open my father's eyes more than ever. "

"My dear sir, " said I, "don't be in a hurry. Serve out your time amongthe barbarians at school, and I'll promise you in time your father'srespectful astonishment. "

These were my two boys; and you may wonder why I always think of themtogether. I do, though: and, what is more, I find that together theyhelp to explain to me my country's greatness. 

THE SENIOR FELLOW. 

There is at Oxford a small college, with a small bursar's garden that inspring is ablaze with laburnum and scented with lilac; and in the oldwall of this garden, just beneath the largest laburnum-tree, you maystill find a stone with this inscription: "_Jesus have mercy on MilesTonken, Fellow. Anno 1545. _"

This college, in the days when I knew it, had three marks ofdistinction:--It turned out, on hunting mornings, more "pinks" for itssize than any other in Oxford; its boat was head of the river; and itsSenior Fellow was the Rev. Theobald Pumfrey, who knew more of Athenaeusthan any man in the world. He seldom lectured; but day by day, yearafter year, sat in the window above this same small garden, andaccumulated notes for the great edition of his pet author that someday--nobody quite knew when--was to make him famous. He was the son ofa Cumberland farmer; had come up to the University from a localgrammar-school; and since then (it was said) had revisited his nativevillage twice only--to bury his father and mother. His mother's death--and that had happened five-and-twenty years before--left him without asingle relative on earth: nor could he be said to have a friend, evenamong the dons. He rose early, took a solitary walk in the parks, andwould spend the rest of the day at his desk by the window. Peoplemarvelled sometimes why he had taken Holy Orders. It was hinted thathis scout knew, perhaps; but, if so, his scout never divulged thereasons. 

The scholar was a man, nevertheless; had a humorously wrinkled mouth, and an eye that twinkled responsive to a jest; and was the best judge ofwine in Oxford. On the strength of this undeniable gift the dons hadlong since elected him steward of Common-room; and he valued theresponsibility, abstaining from tobacco--which he loved--to keep purehis taste for vintages, and preserve a discriminating palate amongsweets. An utterance of his would hint that even his avoidance ofphysical exercise was a matter of duty. 

"A man, " he said, "may work his body, may work his head, and may enjoyhis dinner. Any two of these things he may do, but not all three. For me, I wish to work my head, and _must_ enjoy my dinner. " And once, when I dined with him, it was made clear to me that his life was orderedafter a plan. It was a summer evening, and he held a glass of claretagainst the sunset. "Wife and children!" he cried suddenly, "wife andchildren!" Then, with a wave of his left hand from the claret to thestill lawn below us and the lilacs, "These are my wife and children!"

It was whispered at length that his commentary on the first book of theDeipnosophists was all but ready. All through a golden summer and aquiet Long Vacation it had been maturing, and on the first night of theOctober term he arranged his piles of notes about him, set a quire ofclean manuscript paper on his table, dipped pen in inkpot, and began tomuse on the first sentence. 

An hour passed, and the page was not soiled. Across the still gardencame the sound of cab-wheels rattling over the distant streets. The undergraduates were coming up for a fresh term. He had heard thesound a hundred times, almost; and it did not concern him. He had nolectures to prepare. 

Another hour passed, and another. The noise of the cabs had died out, and over him was creeping a sick fear, a certainty, that he could notwrite a word. The subject was too immense. He had given his life toAthenaeus, and now Athenaeus was a monster that one man's life andknowledge would not suffice for. Having withheld his pen till he mightwrite adequately, he awoke to find that writing was impossible. A horror took him as he pushed back his chair among the litter ofnote-books, and, stepping to the window, threw the sash open. 

Many stars were shining; and between them and the sleeping garden echoedthe clamour of a distant supper-party. He heard no words, only thenoise; but it filled his brain with a sense of the many thousandsupper-parties that the garden had listened to, of the generations thathad come and gone since his own first term, of the boys who had growninto men while he was working at Athenaeus--always Athenaeus. His forehead was burning, and as he pushed his hand across it, he seemedto read in the darkness under the laburnum-tree, "_Jesus have mercy onMiles Tonken, Fellow. Anno 1545, " and found a new meaning--an irony--inthe words. 

Then, because more and more the task of his life became a hopelessweight, he gave a look at his notebooks and escaped out of the room, downstairs into the fresh air of the quad, and across it towards theporter's lodge. He found the porter napping, and, having a private key, he let himself through the big gate and out into the street. No soulwas abroad: only the gas-lamps threw queer shadows of him on thepavement, and the night-breeze struck coldly into him as he hurriedalong, hating whatever he saw. 

Soon, under a window in St. Giles's, he pulled up. There was a party ofyoung men inside--perhaps the same supper-party whose voices he hadheard just now. The light from the room flared across the street; butby keeping close under the sill he stood in darkness, and he paused, listening eagerly. Above, they were singing a chorus, noted in thosedays--

It was pale dawn, and the sun was touching St. Mary's spire into flamewhen the heavy-eyed porter heard a key turn in the wicket. It was theSenior Fellow, and in about half an hour he appeared again at the lodge, carrying a small bag, and handed the porter a letter addressed to thePresident of the College. He then stepped out into the street, andhurried off towards the railway station. 

