SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. 

MEMOIRS OF HIS ADVENTURES AT HOME AND ABROAD AND PARTICULARLY INTHE ISLAND OF CORSICA: BEGINNING WITH THE YEAR 1756. 

WRITTEN BY HIS SON PROSPER PALEOLOGUS OTHERWISE CONSTANTINE ANDEDITED BY "Q" (A. T. QUILLER-COUCH). 

 "For knighthood is not in the feats of warre, As for to fight in quarrel right or wrong, But in a cause which truth can not defarre He ought himself for to make sure and strong Justice to keep mixt with mercy among: And no quarrell a knight ought to take But for a truth, or for a woman's sake. "

TO THE READER

A hundred and fifty episodes, two sermons, and a number of moraldigressions, have been omitted from this story. 

The late ingenious Mr. Fett (whose acquaintance you will make in thefollowing pages), having been commissioned by Mr. Dodsley, thepublisher, to write a conspectus of the Present State of the Arts inItaly at two guineas the folio--a fair price for that class of work--had delivered close upon two hundred folios before Mr. Dodsleyinterposed, professing unbounded admiration of the work, its style, and matter, but desiring to know when he might expect the end:"For, " said he, "I have other enterprises which will soon bedemanding attention, and, as a business-man, I like to make myarrangements in good time. " To this Mr. Fett replied, that he, forhis part, being well content with the rate of remuneration, did notpropose to end the work at all!--and, the agreement, havingunaccountably failed to stipulate for any such thing as a conclusion, Mr. Dodsley had to compound for one at a crippling price. 

So this story had, in Browning's phrase, "grown old along with me, "but for the forethought of Messrs. Smith, Elder and Co. , in limitingits serial flow to twelve numbers of _The Cornhill Magazine_As it is, I have added a few chapters; but a hundred and fiftyepisodes remain unwritten, with the courtships of Mr. Priske, and thefuneral oration spoken by the Rev. Mr. Grylls over the cenotaph OfSir John Constantine in Constantine Parish Church. These omissions, however, may be remedied if you will ask the publishers for anotheredition. 

Now, if it be objected against some of the adventures of Sir JohnConstantine that they are extravagant, or against some of his notionsthat they are fantastic, I answer that this book attempts to describea man and not one of these calculable little super men who, of late, have been taking up so much more of your attention than they deserve. Students who engage in psychical research, as it is called, oftenconfess themselves puzzled by the behaviour of ghosts, it appears tothem wayward and trivial. How much more likely are ghosts to bepuzzled by the actions of real men? And we are surely ghosts if wekeep nothing of the blood which sent our fathers like schoolboys tothe crusades. 

Lastly, my friend, if you would know anything of the writer who hasso often addressed you under an initial, you may find as much of himhere as in any of his books. Here is interred part, at any rate, ofthe soul of the Bachelor Q, in a book which, though it tell ofadventures, I would ask you not to disdain, though you be a boy nolonger. An acquaintance of mine near the Land's End had aremarkably fine tree of apples--to be precise, of Cox's OrangePippins--and one night was robbed of the whole of them. But what, think you, had the thief left behind him, at the foot of the tree?Why, a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. 

ARTHUR T. QUILLER-COUCH. 

THE HAVEN, FOWEY, October 1st, 1906. 

CONTENTS

Chapter. 

I. OF THE LINEAGE AND CONDITION OF SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. 

II. I RIDE ON A PILGRIMAGE. 

III. I ACQUIRE A KINGDOM. 

IV. LONG VACATION. 

V. THE SILENT MEN. 

VI. HOW MY FATHER OUT OF NOTHING BUILT AN ARMY, AND IN FIVE MINUTES PLANNED AN INVASION. 

VII. THE COMPANY OF THE ROSE. 

VIII. TRIBULATIONS OF A MAYOR. 

IX. I ENLIST AN ARMY. 

X. OF THE DISCOURSE HELD ON BOARD THE "GAUNTLET". 

XI. WE FALL IN WITH A SALLEE ROVER. 

XII. HOW WE LANDED ON THE ISLAND. 

XIII. HOW, WITHOUT FIGHTING, OUR ARMY WASTED BY ENCHANTMENT. 

XIV. HOW BY MEANS OF HER WINE I CAME TO CIRCE. 

XV. I BECOME HOSTAGE TO PRINCESS CAMILLA. 

XVI. THE FOREST HUT. 

XVII. THE FIRST CHALLENGE. 

XVIII. THE TENDER MERCIES OF PRINCE CAMILLO. 

XIX. HOW MARC'ANTONIO NURESD ME AND GAVE ME COUNSEL. 

XX. I LEARN OF LIBERTY, AND AM RESTORED TO IT. 

XXI. OF MY FATHER'S ANABASIS; AND THE DIFFERENT TEMPERS OF AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN AND A WILD SHEEP OF CORSICA. 

XXII. THE GREAT ADVENTURE. 

XXIII. ORDEAL AND CHOOSING. 

XXIV. THE WOOING OF PRINCESS CAMILLA. 

XXV. MY WEDDING DAY. 

XXVI. THE FLAME AND THE ALTAR. 

XXVII. MY MISTRESS RE-ENLISTS ME. 

XXVIII. GENOA. 

XXIX. VENDETTA. 

XXX. THE SUMMIT AND THE STARS. 

 POSTSCRIPT. 

SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. 

CHAPTER I. 

OF THE LINEAGE AND CONDITION OF SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. 

 "I have laboured to make a covenant with myself, that affection may not press upon judgment: for I suppose there is no man, that hath any apprehension of gentry or nobleness, but his affection stands to a continuance of a noble name and house, and would take hold of a twig or twine-thread to uphold it: and yet time hath his revolution, there must be a period and an end of all temporal things, _finis rerum_, an end of names and dignities and whatsoever is terrene. . . . For where is Bohun? Where is Mowbray? Where is Mortimer? Nay, which is more and most of all, where is Plantagenet? They are intombed in the urns and sepulchres of mortality. "--_Lord Chief Justice Crewe_. 

My father, Sir John Constantine of Constantine, in the county ofCornwall, was a gentleman of ample but impoverished estates, who byrenouncing the world had come to be pretty generally reputed amadman. This did not affect him one jot, since he held precisely thesame opinion of his neighbours--with whom, moreover, he continued onexcellent terms. He kept six saddle horses in a stable large enoughfor a regiment of cavalry; a brace of setters and an infirm spanielin kennels which had sometime held twenty couples of hounds; andhimself and his household in a wing of his great mansion, locking offthe rest, with its portraits and tapestries, cases of books, andstands of antique arms, to be a barrack for the mice. This householdconsisted of his brother-in-law, Gervase (a bachelor of punctualhabits but a rambling head); a butler, Billy Priske; a cook, Mrs. Nance, who also looked after the housekeeping; two serving-maids;and, during his holidays, the present writer. My mother (an Arundellof Trerice) had died within a year after giving me birth; and after achildhood which lacked playmates, indeed, but was by no meansneglected or unhappy, my father took me to Winchester College, hisold school, to be improved in those classical studies which I hadhitherto followed desultorily under our vicar, Mr. Grylls, and thereentered me as a Commoner in the house of Dr. Burton, Head-master. I had spent almost four years at Winchester at the date (Midsummer, 1756) when this story begins. 

To return to my father. He was, as the world goes, a mass ofcontrarieties. A thorough Englishman in the virtues for whichforeigners admire us, and in the extravagance at which they smile, hehad never even affected an interest in the politics over whichEnglishmen grow red in the face; and this in his youth had commendedhim to Walpole, who had taken him up and advanced him as well for hisabilities, address, and singularly fine presence as because hisestate then seemed adequate to maintain him in any preferment. Again Walpole's policy abroad--which really treated warfare as theevil it appears in other men's professions--condemned my father, aborn soldier, to seek his line in diplomacy; wherein he had no soonerbuilt a reputation by services at two or three of the Italian courtsthan, with a knighthood in hand and an ambassadorship in prospect, hesuddenly abandoned all, cast off the world, and retired intoCornwall, to make a humdrum marriage and practise fishing for trout. 

The reason of it none knew, or how his estate had come to beimpoverished, as beyond doubt it was. Here again he showed himselfunlike the rest of men, in that he let the stress of poverty fallfirst upon himself, next upon his household, last of all upon histenants and other dependants. After my mother's death he cut downhis own charges (the cellar only excepted) to the last penny, shuthimself off in a couple of rooms, slept in a camp bed, wore an oldvelveteen coat in winter and in summer a fisherman's smock, atefrugally, and would have drunk beer or even water had not his stomachabhorred them both. Of wine he drank in moderation--that is to say, for him, since his temperance would have sent nine men out of tenunder the table--and of the best. He had indeed a large andobstinate dignity in his drinking. It betrayed, even as his carriagebetrayed beneath his old coat, a king in exile. 

Yet while he pinched himself with these economies, he drew nostrings--or drew them tenderly--upon the expenses and charities of agood landlord. The fences rotted around his own park andpleasure-grounds, but his tenants' fences, walls, roofs stood in morethan moderate repair, nor (although my uncle Gervase groaned over theaccounts) would an abatement of rent be denied, the appeal havingbeen weighed and found to be reasonable. The rain--which falls alikeupon the just and the unjust--beat through his own roof, but neverthrough the labourer's thatch; and Mrs. Nance, the cook, who hatedbeggars, might not without art and secrecy dismiss a single beggarunfed. His religion he told to no man, but believed the practice ofworship to be good for all men, and regularly encouraged it byattending church on Sundays and festivals. He and the vicar ruledour parish together in amity, as fellow-Christians and rival anglers. 

Now, all these apparent contrarieties in my father flowed in factfrom a very rare simplicity, and this simplicity again had its originin his lineage, which was something more than royal. 

On the Cornish shore of the Tamar River, which divides Cornwall fromDevon, and a little above Saltash, stands the country church ofLandulph, so close by the water that the high tides wash by itsgraveyard wall. Within the church you will find a mural tablet ofbrass thus inscribed--

 "Here lyeth the body of Theodoro Paleologvs of Pesaro in Italye, descended from ye Imperyall lyne of ye last Christian Emperors of Greece being the sonne of Camilio ye sonne of Prosper the sonne of Theodoro the sonne of John ye sonne of Thomas second brother to Constantine Paleologvs, the 8th of that name and last of yt lyne yt raygned in Constantinople vntill svbdewed by the Tvrks who married with Mary ye davghter of William Balls of Hadlye in Svffolke gent & had issve 5 children Theodoro John Ferdinando Maria & Dorothy & dep'ted this life at Clyfton ye 21th of Ianvary 1636"

Above these words the tablet bears an eagle engraved with two heads, and its talons resting upon two gates of Rome and Constantinople, with (for difference) a crescent between the gates, and over all animperial crown. In truth this exile buried by Tamar drew his blooddirect from the loins of the great Byzantine emperors, through thatThomas of whom Mahomet II. Said, "I have found many slaves inPeloponnesus, but this man only:" and from Theodore, through hissecond son John, came the Constantines of Constantine--albeit with abar sinister, of which my father made small account. I believe heheld privately that a Constantine, _de stirpe imperatorum_, had nocall to concern himself with petty ceremonies of this or that of theChurch's offshoots to legitimize his blood. At any rate no barsinister appeared on the imperial escutcheon repeated, withquarterings of Arundel, Mohun, Grenville, Nevile, Archdeckne, Courtney, and, again, Arundel, on the wainscots and in the windows ofConstantine, usually with the legend _Dabit Devs His Qvoqve Finem_, but twice or thrice with a hopefuller one, _Generis revocemvshonores_. 

Knowing him to be thus descended, you could recognize in all myfather said or did a large simplicity as of the earlier gods, and adignity proper to a king as to a beggar, but to no third and meanstate. A child might beard him, but no man might venture a libertywith him or abide the rare explosions of his anger. You might even, upon long acquaintance, take him for a great, though mad, Englishman, and trust him as an Englishman to the end; but the soil of his naturewas that which grows the vine--volcanic, breathing through its poresa hidden heat to answer the sun's. Whether or no there be in man afaith to remove mountains, there is in him (and it may come to thesame thing) a fire to split them, and anon to clothe the bare rockwith tendrils and soft-scented blooms. 

In person my father stood six feet five inches tall, and hisshoulders filled a doorway. His head was large and shapely, and hecarried it with a very noble poise; his face a fine oval, broadacross the brow and ending in a chin at once delicate and masterful;his nose slightly aquiline; his hair--and he wore his own, tied witha ribbon--of a shining white. His cheeks were hollow and would havebeen cadaverous but for their hue, a sanguine brown, well tanned byout-of-door living. His eyes, of an iron-grey colour, were fierce orgentle as you took him, but as a rule extraordinarily gentle. He would walk you thirty miles any day without fatigue, and shoot youa woodcock against any man; but as an angler my uncle Gervase beathim. 

He spoke Italian as readily as English; French and the modern Greekwith a little more difficulty; and could read in Greek, Latin, andSpanish. His books were the "Meditations" of the Emperor MarcusAurelius, and Dante's "Divine Comedy, " with the "Aeneis, " Ariosto, and some old Spanish romances next in order. I do not think he caredgreatly for any English writers but Donne and Izaak Walton, of whose"Angler" and "Life of Sir Henry Wotton" he was inordinately fond. In particular he admired the character of this Sir Henry Wotton, singling him out among "the famous nations of the dead" (as SirThomas Browne calls them) for a kind of posthumous friendship--nay, almost a passion of memory. To be sure, though with more than ahundred years between them, both had been bred at Winchester, andboth had known courts and embassies and retired from them uponprivate life. . . . But who can explain friendship, even after allthe essays written upon it? Certainly to be friends with a dead manwas to my father a feat neither impossible nor absurd. 

Yet he possessed two dear living friends at least in my Uncle Gervaseand Mr. Grylls, and had even dedicated a temple to their friendship. It stood about half a mile away from the house, at the foot of theold deer-park: a small Ionic summer-house set on a turfed slopefacing down a dell upon the Helford River. A spring of water, verycold and pure, rose bubbling a few paces from the porch and tumbleddown the dell with a pretty chatter. Tradition said that it had oncebeen visited and blessed by St. Swithun, for which cause my fathercalled his summer-house by the saint's name, and annually on hisfestival (which falls on the 15th of July) caused wine and dessert tobe carried out thither, where the three drank to their common pastimeand discoursed of it in the cool of the evening within earshot of thelapsing water. On many other evenings they met to smoke their pipeshere, my father and Mr. Grylls playing at chequers sometimes, whilemy uncle wrapped and bent, till the light failed him, new trout fliesfor the next day's sport; but to keep St. Swithun's feast they neveromitted, which my father commemorated with a tablet set against theback wall and bearing these lines--

 "Peace to this house within this little wood, Named of St. Swithun and his brotherhood That here would meet and punctual on his day Their heads and hands and hearts together lay. Nor may no years the mem'ries three untwine Of Grylls W. G. And Arundell G. A. And Constantine J. C. Anno 1752 Flvmina amem silvasqve inglorivs. "

Of these two friends of my father I shall speak in their properplace, but have given up this first chapter to him alone. My readersmaybe will grumble that it omits to tell what they would first chooseto learn: the reason why he had exchanged fame and the world for aCornish exile. But as yet he only--and perhaps my uncle Gervase, whokept the accounts--held the key to that secret. 

CHAPTER II. 

I RIDE ON A PILGRIMAGE. 

 "_Heus Rogere! fer caballos; Eja, nunc eamus!" Domum. 

At Winchester, which we boys (though we fared hardly) never doubtedto be the first school in the world, as it was the most ancient inEngland, we had a song we called _Domum_: and because our commonpride in her--as the best pride will--belittled itself in speech, Itrust that our song honoured Saint Mary of Winton the more in that itcelebrated only the joys of leaving her. 

The tale went, it had been composed (in Latin, too) by a boy detainedat school for a punishment during the summer holidays. Another fableimproved on this by chaining him to a tree. A third imprisoned himin cloisters whence, through the arcades and from the ossuaries ofdead fellows and scholars, he poured out his soul to the swallowshaunting the green garth--

 "Jam repetit domum Daulias advena, Nosque domum repetamus. "

Whatever its origin, our custom was to sing it as the holidays--especially the summer holidays--drew near, and to repeat it as theydrew nearer, until every voice was hoarse. As I remember, we kept upthis custom with no decrease of fervour through the heats of June1756, though they were such that our _hostiarius_ Dr. Warton, then anew broom, swept us out of school and for a fortnight heard our books(as the old practice had been) in cloisters, where we sat upon coolstone and in the cool airs, and between our tasks watched theswallows at play. Nevertheless we panted, until evening released usto wander forth along the water-meadows by Itchen and bathe, and, having bathed, to lie naked amid the mints and grasses for a whilebefore returning in the twilight. 

This bathing went on, not in one or two great crowds, but in groups, and often in pairs only, scattered along the river-bank almost allthe way to Hills; it being our custom again at Winchester (and Ibelieve it still continues) to _socius_ or walk with one companion;and only at one or two favoured pools would several of these couplesmeet together for the sport. On the evening of which I am to tell, my companion was a boy named Fiennes, of about my own age, and webathed alone, though not far away to right and left the bank teemedwith outcries and laughter and naked boys running all silvery astheir voices in the dusk. 

With all this uproar the trout of Itchen, as you may suppose, hadgone into hiding; but doubtless some fine fellows lay snug under thestones, and--the stream running shallow after the heats--as westretched ourselves on the grass Fiennes challenged me to tickle forone; it may be because he had heard me boast of my angling feats athome. There seemed a likely pool under the farther bank; convenient, except that to take up the best position beside it I must get thelevel sun full in my face. I crept across, however, Fiennes keepingsilence, laid myself flat on my belly, and peered down into the pool, shading my eyes with one hand. For a long while I saw no fish, untilthe sun-rays, striking aslant, touched the edge of a golden fin veryprettily bestowed in a hole of the bank and well within an overlap ofgreen weed. Now and again the fin quivered, but for the most part mygentleman lay quiet as a stone, head to stream, and waited for relieffrom these noisy Wykehamists. Experience, perhaps, had taught him todespise them; at any rate, when gently--very gently--I lowered myhand and began to tickle, he showed neither alarm nor resentment. 

"Is it a trout?" demanded Fiennes, in an excited whisper from thefarther shore. But of course I made no answer, and presently Isupposed that he must have crept off to his clothes, for some way upthe stream I heard the Second Master's voice warning the bathers todress and return, and with his usual formula, _Ite domum saturae, venit Hesperus, ite capelloe! Being short-sighted, he missed to spyme, and I felt, rather than saw or heard, him pass on; for with onehand I yet shaded my eyes while with the other I tickled. 

Yet another two minutes went by, and then with a jerk I had my trout, my thumb and forefinger deep under his gills; brought down my otherclutch upon him and, lifting, flung him back over me among the meadowgrass, my posture being such that I could neither hold him strugglingnor recover my own balance save by rolling sideways over on myshoulder-pin; which I did, and, running to him where he gleamed anddoubled, flipping the grasses, caught him in both hands and held himaloft. 

But other voices than Fiennes' answered my shout over the river--voices that I knew, though they belonged not to this hour nor to thisplace; and blinking against the sun, now sinning level acrossLavender Meads, I was aware of two tall figures standing dark againstit, and of a third and shorter one between whose legs it poured ingold as through a natural arch. Sure no second man in England woreBilly Priske's legs!

Then, and while I stood amazed, my father's voice and my UncleGervase's called to me together: and gulping down all wonder, possessed with love only and a wild joy--but yet grasping my fish--I splashed across the shallows and up the bank, and let my fathertake me naked to his heart. 

"So, lad, " said he, after a moment, thrusting me a little back by theshoulders (while I could only sob), and holding me so that the sunfell full on me, "Dost truly love me so much?"

"Clivver boy, clivver boy!" said the voice of Billy Priske. "Lord, now, what things they do teach here beside the Latin!"

The rogue said it, as I knew, to turn my father's suspicion, havinghimself taught me the poacher's trick. But my uncle Gervase, whosemind moved as slowly as it was easily diverted, answered withgravity--

"It is hard knowing what may or may not be useful in after life, seeing that God in His wisdom hides what that life is to be. "

"Very true, " agreed my father, with a twinkle, and took snuff. 

"But--but what brings you here?" cried I, with a catch of the breath, ignoring all this. 

"Nevertheless, such comely lads as they be, " my uncle continued, "God will doubtless bring them to good. Comelier lads, brother, Inever saw, nor, I think, the sun never shined on; yet there was one, at the bowls yonder, was swearing so it grieved me to the heart. "

"Put on your clothes, boy, " said my father, answering me. "We haveridden far, but we bring no ill news; and to-morrow--I have theHead-master's leave for it--you ride on with us to London. "

"To London!" My heart gave another great leap, as every boy's muston hearing that he is to see London for the first time. But here weall turned at a cry from Billy Priske, between whose planted anklesMaster Fiennes had mischievously crept and was measuring the spanbetween with extended thumb and little finger. My father stooped, haled him to his feet by the collar, and demanded what he did. 

"Why, sir, he's a Colossus!" quoted that nimble youth;

 "'and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peer about--'"

"And will find yourself a dishonourable grave, " my father capped him. "What's your name, boy?"

"Fiennes, sir; Nathaniel Fiennes. " The lad saluted. 

My father lifted his hat in answer. "Founder's kin?"

"I am here on that condition, sir. "

"Then you are kinsman, as well as namesake, of him who saved ourWykeham's tomb in the Parliament troubles. I felicitate you, sir, and retract my words, for by that action of your kinsman's shall thegraves of all his race and name be honoured. "

Young Fiennes bowed. "Compliments fly, sir, when gentlemen meet. But"--and he glanced over his shoulder and rubbed the small of hisback expressively, "as a Wykehamist, you will not have me late atnames-calling. "

"Go, boy, and answer to yours; they can call no better one. "My father dipped a hand in his pocket. "I may not invite you tobreakfast with us to-morrow, for we start early; and you will excuseme if I sin against custom. . . . It was esteemed a laudable practicein my time. " A gold coin passed. 

"_Et in saecula saeculo--o--rum. Amen!_" Master Fiennes spun thecoin, pocketed it, and went off whistling schoolwards over the meads. 

My father linked his arm in mine and we followed, I asking, and thethree of them answering, a hundred questions of home. But why, or onwhat business, we were riding to London on the morrow my father wouldnot tell. "Nay, lad, " said he, "take your Bible and read that Isaacasked no questions on the way to Moriah. "

"My uncle, who overheard this, considered it for a while, and said--

"The difference is that you are not going to sacrifice Prosper. "

The three were to lie that night at the George Inn, where they hadstabled their horses; and at the door of the Head-master's house, where we Commoners lodged, they took leave of me, my fathercommending me to God and good dreams. That they were happy ones Ineed not tell. 

He was up and abroad early next morning, in time to attend chapel, where by the vigour of his responses he set the nearer boystittering; two of whom I afterwards fought for it, though with whatresult I cannot remember. The service, which we urchins heededlittle, left him pensive as we walked together towards the inn, andhe paused once or twice, with eyes downcast on the cobbles, andmuttered to himself. 

"I am striving to recollect my Morning Lines, lad, " he confessed atlength, with a smile; "and thus, I think, they go. The great SirHenry Wotton, you have heard me tell of, in the summer before hisdeath made a journey hither to Winchester; and as he returned towardsEton he said to a friend that went with him: 'How useful was thatadvice of an old monk that we should perform our devotions in aconstant place, because we so meet again with the very thoughts whichpossessed us at our last being there. ' And, as Walton tells, 'I find it, '" he said, "'thus far experimentally true, that at my nowbeing in that school and seeing that very place where I sat when Iwas a boy occasioned me to remember those very thoughts of my youthwhich then possessed me: sweet thoughts indeed--'"

Here my father paused. "Let me be careful, now. I should be perfectin the words, having read them more than a hundred times. 'Sweet thoughts indeed, '" said he, "'that promised my growing yearsnumerous pleasures, without mixture of cares; and those to be enjoyedwhen time--which I therefore thought slow-paced--had changed my youthinto manhood. But age and experience have taught me these were butempty hopes, for I have always found it true, as my Saviour didforetell, _Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof_. Nevertheless, I saw there a succession of boys using the samerecreations, and, questionless, possessed with the same thoughts thatthen possessed me. Thus one generation succeeds another, both intheir lives, recreations, hopes, fears, and death. '"

"But I would not have you, lad, " he went on, "to pay too much heed tothese thoughts, which will come to you in time, for as yet you arebetter without 'em. Nor were they my only thoughts: for havingbrought back my own sacrifice, which I had sometime hoped might be sogreat, but now saw to be so little, at that moment I looked down toyour place in chapel and perceived that I had brought belike the bestoffering of all. So my hope--thank God!--sprang anew as I saw youthere standing vigil by what bright armour you guessed not, nor inpreparation for what high warfare. " He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Your chapel to-day, child, has been the longer by a sermon. There, there! forget all but the tail on't. "

We rode out of Winchester with a fine clatter, all four of us uponhired nags, the Cornish horses being left in the stables to rest;and after crossing the Hog's Back, baited at Guildford. A thunderstorm in the night had cleared the weather, which, thoughfine, was cooler, with a brisk breeze playing on the uplands; andstill as we went my spirits sang with the larks overhead, so blithewas I to be sitting in saddle instead of at a scob, and riding toLondon between the blown scents of hedgerow and hayfield andbeanfield, all fragrant of liberty yet none of them more delicious toa boy than the mingled smell of leather and horseflesh. Billy Priskekept up a chatter beside me like a brook's. He had never till nowbeen outside of Cornwall but in a fishing-boat, and though he hadcome more than two hundred miles each new prospect was a marvel tohim. My father told me that, once across the Tamar ferry, being toldthat he was now in Devonshire, he had sniffed and observed the air tobe growing "fine and stuffy;" and again, near Holt Forest, where myfather announced that we were crossing the border between Hampshireand Surrey, he drew rein and sat for a moment looking about him andscratching his head. 

"The Lord's ways be past finding out, " he murmured. "Not so much asa post!"

"Why _should_ there be a post?" demanded my uncle. "Why, sir, forthe men of Hampshire and the men of Surrey to fight over and curseone another by on Ash Wednesdays. But where there's no landmark aplain man can't remove it, and where he can't remove it I don't seehow he can be cursed for it. "

"'Twould be a great inconvenience, as you say, Billy, if, for thesake of argument, the men of Hampshire wanted to curse the men ofSurrey. "

"They couldn't do it"--Billy shook his head--"for the sake ofargument or any other sake; and therefore I say, though not one todictate to the Lord, that if a river can't be managed hereabouts--and, these two not being Devon and Cornwall, a whole river might beoverdoing things--there ought to be some little matter of atrout-stream, or at the least a notice-board. "

"The fellow's right, " said my father. "Man would tire too soon ofhis natural vices; so we invent new ones for him by making laws andboundaries. "

"Surely and virtues too, " suggested my uncle, as we rode forwardagain. "You will not deny that patriotism is a virtue?"

"Not I, " said my father; "nor that it is the finest invention ofall. "

I remember the Hog's Back and the breeze blowing there because on thehighest rise we came on a gibbet and rode around it to windward onthe broad turfy margin of the road; and also because the sight put myfather in mind of a story which he narrated on the way down toGuildford. 

THE STORY OF OUR LADY OF THE ROSARY. 

"It is told, " began my father, "in a sermon of the famous Vieyras--"

"For what was he famous?" asked my uncle. 

"For being a priest, and yet preaching so good a sermon on love. Itis told in it that in the kingdom of Valencia there lived an hidalgo, young and rich, who fell in love with a virtuous lady, ill treated byher husband: and she with him, howbeit without the least thought ofevil. But, as evil suspects its like, so this husband doubted thefidelity which was his without his deserving, and laid a plot to berevenged. On the pretext of the summer heats he removed with hishousehold to a country house; and there one day he entered a roomwhere his wife sat alone, turned the key, and, drawing out a dagger, ordered her to write what he should dictate. She, being innocent, answered him that there was no need of daggers, but she would write, as her duty was, what he commanded: which was, a letter to the younghidalgo telling him that her husband had left home on business; thatif her lover would come, she was ready to welcome him; and that, ifhe came secretly the next night, he would find the garden gate open, and a ladder placed against the window. This she wrote and signed, seeing no escape; and, going to her own room, commended her fears andher weakness to the Virgin. 

"The young hidalgo, on receiving the letter (very cautiouslydelivered), could scarcely believe his bliss, but prepared, as youwill guess, to embrace it. Having dressed himself with care, at theright hour he mounted his horse and rode out towards his lady'shouse. Now, he was a devout youth, as youths go, and on his way heremembered--which was no little thing on such an occasion--that sincemorning he had not said over his rosary as his custom was. So he began to tell it bead by bead, when a voice near at hand said'Halt, Cavalier!' He drew his sword and peered around him in thedarkness, but could see no one, and was fumbling his rosary againwhen again the voice spoke, saying, 'Look up, Cavalier!' and lookingup, he beheld against the night a row of wayside gibbets, and rode inamong them to discover who had called him. To his horror one of themalefactors hanging there spoke down to him, begging to be cut loose;'and, ' said the poor wretch, 'if you will light the heap of twigs atyour feet and warm me by it, your charity shall not be wasted. 'For Christian charity then the youth, having his sword ready, cut himdown, and the gallows knave fell on his feet and warmed himself atthe lit fire. 'And now, ' said he, being warmed, 'you must take me upbehind your saddle; for there is a plot laid to-night from which Ionly can deliver you. ' So they mounted and rode together to thehouse, where, having entered the garden by stealth, they found theladder ready set. 'You must let me climb first, ' said the knave; andhad no sooner reached the ladder's top than two or three pistol shotswere fired upon him from the window and as many hands reached out andstabbed him through and through until he dropped into the ditch;whence, however, he sprang on his feet, and catching our hidalgo bythe arm hurried him back through the garden to the gate where hishorse stood tethered. There they mounted and rode away into safety, the dead behind the living. 'All this is enchantment to me, ' saidthe youth as they went. 'But I must thank you, my friend; forwhether dead or alive--and to my thinking you must be doubly dead--you have rendered me a great service. ' 'You may say a mass for me, and thank you, ' the dead man answered; 'but for the service you mustthank the Mother of God, who commanded me and gave me power todeliver you, and has charged me to tell you the reason of herkindness: which is, that every day you say her rosary. ' 'I do thankher and bless her then, ' replied the youth, 'and henceforth will Isay her rosary not once daily but thrice, for that she hath preservedmy life to-night. '"

"A very proper resolution, " said my uncle. 

"And I hope, sir, he kept it, " chimed in Billy Priske; "goodProtestant though I be. "

"The story is not ended, " said my father. "The dead man--they weredismounted now and close under the gallows--looked at the young manangrily, and said he, 'I doubt Our Lady's pains be wasted, after all. Is it possible, sir, you think she sent me to-night to save yourlife?' 'For what else?' inquired the youth. 'To save your soul, sir, and your lady's; both of which (though you guessed not or forgotit) stood in jeopardy just now, so that the gate open to you wasindeed the gate of Hell. Pray hang me back as you found me, " heconcluded, 'and go your ways for a fool. '"

"Now see what happened. The murderers in the house, coming down tobury the body and finding it not, understood that the young man hadnot come alone; from which they reasoned that his servants hadcarried him off and would publish the crime. They therefore, withtheir master, hurriedly fled out of the country. The lady betookherself to a religious house, where in solitude questioning herselfshe found that in will, albeit not in act, she had been less thanfaithful. As for the hidalgo, he rode home and shut himself withindoors, whence he came forth in a few hours as a man from asepulchre--which, indeed, to his enemies he evidently was when theyheard that he was abroad and unhurt whom they had certainly stabbedto death; and to his friends almost as great a marvel when theyperceived the alteration of his life; yea, and to himself thegreatest of all, who alone knew what had passed, and, as byenchantment his life had taken this turn, so spent its remainder likea man enchanted rather than converted. I am told, " my fatherconcluded, "though the sermon says nothing about it, that he and thelady came in the end, and as by an accident, to be buried side byside, at a little distance, in the Chapel of Our Lady of Succour inthe Cathedral church of Valencia, and there lie stretched--twoparallels of dust--to meet only at the Resurrection when the desiresof all dust shall be purged away. "

With this story my father beguiled the road down into Guildford, andof his three listeners I was then the least attentive. Years afterwards, as you shall learn, I had reason to remember it. 

At Guildford, where we fed ourselves and hired a relay of horses, Itook Billy aside and questioned him (forgetting the example of Isaac)why we were going to London and on what business. He shook his head. 

"Squire knows, " said he. "As for me, a still tongue keeps a wisehead, and moreover I know not. Bain't it enough for 'ee to be quitof school and drinking good ale in the kingdom o' Guildford?Very well, then. "

"Still, one cannot help wondering, " said I, half to myself; but Billydipped his face stolidly within his pewter. 

"The last friend a man should want to take up with is his Future, "said he, sagely. "I knows naught about en but what's to hisdiscredit--as that I shall die sooner or later, a thing that goesagainst my stomach; or that at the best I shall grow old, which runscounter to my will. He's that uncomfortable, too, you can't pleasehim. Take him hopeful, and you're counting your chickens; take himdoleful, and foreboding is worse than witchcraft. There was aMevagissey man I sailed with as a boy--and your father's tale justnow put me in mind of him--paid half a crown to a conjurer, one time, to have his fortune told; which was, that he would marry the ugliestmaid in the parish. Whereby it preyed on his mind till he hangedhisself. Whereby along comes the woman in the nick o' time, cuts himdown, an' marries him out o' pity while he's too weak to resist. That's your Future; and, as I say, I keeps en at arm's length. "

With this philosophy of Billy I had to be content and find my ownguesses at the mystery. But as the afternoon wore on I kept no holdon any speculation for more than a few minutes. I was saddle-weary, drowsed with sunburn and the moving landscape over which the sun, when I turned, swam in a haze of dust. The villages crowded closer, and at the entry of each I thought London was come; but anon thehouses thinned and dwindled and we were between hedgerows again. So it lasted, village after village, until with the shut of night, when the long shadows of our horses before us melted into dusk, afaint glow opened on the sky ahead and grew and brightened. I knew it: but even as I saluted it my chin dropped forward and Idozed. In a dream I rode through the lighted streets, and at thedoor of our lodgings my father lifted me down from the saddle. 

CHAPTER III. 

I ACQUIRE A KINGDOM. 

 "_Gloucester_. The trick of that voice I do well remember: Is't not the king?" "_Lear_. Ay, every inch a king. " _King Lear_. 

From our lodgings, which were in Bond Street, we sallied forth nextmorning to view the town; my father leading us first by way of St. James's and across the Park to the Abbey, and on the way holdingdiscourse to which I recalled myself with difficulty from London'sshows and wonders--his Majesty's tall guards at the palace gates, thegorgeous promenaders in the Mall, the swans and wild fowl on thelake. 

"I wish you to remark, my dear child, " said he, "that between acapital and solitude there is no third choice; nor, I would add, cana mind extract the best of solitude unless it bring urbanity to thewilderness. Your rustic is no philosopher, and your provincialtownsman is the devil: if you would meditate in Arden, your companymust be the Duke, Jaques, Touchstone--courtiers all--or, again, Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, if you would catch the very mood ofthe forest. I tell you this, child, that you may not be misled by myexample (which has a reason of its own and, I trust, an excuse) intoshunning your destiny though it lead and keep you in cities and amongcrowds; for we have it on the word of no less busy a man than theEmperor Marcus Aurelius that to seek out private retiring-rooms forthe soul such as country villages, the sea-shore, mountains, is but amistaken simplicity, seeing that at what time soever a man will it isin his power to retire into himself and be at rest, dwelling withinthe walls of a city as in a shepherd's fold of the mountain. So alsothe sainted Juan de Avila tells us that a man who trusts in God may, if he take pains, recollect God in streets and public places betterthan will a hermit in his cell; and the excellent Archbishop ofCambrai, writing to the Countess of Gramont, counselled her topractise recollection and give a quiet thought to God at dinner timesin a lull of the conversation, or again when she was driving ordressing or having her hair arranged; these hindrances (said he)profited more than any _engouement_ of devotion. 

"But, " he went on, "to bear yourself rightly in a crowd you muststudy how one crowd differs from another, and how in one city you mayhave that great orderly movement of life (whether of business or ofpleasure) which is the surrounding joy of princes in their palaces, and an insensate mob, which is the most brutal and vilest aspect ofman. For as in a thronged street you may learn the high meaning ofcitizenship, so in a mob you may unlearn all that makes a mandignified. Yet even the mob you should study in a capital, asShakespeare did in his 'Julius Caesar' and 'Coriolanus;' for only socan you know it in its quiddity. I conjure you, child, to get yoursense of men from their capital cities. "

He had something to tell of almost every great house we passed. He seemed--he that had saluted no one as we crossed the Mall, salutedof none--to walk this quarter of London with a proprietary tread; andby and by, coming to the river, he waved an arm and broke intopanegyric. 

"Other capitals have had their turn, and others will overtake andoutstrip her; but where is one in these times to compare with London?Where in Europe will you see streets so well ordered, squares sospacious, houses so comfortable, yet elegant, as in this mile eastand south of Hyde Park? Where such solid, self-respecting wealth asin our City? Where such merchant-princes and adventurers as yourWhittingtons and Greshams? Where half its commerce? and where acommerce touched with one tithe of its imagination? Where such ariver, for trade as for pageants? On what other shore two buildingsside by side so famous, the one for just laws, civil security, liberty with obedience, the other for heroic virtues resumed, withtheir propagating dust, into the faith which sowed all and, havingreaped, renews?"

In the Abbey--where my Uncle Gervase was forced to withdraw behind apillar and rub Billy Priske's neck, which by this time had a crick init--my father's voice, as he moved from tomb to tomb, deepened to aregal solemnity. He repeated Beaumont's great lines--

 "Mortality, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here!"

laying a hand on my shoulder the while; and in the action Iunderstood that this and all his previous discourse was addressed tome with a purpose, and that somehow our visit to London had to dowith that purpose. 

 "Here they lie had realms and lands Who now want strength to stir their hands; Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust They preach 'In greatness is no trust' . . . Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings. . . . "

I must have fallen a-wondering while he quoted in a low sonorousvoice, like a last echo of the great organ, rolling among the arches;for as it ceased I came to myself with a start and found his eyessearching me; also his hold on my shoulder had stiffened, and he heldme from him at arm's length. 

"And yet, " said he, as if to himself, "this dust is the strongest mancan build with; and we must build in our generation--quickly, trusting in the young firm flesh; yes, quickly--and trusting--thoughwe know what its end must be. "

These last words he muttered, and afterwards seemed to fall into ameditation, which lasted until we found ourselves outside the Abbeyand in the light again. 

From Westminster we took boat to Blackfriars, and, landing there, walked up through the crowded traffic to a gateway opening intoClement's Inn. I did not know its name at the time, nor did I regardthe place as we entered, being yet fascinated with the sight ofTemple Bar and of the heads of four traitors above it on poles, blackening in the sun; but within the courtyard we turned to theright and mounted a staircase to the head of the second flight and toa closed door on which my father knocked. A clerk opened, andpresently we passed through an office into a well-sized room where, from amid a pile of books, a grave little man rose, reached for hiswig, and, having adjusted it, bowed to us. 

"Good morning! Good morning, gentlemen! Ah--er--Sir JohnConstantine, I believe?"

My father bowed. "At your service, Mr. Knox. You received myletter, then? Let me present my brother-in-law and man of affairs, Mr. Gervase Arundel, who will discuss with you the main part of ourbusiness; also my son here, about whom I wrote to you. "

"Eh? Eh?" Mr. Knox, after bowing to my uncle, put on hisspectacles, took them off, wiped them, put them on again, andregarded me benevolently. "Eh? so this is the boy--h'm--Jasper, Ibelieve?"

"Prosper, " my father corrected. 

"Ah, to be sure--Prosper--and I hope he will, I'm sure. " Mr. Knoxchuckled at his mild little witticism and twinkled at me jocosely. "Your letter, Sir John? Yes, to be sure, I received it. What youpropose is practicable, though irregular. "

"Irregular?"

"Not legally irregular--oh no, not in the least. Legally the thing'sas simple as A B C. The man has only to take the benefit of the Actof Insolvency, assign his estate to his creditors, and then--supposing that they are agreed--"

"There can be no question of their agreement or disagreement. His creditors do not exist. As I told you, I have paid them off, bought up all their debts, and the yes or no rests with me alone. "

"Quite so; I was merely putting it as the Act directs. Very wellthen, supposing _you_ agree, nothing more is necessary than anappearance--a purely formal appearance--at the Old Bailey, and yourunfortunate friend--"

"Pardon me, " my father put in; "he is not my friend. "

"Eh?" . . . Mr. Knox removed his spectacles, breathed on them, andrubbed them, while he regarded my father with a bewildered air. "You'll excuse me . . . But I must own myself entirely puzzled. Even for a friend's sake, as I was about to protest, your conduct, sir, would be Quixotic; yes, yes, Quixotic in the highest degree, theamount being (as you might say) princely, and the security--"Mr. Knox paused and expressed his opinion of the security by apitying smile. "But if, " he resumed, "this man be not even yourfriend, then, my dear sir, I can merely wonder. "

For a moment my father seemed about to argue with him, but checkedhimself. 

"None the less the man is very far from being my friend, " he answeredquietly. 

"But surely--surely, sir, you cannot be doing this in any hope torecover what he already owes you! That were indeed to throw thehelve after the hatchet. Nay, sir, it were madness--stark madness!"

My father glanced at my uncle Gervase, who stood pulling his lip;then, with an abrupt motion, he turned on Mr. Knox again. 

"You have seen him? You delivered my letter?"

"I did. "

"What was his answer?"

Mr. Knox shrugged his shoulders. "He jumped at it, of course. "

"And the boy, here! What did he say about the boy?"

"Well, to speak truth, Sir John, he seemed passably amused by thewhole business. The fact is, prison has broken him up. A finefigure he must have been in his time, but a costly one to maintain . . . As tall as yourself, Sir John, if not taller; and florid, asone may say; the sort of man that must have exercise and space and acrowd to admire him, not to mention wine and meats and femalesociety. The Fleet has broken down all that. Even with liberty Iwouldn't promise him another year of life; and, unless I'm mistaken, he knows his case. A rare actor, too! It wouldn't surprise me ifhe'd even deceived himself. But the mask's off. Your offeroverjoyed him; that goes without saying. In spite of all your pastgenerosity, this new offer obviously struck him for the moment as toogood to be true. But I cannot say, Sir John, that he made anyserious effort to keep up the imposture or pretend that the securitywhich he can offer is more than a sentimental one. Not to put toofine a point on it, he ordered in a couple of bottles of wine at myexpense, and over the second I left him laughing. "

My father frowned. "And yet this man, Mr. Knox, is an anointedking. "

"Of Corsica!" Mr. Knox shrugged his shoulders. "You may take myword for it, he's an anointed actor. "

"One can visit him, I suppose?"

"At the most the turnkey will expect five shillings. Oh dear me yes!For a crowned head he's accessible. "

My father took me by the arm. "Come along, then, child. And you, Gervase, get your business through with Mr. Knox and follow us, ifyou can, in half an hour. You"--he turned to Billy Priske--"had bestcome with us. 'Tis possible I may need you all for witnesses. "

He walked me out and downstairs and through the lodge gateway; and sounder Temple Bar again and down Fleet Street through the throng; tillnear the foot of it, turning up a side street out of the noise, wefound ourselves in face of a gateway which could only belong to aprison. The gate itself stood open, but the passage led to aniron-barred door, and in the passage--which was cool butindescribably noisome--a couple of children were playing marbles, with half a dozen turnkeys looking on and (I believe) betting on thegame. 

My father sniffed the air in the passage and turned to me. 

"Gaol-fever, " he announced. "Please God, child, we won't be in itlong. "

He rescued Billy from the two urchins who had dropped their game topinch his calves, and addressed a word to one of the turnkeys, at thesame time passing a coin. The fellow looked at it and touched hishat. 

"Second court, first floor, number thirty-seven. " He opened a wicketin the gate. "This way, please, and sharp to the left. "

The narrow court into which we descended by a short flight of stepswas, as I remember, empty; but passing under an archway and through akind of tunnel we entered a larger one crowded with men, somegathered in groups, others pacing singly and dejectedly, the most ofthem slowly too, with bowed heads, but three or four with fiercestrides as if in haste to keep an appointment. One of them, comingabreast of us as the turnkey led us off to a staircase on the left, halted, drew himself up, stared at us for a moment with vacant eyes, and hurried by; yet before we mounted the stairs I saw him reach thefarther wall, wheel, and come as hastily striding back. 

The stairway led to a filthy corridor, pierced on the left with a rowof tiny windows looking on the first and empty courtyard; and on theright with a close row of doors, the most of which stood open andgave glimpses of foul disordered beds, broken meats, and barredwindows crusted with London grime. The smell was pestilential. Our turnkey rapped on one of the closed doors, and half-flung, half-kicked it open; for a box had been set against it on the inside. 

"Visitors for the Baron!" he announced, and stood aside to let usenter. My father had ordered Billy to wait below. We two passed intogether. 

Now, my father, as I have said, was tall; yet it seemed to me thatthe man who greeted us was taller, as he rose from the bed and stoodbetween us and the barred dirty window. By little and little I madeout that he wore an orange-coloured dressing-gown, and on his head aTurk's fez; that he had pushed back a table at which, seated on thebed, he had been writing; and that on the sill of the closed windowbehind him stood a geranium-plant, dry with dust and withering in thestagnant air of the room. But as yet, since he rose with his back tothe little light, I could not make out his features. I marked, however, that he shook from head to foot. 

My father bowed--a very reverent and stately bow it was too--regardedhim for a moment, and, taking a pace backward to the door, calledafter the retreating turnkey, to whom he addressed some order in atone to me inaudible. 

"You are welcome, Sir John, " said the prisoner, as my father facedhim again; "though to my shame I cannot offer you hospitality. "He said it in English, with a thick and almost guttural foreignaccent, and his voice shook over the words. 

"I have made bold, sire, to order the remedy. "

"'Sire!'" the prisoner took him up with a flash of spirit. "You have many rights over me, Sir John, but none to mock me, Ithink. "

"As you have no right to hold me capable of it, in such a place asthis, " answered my father. "I addressed you in terms which my errandproves to be sincere. This is my son Prosper, of whom I wrote. "

"To be sure--to be sure. " The prisoner turned to me and looked meover--I am bound to say with no very great curiosity, and sideways, in the half light, I had a better glimpse of his features, which werebold and handsome, but dreadfully emaciated. He seemed to lose thethread of his speech, and his hands strayed towards the table as ifin search of something. "Ah yes, the boy, " said he, vaguely. 

The turnkey entering just then with two bottles of wine, my fathertook one from him and filled an empty glass that stood on the table. The prisoner's fingers closed over it. 

"I have much to drown, " he explained, as, having gulped down thewine, he refilled his glass at once, knocking the bottle-neck on itsrim in his clattering haste. "Excuse me; you'll find another glassin the cupboard behind you. . . . Yes, yes, we were talking of theboy. . . . Are you filled? . . . We'll drink to his health!"

"To your health, Prosper, " said my father, gravely, and drank. 

"But, see here--I received your letter right enough, and it soundstoo good to be true. Only "--and into the man's eyes there crept asudden cunning--"I don't understand what you want of me. "

"You may think it much or little; but all we want--or, rather, all myboy wants--is your blessing. "

"So I gathered; and that's funny, by God! _My_ blessing--mine--andhere!" He flung out a hand. "I've had some strange requests in mytime; but, damn me, if I reckoned that any man any longer wanted myblessing. "

"My son does, though; and even such a blessing as your own son wouldneed, if you had one. You understand?"--for the prisoner's eyes hadwandered to the barred window--"I mean the blessing of Theodore theFirst. "

"You are a strange fellow, John Constantine, " was the answer, in aweary, almost pettish tone. "God knows I have more reason to begrateful to you than to any man alive--"

"But you find it hard? Then give it over. You may do it with thelighter heart since gratitude from you would be offensive to me. "

"If you played for this--worthless prize as it is--from thebeginning--"

Again my father took him up; and, this time, sternly. "You knowperfectly well that I never played for this from the beginning; norhad ever dreamed of it while there was a chance that you--or _she_--might leave a child. I will trouble you--" My father checkedhimself. "Your pardon, I am speaking roughly. I will beg you, sire, to remember first, that you claimed and received my poor help whilethere was yet a likelihood of your having children, before your wifeleft you, and a good year before I myself married or dreamed ofmarrying. I will beg you further to remember that no payment of whatyou owed to me was ever enforced, and that the creditors who sent youand have kept you here are commercial persons with whom I had nothingto do; whose names until the other day were strange to me. _Now_ Iwill admit that I play for a kingdom. "

"You really think it worth while?" The prisoner, who had stood allthis time blinking at the window, his hands in the pockets of hisdirty dressing-gown, turned again to question him. 

"I do. "

"But listen a moment. I have had too many favours from you, and Idon't want another under false pretences. You may call it a too-laterepentance, but the fact remains that I don't. Liberty?"--hestretched out both gaunt arms, far beyond the sleeves of his gown, till they seemed to measure the room and to thrust its walls wide. "Even with a week to live I would buy it dear--you don't know, JohnConstantine, how you tempt me--but not at that price. "

"Your title is good. I will take the risk. "

"How good or how bad my title is, you know. 'Tis the inheritanceagainst which I warn you. "

"I take the risk, " my father repeated, "if you will sign. "

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to anotherglassful. 

"We must have witnesses, " said my father, "Have you a clergyman inthis den?"

"To be sure we have. The chaplain, we call him Figg--Jonathan Figg'shis name; the Reverend Jonathan Figg, B. A. , of Sydney Sussex College, Cambridge; a good fellow and a moderately hard drinker. He spendsthe best part of his morning marrying up thieves and sailors totrulls; but he's usually leaving church about this time, if amessenger can catch him before he's off to breakfast with 'em. Half an hour hence he'll be too drunk to sign his name. "

"Prosper"--my father swung round on me--"run you down to Billy andtake him off to search for this clergyman. If on your way you meetwith your uncle and Mr. Knox, say that we shall require them, too, aswitnesses. "

I ran down to the courtyard, but no Billy could I see; only thedejected groups of prisoners, and among them the one I had markedbefore, still fiercely striding, and still, at the wall, returningupon his track. I hurried out to the gate, and there, to myamazement, found Billy in the clutches of a strapping impudent wenchand surrounded by a ring of turnkeys, who were splitting their sideswith laughter. 

"I won't!" he was crying. "I'm a married man, I tell 'ee, and thefather of twelve!"

"Oh, Billy!" I cried, aghast at the lie. 

"There was no other way, lad. For the Lord's sake fetch Squire todeliver me?"

Before I could answer or ask what was happening, the damsel roundedon me. 

"Boy, " she demanded, "is this man deceiving me?"

"As for that, ma'am, " I answered, "I cannot say. But that he's abachelor I believe; and that he hates women I have his word over andover. "

"Then he shall marry me or fight me, " she answered very coolly, andbegan to strip off her short bodice. 

"There's twelve o'clock, " announced one of the turnkeys, as the firststroke sounded from the clock above us over the prison gateway. "Toolate to be married to-day; so a fight it is. "

"A ring! a ring!" cried the others. 

I looked in Billy's face, and in all my life (as I have since oftenreminded him) I never saw a man worse scared. The woman had actuallythrown off her jacket and stood up in a loose under-bodice that lefther arms free--and exceedingly red and brawny arms they were. How he had come into this plight I could guess as little as what theissue was like to be, when in the gateway there appeared my uncle andMr. Knox, and close at their heels a rabble of men and womenarm-in-arm, headed by a red-nosed clergyman with an immense whitefavour pinned to his breast. 

"Hey? What's to do--what's to do!" inquired Mr. Knox. 

The clergyman thrust past him with a "Pardon me, sir, " and addressedthe woman. "What's the matter, Nan? Is the bridegroom fightingshy?"

"Please your reverence, he tells me he's the father of twelve. "

"H'm. " The priest cocked his head on one side. "You find that animpediment?"

"_And_ a married man, your reverence. "

"Then he has the laughing side of you, this time, " said hisreverence, promptly, and took snuff. "Tut, tut, woman--down withyour fists, button up your bodice, and take disappointment with abetter grace. Come, no nonsense, or you'll start me asking what'sbecome of the last man I married ye to. "

"Sir, " interposed my uncle, "I know not the head or tail of thisquarrel. But this man Priske is my brother's servant, and if he toldthe lady what she alleges, for the credit of the family I mustcorrect him. In sober truth he's a bachelor, and no more the fatherof twelve than I am. "

This address, delivered with entire simplicity, set the whole companygasping. Most of all it seemed to astonish the woman, who could notbe expected to know that my uncle's chivalry accepted all her sex, the lowest with the highest, in the image in which God made it andwithout defacement. 

The priest was the first to recover himself. "My good sir, " said he, "your man may be the father of twelve or the father of lies; but I'llnot marry him after stroke of noon, for that's my rule. Moreover"--he swept a hand towards the bridal party behind him--"these turtleshave invited me to eat roast duck and green peas with 'em, and I hatemy gravy cold. "

"Ay, sir?" asked my uncle. "Do you tell me that folks marry and givein marriage within this dreadful place?"

"Now and then, sir; and in the liberties and purlieus thereof with aproclivity that would astonish you; which, since I cannot hinder it, I sanctify. My name is Figg, sir--Jonathan Figg; and my office, Chaplain of the Fleet. "

"And if it please you, sir, " I put in, "my father has sent me insearch of you, to beg that you will come to him at once. "

"And you have heard me say, young sir, that I marry no man afterstroke of noon; no, nor will visit him sick unless he be in _articulomortis_. "

"But my father neither wants to be married, sir, nor is he sick atall. I believe it is some matter of witnessing an oath. "

"Hath he better than roast duck and green peas to offer, hey? No?Then tell him he may come and witness _my_ oath, that I'll see himfirst to Jericho. "

"Whereby, if I mistake not, " said Mr. Knox, quietly, "your pocketwill continue light of two guineas; and I may add, from what I knowof Sir John Constantine, that he is quite capable, if he receive suchan answer, of having your blood in a bottle. "

"'Sir John Constantine?' did I hear you say. _Sir_ JohnConstantine?'" queried the Reverend Mr. Figg, with a complete changeof manner. "That's _quite_ another thing! Anything to oblige SirJohn Constantine, I'm sure--"

"Do you know him?" asked my uncle. 

"Well--er--no; I can't honestly declare that I _know_ him; but, ofcourse, one knows _of_ him--that is to say, I understand him to be agentleman of title; a knight at least. "

"Yes, " my uncle answered, "he is at least that. What a veryextraordinary person!" he added in a wondering aside. 

Oddly enough, as we were leaving, I heard the woman Nan say prettymuch the same of my uncle. She added that she had a great mind tokiss him. 

We found my father and the prisoner seated with the bottle betweenthem on the rickety liquor-stained table. Yet--as I remember thescene now--not all the squalor of the room could efface or diminishthe majesty of their two figures. They sat like two tall old kings, eye to eye, not friends, or reconciled only in this last and lonelyhour by meditation on man's common fate. If I cannot make youunderstand this, what follows will seem to you absurd, though indeedat the time it was not so. 

My father rose as we entered. "Here is the boy returned, " said he;"and here are the witnesses. "

The prisoner rose also. "I did not catch his name, or else I haveforgotten it, " he said, fixing his eyes on me and motioning me tostep forward; which I did. His eyes--which before had seemed to meshifty--were straight now and commanding, yet benevolent. 

"His name is Prosper; in full, John Prosper Camilio Paleologus. Never more than one of us wears the surname of Constantine, and henot until he succeeds as head of our house. "

"One name is enough for a king. " The prisoner motioned again withhis hand. "Kneel, boy, " my father commanded, and I knelt. 

"I ask you, gentlemen, " said the prisoner, facing them and liftinghis voice, "to hear and remember what I shall say; to witness andremember what I shall do; and by signature to attest what I shallpresently write. I say, then, that I, Theodore, was on the fifteenthof April, twenty years ago, by the united voice of the people ofCorsica, made King of that island and placed in possession of itsrevenues and chief dignities. I declare, as God may punish me if Ilie, that by no act of mine or of my people of Corsica has thatelection been annulled, forfeited, or invalidated; that its revenuesare to-day rightfully mine to receive and bequeath, as its dignitiesare to-day rightfully mine to enjoy or abdicate to an heir of my ownchoosing. I declare further that, failing male issue of my own body, I resign herewith and abdicate both rank and revenue in favour ofthis boy, Prosper Paleologus, son of Constantine, and heir in descentof Constantine last Emperor of Constantinople. I lay my hands on himin your presence and bless him. In your presence I raise him andsalute him on both cheeks, naming him my son of choice and mysuccessor, Prosper I. , King of the Commonwealth of Corsica. I callon you all to attest this act with your names, and all necessarywritings confirming it; and I beseech you all to pray with me that hemay come to the full inheritance of his kingdom, and thrive thereinas he shall justly and righteously administer it. God save KingProsper!"

At the conclusion of this speech, admirably delivered, I--standingwith bent head as he had raised me, and with both cheeks tinglingfrom his salutation--heard my father's voice say sonorously, "Amen!"and another--I think the parson's--break into something like achuckle. But my uncle must have put out a hand threatening hisweasand, for the sound very suddenly gave place to silence; and thenext voice I heard was Mr. Knox's. 

"May I suggest that we seat ourselves and examine the papers?" saidMr. Knox. 

"One moment. " King Theodore stepped to the cupboard and drew out abundle in a blue-and-white checked kerchief, and a smaller one inbrown paper. The kerchief, having been laid on the table andunwrapped, disclosed a fantastic piece of ironwork in the shape of acrown, set with stones of which the preciousness was concealed by aplentiful layer of dust. He lifted this, set it on my head for amoment, and, replacing it on the table, took up the brown-paperparcel. 

"This, " said he, "contains the Great Seal. To whose keeping "--heturned to my father--"am I to entrust them, Sir John?"

My father nodded towards Billy Priske, who stepped forward and tuckedboth parcels under his arm, while Mr. Knox spread his papers on thetable. 

We walked back to our lodgings that afternoon, with Billy Priskebehind us bearing in his pocket the Great Seal and under his arm, ina checked kerchief, the Iron Crown of Corsica. 

Two mornings later we took horse and set our faces westward again;and thus ended my brief first visit to London. Billy Priske carriedthe sacred parcel on the saddle before him; and my uncle, ridingbeside him, spent no small part of the way in an exhortation againstlying in general, and particularly against the sin of laying falseclaim to the paternity of twelve children. 

Now, so shaken was Billy by his one adventure in London that until wehad passed the tenth milestone he seemed content enough to be rated. I believe that as, for the remainder of his stay in London, he hadnever strayed beyond sight, so even yet he took comfort and securityfrom my uncle's voice; "since, " said he, quoting a Cornish proverb, "'tis better be rated by your own than mated with a stranger. "But, by-and-by, taking courage to protest that a lie might onoccasion be pardonable and even necessary, he drew my father into thediscussion. 

"This difficulty of Billy's, " interposed my father, "was in some sortanticipated by Plato, who instanced that a madman with a knife in hishand might inquire of you to direct him which way had been taken bythe victim he proposed to murder. He posits it as a nice point. Should one answer truthfully, or deceive?"

"For my part, " answered my uncle, "I should knock him down. "

CHAPTER IV. 

LONG VACATION. 

 "In a harbour grene aslope whereas I lay, The byrdes sang swete in the middes of the day, I dreamed fast of mirth and play: In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure. " Robert Wever. 

A history (you will say) which finds a schoolboy tickling trout, andby the end of another chapter has clapped a crown on his head andhailed him sovereign over a people of whom he has scarcely heard andknows nothing save that they are warlike and extremely hot-tempered, should be in a fair way to move ahead briskly. Nevertheless I shallpass over the first two years of the reign of King Prosper, duringwhich he stayed at school and performed nothing worthy of mention:and shall come to a summer's afternoon at Oxford, close upon the endof term, when Nat Fiennes and I sat together in my rooms in NewCollege--he curled on the window-seat with a book, and I stretched inan easy-chair by the fireplace, and deep in a news-sheet. 

"By the way, Nat, " said I, looking up as I turned the page, "where will you spend your vacation?"

A groan answered me. 

"Hullo!" I went on, making a hasty guess at his case. "Has thelittle cordwainer's tall daughter jilted you, as I promised shewould?"

"A curse on this age!" swore Nat, who ever carried his heart on hissleeve. 

I began to hum--

 "I loved a lass, a fair one, As fair as e'er was seen; She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba queen. Her waist exceeding small, The fives did fit her shoe; But now alas! sh' 'as left me, Falero, lero, loo!"

"Curse the age!" repeated Nat, viciously. "If these were Lancelot'sdays now, a man could run mad in the forest and lie naked and chewsticks; and then she'd be sorry. "

 "In summer time to Medley My love and I would go; The boatmen there stood read'ly My love and me to row, "

sang I, and ducked my head to avoid the cushion he hurled. "Well then, there's very pretty forest land around my home inCornwall, with undergrowth and dropped twigs to last you tillMichaelmas term. So why not ride down with me and spend at least thefore-part of your madness there?"

"I hate your Cornwall. "

"'Tis a poor rugged land, " said I; "but hath this convenience aboveyour own home, that it contains no nymphs to whom you have yet swornpassion. You may meet ours with a straight brow; and they are fair, too, and unembarrassed, though I won't warrant them if you run bare. "

"'Tis never I that am inconstant. "

"Never, Nat; 'tis she, always and only--" she, she, and only she"--and there have been six of her to my knowledge. "

"If I were a king, now--"

"T'cht!" said I (for as my best friend, and almost my sole one, heknew my story). 

"If a fellow were a king now--instead of being doomed to the law--oh, good Lord!"

"You are incoherent, dear lad, " said I; "and yet you tell me onething plainly enough; which is that in place of loving this one orthat one, or the cordwainer's strapping daughter, you are in lovewith being in love. "

"Well, and why not?" he demanded. "Were I a king, now, that is evenwhat I would be--in love with being in love. Were I a king, now, sodeep in love were I with being in love, that my messengers shouldcompass earth to fetch me the right princess. Yes, and could theynot reach to her, if I but heard of one hidden and afar that wasworth my loving, I would build ships and launch them, enlist crewsand armies, sail all seas and challenge all wars, to win her. If I were king, now, my love should dwell in the fastnesses of themountains, and I would reach her; she should drive me to turn againand gather the bones of the seamen I had dropped overboard, and Iwould turn and dredge the seas for them; for a whim she should demandto watch me at the task, and gangs of slaves should level mountainsto open a prospect from her window; nay, all this while she shoulddeny me sight of her, and I would embrace that last hardship that inthe end she might be the dearer prize, a queen worthy to seat besideme. Man, heave your great lubberly bones out of that chair andsalute a poor devil whom, as you put it, a cordwainer's daughter hasjilted. "

"Hullo!" cried I, who had turned from his rhapsody to con the newsagain, and on the instant had been caught by a familiar name at thefoot of the page. 

"What is it?"

"Why, " said I, reading, "it seems that you are not the only suchmadman as you have just proclaimed yourself. Listen to this: it isheaded "'Falmouth. '

 "'A Gentleman, having read that the Methodist Preachers are to pay a visit to Falmouth, Cornwall, on the 16th, 17th, and 18th of next month; and that on the occasion of their last visit certain women, their sympathizers, were set upon and brutally handled by the mob; hereby announces that he will be present on the Market Strand, Falmouth, on these dates, with intent to put a stop to such behaviour, and invites any who share his indignation to meet him there and help to see fair play. The badge to be a Red Rose pinned in the hat. '" "'EUGENIO. '"

"What think you of that?" I asked, without turning my head. 

"The newspaper comes from Cornwall?" he asked. 

"From Falmouth itself. My father sent it. . . . Jove!" I cried aftera moment, "I wonder if he's answerable for this? 'Twould be like hisextravagance. "

"A pity but what you inherited some of it, then, " said Nat, crossly. 

"Tell you what, Nat"--I slewed about in my chair--"Come you down toCornwall and we'll stick each a rose in our hats and help this MasterEngenio, whoever he is. I've a curiosity to discover him: and if hebe my father--he has not marked the passage, by the way--we'll haverare fun in smoking him and tracking him unbeknown to the_rendezvous_. Come, lad; and if I know the Falmouth mob, you shallhave a pretty little turn-up well worth the journey. "

But Nat, still staring out of window, shook his head. He was in oneof his perverse moods--and they had been growing frequent of late--in which nothing I could say or do seemed to content him; and forthis I chiefly accused the cordwainer's daughter, who in fact was adecent merry girl, fond of strawberries, with no more notion offalling in love with Nat than of running off with her father'sapprentice. Whatever the cause of it, a cloud had been creeping overour friendship of late. He sought companions--some of them seriousmen--with whom I could not be easy. We kept up the pretence, buttalked no longer with entirely open hearts. Yet I loved him; and nowin a sudden urgent desire to carry him off to Cornwall with me andclear up all misunderstandings, I caught his arm and haled him downto our college garden, which lies close within the city wall; andthere, pacing the broken military terrace, plied him with a dozenreasons why he should come. Still he shook his head to all of them;and presently, hearing four o'clock strike, pulled up in his walk andannounced that he must be going--he had an engagement. 

"And where?" I asked. 

He confessed that it was to visit the poor prisoners shut up for debtin Bocardo. 

I pulled a wry mouth, remembering the dismal crew in the FleetPrison. But though, the confession being forced from him, he endedwistfully and as if upon a question, I did not offer to come. It seemed a mighty dull way to finish a summer's afternoon. Moreover I was nettled. So I let him go and watched him through thegate, thinking bitterly that our friendship was sick and drooping byno fault of mine. 

The truth was--or so I tried to excuse him--that beside his plagueytrick of falling in and out of love he had an overhanging quarrelwith his father, a worthy man, tyrannous when crossed, who meant himfor the law. Nat abhorred the law, and, foreseeing that the tusselmust come, vexed his honest conscience with the thought that whiledelaying to declare war he was eating his father's bread. This thought, working upon the ferment of youth, kept him like a coltin a fretful lather. He scribbled verses, but never finished so muchas a sonnet; he flung himself into religion, but chiefly, I thought, to challenge and irritate his undevout friends; and he would drop anyoccupation to rail at me and what he was pleased to call my phlegm. 

He had some reason too, though at the time I could not discover it. Now, looking back, I can see into what a stagnant calm I had run. My boyhood should have been over; in body I had shot up to a greatawkward height; but for the while the man within me drowsed and hungfire. I lived in the passing day and was content with it. Nat's gusts of passion amused me, and why a man should want to writeverses or fall in love was a mystery at which I arrived no nearerthan to laugh. For this (strange as it may sound) I believe thevisit to London was partly to blame. Nothing had come of it, exceptthat the unhappy King Theodore had gained his release and improvedupon it by dying, a few weeks later, in wretched lodgings in Soho;where, at my father's expense, the church of St. Anne's now bore amural tablet to his memory with an epitaph obligingly contributed bythe Hon. Horace Walpole, since Earl of Orford. 

 Near this place is interred THEODORE KING OF CORSICA who died in this parish Dec. 11, 1756 immediately after leaving The King's Bench Prison by the benefit of the Act of Insolvency in consequence of which he registered his kingdom of Corsica for the use of his creditors. 

 The grave, great teacher, to a level brings Heroes and beggars, galley slaves and kings; But Theodore this moral learned ere dead: Fate poured his lesson on his living head, Bestow'd a kingdom, and denied him bread. 

My father, who copied this out for me, had announced in few wordspoor Theodore's fate, but without particular allusion to ouradventure, which, as he made no movement to follow it up, or nonethat he confided, I came in time to regard humorously as an escapadeof his, a holiday frolic, a piece of midsummer madness. The seriouspart was that he had undoubtedly paid away large sums of money, andfor two years my Uncle Gervase had worn a distracted air which I setdown to the family accounts. By degrees I came to conclude, with therest of the world, that my father's brain was more than a littlecracked, and sounded my uncle privately about this--delicately as Ithought; but he met me with a fierce unexpected heat. "Your father, "said he, "is the best man in the world, and I bid you wait tounderstand him better, taking my word that he has great designs foryou. " Sure enough, too, my father seemed to hint at this in thetenor of his conversation with me, which was ever of high politicsand the government of states, or on some point which could bestretched to bear on these; but of any immediate design he forbore--as it seemed, carefully--to speak. Thus I found myself at pause andlet my youth wait upon his decision. 

Yet I had sense enough to feel less than satisfied with myself, albeit sorer with Nat as I watched the dear lad go from me acrossthe turf and out at the garden gate. Nor will I swear that my eyesdid not smart a little. I was but a boy, and had set my heart on ourtravelling down to Cornwall together. 

To Cornwall I rode down alone, a week later, and fell to work to idlemy vacation away; fishing a little, but oftener sailing my boat;sometimes alone, sometimes with Billy Priske for company. Billy--whose duties as butler were what he called a _sine qua non_, pronounced as "shiny Canaan" and meaning a sinecure--had spent somepart of term time in netting me a trammel, of which he wasinordinately proud, and with this we amused ourselves, sailing orrowing down to the river's mouth every evening at nightfall to setit, and, again, soon after daybreak, to haul it, and usuallyreturning with good store of fish for breakfast--soles, dories, plaice, and the red mullet for which Helford is famous above allstreams. 

Now, during these lazy weeks I had not forgotten Eugenio'sadvertisement, which, on returning to my rooms that evening afterNat's rebuff, I had clipped from the newspaper and since kept in mypocket. For the fun of it, and to find out who this Eugenio mightbe--I had given over suspecting my father--my mind was made up toride over to Falmouth on the 16th of July; but whether with orwithout a rose in my hat I had not determined. Therefore on themorning of the 15th, when Billy, after hauling the trammel, began tolay our plans for the morrow, I cut him short, telling him thatto-morrow I should not fish. 

"What's matter with 'ee to-all?" he asked, smashing a spider-crab andpicking it out piecemeal from the net. "Pretty fair catch to-day, id'n-a? spite of all the weed; an' no harm done by these varmintsthat a man can't put to rights afore evenin'. "

I took the paddles without answering and pulled towards the river'smouth, while he sat and smoked his pipe over the business of clearingthe net of weed. Around his feet on the bottom boards lay ourmorning's catch--half a dozen soles and twice the number of plaice, abrace of edible crabs, six or seven red mullet, besides a number ofgurnard and wrass worth no man's eating, an ugly-looking monkfish anda bream of wonderful rainbow hues. A fog lay over the sea, so densethat in places we could see but a few yards; but over it the tops ofthe tall cliffs stood out clear, and the sun was mounting. A faintbreeze blew from the southward. All promised a hot still day. 

The tide was making, too, and with wind and tide to help I pulledover the river bar and towards the creek where daily, after haulingthe trammel, I bathed from the boat; a delectable corner in the eyeof the morning sunshine, paved fathoms deep with round, whitepebbles, one of which, from the gunwale, I selected to dive for. 

The sun broke through the sea-fog around us while I stripped; itshone, as I balanced myself for the plunge, on the broad wings of aheron flapping out from the wood's blue shadow; it shone on thescales of the fish struggling and gasping under the thwarts. Divine the river was, divine the morning, divine the moment--the lastof my boyhood. 

Souse I plunged and deep, with wide-open eyes, chose out and graspedmy pebble, and rose to the surface holding it high as though it hadbeen a gem. The sound of the splash was in my ears and the echo ofmy own laugh, but with it there mingled a cry from Billy Priske, andshaking the water out of my eyes I saw him erect in the stern-sheetsand astare at a vision parting the fog--the vision of a tallfore-and-aft sail, golden-grey against the sunlight, and above thesail a foot or two of a stout pole-mast, and above the mast a gildedtruck and weather-vane with a tail of scarlet bunting. So closelythe fog hung about her that for a second I took her to be a cutter;and then a second sail crept through the curtain, and I recognizedher for the _Gauntlet_ ketch, Port of Falmouth, Captain Jo Pomery, returned from six months' foreign. I announced her to Billy with ashout. 

"As if a man couldn' tell that!" answered Billy, removing his cap andrubbing the back of his head. "What brings her in here, that's whatI'm askin'. "

"Belike, " said I, scrambling over the gunwale, "the man has lost hisbearings in this fog, and mistakes Helford for Falmouth entrance. "

"Lost his bearin's! Jo Pomery lost his bearin's!" Billy regarded mebetween pity and reproach. "And him sailing her in from Blackheadclose round the Manacles, in half a capful o' wind an' the tideslookin' fifty ways for Sunday! That's what he've a-done, for theweather lifted while we was hauling trammel--anyways east of south aman could see clear for three mile and more, an' not a vessel insight there. There's maybe three men in the world besides Jo Pomerycould ha' done it--the Lord knows how, unless 'tis by sense o' smell. And he've a-lost his bearin's, says you!"

"Well then, " I ventured, "perhaps he has a fancy to land part of hiscargo duty-free. "

"That's likelier, " Billy assented. "I don't say 'tis the truth, mindyou: for if 'tis truth, why should the man choose to fetch land bydaylight? Fog? A man like Jo Pomery isn' one to mistake a littlepride-o'-the-mornin' for proper thick weather--the more by token it'sbeen liftin' this hour and more. But 'tis a likelier guess anyway, the _Gauntlet_ being from foreign. 'Lost his bearin's, ' says you, and come, as you might say, slap through the Manacles; an' byaccident, as you might say! Luck has a broad back, my son, but becareful how you dance 'pon it. "

"Where does she come from?" I asked. 

"Mediterranean; that's all I know. Four months and more she must ha'took on this trip. Iss; sailed out o' Falmouth back-along in thetail-end o' February, and her cargo muskets and other combustibles. "

"Muskets?"

"Muskets; and you may leave askin' me who wants muskets out there, for in the first place I don't know, an' a still tongue makes a wisehead. "

I had slipped on shirt and breeches. "We'll give him a hail, anyway, " said I, "and if there's sport on hand he may happen to letus join it. "

The ketch by this time was pushing her nose past the spit of rockhiding our creek from seaward. As she came by with both large sailsboomed out to starboard and sheets alternately sagging loose andtautening with a jerk, I caught sight of two of her crew in the bows, the one looking on while the other very deliberately unlashed theanchor, and aft by the wheel a third man, whom I made out to beCaptain Pomery himself. 

"_Gauntlet_ ahoy!" I shouted, standing on the thwart and making atrumpet of my hands. 

Captain Pomery turned, cast a glance towards us over his leftshoulder and lifted a hand. A moment later he called an orderforward, and the two men left the anchor and ran to haul in sheets. Here was a plain invitation to pull alongside. I seized a paddle, and was working the boat's nose round, to pursue, when another figureshowed above the _Gauntlet's_ bulwarks: a tall figure in anorange-russet garment like a dressing-gown; a monk, to allappearance, for the sun played on his tonsured scalp as he leanedforward and watched our approach. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE SILENT MEN. 

 "Seamen, seamen, whence come ye? _Pardonnez moy, je vous en prie_. " _Old Song_. 

A monk he was too. A second and third look over my shoulder left meno doubt of it. He gravely handed us a rope as we overtook the ketchand ran alongside, and as gravely bowed when I leapt upon deck; buthe gave us no other welcome. 

His russet gown reached almost to his feet, which were bare; and hestood amid the strangest litter of a deck-cargo, consisting mainly--or so at first glance it seemed to me--of pot-plants and rudeagricultural implements: spades, flails, forks, mattocks, picks, hoes, dibbles, rakes, lashed in bundles; sieves, buckets, kegs, bins, milk-pails, seed-hods, troughs, mangers, a wired dovecote, and ascore of hen-coops filled with poultry. Forward of the mainmaststood a cart with shafts, upright and lashed to the mast, that theheadsails might work clear. The space between the masts was occupiedby enormous open hatchways through which came the lowing of oxen, andthrough these, peering down into the hold, I saw the backs of cattleand horses moving in its gloom, and the bodies of men stretched inthe straw at their feet. 

So much of the _Gauntlet's_ hugger-mugger I managed to discern beforeCaptain Pomery left the helm and hurried forward to give us welcomeon board. 

"Mornin', Squire Prosper! Mornin', Billy! You know _me_, sir--Cap'nJo Pomery--which is short for Job, and 'tis the luckiest chance, sir, you hailed me, for you'm nearabouts the first man I wanted to see. Faith, now, and I wonder how your father (God bless him) will takeit?"

"Why, what's the matter?" asked I, with a glance at the monk, who haddrawn back a pace and stood, still silent, fingering his rosary. 

"The matter? Good Lord! isn't _this_ matter enough?" Captain Jo wavedan arm to include all the deck-cargo. "See them pot-plants, there, and what they'm teeled [1] in?"

"Drinking-troughs?" said I. "Or . . . Is it coffins?"

"Coffins it is. I'd feel easier in mind if you could tell me whatyour father (God bless him) will say to it. "

"But what has all this to do with my father?" I demanded, and, seeking Billy's eyes, found them as frankly full of amaze as my own. 

"Not but what, " continued Captain Jo, "they've behaved well, thoughdog-sick to a man from the time we left port. Look at 'em!"--hecaught me by the arm and, drawing me to the hatchway, pointed down tothe hold. "A round score and eight, and all well paid for aspassengers; but for the return journey I won't answer. It depends onyour father, and that"--with a jerk of his thumb towards the tallmonk--"I stippilated when I shipped 'em. 'Never you mind, ' was theanswer I got; 'take 'em to England to Sir John Constantine. 'And here they be!"

"But who on earth are they?" I cried, staring down into the gloom, where presently I made out that the men stretched in the straw at thehorses' feet were monks all, and habited like the monk on the deckbehind me. To him next I turned, to find his eyes, which were darkand quick, searching me curiously; and as I turned he made a stepforward, put out a hand as if to touch me on the shirt-sleeve, andanon drew it back, yet still continued to regard me. 

"You are a son, signor, of Sir John Constantine?" he asked, in softItalian. 

"I am his only son, sir, " I answered him in the same language. 

"Ah! You speak my tongue?" A gleam of joy passed over his gravefeatures. "And you are his son? So! I should have guessed it atonce, for you bear great likeness to him. "

"You know my father, sir?"

"Years ago. " His hands, which he used expressively, seemed to gropein a far past. "I come to him also from one who knew him years ago. "

"Upon what business, sir!--if I am allowed to ask. "

"I bring a message. "

"You bring a tolerably full one, then, " said I, glancing first at thedisorder on deck and from that down to the recumbent figures in thehold. 

"I speak for them, " he went on, having followed the glance. "It is most necessary that they keep silence; but I speak for all. "

"Then, sir, as it seems to me, you have much to say. "

"No, " he answered slowly; "very little, I think; very little, as youwill see. "

Here Captain Jo interrupted us. He had stepped back to steady thewheel, but I fancy that the word _silenzio_ must have reached him, and that, small Italian though he knew, with this particular word thevoyage had made him bitterly acquainted. 

"Dumb!" he shouted. "Dumb as gutted haddocks!"

"Dumb!" I echoed, while the two seamen forward heard and laughed. 

"It is their vow, " said the monk, gravely, and seemed on the point tosay more. 

But at this moment Captain Pomery sang out "Gybe-O!" At the warningwe ducked our heads together as the boom swung over and the_Gauntlet_, heeling gently for a moment, rounded the river-bend inview of the great house of Constantine, set high and gazing over thefolded woods. A house more magnificently placed, with forest, park, and great stone terraces rising in successive tiers from the water'sedge, I do not believe our England in those days could show; and itdeserved its site, being amply classical in design, with a facadethat, discarding mere ornament, expressed its proportion and symmetryin bold straight lines, prolonged by the terraces on which tall rowsof pointed yews stood sentinel. Right English though it was, it bore(as my father used to say of our best English poetry) the stamp ofgreat Italian descent, and I saw the monk give a start as he liftedhis eyes to it. 

"We have not these river-creeks in Italy, " said he, "nor these woods, nor these green lawns; and yet, if those trees, aloft there, were butcypresses--" He broke off. "Our voyage has a good ending, " headded, half to himself. 

The _Gauntlet_ being in ballast, and the tide high, Captain Pomeryfound plenty of Water in the winding channel, every curve of which heknew to a hair, and steered for at its due moment, winking cheerfullyat Billy and me, who stood ready to correct his pilotage. He hadtaken in his mainsail, and carried steerage way with mizzen and jibonly; and thus, for close upon a mile, we rode up on the tide, scaring the herons and curlews before us, until drawing within sightof a grass-grown quay he let run down his remaining canvas and laidthe ketch alongside, so gently that one of the seamen, who had cast astout fender overside, stepped ashore, and with a slow pull on hermain rigging checked and brought her to a standstill. 

"_Aut Lacedaemonium Tarentum_, " said the monk at my shoulder quietly;and, as I stared at him, "Ah, to be sure, this is your Tarentum, isit not? Yet the words came to me for the sound's sake only and theirso gentle close. Our voyage has even such an ending. "

"I had best run on, " I suggested, "and warn my father of yourcoming. "

"It is not necessary. "

"Nevertheless, " I urged, "they can be preparing breakfast for you, up at the house, while you and your friends are making ready to comeashore. "

"We have broken our fast, " he answered; "and we are quite ready, ifyou will be so good as to guide us. "

He stepped to the hatchways and called down, announcing simply thatthe voyage was ended: and in the dusk there I saw monk after monkupheave himself from the straw and come clambering up the ladder;tall monks and short, old monks and young and middle-aged, lean monksand thickset--but the most of them cadaverous, and all of them yellowwith sea-sickness; twenty-eight monks, all barefoot, all tolerablydirty, and all blinking in the fresh sunshine. When they weregathered, at a sign from one of them--by dress not distinguishablefrom his fellows--all knelt and gave silent thanks for the voyageaccomplished. 

I could see that Billy Priske was frightened: for, arising, theyrolled their eyes about them like wild animals turned loose in anunfamiliar country, and the whites of their eyes were yellow (so tospeak) with seafaring, and their pupils glassy with fever and fromthe sea's glare. But the monk their spokesman touched my arm andmotioned me to lead; and, when I obeyed, one by one the whole troopfell into line and followed at his heels. 

Thus we went--I leading, with him and the rest in single file afterme--up by the footpath through the woods, and forth into sunshineagain upon the green dewy bracken of the deer-park. Here mycompanion spoke for the first time since disembarking. 

"Your father, sir, " said he, looking about him and seeming to sniffthe morning air, "must be a very rich signor. "

"On the contrary, " I answered, "I have some reason to believe him apoor man. "

He stared down for a moment at his bare feet, and the skirts of hisgown wet to the knees with the grasses. 

"Ah? Well, it will make no difference, " he said; and we resumed ourway. 

As we climbed the last slope under the terraces of the house, Icaught sight of my father leaning by a balustrade high above us, atthe head of a double flight of broad stone steps, and splicing thetop joint of a trout-rod he had broken the day before. He must havecaught sight of us almost at the moment when we emerged from thewoods. 

He showed no surprise at all. Only as I led my guests up the stepshe set down his work and, raising a hand, bent to them in a verycourteous welcome. 

"Good morning, lad! And good morning to those you bring, whencesoever they come. "

"They come, sir, " I answered "in Jo Pomery's ketch _Gauntlet_, Ibelieve from Italy; and with a message for you. "

"My father turned his gaze from me to the spokesman at my elbow. His eyebrows lifted with surprise and sudden pleasure. 

"Hey?" he exclaimed. "Is it my old friend--"

But the other, before his name could be uttered, lifted a hand. 

"My name is the Brother Basilio now, Sir John: no other am Ipermitted to remember. The peace of God be with you, and upon yourhouse!"

"And with you, Brother Basilio, since you will have it so: and withall your company! You bear a message for me? But first you mustbreak your fast. " He turned to lead the way to the house. 

"We have eaten already, Sir John. As soon as your leisure serves, wewould deliver our message. "

My father called to Billy Priske--who hung in the rear of the monks--bidding him fetch my uncle Gervase in from the stables to the StateRoom, and so, without another word, motioned to his visitors tofollow. To this day I can hear the shuffle of their bare feet on thesteps and slabs of the terrace as they hurried after him to keep upwith his long strides. 

In the great entrance-hall he paused to lift a bunch of rusty keysoff their hook, and, choosing the largest, unlocked the door of theState Room. The lock had been kept well oiled, for Billy Priskeentered it twice daily; in the morning, to open a window or two, andat sunset, to close them. But it is a fact that I had not crossedits threshold a score of times in my life, though I ran by it, maybe, as many times a day; nor (as I believe) had my father entered it foryears. Yet it was the noblest room in the house, in lengthseventy-five feet, panelled high in dark oak and cedar and adornedaround each panel with carvings of Grinling Gibbons--festoons andcrowns and cherub-faces and intricate baskets of flowers. Each panelheld a portrait, and over every panel, in faded gilt against themorning sun, shone an imperial crown. The windows were draped withhangings of rotten velvet. At the far end on a dais stood a porphyrytable, and behind it, facing down the room, a single chair, orthrone, also of porphyry and rudely carved. For the rest the roomheld nothing but dust--dust so thick that our visitors' naked feetleft imprints upon it as they huddled after their leader to the dais, where my father took his seat, after beckoning me forward to stand onhis right. 

But of all bewildered faces there was never a blanker, I believe, since the world began than my uncle Gervase's; who now appeared inthe doorway, a bucket in his hand, straight from the stables where hehad been giving my father's roan horse a drench. Billy's summonsmust have hurried him, for he had not even waited to turn down hisshirt-sleeves: but as plainly it had given him no sort of notion whyhe was wanted and in the State Room. I guessed indeed that on hisway he had caught up the bucket supposing that the house was afire. At sight of the monks he set it down slowly, gently, staring at themthe while, and seemed in act of inverting it to sit upon, when myfather addressed him from the dais over the shaven heads of theaudience. 

"Brother, I am sorry to have disturbed you: but here is a business inwhich I may need your counsel. Will it please you to step this way?These guests of ours, I should first explain, have arrived from overseas. "

My uncle came forward, still like a man in a dream, mounted the daison my father's left, and, turning, surveyed the visitors in front. 

"Eh? To be sure, to be sure, " he murmured. "Broomsticks!"

"Their spokesman here, who gives his name as the Brother Basilio, bears a message for me; and since he presents it in form with a wholelegation at his back, I think it due to treat him with equalceremony. Do you agree?"

"If you ask me, " my uncle answered, after a pause full of thought, "they would prefer to start, maybe, with a wash and a breakfast. By good luck, Billy tells me, the trammel has made a good haul. As for basins, brother, our stock will not serve all these gentlemen;but if the rest will take the will for the deed and use the pump, I'll go round meanwhile and see how the hens have been laying. "

"You are the most practical of men, brother: but my offer ofbreakfast has already been declined. Shall we hear what Dom Basiliohas to say?"

"I have nothing to say, Sir John, " put in Brother Basilio, advancing, "but to give you this letter and await your answer. "

He drew a folded paper from his tunic and handed it to my father, whorose to receive it, turned it over, and glanced at thesuperscription. I saw a red flush creep slowly up to his temples andfade, leaving his face extraordinarily pale. A moment later, in faceof his audience, he lifted the paper to his lips, kissed itreverently, and broke the seal. 

Again I saw the flush mount to his temples as he read the letterthrough slowly and in silence. Then after a long pause he handed itto me; and I took it wondering, for his eyes were dim and yet brightwith a noble joy. 

The letter (turned into English) ran thus--

 "_To Sir John Constantine, Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Star, at his house of Constantine in Cornwall, England_. 

 "MY FRIEND, "The bearer of this and his company have been driven by the Genoese from their monastery of San Giorgio on my estate of Casalabriva above the Taravo valley, the same where you will remember our treading the vintage together to the freedom of Corsica. But the Genoese have cut down my vines long since, and now they have fired the roof over these my tenants and driven them into the _macchia_, whence they send message to me to deliver them. Indeed, friend, I have much ado to protect myself in these days: but by good fortune I have heard of an English vessel homeward bound which will serve them if they can reach the coast, whence numbers of the faithful will send them off with good provision. Afterwards, what will happen? To England the ship is bound, and in England I know you only. Remembering your great heart, I call on it for what help you can render to these holy men. _Addio_, friend. You are remembered in my constant prayers to Christ, the Virgin, and all the Saints. 

 "EMILIA. "

At a sign from my father--who had sunk back in his chair and satgripping its arms--I passed on this epistle to my uncle Gervase, whoread it and ran his hand through his hair. 

"Dear me!" said he, running his eye over the attentive monks, "thislady, whoever she may be--"

"She is a crowned queen, brother Gervase, " my father interrupted;"and moreover she is the noblest woman in the world. "

"As to that, brother, " returned my uncle, "I am saying nothing. But speaking of what I know, I say she can be but poorly conversantwith your worldly affairs. "

My father half-lifted himself from his seat. "And is that how youtake it?" he demanded sharply. "Is that all you read in the letter?Brother, I tell you again, this lady is a queen. What should a queenknow of my degree of poverty?"

"Nevertheless--" began my uncle. 

But my father cut him short again. "I had hoped, " said he, reproachfully, "you would have been prompt to recognize her nobleconfidence. Mark you how, no question put, she honours me. 'Do this, for my sake'--Who but the greatest in the world can appealthus simply?"

"None, maybe, " my uncle replied; "as none but the well-to-do cananswer with a like ease. "

"You come near to anger me, brother; but I remember that you neverknew her. Is not this house large? Are not four-fifths of my roomslying at this moment un-tenanted? Very well; for so long as itpleases them, since she claims it, these holy men shall be ourguests. No more of this, " my father commanded peremptorily, andadded, with all the gravity in the world, "You should thank herconsideration rather, that she sends us visitors so frugal, sincepoverty degrades us to these economies. But there is one thingpuzzles me. " He took the letter again from my uncle and fastened hisgaze on the Brother Basilio. "She says she has much ado to protectherself. "

"Indeed, Sir John, " answered Brother Basilio, "I fear the queen, ourlate liege-lady, speaks somewhat less than the truth. She wrote toyou from a poor lodging hard by Bastia, having ventured back toCorsica out of Tuscany on business of her own; and on the eve ofsailing we heard that she had been taken prisoner by the Genoese. "

"What!" My father rose, clutching the arms of his chair. Of stonethey were, like the chair itself, and well mortised: but his greatgrip wrenched them out of their mortises and they crashed on thedais. "What! You left her a prisoner of the Genoese!" He gazedaround them in a wrath that slowly grew cold, freezing into contempt. "Go, sirs; since she commands it, room shall be found for you all. My house for the while is yours. But go from me now. "

[1] Tilled, planted. 

CHAPTER VI. 

HOW MY FATHER OUT OF NOTHING BUILT AN ARMY, AND IN FIVE MINUTESPLANNED AN INVASION. 

 Walled Townes, stored Arcenalls and Armouries, Goodly Races of Horse, Chariots of Warre, Elephants, Ordnance, Artillery, and the like: All this is but a Sheep in a Lion's Skin, except the Breed and disposition be stout and warlike. Nay, Number it selfe in Armies importeth not much where the People is of weake courage: For (as _Virgil_ saith) It never troubles a Wolfe, how many the sheepe be. "--BACON. 

For the rest of the day my father shut himself in his room, while myuncle spent the most of it seated on the brewhouse steps in a shadedcorner of the back court, through which the monks brought in theirfurniture and returned to the ship for more. The bundles theycarried were prodigious, and all the morning they worked without haltor rest, ascending and descending the hill in single file and alwaysat equal distances one behind another. Watching from the terracedown the slope of the park as they came and went, you might havetaken them for a company of ants moving camp. But my uncle neverwholly recovered from the shock of their first freight, to see man byman cross the court with a stout coffin on his back and above eachcoffin a pack of straw: nor was he content with Fra Basilio'sexplanation that the brethren slept in these coffins by rule andsaved the expense of beds. 

"For my part, " said my uncle, "considering the numbers that manageit, I should have thought death no such dexterity as to needpractice. "

"Yet bethink you, sir, of St. Paul's words. 'I protest, ' said he, 'I die daily. '"

"Why, yes, sir, and so do we all, " agreed my uncle, and fell silent, though on the very point, as it seemed, of continuing the argument. "I did not choose to be discourteous, lad, " he explained to me later:"but I had a mind to tell him that we do daily a score of things wedon't brag about--of which I might have added that washing is one:and I believe 'twould have been news to him. "

I had never known my uncle in so rough a temper. Poor man!I believe that all the time he sat there on the brewhouse steps, hewas calculating woefully the cost of these visitors; and it hurt himthe worse because he had a native disposition to be hospitable. 

"But who is this lady that signs herself Emilia?" I asked. 

"A crowned queen, lad, and the noblest lady in the world--you heardyour father say it. This evening he may choose to tell us somefurther particulars. "

"Why this evening?" I asked, and then suddenly remembered that to-daywas the 15th of July and St. Swithun's feast; that my father wouldnot fail to drink wine after dinner in the little temple below thedeer-park; and that he had promised to admit me to-night to make thefourth in St. Swithun's brotherhood. 

He appeared at dinner-time, punctual and dressed with more than hisusual care (I noted that he wore his finest lace ruffles); and beforegoing in to dinner we were joined by the Vicar, much perturbed--ashis manner showed--by the news of a sudden descent of papists uponhis parish. Indeed the good man so bubbled with it that we hadscarcely taken our seats before the stream of questions overflowed. "Who were these men?" "How many!" "Whence had they come, and why?"etc. 

I glanced at my father in some anxiety for his temper. But helaughed and carved the salmon composedly. He had a deep and tolerantaffection for Mr. Grylls. 

"Where shall I begin!" said he. "They are, I believe, between twentyand thirty in number, though I took no care to count; and they belongto the Trappistine Order, to which I have ever been attracted; first, because I count it admirable to renounce all for a faith, howeverfrantic, and secondly for the memory of Bouthillier de Rance, who ahundred years ago revived the order after five hundred years ofdesuetude. "

"And who was he?" inquired the Vicar. 

"He was a young rake in Paris, tonsured for the sake of the familybenefices, who had for mistress no less a lady than the Duchess deRohan-Montbazon. One day, returning from the country after a week'sabsence and letting himself into the house by a private key, herushed upstairs in a lover's haste, burst open the door, and foundhimself in a chamber hung with black and lit with many candles. His mistress had died, the day before, of a putrid fever. But--worse than this and most horrible--the servants had ordered thecoffin in haste; and, when delivered, it was found to be too short. Upon which, to have done with her, in their terror of infection, theyhad lopped off the head, which lay pitiably dissevered from thetrunk. For three years after the young man travelled as one mad, butat length found solace in his neglected abbacy of Soligny-la-Trappe, and in reviving its extreme Cistercian rigours. "

"I had supposed the Trappists to be a French order in origin, andconfined to France, " said the Vicar. 

"They have offshoots: of which I knew but one in Italy, that settledsome fifty years back in a monastery they call Buon-Solazzo, outsideFlorence, at the invitation of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. But I havebeen making question of our guests through Dom Basilio, theirguest-master and abbot _de facto_ (since their late abbot, an old manwhom he calls Dom Polifilo, died of exposure on the mountains somethree days before they embarked); and it appears that they belong toa second colony, which has made its home for these ten years atCasalabriva in Corsica, having arrived by invitation of the QueenEmilia of that island, and there abiding until the Genoese burned theroof over their heads. "

The Vicar sipped his wine. 

"You have considered, " he asked, "the peril of introducing so manypapists into our quiet parish?"

"I have not considered it for a moment, " answered my father, cheerfully. "Nor have I introduced them. But if you fear they'llconvert--pervert--subvert--invert your parishioners and turn 'em intopapists, I can reassure you. For in the first place thirty men, orthirty thousand, of whom only one can open his mouth, are, forproselytizing, equal to one man and no more. "

"They can teach by their example if not by their precept, " urged theVicar. 

"Their example is to sleep in their coffins. My good sir, if youwill not trust your English doctrine to its own truth, you might atleast rely on the persuasiveness of its comforts. Nay, pardon me, myfriend, " he went on, as the Vicar's either cheekbone showed a redflush, "I did not mean to speak offensively; but, Englishman though Iam, in matters of religion my countrymen are ever a puzzle to me. At a great price you won your freedom from the Bishop of Rome and hisdictation. I admire the price and I love liberty; yet liberty hasits drawbacks, as you have for a long while been discovering; ofwhich the first is that every man with a maggot in his head can claima like liberty with yourselves, quoting your own words in support ofit. Let me remind you of that passage in which Rabelais--borrowing, I believe, from Lucian--brings the good Pantagruel and hisfellow-voyagers to a port which he calls the Port of Lanterns. 'There (says he) upon a tall tower Pantagruel recognized the Lanternof La Rochelle, which gave us an excellent clear light. Also we sawthe Lanterns of Pharos, of Nauplia, and of the Acropolis of Athens, sacred to Pallas, ' and so on; whence I draw the moral thatcoast-lights are good, yet, multiplied, they complicate navigation. "

"And apply your moral by erecting yet another!"

"Fairly retorted. Yet how can you object without turning the swordof Liberty against herself? Have you never heard tell, by the way, of Captain Byng's midshipman?"

"Who was he?"

"I forget his name, but he started his first night aboard ship bykneeling down and saying his prayers, as his mother had taught him. "

"I commend the boy, " said my uncle. 

"I also commend him: but the crowd of his fellow-midshipmen found itagainst the custom of the service and gave him the strap for it. This, however, raised him up a champion in one of the taller lads, who protested that their conduct was tyrannous: 'and, ' said he, verygenerously, 'to-morrow night I too propose to say my prayers. If any one object, he may fight me. " Thus, being a handy lad withhis fists, he established the right of religious liberty on board. By-and-by one or two of the better disposed midshipmen followed hisexample: by degrees the custom spread along the lower deck, where thedispute had happened in full view of the whole ship's company, seamenand marines; and by the time she reached her port of Halifax shehadn't a man on board (outside the ward-room) but said his prayersregularly. "

"A notable Christian triumph, " was the Vicar's comment. 

"Quite so. At Halifax, " pursued my father, "Captain Byng took aboardout of hospital another small midshipman, who on his first night nosooner climbed into his hammock than the entire mess bundled him outof it. 'We would have you to know, young man, ' said they, 'thatprivate devotion is the rule on board our ship. It's down on yourknees this minute or you get the strap. '

"I leave you, " my father concluded, "to draw the moral. For my partthe tale teaches me that in any struggle for freedom the real dangerbegins with the moment of victory. "

Said my uncle Gervase after a pause, "Then these Corsicans of yours, brother, stand as yet in no real danger, since the Genoese are yetharrying their island with fire and sword. "

"In no danger at all as regards their liberty, " answered my father, poising his knife for a first cut into the saddle of mutton, "thoughin some danger, I fear me, as regards their queen. They have, however, taken the first and most important step by getting the newscarried to me. The next is to raise an army; and the next afterthat, to suit the plan of invasion to our forces. Indeed, " wound upmy father with another flourish of his carving-knife, "I am inconsiderable doubt where to make a start. "

"I hold, " said my uncle, eyeing the saddle of mutton, "that you savethe gravy by beginning close alongside the chine. "

"I was thinking for my part that either Porto or Sagone would serveus best, " said my father, meditatively. 

Dinner over, the four of us strolled out abreast into the coolevening and down through the deer-park to the small Ionic temple, where Billy Priske had laid out fruit, wine, and glasses; and there, with no more ceremony than standing to drink my health, the threeinitiated me into the brotherhood of St. Swithun. It gave me asudden sense of being grown a man, and this sense my father verypromptly proceeded to strengthen. 

"I had hoped, " said he, putting down his glass and seating himself, "to delay Prosper's novitiate. I had designed, indeed, that afterstaying his full time at Oxford he should make the Grand Tour with meand prepare himself for his destiny by a leisured study of cities andmen. But this morning's news has forced me to reshape my plans. Listen--

"In the early autumn of 1735, being then at the Court of Tuscany, Ireceived sudden and secret orders to repair to Corte, the capital ofCorsica, an island of which I knew nothing beyond what I had learntin casual talk from the Count Domenico Rivarola, who then acted asits plenipotentiary at Florence. He was a man with whom I wouldwillingly have taken counsel, but my orders from England expresslyforbade it. Rivarola in fact was suspected--and justly as my storywill show--of designs of his own for the future of the island; andalthough, as it will also show, we had done better to consult him, Walpole's injunctions were precise that I should by every means keephim in the dark. 

"The situation--to put it as briefly as I can--was this. For twohundred years or so the island had been ruled by the Republic ofGenoa; and, by common consent, atrociously. For generations theislanders had lived in chronic revolt, under chiefs against whom theGenoese--or, to speak more correctly, the Bank of Genoa--had notscrupled to apply every device, down to secret assassination. _Uno avolso non deficit alter_: the Corsicans never lacked a leaderto replace the fallen: and in 1735 the succession was shared by twonoble patriots, Giafferi and Hyacinth Paoli. 

"Under their attacks the Genoese were slowly but none the lesscertainly losing their hold on the island. Their plight was suchthat, although no one knew precisely what they would do, every oneforesaw that, failing some heroic remedy, they must be driven intothe sea, garrison after garrison, and lose Corsica altogether; and ofall speculations the most probable seemed that they would sell theisland, with all its troubles, to France. Now, for France to acquireso capital a _point d'appui_ in the Mediterranean would obviously beno small inconvenience to England: and therefore our Ministers--whohad hitherto regarded the struggles of the islanders withindifference--woke up to a sudden interest in Corsican affairs. 

"They had no pretext for interfering openly. But if the Corsicanswould but take heart and choose themselves a king, that king could ata ripe moment be diplomatically acknowledged; and any interference byFrance would at once become an act of violent usurpation. (For letme tell you, my friends--the sufferings of a people count as nothingin diplomacy against the least trivial act against a crown. )The nuisance was, the two Paolis, Giafferi and Hyacinth, had nonotion whatever of making themselves kings; nor would their devotedfollowers have tolerated it. Yet--as sometimes happens--there was athird man, of greater descent than they, to whom at a pinch the crownmight be offered, and with a far more likely chance of the Corsicans'acquiescence. This was a Count Ugo Colonna, a middle-aged man, descended from the oldest nobility of the island, and head of hisfamily, which might more properly be called a clan; a patriot, in hisway, too, though lacking the fire of the Paolis, to whom he hadsurrendered the leadership while remaining something of afigure-head. In short my business was to confer with him at Corte, persuade the Corsican chiefs to offer him the crown, and persuade himto accept it. 

"I arrived then at the capital and found Count Ugo willing enough, though by no means eager, for the honour. He was, in fact, amild-mannered gentleman of no great force of character, andfrequently interrupted our conference to talk of a bowel-complaintwhich obviously meant more to him than all the internal complicationsof Europe: and next to his bowel-complaint--but some way after--heprized his popularity, which ever seemed more important than hiscountry's welfare: or belike he confused the two. He was at greatpains to impress me with the sacrifices he had made for Corsica--which in the past had been real enough: but he had come to regardthem chiefly as matter for public speaking, or excuse for publicbowing and lifting of the hat. You know the sort of man, I dare say. To pass that view of life, at his age, is the last test of greatness. 

"Still, the notion of being crowned King of Corsica tickled hisvanity, and would have tickled it more had he begotten a son tosucceed him. It opened new prospects of driving through crowds andbowing and lifting his hat: and he turned pardonably sulky when thetwo Paolis treated my proposals with suspicion. They had an immenserespect for England as the leader of the free peoples: but theywanted to know why in Tuscany I had not taken their Count Rivarolainto my confidence. In fact they were in communication with theirplenipotentiary already, and half way towards another plan, of whichvery excusably they allowed me to guess nothing. 

"The upshot was that my interference threw Count Ugo into a pet withthem. He only wanted them to press him; was angry at not beingpressed; yet believed that they would repent in time. Meanwhile hepersuaded me to ride back with him to one of his estates, a palaceabove the valley of the Taravo. 

"I know not why, but ever the vow of Jephthah comes to my mind as Iremember how we rode up the valley to Count Ugo's house in the hourbefore sunset. 'And behold, his daughter came out to meet him withtimbrels and with dances, and she was his only child. ' He had madeno vow and was incapable, poor man, of keeping any so heroic; and shecame out with no timbrel or dance, but soberly enough in hersad-coloured dress of the people. Yet she came out while we rode agood mile off, and waited for us as we climbed the last slope, andshe was his only child. 

"How shall I tell you of her? She helped my purpose nothing, for atfirst she was vehemently opposed to her father's consenting to beking. Her politics she derived in part from the reading ofPlutarch's Lives and in part from her own simplicity. They werechildish, utterly: yet they put me to shame, for they glowed with thepurest love of her country. She has walked on fiery ploughsharessince then; she has trodden the furnace, and her beautiful bare feetare seared since they trod the cool vintage with me on the slopesabove the Taravo. . . . Priske, open the first of those bottles, yonder, with the purple seal! Here is that very wine, my friends. Pour and hold it up to the sunset before you taste. Had ever winesuch a royal heart? I will tell you how to grow it. Choose first ofall a vineyard facing south, between mountains and the sea. Let itlie so that it drinks the sun the day through; but let the protectingmountains carry perpetual snow to cool the land breeze all the night. Having chosen your site, drench it for two hundred years with theblood of freemen; drench it so deep that no tap-root can reach downbelow its fertilizing virtue. Plant it in defeat, and harvest it inhope, grape by grape, fearfully, as though the bloom on each were astate's ransom. Next treat it after the recipe of the wine of Cos;dropping the grapes singly into vats of sea water, drawn in stonejars from full fifteen fathoms in a spell of halcyon weather and leftto stand for the space of one moon. Drop them in, one by one, untilthe water scarcely cover the mass. Let stand again for two days, andthen call for your maidens to tread them, with hymns, under the newmoon. Ah, and yet you may miss! For your maidens must be clean, andyet fierce as though they trod out the hearts of men, as indeed theydo. A king's daughter should lead them, and they must trample withinnocence, and yet with such fury as the prophet's who said 'theirblood shall be sprinkled upon my garments, and I will stain all myraiment: for the day of vengeance is in my heart, and the year of myredeemed is come. ' . . . "

My father lifted his glass. "To thee, Emilia, child and queen!"

He drank, and, setting down his glass, rested silent for a while, hiseyes full of a solemn rapture. 

"My friends, " he went on at length, with lowered voice, "know youthat old song?

 "'Methought I walked still to and fro, And from her company could not go-- But when I waked it was not so: In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure. '

"All that autumn I spent under her father's roof, and--my leavehaving been extended--all the winter following. The old Count hadconvinced himself by this time that by accepting the crown he wouldconfer a signal service on Corsica, and had opened a lengthycorrespondence with the two Paolis, whose hesitation to accept thisview at once puzzled and annoyed him. For me, I wished thecorrespondence might be prolonged for ever, for meanwhile I lived mydays in company with Emilia, and we loved. 

"I was a fool. Yet I cannot tax myself that I played false to duty, though by helping to crown her father I was destroying my own hopes, since as heiress to his throne Emilia must be far removed from me. We scarcely thought of this, but lived in our love, we two. So the winter passed and the spring came and the _macchia_ burst intoflower. 

"Prosper, you have never set eyes on the _macchia_, the glory of yourkingdom. But you shall behold it soon, lad, and smell it--for itsfragrance spreads around the island and far out to sea. It beltsCorsica with verdure and a million million flowers--cistus and myrtleand broom and juniper; clematis and vetch and wild roses run mad. Deeper than the tall forests behind it the _macchia_ will hide twolovers, and under the open sky hedge off all the world but theirpassion . . . In the _macchia_ we roamed together, day after day, andforgot the world; forgot all but honour; for she, my lady, was achild of sixteen, and as her knight I worshipped her. Ah, thosedays! those scented days!

"But while we loved and Count Ugo wrote letters, the two Paolis weredoing; and by-and-by they played the strangest stroke in allCorsica's history. That spring, at Aleria on the east coast, therelanded a man of whom the Corsican's had never heard. He came out ofnowhere with a single ship and less than a score of attendants--to beprecise, two officers, a priest, a secretary, a major-domo, anunder-steward, a cook, three Tunisian slaves, and six lackeys. He had sailed from Algiers, with a brief rest in the port of Leghorn, and he stepped ashore in Turkish dress, with scarlet-lined cloak, turban, and scimetar. He called himself Theodore, a baron ofWestphalia, and he brought with him a ship-load of arms andammunition, a thousand zechins of Tunis, and letters from half adozen of the Great Powers promising assistance. Whether these weregenuine or not, I cannot tell you. 

"Led by the two Paolis--this is no fairy tale, my friends--theCorsicans welcomed and proclaimed him king, without even waiting fordespatches from Count Rivarola (who had negotiated) to inform them ofthe terms agreed upon. They led him in triumph to Corte, and there, in their ancient capital, crowned and anointed him. He gave laws, issued edicts, struck money, distributed rewards. He put himself inperson at the head of the militia, and blocked up the Genoese intheir fortified towns. For a few months he swept the island like aconqueror. 

"All this, as you may suppose, utterly disconcerted the Count UgoColonna, who saw his dreams topple at one stroke into the dust. But the chiefs found a way to reconcile him. Their new King Theodoremust marry and found a dynasty. Let a bride be found for him inColonna's daughter, and let children be born to him of the best bloodin Corsica. 

"The Count recovered his good temper: his spirits rose at a bound: heembraced the offer. His grandsons should be kings of Corsica. And she--my Emilia--

"We met once only after her father had broken the news to her. He had not asked her consent; he had told her, in a flutter of pride, that this thing must be, and for her country's sake. She came to me, in the short dusk, upon the terrace overlooking the Taravo. She was of heart too heroic to linger out our agony. In the dusk shestretched out both hands--ah, God, the child she looked! so helpless, so brave!--and I caught them and kissed them. Then she was gone. 

"A week later they married her to King Theodore in the Cathedral ofCorte, and crowned her beside him. Before the winter he left theisland and sailed to Holland to raise moneys! for the promises of theGreat Powers had come to nothing, even if they were genuinely given. For myself, I had bidden good-bye to Corsica and sailed for Tuscanyon the same day that Emilia was married. 

"Now I must tell you that on the eve of sailing I wrote a letter tothe queen--as queen she would be by the time it reached her--wishingher all happiness, and adding that if, in the time to come, fateshould bring her into poverty or danger, my estate and my life wouldever be at her service. To this I received, as I had expected, noanswer: nor did she, if ever she received it, impart its contents toher husband. He--the rascal--had a genius for borrowing, and yet'twas I that had to begin by seeking him out to feed him with money. 

"News came to me that he was in straits in Holland, and had for ayear been drumming the banks in vain: also that the Genoese, whom hisincursion had merely confounded, were beginning to lift their headsand take the offensive again. At first he had terrified them like amad dog; the one expedient they could hit on was to set a price uponhis head. Certainly he had gifts. He contrived--and by sheeraudacity, mark you, backed by a fine presence--to drive them intosuch a panic that, months after he had sailed, they were petitioningFrance to send over troops to help them. The Corsicans sent acounter-embassy. 'If, ' said they to King Louis, 'your Majesty forceus to yield to Genoa, then let us drink this bitter cup to the healthof the Most Christian King, and die. ' King Louis admired the speechbut nibbled at the opportunity. Our own Government meanwhile hadeither lost heart or suffered itself to be persuaded by the GenoeseMinister in London. In the July after my Emilia's marriage, our lateQueen Caroline, as regent for the time of Great Britain, issued aproclamation forbidding any subject of King George to furnish arms orprovisions to the Corsican malcontents. 

"And now you know, my dear Prosper, why I cast away the career onwhich I had started with some ambition. My lady lacked help, whichas a British subject I was prohibited from offering. My conscienceallowed me to disobey: but not to disobey and eat His Majesty'sbread. I flung up my post, and as a private man hunted across Europefor King Theodore. "

I ran him to earth in Amsterdam. He was in handsome lodgings, butpenniless. It was the first time I had conversed with him; and he, Ibelieve, had never seen my face. I found him affable, specious, sanguine, but hollow as a drum. For _her_ sake I took up and renewedthe campaign among the Jew bankers. 

"To be short, he sailed back for Corsica in a well-found ship, withcannon and ammunition on board, and some specie--the whole cargoworth between twenty and thirty thousand pounds. He made a landingat Tavagna and threw in almost all his warlike stores. His wifehurried to meet him: but after a week, finding that the French werepouring troops into the island, and becoming (they tell me) suddenlynervous of the price on his head, he sailed away almost withoutwarning. They say also that on the passage he murdered the man whomhis creditors had forced him to take as supercargo, sold the vesselat Leghorn, and made off with the specie--no penny of which hadreached his queen or his poor subjects. She--sad childless soul--driven with her chiefs and counsellors into the mountains before thecombined French and Genoese, escaped a year later to Tuscany, and hidherself with her sorrows in a religious house ten miles fromFlorence. 

"So ended this brief reign: and you, Prosper, have met the chiefactor in it. A very few words will tell the rest. The Frenchoverran the island until '41, when the business of the Austriansuccession forced them to withdraw their troops and leave the Genoeseonce more face to face with the islanders. Promptly these roseagain. Giafferi and Hyacinth Paoli had fled to Naples; Hyacinth withtwo sons, Pascal and Clement, whom he trained there (as I am told) inall the liberal arts and in undying hatred of the Genoese. These two lads, returning to the island, took up their father's fightand have maintained it, with fair success as I learn. From parts ofthe island they must have completely extruded the enemy for a while;since my lady made bold, four years ago, to settle these visitors ofours in her palace above the Taravo. It would appear, however, thatthe Genoese have gathered head again, and his business with them mayexplain why Pascal Paoli has not answered the letter I addressed tohim, these eight months since, notifying my son's claim upon thesuccession. Or he may have reckoned it indecent of me to address himin lieu of his Queen, who had returned to the island. I had notheard of her return. I heard of it to-day for the first time, and ofher peril, which shall hurry us ten times faster than ourpretensions. Prosper, " my father concluded, "we must invade Corsica, and at once. "

"Good Lord!" exclaimed my uncle. "How!"

"In a ship, " my father answered him as simply. "How otherwise?"

Said my uncle, "But where is your ship?"

Answered my father, "If you will but step outside and pick up one ofthese fir-cones in the grass, you can almost toss it on to her deck. She is called the _Gauntlet_, and her skipper is Captain Jo Pomery. I might have racked my brain for a month to find such a skipper or aship so well found and happily named as this which Providence hasbrought to my door. I attach particular importance to the name of aship. "

My uncle ran his hands through his hair. "But to invade a kingdom, "he protested, "you will need also an army!"

"Certainly. I must find one. "

"But where?"

"It must be somewhere in the neighbourhood, and within twenty-fourhours, " replied my father imperturbably. "Time presses. "

"But an army must be paid. You have not only to raise one, but tofind the money to support it. "

"You put me in mind of an old German tale, " said my father, helpinghimself to wine. "Once upon a time there were three brothers--butsince, my dear Gervase, you show signs of impatience, I will confinemyself to the last and luckiest one. On his travels, which I willnot pause to describe in detail, he acquired three gifts--a knapsackwhich, when opened, discharged a regiment of grenadiers; a clothwhich, when spread, was covered with a meal; and a purse which, whenshaken, filled itself with money. "

"Will you be serious, brother?" cried my uncle. 

"I am entirely serious!" answered my father. "The problem of an armyand its pay I propose to solve by enlisting volunteers; and thedifficulty of feeding my troops (I had forgotten it and thank you forreminding me) will be minimized by enlisting as few as possible. Myself and Prosper make two; Priske, here, three; I would fain haveyou accompany us, Gervase, but the estate cannot spare you. Let me see--" He drummed for a moment on the table with his fingers. "We ought to have four more at least, to make a show: and seven is alucky number. "

"You seriously design, " my uncle demanded, "to invade the island ofCorsica with an army of seven persons?"

"Most seriously I do. For consider. To begin with, this Theodore--a vain hollow man--brought but sixteen, including manynon-combatants, and yet succeeded in winning a crown. You will allowthat to win a crown is a harder feat than to succeed to one. On what reckoning then, or by what Rule-of-Three sum, should Prosper, who goes to claim what already belongs to him, need more than seven?

"Further, " my father continued, "it may well be argued that the fewerhe takes the better; since we sail not against the Corsicans butagainst their foes, and therefore should count on finding in everyCorsican a soldier for our standard. 

"Thirdly, the Corsicans are a touchy race, whom it would be impoliticto offend with a show of foreign strength. 

"Fourthly, we must look a little beyond the immediate enterprise, andnot (if we can help it) saddle Prosper's kingdom with a standingarmy. For, as Bacon advises, that state stands in danger whosewarriors remain in a body and are used to donatives; whereof we seeexamples in the turk's Janissaries and the Pretorian Bands of Rome. 

"And fifthly, we have neither the time nor the money to collect astronger force. The occasion presses: and _fronte capillata est, post haec Occasio calva_. Time turns a bald head to us if we missour moment to catch him by the forelock. "

"The Abantes, " put in Mr. Grylls, "practised the direct contrary: ofwhom Homer tells us that they shaved the forepart of their heads, thereason being that their enemies might not grip them by the hair inclose fighting. I regret, my dear Sir John, you never warned me thatyou designed Prosper for a military career. We might have bestowedmore attention on the warlike customs and operations of theancients. "

My father sipped his wine and regarded the Vicar benevolently. For closest friends he had two of the most irrelevant thinkers onearth and he delighted to distinguish between their irrelevancies. 

"But I would not, " he continued, "have you doubt that the prime causeof our expedition is to deliver my lady from the Genoese; or believethat Prosper will press his claims unless she acknowledge them. "

"I am wondering, " said my uncle, "where you will find your other fourmen. "

"Prosper and I will provide them to-morrow, " my father answered, witha careless glance at me. "And now, my friends, we have talkedover-long of Corsica and nothing as yet of that companionship whichbrings us here--it may be for the last time. Priske, you may openanother four bottles and leave us. Gervase, take down the book fromthe cupboard and let the Vicar read to us while the light allows. "

"The marker tells me, " said the Vicar, taking the book and openingit, "that we left in the midst of Chapter 8--_On the Luce or Pike_. 

"Ay, and so I remember, " my uncle agreed. 

The Vicar began to read--

 "'And for your dead bait for a pike, for that you may be taught by one day's going a-fishing with me or any other body that fishes for him; for the baiting of your hook with a dead gudgeon or a roach and moving it up and down the water is too easy a thing to take up any time to direct you to do it. And yet, because I cut you short in that, I will commute for it by telling you that that was told me for a secret. It is this: Dissolve gum of ivy in oil of spike, and therewith anoint your dead bait for a pike, and then cast it into a likely place, and when it has lain a short time at the bottom, draw it towards the top of the water and so up the stream, and it is more than likely that you have a pike follow with more than common eagerness. And some affirm that any bait anointed with the marrow of the thigh-bone of a heron is a great temptation to any fish. 

 "'These have not been tried by me, but told me by a friend of mine, that pretended to do me a courtesy. But if this direction to catch a pike thus do you no good, yet I am certain this direction how to roast him when he is caught is choicely good--'"

"Upon my soul, brother, " interrupted my uncle Gervase, removing thepipe from his mouth, "this reads like a direction for the taking ofCorsica. "

CHAPTER VII. 

THE COMPANY OF THE ROSE. 

 "Alway be merry if thou may, But waste not thy good alway: Have hat of floures fresh as May, Chapelet of roses of Whitsonday For sich array ne costneth but lyte. " _Romaunt of the Rose_. 

 _Somerset_. "Let him that is no coward Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. " _First Part of King Henry VI_. 

Early next morning I was returning, a rosebud in my hand, from theneglected garden to the east of the house, when I spied my fathercoming towards me along the terraces, and at once felt my earsredden. 

"Good morning, lad!" he hailed. "But where is mine?"

I turned back in silence and picked a bud for him. "So, " said I, "'twas you, sir, after all, that wrote the advertisement?"

"Hey?" he answered. "I? Certainly not. I noted it and sent you thenews-sheet in half a hope that you had been the advertiser. "

"You were mistaken, sir. "

He halted and rubbed his chin. "Then who the devil can he be, Iwonder? Well, we shall discover. "

"You ride to Falmouth this morning?"

"We have an army to collect, " he answered, gripping me not unkindlyby the shoulder. 

We rode into Falmouth side by side in silence, Billy Priske followingby my father's command, and each with a red rose pinned to the flapof his hat. Upon the way we talked, mainly of the Trappist Brothers, and of Dom Basilio, who (it seemed) had at one time been an agent ofthe British legation at Florence, and in particular had carried myfather's reports and instructions to and fro between Corsica and thatcity, avoiding the vigilance of the Genoese. 

"A subtle fellow, " was my father's judgment, "and, as I gave himcredit, in the matter of conscience as null as Cellini himself: thelast man in the world to turn religious. But the longer you live themore cause will you find to wonder at the divine spirit which blowethwhere it listeth. Take these Methodists, who are to preach inFalmouth to-day. I have seen Wesley, and stood once for an hourlistening to him. For aught I could discover he had no greateloquence. He said little that his audience might not have heard anySunday in their own churches. His voice was hoarse from overwork, and his manner by no means winning. Yet I saw many notoriousruffians sobbing about him like children: some even throwingthemselves on the ground and writhing, like the demoniacs ofScripture. The secret was, he spoke with authority: and the secretagain was a certain kingly neglect of trifles--he appeared not to seethose signs by which other men judge their neighbours or themselvesto be past help. Or take these Trappists: Dom Basilio tells me thatmore than half of them are ex-soldiers and rough at that. To be sureI can understand why, having once turned religious, an old soldierruns to the Trappist rule. He has been bred under discipline, andhas to rely on discipline. 'Tis what he understands, and the harderhe gets it the more good he feels himself getting--"

We were nearing the town by the way of Arwennack, and just here aturn of the road brought us in sight of a whitewashed cottage and puta period to my father's discourse, as a garden gate flew open and outinto the highway ran a lean young man with an angry woman in pursuit. His shoulders were bent and he put up both hands to ward off herclutch. But in the middle of the road she gripped him by the collarand caught him two sound cuffs on the nape of the neck. 

She turned as we rode up. "The villain!" she cried, still keepingher grip. "Oh, protect me from such villains!"

"But, my good woman, " remonstrated my father, reining up, "it scarcely appears that you need protecting. Who is this man?"

"A thief, your honour! Didn't I catch him prowling into my garden?And isn't it for him to say what his business was? I put it to yourhonour"--here she caught the poor wretch another cuff--"what honestbusiness took him into my garden, and me left a widow-woman thesesixteen years?"

"Ai-ee!" cried the accused, still shielding his neck and cowering inthe dust--a thin ragged windlestraw of a youth, flaxen-headed, hatchet-faced, with eyes set like a hare's. "Have pity on me sirs, and take her off!"

"Let him stand up, " my father commanded. "And you sir, tell me--What were you seeking in this good woman's garden?"

"A rose, sir--hear my defence!--a rose only, a small rose!"His voice was high and cracked, and he flung his hands outextravagantly. "Oh, York and Lancaster--if you will excuse me, gentlemen--that I should suffer this for a mere rose? The day onlyjust begun too! And why, sirs, was I seeking a rose? Ay, there'sthe rub. " He folded his arms dramatically and nodded at the woman. "There's the gall and bitterness, the worm in the fruit, the peculiarirony--if you'll allow me to say so--of this distressing affair. Listen, madam! If I wanted a rose of you, 'twas for your whole sex'ssake: your sex's, madam--every one of whom was, up to five or sixmonths ago, the object with me of something very nearly allied toworship. "

"Lord help the creature!" cried the woman. "What's he tellingabout? And what have you to do with my sex, young man? which is whatthe Lord made it. "

"It is _not_, madam. Make no mistake about it: 'twere blasphemy tothink so. But speaking generally, what I--as a man--have to do withyour sex is to protect it. "

"A nice sort of protector you'd make!" she retorted, planting herknuckles on her hips and eyeing him contemptuously. 

"I am a beginner, madam, and have much to learn. But you shall notdiscourage me from protecting you, though you deny me the rose whichwas to have been my emblem. Every woman is a rose, madam, as saysthe poet Dunbar--

 "'Sweet rose of vertew and of gentilness, Richest in bonty and in bewty clear And every vertew that is werrit dear, Except only that ye are merciless--"

"You take me? 'Merciless, ' madam?"

"I don't understand a word, " said she, puzzled and angry. 

"He was a Scotsman: and you find it a far cry to Loch Awe. Well, well--to resume--

 "'Into your garth this day I did pursue--'"

"by 'garth' meaning 'garden': a good word, and why the devil itshould be obsolescent is more than I can tell you--"

But here my father cut him short. "My good Mrs. Ede, " said he, turning to the woman, "I believe this young man intended no harm toyou and very little to your garden. You are quits with him at anyrate. Take this shilling, step inside, and choose him a fair redrose for the price and also in token of your forgiveness, while hepicks up his hat which is lying yonder in the dust. "

"Hey?" The youth started back, for the first time perceiving thebadges in our hats. "Are you too, sirs, of this company of therose?" His face fell, but with an effort he recovered himself andsmiled. 

"You are not disappointed, I hope?" inquired my father. 

"Why--to tell you the truth, sir--I had looked for a rendezvous ofcareless jolly fellows. For cavaliers of your quality it neveroccurred to me to bargain. " He held up a flap of his ragged coat andshook it ruefully. 

My father frowned. "And I, sir, am disappointed. A moment since Itook you for an original; but it appears you share our common Englishvice of looking at the world like a lackey. "

"I, sir?" The young man waved a hand. "I am original? Give meleave to assure you that this island contains no more serviletradesman. Why, my lord--for I take it I speak to a gentleman oftitle?--"

"Of the very humblest, sir. I am a plain knight bachelor. "

The original cringed elaborately, rubbing his hands. "A title is atitle. Well, sir, as I was about to say, I worship a lord, but mywhole soul is bound up in a ledger: and hence (so to speak) thesetears: hence the disreputable garb in which you behold me. If I maywalk beside you, sir, after this good woman has fetched me the rose--thank you, madam--and provided me with a pin from the _chevaux defrise_ in her bodice--and again, madam, I thank you: you wear thevery cuirass of matronly virtue--I should enjoy, sir, to tell you myhistory. It is a somewhat curious one. "

"I feel sure, sir"--my father bowed to him from the saddle--"it willlose nothing in the telling. "

The young man, having fastened the rose in his hat, bade adieu to hislate assailant with a bow; waved a hand to her; lifted his hat asecond time; turned after us and, falling into stride by my father'sstirrup, forthwith plunged into his story. 

 THE TRAVELS OF PHINEAS FETT. 

"My name, sir, is Phineas Fett--"

He paused. "I don't know how it may strike you: but in my infantears it ever seemed to forebode something in the Admiralty--acomfortable post, carrying no fame with it, but moderately lucrative. In wilder flights my fancy has hovered over the Pipe Office (Addison, sir, was a fine writer; though a bit of a prig, between you and me). "

"There was a Phineas Pett, a great shipbuilder for the Navy in KingCharles the Second's time. I believe, too, he had a son christenedafter him, who became a commissioner of the Navy. "

"You don't say so! The mere accident of a letter . . . But it provesthe accuracy of our childish instincts. A commissionership--whateverthe duties it may carry--would be the very thing, or astorekeepership, with a number of ledgers: it being understood thatshipping formed my background, in what I believe is nautically termedthe offing. I know not what exact distance constitutes an offing. My imagination ever placed it within sight and sufficiently near thescene of my occupation to pervade it with an odour of hemp and tar. "

He paused again, glanced up at my father, and--on a nod ofencouragement--continued--

"The nuisance is, I was born in the Midlands--to be precise, at WestBromicheham--the son of a well-to-do manufacturer of artificialjewellery. The only whiff of the brine that ever penetrated myfather's office came wafted through an off-channel of his trade. He did an intermittent business in the gilding of small idols, to beshipped overseas and traded as objects of worship among the negroesof the American plantations. Jewellery, however, was his stand-by. In the manufacture of meretricious ware he had a plausibilityamounting to genius, in the disposing of it a talent for hardbargains; and the two together had landed him in affluence. Well, sir, being headed off my boyhood's dream by the geographicalinconvenience of Warwickshire--for a lad may run away to be a sailor, sir, but the devil take me if ever I heard of one running off to be asupercargo, and even this lay a bit beyond my ambition--I recoiledupon a passion to enter my father's business and increase the alreadytidy patrimonial pile. 