For a fortnight we heard nothing of him. Then suddenly he appearedagain--on an evening when the College, having won the "Fours, " wascommemorating its success by a bonfire in the big quad. A certainfreshman, stealing down his staircase with a can of colza oil to feedthe flames, was confronted by our missing Senior Fellow. 

"No, " said the great scholar, "don't be afraid, and don't seek to hidethat oil-can; but come in here. " And he led the way to his room. 

This much is mere rumour; for the freshman was always reticent on theencounter, and what followed. But many who were present that night canbear witness that a big portmanteau appeared suddenly on the summit ofthe bonfire, and blazed merrily to ashes, having clearly been saturatedwith oil. Not until long after were its contents divined. 

The Senior Fellow went back to his window above the bursar's garden, though henceforward he dined but rarely in Common-room; and year by yearscholars expected his edition of Athenaeus, until he died and left hisdesk full of notebooks to the youth who had carried the oil-can, and whoin course of years had become junior don. Also his will expressed awish that this, his favourite pupil, might be elected to succeed him assteward of Common-room. 

The new steward, eager to fulfil his duties, made it his first businessto inspect the college cellars. He found there abundance of old port, much fair claret, a bin of inestimable Madeira, several casks of morecurious wines, and among them one labelled "For the Poor. "

It struck him as a pleasant trait in his dead friend, thus to havedispensed in charity that wine which doubtless had gone beyond its age, and become unfit for the Fellows' palates. He drew a glassful andtasted it. 

The first sip was a revelation. He returned to his rooms, wrote a scoreof letters inviting to dinner all the acknowledged connoisseurs of othercolleges. When they had dined with him, and fallen into easy attitudesaround the table, he introduced this wine casually among half a dozenothers, and watched the result. 

Not a man who tasted it would taste any other. 

As for the notebooks--those priceless materials for the final edition ofAthenaeus--they were empty, mere blank pages! Only in that labelled"No. 1" was there a scrap of the old scholar's handwriting, and itbegan--

 "Dulce cum sodalibus Sapit vinum bonum: Osculari virgines Dulcius est donum: Donum est dulcissimum Musica tironum-- Qui tararaboomdeat, Spernit regis thronum!"

BALLAST. 

Under the green shore that faces the port, and at a point that, as themeeting-place of river and harbour, may be called indifferently byeither name, lay a slim-waisted barque at anchor, with a sand-bargealongside. The time was a soft and sunny morning in early January--a day that was Nature's breathing space after a week of sleet andboisterous winds. The gulls were back again from their inland shelters. Across the upland above the cliff a ploughman drove leisurably forth andback, and always close behind his heels the earth was white with thesebirds inspecting the fresh-turned furrow. The furze-bushes below himwere braided with cobwebs, and the stays, lifts, and braces of thebarque might have passed also for threads of gossamer spun from hermasts and yards, so delicately were the lines indicated against thehillside. In the sand-barge, three men were chanting as they worked;and their song, travelling across still sky and water, rose audiblyabove the stir of traffic even in the narrow streets of the town. 

The barque was taking in ballast; and the three men sang as theyshovelled, --for three reasons. It helped them to keep time; it kepteach from shirking his share of the work; and lastly, perhaps, the songcheered them. They knew it as "The Long Hundred, " and it ran--

 "There goes one. One there is gone. Oh, the rare one! And many more to come For to make up the sum Of the hundred so long. "

 "There goes two--"

--and so on, up to twenty. With each line, a shovelful of ballast waspitched on board by every man; so that, when the twenty six-line stanzaswere ended, each man had thrown one hundred and twenty (a "longhundred") shovelfuls of sand. Thereupon they paused, "touched pipe" fora minute or two, and, brushing the back of the hand across theirforeheads to wring off the sweat, started afresh. 

Along the barque's side ran a narrow line of blue paint, signifying thatthe vessel was in mourning, that somebody belonging to captain or ownerwas lately dead. But in this case it was the captain and owner himself:and his chief mourner was a bright-eyed woman with a complexion of creamand roses, who now leant over the bulwarks and looked downcontemplatively upon the three labourers. She was a Canadian, and herhusband, too, had been a Canadian--rich, more than twice her age, andluxurious. Since his marriage she had accompanied him on all hisvoyages. Three months ago his vessel had brought him, sick andsuffering from congestion of the lungs, into this harbour, where hiscargo of timber was to be unloaded: and in this harbour, a week later, he had died, without a doubt of his wife's affection. From the deckwhere she stood she could see between the elms on the hill above theport the white wall of the cemetery where he lay. The vessel was hers, and a snug little fortune in Quebec: and she was going back to enjoy it. For the homeward voyage she had deputed the captain's responsibilitiesto the first mate, and had raised his pay slightly, but the captain'sdignity she reserved for herself. 