"But here comes in the cross of my destiny. My father, sir, hadsecretly cherished dreams of raising me above his own station. To him a gentleman--and he ridiculously hoped to make me one--was afellow above working for his living. He scoffed at my enthusiasm fortrade, and at length he sent for me and in tones that brooked nodenial commanded me to learn the violin. 

"Never shall I forget the chill of heart with which I received thatfatal mandate. I have no ear for music, sir. In tenderer yearsindeed I had made essay upon the Jew's harp, but had relinquished itwithout a sigh. 

"'The violin!' I cried, though the words choked me. 'Father, anything but that! If it were the violoncello, now--'

"But he cut me short in cold incisive accents. 'The violin, or youare no son of mine. '

"I fled from the house, my home no longer. On the way to the frontdoor I had sufficient presence of mind, and no more, to make a_detour_ to the larder and possess myself of the longest joint; whichmy heated judgment, confusing temporal with linear measurement, commended to me as the most lasting. It proved to be a shin of beef:unnutritious except for soup (and I carried no tureen), useless as anobject of barter. With this and two half-crowns in my pocket Islammed the front-door behind me and faced the future. "

Mr. Fett paused impressively. 

"And you call me an original, sir!" he went on in accents ofreproach; "me, who started in life with two half-crowns in my pocket, the conventional outfit for a career of commercial success!"

"They have carried you all the way to Falmouth!"

"The one of them carried me so far as to Coventry, sir: where, finding a fair in progress as I passed through the town, and fallingin with three bridesmaids who had missed their wedding-party in thecrowd, I spent the other in treating them to the hobby-horses at onehalfpenny a ride. Four halfpennies--there were four of us--maketwopence, and two's into thirty are fifteen rides; a bold investmentof capital, and undertaken (I will confess it) not only to solace thefair ones but to ingratiate myself with the fellow who turned thehandle of the machine. To him I applied for a job. He had none tooffer, but introduced me to a company of strolling players who (asfortune would have it) were on the point of presenting _Hamlet_ witha _dramatis_ personae decimated by Coventry ale. They cast me for'Polonius' and some other odds and ends. You may remember, sir, thatat one point the Prince of Denmark is instructed to 'enter reading. 'That stage direction I caught at, and by a happy 'improvisation'spread it over the entire play. Not as 'Polonius' only, but as`Bernardo' upon the midnight platform, as 'Osric, ' as 'Fortinbras, 'as the 'Second Gravedigger, ' as one of the odd Players--always Ientered reading. In my great scene with the Prince we enteredreading together. They killed me, still reading, behind the arras;and at a late hour I supped with the company on Irish stew; for, incensed by these novelties, the audience had raided a greengrocer'sshop between the third and fourth acts and thereafter rained theircriticism upon me in the form of cabbages and various esculent rootswhich we collected each time the curtain fell. 

"Every cloud, sir, has a silver lining. I continued long enough withthis company to learn that in our country an actor need never die ofscurvy. But I weary you with my adventures, of which indeed I am yetin the first chapter. "

"You shall rehearse them on another occasion. But will you at leasttell us how you came to Falmouth?"

"Why, in the simplest manner in the world. A fortnight since Ihappened to be sitting in the stocks, in the absurd but accursed townof Bovey Tracey in Devonshire. My companion--for the machinediscommodated two--was a fiddler, convicted (like myself) ofvagrancy; a bottle-nosed man, who took the situation with such phlegmas only experience can breed, and munched a sausage under thecommonalty's gaze. 'Good Lord, ' said I to myself, eyeing him, 'and to think that he with my chances, or I with his taste for music, might be driving at this moment in a coach and pair!'

"'Sir, ' said I, 'are you attached to that instrument of yours?''So deeply, ' he answered, 'that, like Nero, I could fiddle if BoveyTracey were burning at this moment. ' 'You can perform on itcreditably?' I asked. 'In a fashion to bring tears to your eyes, ' heanswered me, and offered to prove his words. 'Not for worlds, ' saidI; 'but it grieves me to think how Fortune distributes her favours. 'I told him of my father. 'I should like to make the acquaintance ofsuch a man, ' said he. 'You shall, ' said I; and fetching a pencil anda scrap of paper out of my pocket, I wrote as follows:--

 "_To Mr. Jonathan Fett, Manufacturer of Flams, W. Bromicheham_. "

 "The Public Stocks, Bovey Tracey, Devon. June 21st (longest day). "

"DEAR FATHER, Adopt bearer, in lieu of Your affectionate son, PHINEAS. "

"The fiddler at first suspected a jest: but on my repeated assurancestook the letter thankfully, and at parting, on our release, pressedon me the end of his sausage wrapped in a piece of newspaper. I ate the sausage moodily and was about to throw the paper away whenmy eye caught sight of an advertisement in the torn left-hand corner. I read it, and my mind was made up. I am here, and (thanks to you, sir) with a rose in my hat. "

By the time Mr. Fett concluded his narrative we had reached theoutskirts of the town, and found ourselves in a traffic which, converging upon the Market Strand from every side-street and alley, at once carried us along with it and constrained us to a walkingpace. My father, finding the throng on the Market Strand too densefor our horses, turned aside to the Three Cups Inn across the street, gave them over to the ostler, and led us upstairs to a window whichoverlooked the gathering. 

The Market Strand at Falmouth is an open oblong space, not very wide, leading off the main street to the water's edge, and terminating insteps where as a rule the watermen wait to take off passengers to thePackets. A lamp-post stands in the middle of it, and by the base ofthis the preachers--a grey-headed man and two women in ugly bonnets--were already assembled, with but a foot or two dividing them from thecrowd. Close behind the lamp-post stood a knot of men conversingtogether one of whom stepped forward for a word with the grey-headedpreacher. He wore a rose in his hat, and at sight of him my heartgave a wild incredulous leap. It was Nat Fiennes!

I pushed past my father and flung the open window still wider. The grey-haired preacher had opened the Bible in his hand and wasclimbing the stone base of the lamp-post when a handful of filthstruck the back of the book and bespattered his face. I saw Nat whipout his sword and swing about angrily in the direction of the shot, while the two women laid hands on either arm to check him; and at thesame moment my father spoke up sharply in my ear. 

"Tumble out, lad, " he commanded. "We are in bare time. "

I vaulted over the window-ledge and dropped into the street; myfather after me, and Mr. Fett and Billy close behind. Indeed, thatfirst shot had but given the signal for a general engagement; and aswe picked ourselves up and thrust our way into the crowd, a wholevolley of filth bespattered the group of Methodists. In particular Inoted the man with whom Nat Fiennes, a minute since, had beenconversing--a little bald-headed fellow of about fifty-five or sixty, in a suit of black which, even at thirty paces distant, showed rustyin the sunshine. An egg had broken against his forehead, and theyellow of it trickled down over his eyes; yet he stood, hat in hand, neither yielding pace nor offering to resist. Nat, less patient, hadmade a rush upon the crowd, which had closed around and swallowed himfrom sight. By its violent swaying he was giving it something todigest. One of the two women shrank terrified by the base of thelamp-post. The other--a virago to look at, with eyes that glaredfrom under the pent of her black bonnet--had pulled the grey-headedpreacher down by his coat-tails, and, mounting in his room, clungwith an arm around the lamp-post and defied the persecutors. 

"Why am I here, friends?" she challenged them. "O generation ofvipers, why am I here? Answer me, you men of Belial--you, whosefathers slew the prophets! Because I glory to suffer for the right;because to turn the other cheek is a Christian's duty, and as aChristian woman I'll turn it though you were twice the number, andnot be afraid what man can do unto me. "

Now, my father was well known in Falmouth and pretty generally heldin awe. At sight of him advancing, the throng fell back and gave uspassage in a sudden lull which reached even to where Nat Fiennesstruggled in the grasp of a dozen longshoremen who were hailing himto the quay's edge, to fling him over. He broke loose, and beforethey could seize him again came staggering back, panting anddishevelled. 

"Prosper!" he cried, catching sight of me, and grinning delightedlyall over his muddied face. "I knew you would come! And your father, too? Splendid, lad, splendid?"

"Ye men of Falmouth"--the woman by the lamp-post lifted her voicemore shrilly--"what shall I testify of the hardness of your hearts?Shall I testify that your Mayor sending his crier round, hasthreatened to whip us through Falmouth streets at the cart-tail?Shall I testify--"

But here my father lifted a hand. "Gently, madam; gently, I am notdefending his Worship if he issued any such proclamation; but 'tis anancient punishment for scolds, and I advise you to lend him no colourof excuse. "

"And who may _you_ be, sir?" she demanded, looking down, angry, butchecked in spite of herself by my father's air of authority. 

"One, " he answered, "who has come to see fair play, and who has--asyou may see--for the moment some little influence with this rabble. I will continue to exert it while I can, if you on your part willforbear to provoke; for the tongue, madam, has its missiles as wellas the hands. "

"I thank you, sir, " said the grey-headed preacher, stepping forwardand thrusting a book into my father's hands. "We had best begin witha hymn, I think. I have some experience of the softening power ofmusic on these occasions. "

"We will sing, " announced the woman, "that beautiful hymn beginning, 'Into a world of ruffians sent. ' Common metre, my friends, andSister Tresize will give the pitch:

 "Into a world of ruffians sent, I walk on hostile ground--"

My father bared his head and opened the hymn-book; the rest of us, bareheaded too, ranged ourselves beside him; and so we stood facingthe mob while the verses were sung in comparative quiet. The wordsmight be provocative, but few heard them. The tune commanded anaudience, as in Cornwall a tune usually will. The true secret of thespell, however, lay in my father's presence and bearing. A Britishcrowd does not easily attack one whom it knows as a neighbour andborn superior; and it paid homage now to one who, having earned itall his life, carelessly took it for granted. 

"Begad, sir, " said Mr. Fett in my ear, "and the books say that thefeudal system is dead in England! Why, here's the very flower of it!Damme, though, the old gentleman is splendid; superlative, sir;it's ten to one against Coriolanus, and no takers. Betweenourselves, Coriolanus was a pretty fellow, but talked too much. Phocion, sir? Did I hear you mention Phocion?"

"You did not, " I answered. 

"And quite right, " said he; "with your father running, I wouldn'tback Phocion for a place. All the same, " Mr. Fett admitted, "this iswhat Mr. Gray of Peterhouse, Cambridge, would call a fearful joy, andI'd be thankful for a distant prospect of the way out of it. "

"Indeed, sir"--my father, overhearing this, turned to him affably--"you touch the weak spot. For the moment I see no way out of thesituation, nor any chance but to prolong it; and even this, " headded, "will not be easy unless the lady on the lamp-post sensiblyalters the tone of her discourse. "

Indeed, at the conclusion of the singing she had started again toaddress the crowd, albeit--acting on my father's hint--in moremoderate tones, and even, as I thought, somewhat tepidly. Her themewas what she called convictions of sin, of which by her own accountshe had wrestled with a surprising quantity; but in the rehearsal ofthem, though fluent, she seemed to lose heart as her hearers relaxedtheir attention. 

"Confound the woman!" grumbled my father. "She had done better, after all, to continue frantic. The crowd came to be amused, and isgrowing restive again. "

"Sir, " interposed Mr. Fett, "give me leave to assure you that anaudience may be amused and yet throw things. Were this the time andplace for reminiscences, I could tell you a tale of Stony Stratford(appropriately so-called, sir), where, as 'Juba' in Mr. Addison'stragedy of _Cato_, for two hours I piled the Pelion of passion uponthe Ossa of elocutionary correctness, still without surmounting thezone of plant life; which in the Arts, sir, must extend higher thangeographers concede. And yet I evoked laughter; from which I mayconclude that my efforts amused. The great Demosthenes, sir, practised declamation with his mouth full of pebbles--for retaliatorypurposes, I have sometimes thought. "

Here my father, who had been paying no attention to Mr. Fett'sdiscourse, interrupted it with a sharp but joyful exclamation; andglancing towards him I saw his face clear of anxiety. 

"We are safe, " he announced quietly, nodding in the direction of theThree Cups. "What we wanted was a fool, and we have found him. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

TRIBULATIONS OF A MAYOR

 "Like the Mayor of Falmouth, who thanked God when the Town Jail was enlarged. "--_Old Byword_. 

His nod was levelled at a horseman who had ridden down the street andwas pressing upon the outskirts of the crowd: and this was no less adignitary than the Mayor of Falmouth, preceded on foot by a beadleand two mace-bearers, all three of them shouting "Way! Make way forthe Mayor!" with such effect that in less than half a minute thecrowd had divided itself to form a lane for them. 

"Eh? eh? What is this? What is the meaning of all this?" demandedhis Worship, magisterially, as, having drawn rein, he fumbled in histail pocket, drew forth a pair of horn spectacles, adjusted them onhis nose, and glared round upon the throng. 

"That, sir, " answered my father, stepping forward, "is what we arewaiting to learn. "

"Sir John Constantine?" The Mayor bowed from his saddle. "You willpardon me, Sir John, that for the moment I missed to recognize you. The fact is, I suffer, Sir John, from some--er--shortness of sight: agrave inconvenience, at times, to one in my position. "

"Indeed?" said my father, gravely. "And yet, as I have heard, 'tis amalady most incident to borough magistrates. "

"You don't say so?" The Mayor considered this for a moment. "The visitations of Providence are indeed inscrutable, Sir John. It would give me pleasure to discuss them with you, on some--er--moresuitable occasion, if I might have the honour. But as I was about tosay, I am delighted to see you, Sir John: your presence here willstrengthen my hands in dealing with this--er--unlawful assembly. "

"_Is_ this an unlawful assembly?" my father asked. 

"It is worse, Sir John; it is far worse. I have been studying thelaw, and the law admits of no dubiety. It is unlawful assembly wherethree or more persons meet together to carry out some privateenterprise in circumstances calculated to excite alarm. Mark thosewords, Sir John--" some private enterprise. "When the enterprise isnot private but meant to redress a public grievance, or to reformreligion, the offence becomes high treason. "

"Does the law indeed say so?"

"It does, Sir John. The law, let me tell you, is very fierce againstany reforming of religion. Nay more, Sir John, under the first ofKing George the First, statute two--I forget what chapter--by the Actcommonly called the Riot Act, it is enacted that if a dozen or morego about reforming of religion or otherwise upsetting the publicpeace and refuse to go about their business within the space of onehour after I tell 'em to, the same becomes felony without benefit ofclergy. "

"Good Lord!" exclaimed Billy Priske, pulling off his hat and eyeingthe rose in its band. 

"And further, " his Worship continued, "any man wearing the badge orensign of the rioters shall himself be considered a rioter withoutbenefit of clergy. "

All this while the crowd had been pressing closer and closer upon us, under compulsion (as it seemed) of reinforcements from the waterside, the purlieus of the Market Strand being, by now, so crowded that menand women were crying out for room. At this moment, glancing acrossthe square, I was puzzled to see a woman leaning forth from afirst-floor window and dropping handfuls of artificial flowers uponthe heads of the throng. While I watched, she retired--her handsbeing empty--came back with a band-box, and scattered its contentsbroadcast, pausing to blow a kiss towards the Mayor. 

I plucked my father's sleeve to call his attention to this; but heand the Mayor were engaged in argument, his Worship maintaining thatthe Methodists--and my father that their assailants--were the primedisturbers of the peace. 

"And how, pray, " asked my father, "are these poor women to disperse, if your ruffians won't let 'em?"

"As to that, sir, you shall see, " promised the Mayor, and turned tothe town crier. "John Sprott, call silence. Make as much noiseabout it as you can, John Sprott. And you, Nandy Daddo, catch holdof my horse's bridle here. "

He rose in his stirrups and, searching again in his tail-pocket, drewforth a roll of paper. 

"Silence!" bawled the crier. 

"Louder, if you please, John Sprott: louder, if you can manage it!And say 'In the name of King George, ' John Sprott; and wind up with'God save the King. ' For without 'God save the King' 'tis no riot, and a man cannot be hanged for it. So be very particular to say'God save the King, ' John Sprott, and put 'em all in the wrong. "

John Sprott bawled again, and this time achieved the whole formula. 

"That's better, John Sprott. And you--" his Worship turned upon theMethodists, "you just listen to this, now--"

"_Our sovereign Lord the King--_"

Here, as the Methodists stood before him with folded hands, a lump offilth flew past the Mayor's ear and bespattered the lamp-post. 

"Damme, who did that?" his Worship demanded. "John Sprott, who threwthat muck?"

"I don't know the man's name, your Worship: but he's yonder, there, in a striped shirt open at the neck, with a little round hat on theback of his head; and, what's more, I see'd him do it. "

"Then take down his description, John Sprott, and write that at thewords 'Our sovereign Lord' he shied a lump of muck. "

John Sprott pulled out a note-book and entered the offence. 

"And after 'muck, ' John Sprott, write 'God save the King. ' I don'tknow that 'tis necessary, but you'll be on the safe side. "His Worship unfolded the proclamation again, cleared his throat, andresumed:

"_Our sovereign Lord the King chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves and peacefully todepart to their habitations or to their lawful business, upon thepains contained in the Act made in the first year of George the Firstfor preventing--_"

A handful of more or less liquid mud here took him on the nape of theneck and splashed over the paper which he held in both hands. 

"Arrest that man!" he shouted, bouncing about in a fury. At the samemoment my father gripped my elbow as a volley of missiles darkenedthe air, and we fell back--all the Company of the Rose--shoulder toshoulder, to protect the Methodists, as a small but solid phalanx ofmen came driving through the crowd with mischief in their faces. 

"But wait awhile! wait awhile!" called out Billy Priske, as myfather plucked out his sword. "These be no enemies, master, to us orthe Methodists, but honest sea-fardingers--packet-men all--and, lookyou, with roses in their hats!"

"Roses? Faith, and so they have!" cried my father, lowering hisguard. "But what the devil, then, is the meaning of it?"

He was answered on the moment. The official whom his Worship calledNandy Daddo had made a rush into the crowd, charging it with his maceas with a battering-ram, and was in the act of clutching the man whohad thrown the filth, when the phalanx of packet-men broke throughand bore him down. A moment later I saw his gold-laced hat flyskimming over the heads of the throng, and his mace wrenched from himand held aloft in the hands of a red-faced man, who flourished ittwice and rushed upon the Mayor, shouting at the same time with allhis lungs: "Townshends! This way, Townshends!" whereat thepacket-men cheered and pressed after him, driving the crowd ofFalmouth to right and left. 

Clearly what mischief they meant was intended for the Mayor: and theMayor, for a short-sighted man, detected this very promptly. Also heshowed surprising agility in tumbling out of his saddle; which he hadscarcely done before the crupper resounded with a whack, of which oneof the borough maces bears an eloquent dent to this day. 

The Mayor, catching his toe in the stirrup as he slipped off, staggered and fell at our feet. But the body of his horse, interposed between him and the rioters, protected him for an instant, and in that instant my father and Nat Fiennes dragged him up andthrust him to the rear while we faced the assault. For now, andwithout a word said, the Methodists were forgotten, and we of theRose were standing for law and order against this other company ofthe Rose, of whose quarrel we knew nothing at all. 

Our attitude indeed, and the sight of drawn swords (to oppose whichthey had no weapons but short cudgels), appeared to take them abackfor the moment. The press, however, closing on us, as we backed tocover the Mayor's retreat, offered less and less occasion for swordplay; and, the seamen still advancing and outnumbering us by aboutthree to one, the whole affair began to wear an ugly look. 

At this juncture relief came to us in the strangest fashion. I hadclean forgotten the little Methodist man in black; whom, to be sure, I had no occasion to remember but for the quiet resolution of hiscarriage as he had stood with the burst egg trickling over his face. But now, to the surprise of us all, he sprang forward upon the secondmace-bearer, snatched the mace from his hand and laid about him in asudden frenzy; at the first blow, delivered at unawares, catching theringleader on the crown and felling him like an ox. For a second, perhaps, he stared, amazed at his own prowess, and with that the lustof battle seized him. 

He rained blows; yet with cunning, running forth and back into ourranks as each was delivered; and between the blows he capered, uttering shrill inarticulate cries. This diversion indeed saved us. For the rabble, pressing up to see the fun, left a space more or lessclear on the far side of the Market Strand, and for this space westampeded, dragging the Mayor along with us. 

The next thing I remember was fighting side by side with Nat before adoor beneath the window where I had seen the woman throwing down herhandfuls of artificial flowers. The lower windows were barred, butthe door stood open; and we fought to defend it whilst my fatherlifted the Mayor of Falmouth by his coat-collar and the seat of hisbreeches and flung him inside. Then we too backed and, duckingindoors under the arms of the little man in black--who stood on thestep swinging the borough mace as though to scythe off the head ofany one who approached within five feet of it--seized him by thecoat-tails, dragged him inside and, slamming to the door (which shutwith two flaps), locked and bolted it and leant against it with allour weight. 

Yet a common house-door is but a flimsy barricade against a mob, especially if that mob be led by five-and-twenty stout-bodied seaman. We had shut it merely to gain time, and when the cudgels outsidebegan to play tattoo upon its upper panels I looked for no more thana minute's respite at the best. 

It puzzled me therefore when--and immediately upon two ugly blowsthat had well-nigh shaken the lock from its fastenings--the shoutingsuddenly subsided into a confused hubbub of voices, followed by aclang and rattle of arms upon the cobblestones. This last soundappeared to hush the others into silence. I stood listening, with myhip pressed against the lock to hold it firm against the nextconcussion. None came: but presently some one rapped with hisknuckles on the upper panel and a voice, authoritative but civilenough, challenged us in the name of King George to open. 

To this I had almost answered bidding him go to the devil, when adamsel put her head over the stair-rail of the landing above andcalled down to us to obey and open at once: and looking up in the dimlight of the passage I recognized her for the one who had scatteredthe flowers, just now, to the rioters. 

"Pardon me, " said I, "but how shall I know you are not playing us atrick?"

"My good child, " she replied, "open the door and don't stand arguing. The riot is over and the square full of military. The person whoknocks is Captain Bright of the Pendennis Garrison. If you don'tbelieve me, step upstairs here and look out of window. "

"My father--" I began. 

"Your father is right enough, and so is that fool of a Mayor--or willbe when he has drunk down a glass of cordial. "

Nevertheless I would not obey her until I had sent Nat Fiennesupstairs to look; who within a minute called over the stair-head thatthe woman told the truth and I had my father's leave to open. Thereupon I pulled open the upper flap of the door, and stoodblinking at a tall officer in gorgeous regimentals. 

"Hullo!" said he. "Good morning!"

"Good morning!" said I. "And forgive me that I kept you waiting. "

"Don't mention it, " said he very affably. "My fault entirely, forcoming late; or rather the Mayor's, who sent word that we weren'tneeded. I took the liberty to doubt this as soon as my sentriesreported that a couple of boats' crews were putting ashore from the_Townshend_ packet: and here we are in consequence. Got him safe?"

"The Mayor?" said I. "Yes, I believe he is upstairs at this moment, drinking brandy-and-water and pulling himself together. "

The Captain grinned amiably. "Sorry to disturb him, " said he;"but the mob is threatening to burn his house, and I'd best take himalong to read the Riot Act and put things ship-shape. "

"He has read it already, or some part of it. "

"Some part of it won't do. He must read the whole proclamation, notforgetting 'God save the King. '"

"If you can find the paper, " said I, "there's a lump of mud on it, marking the place where he left off. "

The Captain grinned again. "I doubt he'll have to begin afresh afterbreaking off to drink brandy-and-water with Moll Whiteaway. For achief magistrate that will need some explaining. And yet, " mused theCaptain, as he stepped into the passage, "you may have done him abetter turn than ever you guessed; for, when the mob sees the humourof it, belike it'll be more for laughing than setting fire to hishouse. "

"But who is Moll Whiteaway?" I asked. 

He stared at me. "You mean to say you didn't know?" he asked slowly. "You didn't bring him here for a joke?"

"A joke?" I echoed. "A mighty queer joke, sir, you'd have thoughtit, if your men had been five minutes earlier. "

He leaned back against the wall of the passage. "And you brought himhere _by accident?_ Well, if this don't beat cock-fighting!"

"But who is this Moll Whiteaway?" I repeated. 

The question again seemed to take his breath away. For answer hecould only point to a small brass plate in the lower flap of thedoor; and, stooping, I read: _Miss Whiteaway, Milliner, Modes andRobes_. 

"Oh!" said I. "That accounts for the band-box of flowers. "

"Does it?" he asked. 

"She flung them out of window to the packet-men. "

"Which, doubtless, seemed to you an everyday proceeding--just amilliner's usual way of getting rid of her summer stock. My goodyoung sir, did you ever hear tell of a 'troacher'? Nay, spare thatingenuous blush: Moll is a loose fish, but I mean less than yourmodesty suspects. A 'troacher' is a kind of female smuggler thatdisposes of the goods the packet-men bring home in their bunks; andMoll Whiteaway is the head of the profession in Falmouth. Now, ourworthy Mayor took oath the other day to put down this smuggling onboard the packets; and he began yesterday with the _Townshend_. He and the Port Searcher swept the ship, sir. They dug Portuguesebrandy in kegs out of the seamen's beds and parcels of silk out ofthe very beams. They shook two case-bottles out of the chaplain'sbreeches, which must have galled him sorely in his devotions. They netted close on two hundred pounds' worth of contraband in thefo'c's'le alone--"

"Good Heavens!" I interjected. "And as the riot began he was callinghimself short-sighted!"

Captain Bright laughed, clapped me on the shoulder and led the wayupstairs, where (strange to say) we found the Mayor again deploringhis defective vision. He lay in an easy-chair amid an army ofband-boxes, bonnet stands, and dummies representing the femalefigure; and sipped Miss Whiteaway's brandy while he discoursed inbroken sentences to an audience consisting of that lady, my father, Nat Fiennes, Mr. Fett, and the little man in black (who, by the way, did not appear to be listening, but stood and pondered the boroughmace, which he held in his hands, turning it over and examining thedents). 

"It is a great drawback, Sir John--a great drawback, " his Worshiplamented. "A man in my position, sir, should have the eye of aneagle; instead of which on all public occasions I have to rely onJohn Sprott. My good woman"--he turned to Miss Whiteaway--"would youmind taking a glance out of window and telling me what has become ofJohn Sprott?"

"He's down below under protection of the soldiers, " announced MissWhiteaway; "and no harm done but his hat lost and his gown split upthe back. "

"I shall never have the same confidence in John Sprott. He takesaltogether too sanguine a view of human nature. Why, only lastNovember--you remember the great gale of November the 1st, Sir John?I was very active in burying the poor bodies brought ashore next dayand for several days after; for, as you remember, a couple ofIndymen dragged their anchors and broke up under Pendennis Battery:and John Sprott said to me in the most assured way, 'The town'llnever forget your kindness, sir. You mark my words, ' he said, 'this here action will stand you upon the pinnacles of honour tillyou and me, if I may respectfully say it, sit down together in theland of marrow and fatness. ' After that you'd have thought a manmight count on some popularity. But what happened? A day or twolater--that is to say, on November the 5th--I was sitting in my shopwith a magnifying glass in my eye, cleaning out a customer's watch, when in walked half a dozen boys carrying a man's body between 'em. You could tell that life was extinct by the way his head hung backand his legs trailed limp on the floor as they brought him in, andhis face looked to me terribly swollen and discoloured. 'Dear, dear!' said I. 'What? Another poor soul? Take him up to themortewary, that's good boys, ' I said; 'and you shall have twopenceapiece out of the poor-box. ' How d'ye think they answered me?They bust out a-laughing, and cries one: 'If you please, sir, 'tismeant for _you!_ 'Tis the fifth of November, and we'm goin' to burnyou in effigy. ' I chased 'em out of the shop, and later on in theday I spoke to John Sprott about it. 'Well now, ' said John Sprott, 'I passed a lot of boys just now, burning a guy at the top of theMoor, and I had my suspicions; but the thing hadn't a feature ofyours to take hold on, barrin' the size of its feet. ' And that'swhat you call popularity!" wound up the Mayor with bitterness. "That's what a man gets for rising early and lying down late to servehis country!"

"Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, " put in Captain Bright, "but they arethreatening to burn worse than your effigy fact I heard some talk ofsetting fire to your house and shop. Nay, " he went on as the Mayorbounced up to his feet, "there's no real cause for alarm. I havesent on my lieutenant with fifty men to keep the mob on the move, andhave stationed a dozen outside here to escort you home. "

"The Riot Act--where's my Riot Act?" cried his Worship, searching hispockets. "I never read out 'God save the King, ' and without'God save the King' a man may burn all my valybles and make turbulentgestures and show of arms, and harry and murder to the detriment ofthe public peace, and refuse to move on when requested, and all thetime in the eyes of the law be a babe unborn. Where's the Riot Act, I say? for without it I'm a lost man and good-bye to Falmouth!"

"Then 'tis lucky that I came provided with a copy. " Captain Brightproduced a paper from the breast of his tunic. 

The Mayor took it with trembling hands. "Why, 'tis a duplicity!" hecried. "A very duplicity! and, what's more, printed in the samelanguage word for word. " He caught the mace from the little man inblack. "Lead the way, Captain!"

CHAPTER IX. 

I ENLIST AN ARMY. 

 "If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. " _Sir John Falstaff_. 

My father turned to me as they descended the stair. "This is allvery well, lad, " said he, "but we have yet to find our army. After the murder of Julius Caesar, now--"

"I did enact Julius Caesar once, " quoted Mr. Fett, in parenthesis. "I was killed i' the capitol; Brutus killed me. "

My father frowned. "After the murder of Julius Caesar, when the mobfor two days had Rome at their mercy, I have read somewhere that twomen appeared out of nowhere, and put themselves at the head of therioters. None knew them; but so boldly they comported themselves, heading the charges, marshalling the ranks, here throwing upbarricades, there plucking down doors and gates, breaking open theprisons and setting fire to private houses, that presently thewhisper spread they were Castor and Pollux; till, at length, fallinginto the hands of the aediles, these _dioscuri_ were found to be twopoor lunatics escaped from a house of detention. If we coulddiscover another such pair among the mob, now!"

"We are wasting time here for certain, " said I. "And where, by theway, is Billy Priske?"

"If you waste your time upstairs here, gentlemen, " said MissWhiteaway, "belike you may do better in the parlour, where I hadprepared for some friends of mine with two-three chickens and a ham. "

"Ah, to be sure, " said I; "the packet-men!"

"Never you worry, young sir, " she answered tartly, "so long as theydon't mind eating after their betters. And as for your man Priske, Isaw him twenty minutes ago escape towards Church Street with theMethodists. "

"Hang it!" put in Nat Fiennes, "if I hadn't clean forgotten theMethodists!"

"We left them scurvily, " said I; "every Jack and Jill of them but ourfriend here. " I nodded toward the little man in black. "And he notonly saved himself, but was half the battle. "

The little man seemed to come out of himself with a start, and gazedfrom one to another of us perplexedly. 

"Excuse me, gentlemen. " He drew himself up with dignity. "Do my ears deceive me, or are you mistaking me for a Methodist?"

"Indeed, and are you not, sir?" asked my father. "Why, good God, gentlemen!--if you'll excuse me--but I'm the parish clerk ofAxminster!"

My father recovered himself with a bow. "In Devon?" he askedgravely, after a pause in which our silence paid tribute to theannouncement. 

"In Devon, sir; a county remarkable for its attachment to theprinciples of the Church of England. And that I should have lived tobe mistaken for a Methodist!"

"But, surely, John Wesley himself is a Clerk in Holy Orders? and, Ihave heard, a great stickler for the Church's authority. "

"He may say so, sir, " answered the little man, darkly. "He may sayso. But, if he means it, why does he go about encouraging such alow class of people? A man, sir, is known by the company he keeps. "

"Is that in the Bible?" my father inquired. "I seem to remember, onthe contrary, that in the matter of consorting with publicans andsinners--"

"It won't work, sir. It has been tried in Axminster before now, andyou may take my word for it that it won't work. You mustn't suppose, gentlemen, " he went on, including us all in the argument, "youmustn't take me for one of those parrot-Christians who just echo whatthey hear in the pulpits on Sundays. I _think_ about these things;and I find that your extreme doctrines may do all very well for theEast and for hot countries where you can go about half-naked andnobody takes any notice; but the Church of England, as its nameimplies, is the only Church for England. A truly Christian Church, gentlemen, because it selects its doctrines from the Gospels; andEnglish, sir, to the core, because it selects 'em with a special viewto the needs of our beloved country. And what (if I may so put it)is the basis of that selection? The same, sirs, which we all admitto be the basis of England's welfare and the foundation of hersociety; in other words, the land. The land, gentlemen, is solid;and our reformed religion (say what you will, I am not denying thatit has, and will ever have, its detractors) is the religion for solidEnglishmen. "

My father put out a hand and arrested Mr. Fett, who had beenregarding the speaker with joyful admiration, and at this point madea movement to embrace him. 

"I must have his name!" murmured Mr. Fett. "He shall at least tellus his name!"

"Badcock, sir; Ebenezer Badcock, " answered the little man, producinga black-edged visiting-card. 

"But, " urged my father, "you must forgive us, Mr. Badcock, if we findit hard to reconcile your conduct this morning with these sentiments, on which, for the moment, I offer no comment except that they areadmirably expressed. What song the Sirens sang, Mr. Badcock, or whatname Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, are questions(as Sir Thomas Browne observes) not beyond conjecture, albeit theEmperor Tiberius posed his grammarians with 'em. But when a manopenly champions street-preaching, and goes on to lay about him witha mace--"

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Badcock, with sudden eagerness. "And what--bythe way, sir--did you think of that performance?"

"Why, to be sure, you behaved valiantly. "

The little man blushed with pleasure. "You really think so?It struck you in that light, did it? Well, now I am glad--yes, sir, and proud--to hear that opinion; because, to tell you the truth, Ithought it pretty fair myself. The fact is, gentlemen, I wasn'taltogether sure what my behaviour would be at the critical moment. You may deem it strange that a man should arrive at my time of lifewithout being sure whether he's a coward or a brave man; butAxminster--if you knew the place--affords few opportunities for thatsort of thing. "

"Allow us to reassure you, then, " said my father. "But there remainsthe question, why you did it?"

Mr. Badcock rubbed his hands. "Appearances were against me, I'llallow, " he answered, with a bashful chuckle; "but you may set it downto tchivalry. We all have our weaknesses, I hope, sir; and tchivalryis mine. "

"Chivalry?" echoed my father. 

"You spell it with an 's'? Excuse me; whatever schooling I havepicked up has been at odd times; but I am always open to correction, I thank the Lord. "

"But why call it a weakness, Mr. Badcock?"

"Call it a hobby; call it what you like. _I_ look upon it as a debt, sir, due to the memory of my late wife. An admirable woman, sir, andby name Artemisia; which, I have sometimes thought, may partiallyaccount for it. Allow me, gentlemen. " He drew a small shagreen casefrom his breast-pocket, opened it, and displayed a miniature. 

"Her portrait?"

"In a sense. As a matter of fact, I will not conceal from you, gentlemen, that it came to me in the form of a pledge--that being mylate profession--and I have never been able to trace the original. But, as I said when first I showed it to the late Mrs. B. , 'My dear, you might have sat for it. ' A well-developed woman, gentlemen, though in the end she went out like the snuff of a candle, that beingthe way sometimes with people who have never known an hour'ssickness. 'Am I really like that, Ebenezer?' she asked. 'In yourprime, my dear, ' said I--she having married me late in life owing toher romantic nature--'in your prime, my dear, I'll defy any one totell you and this party from two peas. ' 'I wish I knew who she was, 'said my wife. 'Hadn't you best leave well alone?' said I; 'for Ideclare till this moment I hadn't dreamed that another such woman asyourself existed in the world, and it gives me a kind of bigamousfeeling which I can't say I find altogether unpleasant. ' 'Then I'llkeep the thing, ' says she, very positively, 'until the owner turns upand redeems it;' which he never did, being, as I discovered, astrolling portrait painter very much down on his luck. So there themystery remained. But (as I was telling you), though a first-ratemanager, my poor dear wife had a number of romantic notions; andoften she has said to me after I'd shut up shop, 'If wishes grew onbrambles, Ebenezer, it's not a pawnbroker's wife I'd be at thismoment. ' 'Well, my dear, ' I'd say to soothe her, 'there _is_ alittle bit of that about the profession, now you come to mention it. ''And them there was a time, ' she'd go on, 'when I dreamed of marryin'a red-cross knight!' 'I have my higher moments, Artemisia, ' I'd say, half in joke; 'Why not try shutting your eyes?' But afterwards, whenthat splendid woman was gone for ever, and my daughter Heeb (which isa classical name given her by her mother) comfortably married to awholesale glover, and me left at home a solitary grandfather--which, proud as you may be of it, is a slight occupation--I began to thinkthings over and find there was more in my poor wife's notions thanI'd ever allowed. And the upshot was that seeing this advertisementby chance in a copy of the _Sherborne Messenger_, I determined toshut up shop and let Axminster think I was gone on a holiday, while Igave it a trial; for, you see, I was not altogether sure of myself. "

"Excuse me, Badcock, " interrupted Mr. Fett, advancing towards himwith outstretched arms; "but have you perused the books of chivalry, or is this the pure light of nature?"

"Books, sir?" answered Mr. Badcock, seriously. "I never knew therewere any books about it. I never heard of tchivalry except from mylate wife; and you'll excuse the force of habit, but she pronouncedit the same as in chibbles. "

"You never read of the meeting of Amadis and Sir Galaor?"

Mr. Badcock shook his head. 

"Nor of Percival and Galahad, nor of Sir Balin and Sir Balan? No?Then embrace me!"

"Sir?"

"Embrace me!"

"Sit down, the pair of you, " my father commanded. "I have a proposalto make, which, if I mistake not, will interest you both. Mr. Badcock, I have heard your aspirations, and can fulfil them in adegree that will surprise you. I like you, Mr. Badcock. "

"The feeling, sir, is mutchual. " Mr. Badcock bowed with muchamiability. 

"Is time an object with you?"

"None whatever, sir. I am on a holiday. "

"Will you be my guest to-night?"

"With the more pleasure, sir, after my experience of the inns inthese parts. Though I may have presented her to you in a somewhatromantic light, my Artemisia _did_ know how to make a bed; andtwenty-two years of her ministrations, not to mention hercompanionship, have coddled me in this particular. "

"And you, sir"--my father turned to Mr. Fett--"will you accompanyus?"

"With what ulterior object?" demanded Mr. Fett. "You will excuse myspeaking as a business man, and overlook the damned bad manners ofthe question for the sake of its pertinence. "

My father smiled. "Why, sir, I was proposing to invite you to a seavoyage with me. "

"There was a time, before commerce claimed me, when the mere hint ofa nautical expedition had evoked an emotion which, if it survive atall, lingers but as in a sea-shell the whisper of the parent ocean. "

"As a supercargo, at four shillings _per diem_, " suggested my father. 

"Say no more, sir; I am yours. "

"As for Mr. Fiennes--nay, lad, I remember you well. " My fatherturned to him with that sweet courtesy which few ever resisted. "And blush not, lad, if I guess that to you we all owe this meeting;'twere a bravery well beseeming your blood. As for Mr. Fiennes, hewill accompany us in heart if he cannot in presence--being, as Iunderstand, destined for the law?"

"Why, sir, as for that, " stammered Nat, "I have had the devil's owndispute with my father. "

"You treated him with all respect, I hope?"

"With all the respect in the world, sir. But it scarcely matters, since he has cast me off, and without a penny. "

"Why, then, you can come too!" cried my father, gripping him by thehand. "Bravo, Prosper! that makes five; and with Billy Priske, whenwe can find him, six; and that leaves but one to find beforedinner-time. " He pulled out his watch. "Lord!" he cried, "and 'tishigh time to feel hungry, too. If this lady now will repeat herhospitable offer--"

I thought at the moment, and I thought once or twice during the mealdownstairs, that my father was taxing this poor woman's hospitality. I doubted that he, himself so carelessly hospitable, might forget tooffer her payment; and lingered after the others had trooped into thepassage, with purpose to remind him privately. 

"Come, " said he, and made a notion to leave, still without offeringto pay. On the threshold I had almost turned to whisper to him whenthe woman came after and touched his arm. 

"Nay, Sir John, " said she, eagerly, in a low hoarse voice, "let thelad hear me thank you. He is old enough to understand and cleanenough to profit. Shut the door, child. You know me, Sir John?"

My father bent his head. "I never forget a face, " said he, quietly. 

"Take notice of that, boy. Your father remembers me, whom to myknowledge he never saw but once, and then as a magistrate, when hesat to judge me. Never mind the offence, lad. I am a sinful woman, and the punishment was--"

"Nay, nay!" put in my father, gently. 

"The punishment was, " she continued, hardening her voice, "to stripme to the waist and whip me in public. The law allowed this, andthis they would have done to me. But your father, being chairman ofthe bench--for the offence lay outside the borough--would have noneof it, and argued and forced three other magistrates to give way. Little good he did, you may say, seeing that my name is such inFalmouth that, only by entering my door, the Mayor just now did whatall his cleverness could never have done--stopped a riot by a sillybrutal laugh--the chief magistrate taking shelter with MollWhiteaway! You can't get below that for fun, as the folk will takeit; and yet I say your father did good, for he saved me from theworst. And to-day of his goodness he has not remembered my sins, buttreated me as though they were not; and today, as only a good mancan, he goes from my house, no man thinking to laugh except at hissimplicity, even though it were known that I kissed his hand. God bless you, Sir John, and teach your son to be merciful to women!"

My father was ever so shy of his own kind actions that, when detectedby chance or painfully tracked out in one, he kept always a quotationready to justify what pure impulse had prompted. So now, as wehurried across the deserted Market Strand to catch up with the otherthree, he must needs brazen things out with the authority of BishopJeremy Taylor. 

"It was a maxim of that excellent divine, " said he, "that Christiancensure should never be used to make a sinner desperate; for then heeither sinks under the burden or grows impudent and tramples upon it. A charitable modest remedy, says he, preserves that which is virtue'sgirdle-fear and blushing. Honour, dear lad, is the peculiarcounsellor of well-bred natures, and these are few; but almost in allmen you will find a certain modesty toward sin, and were I a king myjudges should be warned that their duty is to chasten; whereas bypunishing immoderately they can but effect the exact opposite. "

We found our trio waiting for us on the far side of the square; and, having fetched our horses and left an order at the inn for BillyPriske on his return to mount and follow us, wended our way out ofthe town. The streets on this side were deserted and mournful, theshopkeepers having fastened their shutters for fear of the mob, ofwhose present doings no sound reached us but a faint murmuring hubbubborne on the afternoon air from the northward--that is, from thedirection of the Green Bank and the Penryn Road. 

My father led the way at a foot's pace, and seemed to ride pondering, for his chin was sunk on his chest and he had pulled his hat-brimwell over his eyes (but this may have been against the July sun). After him tramped Mr. Fett in eager converse with the littlepawnbroker, now questioning him, now halting to regard him, as a manwho has dug up a sudden treasure and for the moment can only gaze atit and hug himself. Nat and I brought up the rear, he striding at mystirrup and pouring forth the tale of his adventures since we parted. A dozen times he rehearsed the scene of the parental quarrel, andinterrupted each rehearsal with a dozen anxious questions. "Ought heto have given this answer?--to have uttered that defiance? Did Ithink he had shown self-control; Had he treated the old gentlemanwith becoming respect? Would I put myself in his place? Suppose ithad been my own father, now--"

"But yours, lad, is a father in a thousand, " he broke off bitterly. "I had never a notion that father and son could be friends, as areyou and he. He is splendid--splendid!"

I glanced at him quickly and turned my face aside, suspecting that hetook my father for a madman, and was kindly concealing the discovery. Nevertheless I hardened my voice to answer--

"You will say so when you know him better. And my Uncle Gervase runshim a good second. "

"Faith, then, I wish you'd persuade your uncle to adopt me. I'm notenvious, Prosper, in a general way, but your luck gives me a ducedorphanly feeling. Have I been over-hasty? That is the question;whether 'twas nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows ofaccusing conscience or to up and have it out with the old man. "

"Pardon me, gentlemen"--Mr. Fett wheeled about suddenly on the roadahead of us--"but it was by accident that I overheard you, and by asingular coincidence at that moment I happened to be discussing thesame subject with Mr. Badcock here. "

"What subject?"

"Missiles, sir. It appears that, when his blood is up, Mr. Badcockfinds himself absolutely careless of missiles. He declares that, with a sense of smell as acute as most men's, he was unaware to-dayof having been struck with a rotten egg until I, at ten paces'distance, drew his attention to it. Now, that is a degree ofcourage--insensibility--call it what you will--to which I make nopretence. The cut and thrust, gentlemen, the couched lance, even, within limits, the battering ram, would have, I feel confident, comparatively few terrors for me. But missiles I abominate. Drawing, as I am bound to do, my anticipations of the tented fieldfrom experience gathered--I say it literally, gathered--before thefootlights, I confess to some sympathy with the gentleman who assuredHarry Percy that but for these vile guns he would himself have been asoldier. You will not misunderstand me. I believe on my faith thatas a military man I was born out of my time. The scythed chariots ofBoadicea, for instance, must have been damned inconvenient; yet I canconceive myself jumping 'em. But a stone, as I learnt in myboyhood--a stone, sirs, and _a fortiori_ a bullet--"

"Hist!" broke in my father, at the same moment reining up. "Prosper, what do you make of that noise, up yonder?"

I listened. "It sounds to me like a heavy cart--"

"Or a waggon. To my hearing there are two horses. "

"And runaway ones, by the shouting. "

We had reached a point of the road, not far from home, where a steeplane cut across it: a track seldom used but scored with old ruts, sunk between hedges full sixteen feet high, leading down from a backgate of Constantine and a deserted lodge to a quay by the waterside. Not once in three months, within my remembrance, did cart or waggonpass along this lane, which indeed grew a fine crop of grass anddocks between the ruts. 

"Nay, " said my father, after a few seconds, "I gave you a falsealarm, gentlemen. The shouting, whatever it means, is over. Your pardon, Mr. Fett, that I interrupted you. "

"Sir, " said Mr. Fett, stepping put him to reconnoitre the lane, "I was but remarking what a number of the wise have observed beforeme, that a stone which has left the hand is in the hands of thedev--"

He ducked his head with a cry as a stone whizzed past him and withina foot of it. On the instant the loud rattle and thunder ofcartwheels broke forth again, and now but a short distance up thelane; also a voice almost as loudly vociferating; and, almost beforeMr. Fett could run back to us, a whole volley of stones flew hurtlingacross the road. 

"Hi, there! Halt!" My father struck spur and rode forward, in timeto catch at and check the leader of two horses slithering downhilltandem-fashion before the weight of a heavy cart. "Confound you, sir! What the devil d'you mean by flinging stones in this manneracross the middle of the King's highway. "

The man--he was one of the seamen of the _Gauntlet_--stood up in thecart upon a load of stones and grinned. In one hand he gripped thereins, in the other a fistful of flints. 

"Your honour's pardon, " said he, lifting his forearm and drawing theback of it across his dripping brow, "but the grey mare for'rad won'tpull, and the whip here won't reach her. I couldn't think upon nobetter way. "

"You mean to tell me you have been pelting that poor brute all downthe lane?"

"I couldn't think upon no better way, " the seaman repeated wistfully, almost plaintively. "She's what you might call sensitive to stones. "

"Intelligent beast!" commented Mr. Fett. "And I bought that mareonly six months ago!" (In truth my father had found the poorcreature wandering the roads and starving, cast off by her owner aspast work, and had purchased her out of mere humanity for thirtyshillings. )

"But what business have you to be driving my cart and horses?" hedemanded. "And what's the meaning of these stones you're carting?"

"Ballast, your honour. "

"Ballast?"

"I don't know how much of it'll ever arrive at this rate, " confessedthe seaman, dropping the handful of flints and scratching his head. "Tis buying speed at a terrible cost of jettison. But Cap'n Pomery'slast order to me was to make haste about it, if we're to catchto-morrow's tide. "

"Captain Pomery sent you for these stones?"

"Why, Lord love your honour, a vessel can't discharge two dozenPapist monks and cattle and implements to correspond without wantin'_something_ in their place. Nice flat stones, too, the larger-sizedbe, and not liable to shift in a sea-way. "

But here another strange noise drew our eyes up the lane, as an oldman in a smock-frock--a pensioner of the estate, and by name JohnWorthyvale--came hobbling round the corner and down the hill towardsus, using his long-handled road hammer for a staff and utteringshrill tremulous cries of rage. 

"Vengeance, Sir John! Vengeance for my l'il heap o' stones!"

"Why, Worthyvale, what's the matter?" asked my father, soothingly. 

"My l'il heap o' stones, Sir John; my poor l'il heap o' stones!What's to become o' me, master? Where will your kindness find abellyful for me, if these murderin' seamen take away my l'il heap o'stones?"

My father laid a hand on the old man's shoulder. 

"Captain Pomery wants them for ballast, Worthyvale. You understand?It appears he can find none so suitable. ''

"No, I _don't_ understand!" exclaimed the old fellow, fiercely. "This has been a black week for me, Sir John. First of all mydarter's youngest darter comes and tells me she've picked up with aman. Seems 'twas only last year she was runnin' about in shortfrocks; but, dang it! the time must ha' slipped away somehow whilstI've a-sat hammerin' stones, an' now there'll be no person left tomind me. Next news, I hear from Master Gervase that you be goin'foreign, Sir John, with Master Prosper here. The world gets thatempty, I wish I were dead, I do. An' now they've a-took my l'il heapo' stones!"

"And this old man's sires, " said my father to me, but so that he didnot hear, "held land in Domesday Book--twelve virgates of land withclose on forty carucates of arable, villeins and borderers andbondservants, six acres of wood, a hundred and twenty of pasture; andhe makes his last stand on this heap of stones. Ballast?" He turnedto the seaman. "Did I not tell Captain Pomery to ballast with wine?"

"We were carrying it all the forenoon, " the seaman answered. "There was two hogsheads of claret. "

"And the hogshead of Madeira, with what remained of the brown sherry?Likewise in bottles twelve dozen of the Hermitage and as much againof the Pope's wine, of Avignon?"

"It all went in, sir. Master Gervase checked it on board by thelist. "

"For the rest we are reduced to stones? Then, Prosper, there remainsno other course open to us. "

"Than what, sir?" I asked. 

"We must enlist this old man; and that fulfils our number. "

"Old John Worthyvale?"

"Why not? He can sit in the hold and crack stones until I devise hispart in the campaign. Say no more. I have an inkling he will provenot the least useful man of our company. "

"As to that, sir, " I answered, with a shrug of the shoulders and aglance at Mr. Fett and Mr. Badcock, "I don't feel able to contradictyou. "

"Then here we are assembled, " said my father, cheerfully, with theair of one closing a discussion; "the more by token that here comesBilly Priske. Why, man, " he asked, as Billy rode up--but sodejectedly that his horse seemed to droop its ears in sympathy--"what ails you? Not wounded, are you?"

"Worse, " answered Billy, and groaned. 

"We were told you got quit of the crowd. 

"So I did, " said Billy. "Damn it!"

"They followed you?" I asked. 

"No, they didn't, and I wish they had. "

"Then what on earth has happened?"

"What has happened?" Having no hair of his own to speak of, Billyreached forward and ran his fingers through his horse's mane. "I've engaged to get married. That's what has happened. "

"Good Lord!"

"To a female Methody, in a Quaker bonnet. I had no idea of any suchthing when I followed her. She was sittin' on the first milestoneout of Falmouth and jabbin' her heel into the dust, like a person ina pet. First of all, when I spoke to her, she wouldn't tell what hadannoyed her; but later on it turned out she had come expectin' to bemade a martyr of, and everything was lookin' keenly that way untilSir John came and interfered, as she put it. "

"And she said, " suggested Mr. Fett, "that she didn't mind what mancould do unto her?"

"The very words she used, sir!" said Billy, his brow clearing as aprisoner's will when counsel supplies him with a defence. 

"And, when you took her at her word, like a Christian woman sheturned the other cheek?"

"She did, sir, and no harm meant; but just doing it gay, as a manwill. "

"But when you explained this, she wouldn't take no for an answer?"

"She would not, sir. She seemed not to understand. Then I looked ather bonnet and, a thought striking me, I tried `nay' instead. But that didn't work no better than the other. If you could hide mefor tonight, Sir John--"

"You had best sleep on the _Gauntlet_ to-night, " said my father. "If the woman calls, I will have a talk with her. What is her name, by the way?"

"Martha. "

"But I mean her full name. "

"I didn't get so far as to inquire, Sir John. But the point is, sheknows mine. "

CHAPTER X. 

OF THE DISCOURSE HELD ON BOARD THE "GAUNTLET. "

 "The Pilot assured us that, considering the Gentleness of the Winds and their pleasant Contentions, as also the Clearness of the Atmosphere and the Calm of the Current, we stood neither in Hope of much Good nor in Fear of much Harm . . . And advised us to let the Ship drive, nor busy ourselves with anything but making good Cheer. " --_The Fifth Book of the Good Pantagruel_. 

It appeared that, unknown to me, my father had already made hisarrangements with Captain Pomery, and we were to sail with themorning's tide. During supper--which Billy Priske had no sooner laidthan he withdrew to collect his kit and carry it down to the ship, taking old Worthyvale for company--our good Vicar arrived, as well tobid us good-bye as in some curiosity to learn what recruits we hadpicked up in Falmouth. I think the sight of them impressed him; butat the tale of our day's adventures, and especially when he heard ofour championing the Methodists, his hands went up in horror. 

"The Methodists!" For two years past the Vicar had occupied a partof his leisure in writing a pamphlet against them: and by "leisure" Imean all such days as were either too inclement for fishing, orthunderous so that the trout would not rise. 

"My dear friend, while you have been sharpening the sword of SaintAthanasius against 'em, the rabble has been beforehand with you andgiven 'em bloody noses. The blood of the martyrs is the seed ofheresy--if you call the Wesleyans heretics--as well as of theChurch. "

The Vicar sighed. "I have been slack of pace and feeble of will. Yes, yes, I deserve the reproach. "

My father laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tut, tut! Cannot you seethat I was not reproaching, but rather daring to commend you for anexemplar? There is a slackness which comes of weak will; but thereis another and a very noble slackness which proceeds from the twostrongest things on earth, confidence and charity; charity, whichnaturally inclines to be long-suffering, and confidence which, havingassurance in its cause, dares to trust that natural inclination. Dissent in the first generation is usually admirable and almostalways respectable: men don't leave the Church for fun, but becausethey have thought and discovered, as they believe, something amiss inher--something which in nine cases out of ten she would be the betterfor considering. But dissent in the second and third generationusually rests on bad temper, which is not admirable at all, thoughoften excusable because the Church's persecution has produced it. Believe me, my dear Vicar, that if all the bishops followed yourexample and slept on their wrath against heresy, they would wake upand find nine-tenths of the heretics back in the fold. Indeed I wishyour good lady would let you pack your nightcap and come with us. You could hire a curate over from Falmouth. "

"Could I write my pamphlet at sea?"

"No: but, better still, by the time you returned the necessity for itwould be over. "

The Vicar smiled. "_You_ counsel lethargy?--you, who in an hour ortwo start for Corsica, and with no more to-do than if bound on apicnic!"

"Ay, but for love, " answered my father. "In love no man can be tooprompt. "

"I believe you, sir, " hiccuped Mr. Fett, who had been drinking morethan was good for him. "And so, begad, does your man Priske. Did any one mark, just now, how like a shooting star he glided in thenight from Venus' eye? Love, sir?" he turned to me. "The tenderpassion? Is that our little game? Is _that_ the face that launcheda thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium? O Troy!O Helen! You'll permit me to add, with a glance at our friendPriske's predicament, O Dido! At five shillings _per diem_ I realizethe twin ambitions of a life-time and combine the supercargo with thebuck. Well, well! _cherchez la femme!_"

"You pronounce it 'share-shay?'" inquired Mr. Badcock. "Now I haveseen it spelt the same as in 'church. '"

"The same as in ch--?" Mr. Fett fixed him with a glassy butreproachful eye. "Badcock, you are premature, premature andindelicate. "

Here my father interposed and, heading the talk back to theMethodists, soon had the Vicar and the little pawnbroker in fullcry--parson and clerk antiphonal, "matched in mouth like bells"--onchurch discipline; which gave him opportunity, while Nat and I at ourend of the table exchanged the converse and silences of friendship, to confer with my Uncle Gervase and run over a score of partinginstructions on the management of the estate, the ordering of thehousehold, and, in particular, the entertainment of our Trappistguests. Perceiving with the corner of his eye that we two wererestless to leave the table, he pushed the bottle towards us. 

"My lads, " said he, "when the drinking tires let the talk no longerdetain you. "

We thanked him, and with a glance at Mr. Fett--who had fallen asleepwith his head on his arms--stepped out upon the moonlit terrace. I waited for Nat to speak and give me a chance to have it out withhim, if he doubted (as he must, methought) my father's sanity. But he gazed over the park at our feet, the rolling shadows of thewoodland, the far estuary where one moonray trembled, and stretchingout both hands drew the spiced night-air into his lungs with a sob. 

"O Prosper!"

"You are wondering where to find your room?" said I, as he turned andglanced up at the grey glimmering facade. "The simplest way is topick up the first lantern you see in the hall, light it, walkupstairs, enter what room you choose and take possession of its bed. You have five hours to sleep, if you need sleep. Or shall I guideyou?"

"No, " said he; "the first is the only way in this enchanted house. But I was thinking that by rights, while we are standing here, thosewindows should blaze with lights and break forth with the noise ofdancing and minstrelsy. To such a castle, high against such a velvetnight as this, would Sir Lancelot come, or Sir Gawain, or SirPerceval, at the close of a hard day. "

"Wait for the dawn, lad, and you will find it rather the castleovergrown with briers. "

"And, in the heart of them, the Rose!"

"You will find no Sleeping Beauty, though you hunt through all itsrooms. She lies yonder, Nat, somewhere out beyond the sea there. "

"In a few hours we sail to her. O Prosper, and we will find her!This is better than any dream, lad: and this is life!"

He gazed into my eyes for a moment in the moonlight, turned on hisheel, and strode away from me toward the great door, which--likeevery door in the house--stood wide all the summer night. I wasstaring at the shadow of the porch into which he had disappeared, when my father touched my elbow. 

"There goes a good lad, " said he, quietly. 

"And my best friend. "

"He has sobered down strangely from the urchin I remember onWinchester meads; and in the sobering he has grown exalted. A man might almost say, " mused my father, "that the imp in him hadshed itself off and taken flesh in that Master Fett I left snoringwith his head on my dining-table. An earthy spirit, that MasterFett; earthy and yet somewhat inhuman. Your Nat Fiennes has the clueof life--if only Atropos do not slit it. "

Here the Vicar came out to take his leave, winding about his neck andthroat the comforter he always wore as a protective against thenight-air. It appeared later that he was nettled by Mr. Badcock'scollapsing beneath the table just as they had reached No. XX. Of theThirty-nine Articles and passed it through committee by consent. 

"God bless you, lad!" said he, and shook my hand. "In seeking yourkingdom you start some way ahead of Saul the son of Kish. You havealready discovered your father's asses. "

He trudged away across the dewy park and was soon lost in thedarkness. In the dim haze under the moon, having packed Mr. Badcockand Mr. Fett in a hand-cart, we trundled them down to the shore andlifted them aboard. They resisted not, nor stirred. 

By three o'clock our dispositions were made and Captain Pomeryprofessed himself ready to cast off. I returned to the house for thelast time, to awake and fetch Nat Fiennes. As I crossed the wetsward the day broke and a lark sprang from the bracken and soaredabove me singing. But I went hanging my head, heavy with lack ofsleep. 

I tried five rooms and found them empty. In the sixth Nat laystretched upon a tattered silk coverlet. He sprang up at my touchand felt for his sword. 

"Past three o'clock and fine clear mornin'!" sang I, mimicking theOxford watch, and with my foot the tap of his staff as he had used topass along Holy well. 

 "Hey! now the day dawis, The jolly cock crawis--"

"The wind will head us in the upper reach: but beyond it blows fairfor Corsica!"

He leapt to his feet and laughed, blithe as the larks now chorussingoutside the window. But my head was heavy, and somehow my heart too, as we walked down to the shore. 

My Uncle Gervase stood on the grass-grown quay; my father on thedeck. They had already said their goodbyes. With his right hand myuncle took mine, at the same time laying his left on my shoulder; andsaid he--

"Farewell, lad. The rivers in Corsica be short and eager, as I hear;and slight fishing in them near the coast, the banks being overgrown. But it seems there are good trout, and in the mountain pools. 

"Whether they be the same as our British trout I cannot discover. I desire you to make certain. Also if the sardines of those parts bethe same as our Cornish pilchards, but smaller. Belike they startfrom the Mediterranean Sea and reach their full size on our coasts. 

"The migrations of fishes are even less understood than those of thebirds. Yet both (being annual) will teach you, if you consider them, to think little of this parting. God knows, lad, how sorely I spareyou. 

"Do justice, observe mercy, and walk humbly before thy God. This ifthey should happen to make you king, as your father promises. 

"They have an animal very like a sheep, but wilder and fiercer. If you have the luck to shoot one, I shall be glad of his skin. 

"'Twill be a job here, making two ends meet. But as our Lord said, Sufficient for the day is its evil. I have put a bottle of tar-waterin your berth. 

"I have often wished to set eyes on the Mediterranean Sea. A sea without tides must be but half a sea--speaking with all respectto the Almighty, who made it. 

"You will pick up the wind in the lower reach. 

"There was a trick or two of fence I taught you aforetime. I had meant to remind you of 'em. But enough, lad. Shake hands. . . . The Lord have you in His keeping!"

Good man! For a long while after we had thrust off from the quay, the two seamen in the cock-boat towing us, he stood there and wavedfarewells; but turned before we reached the river bend, and went hisway up through the woods--since in Cornwall it is held unlucky towatch departing friends clean out of sight. 

Almost at once I went below in search of my hammock, and there sleptten solid hours by the clock; a feat of which I never witted until, coming upon deck, I rubbed my eyes to find no sight of land, but thesea all around us, and Captain Pomery at the helm, with the sun but alittle above his right shoulder. The sky, but for a few fleecedclouds, was clear; a brisk north-westerly breeze blew steady on ourstarboard quarter, and before it the ketch ran with a fine hiss ofwater about her bluff bows. My father and Nat were stretched with aboard between them on the deck by the foot of the mizzen, deep in agame of chequers: and without disturbing them I stepped amidshipswhere Mr. Fett lay prone on his belly, his chin propped on bothhands, in discourse with Billy and Mr. Badcock, who reclined withtheir backs against the starboard bulwark. 

"Tut, man!" said Mr. Fett, cheerfully, addressing Billy. "You havetaken the right classical way with her: think of Theseus and Ariadne, Phaon and Sappho. . . . We are back in the world's first best age;when a man, if he wanted a woman to wife, sailed in a ship andabducted her, as did the Tyrian sea-captain with Io daughter ofInachus, Jason with Medea, Paris with Helen of Greece; and again, when he tired of her, left her on an island and sailed away. There was Sappho, now; she ran and cast herself off a rock. And Medea, she murdered her children in revenge. But we are overhasty, to talk of children. "

Billy groaned aloud, "I meant no harm to the woman. "

"Nor did these heroes. As I was saying, on board this ship I findmyself back in the world's dawn, ready for any marvels, butresponsible (there's the beauty of it) only to my ledger. As supercargo I sit careless as a god on Olympus. My pen is trimmed, my ink-pot filled, and my ledger ruled and prepared for miracles. _Item_, a Golden Fleece. _Item_, A king's runaway daughter, slightlydamaged:

 "Whatever befel the good ship _Argo_ It didn't affect the supercargo, "

who whistled and sat composing blank verse, having discovered thatJason rhymed most unheroically with bason:

 "Neglecting the daughter of Aeson Sat Jason, a bason his knees on--"

"You don't help a man much, sir, so far as I understand you, "grumbled Billy, with a nervous glance around the horizon. 

"Well, then I'll prescribe you another way. Nobody believes me whenI tell the following story: but 'tis true nevertheless. So listen--

MR. FETT'S STORY OF THE INTERRUPTED BETROTHAL. 

"To the south of the famous city of Oxford, between it and the townof Abingdon, lies a neat covert called Bagley Wood: in the which, ona Sunday evening a bare two months ago, I chose to wander with mystage copy of Mr. Otway's _Orphan_--a silly null play, sirs, if notaltogether the nonsense for which Abingdon, two nights later, condemned it. While I wandered amid the undergrowth, conning mypart, my attention was arrested by a female voice on the summerbreeze, most pitiably entreating for help. I closed my book and bentmy steps in the direction of the outcries. Judge of my amazementwhen, parting the bushes in a secluded glade, I came upon adistressed but not uncomely maiden, buried up to her neck in earthbeneath the spreading boughs of a beech. To exhume and release hercost me, unprovided as I was with any tool for the purpose, no littlelabour. At length, however, I disengaged her and was rewarded withher story; which ran, that a faithless swain, having decoyed her intothe recesses of the wood, had pushed her into a pit prepared by him;and that but for the double accident of having miscalculated herinches and being startled by my recitations of Otway into a terrorthat the whole countryside was after him with hue and cry, he hadundoubtedly consummated his fell design. After cautioning her to bemore careful in future I parted from the damsel (who to the lastprotested her gratitude) and walked homeward to my lodgings, on theway reflecting how frail a thing is woman when matched against manthe libertine. "

Billy Priske's eyes had grown round in his head. Mr. Badcock, aftersitting in thought for a full minute, observed that the incident waspeculiar in many respects. 

"Is that the end of the yarn?" I asked. 

"I never met the lady again, " confessed Mr. Fett. "As for thestory, " he added with a sigh, "I am accustomed to have itdisbelieved. Yet let me tell you this. On my return I related it tothe company, who received it with various degrees of incredulity--allbut a youthful stroller who had joined us at Banbury and earnedpromotion, on the strength of his looks, from 'walking gentleman' towhat is known in the profession as 'first lover. ' On the strength ofthis, again, he had somewhat hastily aspired to the hand of ourleading tragedy lady--a mature person, who knew her own mind. My narrative seemed to dispel the atmosphere of gloom which had hungabout him for some days; and the next morning, having promised toaccompany his betrothed on a stroll up the river bank, he left theinn with a light, almost jaunty, tread. From the balcony I watchedthem out of sight. By-and-by, however, I spied a figure returningalone by the towpath; and, concealing myself, heard young Romeo inthe courtyard carelessly demanding of the ostler the loan of a spade. From behind my curtain I watched him as again he made his way up theshore with the implement tucked under his arm. I waited in aterrible suspense. Each minute seemed an hour. A thunderstormhappening to break over the river at this juncture (as such thingsdo), the scene lacked no appropriate accessory. At length, betweentwo flashes of lightning, I perceived in the distance my two turtlesreturning, and gave voice to my relief. They were walking side byside, but no longer arm-in-arm. Young Romeo hung his headdejectedly: and on a closer view the lady's garments not only drippedwith the storm but showed traces of earth to the waist. The restthey kept to themselves. I say no more, save that after theevening's performance (of 'All for Love') young Romeo came to me andannounced that his betrothal was at an end. They had discovered (ashe put it) some incompatibility of temper. "

My father and Nat Fiennes had finished their game and come forward intime to hear the conclusion of this amazing narrative. Billy Priskestared at his master in bewilderment. 

"A spade!" growled Billy, mopping his brow and letting his gazetravel around the horizon again before settling, in dull wrath, onMr. Fett. "What's the use, sir, of makin' a man feel like a villainand putting thoughts into his head without means to fulfil 'em?"

"Sit you quiet, " said my father, "while I try to drive Mr. Fett'sstory out of your head with an honester one. "

"About a spade, master?"

"There is a spade in the story. "

MY FATHER'S STORY OF THE SHIPWRECKED LOVERS. 

"In the year 1416 a certain Portuguese sea-captain, Gonsalvez Zarcoby name, and servant of the famous Henry of Portugal, was cruisinghomeward in a leaky caravel from a baffled voyage in search of theFortunate Islands. He had run into a fog off Cape Blanco in Africa, and had been pushing through it for two days when the weather liftedand the look-out spied a boat, empty but for one man, drifting a mileand more to leeward. Zarco ran down for the boat, and the man, beingbrought aboard, was found to be an escaped Moorish prisoner on hisway back to Spain. He gave his name as Morales, and said that he hadsometime been a pilot of Seville, but being captured by the Moors offAlgeciras, had spent close on twenty years in servitude to them. In the end he and six other Christians had escaped in a boat of theirown making, but with few victuals. When these were consumed hiscompanions had perished one by one, horribly, and he had been sailingwithout hope, not caring whither, for a day and a night before hisrescue came. 

"Now this much he told them painfully, being faint with fasting andlight-headed: but afterwards falling into a delirium, he let slipcertain words that caused Captain Zarco to bestow him in a cabinapart and keep watch over him until the ship reached Lagos, whence heconveyed him secretly and by night to Prince Henry, who dwelt at thattime in an arsenal of his own building, on the headland of Sagres. There Prince Henry questioned him, and the old man, taken bysurprise, told them a story both true and wonderful. 

"In his captivity he had made friends with a fellow prisoner, anEnglishman named Prince or Prance (since dead, after no less thanthirty years of servitude), who had fallen among the Moors in themanner following. In his youth he had been a seaman, and one day inthe year 1370 he was standing idle on Bristol Quay when a youngsquire accosted him and offered to hire him for a voyage to France, naming a good wage and pressing no small share of it upon him asearnest money. The ship (he said, naming her) lay below at Avonmouthand would sail that same night. Prince knew the ship and her master, and judged from the young squire's apparel and bearing that here wasone of those voluntary expeditions by which our young nobles made ita fashion to seek fame at the expense of our enemies the French; aventure dangerous indeed but carrying a hopeful chance of highprofits. He agreed, therefore, and joined the ship a little afternightfall. Toward midnight arrived a boat with our young squire andone companion, a lady of extreme beauty, who had no sooner climbedthe ship's side than the master cut the anchor-cable and stood outfor sea. 

"The names of these pretty runaways were Robert Machin and Anned'Arfet, wife of a sour merchant of Bristol; and all their care wasto flee together and lose all the world for love. But they neverreached France; for having run prosperously down Channel and acrossfrom the Land's End until they sighted Ushant, they met anorth-easterly gale which blew them off the coast; a gale so blindand terrible and persistent that for twelve days they ran before it, in peril of death. On the thirteenth day they sighted an island, where, having found (as they thought) good anchorage, they broughtthe ship to, and rowed the lady ashore through the surf. Between suffering and terror she was already close upon death. 

"Now this man Prince said that 'though the seamen laid their peril ather door, holding the monstrous storm to be a judgment direct fromHeaven upon her sin, yet not one of them, considering her childishbeauty, had the heart to throw her an ill word or so much as anaccusing look: but having borne her ashore they built a tabernacle ofboughs and roofed it with a spare sail for her and for her lover, whowatched beside her till she died. 

"On the morning of her death the seamen, who slept on the beach at alittle distance, were awakened by a terrible cry: whereat, gazingseaward--as a seaman's first impulse is--they missed all sight oftheir ship. Either the gale, reviving, had parted her moorings andblown her out to sea, or else the two or three left on board hertreacherously slipped her cable. At all events, no more was everheard of her. 

"The seamen supposed then that Master Machin had called out for theloss of the ship. But coming to him they found him staring at thepoor corpse of his lady; and when they pointed to sea he appeared tomark not their meaning. Only he said many times, 'Is she gone?Is she gone?' Whether he spoke of the ship or of the lady they couldnot tell. Thereafter he said nothing, but turned his face away fromall offers of food, and on the fifth day the seaman buried him besidehis mistress and set up a wooden cross at their heads. 

"After this (said Prince), finding no trace of habitation on theisland, and being convinced that no ship ever passed within sight ofit, the seamen caught and killed four of the sheep which ran wildupon the cliffs, and with the flesh of them provisioned the boat inwhich they had come ashore, and took their leave. For eleven daysthey steered as nearly due east as they could--that being the quarterin which they supposed the mainland to lie, until a gale overtookthem, and, drowning the rest, cast four of them alive on the coastnear Mogador, where the Moors fell on them and sold them intoslavery, to masters living wide apart. Yet, and howsoever the othersperished, in the mouth of this one man the story lived and came aftermany days to ears that understood it. 

"For Prince Henry, hearing the pilot's tale, believed verily thatthis must be the island for which his sea-captains had beensearching, and in 1420 sent Zarco forth again to seek it, with theold man on board. They reached Porto Santo, where they heard of adark line visible in all clear weather on the southern horizon, andsailing for it through the fogs, came to a marshy cape, and beyondthis cape to high wooded land which Morales recognized at once fromhis fellow-prisoner's description. Yes, and bringing them to shorehe led them, unerring, to the wooden cross above the beach; andthere, over the grave of these lovers, Zarco took seizin of theisland in the name of King John of Portugal, Prince Henry, and theOrder of Christ. 

"From this, " my father concluded, "we may learn, first, that humanpassion, of all things the most transient, may be stronger and moreenduring than death; of all things the unruliest and most deservingto be chastened, it may rise naked from the scourge to claim thehomage of all men; nay, that this mire in which the multitude wallowsmay on an instant lift up a brow of snow and challenge the DivinityHimself, saying, 'We are of one essence, Shall not I too workmiracles?' Secondly--"

"Your pardon, master, " put in Billy, "but in all the fine speechesabout Love and War and suchlike that I've heard you read out of booksafore now, I could never make out what use they be to common fellowslike myself. Say 'tis a battle: you start us off with a shout, whichagain starts off our betters a-knocking together other folks' headsand their own: but afterwards, when I'm waiting and wondering whatbecame of Billy Priske, all the upshot is that some thousand wereslaughtered and maybe enough to set some river running with blood. Likewise with these seamen, that never ran off with their neighbours'wives, but behaved pretty creditable under the circumstances, whichdidn't prevent their being spilt out of boats and eaten by fishes orcast ashore and barbecued by heathen Turks--a pretty thing this Lovedid for them, I say. And so to come to my own case, which is wherethis talk started, I desire with all respect, master, that you willfirst ease my mind of this question--be I in love, or bain't I?"

"Surely, man, _you_ must know that?"

Billy shook his head. "I've what you might call a feeling t'wardsthe woman: and yet not rightly what you might call a feeling, nor yetazactly, as you might say, t'wards her. And it can't be so strong asI reckoned, for when she spoke the word 'marriage' you might ha'knocked me down with a straw. "

"Eh?" put in Mr. Fett, "was she the first to mention it?"

"Me bein' a trifle absent-minded, maybe, on that point, " explainedBilly. His gaze happening to wander to the wheel, encounteredCaptain Jo Pomery's; and Captain Jo, who had been listening, noddedencouragement. 

"Speakin' as a seafarin' man and the husband o' three at one time andanother, " said he, "they always do so. "

"My Artemisia, " said Mr. Badcock, "was no exception; though apowerful woman and well able to look after herself. "

"'Tis their privilege, " agreed Captain Pomery. "You must allow 'em afew. "

"But contrariwise, " Billy resumed, "it must be stronger than Ireckoned, for here I be safe, as you may say, and here I should begrateful; whereas I bain't, and, what's more, my appetite's failin'. Be you goin' to give me something for it?" he asked, as Mr. Badcockdived a hand suddenly into a tail pocket and drew forth what at firstappeared to be the neck of a bottle, but to closer view revealeditself as the upper half of a flute. A second dive produced theremainder. 

"Good Lord! Badcock has another accomplishment!" ejaculated Mr. Fett. 

"The gift of music, " said Mr. Badcock, screwing the two portions ofthe instrument together, "is born in some. The great Batch--JohnSebastian Batch, gentlemen--as I am credibly informed, composed afugue in his bed at the tender age of four. "

"He was old enough to have given his nurse warning, " said Mr. Fett. 

"With me, " pursued Mr. Badcock, modestly, "it has been the result oflater and (I will not conceal the truth, sirs) more assiduouscultivation. This instrument"--he tapped it affectionately--"came tome in the ordinary way of trade and lay unredeemed in my shop for noless than eight years; nor when exposed for sale could it tempt apurchaser. 'You must do something with it, ' said my Artemisia--anexcellent housewife, gentlemen, who wasted nothing if she could helpit. I remember her giving me the same advice about an astrolabe, andagain about a sun-dial corrected for the meridian of Bury St. Edmunds. 'My dear, ' I answered, 'there is but one thing to be donewith a flute, and that is to learn it. ' In this way I discoveredwhat I will go no further than to describe as my Bent. "

Mr. Badcock put the flute to his lips and blew into it. A tuneresulted. 

"But, " persisted Billy Priske, after a dozen bars or so, "the latestthing to be mentioned was my appetite: and 'tis wonderful to me howyou gentlemen are letting the conversation stray, this afternoon. "

"The worst of a flute, " said Mr. Badcock, withdrawing it from hislips with obvious reluctance, "and the objection commonly urged byits detractors, is that a man cannot blow upon it and sing at thesame time. "

"I don't say, " said Billy, seriously, "as that mayn't be a reas'nableobjection; only it didn't happen to be mine. "

"You have heard the tune, " said Mr. Badcock. "Now for the words--

 "I attempt from love's sickness to fly, in vain, Since I am myself my own fever and pain. "

"Bravo!" my father cried. "Mr. Badcock has hit it. You are in love, Billy, and beyond a doubt. "

"Be I?" said Billy, scratching his head. "Well, as the saying is, many an ass has entered Jerusalem. "

CHAPTER XI. 

WE FALL IN WITH A SALLEE ROVER. 

 "We laid them aboard the larboard side-- With hey! with ho! for and a nonny no! And we threw them into the sea so wide, And alongst the Coast of Barbary. " _The Sailor's Onely Delight_. 

My father, checked in the midst, or rather at the outset, of apanegyric upon love, could not rest until he had found an ear intowhich to deliver it; but that same evening, after the moon had risen, drew Nat aside on the poop, and discharged the whole harangue uponhim; the result being that the dear lad, who already fancied himselfanother Rudel in quest of the Lady of Tripoli, spent the next twodays in composing these verses, the only ones (to my knowledge) everfinished by him:

 NAT FIENNES' SONG TO THE UNDISCOVERED LADY. 

 "Thou, thou, that art My port, my refuge, and my goal, I have no chart, No compass but a heart Trembling t'ward thee and to no other pole. 

 "My star! Adrift On seas that well-nigh overwhelm, Still when they lift I strain toward the rift, And steer, and hold my courage to the helm. 

 "With ivory comb, Daylong thou dalliest dreaming where The rainbow foam Enisles thy murmuring home: Home too for me, though I behold it ne'er!

 "Yet when the bird Is tired, and each little wave, Aloft is heard A call, reminds thee gird Thy robe and climb to where the summits rave:

 "Yea, to the white Lone sea-mark shaken on the verge-- 'What of the night?' Ah, climb--ah, lift the light! Ah, lamp thy lover labouring in the surge!

 "Fray'd rope, burst sail, Drench'd wing, as moth toward the spark-- I fetch, I fail, Glad only that the gale Breaks not my faith upon the brutal dark. 

 "Be it frost or fire, Thy bosom, I believed it warm: I did aspire For that, and my desire-- Burn thou or freeze--fought thro' and beat the storm. 

 "Thou, thou, that art My sole salvation, fixed, afar, I have no chart, No compass but a heart Hungry for thee and for no other star. "

"Humph!" said I, by way of criticism, when these verses were shown tome. "Where be the mackerel lines, Captain Jo? There's too muchlove-talk aboard this ship of yours. "

"Mackerel?" said Captain Jo. "Why, where's your bait?"

"You shall lend me an inch off your pipe-stem, " said I, and, to teaseNat, began to hum the senseless old song:

 "She has ta'en a siller wand An' gi'en strokes three, An' chang'd my sister Masery To a mack'rel of the sea. And every Saturday at noon The mack'rel comes to me, An' she takes my laily head An' lays it on her knee, An' kames it wi' a kame o' pearl, An' washes it i' the sea--"

"Mackerel?" said Captain Pomery. "If ye found one fool enough totake hold at the rate we're sailing, ye'd pull his head off. "

"Why, then, he would be off his head, " answered I: "and there areplenty here to make him feel at home. "

In truth I was nettled; jealous, as a lad in his first friendship isquick to be. Were not Nat and I of one age? Then why should he beleaving thoughts we might share, to think of woman? I had chafed atOxford against his precocious entanglements. Here on shipboard hispropensity was past a joke; with no goose in sight to mistake for aswan, he must needs conjure up an imaginary princess for hisdevotion. What irritated most of all was his assuming, because I hadnot arrived at his folly, the right to treat me as a child. 

South and across the Bay of Biscay the weather gave us a halcyonpassage; the wind falling lighter and lighter until, within tenleagues of Gibraltar, we ran into a flat calm, and Captain Pomery'sface began to show his vexation. 

The vexation I could understand--for your seaman naturally hates calmweather--but scarcely the degree of it in a man of temperament soplacid. Hitherto he had taken delight in the strains of Mr. Badcock's flute. Suddenly, and almost pettishly, he laid an embargoon that instrument, and moreover sent word down to the hold andcommanded old Worthyvale to desist from hammering on the ballast. All noise, in fact, appeared to irritate him. 

Mr. Badcock pocketed his flute in some dudgeon, and for occupationfell to drinking with Mr. Fett; whose potations, if they did notsensibly lighten the ship, heightened, at least, her semblance ofbuoyancy with a deck-cargo of empty bottles. My father put norestraint upon these topers. 

"Drink, gentlemen, " said he; "drink by all means so long as it amusesyou. I had far rather you exceeded than that I should appearinhospitable. "

"Magnifshent old man, " Mr. Fett hiccuped to me confidentially, "_an'_ magnifshent liquor. As the song shays--I beg your pardon, theshong says--able 'make a cat speak an' man dumb--

 "Like 'n old courtier of the queen's An' the queen's old courtier--"

Chorus, Mr. Bawcock, _if_ you please, an', by the way, won't mind mycalling you Bawcock, will you? Good Shakespearean word, bawcock:euphonious, too--

 "Accomplisht eke to flute it and to sing, Euphonious Bawcock bids the welkin ring. "

"If, " said Mr. Badcock, in an injured tone and with a dark glance aftat Captain Pomery, "if a man don't _like_ my playing, he has only tosay so. I don't press it on any one. From all I ever heard, art isa matter of taste. But I don't understand a man's being suddenlyupset by a tune that, only yesterday, he couldn't hear often enough. "

Out of the little logic I had picked up at Oxford I tried to explainto him the process known as _sorites_; and suggested that CaptainPomery, while tolerant of "I attempt from Love's sickness to fly" upto the hundredth repetition, might conceivably show signs of tiringat the hundred-and-first. Yet in my heart I mistrusted my ownargument, and my wonder at the skipper's conduct increased when, thenext dawn finding us still becalmed, but with the added annoyance ofa fog that almost hid the bowsprit's end, his demeanour swung back tojoviality. I taxed him with this, in my father's hearing. 

"I make less account of fogs than most men, " he answered. "I cansmell land; which is a gift and born with me. But this is no weatherto be caught in anywhere near the Sallee coast; and if we're to losethe wind, let's have a good fog to hide us, I say. "

He went on to assure us that the seas hereabouts were infested withMoorish pirates, and to draw some dismal pictures of what mighthappen if we fell in with a prowling Sallateen. 

With all his fears he kept his reckoning admirably, and wehalf-sailed, half-drifted through the Strait, and so near to the Rockof Gibraltar that, passing within range of it at the hour ofreveilly, we heard the British bugles sounding to us like ghoststhrough the fog. Captain Pomery here was in two minds aboutlaying-to and waiting for a breeze; but a light slant of windencouraged him to carry the _Gauntlet_ through. It bore us betweenthe invisible strait, and for a score of sea-miles beyond; then, ascasually as it had helped, it deserted us. 

Day broke and discovered us with the Moorish coast low on ourstarboard horizon. To Mr. Fett and Mr. Badcock this meant nothing, and my father might have left them to their ignorance had he not inthe course of the forenoon caught them engaged upon a silly piece ofmischief, which was, to scribble on small sheets of paper variousaffecting narratives--as that the _Gauntlet_ was sinking, ordesperately attacked by pirates, in such and such a latitude andlongitude--insert them in empty bottles, and commit them to thechances of the deep. The object (as Mr. Fett explained it) being tothrow Billy Priske's sweetheart off the scent. For two days past hehad been slyly working upon Billy's fears, and was relating to himhow, with two words, a Moorish lady had followed Gilbert a Becketfrom Palestine to London, and found him there--when my father, attracted by the smell of pitch, strolled forward and caught Mr. Badcock in the act of sealing the bottles from a ladle which stoodheating over a lamp. In the next five minutes the pair learnt thatmy father could lose his temper, and the lesson visibly scared them. 

"Your pardon, sir, " twittered Mr. Fett. "'Twas a foolish joke, Iconfess. "

"I may lend some point to it, " answered my father grimly, "by tellingyou what I had a mind to conceal, that you stand at this moment at nofar remove from one of the worst dangers you have playfully invented. The wind has dropped again, as you perceive. Along the coast yonderlive the worst pirates in the world, and with a glass we may all butdiscern the dreadful barracks in which so many hundreds of ourfellow-Christians lie at this moment languishing. Please God we areonly visible from the hill-country, and coast tribes may miss todescry us! For our goal lies north and east, and to fail of it wouldbreak my heart. But 'twere a high enterprise for England some day tosmoke out these robbers, and I know none to which a Christian mancould more worthily engage himself. "

Mr. Badcock shivered. "In our parish church, " said he, "we used totake up a collection for these poor prisoners every Septuagesima. Many a sermon have I listened to and wondered at their sufferings, yet idly, as no doubt Axminster folk would wonder at this plight ofmine, could they hear of it at this moment. "

"My father, his wrath being yet recent, did not spare to paint ourperil of capture and the possible consequences in lively colours; butobserving that Nat and I had drawn near to listen, he put on acheerfuller tone. 

"He will turn all this to the note of love, and within five minutes, "I whispered to Nat, "or I'll forfeit five shillings. "

My father could not have heard me; yet pat on the moment he rose tothe bet as a fish to a fly. 

"Yet love, " said he, "love, the star of our quest, has shone beforenow into these dungeons, these dark ways of blood, these black andcruel hearts, and divinely illuminated them; as a score of historiesbear witness, and among them one you shall hear. "

THE STORY OF THE ROVER AND THE LORD PROVOST'S DAUGHTER. 

"In Edinburgh, in the Canongate, there stands a tenement known asMorocco Land, over the second floor of which leans forward, like afigure-head, the wooden statue of a Moor, black and naked, with aturban and a string of beads; and concerning this statue thefollowing tale is told. 

"In the reign of King James or King Charles I. --I cannot rememberwhich--there happened a riot in Edinburgh. Of its cause I amuncertain, but in the progress of it the mob, headed by a young mannamed Andrew Gray, set fire to the Lord Provost's house. The riothaving been quelled, its ringleaders were seized and cast into theTol-booth, and among them this Andrew Gray, who in due course wasbrought to judgment, and in spite of much private influence (for hecame of good family) condemned to die. Before the day of execution, however, his friends managed to spirit him out of prison, whence hefled the country; and so escaped and in time was forgotten. 

"Many years after, at a time when the plague was raging throughEdinburgh, a Barbary corsair sailed boldly up the Firth of Forth andsent a message ashore to the Lord Provost, demanding twenty thousandpounds ransom, and on a threat, if it were not paid withintwenty-four hours, to burn all the shipping in the firth and alongthe quays. He required, meanwhile, a score of hostages for payment, and among them the Lord Provost's own son. 

"The Lord Provost ran about like a man demented; since, to beginwith, audacious as the terms were, the plague had spared him scarcelya hundred men capable of resistance. Moreover, he had no son, but anonly daughter, and she was lying sick almost to death with thedistemper. So he made answer, promising the ransom, but explainingthat he for his part could send no hostage. To this the Salleecaptain replied politely--that he had some experience of the plague, and possessed an elixir which (he made sure) would cure the maiden ifthe Lord Provost would do him the honour to receive a visit; nay, that if he failed to cure her, he would remit the city's ransom. 

"You may guess with what delight the father consented. The piratecame ashore in state, and was made welcome. The elixir was given;the damsel recovered; and in due course she married her Paynim foe, who now revealed himself as the escaped prisoner, Andrew Gray. He had risen high in the service of the Emperor of Morocco, and hadfitted out his ship expressly to be revenged upon the city which hadonce condemned him to death. The story concludes that he settleddown, and lived the rest of his life as one of its most reputablecitizens. "

"But what was the elixir?" inquired Mr. Badcock. 

"T'cht!" answered my father testily. 

"I agree with you, sir, " said Mr. Fett. "Mr. Badcock's question wasa foolish one. Speaking, however, as a mere man of business, andwithout thought of rounding off the story artistically, I am curiousto know how they settled the ransom?"

Captain Pomery had taken in all canvas, to be as little conspicuousas possible; and all that day we lay becalmed under bare poles. Not content with this, he ordered out the boat, and the two seamen(Mike Halliday and Roger Wearne their names were) took turns with Natand me in towing the _Gauntlet_ off the coast. It was back-breakingwork under a broiling sun, but before evening we had the satisfactionto lose all sight of land. Still we persevered and tugged untilclose upon midnight, when the captain called us aboard, and wetumbled asleep on deck, too weary even to seek our hammocks. 

At daybreak next morning (Sunday) my father roused me. A light windhad sprung up from the shore, and with all canvas spread we wereslipping through the water gaily; yet not so gaily (doubted CaptainPomery) as a lateen-sailed craft some four or five miles astern ofus--a craft which he announced to be a Moorish xebec. 

The _Gauntlet_--a flattish-bottomed ship--footed it well before thewind, but not to compare with the xebec, which indeed was little morethan a long open boat. After an hour's chase she had plainly reducedour lead by a mile or more. Then for close upon an hour we seemed tohave the better of the wind, and more than held our own; whereat themost of us openly rejoiced. For reasons which he kept to himselfCaptain Pomery did not share in our elation. 

For sole armament (besides our muskets) the ketch carried, closeafter of her fore-hatchway, a little obsolete 3-pounder gun, longsince superannuated out of the Falmouth packet service. In the dimpast, when he had bid for her at a public auction, Captain Pomery mayhave designed to use the gun as a chaser, or perhaps, even then, fordecoration only. She served now--and had served for many a peacefulpassage--but as a peg for spare coils of rope, and her ricketycarriage as a supplement, now and then, for the bitts, which weresomewhat out of repair. My father casting about, as the chaseprogressed, to put us on better terms of defence, suggested unlashingthis gun and running her aft for a stern-chaser. 

Captain Pomery shook his head. "Where's the ammunition? We don'tcarry a single round shot aboard, nor haven't for years. Besides which, she'd burst to a certainty. "

"There's time enough to make up a few tins of canister, " argued myfather. "Or stay--" He smote his leg. 

"Didn't I tell you old Worthyvale would turn out the usefullest manon board?"

"What's the matter with Worthyvale?"

"While we've been talking, Worthyvale has been doing. What has hebeen doing?" Why, breaking up the ballast, and, if I'm not mistaken, into stones of the very size to load this gun. "

"Give Badcock and me some share of credit, " pleaded Mr. Fett. "Speaking less as an expert than from an imagination quickened byterror of all missiles, I suggest that a hundredweight or so of emptybottles, nicely broken up, would lend a d--d disagreeable diversityto the charge--"

"Not a bad idea at all, " agreed my father. 

"And a certain sting to our defiance; since I understand theseruffians drink nothing stronger than water, " Mr. Fett concluded. 

We spent the next half-hour in dragging the gun aft, and fetching upfrom the hold a dozen basket-loads of stone. It required a personalappeal from my father before old Worthyvale would part with so muchof his treasure. 

During twenty minutes of this time, the xebec, having picked up withthe stronger breeze, had been shortening her distance (as CaptainPomery put it) hand-over-fist. But no sooner had we loaded thelittle gun and trained her ready for use, than my father, pausing tomop his brow, cried out that the Moor was losing her breeze again. She perceptibly slackened way, and before long the water astern ofher ceased to be ruffled. An oily calm spreading across the sea fromshoreward overhauled her by degrees, overtook, and held her, withsails idle and sheets tautening and sagging as she rolled on theheave of the swell. 

Captain Pomery promptly checked our rejoicing, telling us this wasabout the worst that could happen. "We shall carry this wind foranother ten minutes at the most, " he assured us. "And these devilshave boats. "

So it proved. Within ten minutes our booms were swinging uselessly;the sea spread calm for miles around us; and we saw no fewer thanthree boats being lowered from the xebec, now about four miles away. 

"There is nothing but to wait for 'em, " said my father, seatinghimself on deck with his musket across his knees. "Mr. Badcock!"

"Sir?"

"To-day is Sunday. "

"It is, sir. Six days shalt thou labour and do all thou hast to do, but on the Seventh day (if you'll excuse me) there's a different kindof feeling in the air. At home, sir, I have observed that even therooks count on it. "

"You have a fine voice, Mr. Badcock, and have been, as I gather, anattentive hearer of sermons. "

"I may claim that merit, sir. "

"If you can remember one sufficiently well to rehearse it to us, Ifeel that it would do us all good. "

Mr. Badcock coughed. "Oh, sir, " he protested, "I couldn't! I reellycouldn't. You'll excuse me, but I hold very strong opinions onunlicensed preaching. " He hesitated; then suddenly his brow cleared. "But I can read you one, sir. _Reading_ one is altogether anothermatter. "

"You have a book of sermons on board?"

"Before starting, sir, happening to cast my eye over the book-case inthe bedroom . . . A volume of Dr. South's, sir, if you'll excuse myliberty in borrowing it. "

He ran and fetched the volume, while we disposed ourselves to listen. 

"Where shall I begin, sir?"

"Wherever you please. The book belongs to my brother Gervase. For myself I have not even a bowing acquaintance with the goodDoctor. "

"The first sermon, sir, is upon Human Perfection. "

"It should have been the last, surely?"

"Not so, sir; for it starts with Adam in the Garden of Eden. "

"Let us hear, then. "

Mr. Badcock cleared his throat and read:

 "The image of God in man is that universal rectitude of all the faculties of the soul, by which they stand apt and disposed to their respective offices and operations. "

"Hold a moment, " interrupted my father, whose habit of commentingaloud in church had often disconcerted Mr. Grylls. "Are you quitesure, Mr. Badcock, that we are not starting with the Doctor'speroration?"

"This is the first page, sir. "

"Then the Doctor himself began at the wrong end. Prosper, will youtake a look astern and report me how many boats are coming?"

"Three, sir, " said I. "The third has just pushed off from the ship. "

"Thank you. Proceed, Mr. Badcock. "

 "And first for its noblest faculty, the understanding. It was then sublime, clear, and aspiring, and as it were the soul's upper region, lofty and serene, free from the vapours and disturbances of the inferior affections. . . . Like the sun it had both light and agility; it knew no rest but in motion; no quiet but in activity. . . . It did arbitrate upon the several reports of sense, and all the varieties of imagination; not like a drowsy judge, only hearing, but also directing their verdict. In sum, it was vegete quick and lively; open as the day, untainted as the morning, full of the innocence and sprightliness of youth; it gave the soul a bright and a full view into all things. "

"A fine piece of prose, " remarked Mr. Fett as Mr. Badcock drewbreath. 

"A fine fiddlestick, sir!" quoth my father. "The man is talkinglargely on matters of which he can know nothing; and in five minutes(I bet you) he will come a cropper. "

Mr. Badcock resumed--

 "For the understanding speculative there are some general maxims and notions in the mind of man, which are the rules of discourse and the basis of all philosophy. "

"As, for instance, never to beg the question, " snapped my father, whofrom this point let scarce a sentence pass without pishing andpshawing. 

 "Now it was Adam's happiness in the state of innocence to have these clear and unsullied. He came into the world a philosopher--"

("Instead of which he went and ate an apple. ")

 "He could see consequents yet dormant in their principles, and effects yet unborn and in the womb of their causes. "

("'Tis a pity, then, he took not the trouble to warn Eve. ")

 "His understanding could almost pierce to future contingencies. . . . "

("Ay, 'almost. ' The fellow begins to scent mischief, and thinks toset himself right with a saving clause. Why 'almost'?" )

 "his conjectures improving even to prophecy, or to certainties of prediction. Till his fall he was ignorant of nothing but sin; or, at least, it rested in the notion without the smart of the experiment. "

My father stamped the butt of his musket upon deck. "'Rested in thenotion, ' did it? Nothing of the sort, sir! It rested in the apple, which he was told not to eat; but, nevertheless, ate. Born aphilosopher, was he? And knew the effect of every cause withoutknowing the difference between good and evil? Why, man, 'twasprecisely against becoming a philosopher that the Almighty took painsto warn him!"

Mr. Badcock hastily turned a page. 

 "The image of God was no less resplendent in that which we call man's practical understanding--namely, that storehouse of the soul in which are treasured up the rules of action and the seeds of morality. Now of this sort are these maxims: 'That God is to be worshipped, ' 'That parents are to be honoured, ' 'That a man's word is to be kept. ' It was the privilege of Adam innocent to have these notions also firm and untainted--"

My father flung up both hands. "Oh! So Adam honoured his father andhis mother?"

"Belike, " suggested Billy Priske, scratching his head, "Eve wasexpecting, and he invented it to keep her spirits up. "

"I assure you, sir, " Mr. Badcock protested with dignity, "Dr. Southwas the most admired preacher of his day. Her late Majesty offeredhim the Deanery of Westminster. "

"I could have found a better preferment for him, then; that of SelectPreacher to the Marines. "

"If you will have patience, sir--"

"Prosper, how near is the leading boat?"

"A good mile away, sir, as yet. "

"Then I will have patience, Mr. Badcock. "

"The Doctor, sir, proceeds to make some observations on Love, withwhich you will find yourself able to agree. Love, he says--

 "'is the great instrument and engine of Nature, the bond and cement of society; the spring and spirit of the universe. . . . Now this affection in the state of innocence was happily pitched upon its right object--'"

"'Happily, ' did you say? 'Happily'? Why, good heavens, sir! howmany women had Adam to go gallivanting after? Enough, enough, gentleman! To your guns! and in the strength of a faith which mustbe strong indeed, to have survived its expositors!"

By this time, through our glasses, we could discern the faces of thepirates, who, crowded in the bows and stern-sheets of the two leadingboats, weighted them almost to the water's edge. The third haddropped, maybe half a mile behind in the race, but these two came on, stroke for stroke, almost level--each measuring, at a guess, somesixteen feet, and manned by eight rowers. They bore down straightfor our stern, until within a hundred yards; then separated, with theevident intention of boarding us upon either quarter. At fifty yardsthe musketeers in their bows opened fire, while my father whistled toold Worthyvale, who, during Dr. South's sermon, had been bringing thepoints of half a dozen handspikes to a red heat in the galley fire. The two seamen, Nat and I, retorted with a volley, and Nat had thesatisfaction to drop the steersman of the boat making towards ourstarboard quarter. Unluckily, as it seemed--for this was the boat onwhich my father was training our 3-pounder--this threw her intomomentary confusion at a range at which he would not risk firing, andallowed her mate to run in first and close with us. The confusion, however, lasted but ten seconds at the most; a second steersmanstepped to the helm; and the boat came up with a rush and gratedalongside, less than half a minute behind her consort. 

Now the _Gauntlet_, as the reader will remember, sailed in ballast, and therefore carried herself pretty high in the water. Moreover, our enemies ran in and grappled us just forward of her quarter, whereshe carried a movable panel in her bulwarks to give access to anaccommodation ladder. While Nat, Captain Pomery, Mr. Fett, and thetwo seamen ran to defend the other side, at a nod from my father Ithrust this panel open, leapt back, and Mr. Badcock aiding, ran thelittle gun out, while my father depressed its muzzle over the boat. In our excess of zeal we had nearly run her overboard; indeed, Ibelieve that overboard she would have gone had not my father appliedthe red-hot iron in the nick of time. The explosion that followednot only flung us staggering to right and left, but lifted her on itsrecoil clean out of her rickety carriage, and kicked her back andhalf-way across the deck. 

Recovering myself, I gripped my musket and ran to the bulwarks. A heave of the swell had lifted the boat up to receive our discharge, which must have burst point-blank upon her bottom boards; for Ileaned over in bare time to see her settling down in a swirl beneaththe feet of her crew, who, after vainly grabbing for hold at the_Gauntlet's_ sides, flung themselves forward and were swimming oneand all in a sea already discoloured for some yards with blood. 

My father called to me to fire. I heard; but for the moment thedusky upturned faces with their bared teeth fascinated me. They looked up at me like faces of wild beasts, neither pleading norhating, and in response I merely stared. 

A cry from the larboard bulwarks aroused me. Three Moors, all nakedto the waist, had actually gained the deck. A fourth, with a longknife clenched between his teeth, stood steadying himself by the mainrigging in the act to leap; and in the act of turning I saw CaptainPomery chop at his ankles with a cutlass and bring him down. We madea rush on the others. One my father clubbed senseless with the buttof his musket; another the two seamen turned and chased forward tothe bows, where he leapt overboard; the third, after hesitating aninstant, retreated, swung himself over the bulwarks, and dropped backinto the boat. 

But a second cry from Mr. Fett warned us that more were coming. Mr. Fett had caught up a sack of stones, and was staggering with itto discharge it on our assailants when this fresh uprush brought himto a check. 

"That fellow has more head than I gave him credit for, " panted myfather. "The gun, lad! Quick, the gun!"

We ran to where the gun lay, and lifted it between us, strainingunder its weight; lurched with it to the side, heaved it up, and sentit over into the second boat with a crash. Prompt on the crash camea yell, and we stared in each other's faces, giddy with our triumph, as John Worthyvale came tottering out of the cook's galley with twofresh red-hot handspikes. 

The third boat had come to a halt, less than seventy yards away. A score of bobbing heads were swimming for her, the nearer onesoffering a fair mark for musketry. We held our fire, however, andwatched them. The boat took in a dozen or so, and then, beingdangerously overcrowded, left the rest to their fate, and headed backfor the xebec. The swimmers clearly hoped nothing from us. They followed the boat, some of them for a long while. Through ourglasses we saw them sink one by one. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HOW WE LANDED ON THE ISLAND. 

 "Friend Sancho, " said the Duke, "the isle I have promised you can neither stir nor fly. And whether you return to it upon the flying horse, or trudge back to it in misfortune, a pilgrim from house to house and from inn to inn, you will always find your isle just where you left it, and your islanders with the same good will to welcome you as they ever had. "-- _Don Quixote_. 

Night fell, and the xebec had made no further motion to attack: butyet, as the calm held, Captain Pomery continued gloomy; nor did hisgloom lift at all when the enemy, as soon as it was thoroughly dark, began to burn flares and torches. 

"That will be a signal to the shore, " said he. "Though, please God, they are too far for it to reach. "

The illumination served us in one way. While it lasted, no boatcould push out from the xebec without our perceiving it. The fireslasted until after eight bells, when the captain, believing that hescented a breeze ahead, turned us out into the boat again, to tow theketch toward it. For my part, I tugged and sweated, but scented nobreeze. On the contrary, the night seemed intolerably close andsultry, as though brooding a thunderstorm. When the xebec's firesdied down, darkness settled on us like a cap. The only light camefrom the water, where our oars swirled it in pools of briming, [1] orthe tow-rope dropped for a moment and left for another moment a trailof fire. 

Neither Mr. Fett nor Mr. Badcock could pull an oar, and oldWorthyvale had not the strength for it. The rest of us--all but thecaptain, who steered and kept what watch he could astern--took therowing by hourly relays, pair and pair: Billy Priske and I, my fatherand Mike Halliday, Nat and Roger Wearne. 

It had come round again to Billy's turn and mine, and the hour wasthat darkest one which promises the near daylight. Captain Pomery, foreboding that dawn would bring with it an instant need of a clearhead, and being by this time overweighted with drowsiness, hadstepped below for forty winks, leaving Wearne in charge of the helm. My father and Nat had tumbled into their berths. We had left Mr. Badcock stationed and keeping watch on the larboard side, near thewaist; and now and then, as we tugged, I fancied I could see the dimfigures of Mr. Fett and Mike Halliday standing above us in conversenear the bows. 

Of imminent danger--danger close at hand--I had no fear at all, trusting that the still night would carry any sound of mischief, and, moreover, that no boat could approach without being signalled, ahundred yards off, by the briming in the water. So intolerably hotand breathless had the night become that I spoke to Billy to ease astroke while I pulled off my shirt. I had drawn it over my head andwas slipping my arms clear of the sleeves, when I felt, or thought Ifelt, a light waft of wind on my right cheek--the first breath of thegathering thunderstorm--and turned up my face towards it. At thatinstant I heard a short warning cry from somewhere by the helm; not acall of alarm, but just such a gasp as a man will utter when slappedon the shoulder at unawares from behind; then a patter of naked feetrushing aft; then a score of outcries blending into one wild yell asthe whole boatload of Moors leapt and swarmed over the starboardbulwarks. 

The tow-rope, tautening under the last stroke of our oars, had drawnthe boat back in its recoil, and she now drifted close under the_Gauntlet's_ jibboom, which ran out upon a very short bowsprit. I stood up, and reaching for a grip on the dolphin-striker, swungmyself on to the bobstay and thence to the cap of the bowsprit, whereI sat astride for a moment while Billy followed. We were barefootboth and naked to the waist. Cautiously as a pair of cats, we workedalong the bowsprit to the foremast stay, at the foot of which theforesail lay loose and ready for hoisting. With a fold of this Icovered myself and peered along the pitch-dark deck. 

No shot had been fired. I could distinguish no sound of struggle, noEnglish voice in all the din. The ship seemed to be full only ofyellings, rushings to-and-fro of feet, wild hammerings upon timber, solid and hollow: and these pell-mell noises made the darkness, ifnot darker, at least more terribly confusing. 

The cries abated a little; the noise of hammering increased, and atthe same time grew persistent and regular, almost methodical. I hadno sooner guessed the meaning of this--that the ruffians werefastening down the hatches on their prisoners--than one of them, atthe far end of the ship, either fetched or found a lantern, lit it, and stood it on the after-hatch. Its rays glinted on the white teethand eyeballs and dusky shining skins of a whole ring of Moorsgathered around the hatchway and nailing all secure. 

Now for the first time it came into my mind that these rovers sparedto kill while there remained a chance of taking their prisonersalive; that their prey was ever the crew before the cargo; and that, as for the captured vessel, they usually scuttled and sank her if shedrew too much water for their shallow harbours, or if (like the_Gauntlet_) she lacked the speed for their trade. The chances were, then, that my father yet lived. Yet how could I, naked and unarmed, reach to him or help him?

A sound, almost plumb beneath me, recalled me to more selfish alarms. The Moors, whether they came from the xebec or, as we agreed later, more probably from shore, in answer to the xebec's signal-lights--must have dropped down on us without stroke of oars. It may be thatfor the last half a mile or more they had wriggled their boat down tothe attack by means of an oar or sweep shipped in the stern notch: adevice which would avoid all noise and, if they came slowly, allwarning but the ripple of briming off the bows. In any case they hadnot failed to observe that the ketch was being towed; and now, havingdischarged her boarding-party, their boat pushed forward to captureours, which lay beneath us bumping idly against the _Gauntlet's_stem. I heard some half a dozen of them start to jabber as theyfound it empty. I divined--I could not see--the astonishment intheir faces, as they stared up into the darkness. 

Just then--perhaps in response to their cries--a comrade on deck ranforward to the bows and leaned over to hail them, standing so closeto me that his shoulder brushed against the fold of the foresailwithin which I cowered. Like me he was bare to the waist, but aroundhis loins he wore a belt scaled with silver sequins, glimmeringagainst the ray of the lantern on the after-hatch, and maybe also inthe first weak light of the approaching dawn. . . . 

A madness took me at the sight. In a sudden rage I gripped theforestay with my left hand, lowered my right, and, slipping myfingers under his belt, lifted him--he was a light man--swung himoutboard and overboard, and dropped him into the sea. 

I heard the splash; with an ugly thud, which told me that some partof him had struck the boat's gunwale. I waited--it seemed that Iwaited many seconds--expecting the answering yell, or a shot perhaps. Still gripping the forestay with my left hand, I bent forward, readyto leap for deck. But even as I bent, the bowsprit shook under melike a whip, and the deck before me opened in a yellow sheet of fire. The whole ship seemed to burst asunder and shut again, the flame ofthe explosion went wavering up the rigging, and I found myselfhanging on to the forestay and dangling over emptiness. While Idangled I heard in the roaring echoes another splash, and knew thatBilly Priske had been thrown from his hold; a splash, and close uponit a heavy grinding sound, a crash of burst planks, an outcry endingin a wail as the lifting sea bore back the Moor's boat and our owntogether upon the Gauntlet's stem and smashed them like egg-shells. 

Then, as the ketch heaved and heaved again in the light of the flamesthat ran up the tarry rigging, at one stride the dawn was on us; withno flush of sunshine, but with a grey, steel-coloured ray that cutthe darkness like a sword. I had managed to hoist myself again tothe bowsprit, and, straddling it, had time in one glance aft to takein the scene of ruin. Yet in that glance I saw it--the yawning hole, the upheaved jagged deck-planks, the dark bodies hurled to right andleft into the scuppers--by three separate lights: by the yellow lightof the flames in the rigging, by the steel-grey light of dawn, and bya sudden white-hot flush as the lightning ripped open the belly ofheaven and let loose the rain. While I blinked in the glare, themizzen-mast crashed overside. I cannot tell whether the lightningstruck and split it, or whether, already blasted by the explosion, ithad stood upright for those few seconds until a heave of the swellsnapped the charred stays and released it. Nay, even the dead beatof the rain may have helped. 

In all my life I have never known such rain. Its noise drowned thethunderclap. It fell in no drops or threads of drops, but in onesolid flood as from a burst bag. It extinguished the blaze in therigging as easily as you would blow out a candle. It beat me downprone upon the bowsprit, and with such force that I felt my ribsgiving upon the timber. It stunned me as a bather is stunned who, swimming in a pool beneath a waterfall, ventures his head into theactual cascade. It flooded the deck so that two minutes later, whenI managed to lift my head, I saw the bodies of two Moors washed downthe starboard scuppers and clean through a gap in the brokenbulwarks, their brown legs lifting as they toppled and shot over theedge. 

No wind had preceded the storm. The lightning had leapt out of astill sky--still, that is, until jarred and set vibrating by theexplosion. But now, as the downpour eased, the wind came on us witha howl, catching the ship so fierce a cuff, as she rolled withmainsail set and no way on her, that she careened until the sea ranin through her lee scuppers, and, for all the loss of hermizzen-mast, came close to being thrown on her beam ends. 

While she righted herself--which she began to do but slowly--I leaptfor the deck and ran aft, avoiding the jagged splinters, in time tocatch sight of my father's head and shoulders emerging through theburst hatchway. 

"Hullo!" he sang out cheerfully, lifting his voice against the wind. "God be praised, lad! I was fearing we had lost you. "

"But what has happened?" I shouted. 

Before he could answer a voice hailed us over stern, and we hurriedaft to find Billy Priske dragging himself towards the ship by theraffle of mizzen-rigging. We hoisted him in over the quarter, andhe dropped upon deck in a sitting posture. 

"Is my head on?" he asked, taking it in both hands. 

"You are hurt, Billy?"

"Not's I know by, " answered Billy, and stared about him. "What's become o' the brown vermin?"

"They seem to have disappeared, " said my father, likewise lookingabout him. 

"But what on earth has happened?" I persisted, catching him by theshoulder and shouting in his ear above the roar of a second suddensquall. 

"I--blew up--the ship. Captain wouldn't listen--academical fellows, these skippers--like every one else brought up in a profession. So I mutinied and blew--her--up. He's wounded, by the way. "

"Tell you what, " yelled Billy, staggering up, "we'll be at the bottomin two shakes if somebody don't handle her in these puffs. Why, where's the wheel?"

"Gone, " answered my father. "Blown away, it appears. "

"_And_ she don't right herself!"

"Ballast has shifted. The gunpowder blew it every way. Well, well--poor old John Worthyvale won't mourn it. I left him below pastpraying for. "

"Look here, Master Prosper, " shouted Billy. "If the ship won't steerwe must get that mains'l in, or we're lost men. Run you and cast offthe peak halliards while I lower! The Lord be praised, here's Mike, too, " he cried, as Mike Halliday appeared at the hatchway, nursing abadly burnt arm. "Glad to see ye, Mike, and wish I could say thesame to poor Roger. The devils knifed poor Roger, I reckon. "

"No, they did not, " said my father, in a lull of the wind. "They knocked him on the back of the head and slid his body down theafter-companion. The noise of him bumping down the ladder was whatfirst fetched me awake. He's a trifle dazed yet, but recovering. "

"'Tis a short life he'll recover to, unless we stir ourselves. "Billy clutched my father's arm. "Look 'ee, master! See what theyheathens be doin'!"

"We have scared 'em, " said my father. "They are putting about. "

"_Something_ has scared 'em, sure 'nough. But if 'tis from us theybe in any such hurry to get away, why did they take in a reef beforeputting the helm over? No, no, master: they know the weatherhereabouts, and we don't. We've been reckonin' this for athunderstorm--a short blow and soon over. They know better, seemin'to me. Else why don't they tack alongside and finish us?"

"I believe you are right, " said my father, after a long look towindward. 

"And I'm sure of it, " insisted Billy. "What's more, if we can'tright the ballast a bit and get steerage way on her afore the seaworks up, she'll go down under us inside the next two hours. There's the pumps, too: for if she don't take in water like a basketI was never born in Wendron parish an' taught blastin'. Why, master, you must ha' blown the very oakum out of her seams!"

My father frowned thoughtfully. "That's true, " said he; "I have beencongratulating myself too soon. Billy, in the absence of CaptainPomery I appoint you skipper. You have an ugly job to face, but doyour best. "

"Skipper, be I? Then right you are!" answered Billy, with a cheerfulsmile. "An' the first order is for you and Master Prosper here totumble below an' heft ballast for your lives. Be the two specimenssafe?"

"Eh?" It took my father a second, maybe, to fit this description toMessrs. Badcock and Fett. "Ah, to be sure! Yes, I left them safeand unhurt. "

"What's no good never comes to harm, " said Billy. "Send 'em on deck, then, and I'll put 'em on to the pumps. "

We left Billy face to face with a job which indeed looked to be pasthope. The wheel had gone, and with it the binnacle; and where thesehad stood, from the stump of the broken mizzen-mast right aft to thetaffrail, there yawned a mighty hole fringed with splintereddeck-planking. The explosion had gutted after-hold, after-cabin, sail-locker, and laid all bare even to the stern-post. `Twas amarvel the stern itself had not been blown out: but as a set-offagainst this mercy--and the most grievous of all, though as yet wehad not discovered it--we had lost our rudder-head, and the rudderitself hung by a single pintle. 

"Nevertheless, " maintained my father, as we toiled together upon theballast, "I took the only course, and in like circumstances I wouldventure it again. The captain very properly thought first of hisship: but I preferred to think that we were in a hurry. "

"How did you contrive it?" I asked, pausing to ease my back, andlistening for a moment to the sound of hatchets on deck. (They were cutting away the tangle of the mizzen rigging. )

"Very simply, " said he. "There must have been a dozen hammering onthe after-hatch, and I guessed they would have another dozen lookingon and offering advice: so I sent Halliday to fetch a keg of powder, and poured about half of it on the top stair of the companion. The rest Halliday took and heaped on a sea-chest raised on a coupleof tables close under the deck. We ran up our trains on a couple ofplanks laid aslant, and touched off at a signal. There were twoexplosions, but we timed them so prettily that I believe they wentoff in one. "

"They did, " said I. 

"My wits must have been pretty clear, then--at the moment. Afterwards (I don't mind confessing to you) I lay for some minuteswhere the explosion flung me. In my hurry I had overdone the dose. "

We had been shovelling for an hour and more. Already the ship beganto labour heavily, and my father climbed to the deck to observe thealteration in her trim. He dropped back and picked up his shovelagain in a chastened silence. In fact, deputy-captain Priske (whohad just accomplished the ticklish task of securing the rudder andlashing a couple of ropes to its broken head for steering-gear) hadordered him back to work, using language not unmixed withobjurgation. 

For all our efforts the _Gauntlet_ still canted heavily to leeward, and as the gale grew to its height the little canvas necessary toheave-to came near to drowning us. Towards midnight our plight grewso desperate that Billy, consulting no one, determined to risk all--the unknown dangers of the coast, his complete ignorance ofnavigation, the risk of presenting her crazy stern timbers to thefollowing seas--and run for it. At once we were called up from thehold and set to relieve the half-dead workers at the pumps. 

All that night we ran blindly, and all next day. The gale hadsoutherned, and we no longer feared a lee-shore: but for forty-eighthours we lived with the present knowledge that the next stern wavemight engulf us as its predecessor had just missed to do. The waves, too, in this inland sea, were not the great rollers--the great kindlygiants--of our Atlantic gales, but shorter and more vicious inimpact: and, under Heaven, our only hope against them hung by the tworopes of Billy's jury steering-gear. 

They served us nobly. Towards sunset of the second day, although toeye and ear the gale had not sensibly abated, and the sea ran by usas tall as ever, we knew that the worst was over. We could not haveexplained our assurance. It was a feeling--no more--but one whichany man will recognize who has outlived a like time of peril on thesea. We did not hope again, for we were past the effort to hope. Numb, drenched, our very skins bleached like a washerwoman's hands, our eyes caked with brine, our limbs so broken with weariness of theeternal pumping that when our shift was done, where we fell there welay, and had to be kicked aside--we had scarcely the spirit to choosebetween life and death. Yet all the while we had been fighting forlife like madmen. 

Towards the close of the day, too, Roger Wearne had made shift tocrawl on deck and bear a hand. Captain Pomery lay in the huddle ofthe forecastle, no man tending him: and old Worthyvale awaitedburial, stretched in the hold upon the ballast. 

At whiles, as my fingers cramped themselves around the handle of thepump, it seemed as though we had been fighting this fight, tholingthis misery, gripping the verge of this precipice for years uponyears, and this nightmare sat heaviest upon me when the third morningbroke and I turned in the sudden blessed sunshine--but we blessed itnot--and saw what age the struggle had written on my father's face. I passed a hand over my eyes, and at that moment Mr. Fett, who hadbeen snatching an hour's sleep below--and no man better deserved it--thrust his head up through the broken hatchway, carolling--

 "To all you ladies now at land We men at sea indite, But first would have you understand How hard it is to write: Our paper, pen, and ink and we Roll up and down our ships at sea, With a fa-_la_-LA!"

"Catch him!" cried my father, sharply; but he meant not Mr. Fett. His eyes were on Billy Priske, who, perched on the temporaryplatform, where almost without relief he had sat and steered us, shouting his orders without sign of fatigue, sank forward with therudder ropes dragging through, his hands, and dropped into the hold. 

For me, I cast myself down on deck with face upturned to the sun, andslept. 

I woke to find my father seated close to me, cross-legged, examininga sextant. 

"The plague of it is, " he grumbled, "that even supposing myself tohave mastered this diabolical instrument, we have ne'er a compass onboard. "

Glancing aft I saw that Mike Halliday had taken Billy's place at thehelm. At my elbow lay Nat, still sleeping. Mr. Badcock had crawledto the bulwarks, and leaned there in uncontrollable sea-sickness. Until the gale was done I believe he had not felt a qualm. Now, onthe top of his nausea, he had to endure the raillery of Mr. Fett, whose active fancy had already invented a grotesque and whollyuntruthful accusation against his friend--namely, that when assailedby the Moors, and in the act of being kicked below, he had dropped onhis knees and offered to turn Mohammedan. 

That evening we committed old Worthyvale's body to the sea, and myfather, having taken his first observation at noon, carefully enteredthe latitude and longitude in his pocket-book. On consulting thechart we found the alleged bearings somewhere south of Asia-Minor--tobe exact, off the coast of Pamphylia. My father therefore added theword "approximately" to his entry, and waited for Captain Pomery torecover. 

Though the sea went down even more quickly than it had arisen, thepumps kept us fairly busy. All that night, under a clear and starrysky, we steered for the north-east with the wind brisk upon ourstarboard quarter. 

 "I have no chart, No compass but a heart, "

quoted I in mischief to Nat. But Nat, having passed through a realgale, had saved not sufficient fondness for his verse to blush, forit. We should have been mournful for old Worthyvale, but that nightwe knew only that it was good, being young, to have escaped death. Under the stars we made bad jokes on Mr. Badcock's sea-sickness, andsang in chorus to Mr. Fett's solos--

 "With a fa-la, fa-la, fa-la-la! To all you ladies now at land . . . "

Next morning Captain Pomery (whose hurt was a pretty severeconcussion of the skull, the explosion having flung him into thepanelling of the ship's cabin, and against the knee of a beam)returned to duty, and professed himself able, with help, to take areckoning. He relieved us of another anxiety by producing apocket-compass from his fob. 

My father held the sextant for him, while Nat, under instructions, worked out the sum. With a compass, upon a chart spread on the deck, I pricked out the bearings--with a result that astonished all as Ileapt up and stared across the bows. 

"Why, lad, by the look of you we should be running ashore!"exclaimed my father. 

"And so we should be at this moment, " said I, "were not the reckoningout. "

Captain Pomery reached out for the paper. "The reckoning is rightenough, " said he, after studying it awhile. 

"Then on what land, in Heaven's name, are we running?" my fatherdemanded testily. 

"Why, on Corsica, " I answered, pointing with my compass's foot as hebent over the chart. "On Corsica. Where else?"

It wanted between three and four hours of sunset when we made thelandfall and assured ourselves that what appeared so like a low cloudon the east-north-eastern horizon was indeed the wished-for island. We fell to discussing our best way to approach it; my father at firstmaintaining that the coast would be watched by Genoese vessels, andtherefore we should do wisely to take down sail and wait fordarkness. 

Against this, Captain Pomery maintained--

1. That we were carrying a fair wind, and the Lord knew how longthat would hold. 

2. That the moon would rise in less than three hours after dark, andthenceforth we should run almost the same risk of detection as bydaylight. 

3. That in any case we could pass for what we really were, anEnglish trader in ballast, barely escaped from shipwreck, dismasted, with broken steerage, making for the nearest port. 

"Man, " said Captain Pomery, looking about him, "we must be a poor setof liars if we can't pitch a yarn on _this_ evidence!"

My father allowed himself to be persuaded, the more easily as theargument jumped with his impatience. Accordingly, we stood on forland, making no concealment; and the wind holding steady on our beam, and the sun dropping astern of us in a sky without a cloud, 'twasincredible how soon we began to make out the features of the land. It rose like a shield to a central boss, which trembled, as it were, into view and revealed itself a mountain peak, snowcapped andshining, before ever the purple mist began to slip from the slopesbelow it and disclose their true verdure. No sail broke the expanseof sea between us and the shore; and, as we neared it, no scarp ofcliff, no house or group of houses broke the island's green monotony. From the water's edge to the high snow-line it might have been builtof moss, so vivid its colour was, yet soft as velvet, and softer andstill more vivid as we approached. 

Within two miles of shore, and not long before dark, the wind (asCaptain Pomery had promised) broke off and headed us, blowing cooland fresh off the land. I was hauling in the foresheet and belayingwhen a sudden waft of fragrance fetched me upright, with head thrownback and nostrils inhaling the breeze. 

"Ay, " said my father, at my elbow, "there is no scent on earth tocompare with it. You smell the _macchia_, lad. Drink well yourfirst draught of it, delicious as first love. "

"But somewhere--at some time--I have smelt it before, " said I. "The same scent, only fainter. Why does it remind me of home?"

My father considered. "I will tell you, " he said. "In the corridorat home, outside my bedroom door, stands a wardrobe, and in it hangthe clothes I wore, near upon twenty years ago, in Corsica. They keep the fragrance of the _macchia_ yet; and if, as a child, youever opened that wardrobe, you recall it at this moment. "

"Yes, " said I, "that was the scent. "

My father leaned and gazed at the island with dim eyes. 

Still no sign of house or habitation greeted us as we worked by shorttacks towards a deep bay which my father, after a prolongedconsultation of the chart, decided to be that of Sagona. A sharppromontory ran out upon its northern side, and within the shelter ofthis Captain Pomery looked to find good anchorage. But the_Gauntlet_, after all her battering, lay so poorly to the wind thatdarkness overtook us a good mile from land, and before we weatheredthe point and cast anchor in a little bight within, the moon hadrisen. It showed us a steep shore near at hand, with many greypinnacles of granite glimmering high over dark masses of foresttrees, and in the farthest angle of the bight its rays travelled insilver down the waters of a miniature creek. 

The hawser ran out into five fathoms of water. We had lost our boat:but Billy Priske had spent his afternoon in fashioning a raft out offour empty casks and a dozen broken lengths of deck-planking; and onthis, leaving the seamen on board, the rest of us pushed off forshore. For paddles we used a couple of spare oars. 

The water, smooth as in a lake, gave us our choice to make a landingwhere we would. My father, however, who had taken command, chose tosteer straight for the entrance of the little creek. There, betweentall entrance rocks of granite, we passed through it into the shadowof folding woods where the moon was lost to us. Sounding with ourpaddles, we found a good depth of water under the raft, lit alantern, and pushed on, my father promising that we should discover avillage or at least a hamlet at the creek-head. 

"And you will find the inhabitants--your subjects, Prosper--hospitable, too. Whatever the island may have been in Seneca's time, to deserve the abuse he heaped on it in exile, to-day the Corsicanskeep more of the old classical virtues than any nation known to me. In vendetta they will slay one another, using the worst treachery;but a stranger may walk the length of the island unarmed--saveagainst the Genoese--and find a meal at the poorest cottage, and abed, however rough, whereon he may sleep untroubled by suspicion. "

The raft grated and took ground on a shelving bank of sand, and Nat, who stood forward holding the lantern, made a motion to step onshore. My father restrained him. 

"Prosper goes first. "

I stepped on to the bank. My father, following, stooped, gathered ahandful of the fine granite sand, and holding it in the lantern'slight, let it run through his fingers. 

"Hat off, lad! and salute your kingdom!"

"But where, " said I, "be my subjects?"

It seemed, as we formed ourselves into marching order, that I was onthe point to be answered. For above the bank we came to a causewaywhich our lanterns plainly showed us to be man's handiwork; andfollowing it round the bend of a valley, where a stream sang its waydown to the creek, came suddenly on a flat meadow swept by the palelight and rising to a grassy slope, where a score of whitewashedhouses huddled around a tall belfry, all glimmering under the moon. 