She wore a black gown, of course, but not a widow's cap: and, though infact a widow of twenty-five, had very much more the appearance of a maidof nineteen as she looked down over the barque's side. Her lips wereparted as if to smile at the first provocation. On either side of hertemples a short brown curl had rebelled and was kissing her cheek. The sparkle in her eyes told of capacity to enjoy life. Behind her acoil of smoke rose from the deck-house chimney. She had left the middaymeal she was cooking, and ought to be back looking after it. Instead, she lingered and looked upon the three men at work below. 

Two of them were old, round-shouldered with labour, their necks burntbrown with stooping in the sun. The third was a young giant--tall, fair, and straight--with yellowish hair that curled up tightly at theback of his head, and lumbar muscles that swelled and sank in a prettyrhythm as he pitched his ballast and sang--

 "There goes nine. Nine there is gone . . . "

It was upon this man that the woman gazed as she lingered. His shirt-collar was cut low at the back, and his freckled neck wasshining with sweat. She wanted him to look up, and yet she was afraidof his looking up. She wondered if he were married--"at his age, " shephrased it to herself--and, if so, what manner of wife he had. She toldherself after a while that she really dreaded extremely being caughtobserving these three labourers; that she hated even in seeming to losedignity. And still she bent and heard the song to the twentieth andlast verse. 

The young giant, when the spell was over, leant on his shovel for amoment and then reached out a hand for the cider-keg. One of hiscomrades passed it to him. He wiped the orifice, tilted his head backand drank as a man drinks at midday after a long morning. Some of thecider trickled down his crisp yellow beard and he shook his head, scattering the drops off. Then the keg was tilted again, and suddenlylowered as he was on the point of drinking. His eyes had encounteredthose of the woman on deck. 

As they did so, the woman recovered all her boldness. Without in theleast knowing what prompted her, she bent a little further forward andasked--

"What is your name, young man?"

"William Udy, ma'am. "

"Do you mind breaking off work for a moment and stepping up here?"

"Cert'nly, ma'am. " William Udy laid down his shovel at once. 

A shiver of fear went through the young widow. Why had she asked himup? Why, on a mere impulse; because she wanted to see him closer--nothing more. What possible excuse could she give? She heard the soundof his heavy boots on the ship's ladder: he would be before her in amoment, expecting, of course, to be set to work on some odd job orother. She cast about wildly and could think of no job that wanteddoing. It was appalling: she could not possibly explain--

As has happened before now to women, her very weakness saved her inextremity. William Udy, clambering heavily over the ship's side, foundher leaning against the deck-house, with a face as white as the paintedboards against which her palm rested. 

"What be I to do, ma'am?" he inquired, after a pause, and then addedslowly, "Beggin' your pardon, but be you taken unwell?"

"Yes, " she panted, speaking very faintly, "I was over there--by thebulwarks, and suddenly--I felt queer--a faintness--I looked over and sawyou--I called the first person I saw. I wanted help. "

William Udy was puzzled. He had not noticed any pallor in the face thathad looked down on him from the ship's side. On the contrary, he seemedto remember that it struck him as remarkably fresh and rosy. But he sawno reason for doubting he had been mistaken. 

"Can I do aught for 'ee? Fetch a doctor?"

"If you wouldn't mind helping me down--down to my cabin--"

William took her arm gently and led her aft to the companion ladder. At the top of it she put out a hand vaguely and closed her eyes. 

"I don't think, " she murmured, "that I can walk. My head is going roundso. Could you--would it be too heavy--if you carried me?"

At any other time William would have considered this a good joke. As it was he took her up like a feather in his arms and carried her downto the cabin. There he set her down on the sofa and was about towithdraw, blushing. He was a very shy youth and had never carried awoman before, let alone one who was his superior in station. 

"Thank you, " she said in a voice that was little above a whisper. "How easily you carried me. It's plain to see you're a married man. "

William started. "There you're wrong, ma'am, pardon me for sayin' it. "

"No? You were so gentle: so gentle although so big"--she smiledfaintly. "Would you mind stepping to the cupboard there and pouring meout a wineglassful of sherry? It's in the decanter just inside. "

William poured out a glassful and set it on the table in front of her. She put it to her lips, and having scarcely moistened them, set it downagain. 

"A glass for yourself, " she said. "Come now--do! I see you are shockedat the number of bottles I keep here. But they were my husband's. He died, you know, a week after we came into harbour. "

William's face worked to express mute sympathy. 

"It's a fearful responsibility, " she went on, "being left alone likethis with a vessel to look after, and all his property waiting overthere, on the other side of the water; and I daresay the lawyers, there, waiting, too, to take advantage of me. I think it's having all thison my mind that makes my head so giddy at times. . . "

William stood opposite to her, and thought. It is not known at whatmoment the brilliant idea struck him, that as a husband he might be atower of strength to the fragile young creature on the sofa. His comrades after waiting some time for him began their chant again--

 "There goes one. One there is gone . . . "

And while they sang it William began that courtship which ended, threeweeks later, in his sailing for Canada. He went as a bridegroom; orperhaps (if we must reckon him as part of the ship's equipment), asballast. 

The End.