"In Corsica, " repeated my father, leading the way across the meadow, "every householder is a host. "

He halted at the base of the village street. 

"It is curious, however, that the dogs have not heard us. Their barking, as a rule, is something to remember. "

He stepped up to the first house to knock. There was no door toknock upon. The building stood open, desolate. Our lanterns showedthe grass growing on its threshold. 

We tried the next and the next. The whole village lay dead, abandoned. We gathered in the street and shouted, raising ourlanterns aloft. No voice answered us. 

[1] Phosphorescence. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

HOW, WITHOUT FIGHTING, OUR ARMY WASTED BY ENCHANTMENT. 

 "ADRIAN. The air breathes upon us here most sweetly. . . . GONZALO. Here is everything advantageous to life. ANTONIO. True: save means to live. "

 "CALIBAN. Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. " _The Tempest_. 

Upon a sudden thought my father hurried us towards the tall belfry. It rose cold and white against the moon, at the end of a nettle-grownlane. A garth of ilex-oaks surrounded it; and beside it, more thanhalf-hidden by the untrimmed trees, stood a ridiculously squatchurch. By instinct, or, rather, from association of ideas learnt inEngland, I glanced around this churchyard for its gravestones. There were none. Yet for the second time within these few hours Iwas strangely reminded of home, where in an upper garret were stackedhalf a dozen age-begrimed paintings on panel, one of which on an idleday two years ago I had taken a fancy to scour with soap and water. The painting represented a tall man, crowned and wearing Easternarmour, with a small slave in short jacket and baggy white breechesholding a white charger in readiness; all three figures awkwardlydrawn and without knowledge of anatomy. For background my scouringhad brought to light a group of buildings, and among them just such achurch as this, with just such a belfry. Of architecture and itsdifferent styles I knew nothing; but, comparing the church before mewith what I could recollect of the painting, I recognized everydetail, from the cupola, high-set upon open arches, to the round, windowless apse in which the building ended. 

My father, meanwhile, had taken a lantern and explored the interior. 

"I know this place, " he announced quietly, as he reappeared, aftertwo or three minutes, in the ruinous doorway; "it is called Paomia. We can bivouac in peace, and I doubt if by searching we could find abetter spot. "

We ate our supper of cold bacon and ship-bread, both slightly damagedby sea-water--but the wine solaced us, being excellent--and stretchedourselves to sleep under the ilex boughs, my father undertaking tostand sentry till daybreak. Nat and I protested against this, andoffered ourselves; but he cut us short. He had his reasons, he said. 

It must have been two or even three hours later that I awoke at thetouch of his hand on my shoulder. I stared up through the boughs atthe setting moon, and around me at my comrades asleep in the grasses. He signed to me not to awake them, but to rise and follow him softly. 

Passing through the screen of ilex, we came to a gap in the stonewall of the garth, and through this, at the base of the hillsidebelow the forest, to a second screen of cypress which opened suddenlyupon a semicircle of turf; and here, bathed in the moon's rays thatslanted over the cypress-tops, stood a small Doric temple ofweather-stained marble, in proportions most delicate, a backgroundfor a dance of nymphs, a fit tiring-room for Diana and her train. 

Its door--if ever it had possessed one--was gone, like every otherdoor in this strange village. My father led the way up the whitesteps, halted on the threshold, and, standing aside lest he shouldblock the moonlight, pointed within. 

I stood at his shoulder and looked. The interior was empty, bare ofall ornament. On the wall facing the door, and cut in plain lettersa foot high, two words in Greek confronted me--

 PHILOPATRI STEPHANOPOULOI. 

"A tomb?" I asked. 

"Yes, and a kinsman's; for the Stephanopouli were of blood theemperors did not disdain to mate with. In the last rally the Turkshad much ado with them as leaders of the Moreote tribes around Maina, and north along Taygetus to Sparta. Yes, and there were some whorevived the Spartan name in those days, maintaining the fight amongthe mountains until the Turks swarmed across from Crete, overranMaina and closed the struggle. Yet there was a man, ConstantineStephanopoulos, the grandfather of this Philopater, who would buynothing at the price of slavery, but, collecting a thousand souls--men, women, and children--escaped by ship from Porto Vitilo andsailed in search of a new home. At first he had thought of Sicily;but, finding no welcome there, he came (in the spring of 1675, Ithink) to Genoa, and obtained leave from the Genoese to choose a sitein Corsica. "

"And it was here he planted his colony?"

"In this very valley; but, mind you, at the price of swearing fealtyto the Republic of Genoa--this and the repayment of a beggarlythousand piastres which the Republic had advanced to pay the captainof the ship which brought them, and to buy food and clothing. Very generous treatment it seemed. Yet you have heard me say beforenow that liberty never stands in its worst peril until the hour ofsuccess; then too often men turn her sword against her. So these menof Lacedaemon, coming to an island where the rule of Genoa was ascourge to all except themselves, in gratitude, or for their oath'ssake, took sides with the oppressor. Therefore the Corsicans, whonever forget an injury, turned upon them, drove them for shelter toAjaccio, and laid their valley desolate; nor have the Genoese powerto restore them. 

"Fate, Prosper, has landed you on this very spot where your kinsmenfound refuge for awhile, and broke the ground, and planted orchards, hoping for a fair continuance of peace and peaceful tillage. 

 "'Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum Tendimus in Latium--'

"How will you read the omen?"

"You say, " said I, "that had we found our kinsmen here we had foundthem in league against freedom, and friends of the tyranny we arehere to fight?"

"Assuredly. "

"Then, sir, let me read the omen as a lesson, and avoid my kinsmen'smistake. "

My father smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. "You say little, asa rule, Prosper. It is a good fault in kings. "

We walked back to the churchyard, where Mr. Fett sat up, rubbing hiseyes in the dawn, and hailed us. 

"Good morning, signors! I have been dreaming that I came to akingdom which, indeed, seemed to be an island, but on inspectionproved to be a mushroom. What interpretation have you when a mandreams of mushrooms?"

"Why, this, " said I, "that we passed some score of them in the meadowbelow. I saw them plain by the moonlight, and kicked at them to makesure. "

"I did better, " said Mr. Fett; I gathered a dozen or two in my cap, foreseeing breakfast. Faith, and while you have been gadding I mighthave had added a rasher of bacon. Did you meet any hogs on your way?But no; they turned back and took the path that appears to run up tothe woods yonder. "

"Hogs?" queried my father. 

"They woke me, nosing and grunting among the nettles by the wall--lean, brown beasts, with Homeric chines, and two or three of themhuge as the Boar of Calydon. I was minded to let off my gun at 'em, but refrained upon two considerations--the first, that if they weretame, to shoot them might compromise our welcome here, and perhapspainfully, since the dimensions of the pigs appeared to argueconsiderable physical strength in their masters; the second, that ifwild they might be savage enough to defend themselves when attacked. "

"Doubtless, " said my father, "they belong to some herdsman in theforest above us, and have strayed down in search of acorns. They cannot belong to this village. "

"And why, pray?"

"Because it contains not a single inhabitant. Moreover, gentlemen, while you were sleeping I have taken a pretty extensive stroll. The vineyards lie unkempt, the vines themselves unthinned, up to theedge of the forest. The olive-trees have not been tended, but haveshed their fruit for years with no man to gather. Many even havecracked and fallen under the weight of their crops. But no trace ofbeast, wild or tame, did I discover; no dung, no signs of trampling. The valley is utterly desolate. "

"It grows mushrooms, " said Mr. Fett, cheerfully, piling a heap of drytwigs; "and we have ship's butter and a frying-pan. "

"Are you sure, " asked Mr. Badcock, examining one, "that these aretrue mushrooms?"

"They were grown in Corsica, and have not subscribed to theThirty-nine Articles; still, _mutatis mutandis_, in my belief theyare good mushrooms. If you doubt, we can easily make sure by stewingthem awhile in a saucepan and stirring them with a silver spoon, orboiling them gently with Mr. Badcock's watch, as was advised by Mr. Locke, author of the famous 'Essay on the Human Understanding. '"

"Indeed?" said my father. "The passage must have escaped me. "

"It does not occur in the 'Essay. ' He gave the advice at Montpellierto an English family of the name of Robinson; and had they listenedto him it would have robbed Micklethwaite's 'Botany of Pewsey andDevizes' of some fascinating pages. "

MR. FETT'S STORY OF THE FUNGI OF MONTPELLIER. 

"About the year 1677, when Mr. Locke resided at Montpellier for thebenefit of his health, and while his famous 'Essay' lay as yet in thewomb of futurity, there happened to be staying in the same _pension_an English family--"

"Excuse me, " put in my father, "I do not quite gather where thesepeople lodged. "

"The sentence was faultily constructed, I admit. They were lodgingin the same _pension_ as Mr. Locke. The family consisted of a Mrs. Robinson, a widow; her son Eustace, aged seventeen; her daughterLaetitia, a child of fourteen, suffering from a slight pulmonarycomplaint; her son's tutor, whose name I forget for the moment, buthe was a graduate of Peterhouse, Cambridge, and an ardent botanist;and a good-natured English female named Maria Wilkins, an old servantwhom Mrs. Robinson had brought from home--Pewsey, in Wiltshire--toattend upon this Laetitia. The Robinsons, you gather, werewell-to-do; they were even well connected; albeit their socialposition did not quite warrant their story being included in the lateMr. D'Arcy Smith's 'Tragedies and Vicissitudes of Our CountyFamilies. '

"It appears that the lad Eustace, perceiving that his sister'sdelicate health procured her some indulgences, complained ofheadaches, which he attributed to a too intense application upon the'Memorabilia' of Xenophon, and cajoled his mother into packing himoff with the tutor on a holiday expedition to the neighbouringmountains of Garrigues. From this they returned two days later aboutthe time of _dejeuner_, with a quantity of mushrooms, which thetutor, who had discovered them, handed around for inspection, asserting them to be edible. 

"The opinion of Mr. Locke being invited, that philosopher took up theposition he afterwards elaborated so ingeniously, declaring thatknowledge concerning these mushrooms could only be the result ofexperience, and suggesting that the tutor should first make proof oftheir innocuousness on his own person. Upon this the tutor, apriggish youth, retorted hotly that he should hope his Cambridgestudies, for which his parents had pinched themselves by many smalleconomies, had at least taught him to discriminate between the_agarici_. Mr. Locke in vain endeavoured to divert the conversationupon the scope and objects of a university education, and fell backon suggesting that the alleged mushrooms should be stewed, and thestew stirred with a silver spoon, when, if the spoon showed nodiscolouration, he would take back his opinion that they containedphosphorus in appreciable quantities. He was called an empiricistfor his pains; and Mrs. Robinson (who hated a dispute and invariablymelted at any allusion to the tutor's _res angusta domi_) weakly gaveway. The mushrooms were cooked and pronounced excellent by theentire family, of whom Mrs. Robinson expired at 8. 30 that evening, the tutor at 9 o'clock, the faithful domestic Wilkins and MasterEustace shortly after midnight, and an Alsatian cook, attached to theestablishment, some time in the small hours. The poor child, who hadpartaken but sparingly, lingered until the next noon beforesuccumbing. "

"A strange fatality!" commented Mr. Badcock. 

Mr. Fett paused, and eyed him awhile in frank admiration beforecontinuing. 

"The wonder to me is you didn't call it a coincidence, " he murmured. 

"Well, and so it was, " said Mr. Badcock, "only the word didn't occurto me. "

"The bodies, " resumed Mr. Fett, "in accordance with the by-laws ofMontpellier, were conveyed to the town mortuary, and there bestowedfor the time in open coffins, connected by means of wire attachmentswith a bell in the roof--a municipal device against prematureinterment. The wires also carried a number of small bells verysensitively hung, so that the smallest movement of reviving animationwould at once alarm the night-watchman in an adjoining chamber. 

"This watchman, an honest fellow with literary tastes above hiscalling, was engaged towards midnight in reading M. De la Fontaine's'Elegie aux Nymphes de Vaux, ' when a sudden violent jangling fetchedhim to his feet, with every hair of his head erect and separate. Before he could collect his senses the jangling broke into a seriesof terrific detonations, in the midst of which the bell in the rooftolled one awful stroke and ceased. 

"I leave to your imagination the sight that met his eyes when, lantern in hand, he reached the mortuary door. The collectedremains, promiscuously interred next day by the municipality ofMontpellier, were, at the request of a brother-in-law of Mrs. Robinson, and through the good offices of Mr. Locke, subsequentlyexhumed and despatched to Pewsey, where they rest under a suitableinscription, locally attributed to the pen of Mr. Locke. Hisadmirers will recognize in the concluding lines that conscientiousexactitude which ever distinguished the philosopher. They run--

 "'And to the Memory of one FRITZ (? Sempach) a Humble Native of Alsace whose remains, by Destiny commingled with the foregoing, are for convenience here deposited. II. Kings iv. 39. '

"But the extraordinary part of my story, gentlemen, remains to betold. Some six weeks ago, happening, in search of a theatricalengagement, to find myself in the neighbourhood of Stonehenge, I fellin with a pedestrian whose affability of accost invited me to acloser acquaintance. He introduced himself as the Reverend JosiasMicklethwaite, a student of Nature, and more particularly of themosses and lichens of Wilts. Our liking (I have reason to believe)was mutual, and we spent a delightful ten days in tracking uptogether the course of the Wiltshire Avon, and afterwards inperambulating the famous forest of Savernake. Here, I regret to say, a trifling request--for the loan of five shillings, a temporaryaccommodation--led to a misunderstanding, and put a period to ourcompanionship, and I remain his debtor but for some hours ofprofitable intercourse. 

"Coming at the close of a day's ramble to Pewsey, a small town nearthe source of the Avon, we visited its parish churchyard and happenedupon the memorial to the unfortunate Robinsons. An old man wasstooping over the turf beside it, engaged in gathering mushrooms, numbers of which grew in the grass around this stone, _but nowhereelse in the whole enclosure_. The old man, who proved to be thesexton, assured us not only of this, but also that previous to theinterment of the Robinsons no mushrooms had grown within a mile ofthe spot. He added that, albeit regarded with abhorrence by the moresuperstitious inhabitants of Pewsey, the fungi were edible, and gaveno trouble to ordinary digestions (his own, for example); nor uponclose examination could Mr. Micklethwaite detect that they differedat all from the common _agaricus campestris_. So, sirs, concludes mytale. "

Mr. Fett ended amid impressive silence. 

"I don't feel altogether so keen-set as I did five minutes back, "muttered Billy Priske. 

"For my part, " said Mr. Fett, anointing the gridiron with a pat ofship's butter, "I offer no remark upon it beyond the somewhat banalone by which we have all been anticipated by Hamlet. 'There are morethings in heaven and earth, Horatio--'. "

"Faith, and so there are, " broke in Nat Fiennes, catching me on asudden by the arm. "Listen!"

High on the forest ridge, far and faint, yet clear over thepine-tops, a voice was singing. 

The voice was a girl's--a girl's, or else some spirit's; for it fellto us out of the very dawn, pausing and anon dropping again in littlecadences, as though upon the waft of wing; and wafted with it, waveupon wave, came also the morning scent of the _macchia_. 

We could distinguish no words, intently though we listened, or nomore than one, which sounded like _Mortu, mortu, mortu_, many timesrepeated in slow refrain before the voice lifted again to the air. But the air itself was voluble between its cadences, and the voice, though a woman's, seemed to challenge us on a high martial note, halfmenacing, half triumphant. 

Nat Fiennes had sprung to his feet, musket in hand, when another andless romantic sound broke the silence of the near woods; and downthrough a glade on the slope above us, where darkness and day yetmingled in a bluish twilight under the close boughs, came scamperingback the hogs described to us by Mr. Fett. Apparently they hadrecovered from their fright, for they came on at a shuffling gallopthrough the churchyard gate, nor hesitated until well within theenclosure. There, with much grunting, they drew to a standstill andeyed us, backing a little, and sidling off by twos and threes amongthe nettles under the wall. 

"They are tame hogs run wild, " said my father, after studying themfor a minute. "They have lost their masters, and evidently hope wehave succeeded to the care of their troughs. "

He moistened a manchet of bread from his wine-flask and flung ittowards them. The hogs winced away with a squeal of alarm, then tookcourage and rushed upon the morsel together. The most of them werelean brutes, though here and there a fat sow ran with the herd, herdugs almost brushing the ground. In colour all were reddish-brown, and the chine of each arched itself like a bent bow. Five or sixcarried formidable tusks. 

These tusks, I think, must have struck terror in the breast of Mr. Badcock, who, as my father enticed the hogs nearer with fresh morselsof bread until they nuzzled close to us, suddenly made a motion tobeat them off with the butt of his musket, whereupon the whole herdwheeled and scampered off through the gateway. 

"Why, man, " cried my father, angrily, "did I not tell you they weretame! And now you have lost us good provender!" He raised his gun. 

But here Nat touched his arm. "Let me follow them, sir, and seewhich way they take. Being so tame, they have likely enough somemaster or herdsman up yonder--"

"Or herdswoman, " I laughed. "Take me with you, Nat. "

"Nay, that I won't, " he answered, with a quick blush. "You have thetemper of Adonis--

 "'Hunting he lov'd, but love he laughed to scorn, '

"and I fear his fate of you, one little Adonis among so many boars!"

"Then take _me_" urged Mr. Badcock. "Indeed, sir, " he apologized, turning to my father, "the movement was involuntary. I am no coward, sir, though a sudden apprehension may for the moment flush my nerves. I desire to prove to you that on second thoughts I am ready to faceall the boars in Christendom. "

"I did not accuse you, " said my father. "But go with Mr. Fiennes ifyou wish. "

Nat nodded, tucked his musket under his arm, and strode out of thechurchyard with Mr. Badcock at his heels. By the gateway he halted amoment and listened; but the voice sang no longer from the ridge. 

We watched the pair as they went up the glade, and turned to ourbreakfast. The meal over, my father proposed to me to return to thecreek and fetch up a three days' supply of provisions from the ship, leaving Mr. Fett and Billy Priske to guard the camp. (In ourconfidence of finding the valley inhabited, we had brought but twopounds of ship's biscuit, one-third as much butter, and a small kegonly of salt pork. )

We were absent, maybe, for two hours and a half; and on our way backfell in with Billy, who, having suffered no ill effects from hisbreakfast of mushrooms (though he had eaten them under protest), wasroaming the meadow in search of more. We asked him if the twoexplorers had returned. 

He answered "No, " and that Mr. Fett had strolled up into the wood insearch of chestnuts, leaving him sentry over the camp. 

"And is it thus you keep sentry?" my father demanded. 

"Why, master, since this valley has no more tenantry than Sodom orGomorrah, cities of the plain--" Billy began confidently; but hisvoice trailed off under my father's frown. 

"You have done ill, the pair of you, " said my father, and strodeahead of us across the meadow. 

At the gate of the enclosure he came to an abrupt halt. 

The hogs had returned and were routing among our camp-furniture. For the rest, the churchyard was empty. But where were Nat Fiennesand Mr. Badcock, who had sallied out to follow them? And where wasMr. Fett?

We rushed upon the brutes, and drove them squealing out of thegateway leading to the woods. They took the rise of the glade at ascamper, and were lost to us in the undergrowth. We followed, shouting our comrades' names. No answer came back to us, though ourvoices must have carried far beyond the next ridge. For an hour webeat the wood, keeping together by my father's order, and shouting, now singly, now in chorus. Nat, likely enough, had pressed forwardbeyond earshot, and led Mr. Badcock on with him. But what had becomeof Mr. Fett, who, as Billy asseverated, had promised to take but ashort stroll?

My father's frown grew darker and yet darker as the minutes wore onand still no voice answered our hailing. The sun was declining fastwhen he gave the order to return to camp, which we found as we hadleft it. We seated ourselves amid the disordered baggage, pulled outa ration apiece of salt pork and ship's bread, and ate our supper inmoody silence. 

During the meal Billy kept his eye furtively on my father. 

"Master, " said he, at the close, plucking up courage as my fatherfilled and lit a pipe of tobacco, "I be terribly to blame. "

My father puffed, without answering. 

"The Lord knows whether they be safe or lost, " went on Billy, desperately; "but we be safe, and those as can ought to sleepto-night. "

Still my father gave no answer. 

"I can't sleep, sir, with this on my conscience--no, not if I tried. Give me leave, sir, to stand sentry while you and Master Prosper takewhat rest you may. "

"I don't know that I can trust you, " said my father. 

"'Twas a careless act, I'll allow. But I've a-been your servant, SirJohn, for twenty-two year come nest Martinmas; and you know--or elseyou ought to know--that for your good opinion, being set to it, Iwould stand awake till I watched out every eye in my head. "

My father crammed down the ashes in his pipe, and glanced back at thesun, now dropping into the fold of the glen between us and the sea. 

"I will give you another chance, " he said. 

Thrice that night, my dreams being troubled, I awoke and stretchedmyself to see Billy pacing grimly in the moonlight between us and thegateway, tholing his penance. I know not what aroused me the fourthtime; some sound, perhaps. The dawn was breaking, and, half-liftedon my elbow, I saw Billy, his musket still at his shoulder, halt bythe gateway as if he, too, had been arrested by the sound. After amoment he turned, quite casually, and stepped outside the gate tolook. 

I saw him step outside. I was but half-awake, and drowsily my eyesclosed and opened again with a start, expecting to see him back athis sentry-go. He had not returned. 

I closed my eyes again, in no way alarmed as yet. I would give himanother minute, another sixty seconds. But before I had countedthirty my ears caught a sound, and I leapt up, wide awake, andtouched my father's shoulder. 

He sat up, cast a glance about him, and sprang to his feet. Together we ran to the gateway. 

The voice I had heard was the grunting of the hogs. They weregathered about the gateway again, and, as before, they scampered fromus up the glade. 

But of Billy Priske there was no sign at all. We stared at eachother and rubbed our eyes; we two, left alone out of our company ofsix. Although the sun would not pierce to the valley for anotherhour, it slanted already between the pine-stems on the ridge, andabove us the sky was light with another day. 

And again, punctual with the dawn, over the ridge a far voice brokeinto singing. As before, it came to us in cadences descending to along-drawn refrain--_Mortu, mortu, mortu!_

"Billy! Billy Priske!" we called, and listened. 

"_Mortu, mortu, mortu!_" sang the voice, and died away behind theridge. 

For some time we stood and heard the hogs crashing their way throughthe undergrowth at the head of the glade, with a snapping andcrackling of twigs, which by degrees grew fainter. This, too, diedaway; and, returning to our camp, we sat among the baggage and staredone another in the face. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

HOW BY MEANS OF HER SWINE I CAME TO CIRCE. 

 "So saying I took my way up from the ship and the sea-shore. But on my way, as I drew near through the glades to the home of the enchantress Circe, there met me Hermes with his golden rod, in semblance of a lad wearing youth's bloom on his lip and all youth's charm at its heyday. He clasped my hand and spake and greeted me. 'Whither away now, wretched wight, amid these mountain-summits alone and astray? And yonder in the styes of Circe, transformed to swine, thy comrades lie penned and make their lairs!'"--_Odyssey, bk. X_. 

"Prosper, " said my father, seriously, "we must return to the ship. "

"I suppose so, " I admitted; but with a rising temper, so that my tonecontradicted him. 

"It is most necessary. We are no longer an army, or even alegation. "

"Nothing could be more evident. You may add, sir, that we are badlyscared, the both of us. Yet I don't stomach sailing away, at anyrate, until we have discovered what has happened to the others. "I cast a vicious glance up at the forest. 

"Good Lord, child!" my father exclaimed. "Who was suggesting it?"

"You spoke of returning to the ship. "

"To be sure I did. She can work round to Ajaccio and repair. She will arrive evidently from the verge of total wreck, an ordinarytrader in ballast, with nothing suspicious about her. No questionswill be asked that Pomery cannot invent an answer for off-hand. She will be allowed to repair, refit, and sail for reinforcements. "

"Reinforcements? But where will you find reinforcements?"

"I must rely on Gervase to provide them. Meanwhile we have work onhand. To begin with, we must clear up this mystery, which may obligeus to camp here for some time. "

"O-oh!" said I. 

"You do not suggest, I hope, that we can abandon our comrades, whatever has befallen them?"

"My dear father!" I protested. 

"Tut, lad! I never supposed it of you. Well, it seems to me we aremore likely to clear up the mystery by sitting still than by beatingthe woods. Do you agree?"

"To be sure, " said I, "we may spare ourselves the trouble ofsearching for it. "

"I propose then, as our first move, that we step down to the shiptogether and pack Captain Pomery off to Ajaccio with his orders--"

"Excuse me, sir, " I interrupted. "_You_ shall step down to the ship, while I wait here and guard the camp. "

"My dear Prosper, " said he, "I like the spirit of that offer: but, upon my word, I hope you won't persist in it. These misadventures, if I may confess it, get me on the raw, and I cannot leave you herealone without feeling damnably anxious. "

"Trust me, sir, " I answered, "I shall be at least as uncomfortableuntil you return. But I have an inkling that--whatever the secretmay be, and whether we surprise it or it surprises us--it will waituntil we are separated. Moreover, I have a theory to test. So far, every man has disappeared outside the churchyard here and somewhereon the side of the forest. The camp itself has been safe enough, andso have the meadow and the path down to the creek. You will rememberthat Billy was roaming the meadow for mushrooms at the very time welost Mr. Fett: yet Billy came to no harm. To be sure, the enemy, having thinned us down to two, may venture more boldly; but if I keepthe camp here while you take the path down to the creek, and nothinghappens to either, we shall be narrowing the zone of danger, so tospeak. "

My father nodded. "You will promise me not to set foot outside thecamp?"

"I will promise more, " said I. "At the smallest warning I am goingto let off my piece. You must not be annoyed if I fetch you back ona false alarm, or even an absurd one. I shall sit here with mymusket across my knees, and half a dozen others, all loaded, closearound me: and at the first sign of something wrong--at the cracklingof a twig, maybe--I shall fire. You, on your way to the creek, willkeep your eyes just as wide open and fire at the first hint ofdanger. "

"I don't like it, " my father persisted. 

"But you see the wisdom of it, " said I. "We must stay here: that'sagreed. So long as we stay here we shall be desperatelyuncomfortable, fearing we don't know what: that also is agreed. Then, say I, for God's sake let us clear this business up and get itover. "

My father nodded, stood up and shouldered his piece. I knew that hiseyes were on me, and avoided meeting them, afraid for a moment thathe was going to say something in praise of my courage, whereas intruth I was horribly scared. That last word or two had reallyexpressed my terror. I desired nothing but to get the whole thingover. My hand shook so as I turned to load the first musket that Ihad twice to shorten my grasp of the ramrod before I could insert itin the barrel. 

From the gateway leading to the lane my father watched till theloading was done. 

"Good-bye and good luck, lad!" said he, and turned to go. A pace ortwo beyond the gateway he halted as if to add a word, but thoughtbetter of it and resumed his stride. His footsteps sounded hollowbetween the walls of the narrow lane. Then he reached the turf ofthe meadow, and the sound ceased suddenly. 

I wanted--wanted desperately--to break down and run after him. By a bodily effort--something like a long pull on a rope--I heldmyself steady and braced my back against the bole of the ilex tree, which I had chosen because it gave a view through the gateway towardsthe forest. Upon this opening and the glade beyond it I kept myeyes, for the first minute or two scarcely venturing to wink, onlyrelaxing the strain now and again for a cautious glance to right andleft around the deserted enclosure. I could hear my heart workinglike a pump. 

The enclosure--indeed the whole valley--lay deadly silent in thegrowing heat of the morning. On the hidden summit behind the wood araven croaked; and as the sun mounted, a pair of buzzards, wingingtheir way to the mountains, crossed its glare and let fall amomentary trace of shadow that touched my nerves as with a whip. But few birds haunt the Corsican bush, and to-day even these woodsand this watered valley were dumb of song. No breeze sent a shiverthrough the grey ilexes or the still paler olives in the orchard tomy right. On the slope the chestnut trees massed their foliage inheavy plumes of green, plume upon plume, wave upon wave, a stillcascade of verdure held between jagged ridges of granite. Here andthere the granite pushed a bare pinnacle above the trees, and overthese pinnacles the air swam and quivered. 

The minutes dragged by. A caterpillar let itself down by a threadfrom the end of the bough under which I sat, in a direct line betweenme and the gateway. Very slowly, while I watched him, he descendedfor a couple of feet, swayed a little and hung still, as ifirresolute. A butterfly, after hovering for a while over the wall'sdry coping, left it and fluttered aimlessly across the garth, vanishing at length into the open doorway of the church. 

The church stood about thirty paces from my tree, and by turning myhead to the angle of my right shoulder I looked straight into itsporch. It struck me that from the shadow within it, or from one ofthe narrow windows, a marksman could make an easy target of me. The building had been empty over-night: no one (it was reasonable tosuppose) had entered the enclosure during Billy's sentry-go; no onefor a certainty had entered it since. Nevertheless, the fancy thateyes might be watching me from within the church began now to worry, and within five minutes had almost worried me into leaving my post toexplore. 

I repressed the impulse. I could not carry my stand of muskets withme, and to leave it unguarded would be the starkest folly. Also Ihad sworn to myself to keep watch on the gateway towards the forest, and this resolution must obviously be broken if I explored thechurch. I kept my seat, telling myself that, however the others hadvanished, they had vanished in silence, and therefore all danger fromgunshot might be ruled out of the reckoning. 

I had scarcely calmed myself by these reflections when a noise atsome distance up the glade fetched my musket halfway to my shoulder. I lowered it with a short laugh of relief as our friends the hogscame trotting downhill to the gateway. 

For the moment I was glad; on second thoughts, vexed. They explainedthe noise and eased my immediate fear. They brought back--absurd asit may sound--a sense of companionship: for although half-wild, theyshowed a disposition to be sociable, and we had found that a wave ofthe arm sufficed to drive them off when their advances becameembarrassing. On the other hand, they would certainly distract someattention which I could very ill afford to spare. 

But again I calmed myself, reflecting that if any danger lurked closeat hand, these friendly nuisances might give me some clue to it bytheir movements. They came trotting down to the entrance, halted andregarded me, pushing up their snouts and grunting as though uncertainof their welcome. Apparently reassured, they charged through, ashogs will, in a disorderly mob, rubbing their lean flanks against thegateposts, each seeming to protest with squeals against the crush towhich he contributed. 

One or two of the boldest came running towards me in the hope ofbeing fed; but, seeing that I made no motion, swerved as though theircourage failed them, and stood regarding me sideways with theirgrotesque little eyes. Finding me still unresponsive, they began tonose in the dried grasses with an affected unconcern which set mesmiling; it seemed so humanlike a pretence under rebuff. The rest, as usual, dispersed under the trees and along the nettle-beds by thewall. It occurred to me that, if I let these gentlemen work round tomy rear, they might distract my attention--perhaps at an awkwardmoment--by nosing up to the forage-bags or upsetting thecamp-furniture, so with a wave of my musket I headed them back. They took the hint obediently enough, and, wheeling about, fell torooting between me and the entrance. So I sat maybe for another fiveminutes, still keeping my main attention on the gateway, but with anoccasional glance to right and left, to detect and warn back anyfresh attempt to work round my flanks. 

Now, in the act of waving my musket, I had happened to catch sight ofone remarkably fine hog among the nettles, who, taking alarm with therest, had winced away and disappeared in the rear of the church, where a narrow alley ran between it and the churchyard wall. If hefollowed this alley to its end, he would come into sight again aroundthe apse and almost directly on my right flank. I kept my eyelifting towards this corner of the building, Waiting for him toreappear, which by-and-by he did, and with a truly porcine air ofminding his own business and that only. 

His unconcern was so admirably affected that, to test it, instead ofwaving him back I lifted my musket very quietly, almost withoutshifting my position, and brought the butt against my shoulder. 

He saw the movement; for at once, even with his head down in thegrasses, he hesitated and came to a full stop. Suddenly, as myfingers felt for the trigger-guard, my heart began to beat like ahammer. 

_There_ lay my danger; and in a flash I knew it, but not the extentof it. This was no hog, but a man; by the start and the quickarrested pose in which the brute faced me, still with his head lowand his eyes regarding me from the grasses, I felt sure of him. But what of the others? Were they also men? If so, I was certainlylost, but I dared not turn my eyes for a glance at them. With asudden and most natural grunt the brute backed a little, shook hishead in disgust, and sidled towards the angle of the building. "Now or never, " thought I, and pulled the trigger. 

As the musket kicked against me I felt--I could not see--the rest ofthe hogs swerve in a common panic and break for the gateway. Their squealing took up the roar of the report and protracted it. They were real hogs, then. 

I caught up a second musket, and, to make sure, let fly into the massof them as they choked the gateway. Then, without waiting to see theeffect of this shot, I snatched musket number three, and ran throughthe drifting smoke to where my first victim lay face-downwards inthe grasses, his swine's mask bowed upon the forelegs crossed--as aman crosses his arms--inwards from the elbow. As I ran he liftedhimself in agony on his knees--a man's knees. I saw a man's handthrust through the paunch, ripping it asunder; and, struggling so, herolled slowly over upon his back and lay still. I stooped and torethe mask away. A black-avised face stared up at me, livid beneathits sunburn, with filmed eyes. The eyes stared at me unwinking as Islipped his other hand easily out of its case, which, even at closeview, marvellously resembled the cleft narrow hoof of a hog. I couldnot disengage him further, his feet being strapped into the disguisewith tight leathern thongs: but having satisfied myself that he waspast help, I turned on a quick thought to the gateway again, and ran. 

A second hog--a real hog--lay stretched there on its side, dead as anail. Its companions, scampering in panic, had by this time almostreached the head of the glade. Forgetting my promise to my father, Istarted in pursuit. The thought in my mind was that, if I kept themin sight, they would lead me to my comrades; a chance unlikely toreturn. 

The glade ran up between two contracting spurs of the hill. As Iclimbed, the belt of woodland narrowed on either side of the track, until the side-valley ended in a cross ridge where the chestnutssuddenly gave place to pines and the turf to a rocky soil carpetedwith pine needles. Here, in the spaces between the tree-trunks, Icaught my last glimpse of the hogs as two or three of the slowest ranover the ridge and disappeared. I followed, sure of getting sight ofthem from the summit. But here I found myself tricked. Beyond theridge lay a short dip--short, that is, as a bird flies. Not morethan fifty yards ahead the slope rose again, strewn with graniteboulders and piled masses of granite, such as in Cornwall we call"tors"; and clear away to the mountain-tops stretched a view withnever a tree, but a few outstanding bushes only. Yet from ridge toridge green vegetation filled every hollow, and in the hollow betweenme and the nearest the hogs were lost. 

I heard, however, their grunting and the snapping of boughs in theundergrowth: and in that clear delusive air it seemed but threeminutes' work to reach the next ridge. I followed then, confidentlyenough--and made my first acquaintance with the Corsican _macchia_ byplunging into a cleft twenty feet deep between two rocks of granite. I did not actually fall more than a third of the distance, for Isaved myself by clutching at a clematis which laced its coils, thickas a man's wrist, across the cleft. But I know that the hole cannothave been less than twenty feet deep, for I had to descend to thebottom of it to recover my musket. 

That fall committed me, too. Within five minutes of my firstintroduction to the _macchia_ I had learnt how easily a man may belost in it; and in less than half of five minutes I had lost not onlymy way but my temper. To pursue after the hogs was nearly hopeless:all sound of them was swallowed up in the tangle of scrub. Yet Iheld on, crawling through thickets of lentisk, tangling my legs increepers, pushing my head into clumps of cactus, here tearing myhands and boots on sharp granite, there ripping my clothes on pricklythorns. Once I found what appeared to be a goat-track. It led toanother cleft of rock, where, beating down the briers, I looked downa chasm which ended, thirty feet below, in a whole brake of cacti. The scent of the crushed plants was divine: and I crushed a plenty ofthem. 

After a struggle which must have lasted from twenty minutes to halfan hour, I gained the ridge which had seemed but three minutes away, and there sat down to a silent lesson in geography. I had given upall hope of following the hogs or discovering my comrades. I knewnow what it means to search for a needle in a bottle of hay, but withmany prickles I had gathered some wisdom, and learnt that, whether Idecided to go forward or to retreat, I must survey the _macchia_before attempting it again. 

To go forward without a clue would be folly, as well as unfair to myfather, whom my two shots must have alarmed. I decided therefore toretreat, but first to mount a craggy pile of granite some fifty yardson my left, which would give me not only a better survey of the bush, but perhaps even a view over the tree-tops and down upon the baywhere the _Gauntlet_ lay at anchor. If so, by the movements on boardI might learn whether or not my father had reached her with hiscommands before taking my alarm. 

The crags were not easy to climb: but, having hitched the musket inmy bandolier, I could use both hands, and so pulled myself up by thecreepers which festooned the rock here and there in swags as thick asthe _Gauntlet's_ hawser. Disappointment met me on the summit. The trees allowed me but sight of the blue horizon; they still hidthe shores of the bay and our anchorage. My eminence, however, showed me a track, fairly well defined, crossing the _macchia_ andleading back to the wood. 

I was conning this when a shout in my rear fetched me right-aboutface. Towards me, down and across the farther ridge I saw a manrunning--Nat Fiennes!

He had caught sight of me on my rock against the skyline, and as heran he waved his arms frantically, motioning to me to run also forthe woods. I could see no pursuer; but still, as he came on, hisarms waved, and were waving yet when a bush on the chine above himthrew out a little puff of grey smoke. Toppling headlong into thebushes he was lost to me even before the report rang on my earsacross the hollow. 

I dropped on my knees for a grip on the creepers, swung myself downthe face of the crag, and within ten seconds was lost in the_macchia_ again, fighting my way through it to the spot where Natlay. Wherever the scrub parted and allowed me a glimpse I kept myeye on the bush above the chine; and so, with torn clothes and faceand hands bleeding, crossed the dip, mounted the slope and emergedupon a ferny hollow ringed about on three sides with the _macchia_. There face-downward in the fern lay Nat, shot through the lungs. 

I lifted him against one knee. His eyelids flickered and his lipsmoved to speak, but a rush of blood choked him. Still resting himagainst my knee, I felt behind me for my musket. The flint was gonefrom the lock, dislodged no doubt by a blow against the crags. With one hand I groped on the ground for a stone to replace it. My fingers found only a tangle of dry fern, and glancing up at theridge, I stared straight along the barrel of a musket. At the samemoment a second barrel glimmered out between the bushes on my left. "_Signore, favorisca di rendersi_, " said a voice, very quiet andpolite. I stared around me, hopeless, at bay: and while I stared andclutched my useless gun, from behind a rock some twenty paces up theslope a girl stepped forward, halted, rested the butt of her musketon the stone, and, crossing her hands above the nozzle of it, calmlyregarded us. 

Even in my rage her extraordinary wild beauty held me at gaze for amoment. She wore over a loose white shirt a short waist-tunic offaded green velvet, with a petticoat or kilt of the same reaching alittle below her knees, from which to the ankles her legs were casedin tight-fitting leathern gaiters. Her stout boots shone withtoe-plates of silver or polished steel. A sad-coloured handkerchiefprotected her head, its edge drawn straight across her brow in afashion that would have disfigured ninety-nine women in a hundred. But no head-dress availed to disfigure that brow or the youngimperious eyes beneath it. 

"Are you a friend of this man?" she asked in Italian. 

"He is my best friend, " I answered her, in the same language. "Why have you done this to him?"

She seemed to consider for a moment, thoughtfully, without pity. 

"I can talk to you in French if you find it easier, " she said, aftera pause. 

"You may use Italian, " I answered angrily. "I can understand it moreeasily than you will use it to explain why you have done thiswickedness. "

"He was very foolish, " she said. "He tried to run away. And youwere all very foolish to come as you did. We saw your ship while youwere yet four leagues at sea. How have you come here?"

"I came here, " answered I, "being led by your hogs, and aftershooting an assassin in disguise of a hog. "

"You have killed Giuseppe?"

"I did my best, " said I, turning and addressing myself to threeCorsicans who had stepped from the bushes around me. "But whateveryour purpose may be, you have shot my friend here, and he is dying. If you have hearts, deal tenderly with him, and afterwards we cantalk. "

"He says well, " said the girl, slowly, and nodded to the three men. "Lift him and bring him to the camp. " She turned to me. "You willnot resist?" she asked. 

"I will go with my friend, " said I. 

"That is good. You may walk behind me, " she said, turning on herheel. "I am glad to have met one who talks in Italian, for the restof your friends can only chatter in English, a tongue which I do notunderstand. Step close behind me, please; for the way is narrow. For what are you waiting?"

"To see that my friend is tenderly handled, " I answered. 

"He is past helping, " said she, carelessly. "He behaved foolishly. You did not stop for Giuseppe, did you?"

"I did not. "

"I am not blaming you, " said she, and led the way. 

CHAPTER XV. 

I BECOME HOSTAGE TO THE PRINCESS CAMILLA. 

 "Silvis te, Tyrrhene, feras agitare putasti? Advenit qui vestra dies muliebribus armis Verba redarguerit. " VIRGIL, Aeneid, xi. 

Ahead of us, beyond the rises and hollows of the _macchia_, rose abare mountain summit, not very tall, the ascent to it broken bygranite ledges, so that from a distance it almost appeared to beterraced. On a heathery slope at the foot of the first terrace theCorsicans set down poor Nat and spoke a word to their mistress, whopresently halted and exchanged a few sentences with them in _patois_;whereupon they stepped back a few paces into the _macchia_, and, having quickly cut a couple of ilex-staves, fell to plaiting themwith lentisk, to form a litter. 

While this was doing I stepped back to my friend's side. His eyeswere closed; but he breathed yet, and his pulse, though faint, wasperceptible. A little blood--a very little--trickled from the cornerof his mouth. I glanced at the girl, who had drawn near and stoodclose at my elbow. 

"Have you a surgeon in your camp?" I asked. "I believe that asurgeon might save him yet. "

She shook her head. I could detect no pity in her eyes; only a touchof curiosity, half haughty and in part sullen. 

"I doubt, " she answered, "if you will find a surgeon in all Corsica. I do not believe in surgeons. "

"Then, " said I, "you have not lived always in Corsica. "

Her face flushed darkly, even while the disdain in her eyes grewcolder, more guarded. 

"What do you mean by that?" she asked. 

"Why, " said I, "you are not one, I believe, to speak so positively inmere ignorance. But see!" I went on, pointing down upon the bay overwhich this higher slope gave us a clear view, "there goes the shipthat brought us here. "

She gazed at it for a while, with bent brow, evidently puzzled. 

"No, " said I, watching her, "I shall not tell you yet why she goes, nor where her port lies. But I have something to propose to you. "

"Say it. "

"It leaves one man behind, and one only, in our camp below. He is myfather, and he has some knowledge of surgery; I believe he could savemy friend here. "

She stood considering. "So much was known to me, " she answered atlength; "that, after you, there would be but one left. Three of mymen have gone down to take him. He will be here before long. "

"But, pardon me--for as yet I know not whether your aim is to kill usor take us alive--"

She interrupted me with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I have nowish to kill you. But I must know what brings you here, and the restcan talk nothing but English. As for this one"--with a gesture ofthe hand towards Nat--"he was foolish. He tried to run away and warnyou. "

"Then, signorina, let me promise, who know my father, that you willnot take him alive. "

"I have sent three men. "

"You had done better to send thirty; but even so you will notsucceed. "

"I have heard tell, " she said, again with a little movement of hershoulders, "that all Englishmen are mad. "

I laughed; and this laugh of mine had a singular effect on her. She drew back and looked at me for an instant with startled eyes, asthough she had never heard laughter in her life before, or else hadheard too much. 

"Tell me what you propose, " she said. 

"I propose to send down a message to my father, and one of your menshall carry it with a white flag (for that he shall have the loan ofmy handkerchief). I will write in Italian, that you may read andknow what I say. "

"It is unnecessary. "

"I thank you. " I found in my pockets the stump of a pencil and ascrap of paper--an old Oxford bill--and wrote--

 "DEAR FATHER, "We are prisoners, and Nat is wounded, but whether past help or not I cannot say. I believe you might do something for him. If it suit your plans, the bearer will give you safe conduct: if not, I remain your obedient son, " "PROSPER. "

I translated this for her, and folded the paper. 

"Marc'antonio!" she called to one of the three men, who by this timehad finished plaiting the litter and were strewing it with fern. 

Marc'antonio--a lean, slight fellow with an old scar on his cheek--stepped forward at once. She gave him my note and handkerchief withinstructions to hurry. 

"Excuse me, principessa"--he hesitated, with a glance at me andanother at his comrades--"but these two, with the litter, will havetheir hands full; and this prisoner is a strong one and artful. Has he not already slain 'l Verru?"

"You will mind your own business, Marc'antonio, which is to run, as Itell you. "

The man turned without another word, but with a last distrustfullook, and plunged downhill into the scrub. The girl made a carelesssign to the others to lay Nat on his litter, and, turning, led theway up the rocky front of the summit, presenting her back to me, choosing the path which offered fewest impediments to thelitter-bearers in our rear. 

The sun was now high overhead, and beat torridly upon the granitecrags, which, as I clutched them, blistered my hands. The girl andthe two men (in spite of their burden) balanced themselves and sprangfrom foothold to foothold with an ease which shamed me. For a whileI supposed that we were making for the actual summit; but on thesecond terrace my captress bore away to the left and led us by atrack that slanted across the northern shoulder of the ridge. A sentry started to his feet and stepped from behind a clump of aridsage-coloured bushes, stood for a moment with the sun glinting on hisgun-barrel, and at a sign from the girl dropped back upon his post. Just then, or a moment later, my ears caught the jigging notes of aflute; whereby I knew Mr. Badcock to be close at hand, for it wasdiscoursing the tune of "The Vicar of Bray"!

Sure enough, as we rounded the slope we came upon him, Mr. Fett, andBilly Priske, the trio seated within a semi-circle of admiringCorsicans, and above a scene so marvellous that I caught my breath. The slope, breaking away to north and east, descended sheer upon avast amphitheatre filled with green acres of pine forest and pentwithin walls of porphyry that rose in tower upon tower, pinnacle uponpinnacle, beyond and above the tree-tops; and these pillars, as theysoared out of the gulf, seemed to shake off with difficulty theforest that climbed after them, holding by every nook and ledge intheir riven sides--here a dark-foliaged clump caught in a chasm, there a solitary trunk bleached and dead but still hanging by a lastgrip. 

On the edge of this green cauldron the Corsicans and my comrades satlike so many witches, their figures magnified uncannily against thevoid; and far beyond, above the rose-coloured crags, deep-set inmiles of transparent blue, shone the snow-covered central peaks ofthe island. 

As I rounded the corner, Mr. Fett hailed me with a shout and a vocalimitation of a post-horn. 

"Another, " he cried, and slapped his thigh triumphantly. "Anotherblossom added to the posy! Badcock, my flosculet, you owe me fiveshillings. Permit me to explain, sir"--he turned to me--"that Mr. Badcock has been staking upon an anthology, I upon the full basketand the whole hog. It is cut and come again with these Corsicans;and, talking of hogs--"

His chatter tailed off in a pitiful exclamation as thelitter-carriers came around the angle of the ridge with Nat's bodybetween them. 

"Poor lad! Ah, poor lad!" I heard Billy say. Mr. Badcock nervouslydisjointed his flute. "I warned him, sir. Believe me, my last wordswere that, being in Rome, so to speak, he should do as the Romansdid--"

"There is one more, " announced the girl, to her Corsicans, "and Ihave sent for him. He will come under conduct; and, meanwhile, Ihave to say that any man who offers to harm this prisoner, here, willbe shot. "

"But why should we harm him, principessa?" they asked; and, indeed, Ifelt inclined to echo their question, seeing that she pointed at me. 

"Because he has killed Giuseppe, " she answered simply. 

"Giuseppe? He has slain Giuseppe?" The simultaneous cry went up ina wail, and by impulse the hand of each one moved to his knife. 

"Your pardon, principessa--" began one black-avised bandit, droppingthe haft of his knife and feeling for the gun at his back. 

She waived him aside and turned to me. "I should warn you, sir, thatwe are of one clan here, though I may not tell you our name; andagainst the slayer of one it is vendetta with us all. But I spareyou until your father arrives. "

"I thank you, " answered I, feeling blue, but fetching up my best bow. (Here was a pleasant prospect!) "I only beg to observe that I killedthis man--if I have killed him--in self-defence, " I added. 

"Do you wish me to repeat that as your plea?" she asked, half inscorn. 

"I do not, " said I, with a sudden rush of anger. "Moreover, I daresay that these savages of yours would see no distinction. "

"You are right, " she replied carelessly, "they would see nodistinction. "

"But excuse me, principessa, " persisted the scowling man, "a feud isa feud, and if he has slain our Giuse--"

"Attend to me, sir, " I broke in. "Your Giuseppe came at me like ahog, and I gave him his deserts. For the rest, if you move your handanother inch towards that gun I will knock your brains out. " Iclubbed my musket ready to strike. 

"Gently, sir!" interposed the girl. "This is folly, as you mustsee. "

I shrugged my shoulders. "You will allow me, Princess. If it cometo vendetta, you have slain my friend. "

She gave her back to me and faced the ring. "I tell you, " she said, "that Giuseppe's death rests on the prisoner's word alone. Marc'antonio and Stephanu have gone down and will bring us the truthof it. Meanwhile I say that this one is our prisoner, like as theothers. Give him room and let him wait by his friend. Does any onesay 'nay' to that?" she demanded. 

The scowling man, with a glance at his comrades' faces, gave way. I could not have told why, but from the start of the dispute I feltthat this girl held her bandits, or whatever they were, in imperfectobedience. They obeyed her, yet with reserve. When pressed to thepoint between submission and mutiny, they yielded; but they yieldedwith a consent which I could not reconcile with submission. Even whilst answering deferentially they appeared to be looking atone another and taking a cue. 

For the time, however, she had prevailed with them. They stood asidewhile Billy and I lifted the litter and bore it to the shade of anoverhanging rock. One even fetched me a panful of water which he hadcollected from a trickling spring on the face of the cliffs hard by, and brought me linen, too, when he saw me preparing to tear up my ownshirt to bind Nat's wound. 

We could not trace the course of the bullet, and judged it best tospare meddling with a hurt we could not help. So, having bathed awaythe clotted blood and bandaged him, we strewed a fresh bed of fern, and watched by him, moistening his lips from time to time with water, for which he moaned. The sun began to sink on the far side of themountain, and the shadow of the summit, falling into the deep gulf atour feet, to creep across the green tree-tops massed there. While itcrept, and I watched it, Billy related in whispers how he had beensprung upon and gagged, so swiftly that he had no chance to cry alarmor to feel for the trigger of his musket. He rubbed his handsdelightedly when in return I told the story of my lucky shot. In hisignorance of Italian he had caught no inkling of the peril that luckyshot had brought upon me, nor did I choose to enlighten him. 

The shadow of the mountain was stretching more than halfway acrossthe valley, and in the slanting light the rosy tinge of the cragsappeared to be melting and suffusing the snow-peaks beyond, when myfather walked into the camp unannounced. He carried a gun and afolding camp-stool, and was followed by Marc'antonio, who flutteredmy white handkerchief from the ramrod of his musket. 

"Good afternoon, gentlemen!" said my father, lifting his hat andlooking about him. 

I could see at a glance that his stature and bearing impressed theCorsicans. They drew back for a moment, then pressed around him likechildren. 

"Mbe! E bellu, il Inglese, " I heard one say to his fellow. 

After quelling the brief tumult against me, and while I busied myselfwith Nat, the girl had disappeared--I could not tell whither. But now one of the band ran up the slope calling loudly to summonher. "O principessa, ajo, ajo! Veni qui, ajo!" and, gazing afterhim, I saw her at the entrance of a cave some fifty feet above us, erect, with either hand parting and holding back the creepers thatcurtained her bower. 

She let the curtains fall-to behind her, and, stepping down thehillside, welcomed my father with the gravest of curtsies. 

"Salutation, O stranger!"

"And to you, O lady, salutation!" my father made answer, with a bow. "Though English, " he went on, slipping easily into the dialect sheused with her followers, "I am Corsican enough to forbear from askingtheir names of gentlefolk in the _macchia_; but mine is JohnConstantine, and I am very much at your service. "

"My men call me the Princess Camilla. "

"A good name, " said my father, and seemed to muse upon it for amoment while he eyed her paternally. "A very good name, O Princess, and beloved of old by Diana--

 "'Aeternum telorum et virginitatis amorem Intemerata--'

"But I come at your bidding and must first of all apologize for somelittle delay; the cause being that your messenger found me busypatching up a bullet-hole in one of your men. "

"Giuseppe is not dead?"

"He is not dead, and on the whole I incline to think he is not goingto die, though you will allow me to say that the rogue deserved it. The other three gentlemen-at-arms despatched by you are at thismoment bringing him up the hill, very carefully, following myinstructions. He will need care. In fact, it will be touch-and-gowith him for many days to come. "

While he talked, my father, catching sight of me, had stepped toNat's couch. Nodding to me without more ado to lift the patient andcut away his shirt, he knelt, unrolled his case of instruments, andwith a "Courage, lad!" bent an ear to the faint breathing. In lessthan a minute, as it seemed, his hand feeling around the naked backcame to a pause a little behind and under the right arm-pit. 

"Courage, lad!" he repeated. "A little pain, and we'll have it, safeas a wasp in an apple. "

The Corsicans under his orders had withdrawn to a little distance andstood about us in a ring. While he probed and Nat's poor bodywrithed feebly in my arms, I lifted my eyes once with a shudder, andmet the Princess Camilla's. She was watching, and without a tremor, her face grave as a child's. 

With a short grunt of triumph, my father caught away his hand, dippedit swiftly into the pan of water beside him, and held the bulletaloft between thumb and forefinger. The Corsicans broke into quickguttural cries, as men hailing a miracle. As Nat's head fell backlimp against my shoulder I saw the Princess turn and walk away alone. Her followers dispersed by degrees, but not, I should say, untilevery man had explained to every other his own theory of the woundand the operation, and how my father had come to find the bullet sounerringly, each theorist tapping his own chest and back, or hisinterlocutor's, sometimes a couple tapping each other with vigour, neither listening, both jabbering at full pitch of the voice withprodigious elisions of consonants and equally prodigious drawlings ofthe vowels. For us, the dressing of the wound kept us busy, and wepaid little attention even when a fresh jabbering announced that thelitter-bearers had arrived with Giuseppe. 

By-and-by, however, my father rose from his knees and, leaving me tofasten the last bandages, strolled across the slope to see how hisother patient had borne the journey. Just at that moment I heardagain a voice calling to the Princess Camilla: "Ajo, ajo! Oprincipessa, veni qui!" and simultaneously the voice of Billy Priskeuplifted in an incongruous British oath. 

My father halted with a gesture of annoyance, checked himself, and, awaiting the Princess, pointed towards an object on the turf--anobject at which Billy Priske, too, was pointing. 

It appeared that while his comrades had been attending on Giuseppe, the third Corsican (whom they called Ste, or Stephanu) had filled uphis time by rifling our camp; and of all our possessions he hadchosen to select our half-dozen spare muskets and a burst coffer, from which he now extracted and (for his comrade's admiration) heldaloft our chiefest treasure--the Iron Crown of Corsica. 

"Princess, " said my father, coldly, "your men have broken faith. I came to you under no compulsion, obeying your flag of truce. It was no part of the bargain that our camp should be pillaged. "

For a while she did not seem to hear; but stood at gaze, her eyesround with wonder. 

"Stephanu, bring it here, " she commanded. 

The man brought it. "O principessa, " said he, with a wondering grin, "who are these that travel with royal crowns? If we were true folkof the _macchia_, now, we could hold them at a fine ransom. "

She took the crown, examined it for a moment, and turning to myfather, spoke to him swiftly in French. 

"How came you by this, O Englishman?"

"That, " answered my father, stiffly, "I decline to tell you. It has come to your hands, Princess, through violation of your flagof truce, and in honour you should restore it to me withoutquestion. "

She waved a hand impatiently. "This is the crown of King Theodore, O Englishman. See the rim of mingled oak and laurel, made inimitation of that hasty chaplet wherewith the Corsicans first crownedhim in the Convent of Alesani. Answer me, and in French, for allyour lives depend on it; yet briefly, for the sound of that tongueangers my men. For your life, then, how did you come by this?"

"You must find some better argument, Princess, " said my father, stiffly. 

"For your son's life then. "

I saw my father lift his eyes and scan her beautiful face. 

"My son is not a coward, Princess; the less so that--" Here myfather hesitated. 

"Quickly, quickly!" she urged him. 

He threw up his head. "Yes, quickly, Princess; and in no fear, norupon any condition. You are islanders; therefore you are patriots. You are patriots; therefore you hate the Genoese and love the QueenEmilia, whose servant I am. As I was saying, then, my son has theless excuse to be a coward in that he hopes, one day, with the QueenEmilia's blessing, to wear this crown bequeathed to him by the lateKing Theodore. "

"_He?_" The girl swung upon me, scornfully incredulous. 

"Even he, Princess. In proof I can show you King Theodore's deed ofgift, signed with his own hand and attested. "

For the first time, then, I saw her smile; but the smile held nocorrespondence with the tone of slow, quiet contempt in which shenext spoke. 

"You are trustful, O sciu Johann Constantine. I have heard that allEnglishmen tell the truth, and expect it, and are otherwise mad. "

"I trust to nothing, Princess, until I have the Queen Emilia's word. That I would trust to my life's end. "

She nodded darkly. "You shall go to her--if you can find her. "

"Tell me where to seek her. "

"She lies at Nonza in Capo Corse; or peradventure the Genoese, whohold her prisoner, have by this time carried her across to theContinent. "

"Though she were in Genoa itself, I would deliver her or die. "

"You will probably die, O Englishman, before you receive her answer;and that will be a pity--yes, a great pity. But you are free to go, you and your company--all but your son here, this King of Corsicathat is to be, whom I keep as hostage, with his crown. Eh? Is thisnot a good bargain I offer you?"

"Be it good or bad, Princess, " my father answered, "to make a bargaintakes two. "

"That is true, " said I, stepping forward with a laugh, and thrustingmyself between the Corsicans, who had begun to press around withdecided menace in their looks. "And therefore the Princess willaccept me as the other party to the bargain, and as her hostage. "

Again at the sound of my laugh she shrunk a little; but presentlyfrowned. 

"Have you considered, cavalier, " she asked coldly, "that Giuseppe isnot certain of recovery?"

"Still less certain is my friend, " answered I, and with a shrug ofthe shoulders walked away to Nat's sick-couch. There, twenty minuteslater, my father took leave of me, after giving some lastinstructions for the care of the invalid. In one hand he carried hismusket, in the other his camp-stool. 

"Say the word even now, lad, " he offered, "and we will abide till herecovers. "

But I shook my head. 

Billy Priske carried an enormous wine-skin slung across hisshoulders; Mr. Fett a sack of provender. Mr. Badcock had begged orborrowed or purchased an enormous gridiron. 

"But what is that for? I asked him, as we shook hands. 

"For cooking the wild goose, " he answered solemnly, "which in theseparts, as I am given to understand, is an animal they call the_mufflone_. He partakes in some degree of the nature of a sheep. He will find me his match, sir. "

One by one, a little before the sun sank, they bade me farewell andpassed--free men--down the path that dipped into the pine forest. On the edge of the dip each man turned and waved a hand to me. The princess, with Marc'antonio beside her, stood and watched them asthey passed out of sight. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

THE FOREST HUT. 

 "Then hooly, hooly rase she up, And hooly she came nigh him, And when she drew the curtain by-- 'Young man, I think you're dyin'. '" _Barbara Allan's Cruelty_. 

Evening fell, of a sudden filling the great hollow with purpleshadows. As the stars came out the Corsicans on the slope to my leftlit a fire of brushwood and busied themselves around it, cookingtheir supper. They were no ordinary bandits, then; or at least hadno fear to betray their whereabouts, since on the landward side on soclear a night the glow would be visible for many miles. 

I watched them at their preparations. Their dark figures movedbetween me and the flames as they set up a tall tripod of pine polesand hung their cauldron from the centre of it, upon a brandice. The princess had withdrawn to her cave and did not reappear untilStephanu, who seemed to be head-cook, announced that supper wasready, whereupon she came and took her seat with the rest in a ringaround the fire. Marc'antonio brought me my share of seethed kid'sflesh with a capful of chestnuts roasted in the embers; a flask ofwine too, and a small pail of goat's milk with a pannikin, for Nat. The fare might not be palatable, but plainly they did not intend usto starve. 

Marc'antonio made no answer when I thanked him, but returned to hisseat in the ring, where from the beginning of the meal--as at asignal--his companions had engaged in a furious and general dispute. So at least it sounded, and so shrill at times were their contendingvoices, and so fierce their gesticulations, that for some minutes Ifully expected to see them turn to other business the knives withwhich they attacked their meal. 

The Princess sat listening, speaking very seldom. Once only in ageneral hush the firelight showed me that her lips were moving, and Icaught the low tone of her voice, but not the words. Not once didshe look in my direction, and yet I guessed that she was speaking ofme: for the words "ostagiu, " "Inglese, " and the name "Giuseppe" or"Griuse"--of the man I had shot--had recurred over and over in theirjabber, and recurred when she ceased and it broke forth again. 

It had lasted maybe for half an hour when at a signal fromMarc'antonio (whom I took to be the Princess's lieutenant orspokesman in these matters, and to whom she turned oftener than toany of the others, except perhaps Stephanu) two or three picked uptheir muskets, looked to their priming, and walked off into thedarkness. By-and-by came in the sentinels they had relieved, andthese in turn were helped by Stephanu to supper from the cauldron. I watched, half-expecting the dispute to start afresh, but the othersappeared to have taken their fill of it with their food; and soon, each man, drawing his blanket over his head, lay back and stretchedthemselves to sleep. The newcomers, having satisfied their hunger, did likewise. Stephanu gave the great pot a stir, unhitched it fromthe brandice, and bore it away, leaving the Princess and Marc'antoniothe only two wakeful ones beside the fire. 

They sat so long without speaking, the Princess with knees drawn up, hands clasping them, and eyes bent on the embers into which (for theCorsican nights are chilly) Marc'antonio now and again cast a freshbrand--that in time my own eyes began to grow heavy. They weresmarting, too, from the smoke of the burnt wood. Nat had fallen intoa troubled sleep, in which now and again he moaned: and always at thesound I roused myself to ease his posture or give him to drink fromthe pannikin; but, for the rest, I dozed, and must have dozed forhours. 

I started up wide awake at the sound of a footstep beside me, and saterect, blinking against the rays of a lantern held close to my eyes. The Princess held it, and at Nat's head and feet stood Marc'antonioand Stephanu, in the act of lifting his litter. She motioned that Ishould stand up and follow. Marc'antonio and Stephanu fell into filebehind us. Each carried a gun in a sling. 

"I will hold the light where the path is difficult, " she saidquietly; "but keep a watch upon your feet. In an hour's time weshall have plenty of light. "

I looked and saw the sickle of the waning moon suspended over thegulf. It shot but the feeblest glimmer along the edges of thegranite pinnacles, none upon the black masses of the pine-tops. But around it the darkness held a faint violet glow, and I knew thatday must be climbing close on its heels. 

There was no promise of day, however, along the track into which weplunged--the track by which my comrades had descended to cross thevalley. It dived down the mountain-side through a tunnel of pines, and in places the winter streams, now dry, had channelled it andbroken it up with land-slides. 

"You do not ask where I am leading you, " she said, holding herlantern for me at one of these awkward places. 

"I am your hostage, Princess, " I answered, without looking at her, myeyes being busy just then in discovering good foothold. "You must dowith me what you will. "

"_If I could! Ah, if I could!_"

She said it hard and low, with clenched teeth, almost hissing thewords. I stared at her, amazed. No sign of anger had she shownuntil this moment. What cause indeed had she to be angered? In whatway had my words offended? Yet angry she was, trembling with such agust of wrath that the lantern shook in her hand. 

Before I could master my surprise, she had mastered herself: and, turning, resumed her way. For the next twenty minutes we descendedin silence, while the dawn, breaking above the roofed pines, filtereddown to us and filled the spaces between their trunks with a brownishhaze. By-and-by, when the slope grew easier and flattened itself outto form the bottom of the basin, these pines gave place to a chestnutwood, and the carpet of slippery needles to a tangled undergrowthtaller than a very tall man: and here, in a clearing beside thetrack, we came on a small hut with a ruinous palisade beside it, fencing off a pen or courtyard of good size--some forty feet square, maybe. 

The Princess halted, and I halted a few paces from her, studying thehut. It was built of pine-logs sawn lengthwise in half and settogether with their untrimmed bark turned outwards: but the most oftheir bark had peeled away with age. It had two square holes forwindows, and a doorway, but no door. Its shingle roof had buckledthis way and that with the rains, and had taken on a tinge of greywhich the dawn touched to softest silver. Lines of more brilliantsilver criss-crossed it, and these were the tracks of snails. 

"O King of Corsica"--she turned to me--"behold your palace!"

Her eyes were watching me, but in what expectation I could not tell. I stepped carelessly to the doorway and took a glance around theinterior. 

"It might be worse; and I thank you, Princess. "

"Ajo, Marc'antonio! Since the stranger approves of it so far, gocarry his friend within. "

"Your pardon, Princess, " I interposed; "the place is something toodirty to house a sick man, and until it be cleaned my friend will dobetter in the fresh air. "

She shrugged her shoulders. "Your subjects, O King, have left it inthis mess, and they will help you very little to improve it. "

I walked over to the palisade and looked across it upon an unsightlyarea foul with dried dung and the trampling of pigs. For weeks, ifnot months, it must have lain uninhabited, but it smelt potently evenyet. 

"My subjects, Princess?"

"With Giuse lying sick, the hogs roam without a keeper: and my peoplehave chosen you in his room. " She paused, and I felt, rather thansaw, that both the men were eyeing me intently. I guessed then thatshe was putting on me a meditated insult; to the Corsican mind, doubtless a deep one. 

"So I am to keep your hogs, Princess?" said I, with a deliberate air. "Well, I am your hostage. "

"I am breaking no faith, Englishman. "

"As to that, please observe that I am not accusing you. I but notethat, having the power, you use it. But two things puzzle me: ofwhich the first is, where shall I find my charges?"

"Marc'antonio shall fetch them down to you from the other side of themountain. "

"And next, how shall I learn to tend them?" I asked, still keeping mymatter-of-fact tone. 

"They will give you no trouble. You have but to pen them at nightand number them, and again at daybreak turn them loose. They knowthis forest and prefer it to the other side: you will not find thatthey wander. At night you have only to blow a horn whichMarc'antonio will bring you, and the sound of it will fetch themhome. "

"A light job, " said Stephanu, with a grin, "when a man can bring hisstomach to it. "

"Not so light as you suppose, my friend, " I answered. "The sty, here, will need some cleansing; since if these are to be my subjects, I must do my best for them. It may not amount to much, but at leastmy hogs shall keep themselves cleaner than some Corsicans, even thansome Corsican cooks. "

"Stephanu, " said Marc'antonio, gravely, "the Englishman meant thatfor you: and I tell you what I have told you before, that yours areno fitly kept hands for a cook. I have travelled abroad and seen theways of other nations. "

"The sty will need mending too, Princess, " said I: "but beforenightfall I will try to have it ready. "

"You will find tools in the hut, " she answered, with a glance atMarc'antonio, who nodded. "For food, you shall be kept supplied. Stephanu has brought, in his suck yonder, flesh, cheese, and winesufficient for three days, with milk for your friend: and day by dayfresh milk shall be sent down to you. "

Her words were commonplace, yet her cheeks wore an angry flushbeneath their sun-burn; and I knew why. Her insult had miscarried. In accepting this humiliation I had somehow mastered her: even thetone she used, level and matter-of-fact, she used perforce, in placeof the high scorn with which she had started to sentence me. My spirits rose. If I could not understand this girl, neither couldshe understand me. She only felt defeat, and it puzzled and angeredher. 

"You have no complaint to make?" she asked, hesitating in spite ofherself as she turned to go. 

I laughed, having discovered that my laugh perplexed her. 

"None whatever, Princess. Am I not your hostage?"

When they were gone I laughed again, with a glance at Nat who laywith closed eyes and white still face where Marc'antonio and Stephanuhad made a couch of fern and some heather for him under the chestnutboughs. The sight of the heather gave me an idea, and I walked backto where, at the end of the chestnut wood, a noble clump of it grew, under a scarp of rock where the pines broke off. With my knife I cutan armful of it and returned to the hut, pausing on my way to gathersome strings of a creeper which looked to be a clematis andsufficiently tough for my purpose. My next step was to choose andcut a tolerably straight staff of ilex, about five feet in length andclose upon two inches thick. While I trimmed it, a blackbird beganto sing in the undergrowth behind the hut, and, listening, my earsseemed to catch in the pauses of his song a sound of running water, less loud but nearer and more distinct than the murmur of the manyrock-streams that tinkled into the valley. I dropped my work for awhile and, passing to the back of the hut, found and followed throughthe bushes a foot-track--overgrown and tangled with briers, but stilla track--which led me to the water. It ran, with a murmur almostsubterranean, beneath bushes so closely over-arched that my feet wereon the brink before I guessed, and I came close upon taking a bath atunawares. Now this stream, so handy within reach, was just what Iwanted, and among the bushes by the verge grew a plant--much like ourEnglish osier, but dwarfer--extremely pliant and tougher than thetendrils of the clematis; so, that, having stripped it of half adozen twigs, I went back to work more blithely than ever. 

But for fear of disturbing Nat I could have whistled. It may even bethat, intent on my task, I did unwittingly whistle a few bars of atune: or perhaps the blackbird woke him. At any rate, after half anhour's labour I looked up from my handiwork and met his eyes, open, intent on me and with a question in them. 

"What am I doing, eh? I am making a broom, lad, " I held it up forhim to admire. 

"Where is she?" he asked feebly. 

"She?" I set down my broom, fetched him a pannikin-ful of milk, andknelt beside him while he drank it. "If you mean the PrincessCamilla, she has gone back to her mountain, leaving us in peace. "

"Camilla?" he murmured the word. 

"And a very suitable name, it seems to me. There was, if youremember, a young lady in the Aeneid of pretty much the samedisposition. "

"Camilla, " he repeated, and again but a little above his breath. "Your father . . . He is helping her?"

"Helping her?" I echoed. "My dear lad, if ever a young woman couldtake care of herself it is the Princess. . . . And as for my fatherhelping her, she has packed him off northwards across the mountainswith a flea in his ear. And, talking of fleas--" I went on with aglance at the hut. 

He brought me to a full stop with a sudden grip on my arm, astonishingly strong for a wounded man. 

"Nay, lad--nay!" I coaxed him, but slipped a hand under him as heinsisted and sat upright. 

"She needs help, I tell you, " he gasped. "Needs help . . . It wasfor help I ran when--when--"

"But what dreaming is this? My dear fellow, she makes prisoners ofus, shoots you down when you try to escape, treats me worse than adog, banishes us to this hut which--not to put too fine a point onit--is a pigs'-sty, and particularly filthy at that. I don't blameher, though some little explanation might not come amiss: but if shehas any need of help, you must admit that she dissembles it prettythoroughly. "

Nat would not listen. "You did not see? You did not see?--And yetyou know her language and have talked with her! Whereas I--O blind!"he broke out passionately, "blind that you could not see!"

A fit of coughing seized and shook him, and as I eased him back uponhis fern pillow, blood came away upon the handkerchief I held to hislips. 

"Damn her!" I swore viciously. "Let her need help if she will, andlet her ask me for it! She has tried her best to kill you; andwhat's more, she'll succeed if you don't lie still as I order. Help? Oh yes, I'll help her--when I have helped _you!_"

He moved his head feebly, as if to shake it: but lay quiet, panting, with closed eyes: and so, the effusion of blood having ceased, I lefthim and fell to work like a negro slave. 

By the angle of the hut there stood a pigs' trough of granite, roughly hewn and hollowed, and among the tools within I found a leakywooden bucket which, by daubing it with mud from the brink of thestream, I contrived to make passably watertight. A score of times Imust have travelled to and fro between the hut and the stream beforeI had the cistern filled. Then I fell-to upon the foul walls within, slushing and brooming them. Bats dropped from the roof and flewblundering against me: I drove them forth from the window. The mudfloor became a quag: I seized a spade and shovelled it clean, mud andslime and worse filth together. And still as I toiled a song keptliddening (as we say in Cornwall) through my head: a song with tworefrains, whereof the first was the old nursery jingle--"Mud won'tdaub sieve, sieve won't hold water, water won't wet stone, stonewon't edge axe, axe won't cut rod, rod won't make a gad, a gad tohang Manachar who has eaten my raspberries every one. " (So ran therigmarole with which Mrs. Nance had beguiled my infancy. ) The secondrefrain echoed poor Nat's cry, "She needs help, needs help, and youcould not see! Blind, blind, that you could not see!"

How should she need help? Little cared I though she needed it, andsorely! But how had the notion taken hold of Nat?

Weakness? Delirium? No: he had been running to get help for herwhen they shot him down. I had his word for that. . . . But she hadpursued with the others. For aught I knew, she herself had fired theshot. 

If she needed help, why was she treating us despitefully--puttingthis insult upon me, for example? Why had she used those words ofhate? They had been passionate words, too; spoken from the heart inan instant of surprise. Then, again, to suppose her a friend of theGenoese was impossible. But why, if not a friend of the Genoese, wasshe a foe of their foes? Why had she taken to the _macchia_ withthese men? Why were they keeping watch on the coast while carelessthat their watchfire showed inland for leagues? Why, if she were apatriot, had the sight of King Theodore's crown awakened such scornand yet rage against me, its bearer? Why again, at the mere wordthat my father sought the Queen Emilia, had she let him pass on, while redoubling her despite against me?

On top of these puzzles Nat must needs propound another, that thisgirl stood in need of help! Help? From whom?

As my mind ran over these questions, still at every pause the oldrigmarole kept dinning--"Mud won't daub sieve, sieve won't holdwater, water won't wet stone . . . " on and on without ceasing, andstill I toiled and sweated. 

By noon the hut was clean, at any rate tolerably clean; but itssoaked floor would certainly take many hours in drying, and Nat mustspend another night under the open sky. I left the hut, snatched ameal of bread and cheese, and, after a pull at the wine flask, turnedmy attention to the sty. To cleanse it before nightfall was out ofthe question. I examined it and saw three good days' labour ahead ofme. But the palisading could be repaired and made secure after afashion, and I started upon it at once, sharpening the rotten postswith my axe, driving, fixing, nailing, binding them firmly withosier-twists, of which I had fetched a fresh supply from thestream-side. I had rolled my jacket into a pillow for Nat, that hemight lie easily and watch me. 

The sun was sinking beyond the mountain, staining with deep rose thepinnacles of granite that soared eastward above the pines, when ahorn sounded on the slope and Marc'antonio came down the trackdriving the hogs before him. He instructed me good-naturedly enoughin the art of penning the brutes, breaking off from time to time tocompliment me on my labours, the sum of which appeared to affect himwith a degree of wonder not far short of awe. "But why are you doingit? Perche? perche?" he broke off once or twice to ask, eyeing measkance with a look rather fearful than unfriendly. 

"The Princess laid this task upon me, " I answered cheerfully, indeedwith elation, feeling that so long as I could keep my tyrants puzzledI still kept, somehow, the upper hand. 

"I have travelled, in my time, " said Marc'antonio with a touch ofvainglorious pride. "I have made the acquaintance of manycontinentals, even with some that were extremely rich. But I nevercrossed over to England. "

"You would have found it full of eccentrics, " said I. 

"I dare say, " said he. "For myself, I said to myself when I tookship, 'Marc'antonio, ' said I, 'you must make it a rule to besurprised at nothing. ' But do Englishmen clean hogs'-sties forpleasure?"

"And the Princess? She has also travelled?" I asked, meeting hisquestion with another. 

For the moment my question appeared to disturb him. Recoveringhimself, he answered gravely--

"She has travelled, but not very far. You must not do her aninjustice. . . . We form our opinions on what we see. "

"It is admittedly the best way, " I assented, with equal gravity. 

At the shut of night he left me and went his way up the mountainpath, and an hour later, having attended to Nat's wants, tired as inall my life I had never been, I stretched myself on the turf andslept under the stars. 

The grunting of the hogs awakened me, a little before dawn. I wentto the pen, and as soon as I opened the hatch they rushed out in acrowd, all but upsetting me as they jostled against my legs. Then, after listening for a while after they had vanished into theundergrowth and darkness, I crept back to my couch and slept. 

That day, though the sun was rising before I awoke again and brokefast, I caught up with it before noon: that is to say, with the workI had promised myself to accomplish. Before sunset I had scrapedover and cleaned the entire area of the sty. Also I had fetched fernin handfuls and strewn the floor of the hut, which was now dry andclean to the smell. 

In the evening I blew my horn for the hogs, and they returned totheir pen obediently as the Princess had promised. I had scarcelyfinished numbering them when Marc'antonio came down the track, thistime haling a recalcitrant she-goat by a halter. 

He tethered the goat and instructed me how to milk her. 

The next evening he brought, at my request, a saw. I had cleaned outthe sty thoroughly, and turned-to at once to enlarge thewindow-openings to admit more light and air into the hut. 

Still, as I worked, my spirits rose. Nat was bettering fast. In a few more days, I promised myself, he would be out of danger. To be sure he shook his head when I spoke of this hope, and in theintervals of sleep--of sleep in which I rejoiced as the sweetrestorer--lay watching me, with a trouble in his eyes. 

He no longer disobeyed my orders, but lay still and watched. My lastrag of shirt was gone now, torn up for bandages. Marc'antonio hadpromised to bring fresh linen to-morrow. By night I slept with myjacket about me. By day I worked naked to the waist, yet always witha growing cheerfulness. 

It was on the fourth afternoon, and while yet the sun stood a goodway above the pines, that the Princess Camilla deigned to revisit us. I had carried Nat forth into the glade before the hut, where the sunmight fall on him temperately, after a torrid day--torrid, that is tosay, on the heights, but in our hollow, pight about with the trees, the air had clung heavily. 

Marc'antonio, an hour earlier than usual, came down the track with abundle of linen under his left arm. I did not see that any onefollowed him until Nat pulled himself up, clutching at my elbow. 

"Princess! Princess!" he cried, and his voice rang shrill towards herunder the boughs. "Help her . . . I cannot--"

His voice choked on that last word as she came forward and stoodregarding him carelessly, coldly, while I wiped the blood and thenthe bloody froth from his lips. 

"Your friend looks to be in an ill case, " she said. 

"You have killed him, " said I, and looked up at her stonily, as Nat'shead fell back, with a weight I could not mistake, on my arms. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE FIRST CHALLENGE. 

 "The remedye agayns Ire is a vertu that men clepen Mansuetude, that is Debonairetee; and eek another vertu, that men callen Patience or Suffrance. . . . This vertu disconfiteth thyn enemy. And therefore seith the wyse man, `If thou wolt venquisse thyn enemy, lerne to suffre. '"-- CHAUCER, _Parson's Tale_. 

"You have killed him. " I lowered Nat's head, stood up and accused herfiercely. 

She confronted me, contemptuous yet pale. Even in my wrath I couldsee that her pallor had nothing to do with fear. 

"Say that I have, what then?" She very deliberately unhitched thegun from her bandolier, and, after examining the lock, laid it on theturf midway between us. "As my hostage you may claim vendetta; takeyour shot then, and afterwards Marc'antonio shall take his. "

"No, no, Englishman!" Marc'antonio ran between us while yet I staredat her without comprehending, and there was anguish in his cry. "The Princess lies to you. It was I that fired the shot--I thatkilled your friend!"

The girl shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Ah, well then, Marc'antonio, since you will have it so, give me my gun again andhand yours to the cavalier. Do as I tell you, please, " shecommanded, as the man turned to her with a dropping jaw. 

"Princess, I implore you--"

"You are a coward, Marc'antonio. "

"Have it so, " he answered sullenly. "It is God's truth, at allevents, that I am afraid. "

"For me? But I have this. " She tapped the barrel of her gun as shetook it from him. "And afterwards--if that is in your mind--afterwards I shall still have Stephanu. "

She said it lightly, but it brought all the blood back to his browand cheek with a rush. Not for many days did I learn the fullmeaning of the look he turned on her, but for dumb reproach I neversaw the like of it on man's face. 

Her foot tapped the ground. "Give him the gun, " she commanded; andMarc'antonio thrust it into my hands. "Now turn your back and walkto that first tree yonder, very slowly, pace by pace, as you hear mecount. "

Her face was set like a flint, her tone relentless. Marc'antoniohalf raised his two fists, clenching them for a moment, but droppedthem by his side, turned his back, and began to walk obedientlytowards the tree. 

"One--two--three--four--five, " she counted, and paused. "Englishman, this fellow has killed your friend, and you claim yourself worthy tobe King of Corsica. Prove it. "

"Excuse me, Princess, " said I, "but before that I have some otherthings to prove, of which some are easy and others may be hard andtedious. "

"Seven--eight--nine. " With no answer, but a curl of the lip, sheresumed her counting. 

"Marc'antonio!" I called--he had almost reached the tree. "Come here!"

He faced about, his eyes starting, his cheeks blanched. As he drewnearer I saw that his forehead shone with sweat. 

"I have a word for you, " I said slowly. "In the first place anEnglishman does not shoot his game sitting; it is against the rules. Secondly, he is by no means necessarily a fool, but, if it came toshooting against two, he might have sense enough to get his firstshot upon the one who held the musket--a point which your mistressoverlooked perhaps. " I bowed to her gravely. "And thirdly, " I wenton, hardening my voice, "I have to tell you, Ser Marc'antonio, thatthis friend of mine, whom you have killed, was not trying to escapeyou, but running to seek help for the Princess. "

Marc'antonio checked an exclamation. He glanced at the girl, and sheat him suspiciously, with a deepening frown. 

"Help?" she echoed, turning the frown upon me, "What help, sir, should I need?"

It was my turn now to shrug the shoulders. "Nay, " I answered, "I tell you but what he told me. He divined, or at least he waspersuaded, that you stood in need of help. "

She threw a puzzled, questioning look at the poor corpse, but liftedher eyes to find mine fixed upon them, and shrank a little as Istepped close. Her two hands went behind her, swiftly. I may havemade a motion to grip her by the wrists; I cannot tell. My nextwords surprised myself, and the tone of my voice speaking and thepassion in it. 

"You have killed my friend, " said I, "who desired only your good. You have chosen to humiliate me, who willed you no harm. And now yousay 'it shall be vendetta. ' Very well, it shall be vendetta, but as_I_ choose it. Keep your foolish weapons; I can do without them. Heap what insults you will upon me; I am a man and will bear them. But you are a woman, and therefore to be mastered. For my friend'ssake I choose to hate you and to be patient. For my friend's sake, who discovered your need, I too will discover it and help it; andagain, not as you will, but as I determine. For my friend's sake, mistress, and if I choose, I will even love you and you shall come tomy hand. Bethink you now what pains you can put on me; but at thelast you shall come and place your neck under my foot, humbly, notchoosing to be loved or hated, only beseeching your master!"

I broke off, half in wonder at my own words and the flame in myblood, half in dismay to see her, who at first had fronted mebravely, wince and put up both hands to her face, yet not so as tocover a tide of shame flushing her from throat to brow. 

"Give me leave to shoot him, Princess, " said Marc'antonio. But sheshook her head. "He has been talking with some one. . . . With Stephanu?" His gaze questioned me gloomily. "No, I will do thedog justice; Stephanu would not talk. "

"Lead her away, " said I, "and leave me now to mourn my friend. "

He touched her by the arm, at the same time promising me with a lookthat he would return for an explanation. The Princess shivered, but, as he stood aside to let her pass, recollected herself and wentbefore him up the path beneath the pines. 

I stepped to where Nat lay and bent over him. I had never till nowbeen alone with death, and it should have found me terribly alone. . . . I closed his eyes. . . . And this had been my friend, myschoolfellow, cleverer than I and infinitely more thoughtful, lackingno grace but good fortune, and lacking that only by strength of aspirit too gallant for its fate. In all our friendship it was I thathad taken, he that had given; in the strange path we had entered andtravelled thus far together, it was he that had supplied the courage, the loyalty, the blithe confidence that life held a prize to be wonwith noble weapons; he who had set his face towards the heights andpinned his faith to the stars; he, the victim of a senseless bullet;he, stretched here as he had fallen, all thoughts, all activitiesquenched, gone out into that night of which the darkness gathering inthis forsaken glade was but a phantom, to be chased away byto-morrow's sun. To-morrow . . . To-morrow I should go on living andbegin forgetting him. To-morrow? God forgive me for an ingrate, Ihad begun already. . . . Even as I bent over him, my uppermostthought had not been of my friend. I had made, in the moment almostof his death and across his body, my first acquaintance with passion. My blood tingled yet with the strange fire; my mind ran in a tumultof high resolves of which I understood neither the end nor thepresent meaning, but only that the world had on a sudden become mybattlefield, that the fight was mine, and at all cost the victorymust be mine. It was, if I may say it without blasphemy, as if myfriend's blood had baptized me into his faith; and I saw life anddeath with new eyes. 

Yet, for the moment, in finding passion I had also found self; andshame of this self dragged down my elation. I had sprung to my feetin wild rage against Nat's murder; I had spoken words--fierce, unpremeditated words--which, beginning in a boyish defiance, hadended on a note which, though my own lips uttered it, I heard as froma trumpet sounding close and yet calling afar. In a minute or so ithad happened, and behold! I that, sitting beside Nat, should havebeen terribly alone, was not alone, for my new-found self sat betweenus, intruding on my sorrow. 

I declare now with shame, as it abased me then, that for hours, whilethe darkness fell and the stars began their march over the tree-tops, the ghostly intruder kept watch with me as a bodily presence mockingus both, benumbing my efforts to sorrow. . . . Nor did it fade untilcalm came to me, recalled by the murmur of unseen waters. Listening to them I let my thoughts travel up to the ridges and forthinto that unconfined world of which Nat's spirit had been made free. . . . I went to the hut for a pail, groped my way to the stream, andfetched water to prepare his body for burial. When I returned thehateful presence had vanished. My eyes went up to a star--love'splanet--poised over the dark boughs. Thither and beyond it Nat hadtravelled. Through those windows he would henceforth look back anddown on me; never again through the eyes I had loved as a friend andlived to close. I could weep now, and I wept; not passionately, notselfishly, but in grief that seemed to rise about me like a tide andbear me and all fate of man together upon its deep, strongflood. . . . 

At daybreak Marc'antonio and Stephanu came down the pass and found medigging the grave. I thought at first that they intended me someharm, for their faces were ill-humoured enough in all conscience; butthey carried each a spade, and after growling a salutation, set downtheir guns and struck in to help me with my work. 

We had been digging, maybe, for twenty minutes, and in silence, whenmy ear caught the sound of furious grunting from the sty, where I hadpenned the hogs overnight, a little before sundown. Nat had watchedme as I numbered them, and it seemed now so long ago that I glancedup with a start almost guilty, as though in my grief I had neglectedthe poor brutes for days. In fact I had kept them in prison for ashort hour beyond their usual time, and some one even now wasliberating them. 

It was the Princess, of whose presence I had not been aware. She stood by the gate of the pen, her head and shoulders in sunlight, while the hogs raced in shadow past her feet. 

Marc'antonio glanced at her across his shoulder and growled angrily. 

"Your pardon, Princess, " said I, slowly, as she closed the gate afterthe last of the hogs and came forward. "I have been remiss, but Ineed no help either for this or for any of my work. "

She halted a few paces from the grave. "You would rather be alone?"she asked simply. 

"I wish you to understand, " said I, "that for the present I have nochoice at all but your will. "

She frowned. "I thought to lighten your work, cavalier. "

I was about to thank her ironically when the sound of a horn brokethe silence about us, its notes falling through the clear morning airfrom the heights across the valley. The Corsicans dropped theirspades. 

"Ajo, listen! Listen!" cried Marc'antonio, excitedly. "That will bethe Prince--listen again! Yes, and they are answering from themountain. It can be no other than the Prince, returning this way!"

While we stood with our faces upturned to the granite crags, I caughtthe Princess regarding me doubtfully. Her gaze passed on as if tointerrogate Marc'antonio and Stephanu, who, however, paid no heed, being preoccupied. 

Again the horn sounded; not clear as before, although close at hand, for the thick woods muffled it. For another three minutes wewaited--the Princess silent, standing a little apart, with thoughtfulbrow, the two men conversing in rapid guttural undertones; then farup the track beneath the boughs a musket-barrel glinted, and anotherand another, glint following glint, as a file of men came swingingdown between the pines, disappeared for a moment, and rounding athicket of the undergrowth emerged upon the level clearing. In dressand bearing they were not to be distinguished from Marc'antonio, Stephanu, or any of the bandits on the mountain. Each man carried amusket and each wore the jacket and breeches of sad-coloured velvet, the small cap and leathern leggings, which I afterwards learnt to bethe uniform of patriotic Corsica. But as they deployed upon theglade--some forty men in all--and halted at sight of us, my eyes fellupon a priest, who in order of marching had been midmost, or nearlymidmost, of the file, and upon a young man beside him, toward whomthe Princess sprang with a light step and a cry of salutation. 

"The blessing of God be upon you, O brother!"

"And upon you, O sister!" He took her kiss and returned it, yet(as I thought) with less fervour. Across her shoulder his gaze fellon me, with a kind of peevish wonder, and he drew back a little as ifin the act to question her. But she was beforehand with him for themoment. 

"And how hast thou fared, O Camillo?" she asked, leaning back, with ahand upon his either shoulder, to look into his eyes. 

He disengaged himself sullenly, avoiding her gaze. There could be nodoubt that the two faces thus confronting one another belonged tobrother and sister, yet of the two his was the more effeminate, andits very beauty (he was an excessively handsome lad, albeitdiminutively built) seemed to oppose itself to hers and caricatureit, being so like yet so infinitely less noble. 

"We have fared ill, " he answered, turning his head aside, and addedwith sudden petulance, "God's curse upon Pasquale Paoli, and all hishouse!"

"He would not receive you?"

"On the contrary, he made us welcome and listened to all we had tosay. When I had done, Father Domenico took up the tale. "

"But surely, brother, when you had given him the proofs--when heheard all--"

"The mischief, sister, " he interrupted, stabbing at the ground withhis heel and stealing a sidelong glance at the priest, "the mischiefwas, he had already heard too much. "

She drew back, white in the face. She, too, flung a look at thepriest, but a more honest one, although in flinging it she shrankaway from him. The priest, a sensual, loose-lipped man, whose mereaspect invited one to kick him, smiled sideways and downwards with adeprecating air, and spread out his hands as who should say that herewas no place for a domestic discussion. 

I could make no guess at what the youth had meant; but the girl'sface told me that the stroke was cruel, and (as often happens withthe weak) his own cruelty worked him into a passion. 

"But who is this man with you?" he demanded, the blood rushing to hisface. "And how came you alone with him, and Stephanu, andMarc'antonio? You don't tell me that the others have deserted!"

"No one has deserted, brother. You will find them all upon themountain. "

"And the recruits? Is this a recruit?"

"There are no recruits. "

"No recruits? By God, sister, this is too bad! Has this cursedrumour spread, then, all over the countryside that honest men avoidus like a plague--us, the Colonne!" He checked his tongue as shedrew herself up and turned from him, before the staring soldiery, with drawn mouth and stony eyes; but stepped a pace after her on afresh tack of rage. 

"But you have not answered me. Who is this man, I repeat? And eh?--but what in God's name have we here?" He halted, staring at thehalf-digged grave and Nat's body laid beside it. 

 Marc'antonio stepped forward. "These are two prisoners, O Prince, of whom, as you see, we are burying one. "

"Prisoners? But whence?"

"From England, as they tell us, O Prince. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE TENDER MERCIES OF PRINCE CAMILLO. 

 "Tyranny is the wish to have in one way what can only be had in another. "--_Blaise Pascal_. 

The young man eyed me insolently for a moment and turned again to hissister. 

"Camilla! will you have the goodness to explain?" he demanded. 

But here, while she hesitated, searching her brother's face proudlyyet pitifully, as though unable quite to believe in the continuedbrutality of his tone, I struck in. 

"Pardon me, Signore, " said I, "but an explanation from me may beshorter. "

"Eh? so you are English, and speak Corsican?"

"Or such Tuscan, " answered I, modestly, "as may pass or a poorattempt at it. Yes, I am English, and have come hither--as thePrincess, your sister, will tell you--on a political errand which youmay or may not consider important. "

The Princess, who had turned and stood facing her brother again, threw me a quick look. 

"I know nothing of that, " she said hurriedly, "save that he came withfive others in a ship from England and encamped at Paomia below;that, being taken prisoners, they professed to be seeking the QueenEmilia, to deliver her; and that thereupon of the six I let four go, keeping this one as hostage, with his friend, who has since died. "

"And the crown, " put in Stephanu. "The Princess has forgotten tomention the crown. "

"What crown?"

"The crown, sir, " said I boldly, seeing the Princess hesitate, "of the late King Theodore of Corsica, given by him into my keeping. "

I saw the priest start as if flicked with a whip, and shoot me aglance of curiosity from under his loose upper lids. His pupilstepped up and thrust his face close to mine. 

"Eh? So you were seeking _me?_" he demanded. "You are mistaken, sir, "said I, "whatever your reason for such a guess. My companions--oneof them my father, an Englishman and by name Sir John Constantine--are seeking the Queen Emilia, whom they understand to be heldprisoner by the Genoese. Meanwhile your sister detains me ashostage, and the crown in pawn. "

I had kept an eye on the priest as I pronounced my father's name: andagain (or I was mistaken) the pendulous lids flickered slightly. 

"You do not answer my main question, " the young man persisted. "What are you doing here, in Corsica, with the crown of KingTheodore?"

"I am the less likely to answer that question, sir, since you canhave no right to ask it. "

"No right to ask it?" he echoed, stepping back with a slow laugh. "No right to ask it--I! King Theodore's son?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I had a mind to laugh back at hisimpudence, and indeed nothing but the mercy of Heaven restrained meand so saved my life. As it was, I heard an ominous growl andglanced around to find the whole company of bandits regarding me withlively disfavour, whereas up to this point I had seemed to detect intheir eyes some hints of leniency, even of good will. By their looksthey had disapproved of their master's abuseful words to his sister, albeit with some reserve which I set down to their training. But even more evidently they believed to a man in this claim of his. 

My gesture, slight as it was, gave his anger its opportunity. He drew back a pace, his handsome mouth curving into a snarl. 

"You doubt my word, Englishman?"

"I have no evidence, sir, for doubting King Theodore's, " I answeredas carelessly as I could, hoping the while that none of them heardthe beating of my heart, loud in my own ears as the throb-throb of apump. "If you be indeed King Theodore's son, then your father--"

"Say on, sir. "

"Why, then, your father, sir, practised some economy in telling methe truth. But my father and I will be content with the QueenEmilia's simple word. "

As I began this answer I saw the Princess turn away, dropping herhands. At its conclusion she turned again, but yet irresolutely. 

"We will find something less than the Queen Emilia's word to contentyou, my friend, " her brother promised, eyeing me and breathing hard. "Where is the crown, Stephanu?"

"In safe keeping, O Prince. I beg leave to say, too, that it was Iwho found it in the Englishmen's camp and brought it to thePrincess. "

"You shall have your reward, my good Stephanu. You shall put thebearer, too, into safe keeping. Stand back, take your gun, and shootme this dog, here beside his grave. "

The Princess stepped forward. "Stephanu, " she said quietly, "you will put down that gun. "

Her brother rounded on her with a curse. For the moment she did notheed, but kept her eyes on Stephanu, who had stepped back with muskethalf lifted and finger already moving toward the trigger-guard. 

"Stephanu, " she repeated, "on my faith as a Corsican, if you raisethat gun an inch--even a little inch--higher, I will never speak toyou again. " Then lifting a hand she swung round upon her brother, whose rage (I thank Heaven) for the moment choked him. "Is it meet, think you, O brother, for a King of Corsica to kill his hostage?"

"Is it meet, O sister, " he snarled, "for you, of all women, tochampion a man--and a foreigner--before my soldiers? Shoot him, Stephanu!"

Her head went up proudly. "Stephanu will not shoot. And you, mybrother, that are so careful--I sometimes think, so over-careful--ofmy honour, for once bethink you that your own deserves attention. This Englishman placed himself in my hands freely as a hostage. From the first, since you force me to say it, I had no liking forhim. Afterwards, when I knew his errand, I hated him for your sake:I hated him so that in my rage I strained all duty towards a hostagethat I might insult him. Marc'antonio will bear me witness. "

"The Princess is speaking the truth before God, " said Marc'antonio, gravely. "She made the man a keeper of swine yonder. " He waved ahand toward the sty. "And he is, as I understand, a cavalier in hisown country. "

"I did more than that, " the Princess went on. "Having strained thecompact, I tempted him to break it--to shoot me or to shootMarc'antonio, so that one or other of us might be free to kill him. "

She paused, again with her eyes on Marc'antonio, who nodded. 

"And that also is the truth, " he said. "She put a gun into hishands, that he might kill me for having killed his friend. I did not understand at the time. "

"A pretty coward!" The young man flung this taunt out at meviciously; but I had enough to do to hold myself steady, there by thegrave's edge, and did not heed him. 

"I do not think he is a coward, " said she. (O, but those words weresweet! and for the first time I blessed her. ) "But coward or nocoward, he is our hostage, and you must not kill him. "

He turned to the priest, who all this while had stood with head onone side, eyes aslant, and the air and attitude of a stranger whohaving stumbled on a family squabble politely awaits its termination. 

"Father Domenico, is my sister right? And may I not kill this man?"

"She is right, " answered the reverend father, with something like asigh. "You cannot kill him consistently with honour, though I admitthe provocation to be great. The Princess appears to have committedherself to something like a pledge. " He paused here, and with histongue moistened his loose lips. "Moreover, " he continued, "to killhim, on our present information, would be inadvisable. I know--atleast I have heard--something of this Sir John Constantine whom theyoung man asserts to be his father; and, by what has reached me, heis capable of much. "

"Do you mean, " asked the Prince, bridling angrily, "that I am to fearhim?"

"Not at all, " the priest answered quickly, still with his eyesaslant. "But, from what I have heard, he was fortunate, long ago, toearn the esteem of the good lady your mother, and"--he paused andfelt for his snuff-box--"it would appear that the trick runs in thefamily. "

"By God, then, if I may not kill him, I may at least improve on mysister's treatment, " swore the young man. "Made him herswine-keeper, did she? I will promote him a step. Here, you!Take and truss him by the heels!--and fetch me a chain, one of you, from the forage-shed. . . . "

In the short time it took him to devise my punishment the Princedisplayed a devilishly ingenious turn of mind. Within ten minutesunder his careful directions they had me down flat on my back in thefilth of the sty, with my neck securely chained to a post of thepalisade, my legs outstretched, and either ankle strapped to a peg. My hands they left free, to supply me (as the Prince explained) withfood and drink: that is to say, to reach for the loaf and thepannikin of water which Marc'antonio, under orders, fetched from thehut and laid beside me. Marc'antonio's punishment (for bearingwitness to the truth) was to be my gaoler and sty-keeper in my room. He was promised, moreover, the job of hanging me as soon as mycomrades returned. 

In this pleasant posture they left me, whether under surveillance ornot I could not tell, being unable to turn my head, and scarce ableeven to move it an inch either way. 

So I lay and stared up at the sky, until the blazing sun outstaredme. I will dwell on none of my torments but this, which towardmidday became intolerable. Certainly I had either died or gone madunder it, but that my hands were free to shield me; and these Iturned in the blistering glare as a cook turns a steak on thegridiron. Now and again I dabbled them in the pannikin beside me, very carefully, ekeing out the short supply of water. 

I had neither resisted nor protested. I hugged this thought andmeant, if die I must, to die hugging it. I had challenged the girl, promising her to be patient. To be sure protest or resistance wouldhave been idle. But I had kept my word. I don't doubt that fromtime to time a moan escaped me. . . . I could not believe thatMarc'antonio was near me, watching. I heard no sound at all, nodistant voice or bugle-call from the camp on the mountain. The woodswere silent . . . Silent as Nat, yonder, in his grave. Surely nonebut a fiend could sit and watch me without a word. . . . 

Toward evening I broke off a crust of bread and ate it. The water Ihusbanded. I might need it worse by-and-by, if Marc'antonio delayedto come. 

But what if no one should come?

I had been dozing--or maybe was wandering in slight delirium--whenthis question wrote itself across my dreams in letters of fire, sobright that it cleared and lit up my brain in a flash, chasing awayall other terrors. . . . 

Mercifully, it was soon answered. Far up the glade a horn sounded--my swine-horn, blown no doubt by Marc'antonio. The hogs were coming. . . . Well, I must use my hands to keep them at their distance. 

I listened with all my ears. Yes, I caught the sound of theirgrunting; it came nearer and nearer, and--was that a footstep, closeat hand, behind the palisade?

Something dropped at my side--dropped in the mire with a soft thud. I stretched out my hand, felt for it, clutched it. 

It was a file. 

My heart gave a leap. I had found a friend, then!--but in whom?Was it Marc'antonio? No: for I heard his voice now, fifty yardsaway, marshalling and cursing the hogs. His footstep was near thegate. As he opened it and the hogs rushed in, I slipped the filebeneath me, under my shoulder blades. 

The first of the hogs, as he ran by me, put a hoof into my pannikinand upset it; and while I struck out at him, to fend him aside, another brute gobbled up my last morsel of crust. The clatter of thepannikin brought Marc'antonio to my side. For a while he stood therelooking down on me in the dusk; then walked off through the sty tothe hut and returned with two hurdles which he rested over me, oneagainst another, tentwise, driving their stakes an inch or two intothe soil. Slight as the fence was, it would protect me from thehogs; and I thanked him. He growled ungraciously, and, picking upthe pannikin, slouched off upon a second errand. Again when hebrought it replenished, and a fresh loaf of bread with it, I thankedhim, and again his only answer was a growl. 

I heard him latch the gate and walk away toward the hut. Night wasfalling on the valley. Through my roof of hurdles a star or twoshone down palely. Now was my time. I slipped a hand beneath me andrecovered my file--my blessed file. 

The chain about my neck was not very stout. I had felt its linkswith my fingers a good score of times in efforts, some deliberate, others frantic, to loosen it even by a little. Loosen it I couldnot; the Prince had done his work too cleverly: but by my calculationan hour would suffice me to file it through. 

But an hour passed, and two hours, and still I lay staring up at thestars, listening to the hogs as they rubbed flanks and chose andfought for their lairs: still I lay staring, with teeth clenched andthe file idle in my hand. 

I had challenged, and I had sworn. "Bethink you now what pains youcan put upon me. . . . " These tortures were not of her devising; butI would hold her to them. I was her hostage, and, though it killedme, I would hold her to the last inch of her bond. As a Catholic, she must believe in hell. I would carry my wrong even to hell then, and meet her there with it and master her. 

I was mad. After hours of such a crucifixion a man must needs bemad. . . . "Prosper, lad, your ideas are naught and your ambitionsearth: but you have a streak of damned obstinacy which makes me notaltogether hopeless of you!" These had been Nat's words, a monthago; and Nat lay in his grave yonder. . . . The cramp in my legs, thefiery pain ringing my neck, met and ran over me in waves of totalanguish. At the point where my will failed me to hold out, the powerfailed me (I thank Heaven) to lift a hand. Yet the will struggledfeebly; struggled on to the verge over which all sensation droppedplumb, as into a pit. 

I unclosed my eyes upon the grey dawn; but upon what dawn I knew not, whether of earth or purgatory or hell itself. They saw it swimmingin a vague light: but my ears, from a sound as of rushing waters, awoke to a silence on which a small footfall broke, a few yards away. Marc'antonio must have unpenned the hogs; for the sty was empty. And the hogs in their rush must have thrown down the hurdlesprotecting me; for these lay collapsed, the one at my side, the otheracross me. 

The light footfall drew close and halted. I looked up into the faceof the Princess. 

She came, picking her way across the mire; and with caution, as ifshe feared to be overheard. Clearly she had expected to find the styempty, for even to my dazed senses her dismay was evident as shecaught sight of me beneath the hurdle. 

"You have not gone! Oh, why have you not gone?"

She was on her knees beside me in the filth. I heard her calling toMarc'antonio, and presently Marc'antonio came, obedient as ever, yetprotesting. 

"He has not gone!" She moved her hands with a wringing gesture. 

I tried to speak, but for answer could only spread my hand, whichstill grasped the file: and for days after it kept a blue weal bittenacross the palm. 

I heard Marc'antonio's voice protesting as she took the file andsawed with it frantically across my neck-chain. 

"But he must escape and hide, at least. "

"He cannot, Princess. The torture has worn him out. "

"It were better he died, then. For I must go. "

"It were better he died, Princess: but his youth is tough. And thatyou must go is above all things necessary. The Prince would killme. . . . "

"A little while, Marc'antonio! The file is working. "

"To what end, Princess?--since time is wanting. The bugle willcall--it may call now at any moment. And if the Prince should missyou--Indeed it were better that he died--"

Their voices swam on my ear through giddy whirls of mist, I heard himpersuade her to go--at the last insist upon her going. Still thefile worked. 

Suddenly it ceased working. It seemed to me that they both hadwithdrawn, and my neck still remained in bondage, though my legs werefree. I knew that my legs were free though I had not the power totest this by drawing them up. I tried once, and closed my eyes, swooning with pain. 

Upon the swoon broke a shattering blow, across my legs and below theknees; a blow that lifted my body to clutch with both hands uponnight and fall back again upon black unconsciousness. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

HOW MARC'ANTONIO NURSED ME AND GAVE ME COUNSEL. 

 "Yet sometimes famous Princes like thyself, Drawn by report, adventurous by desire, Tell thee, with speechless tongues and semblance pale, That without covering, save yon field of stars, They here stand martyrs, slain in Cupid's wars; And with dead cheeks advise thee to desist For going on Death's net, whom none resist. " _Pericles, Prince of Tyre_. 

His honour forbidding him to kill me, the Prince Camillo had givenorders to break my legs: and since to abandon me in this plight wentagainst the conscience of his followers (and even, it is possible, against his own), he had left Marc'antonio behind to nurse me--thusgratifying a second spite. The Prince was an ingenious young man. 

So much I gathered in faint intervals between anguish whileMarc'antonio bound me with rude splints of his own manufacture. Yet he said little and did his surgery, though not ungently, with ataciturn frown which I set down to moroseness, having learnt somehowthat the bandits had broken up their camp on the mountain and marchedoff, leaving us two alone. 

"Did the Princess know of this?" I managed to ask, and I believe thiswas my first intelligible question. 

Marc'antonio paused before answering. "She knew that you were to behurt, but not the manner of it. It was she that brought you thefile, by stealth. Why did you not use it, and escape?"

"She brought me the file?" I knew it already, but found a fiercesatisfaction in the words. "And she--and you--tried to use it uponmy chain here and deliver me: I forced you to that, my friends!As for using it myself, you heard what I promised her, yesterday, before her brother came. "

"I heard you talk very foolishly; and now you have done worse thanfoolishly. I do not understand you at all--no, by the Mother of God, I do not! You had the whole night for filing at your chain: and itwould have been better for you, and in the end for her. "

"And for you also, Marc'antonio. "

He was silent. 

"And for you also, Marc'antonio?" I repeated it as a question. 

"Your escape would have been put down to me, Englishman. I hadprovided for that, " he answered simply. 

"Forgive me, " I muttered, thrown back upon sudden contrition. "I was thinking only that you must feel it a punishment to be leftalone with me. I had forgot--"

"It is hard, " he interrupted, "to bear everything in mind when one isyoung. " His tone was quiet, decisive, as of one stating a fact ofcommon knowledge; but the reproof cut me like a knife. 

"The Princess has gone too?" I asked. 

"She has gone. They are all gone. That is why it would have beenbetter for her too that you had escaped. "

I pondered this for a minute. "You mean, " said I, "that--alwayssupposing the Prince had not killed you in his rage--you would now beat her side?"

He nodded. "Still, she has Stephanu. Stephanu will do his best, " Isuggested. 

"Against what, eh?" He put his poser to me, turning with angry eyes, but ended on a short laugh of contempt. "Do not try make-believewith me, O Englishman. "

"There is one thing I know, " said I, doggedly, "that the Princess isin trouble or danger. And a second thing I know, that you andStephanu are her champions. But a third thing, which I do not know, is why you and Stephanu hate one another. "

"And yet that should have been the easiest guess of the three, " saidhe, rising abruptly and taking first a dozen paces toward the hut, then a dozen back to the shadow of the chestnut tree against the boleof which my head rested as he had laid me, having borne me thitherfrom the sty. 

"_Campioni?_ That is a good word, and I thank you for it, Englishman. Yet you wonder why I hate Stephanu? Listen. Were youever in Florence, in the Boboli gardens?"

"Never. But why?"

"Mbe! I have travelled, for my part. " Marc'antonio now and alwaysmentioned his travels with an innocent boastfulness. "Well, in thegardens there you will find a fountain, and on either side of it astatue--the statues of two old kings. They sit there, those two, carved in stone, face to face across the fountain; and with faces sofull of hate that I declare it gives you a shiver down the spine--allthe worse, if you will understand, because their eyes have no sightin them. Now the story goes that these two kings in life werefriends of a princess of Tuscany far younger than themselves, andchampioned her, and established her house while she was weak and herenemies were strong; and that afterwards in gratitude she causedthese statues to be set up beside the fountain. Another story (to meit sounds like a child's tale) says that at first there was nofountain, and that the princess knew nothing of the hatred betweenthese old men; but the sculptor knew. Having left the order withhim, she married a husband of her own age and lived for years at aforeign court. At length she returned to Florence and led herhusband one day out through the garden to show him the statues, whenfor the first time she saw what the sculptor had done and knew forthe first time that these dead men had hated one another for hersake; whereupon she let fall one tear which became the source of thefountain. To me all this part of the story is foolishness: but thatI and Stephanu hate one another not otherwise than those two oldkings, and for no very different cause, is God's truth, cavalier. "

"You are devoted to her, you two?" I asked, tempting him to continue. 

He gazed down on me for a moment with immeasurable contempt. 

"I give you a figure, and you would put it into words! Words!"He spat. "And yet it is the truth, Englishman, that once she calledme her second father. 'Her second father'--I have repeated that toStephanu once or twice when I have lost my temper (a rare thing withme). You should see him turn blue!"

I could get no more out of Marc'antonio that day, nor indeed did thepain I suffered allow me to continue the catechism. A little beforenight fell he lifted me again and carried me to a bed ofclean-smelling heather and fern he had prepared within the hut; and, all the night through, the slightest moan from me found him alert togive me drink or shift me to an easier posture. Our total solitudeseemed from the first to breed a certain good-fellowship between us:neither next day nor for many days did he remit or falter in his carefor me. But his manner, though not ungentle, was taciturn. He seemed to carry about a weight on his mind; his brow wore aconstant frown, vexed and unhappy. Once or twice I caught himtalking to himself. 

"To be sure it was enough to madden all the saints: and the Prince isnot one of them. . . . "

"What was enough to madden all the saints, O Marc'antonio?" I askedfrom my bed. 

Already he had turned in some confusion, surprised by the sound ofhis own voice. He was down on hands and knees, and had been blowingupon the embers of a wood fire, kindled under a pan of goat's milk. The goat herself browsed in the sunlight beyond the doorway, in thecircuit allowed by a twenty-foot tether. 

"What was enough to madden all the saints, O Marc'antonio?"

"Why, " said he, savagely, "your standing up to him and denying hisbirth and his sister's before all the crowd. I did not think thatanything could have saved you. "

"If I remember, I added that the Queen Emilia's bare word would beenough for me. "

"So. But you denied it on his father's, and that is what hisenemies, the Paolists all, would give their ears to hear--yes, andPasquale Paoli himself, though he passes for a just man. "

"Marc'antonio, " said I, seriously, "are the Prince and Princess intruth the children of King Theodore?"

"As God hears me, cavalier, they are his twin children, born in theconvent of Santa Maria di Fosciandora, in the valley of the Serchio, some leagues to the north of Florence; and on the feast-day of SaintMark these sixteen years ago. "

"Then King Theodore either knew nothing of it, or he was a liar. "

"He was a liar, cavalier. "

"Stay a moment. I have a mind to tell you the whole story as it cameto me, and as I should have told it to the Prince Camillo, had hetreated me with decent courtesy. "

Marc'antonio ceased blowing the fire and sitting back on his heelsdisposed himself to listen. Very briefly I told him of my journey toLondon, my visit to the Fleet, and how I received the crown withTheodore's blessing. 

"That he denied having children I will not say: but (I remember well)my father took it for granted that he had no children, and he saidnothing to the contrary. Indeed on any other assumption his gift ofthe crown to me would have been meaningless. "

Marc'antonio nodded, following my argument. "But there is anotherdifficulty, " I went on. "My father, who does not lie, told me oncethat King Theodore returned to the island in the year 'thirty-nine, where he stayed but for a week; and that not until a year later didhis queen escape across to Tuscany. "

But here Marc'antonio shook his head vigorously. "Whoever told yourfather that, told him an untruth. The Queen fled from Porto Vecchioin that same winter of 'thirty-nine, a few days before Christmas. I myself steered the boat that carried her. "

"To be sure, " said I, "my father may have had his information fromKing Theodore. "

"The good sisters of the convent, " continued Marc'antonio, "receivedthe Queen and did all that was necessary for her. But among themmust have been one who loved the Genoese or their gold: for when thechildren were but ten days old they vanished, having been stolen andhanded secretly to the Genoese--yes, cavalier, out of the Queen's ownsleeping-chamber. Little doubt had we they were dead--for why shouldtheir enemies spare them? And never should we have recovered traceof them but for the Father Domenico, who knew what had become of them(having learnt it, no doubt, among the sisters' confessions, toreceive which he visited the convent) and that they were alive andunharmed; but he kept the secret, for his oath's sake, or elsewaiting for the time to ripen. "

"Then King Theodore may also have believed them dead, " I suggested. "Let us do him that justice. Or he may never have known that theyexisted. "

Marc'antonio brushed this aside with a wave of his hand. 

"The cavalier, " he answered with dignity, "may have heard me alludeto my travels?"

"Once or twice. "

"The first time that I crossed the Alps"--great Hannibal might haveenvied the roll in Marc'antonio's voice--"I bore the King tidings ofhis good fortune. It was Stephanu who followed, a week later, withthe tale that the children were stolen. "

"Then Theodore _did_ believe them dead. "

"At the time, cavalier; at the time, no doubt. But more than twelveyears later, being in Brussels--" Here Marc'antonio pulled himselfup, with a sudden dark flush and a look of confusion. 

"Go on, my friend. You were saying that twelve years later, happening to be in Brussels--"

"By the merest chance, cavalier. Before retiring to England KingTheodore spent the most of his exile in Flanders and the LowCountries: and in Brussels, as it happened, I had word of him andlearned--but without making myself known to him--that he was seekinghis two children. "

"Seeking them in Brussels?"

"At a venture, no doubt, cavalier. Put the case that you wereseeking two children, of whom you knew only that they were alive andsomewhere in Europe--like two fleas, as you might say, in a bundle ofstraw--"

I looked at Marc'antonio and saw that he was lying, but politelyforbore to tell him so. 

"Then Theodore knew that his children were alive?" said I musing. "Yet he gave my father to understand that he had no children. "

"Mbe, but he was a great liar, that Theodore? Always when itprofited, and sometimes for the pleasure of it. "

"Nevertheless, to disinherit his own son!"

Marc'antonio's shoulders went up to his ears. "He knew well enoughwhat comedy he was playing. Disinherit his own son? We Corsicans, he might be sure, would never permit that: and meanwhile yourfather's money bought him out of prison. Ajo, it is simple asmilking the she-goat yonder!"

"If you knew my father better, Marc'antonio, you would find it notaltogether so simple as you suppose. King Theodore might have toldmy father that these children lived, and my father would yet havebought his freedom for their sake; yes, and helped him to the lastshilling and the last drop of blood to restore them to the Queentheir mother. "

"Verily, cavalier, I knew your father to be a madman, " saidMarc'antonio, gravely, after considering my words for awhile. "But such madness as you speak of, who could take into account?"

"Eh, Marc'antonio? What acquaintance have you with my father, thatyou should call him mad?"

"I remember him well, cavalier, and his long sojourning with my latemaster the Count Ugo at his palace of Casalabriva above the Taravo, and the love there was between him and my young mistress that is nowthe Queen Emilia. Lovers they were for all eyes to see but the oldCount's. Mbe! we all gossiped of it, we servants and clansmen of theColonne--even I, that kept the goats over Bicchivano, on the roadleading up to the palace, and watched the two as they walkedtogether, and was of an age to think of these things. A handsomercouple none could wish to see, and we watched them with good will;for the Englishman touched her hand with a kind of worship as adevout man touches his beads, and they told me that in his owncountry he owned great estates--greater even than the Count's. Indeed, cavalier, had your father thought less of love and more ofambition there is no saying but he might have reached out for thecrown, and his love would have come to him afterwards. But, as thesaying goes, while Peter stalked the mufro Paul stole the mountain:and again says the proverb, 'Bury not your treasure in another'sorchard. ' Along came this Theodore, and with a few lies took thecrown and the jewel with it. So your father went away, and has comeagain after many years; and at the first I did not recognize him, fortime has dealt heavily with us all. But afterwards, and before hespoke his name, I knew him--partly by his great stature, partly byhis carriage, and partly, cavalier, by the likeness your youth bearsto his as I remember it. So you have the tale. "

"And in the telling, Marc'antonio, " said I, "it appears that you, whochampion his children, bear Theodore's memory no good will. "

"Theodore!" Marc'antonio spat again. "If he were alive here andbefore me, I would shoot him where he stood. "

"For what cause?" I asked, surprised by the shake in his voice. 

But Marc'antonio turned to the fire again, and would not answer. 

As I remember, some three or four days passed before I contrived todraw him into further talk; and, curiously enough, after trying him adozen times _per ambages_ (as old Mr. Grylls would have said) and invain, on the point of despair I succeeded with a few straight words. 

"Marc'antonio, " said I, "I have a notion about King Theodore. "

"I am listening, cavalier. "

"A suspicion only, and horribly to his discredit. "

"It is the likelier to be near the truth. "

"Could he--think you--have _sold_ his children to the Genoese?"

Marc'antonio cast a quick glance at me. "I have thought of that, " hesaid quietly. "He was capable of it. "

"It would explain why they were allowed to live. A father, howeverdeep his treachery, would make that a part of the bargain. "

Marc'antonio nodded. 

"I would give something, " I went on, "to know how Father Domenicocame by the secret. By confession of one of the sisters, yousuggest. Well, it may be so. But there might be another way--onlytake warning that I do not like this Father Domenico--"

"I am listening. "

"Is it not possible that he himself contrived the kidnapping--alwayswith King Theodore's consent?"

"Not possible, " decided Marc'antonio, after a moment's thought. "No more than you do I like the man: but consider. It was he whosent us to find and bring them back to Corsica. At this moment, when(as I will confess to you) all odds are against it, he holds to theircause; he, a comfortable priest and a loose liver, has taken to thebush and fares hardly for his zeal. "

"My good friend, " said I, "you reason as though a traitor must needswork always in a straight line and never quarrel with his paymaster;whereas by the very nature of treachery these are two of theunlikeliest things in the world. Now, putting this aside, tell me ifyou think your Prince Camillo the better for Father Domenico'scompany? . . . You do not, I see. "

"I will not say that, " answered Marc'antonio, slowly. "The Princehas good qualities. He will make a Corsican in time. But, I own toyou, he has been ill brought up, and before ever he met with FatherDomenico. As yet he thinks only of his own will, like a spoiltchild; and of his pleasures, which are not those of a king such as hedesires to be. "

Said I at a guess, "But the pleasures--eh, Marc'antonio?--such as aforward boy learns on the pavements; of Brussels, for example?"

I thought for the moment he would have knifed me, so fiercely hestarted back and then craned forward at me, showing his white teeth. I saw that my luck with him hung on this moment. 

"Tell me, " I said, facing him and dragging hard on the hurry in myvoice, "and remember that I owe no love to this cub. You may beloyal to him as you will, but I am the Princess's man, I! You heardme promise her. Tell me, why has she no recruits?"

He drew back yet farther, still with his teeth bared. "Am _I_ nother man?" he almost hissed. 

"So you tell me, " I answered, with a scornful laugh, brazening itout. "You are her man, and Stephanu is her man, and the Prince too, and the Father Domenico, no doubt. Yes, you are all her men, youfour: but why can she collect no others?" I paused a moment and, holding up a hand, checked them off contemptuously upon my fingers. "Four of you! and among you at least one traitor! Stop!" said I, ashe made a motion to protest. "You four--you and Stephanu and thePrince and Fra Domenico--know something which it concerns her fame tokeep hidden; you four, and no other that I wot of. You are all hermen, her champions: and yet this secret leaks out and poisons allminds against the cause. Because of it, Paoli will have no dealingwith you. Because of it, though you raise your standard on themountains, no Corsicans flock to it. Pah!" I went on, my scornconfounding him, "I called you her champion, the other day! Be sogood as consider that I spoke derisively. Four pretty champions shehas, indeed; of whom one is a traitor, and the other three have notthe spirit to track him down and kill him!"

Marc'antonio stood close by me now. To my amazement he was shakinglike a man with the ague. 

"Cavalier, you do not understand!" he protested hoarsely: but hiseyes were wistful, as though he hoped for something which yet hedared not hear. 

"Eh? I do not understand? Well, now, listen to me. I am her man, too, but in a different fashion. You heard what I swore to her, thatday, beside my friend's body; that whether in hate or love, and beher need what it might, I would help her. Hear me repeat it, lyinghere with my both legs broken, helpless as a log. Let strengthreturn to me and I will help her yet, and in spite of all herchampions. "

"In hate or in love, cavalier?" Marc'antonio's voice shook with hiswhole body. 

"That shall be my secret, " answered I. (Yet well I knew what theanswer was, and had known it since the moment she had bent over me inthe sty, filing at my chain. ) "It had better be hate--eh, Marc'antonio?--seeing that for some reason she hates all men, exceptyou, perhaps, and Stephanu, and her brother. "

"We do not count, I and Stephanu. Her brother she adores. But therest of men she hates, cavalier, and with good cause. "

"Then it had better be hate?"

"Yes, yes"--and there was appeal in his voice--"it had a thousandtimes better be hate, could such a miracle happen. " He peered intomy eyes for a moment, and shook his head. "But it is not hate, cavalier; you do not deceive me. And since it is not--"

"Well?"

"It were better for you--far better--that Giuse had died of the woundyou gave him. "

"Why, what on earth has Giuse to do with this matter?" I demanded. Indeed I had all but forgotten Giuse's existence. 

"Only this; that had Giuse died, they would have killed you out ofhand in _vendetta_. "

"You are an amiable race, you Corsicans!"

"And you came, cavalier, meaning to reign over us! Now, I have takena liking to you and will give you a warning. Be like your father, and give up all for love. "

"Suppose, " said I, after a pause, "that for love I choose rather todare all?"

"Signore"--he stepped back and, raising himself erect, flung out bothhands passionately--"Take her, if you must take her, away fromCorsica! She is innocent, but here they will never understand. What she did she did for her brother, far from home: yet he--he hasno thanks, no bowels of pity, and here at home it is killing her!There was a young man, a noble, head of the family of Rocca Serra bySartene--" Marc'antonio broke off, trembling. 

"You must finish, " said I, in a voice cold and slow as the chilledblood about my heart. 

"There was no harm in her. By her brother's will they werebetrothed. She hated the youth, and he--he was eager--until the daybefore the marriage--"

"What happened, Marc'antonio?"

"He slew himself, cavalier. Some story reached him, and he slewhimself with his own gun. O cavalier, if you can help us, take heraway from Corsica!"

He cast up both hands and ran from me. 

CHAPTER XX. 

I LEARN OF LIBERTY, AND AM RESTORED TO IT. 

 "A! Fredome is a noble thing: Fredome mayse man to haif liking. " BARBOUR, _The Bruce_. 

 "Non enim propter gloriam divitas aut honores pugnanus, sed propter libertatem solummodo, quam nemo bonus nisi cum vita amittit. --" _Lit. Comit. Et Baron_. Scotoe ad Pap. A. D. 1320 (quoted by BOSWELL). 

 "When corn ripeth in every steade Mury it is in feld and hyde; Sinne hit is and shame to chyde. Knyghtis wolleth on huntyng ride, The deor galopith by wodis side, He that can his tyme abyde, At his wille him schal betyde. " _Alisaunder_. 

More than this Marc'antonio would not tell me, though I laid manytraps for more during the long weeks my bones were healing. But although he denied me his confidence in this matter, he told memuch of this Corsica I had so childishly invaded, and a great deal tomake me blush for my random ignorance; of the people, their untiringfeud with Genoa, their insufferable wrongs, their succession ofheroic leaders. He did not speak of their passion for liberty, as aman will not of what is holiest in his love. He had no need. It spoke for itself in the ring of his voice, in the glooms andlights of his eyes, as we lay on either side of our wood fire; and Ilistened, till the embers died down, to the deeds of Jean Paul deLeca, of Giudice della Rocca, of Bel Messer, of Sampiero di Ornano, of the great Gaffori and other chiefs, all famous in their day, eachin his turn assassinated by Genoese gold. I heard of Venaco, wherethe ghost of Bel Messer yet wanders, with the ghosts of his wife andseven children drowned by the Genoese in the little lake of the SevenBowls. I heard of the twenty-one shepherds of Bastelica who marcheddown from their mountains, and routed eight hundred Greeks andGenoese of the garrison of Ajaccio; how at length they wereintercepted and slain between the river and the marshes--all but oneyouth, who, stretched among his comrades and feigning death, wastaken and led to execution through the streets of the town, carryingsix heads, and each a kinsman's. I heard how Gaffori besieged hisown house; how the Genoese, having stolen his infant son, exposed thechild in the breach to stop the firing; and how Gaffori called tothem "I was a Corsican before I was a father, " and the cannonade wenton, yet the child miraculously escaped unhurt. I heard of Sampiero'slast fight with his murderers, in the torrent bed under the castle ofGiglio; of Maria Gentili of Oletta, who died to save her brother fromdeath. . . . And until now these had not even been names to me!I had adventured to win this kingdom as a man goes out with a gun toshoot partridges. I could not hide my shame of it. 

"You have taught me much in these evenings, O Marc'antonio, " said I. 

"And you, cavalier, have taught me much. "

"In what way, my friend?"

Marc'antonio looked across the fire with a smile, and held up acarved piece of wood he had been sharpening to a point. In shape itresembled an elephant's tusk, and it formed part of an apparatus tokeep a pig from straying, two of these tusks being so fastened abovethe beast's neck that they caught and hampered him in theundergrowth. 

"Eccu!" said Marc'antonio. "You have taught me to be a swinekeeper, for instance. There is no shame in any calling but what a man bringsto it. You have taught me to endure lesser things for the sake ofgreater, and that is a hard lesson at my age. "

From Marc'antonio I learned not only that this Corsica was a landwith its own ambitions, which no stranger might share--a nation smallbut earnest, in which my presence was merely impertinent andlaughable withal--but that the Prince Camillo's chances of becomingits king were only a trifle less derisory than my own. Marc'antoniowould not admit this in so many words; but he gave me to understandthat Pasquale Paoli had by this time cleared the interior of theGenoese, and was thrusting them little by little from their last gripon the extremities of the island--Calvi and some smaller strongholdsin the north, Bonifacio in the south, and a few isolated forts alongthe littoral; that the people looked up to him and to him only; thatthe constitution he had invented was working and working well; thathis writ ran throughout Corsica, and his laws were enforced, eventhose which he had aimed at vendetta and cross-vendetta; and that themilitia was faithful to him, almost to a man. "Nor will I deny, cavalier, " he added, "that he seems to me an honest patriot and awise one. They say he seeks the Crown, however. "

"Well, and why not?" I demanded. "If he can unite Corsica and winher freedom, does he not deserve to be her king?"

Marc'antonio shook his head. 

"Would your Prince Camillo make a better one?" I urged. 

"It is a question of right, cavalier. I love this Paoli fortrouncing the Genoese; but for denying the Prince his rights I musthate him, and especially for the grounds of his denial. "

"Tell me those grounds precisely, Marc'antonio. "

But he would not; and somehow I knew that they concerned thePrincess. 

"Paoli is generous in that he leaves us in peace, " he answered, evading the question; "and I must hate him all the more for this, because he spares us out of contempt. "

"Yet, " said I, musing, "that priest must have a card up his sleeve. Rat that he looked, I cannot fancy him sticking to a ship until shefoundered. "

Certainly we were left in peace. For any sign that reached to usthere, in our cup of he hills, the whole island might have beendesolate. The forest and the beasts in it, tame and wild, belonged--so Marc'antonio informed me--to the Colonne; the slopesbetween us and the sea to the lost great colony of Paomia. No one disturbed us. Week followed week, yet since the Prince hadpassed with his men no traveller came down the path which ran betweenour hut and Nat's grave, over which the undergrowth already waspushing its autumn shoots. Indeed, the path led no whither but tothe sea and the forsaken village. Twice a week Marc'antonio wouldleave me for five or six hours and return with bread, and at whileswith a bag of dried figs or a basket of cheeses and olives forsupplement. I learned that he purchased them in a _paese_ to thesouthward, beyond the forest and beyond the ridge of the hills; buthe made a mystery of this, and I had to be content with his word thatin Corsica folk in the bush need never starve. Also, sometimes Iwould hear his gun, and he would bring me home five or six brace ofblackbirds strung on a wand of osier; and these birds grew plumperand made the better eating as autumn painted the arbutus with scarletberries. 

To me, so long held a prisoner within the hut, this change of seasoncame with a shock upon the never-to-be-sufficiently-blessed day whenMarc'antonio, having examined and felt my bones and pronounced themhealed, lifted and bore me, as you might carry a child, up the pathto the old camp on the ridge. He was proud (good man) as he had aright to be. Surgeons in Corsica there might be none, as he assuredme, or none capable of probing an ordinary bullet wound. But inyouth he had learnt the art of bone-setting, and practised it uponthe sheep which slipped and broke themselves in the gorge of theTaravo; and his care of me was a masterpiece, to be boasted over tohis dying day. "The smallest limp, at the outside!" he promised me;he would not answer entirely for the left leg, that thrice-teasing, thrice-accursed fracture. Another ten days, and we might be sure; hecould not allow me to set foot to ground under ten days. But whilehe carried me he whistled a lively air, and broke off to promise megood shooting before a month was out--shooting of blackbirds, of deerperhaps, perhaps even of a _mufro_. Here the whistling grew _largoespressivo_. 

And I? I drew the upland air into my lungs, and the scent of therecovered _macchia_ through my nostrils, and inhaled it as a maninhales tobacco-smoke, and could have whooped for joy. Not byone-fifth was the scent so intense as I have since smelt it inspring, when all Corsica breaks into flower; yet intense enough andexhilarating after the dank odours of the valley. But the colours!On a sudden the _macchia_ had burst into fruit--carmine berries ofthe sarsaparilla, upon which a few late flowerets yet drooped, dullerberries of the lentisk, olive-like berries of the phillyria, velvetpurple berries of the myrtle, and (putting all to shade) yellow andscarlet fruit of the arbutus, clustering like fairy oranges, here andthere so thickly that the whole thicket was afire and aflame, enoughto have deceived Moses! God, how good to see it and be alive!

Marc'antonio bore me up through the swimming air and laid me in theshadow of the cave--_her_ cave. It was empty as she had left it, andmy back pressed the very bed of fern on which she had lain. The fernwas dry now, after long winnowing by the wind that found its way intoevery crevice of this mountain summit. 

How could I choose but think of her? Thinking of her, how could Ichoose but weary myself in vain speculation, by a hundred guessesattempting to force my way past the edge of the mystery, the sinistershadow which wrapped her round, and penetrate to the heart of it?I recalled her beauty, childlike yet sullen; her eyes, so forthrightat times and transparently innocent, yet at times so swiftly cloudedwith suspicion, not merely shy, but shy with terror, like the eyes ofa wild creature entrapped; her bearing, by turns disdainful anddefiant with a guarded shame. This turf, these boulders, had madeher bower, these matted creepers her curtain. Here she had livedsecure among savage men, each one of them ready to die--soMarc'antonio assured me, and all that I had seen confirmed it--ratherthan injure a hair of her head or suffer it to be injured. She was aking's daughter. Yet this lad of the Rocca Serras, noble, of thebest blood of the island, had turned his own gun upon himself ratherthan wed with her. 

I thought much upon this lad Rocca Serra. Why had he died?Was it for loathing her? But men do not easily loathe such beauty. Was it for love of her? But men do not slay themselves for fortunatelove. Had _her_ loathing been in some way the secret of his despair?I recalled my words to her, and how she had answered them, turning inthe steep track among the pines "I am your hostage. Do with me asyou will. " "_If I could! Ah, if I could!_" I liked to think thatthe lad had loved her and been disdained; yet I pitied him for beingdisdained, and half hated him for having dared to love her. Yes, for certain he had loved her. But, if so, her secret had needbe as strange almost as that of Sara, the daughter of Raguel, whomseven husbands married, to perish on the marriage eve--"_for a wickedspirit loveth her, which hurteth nobody but those which come untoher_. "

In dreams I found myself travelling beyond the grave in search ofthis dead lad, to question him; and not seldom would awake with theselines running in my head, remembered as old perplexing favouriteswith my father, though God knows how I took a fancy that they heldthe clue--

 "I long to talk with some old lover's ghost Who dy'd before the God of Love was born. I cannot think that he, who then loved most, Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn. But since this god produc'd a Destiny, And that Vice-Nature Custom lets it be, I must love her that loves not me. 

 "O, were we waken'd by this tyranny T'ungod this child again, it could not be I should love her who loves not me. 

 "Rebel and Atheist too, why murmur I As though I felt the worst that love could do? Love may make me leave loving, or might try A deeper plague--to make her love me too; Which, since she loves before, I'm loth to see: Falsehood is worse than hate: and that must be If she whom I love should love me. "

Many wild conjectures I made and patiently built upon, which, if Iwere to write them down here, would merely bemuse the reader or drivehim to think me crazy. There on my enchanted mountain summit, ringedabout day after day by the silent land, removed from all humancompany but Marc'antonio's, with no clock but the sun and no calendarbut the creeping change of the season upon the _macchia_, what wonderif I forgot human probabilities at times in piecing and unpiecingsolutions of a riddle which itself cried out against nature?

Marc'antonio was all the while as matter-of-fact as a good nurseought to be. He had fashioned me a capital pair of crutches out ofboxwood, and no sooner could I creep about on them than he began todiscourse, over the camp-fire, on the hunting excursions we were soonto make together. 

"_Pianu, pianu_; we will grow strong, and get our hand in by littleand little. At first there will be the blackbirds and the foxes--"

"You shoot foxes in Corsica?" I asked. 

Marc'antonio stared at me. "And why not, cavalier? You would nothave us run after them and despatch them with the stiletto!"

I endeavoured to explain to him the craft and mystery of fox-huntingas practised in England. He shook his head over it, greatlybewildered. 

"It seems a long ceremony for one little fox, " was his criticism. 

"But if we did it with less ritual the foxes would disappear out ofthe country, " I answered him. 

"And why not?"

This naturally led me into a discourse on preserving game and on ourEnglish game laws, which, I regret to say, gravelled him utterly. 

"A peace of God for foxes and partridges! Why, what do you allow, then, for a _man?_"

I explained that we did not shoot men in England. His jaw dropped. 

"Mbe! In the name of the Virgin, whatever do you do with them?"

"We hang them sometimes, and sometimes we fight duels with them. "I expounded in brief the distinction between these processes andtheir formalities, whereat he remained for a long while in a brownstudy. 

"Well, " he admitted, "by all accounts you English have achievedliberty; but, _per Baccu_, you do strange things with it!"

"Blackbirds, to begin with, " he resumed, "and foxes, and a hare, maybe. Then in the next valley there are boars--small, and wild, andfierce, but our great half-tame ones have driven them off thismountain. After them we will extend ourselves and stalk for deer. "

He described the deer to me and its habits. It was, as I made out, an animal not unlike our red deer, but smaller, and of a duller coat;shy, too, and scarce. He gave me reasons for this. In summer theCorsican shepherds, each armed with a gun, pasture their sheep on themountains, in winter along the plains and valleys; in either seasondriving off the poor stag, which in summer is left to range theparched lowlands and in winter the upper snows. Of late years, however, owing to the unsettled state of politics, the shepherdspastured not half the numbers of sheep that Marc'antonio rememberedin his youth, and by consequence the deer had multiplied and grownbolder. He could promise me a stag. Nay, he even hoped that owingto these same causes the _mufri_ were pushing down by degrees to theseaboard from the inland mountains, which they mostly haunted. Ah, that was sport for kings! If fortune, one of these fine days, would send us a full-grown _mufrone_ now!

But we began upon the blackbirds. I remember yet my first, and how, while I stood trembling a little with that excitement which only asick man can know who takes up his gun again, Marc'antonio held upthe bird and ripped open its crop, filled to bursting with myrtleberries; and the exquisite violet scent they exhaled. 

Already I had flung my crutches away, and three weeks later we wereafter the deer in good earnest. I had lost all account of time; butwinter was upon us, with a wealth of laurestinus flower upon the_macchia_ and a sense of stillness in the air such as we feel at homeon windless sunny mornings in December after a night of frost. We had started before dawn, and crossed the valley by the trackleading past our deserted hut and up between the granite pinnacles onwhich, when the sunset touched them, I had so often gazed. We had followed it up beyond the pines and over a pass leading outamong a range of undulating foot-hills, which seemed to waver andlose heart a dozen times before making up their minds to unite andclimb, and be a snowcapped mountain. But they mounted to the snowsat length, and the snows had driven down the stag which, underMarc'antonio's guidance, I stalked for two hours, and shot beforenoon-day. We left him in the track, to be recovered as we returned, and very cautiously made our way to the crest of the next ridge. I chose a granite boulder for my shelter, gained it, crawled underits lee, and, peering over, had whipped my gun to my shoulder andvery nearly pulled the trigger--was, in fact, looking along thesight--when I found that I was aiming at a man; and not only that, but at Billy Priske!

I believe, on my faith that thenceforward he owed his life to theshape of his legs--so unlike a deer's. 

He was picking his way across the dry bed of a torrent in the dip notfifty yards below us, leaping from slab to slab of outcroppinggranite as a man crosses a brook by stepping-stones; and upon a slabmidway he halted, drew off his hat, extracted a handkerchief, andstood polishing his bald head while he took stock of the climb beforehim. 

"Billy! Billy Priske!"

He tilted his head still higher, towards the ridge and the rock onwhich I stood against his skyline, frantically waving. 

"HOO-ROAR!"

"And to think, lad, " he panted, ten minutes later, as he stretchedhimself on the heath beside me--"to think of your mistaking me for adeer!"

"Did I say so, Billy? Then I lied. It was for a _mufro_ I took you. Marc'antonio here had as good as promised me one. "

His beaming smile changed on the instant to a look of extremegravity. 

"See you, lad, " he said, "have you ever come across one of these herewild sheep?"

"Not yet. "

"I thought not. Well, I have; and I advise you not to talkirreligious about 'em. "

"I will talk about nothing, " said I, "until you tell me how my fatheris, and of all your adventures. "

"He's well, lad--hearty, and well, and thriving. And he sends youhis love, and a paper for your friend here. 'Tis from the Princess;and the upshot is, you're released from your word and free to comeback with me. "

Marc'antonio, proud of an opportunity to display his scholarship, broke the seal and read the letter with a magisterial frown, whichchanged, however, to a pleasant, friendly smile as he handed itacross to me. 

"Your captivity is at an end, cavalier. You said well, after all, that your patience would win the day. "

"_My_ patience, Marc'antonio? What, then, of yours?"

The tears sprang suddenly to his eyes, good fellow that he was, andnow my good friend. I stretched out a hand, and he grasped and heldit for a moment between his twain. We used no more words. 

"So my father is with the Princess?" I asked, turning on Billy, whostared--and excusably--at this evidence of our emotion. 

"No, he bain't, " said Billy; "leastways, he was with her when I lefthim, at a place called Olmeta, or something of the sort. But by thistime he've a-gone north again. "

"And why goes he north?"

"Because that's where the Genoese have shut up the lady. "

"Meaning the Queen Emilia?"

Billy nodded. 

"And you have travelled the length of Corsica alone to tell me thisand take me back with you?"

"No, I didn't. Leastways--" Billy opened his bag of provender, selected a crust, and began to munch it very deliberately. "There's a saying, " he went on between mouthfuls, "about somebody orother axin' more questions in one breath than a wise man can answerin a week; and likewise, there's another saying that even a bagpipewon't speak till his belly be full. Well, now, as for coming alone, in the first place and in round numbers I didn't; and as for comingto tell you this, partly it was and partly it wasn't; and as for yourgoing back with me, that's for you to choose. "

"Well, then, " said I, humouring him, "we will take you point bypoint, in order. To begin with, you did not come alone--_ergo_, youhad company. What company?"

"Very poor company, lad, and by name Stephanu. That hatchet-facedPrince Camillo chose him out for a guide to me--" Billy paused, withhis mouth open for a bite. "Why, whatever is the matter?" he asked;for I had turned to translate this to Marc'antonio, and Marc'antoniohad started up with a growl and an oath. 

"Did Stephanu come willingly?" I asked. 

"As I was tellin', the Prince chose him for guide to me, and hecouldn't have chosen a worse one. If you'll believe me, there wasn'tan ounce of comfort in the man from the start; and this morning, having put me in the road so that I couldn't miss it, he turned backand left me--in a sweatin' hurry, too. "

I glanced at Marc'antonio, who had risen and was striding to and froupon the ridge with his fists clenched. There was mischief here fora certainty, and Stephanu's behaviour confirmed it. For a moment, however, I forbore to translate further, and resumed my catechisingof Billy. 

"In the second place you came with my release, and to bring me news, and--with what purpose beside?"

"Why, with a message for the ship, to be sure. "

"The ship?" I stared at him. "What ship?"

"Why, the _Gauntlet_ ketch! You don't tell me, " said Billy, with aglance westward, where, however, the hills intervened and hid thecoast from us--"you don't tell me you haven't sighted her!But she's here, lad--she _must_ be here! Your father sent home wordby her that she was to be back wi' reinforcements by the first day ofNovember; and did you ever in your life know your uncle disappointhim?"

"Marc'antonio, " said I, "what is this I hear from Billy about aship?"

Marc'antonio gave a start, and looked from me to Billy in evidentconfusion. 

"Truly, cavalier, there was a ship. I spied her there three daysago, at sunset, making for the island. "

"Was she the same ship that first brought us to the island?"

"She was very like, " he answered unwillingly. "Yes, indeed, cavalier, I have no doubt she was the same ship. "

"And you never told me! Nay, I see now why for these three days wehave been hunting to the east of our camp, and always where the coastwas hidden. Yes, yes, I see now a score of tricks you have played mewhile I trusted to your better knowledge--Marc'antonio, " I saidsternly, "did you indeed believe so ill of me as that at sight of theship I should forget my parole?"

"It was not that, cavalier; believe me, it was not that. I feared--"

"Speak on, man. "

"I feared you might forget our talks together, and, when your releasecame, forget also that other adventure on which I had hoped to bindyou. The Princess--"

"Then your fear, my friend, did me only a little less injustice. You have heard how my father perseveres for a woman's sake; and I ammy father's son, I hope. As for the Princess--"

"She is in worse case than ever, cavalier, since they have contrivedto get rid of Stephanu. "

"On the contrary, my friend, her case is hopeful at length; sincethis release sets us free to help her. "

We trudged back to the camp, pausing on the way while Marc'antonioskewered the deer's legs and slung him on a pole between us. As we started afresh Billy observed for the first time that I walkedwith a limp. 

"A broken leg, " said I, carelessly; for it would not have done totell him all the truth. 

"Well, well, " said he, content with the explanation, "accidents willhappen to them that travel; and a broken leg, they say, is strongerwhen well set. "

"If that's so, " said I, "I've a double excuse to be thankful"--whichhe did not understand, as I did not mean him to. 

Darkness fell on us a little before we reached the camp. From thefirst I had recognized there could be no chance to-day of visitingthe shore and seeking the _Gauntlet_ at her anchorage. We wereweary, too, and hungry, and nothing remained to do but light the campfire, cook our supper, and listen to Billy's tale of his adventures, a good part of which will be found in the following chapter. I oughtto say, rather, that Billy and I conversed, while Marc'antonio--forwe spoke in English--sat by the fire busy with his own thoughts; and, by his face, they were gloomy ones. 

"What puzzles me, Billy, " said I, as we parted for the night, "is whocan be aboard of the ketch. Reinforcements? Why, whatreinforcements could my uncle send?"

"The devil a one of me knows, as the Irishman said, " answered Billy, cheerfully. "But sent 'em he has, and, if I know anything ofMr. Gervase, they're good ones. "

I was up before dawn, and the sun rose over the shoulder of ourmountain to find me a mile and more on my way down the track whichled to the sea. I passed the clearing and the copse where Nat hadtaken his wound, and the rock, high on my right, where I had stoodand spied him running, the _macchia-filled hollows and dingles, thewood, the village (still desolate), the graveyard where we had firstencamped; and so came to the meadow below it, where Mr. Fett hadgathered his mushrooms. It was greener than I remembered it, owingto the autumn rains. 

I pulled up with a start. At the foot of the meadow, where thestream ran in a curve between it and the woods, stood a man. He held a fishing-rod in his hand, and was stepping back to make acast; but, at a cry from me, paused and turned slowly about. 

"Uncle Gervase!"

"My _dear_ Prosper!" He dropped his rod and advanced, holding outhis hands to me. "Why lad, lad, you have grown to a man in thesemonths!"

"And it really is you, uncle!" I cried again, as yet scarcelybelieving it, though I clasped him by both hands. "And what are_you_ doing here?"

"Why, " said he, quizzically, "'tis a monstrous confession for thistime of the year, but I was fishing for trout; and, what is more, Ihave taken two, with Walton's number two June-fly, lad--Mr. Grylls'svariety--the wings, if you remember, made of the black drake'sfeathers, with a touch of grey horsehair on the shank. I wished toknow, first, if a Corsican trout would answer to a Cornish fly, and, next, if they keep the same seasons as in England. They do, Prosper--there or thereabouts. To tell you the truth--though, asthey say an angler may catch a fish, but it takes a fisherman to tellthe truth about him--I found them woundily out of condition, andrestored them, as Mr. Grylls would put it, to their native element. "

"You don't tell me that the Vicar is here, too?" I asked, prepared atthis time to be surprised at nothing. 

"He is not, lad, though I pleaded with him very earnestly to come, being, as you may guess, put to my wits' end by your father'smessage. "

"But how, then, have you managed?"

"Pretty well, Prosper--pretty well. But come and see for yourself. The _Gauntlet_ lies at her old anchorage--or so Captain Pomery tellsme--and 'tis but a step down the creek to where my boat is waiting. "

We walked down beside the stream, my uncle, as we went, asking ascore of questions about our adventures and about my father and hisplans--questions which I was in no state of mind to answercoherently. But this mattered the less since he had no leisure tolisten to my answers. 

I felt, as I said just now, ready to be surprised at nothing. But in this I was mistaken, as I found when we rounded the corner bythe creek's head, and my eyes fell on a boat waiting, a stone's throwfrom the landing-place, and on the crew that manned her. 

"Good Lord!" I cried, and stood at a halt. 

They were seven--six rowers and a coxswain--and all robed in russetgowns that reached to their ankles. The Trappist monks!

CHAPTER XXI. 

OF MY FATHER'S ANABASIS; AND THE DIFFERENT TEMPERS OF AN ENGLISHGENTLEMAN AND A WILD SHEEP OF CORSICA. 

 "Bright thoughts, clear deeds, constancy, fidelity, bounty, and generous honesty are the gems of noble minds; wherein (to derogate from none) the true heroick English Gentleman hath no peer. "--SIR THOMAS BROWNE. 

 "La domesticite n'a eu aucune influence sur le developpement intellectuel des _mouflons_ que nous avons possedes. . . . Les hommes ne les effrayaient plus; il semblait meme que ces animaux eussent acquis plus de confiance dans leur force en apprenant a nous connaitre. Sans doute on ne peut point conclure de quelques individus a l'espece entiere; mais on peut assurer sans rien hasarder, que le _mouflon_ tient une des dernieres places parmis les mammiferes quant a l'intelligence. --" SAINT-HILIAR ET CUVIER, _Histoire Naturelle des Mammiferes_. 

"You will find them very good fighters, " said my uncle. "The most ofthem, as I understand from Dom Basilio, were soldiers at one time oranother before they embraced their present calling. "

"But the devil of it is, " said I, "how you contrived to enlist 'em?"

My uncle stood still and rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know, Prosper, that I used any arguments. I just put the case to them;through Dom Basilio, you understand. "

"In other words, you made them an eloquent speech. "

"I did nothing of the sort, " he corrected me hastily. "In the firstplace because I have never made a speech and couldn't manage one if Itried; and next, because it is against their rules. I just put thecase to Dom Basilio. All the credit belongs to him. "

Dom Basilio--for the coxswain of the boat proved to be he and noother--gave me a different account as we pulled toward the_Gauntlet_. Yet it agreed with my uncle's in the main. 

"In faith, " said he, "if there be any credit in what we have done orare about to do, set it down to your uncle. Against goodness sosimple no man can strive, though he bind himself by vows. Gratitude may have helped a little; but you can say, and you will notbe far out, that for very shame we are here. "

Captain Pomery who hailed me over the ship's side, proudly invited meto row around and inspect the repairs in her--particularly her newstern-post--before climbing on board. For my part, whilecongratulating him upon them and upon his despatch, I admired morethe faces of Mike Halliday and Roger Wearne, grinning welcome to meover the bulwarks. They, too, called my attention to the repairs; tothe new rudder, fitted with chains in case of accident to the helm, to the grain of the new mizzen-mast (a beautiful spar, and without aknot), to the teak hatch-coverings which had replaced those shatteredby the explosion. They desired me to marvel at everything; but thatthey themselves after past perils should be here again and ready, forno more than seamen's pay, to run their heads into perils yetunhandselled, was to these honest fellows no matter worthconsidering. 

"But whither be we bound, Master Prosper?" demanded Captain Jo. "For 'tis ill biding for orders after cracking on to be punctual; andtho' I say naught against the anchorage _as_ an anchorage, the wind, what with these hills and gullies, is like Mulligan's blanket, alwayscoming and going; and by fits an' starts as the ague took the goose;and likewise backwards and forwards, like Boscastle fair: so that ourcables be twisted worse than a pig's tail. "

"As for that, " said I, "your next rendezvous, I hear, is the islandof Giraglia; but, for the whole plan of campaign, you must come andhear it from Billy Priske, who will tell you what my father has doneand what he intends. "

Accordingly, after breakfasting aboard, we were landed again and wentup the mountain together--my uncle Gervase, Captain Pomery, DomBasilio and I: and on the slope below the Princess's cave we sat andlistened to Billy's story, the Trappist translating it toMarc'antonio, who sat with his gun across his knees and his eyesfastened on my uncle's gentle venerable face. 

BILLY PRISKE'S STORY OF MY FATHER'S CAMPAIGN. 

"As Master Prosper has told you, gentlemen all, we left him sittingalongside poor Mr. Fiennes, and took the path that leads down andacross the valley yonder and out again on the north side. There werefour of us--my master, myself, and the creatures Fett and Badcock--each man with his gun and good supply of ammunition. Besides thisSir John carried his camp-stool and spy-glass, and in his pocket amap along with his Bible and tobacco pouch; I the wine and his sparegun: Fett the bag of provisions; and Badcock his flute and agridiron. "

"Why a gridiron?" asked my uncle. 

"The reason he gave, sir, was that it's just these little things thatget left behind, on a picnic; which Sir John, when I reported it, pronounced to be a very good reason. 'And, as it happens, ' said he, ''tis the very reason why Mr. Badcock himself goes with us: for myson, when he becomes king, will need a Fool, and I have brought acouple in case of accidents. '

"We started then, as Master Prosper will remember, a little beforedark; and having lanterns to light the track, and now and then thenorth star between the tree-tops to give us our bearings, we crossedthe valley and came out through a kind of pass upon a second slope, alittle nor'-west of the spot where I happened yesterday on MasterProsper. By this, Sir John's watch marked ten o'clock and finding usdead-beat by the roughness of the track, he commanded us to lie downand sleep. 

"The next morning, after studying his map, he started afresh, stillholding northward in the main but bearing back a little to the left--that is, toward the sea, which before noon we brought in sight at aplace he called La Piana, where, he said, was a fishing village; andso no doubt there was, for we spied a two-three boats moored a littleway out from the shore--looking down upon them through a cleft in therocks. The village itself we did not see, but skirted it upon highground and came down to the foreshore a short two miles beyond it;where we found a beach and a spit of rock, and on the spit atumble-down tower standing, as lonely as a combed louse. Above thebeach ran a tolerable coast road, which divided itself into two, after crossing a bridge behind the tower; the one following theshore, the other striking inland up the devil of a gorge. This inland road we took, for two reasons; the first, that by the mapit appeared to cut off a corner of our journey; the second, becausethe map showed a village, not three miles up the gorge, where wemight get advice. 

"After an hour's climbing then (for the road twisted uphill along theedge of the torrent) we came to the village, which was called Otta. Now, the first thing to happen to us in Otta was that we found itempty--not so much as a dog in the street--but all the inhabitants onthe hill above, in a crowd before a mighty great stone: and Badcockwould have it that they were gathered together in fear of us. But the true reason turned out to be something quite different. For this stone overhangs the village, which is built on a stiffslope; and though it has hung there for hundreds of years withoutmoving, the villagers can never be easy that it will not tumble ontop of them; and once a year regularly, and at odd times when thepanic takes them, they march up and tie it with ropes. This verything they were doing as we arrived, and all because some old womanhad dreamed of an earthquake. We took notice that in the crowd andin the gang binding the stone there was no man the right side offifty (barring a cripple or two); the reason being that all theiryoung men had enlisted in the militia. 

"These people made us welcome (and I will say, gentlemen, once forall and in spite of what has happened to Master Prosper here, thatthere is no such folk as the Corsicans for kindness to strangers), but they told us we were on the wrong road. By following the pass weshould find ourselves in forest-tracks which indeed would lead usdown to the great plain of the Niolo and across it to Corte, whence agood road ran north to Cape Corso; but our shorter way was thecoast-road, which (they added) we must leave before reaching Calvi--for fear of the Genoese--and take a southerly one which wound throughthe mountains to Calenzana. They explained this many times to SirJohn, and Sir John explained it to us; and learning that we wereEnglish, and therefore friends of liberty, they forced us to drinkwine with them--lashins of wine--until just as my head was beginningto feel muzzy, some one called out that we were heroes and must drinkthe wine of heroes, the pride of Otta, the Invincible St. Cyprien. 

"By this time we were all as sociable together as mice in malt, except that these Corsicans never laughed at all, but stared at usawsome-like even when the creature Fett put one foot on a chair andanother on the table and made 'em a long tom-fool speech in English, calling 'em friends Romans and countrymen and asking them to lend himtheir ears, as though his own weren't long enough. Then they broughtin the Invincible St. Cyprien, and Sir John poured out a glass, andsniffed and tasted it and threw up his head, gazing round on thecompany and looking every man full in the eyes. I can't tell youwhy, gentlemen, but his bearing seemed so noble to me at that momentI felt I could follow him to the death (though of course there wasn'tthe leastest need for it, just then). I reached out for the bottle, filled myself a glass, drank it off, and stared around just asdefiant. It gave me a very pleasant feeling in the pit of thestomach, and the taste of it didn't seem calculated to hurt a fly. So I took two more glasses quickly, one after the other; and everyone looked at me with their faces very bright all of a sudden--andthe room itself grown brighter--and to my astonishment I heard themcalling upon me in English for a speech. Whereby, being no publicspeaker, I excused myself and walked out into the village street, which was bright as day with the moon well over the cliffs on theother side of the gorge, and (to my surprise) crowded with people sothat I couldn't have believed the whole City of London held half thenumber, let alone a god-forsaken hole like Otta. I stood for a whileon the doorstep counting 'em, and the next thing I remember wascrossing the street to a low wall overhanging the gorge and leaningupon it and watching the cliffs working up and down like mine-stamps. This struck me as curious, and after thinking it over I made up mymind to climb across and discover the reason. "

"I fear, Billy, " said my uncle, "that you must have beenintoxicated. "

"But the worst, sir, was the moon; which was not like any ordinarymoon, but kept swelling and bursting in showers of the most beautifulfireworks, so that I said to myself, 'O for the wings of a dove, ' Isaid, 'so that I fetch some one to put a stop to this!' And I'dhardly said the words before it was broad day, and me lying in thestreet with a small crowd about me, very solemn and curious, and myhead in the lap of a middle-aged woman that smelt of garlic, butwithout any pretensions to looks. And she was lifting up her headand singing a song, and the sound of it as melancholy as a gib-cat ina garden of cucumbers. Whereby the whole crowd stood by and stared, without offering to help. Whereby I said to myself, 'This is apretty business, and no mistake. ' Whereby I saw Sir John come forthfrom the house where the drinking had been, and his face was whitebut his step steady; and says he, 'What have you been doing to thiswoman?' 'Nothing at all, ' said I; 'or, leastways, nothing to warrantthis behaviour on her part. ' 'Well, ' said he, 'you may be surprisedto hear it, but she maintains that you are betrothed to her. ''A man, ' said I, 'may woo where he will, but must wed where his wifeis. If this woman be my fate, I'll say no more except that 'tishard; but as for courting her, I never did so. ' 'You are in a worsecase than you guess, ' said he; 'for, to begin with, the lady is awidow; and, secondly, she is marrying you, not for your looks, butfor revenge. ' 'Why, what have I done?' said I. 'Nothing at all, 'said he; 'but from what I can hear of it, five years ago a man ofEvisa, up the valley, stole a goat belonging to this woman's husband;whereupon the husband took a gun and went to Evisa and shot thethief's cousin, mistaking him for the thief; whereupon the thief camedown to Otta and shot the honest man one day while he was gatheringolives in his orchard. He himself left neither chick nor child; buthis kinsmen of the family of Paolantonuccio (I can pronounce thename, gentlemen, if you will kindly look the other way) took up thequarrel, and with so much liveliness that to-day but three of themsurvive, and these are serving just now with the militia. For thewhile, therefore, the Widow Paolantonuccio has no one to carry on thecustom of the country; nor will have, until a husband offers. ''For pity's sake, Sir John, ' said I, `get me out of this! Tell themthat if any man has been courting this woman 'tis not I, WilliamPriske, but another in my image. ' 'Why, to be sure!' cried Sir John. 'It must have been the Invincible St. Cyprien!'

"So stepping back and seating himself again upon the doorstep, hebegan to argue with the villagers, the woman standing sullen all thewhile and holding me by the arm. I could not understand a word, ofcourse, but later on he told me the heads of his discourse. 

"'I began, ' he said, 'by expounding to 'em all the doctrine ofcross-revenge, or _vendetta trasversa_, as they call it; and this Idid for two reasons--the first because in an argument there's naughtso persuasive as telling a man something he knows already--the secondbecause it proved to them, and to me, that I wasn't drunk. For thedoctrine has more twists in it than a conger. 

"'Next I taught them that the doctrine was damnable; and that itrobbed Corsica of men who should be fighting the Genoese, on whicherrand we were bound. 

"'And lastly I proved to them out of the mouths of several wise men(some of Greece, and others of my own inventing) that a man withthree glasses of their wine in his belly was a man possessed, andtherefore that either nothing had happened, or, if anything hadhappened, the fellow to blame must be that devil of a warrior theInvincible St. Cyprien. 

"'Yet (as so often happens) the argument that really persuaded them, as I believe, was one I never used at all; which was, that the womanhad money and a parcel of land, and albeit no man could pick upcourage to marry her, they did not relish a stranger stepping in andcutting them out. '

"Be that as it may, gentlemen, in twenty minutes the crowd had comeround to Sir John's way of thinking; and they not only sold us mulesat thirty livres apiece--which Sir John knew to be the fair currentprice--but helped us to truss up Mr. Fett and Mr. Badcock, each onhis beast, and walked with us back to the cross-roads, singing hymnsabout Corsican liberty. Only we left the woman sadly cast down. 

"From the cross-roads, where they left us and turned back, our roadled through a great forest of pines. Among these pines hungthousands of what seemed to be balls of white cotton, but were thenests of a curious caterpillar; which I only mention because Mr. Fett, coming to, picked up one of these caterpillars and slipped itdown the nape of Mr. Badcock's neck, whereby the poor man was madeuncomfortable all that day and the next; for the hairs of the insectturned out to be full of poison. In the end we were forced to striphim and use the gridiron upon him for a currycomb; so it came inhandy, after all. 

"On the second day, having crossed a river and come to a villagewhich, if I remember, was called Manso, we bore away southward amongthe most horrible mountains. Among these we wandered four days, relying always on Sir John's map: but I reckon the man who made itmust have drawn the track out of his own head and trusted that noperson would ever be fool enough to go there. Hows'ever, the weatherkeeping mild, we won through the passes with no more damage than theloss of Mr. Fett's mule (which tumbled over a precipice on the thirdday), and a sore on Mr. Fett's heel, brought about by his having towalk the rest of the way into Calenzana. 

"Now at Calenzana, a neat town, we found ourselves nearly in sight ofCalvi and plumb in sight of the Genoese outposts that were planted abare gunshot from the house where we lodged, on the road leadingnorthward to Calvi gate. To the south, as we heard--though we neversaw them--lay a regiment of Paoli's militia; and, between the twoforces Calenzana stood as a sort of no-man's-land, albeit the Genoeseclaimed what they called a 'supervision' over it. In fact they neverentered it, mistrusting its defences, and also the temper of itsinhabitants, who were likely enough to rise at their backs if thepatriots gave an assault. 

"They contented themselves, then, with advancing their outposts to abend on the Calvi road not fifty yards from our lodging, whichhappened to be the last house in the suburbs; and from his window, during the two days we waited for Mr. Fett's sore to heal, Sir Johnwould watch the guard being relieved, and sometimes pick up his gunand take long aim at the sentry, but lay it down with a sort of sigh:for though the sight of a Genoese was poison to him, he reckonedoutpost-shooting as next door to shooting a fox. 

"Our hosts, I should tell you, were an old soldier and his wife. The man, by his own account, followed the trade of a bird-stuffer;which was just an excuse for laziness, for no soul ever entered hisshop but to hear him talk of his campaigning under Gaffori and underthe great Pascal Paoli's father, Hyacinth Paoli. This he would do atgreat length, and, for the rest, lived on his wife, who was awell-educated woman and kept a school for small children when theychose to come, which again was seldom. 

"This Antonio, as we called him, owned a young ram, which was his petand the pride of Calenzana: for, to begin with, it was a wild ram;and in addition to this it was tame; and, to cap all, it wasn't a bitlike a ram. And yet it was a wild ram--a wild Corsican ram. 

"Being an active sort of man in his way, though well over fifty, andgiven to wandering on the mountains above Calenzana, he had come oneday upon a wild sheep with a lamb running at her heels. He let fly ashot (for your Corsican, Master Prosper, always carries a gun) andran forward. The mother made off, but the lamb sat and squatted likea hare; and so Antonio took him up and carried him home. 

"By the time we came to Calenzana the brute had grown to full size, with horns almost two feet long. As we should reckon, they weretwisted the wrong way for a ram's, and for fleece he had a coat likea Gossmoor pony's, brown and hairy. But a ram he was; and, the firstnight, when Mr. Badcock obliged us with a tune on the flute, he cameforward and stared at him for a time and then butted him in thestomach. 

"We had to carry the poor man to bed. We slept, all four of us, in aloft, which could only be reached by a ladder; and a ram, as youknow, can't climb a ladder. It's out of nature. Yet the brute triedits best, having taken such a fancy to Badcock, and wouldn't bedenied till his master beat him out of doors with a fire-shovel andpenned him up for the night. 

"The next morning, being loosed, he came in to breakfast with thefamily, and butted a crock of milk all over the kitchen hearth, butotherwise bore himself like a repentant sinner; the only differencebeing that from breakfast onward he turned away from his master andtook to following Mr. Fett, who didn't like the attention at all. Badcock kept to his bed; and Mr. Fett too, who could only manage tolimp a little, climbed up to the loft soon after midday and lay downfor a rest. 

"Sir John and I, left alone downstairs, took what we called a siesta, each in his chair, and Sir John's chair by the shaded window. For my part, I was glad enough for forty winks, and could haveenlisted among the Seven Sleepers after those cruel four days in themountains. So, with Sir John's permission, I dozed off; and sat up, by-and-by--awake all of a sudden at the sound of my master'sstirring--to see him at the window with his gun half-lifted to hisshoulder, and away up the road a squad of Genoese soldiers marchingdown to relieve guard. 

"With that there came a yell from the loft overhead. I sprang up, rubbing my eyes, and, between rubbing 'em, saw Sir John lower his gunand stand back a pace. The next instant--_thud, thud!_--over theeaves upon the roadway dropped Fett and Badcock and picked themselvesup as if to burst in through the window. No good! A second laterthat ram was on top of them. 

"How he had contrived to climb up the ladder and butt the pair overthe roof, there's no telling. But there he was; and gathering up hislegs from the fall as quick as lightning he headed them off from thehouse and up the road. There was no violence. So far as one couldtell from the clouds of dust, he never hurt 'em once, but through thedust we could see the Genoese staring as he nursed the pair up theroad straight into their arms. The queer part of it, " wound upBilly, reflectively, "was that, after the first moment, Sir John hadnever the chance of a shot. You may doubt me, gentlemen, but SirJohn is a shot in a thousand, and, what with the dust and theconfusion, there was never a chance without risk to human life. The Genoese giving back, in less than half a minute the road wasclear. "

"But what happened?" asked my uncle. 

"Well, sir, this here Corsica being an island, it follows that theymust have stopped somewhere. But where there's no telling. "

"You never saw them again. "

"Never, " said Billy, solemnly; and, having asked and receivedpermission to light his pipe, resumed the tale. 

"There being now no reason to loiter in Calenzana, we left the townnext morning and rode along the hill tracks to Muro, when again westruck the high road running northward to the coast. Sir John hadsold Mr. Badcock's mule to our hosts in Calenzana, and here in Murohe parted with our pair also, reck'nin' it safer to travel the nextstage on foot; since by all accounts we were about to skirt theGenoese outposts to the east of Calvi. The Corsicans, to be sure, held and patrolled the high road (by reason that every week-day atrain of waggons travelled along it with material for the new towna-building on the seashore, at Isola Rossa), yet not so as toguarantee it safe for a couple of chance riders. Also Sir John hadno mind to be stopped a dozen times and questioned by the Corsicanpatrols. We kept, therefore, along the hills to the east of theroad; and on our way, having halted and slept a night in an oliveorchard about five miles from the coast, we woke up a little afterdaylight to the sound of heavy guns firing. 

"The meaning of this was made plain to us as we fetched our way roundto the eastward and came out upon the face of a steep hill that brokeaway in steep cliffs to the very foreshore. There, below us, lay aneat deep-water roadstead covered to westward by a small island witha tower on it and a battery. The shore ran out towards the island, and the two had been joined by a mole, or the makings of one, aboutthirty yards long; and well back in the bight of the shore, where itcurved towards us, was a half-built town, all of new stone, withscaffoldings standing everywhere, yet not a soul at work on 'em. Out in the roadstead five small gunboats were tacking and blazingaway, two at the mole and three at the town itself; and the town andthe island blazing and banging back at the gunboats. We could notsee the town battery, but the island one mounted three guns, and SirJohn's spy-glass showed the people there running from one to anotherlike emmets. 

"Sir John studied the boats and the town through his glass for fiveminutes, and after them the inshore water and the beach on our sideof the town, that was of white sand with black rocks here and there, and ran down pretty steep as it neared the foot of our hill. 'If those fellows had any sense--' he began to say, and with that, asif struck by a sudden thought, he looked close around him, andtowards the edge of the cliff where it broke away below us. The nextmoment he was down on his stomach and crawling to the brink for alook below. I did the same, of course; and overtook him just as hedrew back his head, and gave a sort of whistle, looking me in theface--as well he might; for right underneath us lay a sixth gunboat, and the crew of her ashore already with a six-pounder and hoisting itby a tackle to a slab of rock about fifty feet above the water'sedge. A neater spot they couldn't have chosen, for it stood at anangle the town battery couldn't answer to (which was plain, from itssending no shot in this direction), and yet it raked the whole townfront as easy as ninepins. 

"To make things a bit fairer, this landing-party offered us as simplepretty a target as any man could wish for; nothing to do but firedown on 'em at forty yards, bob back and reload, with ne'er a chanceof their climbing up to do us a mischief or even to count how many wewere. I touched Sir John's elbow and tapped my gun-stock, and forthe moment he seemed to think well of it. 'Cut the tackle first, 'said he, lifting his gun. ''Twill be as good as hamstringing 'em':and for him the shot would have been child's play. But after asecond or two he lowered his piece and drew back. 'Damme, ' said he, 'I'm losing my wits. Let 'em do their work first, and we'll getcannon and all. If only'--and here he looked nervous-like over hisshoulder up the hill--'if only those fellows from the town don'thurry up and spoil sport!'

"I couldn't see his face, but I could feel that he was chuckling asthe fellows below us swung up the gun and fixed it in position andhanded up the round shot. But when they followed up with two kegs ofpowder and dumped 'em on to the platform, my dear master's hand wentup and he rubbed the back of his head in pure delight. After that--as I thought, for nothing but frolic--he even let 'em load and trainthe gun for us, and only lifted his musket when the gunner--adark-faced fellow with a red cap on his head--was act'lly walking upwith the match alight in his linstock. 

"'I don't want to hurt that man afore 'tis necessary, ' says Sir John;and with that he takes aim and lets fly, and shears the linstockclean in two, right in the fellow's hand. I saw the end of it--matchand all--fly halfway across the platform, and popped back my head asthe dozen Genoese there turned their faces up at us. The pity was, we hadn't time for a look at 'em!

"Sir John had warned me to hold my fire. But neither he nor I wereprepared for what happened next. For first one of them let out ayell, and right on top of it half a dozen were screaming '_Imboscata!Imboscata!_"--and with that we heard a rush of feet and, lookingover, saw the last two or three scrambling for dear life off the edgeof the platform and down the rocks to their boat. 

"'Quick, Billy--quick! Damme, but we'll risk it!' cried Sir John, snatching up his spare gun. 'If we make a mess of it, ' says he, 'plug a bullet into one of the powder kegs! Understand?' says he. 

"'Sakes alive, master!' says I. 'You bain't a-going to clamber downthat gizzy-dizzy place sure 'nuff!'

"'Why, o' course I be, ' says he, and already he had his legs over andwas lowering himself. 'Turn on your back, stick out your heels, andhold your gun wide of you, _so_, ' says he; 'and you'll come to noharm. '

"Well, as it happened, I didn't. Not for a hundred pound would I godown that cliff again in cold blood, and my stomach turns wambly inbed o' nights when I dream of it. But down it I went on the flat ofmy back with my heels out, as Sir John recommended, and with my eyesshut, about which he'd said nothing. I felt my jacket go rip fromtail to collar--you can see the rent in it for yourselves--and myshirt likewise; and what happened to the seat of my breeches 'twouldbe a scandal to mention. But in two shakes or less we were at thebottom of the cliff together, safe and sound, and not a moment toosoon, neither: for as I picked myself up I saw Sir John lurch acrossand catch up the burning fuse that lay close alongside one of thepowder kegs. Whereby, although the danger was no sooner seen thanover, I pretty near turned sick on the spot. 

"But Sir John gave me no time. 'Hooray!' he sings out. 'Help me toslew this blessed gun round, and we'll sink boat and all for 'emunless she slips her moorings quick!'

"Well, sir, that was the masterpiece. We heaved and strained, andinside of two minutes we had it trained upon the gunboat. The menthat had quitted the platform were down by the shore before this; anda dozen had pushed their boat off and sat in her, some pulling, others backing, and all jabbering and disputing whether to return andtake off the five or six that stood in a huddle by the water's edgeand were crying out not to be left behind. And mean time on thegunboat some were shouting to 'em not to be a pack of cowards--forthe crew on board could see us on the platform (which the otherscouldn't) and that we were only two--and others were running to cuther cable, seeing the gun trained on 'em and not staying to thinkthat the wind was light and the current setting straight onshore. And in the midst of this Sir John finds a fresh fuse, and lights itfrom the old one, and bang! says we. 

"It took her plump in the stern-works, knocking her wheel andtaffrail to flinders and ripping out a fair six feet of her larboardbulwarks. This much I saw while the smoke cleared; but Sir John wasalready calling for the reload. The Genoese by good luck had left arammer; and the pair of us had charged her and were pushing home shotnumber two as merry as crickets, when we heard a horn blown on thehill above us, and at the same instant spied a body of Corsicans onthe beach below, marching towards us from the town. 

"Well, Sir John decided that we might just as well have a second shotat the boat while our hand was in; and so we did, but trained it toohigh in our excitement and did no damage beyond knocking a hole inher mainsail. And our ears hadn't lost the noise of it before a manput his head over the cliff above and spoke to us very politely inCorsican. 

"He seemed to be asking the way down; for Sir John pointed to the waywe had come. Whereby he laughed and shook his head. And a dozenothers that had gathered beside him looked down too and laughed andwaved their hands to us. By-and-by they went off, still waving, tolook for a better way down: but they took a good twenty minutes toreach us, and before this the gunboat had drifted close upon therocks and no hope for it but to surrender to the party marching alongthe beach and now close at hand. 

"Well, sirs, the upshot was that this party, which had marched outfor a forlorn hope, took the gunboat and her crew as easily as a mangathers mushrooms. And the rest of the boats, dispirited belike, sheered off after another hour's banging and left the roadstead inpeace. But, while this was happening, the party on the cliffs hadworked their way down to our rock by a sheep-track on the westernside, and the first man to salute us was the man who had first spokento us from the top of the cliff: and this, let me tell you, was noless a person than the General himself. "

"The General?" exclaimed my uncle. 

"The General Paoli, sir: a fresh-complexioned man and fairer-skinnedthan any Corsican we had met on our travels; tall, too, andupstanding; dressed in green-and-gold, with black spatter-dashes, andlooking at one with an eye like a hawk's. Compliments fly whengentlefolks meet. Though as yet I didn't know him from Adam, 'twaseasy to mark him for a person of quality by the way he lifted his hatand bowed. Sir John bowed back, though more stiffly; and the morecompliments the General paid him, the stiffer he grew and the shorterhis answers, till by-and-by he said in English, 'I think you know alittle of my language, sir: enough, at any rate, to take my meaning?'

"The General bowed again at this, still keeping his smile. 'You do not wish my men to overhear? Yes, yes, I speak the English--a very little--and can understand it, if you will be so good as tospeak slowly. '

"'Very well, then, sir, ' said Sir John; 'if I and my man here havebeen of some small service to you to-day I reckon myself happy tohave obliged so noble a patriot as Signor Pascal Paoli. ' And herethey both bowed again. 'But I must warn you, sir, that my servicehere is due only to the Queen Emilia, whom you also should serve, andwhom I am sworn to seek and save. The Genoese have shut her, Ibelieve, in Nonza, in Cape Corso. '

"The General frowned a bit at this, but in a moment smiled at him inan open way that was honest too, as any one could see. 'I have laternews of the Queen Emilia, ' said he; 'which is that the Genoese haveremoved her to the island of Giraglia, off Cape Corso. I fear, sir, you will not reach her this side of Doomsday. '

"'I will reach her or die, ' said Sir John, stoutly. 

"The General took a glance at the Genoese gunboats. 'At present itis hopeless, ' said he; 'but I tell you, as man to man, that in twomonths I hope to clear the sea of those gentry yonder. Meantime, ifyou _will_ press on to Cape Corso, and, without listening to reason, I'll beg you to accept a pass from me which will save trouble if youfall in, as you will, with my militia. It's small enough thanks, 'said he, 'for the service you have done us this day. '

"Those were the General's words, sirs, as I heard them and got themby heart. And Sir John took the pass from him, scribbled there andthen on the fly-leaf of the General's pocket Bible, and put itcarefully between the leaves of his own: and so, having led us backalong the track by which he and his men had come, the General pointedout our way to us and bade us farewell in the Lord's name. He saw that my master wanted no thanks, and a gentleman (as they say)would rather be unmannerly than troublesome. 

"That, sirs, is all my story, except that by the help of theGeneral's pass we made our way up the long length of Cape Corso: andat first Sir John, learning there were yet some Genoese left in avalley they call Luri, pitched his camp at the head of it, and day byday took out his camp-stool and stalked the mountains till little bylittle he cleared the valley, driving the enemy down to the _marina_in terror of his sharp-shooting. After that we lodged for a while ina tower on the top of a crag, where (the country people said) afamous old Roman had once lived out his exile. Last of all we movedto the shore opposite the island of Giraglia; but the Genoese hadburnt the village which stood there. Among the ruins we camped, andday after day my master conned the island across the strait, waitingfor the time when the _Gauntlet_ should be due. A tower stands inthe island, which is but a cliff of bare rock; and there must be deepwater close inshore, for once a Genoese vessel drew alongside andlanded stores: but, for the rest, day after day, my master could seethrough his glass no sign of life but a sentry or two on the platformabove the landing-quay. 

"At last there came a day when, from a goatherd who brought us meatand wine from the next _paese_, we learned that a body of armed men, Corsicans, had pushed up to Olmeta, near by Nonza, to press theGenoese garrison there. Sir John, sick of waiting idle, proposedthat we should travel back and help them, if only to fill up thetime. It would be on our way, at any rate, to send word to theketch, which was near-about due. So we travelled back to Olmeta; andbehold, we tumbled upon the Princess and her men who had first takenus prisoners; and the Princess's brother with her--and be dashed if Ilike his looks! So Sir John told his tale, and the Princess sent mealong with Master Prosper's letter of release. And here's a funnything now!" wound up Billy, glancing at me. "The Prince was willingenough your release should be sent, and even chose out that fellowStephanu to come along with me. But something in his eye--I can'tazackly describe it--warned me he had a sort of reason for thinkingthat 'twouldn't do you much good. There was a priest, too: I took anotion that _he_ didn't much expect to see you again, sir. And thiskept me in a sweat every mile of the journey, so that when youpointed your gun at me yesterday, as natural as life, you might haveknocked me down with a feather. "

"Then it is settled, " decided my uncle, as Billy came to a full stop. "Sir John has gone north again, you say, and will be expecting us offthe island? There's naught to prevent our starting this evening?"

"Nothing at all, " agreed Captain Pomery, to whom by a glance he hadappealed. "Leastways and supposing I can get my hawsers out ofcurl-papers. "

"That suits you, Prosper?" asked my uncle. I looked across the fireat Marc'antonio, who sat with his eyes lowered upon the gun acrosshis knees. 

"Marc'antonio, " said I, "my friends here are proposing to sailnorthward to Cape Corso to-night. They require me to sail with them. Am I free, think you?"

"Beyond doubt you are free, cavalier, " answered Marc'antonio, stillwithout lifting his eyes. 

"Now, for my part, " I said, "I am not so sure. Suppose--look at meplease, my friend--suppose that you and I were to go first to thePrincess together and ask her leave?"

My uncle gazed up at Marc'antonio, who had sprung to his feet; and--after a long look at his face--from Marc'antonio to me. 

"Prosper, " he said quietly, "we shall sail to-night. If we sailwithout you, will your father forgive us? That is all I ask. "

"Dear uncle, " said I, "for the life of me I cannot tell you; but thatin my place he would do the like, I am sure. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

THE GREAT ADVENTURE. 

 "He that luvith a starre To follow her, sinke or swym, Hath never a feare how farre, For the world it longith to hym: For the road it longith to hym And the fieldes that marcche beside-- Lift up thi herte, my maister then, So inery to-morn we ride. " _The Squyres Delyt_. 

So the _Gauntlet_ sailed for the island of Giraglia; and we two, having watched her for a while as she stood out to make heroffing, trod out our camp-fire and turned our faces northward. Marc'antonio's last action before starting was to unhobble the goatsand free the hogs from their wooden collars and headpieces. As hefinished operating he turned them loose one by one with a partingsmack on the buttocks, and they ran from us among the thickets, wherewe heard their squeals change to grunts of delight. 

Brutes though they were, I could understand their delight, havinglived with them, and in even such thraldom as theirs. From my neckalso it seemed that a heavy collar-weight fell loose and slippeditself as, having passed Nat's grave in the hollow, we left thepine-forest at our feet and wound our way up among the granitepinnacles, upward, still upward, into the clear air. Aloft there, beyond the pass, the kingdom of Corsica broke on our view, laid outin wide prospect; the distant glittering peaks of Monte d'Oro andMonte Rotondo, the forests hitched on their shoulders like greenmantles, the creased valleys leading down their rivers to the shore;a magic kingdom ringed with a sea of iris blue; a kingdom bequeathedto me. A few months ago I had shouted with joy to possess it;to-day, with more admiring eyes, I worshipped it for the lists of mygreater adventure; and surely Nat's spirit marched with me to the airof his favourite song--

 "If doughty deeds my lady please, Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm and fast his seat That bears frae me the meed . . . "

But, in fact, it was not until the third morning of our journey thatMarc'antonio (who, like every Corsican, abhorred walking) was able topurchase us a steed apiece in the shape of two lean and shaggy hillponies. They belonged to a decayed gentleman--of the best blood inthe island, as he assured me--whom poverty had driven with his familyto inhabit a shepherd's hut above the Restorica on the flank of MonteRotondo where it looks towards Corte. We had slept the night underhis roof, and I remember that I was awakened next morning on my bedof dry fern by the small chatter of the children, themselves awakingone by one as the daylight broke. After breakfast our host led usdown to the pasture where the ponies were tethered; and when he andMarc'antonio had haggled for twenty minutes, and I was in the act ofmounting, three of the children, aged from five downwards, cametoddling with bunches of a blue flower unknown to me, but much like agentian, which they had gathered on the edge of the tumblingRestorica, some way up-stream. I took my bunch and pinned it on myhat as I rode, hailing the omen--

 "For you alone I ride the ring, For you I wear the blue . . . "

And--how went the chorus?

 "Then tell me how to woo thee, love; O tell me how to woo thee; For thy dear sake nae care I'll take--"

The only care taken by Marc'antonio was to follow the bridle-trackswinding among the foothills, and give a wide berth to the highroadrunning north and south through Corte, especially to the bridgescrossing the Golo River, at each of which, he assured me, we shouldfind a guard posted of Paoli's militia. Luckily, he knew all thefords, and in the hill-villages off the road the inhabitants showedno suspicion of us, but took it for granted that we were the goodPaolists we passed for. Marc'antonio answered all their guilelessquestions by giving out that we were two roving commissionerstravelling northward to delimit certain _pievi_ in the Nebbio, at thefoot of Cape Corso--an explanation which secured for us the best ofvictuals as well as the highest respect. 

For awhile our course, bending roughly parallel with the Golo, led usalmost due east, and at length brought us out upon the flat shore ofthe Tuscan Sea. Here the mountains, which had confined us to theriver valley, run northward with a sharp twist, and turning with themwe rode once more with our faces set toward our destination, keepingthe tall range on our left hand, and on our right the melancholysea-marshes where men cannot dwell for the malaria, and where forhour after hour we rode in a silence unbroken save by the plash offish in the lagoon, or the cry of a heron solitary among the reeds. This desolation lasted all the way to Biguglia, where we turned asideagain among the foothills to avoid the fortress of Bastia and thetraffic of the roads about it. Beyond Bastia we were safe in thefastnesses of Cape Corso, across which, from this eastern shore tothe western, and to the camp at Olmeta, one only pass (soMarc'antonio informed me) was practicable. I guessed we were nearingit when he began to mutter to himself in the intervals of scanningthe crags high on our left; for this was to him, he confessed, analmost unknown country. But the gap, when we came abreast of it, could scarcely be mistaken. With a glance around, as though to takeour bearings, he abruptly headed off for it, and, having climbed thefirst slope, reined up and sat for a moment, rigid in his saddle as astatue, listening. 

The sun had sunk behind the range, and the herbage at our feet lay ina bronze shadow; but light still bathed the sea behind us, and overit a company of gulls kept flashing and wheeling and clamouring. While I listened, following Marc'antonio's example, it seemed to methat an echo from the summit directly above us took up the gull's cryand repeated it, prolonging the note. Marc'antonio lifted and waveda hand. 

"That will be Stephanu, " he announced; and sure enough, before we hadpushed a couple of furlongs up the slope, we caught sight of Stephanudescending a steep scree to meet us. 

He and Marc'antonio nodded salutation brusquely, as though they hadparted but a few hours ago. Marc'antonio, though relieved to seehim, wore a judicial frown. 

"What of the Princess, O Stephanu?" he demanded. 

"The Princess is well enough, for aught I know, " answered Stephanu, with a glance at me. 

"You can speak before the cavalier. He knows not everything until wetell him; but he is one of us, and that I will engage. "

Stephanu shrugged his shoulders. "The Princess is well enough, foraught I know, " he repeated. 

"But what fool's talk is this? The Prince packed you off, meaningmischief of some kind--what mischief you, being on the spot, shouldhave been able to guess. "

"It is God's truth, then, that I could not, " Stephanu admittedsullenly; "and what is more, neither could you in my place have madea guess--no, not with all your wisdom. "

"But you travelled back with all speed? You have seen her?"

"I travelled back with all speed. " Stephanu repeated the words as achild repeats a lesson, but whether ironically or not his face didnot tell. "Also I have seen her. And that is the devil of it. "

"Will you explain?"

"She will have nothing to do with me; nor with you. I told her thatyou would be upon the road and following close after me. Naturally Isaid nothing of the cavalier here, for I knew nothing--"

"Did she ask?" I inquired. 

Stephanu appeared to search his memory. "Now I come to think of itshe _did_ let fall a word. . . . But I for my part supposed you to bedead; and, by the way, signore, you will accept my compliments onyour recovery. "

Marc'antonio's frown had deepened. "You mean to tell me, Stephanu, "he persisted, "that the Princess will have none of us?"

"She bade me go my ways, and not come near her; which was coldwelcome for a man after a nine day's sweat. She added that if I orMarc'antonio came spying upon her, or in any way interfering untilshe sent for us, she would appeal to her brother against us. "

"Was the Prince present when she said this?"

"He was not. He was away hunting, she said, in the direction ofNonza; but in fact he must have gone reconnoitring, for he had leftthe camp all but empty--no one at home but Andrea and Jacopo Galloni, whose turn it was with the cooking--these and the Princess. But thePrince has returned since then, for I heard his horn as I crossed thepass. "

Stephanu, as we moved forward, kept alongside Marc'antonio's bridle, or as nearly alongside as the narrow track allowed. I, bringing upthe rear, could not see the trouble in Marc'antonio's face, but Iheard it in his voice as he put question after question. "The Princess was not a prisoner. " "No; nor under any constraintthat Stephanu could detect. She had her gun; was in fact cleaningand oiling its lock very leisurably when he had walked into camp. He had found her there, seated on a rock, with Andrea and JacopoGalloni at a little distance below preparing the meal and taking nonotice of her. In fact, they could not see her, because the rockoverhung them. "

"She must have been sitting there for sentry, " said Stephanu, "At anyrate, there was no other guard set on the camp. Well, if so, shetook it easily enough; but catching sight of me she stood up, put herfinger to her lip and pointed over the ledge. Thereupon I peeredover, but drew back my head before Andrea and Jacopo could spy me. So I stood before her, expecting to be praised for the despatch I hadmade on the road; but she praised me not. She motioned me to followher a little way out of earshot of the men below, to a patch oftall-growing junipers within which, when first we pitched camp, shehad chosen to make her bower. Then she turned on me, and I saw thatin some way I had vexed her, for her eyes were wrathful; and, saidshe, 'Why have you made this speed?' 'Because, O Princess, you haveneed of me, ' I answered. 'I have no need of you, ' she said;'but where is Marc'antonio? And the young Englishman--is he yetalive?' 'O Princess, ' I answered again, 'I did not go all the way tothe old camp, but only so far that the man Priske could not mistakehis road to it. Then, having put him in the way, I turned back andhave travelled night and day. Of the young Englishman I can tell younothing; but of Marc'antonio I can promise that he will be on theroad and not far behind me. '"

"_Grazie_, " muttered Marc'antonio; "but how could you be sure I hadreceived the message?"

"Because the Princess had charged you to be at that post untilreleased. Therefore I knew you would not have quitted it, if alive;and if you were dead--" Stephanu shrugged his shoulders. "I was ina hurry, you understand; and in a hurry a man must take a few risks. "

"I am not saying you did ill, " growled Marc'antonio, slightlymollified. 

"The Princess said so, however. 'You are a fool, O Stephanu, ' shetold me; 'and as for needing you or Marc'antonio, on the contrary, Iforbid you both to join the camp for a while. Go back. If you meetMarc'antonio upon the road, give him this message for me. ''But where, O Princess, ' I asked, 'are we to await your pleasure?''Fare north, if you will, to Cape Corso, ' she said, 'where that oldmad Englishman boasts that he will reach my mother in her prison atGiraglia. He has gone thither alone, refusing help; and you mayperhaps be useful to him. '"

Marc'antonio's growl grew deeper. "Was that all?" he asked. 

"That was all. "

"Then there is mischief here. The Prince, O Stephanu, did notwithout purpose send you out of the way. Now, whatever he purposedhe must have meant to do quickly, before we two should return to thecamp--"

"He had mischief in his heart, I will swear, " assented Stephanu, after a glance at me and another at Marc'antonio, who reassured himwith a nod. "And that the Princess plainly guessed, by her manner atparting, when I set out with the man Priske. She was sorry enoughthen to say good-bye to me, " he added, half boastfully. 

"Nevertheless, " answered Marc'antonio with some sarcasm, "she appearsto have neglected to confide to you what she feared. "

Stephanu spread out his hands. "The Prince, and the reverendFather--who can tell what passes in their minds?"

"Not you, at any rate! Very well, then--the Princess wasapprehensive. . . . Yet now, when the mischief (whatever it is)should either be done or on the point of doing, she will have none ofour help. Clearly she knows more, yet will have none of our help. That is altogether puzzling to me. . . . And she sends usnorth. . . . Very well again; we will go north, but not far!"

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. I read his meaning--that hewished to plan his campaign privately with Stephanu--and, reining inmy pony, I fell back out of earshot. 

The pass towards which we were climbing stood perhaps three thousandfeet above the shore and the high road we had left; and the track, when it reached the steeper slopes, ran in long zigzagging terracesat the angles of which our ponies had sometimes to scramble upstairways cut in the living rock. As the sun sank a light mistgradually spread over the coast below us, the distant islands grewdim, and we rode suspended, as it were, over a bottomless vale and asea without horizon. Slowly, out of these ghostly wastes, the moonlifted herself in full circle, and her rays, crossing the cope ofheaven, lit up a tall grey crag on the ridge above us, and the stemof a white-withered bush hanging from it--an isolated mass which(my companions told me) marked the summit of the ascent. 

"The path leads round the base of it, " said Stephanu. "We shallreach it in another twenty minutes. "

"But will it not be guarded?" I asked. 

He hunched his shoulders. "The Prince is no general. A hundredtimes our enemies might have destroyed us; but they prefer to leaveus alone. It is more humiliating. "

Marc'antonio rode forward deep in thought, his chin sunk upon hisbreast. At the summit, under the shadow of the great rock, he reinedup, and slewing himself about in his saddle addressed Stephanu again. 

"As I remember, there is a track below which branches off to theright, towards Nonza. It will take us wide of Olmeta and we canstrike down into the lowland somewhere between the two. The Princesscommands us to make for the north; so we shall be obeying her, and atthe same time we can bivouac close enough to take stock at sunriseand, maybe, learn some news of the camp--yet not so close that ourhorses can be heard, if by chance one should whinny. "

"As to that you may rest easy, " Stephanu assured him. "It is knownthat many of the farms below keep ponies in stable. "

From the pass we looked straight down upon another sea, starlit anddimly discernible, and upon slopes and mountain spurs descending intodense woodland over which, along the bluffs of the ridge, the lightsof a few lonely hill-farms twinkled. Stephanu found for us the trackof which Marc'antonio had spoken, and although on this side of therange the shadows of the crags made an almost total darkness, ourponies took us down at a fair pace. After thirty, or it may beforty, minutes of this jolting and (to me) entirely haphazardprogress, Marc'antonio again reined up, on the edge of amountain-stream which roared across our path so loudly as to drownhis instructions. But at a sign from him Stephanu stepped back andtook my bridle, and within a couple of minutes I felt that my pony'sfeet were treading good turf and, at a cry from my guide, ducked myhead to avoid the boughs as we threaded our way down through anorchard of stalwart olives. 

The slope grew gentler as we descended, and eased almost to a levelon the verge of a high road running north and south under the glimmerof the moon--or rather of the pale light heralding the moon's advent. Marc'antonio looked about him and climbed heavily from his saddle. He had been riding since dawn. 

I followed his example, though with difficulty--so stiff were mylimbs; picketed my pony; and, having unstrapped the blanket from mysaddle-bow, wrapped it about me and stretched myself on the thin turfto munch the ration of crust which Marc'antonio doled out from hisbag; for he carried our provender. 

"Never grudge a hard day's work when 'tis over, " said he, as hepassed me the wine-skin. "Yonder side of the mountain breeds malariaeven in winter, but on this side a man may sleep and rise fit foradventure. "

He offered, very politely, to share his blanket with Stephanu, butStephanu declined. Those two might share one loyalty and togethertake counsel for it, but between them as men there could be no likingnor acceptance of favours. 

I lay listening for a while to the mutter of their voices as theytalked there together under the olives; but not for long. The fewwords and exclamations that reached me carried no meaning. In truthI was worn out. Very soon the chatter of the stream, deep among thetrees--the stream which we had just now avoided--confused itself withtheir talk, and I slept. 

Of a sudden I started and sat up erect. I had been dreaming, and inmy dream I had seen two figures pass along the road beyond the fringeof the trees. They had passed warily, yet hurriedly, across thepatch of it now showing white between the olive trunks, under therisen moon. Yet how could this have happened if I had dreamed itmerely? The moon, when I fell asleep, had not surmounted the ridgebehind me, and that patch of road, now showing so white and clear, had been dim, if not quite invisible. None the less I could be swornthat two figures had passed up the road . . . Two men . . . 

Marc'antonio and Stephanu?--reconnoitring perhaps? I rubbed my eyes. No: Marc'antonio and Stephanu lay a few paces away, stretched inprofound sleep under the moonlight drifting between the olive boughs;and yonder, past the fringe of the orchard, shone the patch of whitehigh road. Two figures, half a minute since, had passed along it. I could be sworn to it, even while reason insisted that I had beendreaming. 

I flung off my rug, and, stepping softly to the verge of theorchard's shadow, peered out upon the road. To my right--that is tosay, northward--it stretched away level and visibly deserted so faras the bend, little more than a gunshot distant, where it curvedaround the base of low cliff and disappeared. A few paces on thisside of the cliff glimmered the rail of a footbridge, and to thisspot my ears traced the sound of running water which had been singingthrough my dreams--the same stream which had turned us aside to seekour bivouac. Not even yet could I believe that my two wayfarers hadbeen phantoms merely. I had given them two minutes' start at least, and by this time they might easily have passed the bend. Threading my way swiftly between the boles of the olive trees, Iskirted the road to the edge of the stream and stood for a moment atpause before stepping out upon the footbridge and into the moonlight. 

The water at my feet, scarcely seen through the dark ferns, ranswiftly and without noise as through a trough channelled in theliving rock; but it brought its impetus from a cascade that hummedaloft somewhere in the darkness with a low continuous thunder as of amill with a turning wheel. I lifted my head to the sound, and inthat instant my ears caught a slight creak from the footbridge on myleft. I faced about, and stood rigid, at gaze. A woman was steppingacross the bridge, there in the moonlight; a slight figure, cloakedand hooded and hurrying fast; a woman, with a gun slung behind herand the barrel of it glimmering. It was the Princess. 

I let her pass, and as she turned the bend of the road I stole out tothe footbridge and across it in pursuit. I knew now that the twowayfarers had not been phantoms of my dreaming; that she wasfollowing, tracking them, and that I must track and follow her. Beyond the bend the road twisted over a low-lying spur of themountain between outcrops of reddish-coloured rock, and then ranstraight for almost three hundred yards, with olive orchards oneither hand; so that presently I could follow and hold her in sight, myself keeping well within the trees' line of shadow. 

Twice she turned to look behind her, but rapidly and as if in nogreat apprehension of pursuit; or perhaps her own quest had made herreckless. At the end of this straight and almost level stretch theroad rose steeply to wind over another foot-hill, and here she brokeinto a run. I pressed after her up the ascent, and from the knap ofit, with a shock, found myself looking down at close hand upon asmall dim bay of the sea with a white edge of foam curving away intoa loom of shore above which a solitary light twinkled. The road, following the curve of the shore a few paces above the waves, laybare in the moonlight, without cover to right or left, until, a mileaway perhaps, it melted into the grey of night. Along that distancemy eyes sought and sought in vain for the figure that had beenrunning scarcely two hundred yards ahead of me. The Princess haddisappeared. 

For a short while I stood at fault; but searching the bushes on myleft, I was aware of a parting between them, overgrown indeed, yetplainly indicating a track; along which I had pushed but two-score ofpaces--perhaps less--before a light glimmered between the greeneryand I stepped into an open clearing in full view of a cottage, thelight of which fell obliquely across the turf through a warped orcracked window-shutter. 

"Camillo!"--it was the Princess's voice, half imperious, halfpleading; and from beyond the angle of the cottage wall came thenoise of a latch shaken. "Open to me, Camillo, or by the Mother ofChrist I will blow the door in! I have a gun, Camillo, and I swearto you!"

The challenge was not answered. Crouching almost on all fours Isprang across the ray of light and gained the wall's shadow. There, as I drew breath, I heard the latch shaken again, more impatiently. 

"Camillo!"

The bolt was drawn. Peering around the angle of the wall, I saw thelight fall full on her face as the door opened and she stepped intothe cottage. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

ORDEAL AND CHOOSING. 

 "Thou coward! Yet Art living? canst not, wilt not find the road To the great palace of magnificent death?-- Though thousand ways lead to his thousand doors Which day and night are still unbarr'd for all. " NAT. LEE. --_Oedipus_. 

"No man"--I am quoting my father--"can be great, or even wise, oreven, properly speaking, a man at all, until he has burnt his boats";but I imagine that those who achieve wisdom and greatness burn theirboats deliberately and not--as did I, next moment--upon a sudden wildimpulse. 

My excuse is, the door was already closing behind the Princess. I knew she had tracked the Prince Camillo and his confessor, and thatthese two were within the cottage. I knew nothing of their business, save that it must be shameful, since she who had detected and wouldprevent it chose to hide her knowledge even from Marc'antonio andStephanu. Then much rather (you may urge) would she choose to hideit from me. The objection is a sound one, had I paused to considerit; but (fortunately or unfortunately, as you may determine) I didnot. She had stepped into peril. The door was closing behind her:in another couple of seconds it would be bolted again. I sprang forit, hurled myself in through the entry, and there, pulling myselferect, stared about me. 

Four faces returned my stare; four faces, and all dismayed as thougha live bombshell had dropped through the doorway. To the priest, whom my impact had flung aside against the wall, I paid no attention. My eyes fastened themselves on the table at which, with a lantern andsome scattered papers between them, sat two men--the Prince, and agrey-haired officer in the blue-and-white Genoese uniform. The Prince, who had pushed back his chair and confronted his sisterwith hands stretched out to cover or to gather up the papers on thetable, slewed round upon me a face that, as it turned, slowlystiffened with terror. The Genoese officer rose with one handresting on the table, while with the other he fumbled at a silverchain hanging across his breast, and as he shot a glance at thePrince I could almost see his lips forming the word "treachery. "The Princess's consternation was of all the most absolute. "_The Crown! Where is the Crown?_"--as I broke in, her voice, halfimperious, half supplicatory, had panted out these words, while withoutstretched hand and forefinger she pointed at the table. Her handstill pointed there, rigid as the rest of her body, as with dilatedeyes she stared into mine. 

"Yes, gentlemen, " said I, in the easiest tone I could manage, "thePrincess asks you a question, which allow me to repeat. Where isthe Crown?"

"In the devil's name--" gasped the Prince. 

The Genoese interrupted him. "Shut and bolt the door!" he commandedthe priest, sharply. 

"Master Domenico, " said I, "if you move so much as a step, I willshoot you through the body. "

The Genoese tugged at the chain on his breast and drew forth awhistle. "Signore, " he said quietly and with another side glance atthe Prince, "I do not know your name, but mine is Andrea Fornari, andI command the Genoese garrison at Nonza. Having some inheritedknowledge of the Corsicans, and some fifty years' experience of myown, I do not walk into traps. A dozen men of mine stand within callhere, at the back entrance, and my whistle will call me up anotherfifty. Bearing this in mind, you will state your business aspeaceably as possible. "

"Nevertheless, " said I, "since I have taken a fancy--call it a whim, if you will--that the door remains at least unbolted. . . . "

He shrugged his shoulders. "It will help you nothing. "

"I am an Englishman, " said I. 

"Indeed? Well, I have heard before now that it will explain anythingand everything; but as yet my poor understanding scarcely stretchesit to cover your presence here. "

"Faith, sir, " I answered, "to put the matter briefly, I am herebecause the Princess is here, whom I have followed--though withouther knowledge--because I guessed her to be walking into peril. "

"Excuse me. Without her knowledge, you say?" The Commandant turnedto the Princess, who bowed her head but continued to gaze at me fromunder her lowered brows. "Absolutely, sir. "

"And without knowledge of her errand? Again excuse me, but does itnot occur to you that you may be intruding at this moment upon afamily affair?"

Here the Prince broke in with a scornful laugh. For a minute or sohis brow had been clearing, but, though he sneered, he could not asyet meet his sister's eye. I noted this as his laugh drew my gazeupon him, and it seemed that my contempt gave me a sudden clearinsight; for I found myself answering the Commandant verydeliberately--

"The Princess, sir, until a moment ago, perhaps knew not whether Iwas alive or dead, and certainly knew not that I was within a hundredmiles of this place. Had she known it, she would as certainly nothave confided her errand to me, mixed up as it is with her brother'sshame. She would, I dare rather wager, have taken great pains tohide it from me. And yet I will not pretend that I am quite ignorantof it, as neither will I allow--family affair though it be--that Ihave no interest in it, seeing that it concerns the crown ofCorsica. "

The Commandant glanced at the Prince, then at the priest, who stoodpassive, listening, with his back to the wall, his loose-lidded eyesstudying me from the lantern's penumbra. 

"What possible interest--" begun the Commandant. 

"By the crown of Corsica, " I interrupted, "I mean the material crownof the late King Theodore, at this moment concealed (if I mistakenot) somewhere in this cottage. In it I may claim a certaininterest, seeing that I brought it from England to this island, andthat the Prince Camillo here--whose father gave it to me--is tradingit to you by fraud. Yes, _messere_, he may claim that it belongs tohim by right; but he obtained it from me by fraud, as neither he norhis sister can deny. That perhaps might pass: but when he--he a sonof Corsica--goes on to sell it to Genoa, I reassert my claim. "

Again the Commandant shrugged his shoulders. It consoled me to notethat his glance at the Prince was by no means an admiring one. 

"I am a soldier, " he said curtly. "I do not deal in sentiment; noris it my business, when a bargain comes to me--a bargain in which Ican serve my country--to inquire into how's and why's. "

"I grant that, sir, " said I. "It is your business, now that thecrown--with what small profit may go with it--lies under your hand, to grasp it for Genoa. But as a soldier and a brave man, youunderstand that now you must grasp it by force. God knows in whathope, if in any, the Princess here tracked out your plot; but atleast she can compel you--I can compel you--we two, weak as we are, can compel you--to use force. The honour of a race--and that a royalone--shall at least not pass to you on the mere signature of thatcoward sitting there. " I swung round upon the Prince. "You may giveup trying to hide those papers, sir, since every one in this roomknows what compact you were in the act of signing. "

The Princess stepped forward. "All this, " she said to me in a low, hard voice, "I could have done without help of you. " Her tonepromised that she would never forgive, but she looked only at herbrother. "Camillo, " she said, standing before him, "this Englishmanhas said only what I came to say. It is not my fault that he is hereand has guessed. When I was sure, I hid my knowledge even fromMarc'antonio and Stephanu; and he--he shall die for havingoverheard. The Genoese will see to that, and the Commandant, as heis a gentleman, will write in his report that he took the crown fromus, having caught us at unawares. . . . I cannot shoot you, mybrother. Even you would not ask this of me--of me that have servedyou, and that serve you now in the end. . . . See, I make noreproaches. . . . We were badly brought up, we two, and when you wereyoung and helpless, vile men took hold on you and taught you to becapable of--of this thing. But we are Colonne, we two, and can endas Colonne. " She dipped a hand within the bosom of her bodice anddrew out a phial. "Dear, I will drink after you. It will not behard; no, believe me, it will not be so very hard--a moment, a pangperhaps, and everything will yet be saved. O brother, what is apang, a moment, that you can weigh it against a lifetime ofdishonour!"

The Prince sprang up cursing. 

"Dishonour? And who are you that talk to me of dishonour?--you thatcome straying here out of the night with your _cicisbeo_ at yourheels? You, with the dew on you and your dress bedraggled, arrivestraight from companioning in the woods and prate to me of shame--ofthe blood of the Colonne!" He smote a hand on the table and spatforth a string of vile names upon her, mixed with curses; abominablewords before which she drew back cowering, yet less (I think) fromthe lash of them than from shock and horror of his incrediblebaseness. Passion twisted his mouth; his tongue stammered with thegush of his abuse; but he was lying, and knew that he was lying, forhis eyes would meet neither hers nor mine. Only after drawing breathdid he for a moment look straight at her, and then it was to demand;"And who, pray, has driven me to this? What has made Corsica sobitter to me that in weariness I am here to resign it? You, mysister--you, and what is known of you. . . . Why can I do nothing withthe patriots? Why were there no recruits? Why, when I negotiated, did the Paolists listen as to a child and smile politely and show metheir doors? Again, because of you, O my sister!--because there isnot a household in Corsica but has heard whisperings of you, and ofBrussels, and of the house in Brussels where you were sought andfound. Blood of the Colonne!--and now the blood of the Colonne takesan English lover to warm it! Blood of--"

With one hand I caught him by the throat, with the other by thegirdle, and flung him clean across the table into the corner, oversetting the lantern, but not extinguishing the light, for theCommandant caught it up deftly. As he set it back on the table Iheard him grunt, and--it seemed to me--with approval. 

"I will allow no shooting, sir, " said he, quickly, yet with easyauthority, noting my hand go down to my gun-stock. 

"You misunderstand me, " I answered, and indeed I was but shifting itsbalance on my bandolier, which had slipped awry in the struggle. "There are reasons why I cannot kill this man. But you will give meleave to answer just two of his slanders upon this lady. It is falsethat I came here to-night by her invitation or in her company, as itis God's truth that for many months until we met in this room and inyour presence she has not set eyes on me. She could not have knowneven that I lived since the hour when her brother there--yes, Princess, your brother there--left me broken and maimed at the farend of the island. For the rest, he utters slanders to which I haveno clue save that I know them to be slanders. But at a venture, ifyou would know how they grew and who nurtured them, I think thepriest yonder can tell you. "

The Commandant waved a hand politely. "You have spoken well, sir. Believe me, on this point no more is necessary. I have no doubt--there can be no doubt--that the Prince lies under a misapprehension. Nevertheless, there are circumstances which lay me under obligationto him. " He paused. "And you will admit that you have placed thelady--thoughtlessly no doubt--in a false position. "

"Well and good, sir, " I replied. "If, in your opinion as a man ofhonour, the error demands a victim, by all means call in yoursoldiers and settle me. I stipulate only that you escort the ladyback to her people with honour, under a flag of truce; and I protestonly, as she has protested, that this traitor has no warrant to sellyou his country's rights. "

The Prince had picked himself up, and stood sulkily, still in hiscorner. I suppose that he was going to answer this denunciation, when the priest's voice broke in, smooth and unctuous. 

"Pardon me, _messeri_, but there occurs to me a more excellent way. This Englishman has brought dishonour on one of the Colonne:therefore it is most necessary that he should die. But before dyinglet him make the only reparation--and marry her. "

I turned on him, staring: and in the flicker of his eyes as he liftedthem for one instant towards his master, I read the whole devilishcunning of the plot. They might securely let her go, as anEnglishman's widow. The fact had merely to be proclaimed and theislanders would have none of her. I am glad to remember that--mybrain keeping clear, albeit my pulse, already fast enough, leapthotly and quickened its speed--I had presence of mind to admire thesuggestion coolly, impersonally, and quite as though it affected meno jot. 

The Commandant bent his brows. Behind them--as it seemed to me--Icould read his thought working. 

"If you, sir, have no objection, " he said slowly, looking up andaddressing me with grave politeness, "I see much to be said for thereverend father's proposal. "

He turned to the Prince, who--cur that he was--directed his spitefulglee upon his sister. 

"It appears, O Camilla, that in our race to save each other's honourI am to be winner. Nay, you may wear your approaching widowhood withdignity, and boast in time to come that your husband once bore thecrown of Corsica. "

"Prince Camillo, " said the Commandant, quietly, "I am here to-nightin the strict service of my Republic, to do my best for her: but Iwarn you that if you a second time address your sister in that tone Ishall reserve the right to remember it later as a plain Genoesegentleman. Sir, " he faced about and addressed me again, "am I tounderstand that you accept?"

I looked at the Princess. She met my look proudly, with eyes set ina face pale as death. I could not for the life of me read whetherthey forbade me or implored. They seemed to forbid, protest . . . And yet (the bliss of it!) for one half instant they had also seemedto implore. Thank God at least they did not scorn!

"Princess, " I said, "these men propose to do me an infinite honour--an honour far above my deserving--and to kill me while my heart yetbeats with the pride of it. Yet say to me now if I must renounce it, and I will die bearing you no grudge. Take thought, not of me, butof yourself only, and sign to me if I must renounce. "

Still she eyed me, pale and unblinking. Her bosom panted, and for amoment she half-raised her hand; but dropped it again. 

"I think, sir, " said I, facing around on the Commandant, I think bythis time the day must be breaking. Will you kindly open theshutters? Also you would oblige me further--set it down to anEnglishman's whim--by forming up your men outside; and we will have asoldier's wedding. "

"Willingly, cavalier. " The Commandant stepped to the shutter andunbarred it, letting in daylight with the cool morning breeze--agreenish-grey daylight, falling across the glade without as softly asever through cathedral aisles, and a breeze that was wine to thetaste as it breathed through the exhausted air of the cottage--asacramental dawn, and somewhere deep in the arcades of the tree-bolesa solitary bird singing!

The Commandant leaned forth and blew his whistle. The bird's songceased, and was followed by the tramp of men. My brain worked soclearly, I could almost count their footsteps. I saw them, acrossthe Commandant's shoulder, as they filed past the corner of thewindow and, having formed into platoon, grounded arms, the butts oftheir muskets thudding softly on the turf--a score of men inblue-and-white uniforms, spick and span in the clear morning light. 

I counted them and drew a long breath. "Master priest, " said I, andheld out my hand to the Princess, "in your Church, I believe, matrimony is a sacrament. If you are ready, I am ready. "

His loose lip twitched as he stepped forward. . . . When he paused inhis muttering I lifted the Princess's cold hand and drew a seal frommy pocket--a heavy seal with a ring attached, which I fitted on herfinger; and so I held her hand, letting drop on it by degrees theweight of the heavy seal. 

From the first she had offered no resistance, made no protest. I pressed the seal into the palm of her hand, not telling her that itwas her own father's great seal of Corsica. But I folded her fingersback on it, reverently touched the one encircled by the ring, andsaid I--

"It is the best I can give;" and a little later, "It is all I broughtin my pockets but this handkerchief. Take that, too; lead me out;and bandage my eyes, my wife. "

She took my arm obediently and we stepped out by the doorway, bridegroom and bride, in face of the soldiery. A sergeant salutedand came forward for the Commandant's orders. 

"A moment, sir, " said I, and, laying two fingers on the Commandant'sarm, I nodded towards the bole of a stout pine-tree across theclearing. "Will that distance suit you?"

He nodded in reply and as I swung on my heel touched my arm in histurn. 

"You will do me the honour, sir, to shake hands?"

"Most willingly, sir. " I shook hands with him, casting, as I did so, a glance over my shoulder at the Prince and Father Domenico, who hungback in the doorway--two men afraid. "Come, " said I to the Princess, and, as she seemed to hesitate, "Come, my wife, " I commanded, andwalked to the pine-tree, she following. I held out the handkerchief. She took it, still obediently, and as she took it I clasped her handand lifted it to my lips. 

"Nay, " said I, challenging, "what was it you told your brother?A moment? A pang? What are they to weigh against a lifetime ofdishonour?"

I saw her blench: yet even while she bandaged me at my bidding, I didnot arrive at understanding the folly--the cruel folly of thatspeech. Nay, even when, having bandaged me, she stepped away andleft me, I considered not nor surmised what second meaning might beread in it. 

Shall I confess the truth? I was too consciously playing a part andmaking a handsome exit. After all, had I not some little excuse? . . . Here was I, young, lusty, healthful, with a man's careerbefore me, and across it, trenched at my feet, the grave. A sayingof Billy Priske's comes into my mind--a word spoken, years after, upon a poor fisherman of Constantine parish whose widow, as by willdirected, spent half his savings on a tombstone of carved granite. "A man, " said Billy, "must cut a dash once in his lifetime, thoughthe chance don't come till he's dead. " . . . Looking back acrossthese years I can smile at the boy I was and forgive his poor braveflourish. But his speech was thoughtless: the woman (ah! but heknows her better now) was withdrawn with its wound in her heart: andbetween them Death was stepping forward to make the misunderstandingfinal. 

I remember setting my shoulder-blades firmly against the bole of thetree. A kind of indignation sustained me; a scorn to be cut offthus, a scorn especially for the two cowards by the doorway. They were talking with the Commandant. Their voices sounded acrossthe interval between me and the firing-party. Why were they wastingtime? . . . 

I could not distinguish their words, save that twice I heard thePrince curse viciously. The hound (I told myself, shutting my teeth)might have restrained his tongue for a few moments. 

The voices ceased. In a long pause I heard the insects humming inthe grasses at my feet. Would the moment never come?

It came at last. A flash of light winked above the edge of mybandage, and close upon it broke the roar and rattle of thevolley . . . Death? I put out my hands and groped for it. Where was Death?

Nay, perhaps this _was_ Death? If so, what fools were men to fearit! The hum of the insects had given place to silence--absolutesilence. If bullet had touched me, I had felt no pang at all. I was standing, yes, surely I was standing . . . Slowly it broke onme that I was unhurt, that they had fired wide, prolonging theirsport with me; and I tore away the bandage, crying out upon them tofinish their cruelty. 

At a little distance sat the Princess watching me, her gun across herknees. Beyond her and beyond the cottage, by the edge of the woodthe firing-party had fallen into rank and were marching off among thepine-stems, the Prince and Father Domenico with them. I staredstupidly after the disappearing uniforms, and put out a hand as if tobrush away the smoke which yet floated across the clearing. The Commandant, turning to follow his men, at the same moment liftedhis hand in salute. So he, too, passed out of sight. 

I turned to the Princess. She arose slowly and came to me. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE WOOING OF PRINCESS CAMILLA. 

 "Take heed of loving me, At least remember I forbade it thee; . . . If thou love me, take heed of loving me. " DONNE, _The Prohibition_. 

"You have conquered. "

She had halted, a pace or two from me, with downcast eyes. She saidit very slowly, and I stared at her and answered with an unmeaninglaugh. 

"Forgive me, Princess. I--I fancy my poor wits have been shaken andneed a little time to recover. At any rate, I do not understandyou. "

"You have conquered, " she repeated in a low voice that dragged uponthe words. Then, after a pause, --"You remember, once, promising methat at the last I should come and place my neck under yourfoot . . . " She glanced up at me and dropped her eyes again. "Yes, I see that you remember. _Eccu_--I am here. "

"I remember, Princess: but even yet I do not understand. Why, andfor what, should you beseech me?"

"In the first place for death. I am your wife . . . " She broke offwith a shiver. "There is something in the name, _messere_--is therenot?--that should move you to kindness, as a sportsman takes his gamenot unkindly to break its neck. That is all I ask of you--"

"Princess!"

She lifted a hand. "--except that you will let me say what I have tosay. You shall think hard thoughts of me, and I am going to makethem harder; but for your own sake you shall put away vile ones-ifyou can. "

I stared at her stupidly dizzied a little with the words _I am yourwife_, humming in my brain. Or say that I am naturally notquick-witted, and I will plead that for once my dullness did me nodiscredit. 

At all events it saved me for the moment: for while I stared at her, utterly at a loss, a crackle of twigs warned us, and we turnedtogether as, by the pathway leading from the high-road, the bushesparted and the face of Marc'antonio peered through upon the clearing. 

"Salutation, O Princess!" said he gravely, and stepped out of coverattended by Stephanu, who likewise saluted. 

The Princess drew herself up imperiously. "I thought, O Stephanu, that I had made plain my orders, that you two were neither to follownor to watch me?"

"Nevertheless, " Marc'antonio made answer, "when one misses a comradeand hears, at a little distance, the firing of a volley . . . Not tomention that some one has been burning gunpowder hereabouts, " hewound up, sniffing the air with an expression that absurdly remindedme of our Vicar, at home, tasting wine. 

"I warn you, O Marc'antonio, " said the Princess, "to be wise and askno more questions. "

"I have asked none, O Princess, " he answered again, still verygravely, and after a glance at me turned to Stephanu. "But it runsin my head, comrade, that the time has come to consider other thingsthan wisdom. "

"For example?" I challenged him sharply. 

"For example, cavalier, that I cannot reconcile this smell with anyCorsican gunpowder. "

"And you are right, " said I. "Nay, Princess, you have sworn not longsince to obey me, and I choose that they shall know. That salvo, sirs, was fired, five minutes ago, by the Genoese. "

"A 'salvo' did you say, cavalier?"

"For our wedding, Marc'antonio. " I took the Princess's hand--whichneither yielded nor resisted--and lifting it a little way, releasedit to fall again limply. So for a while there was silence between usfour. 

"Marc'antonio, " said I, "and you, Stephanu--it is I now who speak forthe Princess and decide for her; and I decide that you, who haveserved her faithfully, deserve to be told all the truth. It istruth, then, that we are married. The priest who married us wasFra Domenico, and with assent of his master the Prince Camillo. I can give you, moreover, the name of the chief witness: he is acertain Signor or General Andrea Fornari, and commands the Genoesegarrison in Nonza. "

"Princess!" Marc'antonio implored her. 

"It is true, " said she. "This gentleman has done me much honour, having heard what my brother chose to say. "

"But I do not comprehend!" The honest fellow cast a wild look aroundthe clearing. "Ah, yes-the volley! They have taken the Prince, andshot him . . . But his body--they would not take his body--and youstanding here and allowing it--"

"My friends, " I interrupted, "they have certainly taken his body, andhis soul too, for that matter; and I doubt if you can overtake eitheron this side of Nonza. But with him you will find the crown ofCorsica, and the priest who helped him to sell it. I tell you this, who are clansmen of the Colonne. Your mistress, who discovered theplot and was here to hinder it, will confirm me. "

Their eyes questioned her; not for long. In the droop of her bowedhead was confirmation. 

"And therefore, " I went on, "you two can have no better business thanto help me convey the Princess northward and bring her to her mother, whom in this futile following after a wretched boy you have all sostrangely forgotten. By God!" said I, "there is but one man inCorsica who has hunted, this while, on a true scent and held to it;and he is an Englishman, solitary and faithful at this moment uponCape Corso!"

"Your pardon, cavalier, " answered Marc'antonio after a slow pause. "What you say is just, in part, and I am not denying it. But so wesaw not our duty, since the Queen Emilia bade us follow her son. With him we have hunted (as you tell us) too long and upon a falsescent. Be it so: but, since this has befallen, we must follow on thechase a little farther. For you, you have now the right to protectour well-beloved; not only to the end of Cape Corso, but to the endof the world. But for us, who are two men used to obey, the Princessyour wife must suffer us to disobey her now for the first time. The road to the Cape, avoiding Nonza, is rough and steep and must betravelled afoot; yet I think you twain can accomplish it. At theCape, if God will, we will meet you and stand again at your service. But we travel by another road--the road which does not avoid Nonza. "

He glanced at Stephanu, who nodded. 

"Farewell then, O Princess; and if this be the end of our service, forgive what in the past has been done amiss. Farewell, O cavalier, and be happy to protect her in perils wherein we were powerless. "

The Princess stretched out both hands. 

"Nay, mistress, " said Marc'antonio, with another glance at Stephanu;"but first cross them, that there be no telling the right from theleft: for we are two jealous men. "

She crossed them obediently, and the two took each a hand and kissedit. 

Now all this while I could see that she was struggling for speech, and as they released her hands she found it. 

"But wherefore must you go by Nonza, O Marc'antonio? And how manywill you take with you?"

Marc'antonio put the first question aside. "We go alone, Princess. You may call it a reconnaissance, on which the fewer taken thebetter. "

"You will not kill him! Nay, then, O Marc'antonio, at least--atleast you will not hurt him!"

"We hope, Princess, that there will be no need, " he answeredseriously, and, saluting once more, turned on his heel. Stephanualso saluted and turned, and the pair, falling into step, went fromus across the clearing. 

I watched them till their forms disappeared in the undergrowth, andturned to my bride. 

"And now, Princess, I believe you have something to say to me. Shall it be here? I will not suggest the cottage, which is overfullmaybe of unpleasant reminders; but here is a tree-trunk, if you willbe seated. "

"That shall be as my lord chooses. "

I laughed. "Your lord chooses, then, that you take a seat. It seems(I take your word for it) that there must be hard thoughts betweenus. Well, a straight quarrel is soonest ended, they say: let us havethem out and get them over. "

"Ah, you hurt! Is it necessary that you hurt so?" Her eyes no lessthan her voice sobered me at once, shuddering together as though mylaugh had driven home a sword and it grated on the bone. I remembered that she always winced at laughter, but this evidentanguish puzzled me. 

"God knows, " said I, "how I am hurting you. But pardon me. Speak what you have to speak; and I will be patient while I learn. "

"'A lifetime of dishonour, ' you said, and yet you laugh . . . A lifetime of dishonour, and you were blithe to be shot and escapeit; yet now you laugh. Ah, I cannot understand!"

"Princess!" I protested, although not even now did I grasp whatmeaning she had misread into my words. 

"But you said rightly. It is a lifetime of dishonour you havesuffered them to put on you: and I--I have taken more than life fromyou, cavalier--yet I cannot grieve for you while you laugh. O sir, do not take from me my last help, which is to honour you!"

"Listen to me, Princess, " said I, stepping close and standing overher. "What do you suppose that I meant by using those words?They were your own words, remember. "

"That is better. It will help us both if we are frank--only do nottreat me as a child. You heard what my brother said. Yes, anddoubtless you have heard other things to my shame? Answer me. "

"If your brother chose to utter slanders--"

"Yes, yes; it was easy to catch him by the throat. That is how oneman treats another who calls a woman vile in her presence. It doesnot mean that he disbelieves, and therefore it is worthless; but agallant man will act so, almost without a second thought, and becauseit is _dans les formes_. " She paused. "I learned that phrase inBrussels, cavalier. "

I made no answer. 

"In Brussels, cavalier, " she repeated, "where it was often in themouths of very vile persons. You have heard, perhaps, that we--thatmy brother and I--lived our childhood in Brussels?"

I bent my head, without answering; but still she persisted. 

"I was brought to Corsica from Brussels, cavalier. Marc'antonio andStephanu fetched us thence, being guided by that priest who is now mybrother's confessor. "

"I have been told so, Princess. Marc'antonio told me. "

"Did he also tell you where he found me?"

"No, Princess. "

"Did he tell you that, being fetched hither, I was offered by mybrother in marriage to a young Count Odo of the Rocca Serra, and thatthe poor boy slew himself with his own gun?"

I stuffed my hands deep in my pockets, and said I, standing overher--

"All this has been told me, Princess, though not the precise reasonfor it: and since you desire me to be frank I will tell you that Ihave given some thought to that dead lad--that rival of mine (if youwill permit the word) whom I never knew. The mystery of his death isa mystery to me still; but in all my blind guesses this somehowremained clear to me, that he had loved you, Princess; and this(again I ask your leave to say it), because I could understand it sowell, forbade me to think unkindly of him. "

"He loved his honour better, sir. " Her face had flushed darkly. 

"I am sorry, then, if I must suffer by comparison. "

"No, no, " she protested. "Oh, why will you twist my words and forceme to seem ungrateful? He died rather than have me to wife: you tookme on the terms that within a few minutes you must die. For both ofyou the remedy was at hand, only _you_ chose to save me before takingit. On my knees, sir, I could thank you for that. The crueller werethey that, when you stood up claiming your right to die, they brokethe bargain and cheated you. "

"Princess, " I said, after musing a moment, "if my surviving seemed toyou so pitiable, there was another way. " I pointed to her musket. 

"Yes, cavalier, and I will confess to you that when, having firedwide, they turned to go and the cheat was evident, twice before youpulled the bandage away I had lifted my gun. But I could not fireit, cavalier. To make me your executioner! Me, your wife--and whileyou thought so vilely of me!"

"Faith, " said I grimly, "it was asking too much, even for a Genoese!Yet again I think you overrate their little trick, since, afterall"--I touched my own gunstock--"there remains a third way--the waychosen by young Odo of Rocca Serra. "

She put out a hand. "Sir, that way you need not take--if you will bepatient and hear me!"

"Lady, " said I, "you may hastily despise me; but I am neither goingto take that way, nor to be patient, nor to hear you. But I am, asyou invited me, going to be very frank and confess to you, riskingyour contempt, that I am extremely thankful the Genoese did not shootme, a while ago. Indeed, I do not remember in all my life to havefelt so glad, as I feel just now, to be alive. Give me your gun, ifyou please. "

"I do not understand. "

"No, you do not understand. . . . Your gun, please . . . Nay, you canlay it on the turf between us. The phial, too, that you offered yourbrother. . . . Thank you. And now, my wife, let us talk of yourcountry and mine; two islands which appear to differ more than I hadguessed. In Corsica it would seem that, let a vile thing be spokenagainst a woman, it suffices. Belief in it does not count: itsuffices that a shadow has touched her, and rather than share thatshadow, men will kill themselves--so tender a plant is their honour. Now, in England, O Princess, men are perhaps even more irrational. They, no more than your Corsicans, listen to the evidence and askthemselves, 'Is this good evidence or bad? Do I believe it ordisbelieve?' They begin father back, Princess--Shall I tell you how?They look in the face of their beloved, and they say, 'Slander this, not as you wish for belief, but only as you dare; for here my faithis fixed beforehand. '

"And therefore, O Princess, " I went on, after a pause in which weeyed one another slowly, "therefore, I disbelieve any slanderconcerning you; not merely because your brother's confessor was itsauthor--though that, to any rational man, should be enough--butbecause I have looked in your face. Therefore also I, your husband, forbid you to speak what would dishonour us both. "

"But, cavalier--if--if it were true?"

"True?"--I let out a harsh laugh. "Take up that phial. Hold it inyour hand, so. Now look me in the face and drink--if you dare!Look me in the face, read how I trust you, and so, if you can say thelie to me say it--and drink!"

She lifted the phial steadily, almost to her lips, keeping her eyeson mine--but of a sudden faltered and let it fall upon the turf:where I, whose heart had all but stood still, crushed my heel upon itsavagely. 

"I cannot. You have conquered, " she gasped. 

"Conquered?" I swore a bitter oath. "O Princess, think you _this_is the way I promised to conquer you? Take up your gun again andfollow me. . . . Eh? You do not ask where I lead?"

"It is enough that I follow you, my husband, " she said humbly. 

"It is something, indeed; but before God it is not enough, nor halfenough. I see now that 'enough' may never come: almost I doubt if I, who swore to you it should come, and since have desired it madly, desire it any longer; and until it comes you are still the winner. 'Enough' shall be said, Princess--for my price rises--not when (as Ipromised) you come to me without choosing to be loved or hated, onlybeseeching your master, but when you shall come to me having madeyour choice. . . . But so far, so good, " said I, cheerfully, changingmy tone. "You do not ask where I lead. I am leading you, if I canto Cape Corso, to my father; and by his help, if it shall serve, toyour mother. "

"I thank you, cavalier, " she said, still in her restrained voice. "You are a good man; and for that reason I am sorry you will nothearken to me. "

"The mountains are before us, " said I, shouldering my gun. "Listen, Princess: let us be good comrades, us two. Let us forgetwhat lies at the end of the journey--the convent for you, may be, andfor me at least the parting. My life has been spared to-day, and Itell you frankly that I am glad of the respite. For you, themountains hold no slanders, and shall hold no evil. Put your hand inmine on the compact, and we will both step it bravely. Forget thatyou were ever a Princess or I a promised king of this Corsica!O beloved, travel this land, which can never be yours or mine, andlet it be ours only for a while as we journey. "

I turned and led the way up the path between the bushes: and shefollowed my stride almost at a run. On the bare mountain-spur abovethe high-road she overtook and fell into pace with me: and so, skirting Nonza, we breasted the long slope of the range. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

MY WEDDING DAY. 

 Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see whether the vine hath budded and the tender grape appear. -- _The Song of Songs_. 

Ahead of us, high on our right, rose the mountain ridges, scarp uponscarp, to the snowy peak of Monte Stella; low on our left lay Nonza, and beyond it a sea blue as a sapphire, scarcely rippled, void savefor one white sail far away on the south-west horizon--not the_Gauntlet_; for, distant though she was, I could make out the shapeof her canvas, and it was square cut. 

Nonza itself lay in the shadow of the shore with the early lightshimmering upon its citadel and upper works--a fortress to allappearance asleep: but the Genoese pickets would be awake andguarding the northward road for at least a league beyond, and toavoid them we must cross the high mountain spurs, using where wecould their patches of forest and our best speed where these left theridges bare. 

The way was hard--harder by far than I had deemed possible--and keptus too busy for talk. Our silence was not otherwise constrained atall. Passion fell away from us as we climbed; fell away with itsstrife, its confusion, its distempered memories of the night nowpast; and was left with the vapours of the coast where the malariabrooded. Through the upper, clearer atmosphere we walked as gods onthe roof of the world, saw with clear eyes, knew with mind and spirituntroubled by self-sickness. We were silent, having fallen into anaccord which made all speech idle. Arduous as the road soon became, and, while unknown to both of us, more arduous to me because of myinexperience, we chose without hesitating, almost without consulting. Each difficulty brought decision, and with decision, its own help. Now it was I who steadied her leap across a chasm; now came her turnto underprop my foothold till I clambered to a ledge whence I couldreach down a hand and drag her up to me. As a rule I may call myselfa blundering climber, my build being too heavy; but I made no mistakethat day. 

In the course of a three hours' scramble she spoke to me (as Iremember) once only, and then as a comrade, in quiet approval of mymountaineering. We had come to a crag over which--with no wordsaid--I had lowered her by help of my bandolier. She had waited atthe foot while I followed her down without assistance, traversing onthe way an outward-sloping ledge of smooth rock which overhung aprecipice and a sheer fall of at least three hundred feet. The ledgehad nowhere a notch in it to grip the boot-sole, and was moreoverslippery with the green ooze of a mountain spring. It has haunted mydreams since then; I would not essay it again for my weight in money;but I crossed it that day, so to speak, with my hands in my pockets. 

The most curious (you might call it the most uncanny) part of thewhole adventure, was that from time to time we came out of thesebreathless scrambles plump upon a patch of cultivated ground and ahill-farm with its steading; the explanation being that these farmsstand each at the head of its own ravine, and, inaccessible one toanother, have communication with the world only by the tracks whichlead down their ravines. Here, three thousand feet and more abovethe sea--upon which we looked down between cliff and woodland asthrough a funnel, and upon the roofs and whitewashed walls offishing-villages on the edge of the blue--lived slow, sedate folks, who called their dogs off us and stared upon us as portents and gaveus goat's-milk and bread, refusing the coins we proffered. The inhabitants of this Cape (I have since learned) are a race apartin Corsica; slow, peaceable, without politics and almost (as weshould say) without patriotism. We came to them as gods from theheights, and they received and sped us as gods. They were too slowof speech to question us, or even to express their astonishment. 

There was one farm with a stream plunging past it, and, by the housewall, a locked mill-wheel (God knows what it had ever ground), and bythe door below it a woman, seated on a flight of steps, with herbosom half-covered and a sucking-child laid asleep in her lap. She blinked in the sunshine as we came across the yard to her, andsaid she--

"Salutation, O strangers, and pardon that I cannot rise: but thelittle one is sick of a fever and I fear to stir him, for he makes asif he would sleep. Nor is there any one else to entertain you, sincemy husband has gone down to the _marina_ to fetch the wise woman wholives there. "

The Princess stepped close and stood over her. "_O paesana_, " saidshe, "do you and your man live here alone, so far up the mountain?"

"There is the _bambino_, " said the mother, simply. "He is my first--and a boy, by the gift of the Holy Virgin. Already he takes notice, and soon he will be learning to talk: but since we both talk to himand about him, you may say that already there are three of us, andanon the good Lord may send us others. It is hard work, _O belladonna_, on such a farm as ours, and doubly hard on my husband now forthese months that I have been able to help him but little. But witha good man and his child--if God spare the child--I shall want nohappiness. "

"Give me the child, " said the Princess, taking a seat on the stoneslab beside her. "He shall not hurt with me while you fetch us adraught of milk. "

The woman stared at her and at me, fearfully at first, then with astrange look in her eyes, between awe and disbelief and a growinghope. 

"Even when you came, " she said hoarsely after a while, "I was prayingfor an angel to help my child. . . . O blind, O hard of faith that Iam! And when I lifted my eyes and saw you, I bethought me not thatnone walk this mountain by the path you have come, nor has this landany like you twain for beauty and stature. . . . O lady--whether fromheaven or earth--you will not take my child but to cure it? He is myonly one. "

"Give him to me. "

The woman laid her child in the Princess's arms and ran into thehouse, throwing one look of terror back at us from the doorstep. The Princess sat motionless, gazing down on the closed lids, frowning, deep in thoughts I could not follow. 

"You will not, " said I, "leave this good foolish soul in her error?"

"I have heard, " she answered quietly, without lifting her eyes, "thata royal touch has virtue to heal sometimes--and there was a time whenyou claimed to be King of Corsica. Nay, forgive me, " she tookherself up quickly, "there is bitterness yet left in me, but thatspeech shall be the last of it. . . . O husband, O my friend, I wasthinking that this child will grow into a man; and of what his mothersaid, that there is such a thing as a good man: and I am trying tobelieve her. . . . _Eccu!_ he sleeps, poor mite! Listen to hisbreathing. "

The farm-wife came out with a full bowl of milk. Her hands shook andspilled some as she handed it to me, so eager were they to hold herinfant again. Taking it and feeling the damp sweat as she passed ahand over its brow, she broke forth into blessings. 

We told her of her mistake: but I doubt if she heard. 

"I have dwelt here these three years, " she persisted, "and none everwalked the mountain by the path you have come. " She watched us as Iheld the bowl for the Princess to drink, and asked quaintly, "But isthere truly no marrying in heaven? I have thought upon that manytimes, and always it puzzles me. "

We said farewell to her, and took her blessings with us as shewatched us across the head of the ravine. Then followed anotherhalf-hour of silence and sharp climbing: but the worst was over, andby-and-by the range tailed off into a chain of lessening hills overwhich in the purple distance rose a solitary sharp cone with aruinous castle upon it, which (said the Princess) was Seneca's Towerat the head of the Vale of Luri. 

We were now beyond the danger of the Genoese, and therefore turnedaside to the left and descended the slopes to the high-road, alongwhich we made good speed until, having passed the tower and the mouthof the gorge which leads up to it from the westward, we came, almostat nightfall, within sight of Pino by the sea. 

Here I proposed that I should go forward to the village and find anight's lodging for her, pointing out that, the night being warm anddry, I could make my couch comfortably enough in one of the citronorchards that here lined the road on the landward side. To this atfirst she assented--it seemed to me, even eagerly. But I hadscarcely taken forty paces up the road before I heard her voicecalling me back, and back I went obediently. 

"O husband, " she said, "the dusk has fallen, and now in the dusk Ican say a word I have been longing all day to be free of. Nay"--sheput out a hand--"you must not forbid me. You must not even delay menow. "

"What is it, that I should forbid you?"

"It is--about Brussels. "

I dropped my hand impatiently and was turning away, but she touchedmy arm and the touch pleaded with me to face her. 

"I have a right. . . . Yes, it was good of you to refuse it; but youcannot go on refusing, because--see you--your goodness makes my rightthe stronger. This morning I could have told you, but you refusedme. All this day I have known that refusal unjust. "

"All this day? Then--pardon, Princess--but why should I hear younow, at this moment?"

"The daylight is past, " she said. "You can listen now and not see myface. "

On the hedge of the ditch beside the high-road lay a rough fragmentof granite, a stone cracked and discarded, once the base of anolive-mill. She found a seat upon it and motioned to me to comeclose, and I stood close, staring down on her while she stared downat her feet, grey with dust almost as the road itself. 

"We were children, Camillo and I, " she said at length, "in keep of anill woman we called Maman Trebuchet, and in a house near the entranceof a court leading off the Rue de la Madeleine and close beside theMarket. How we had come there we never inquired. . . . I suppose allchildren take such things as they find them. The house was of fivestorys, all let out in tenements, and we inhabited two rooms on thefourth floor to the left as you went up the staircase. . . . Some ofthe men quarrelled with their wives and beat them. There was alwaysa noise of quarrelling in the house: but outside, before the frontdoor, the men who were not beating their women would sit for hourstogether and smoke and spit and tell one another stories against theChurch and against women. The pavement where they sat and the streetbefore it were strewn always with rotting odds and ends ofvegetables, for almost every one in that quarter earned his living bythe Market, and Maman Trebuchet among the rest. She divided her timebetween walking the streets with a basket and drinking the profitsaway in the cabarets, and in the intervals she cursed and beat us. We lived for the most part on the refuse she brought home at night--on so much of her stock as had found no purchaser--and we playedabout the gutters and alleys of the Market. So far as I remember wewere neither very happy nor yet very miserable. We knew that we werebrother and sister, and that Maman Trebuchet was not our real mother. Beyond this we were not inquisitive, but took life as we found it. 

"Nevertheless, I know now that we were not altogether lost, but thateyes in Brussels were watching us; though how far they were friendlyI cannot tell you. I think sometimes that the agents of the Genoese, who had hidden us there, must have been playing their own game aswell as their masters'. There was, for example, a dark man who oftenvisited the Market: he called himself a lay-brother, and seemed tobe busy with religious work among the poor of the quarter. We knewhim as Maitre Antoine at first, and so he was generally called: buthe told us that his real name was Antonio--or Antoniu, as he spokeit--and that he came from Italy. He took a great fancy to us andobtained leave of Maman Trebuchet to teach us the Scriptures: butwhat he really taught us was to speak with him in Italian. We didnot know at the time that, though he called it Tuscan, he was all thewhile teaching us our own Corsican. Nor, I believe, did our guardianknow this; but one day, finding out by chance that we knew Italian(for we had begun to talk it together, that she might not understandwhat we said) and discovering how we had picked it up, she flew intoa dreadful rage, lay in wait next day to catch Maitre Antoine as hecame up the stairs, and fell upon him with such fury that the poorman fled out of the house and we never saw him again. 

"After this--I believe about a year later--there came a day when shebought a new cap and shawl for herself and new clothes for us, and, having seen that we were thoroughly washed, took us up the hill to afine street near the palace, and to a hotel which was almost thegrandest house in the street. We entered, and were led into thepresence of a very noble-looking gentleman in a long yellowdressing-gown, who blessed us and gave us a kiss apiece, and somegold money, and afterwards poured out wine for Maman Trebuchet andthanked her for taking such good care of us. "

"That was your father, Princess. "

"I have often thought so. But I remember nothing of his face exceptthat he had tears in his eyes when we said good-bye to him; at whichI wondered a great deal, for I had never seen a man crying. When wewere outside again in the street Maman Trebuchet took the gold awayfrom us. I think she too must have received money: for from thatday she neglected her marketing and drank more heavily than before. About a month later she was dead. 

"On the day of the funeral there came to our house a man dressed likea gentleman--yet I believe rather that he must have been some kind ofcourier or valet. He spoke to us very kindly, and said that we hadfriends, who had sent him to us; that when we grew up we should notwant for money; but that just now it was most important we should beput to school and made fit for our proper position in life. We mustmake up our minds to be separated, he said--and at this we bothwept--but we should see one another often. For Camillo he had foundlodgings with an excellent tutor, in whose care, after a year'sstudy, he was to travel abroad and see the world: while for me he hadchosen a home with some discreet ladies who would attend to myschooling. "

"The house was in the Rue de Luxembourg--a corner house, where thestreet is joined by a lane running from the Place du Parvis. He ledme to it that same evening, and Camillo came too, to make sure that Iwas comfortable. It was a strange house and full of ladies, the mostof them young and all very handsomely dressed. But for their dressesI could almost have fancied it some kind of convent. At all events, they received me kindly, and many of them wept when they saw myparting with Camillo. "

Here the Princess paused, and sat silent for so long that I bentforward in the dusk to read her face. She drew away, shivering, andput up both hands as if to cover it. 

"Well, Princess?"

"That house, Cavalier! . . . That horrible house! . . . Ah, rememberthat I was a child, scarcely twelve years old--I had heard vile wordsamong the market folk, but they were words and meant nothing to me:and now I saw things which I did not understand and--and I becameused to them before ever guessing that these were the things thosevile words had meant. The women were pretty, you see . . . Andmerry, and kind to me at first. Before God I never dreamed that Iwas looking on harm--not at first--but afterwards, when it was toolate. The people who had put me there ceased to send money, andbeing a strong child and willing to work, at first I was put to makethe women their chocolate, and carry it up to them of a morning, andso, little by little, I came to be their house-drudge. I had lostall news of Camillo. For hours I have hunted through the streets ofBrussels, if by chance I might get sight of him . . . But he waslost. And I--O Cavalier, have pity on me!"

"Wife, " said I, standing before her, "why have you told me this?Did I not say to you that I have seen your face and believe, and nostory shall shake my belief? . . . Nay, then, I am glad--yes, glad. Dear enough, God knows, you would have been to me had I met you, achild among these hills and ignorant of evil as a child. How much dearer you, who have trodden the hot plough-shares and cometo me through the fires! . . . See now, I could kneel to you, Oqueen, for shame at the little I have deserved. "

But she put out a hand to check me. "O friend, " she said sadly, "will you never understand? For the great faith you pay me I shallgo thankfully all my days: but the faith that should answer it Icannot give you. . . . Ah, there lies the cruelty! You are able totrust, and I can never trust in return. You can believe, but Icannot believe. I have seen all men so vile that the root of faithis withered in me. . . . Sir, believe, that though everything thatmakes me will to thank you must make me seem the more ungrateful, yetI honour you too much to give you less than an equal faith. I am your slave, if you command. But if you ask what only can honourus two as man and wife, you lose all, and I am for ever degraded. "

I stepped back a pace. "O Princess, " I said slowly, "I shall neverclaim your faith until you bring it to me. . . . And now, let allthis rest for a while. Take up your story again and tell me thestory to the end. "

So in the darkness, seated there upon the millstone with her gunacross her knees, she told me all the story, very quietly:--How atthe last she had been found in the house in Brussels by Marc'antonioand Stephanu and fetched home to the island; how she had found thereher brother Camillo in charge of Fra Domenico, his tutor andconfessor; with what kindness the priest had received her, how he hadconfessed her and assured her that the book of those horrible yearswas closed; and how, nevertheless, the story had crept out, poisoningthe people's loyalty and her brother's chances. 

I heard her to the end, or almost to the end: for while she drew nearto conclude, and while I stood grinding my teeth upon the certaintythat the whole plot--from the kidnapping to the spreading of theslanders--had been Master Domenico's work, and his only, the airthudded with a distant dull concussion: whereat she broke off, lifting her head to listen. 

"It is the sound of guns, " said I, listening too, while half a dozensimilar concussions followed. "Heavy artillery, too, and from thesouthward. "

"Nay; but what light is yonder, to the north?"

She pointed into the night behind me, and I turned to see a faintglow spreading along the northern horizon, and mounting, andreddening as it mounted, until the black hills between us and CapeCorso stood up against it in sharp outline. 

"O wife, " said I, "since you must be weary, sleep for a while, and Iwill keep watch: but wake soon, for yonder is something worth yourseeing. "

"Whose work is it, think you?"

"The work, " said I, "of a man who would set the whole world on fire, and only for love. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE FLAME AND THE ALTAR. 

 "And when he saw the statly towre Shining baith clere and bricht, Whilk stood abune the jawing wave, Built on a rock of height, "'Says, Row the boat, my mariners, And bring me to the land, For yonder I see my love's castle Close by the saut sea strand. " _Rough Royal_. 

 "As 'twixt two equal armies Fate Suspends uncertain victory, Our souls--which to advance our state Were gone out--hung 'twixt her and me:

 "And whilst our souls negotiate there, We like sepulchral statues lay; All day the same our postures were, And we said nothing, all the day. " DONNE, _The Ecstasie_. 

She rose from the stone, but swayed a little, finding her feet. The dim light, as she turned her face to it, showed me that she wasweary almost to fainting. She had come to a pass where the morehaste would certainly make the worse speed. 

"It is not spirit you lack, but sleep, " said I; and she confessedthat it was so. An hour's rest would recover her, she said, andobediently lay down where I found a couch for her on a bank ofsweet-smelling heath above the road. I too wanted rest, and settledmyself down with my back against a citron tree, some twenty pacesdistant. 

Chaucer says somewhere (and it is true), that women take less sleepand take it more lightly than men. It seemed to me that I hadscarcely closed my eyes before I opened them again at a touch on myshoulder. The night was yet dark around us, save for the glow to thenorthward, and at first I would hardly believe when the Princess toldme that I had been sleeping near upon three hours. Then it occurredto me that for a long while the sky overhead had been shaking andrepeating the boom of cannon. 

"There is firing to the south of us, " she said; "and heavier firingthan where the light is. It comes from Nonza or thereabouts. "

"Then it is no affair of ours, even if we could reach it. But theflame yonder will lead us to my father. "

So we took the white glimmering high-road again and stepped outbriskly, refreshed by sleep and the cool night air that went with us, blowing softly across the ridges on our right. We found a track thatskirted the village of Pino, leading us wide among orchards of citronand olive, and had scarcely regained the road before the guns to thesouth ceased firing. Also the red glow, though it still suffused thenorth, began to fade as we neared it and climbed the last of steephills that run out to the extremity of the cape. There, upon thesummit, we came to a stand and caught our breath. 

The sea lay at our feet, and down across its black floor to the baseof the cliff on which we stood there ran a broad ribbon of light. It shone from a rock less than half a league distant: and on thatrock stood a castle which was a furnace--its walls black as the barsof a grate, its windows aglow with contained fire. For the moment itseemed that this fire filled the whole pile of masonry: butpresently, while we stood and stared, a sudden flame, shooting highfrom the walls, lit up the front of a tall tower above them, with aline of battlements at its base and on the battlements a range ofroofs yet intact. As though a slide had been opened and as rapidlyshut again, this vision of tower, roofs, battlements, gleamed for asecond and vanished as the flame sank and a cloud of smoke and sparksrolled up in its place and drifted heavily to leeward. 

With a light touch on the Princess's arm I bade her follow me, andwe raced together down the slope. At the foot of it we plunged intoa grove of olives and through it, as through a screen, into thestreet of a little _marina_--two dozen fisher-huts, huddled closeabove the foreshore, and tenantless; for their inhabitants weregathered all on the beach and staring at the blaze. 

I have said that the folk at Cape Corso are a race apart: and surelythere never was a stranger crowd than that in which, two minuteslater, we found ourselves mingling unchallenged. They accepted us, may be, as a minor miracle of the night. They gazed at us curiouslythere in the light of the conflagration, and from us away to theburning island, and talked together in whispers, in a patois of whichI caught but one word in three. They asked us no questions. Their voices filled the beach with a kind of subdued murmuring, allalike gentle and patiently explanatory. 

"It is the island of Giraglia, " said one to me. "Yes, yes; this willbe the work of the patriots--a brave feat too, there's no denying. "

I pointed to a line of fishing-boats moored in the shoal water ashort furlong off the shore. 

"If you own one, " said I, "give me leave to hire her from you, andname your price. "

"_Perche, perche?_"

"I wish to sail her to the island. "

"_O galant'uomo_, but why should any one desire to sail to the islandto-night of all nights, seeing that to-night they have set it onfire?"

I stared at his simplicity. "You are not patriots, it seems, at thisend of the Cape?"

He shook his head gravely. "The Genoese on the island are ourcustomers, and buy our fish. Why should men quarrel?"

"If it come to commerce, then, will you sell me your boat? The priceof her should be worth many a day's barter of fish. "

He shook his head again, but called his neighbours to him, men andwomen, and they began to discuss my offer, all muttering together, their voices mingling confusedly as in a dream. 

By-and-by the man turned to me. "The price is thirty-five livres, signore, on deposit, for which you may choose any boat you will. We are peaceable folk and care not to meddle; but the half shall berefunded if you bring her back safe and sound. "

"Fetch me a shore-boat, then, " said I, while they counted my money, having fetched a lantern for the purpose. 

But it appeared that shore-boat there was none. I learned later thatmy father and Captain Pomery, acting on his behalf, had hired all theshore-boats at these _marinas_ (of which there are three hard by theextremity of the Cape) for use in the night attack upon the island. 

"Hold you my gun, then, Princess, " said I, "while I swim out to thenearest:" and wading out till the dark water reached to my breast, Ichose out my boat, swam to her--it was but a few strokes--clamberedon board, caught up a sweep, and worked her back to the beach. The Princess, holding our two guns high, waded out to me, and Ilifted her on board. 

We heard the voices of the villagers murmuring behind us while Ihoisted the little sail and drew the sheet home. The night-breeze, fluking among the gullies, filled the sail at once, fell light againand left it flapping, then drew a steady breath aft, and the voiceswere lost in the hiss of water under the boat's stern. 

But not until we had passed the extreme point of land did we find thetrue breeze, which there headed us lightly, blowing (as nearly as Ican guess) from N. N. E. , yet allowed us a fair course, so that byhauling the sheet close I could point well to windward of the fieryreflection on the water and fetch the island on a single tack. It was here, as we ran out of the loom of the land, that the waningmoon lifted her rim over the hills astern; and it was here, as wecleared the point, that her rays, traversing the misty sea between usand Elba, touched the grey-white canvas of a vessel jeeling along (aswe say at the fishing in Cornwall) and holding herself to windwardfor a straight run down upon the island--a vessel which at firstglance I recognized for the _Gauntlet_. 

Plainly she was standing-by, waiting; plainly then her crew--or thoseof them engaged for the assault--were detained yet upon the island;whence (to make matters surer) there sounded, as our boat ran up toit, a few loose dropping shots and a single cry--a cry that travelledacross to us down the lane of light directing us to the quay. The blaze had died down; the upper keep, now overhanging us, stoodblack and unlit against a sky almost as black; but on a stairway atthe base of it torches were moving and the flame of them shone on theslippery steps of a quay to which I guided the boat. There, jammingthe helm down with a thrust of the foot, I ran forward and loweredsail. 

We carried more way than I had reckoned for, and--the Princess havingno science to help me--this brought us crashing in among a press ofboats huddled in the black shadow alongside the quay-steps with suchforce as almost to stave in the upper timbers of a couple and sinkthem where they lay. No voice challenged us. I wondered at this asI gripped at the dark dew-drenched canvas to haul it inboard, andwhile I wondered, a strong light shone down upon us from the quay'sedge. 

A man stood there, holding a torch high over his head and shading hiseyes as he peered down at the boat--a tall man in a Trappist habitgirt high on his naked legs almost to the knees. 

"My father?" I demanded. "Where is my father?"

He made no answer, but signed to us to make our landing, and waitedfor us, still holding the torch high while I helped the Princess fromone boat to another and so to the slippery steps. 

"My father?" I demanded again. 

He turned and led us along the quay to a stairway cut in the livingrock. At the foot of it he lowered his torch for a moment that wemight see and step aside. Two bodies lay there--two of his brethren, stretched side by side and disposedly, with arms crossed on theirbreasts, ready for burial. High on the stairway, where it enteredthe base of a battlemented wall under an arch of heavy stonework, asolitary monk was drawing water from a well and sluicing the steps. The water ran past our feet, and in the dawn (now paling about us) Isaw its colour. . . . 

The burnt building--it had been the Genoese barracks--stood high onthe right of the stairway. Its roof had fallen in upon the flamesraging through its wooden floors, so that what had been but an hourago a blazing furnace was now a shell of masonry out of which a cloudof smoke rolled lazily, to hang about the upper walls of thefortress. Through its window-spaces, void and fire-smirched, as nowand again the reek lifted, I saw the pale upper-sky with half a dozencharred ends of roof-timber sharply defined against it--a black andbroken grid; and while yet I stared upward another pair of monkscrossed the platform above the archway. They carried a body betweenthem--the body of a man in the Genoese uniform--and were bearing ittowards a bastion on the western side, that overhung the sea. There the battlements hid them from me; but by-and-by I heard asplash. . . . 

By this time we were mounting the stairway. We passed under thearch--where a door, shattered and wrenched from its upper hinge, layaskew against the wall--and climbed to the platform. From thisanother flight of steps (but these were of worked granite) ledstraight as a ladder to a smaller platform at the foot of the keep;and high upon these stood my uncle Gervase directing half a score ofmonks to right an overturned cannon. 

His back was toward me, but he turned as I hailed him by name--turned, and I saw that he carried one arm in a sling. He came downthe steps to welcome me, but slowly and with a very grave face. 

"My father--where is he?"

"He is alive, lad. " My uncle took my hand and pressed it. "That isto say, I left him alive. But come and see--" He paused--my unclewas ever shy in the presence of women--and with his sound hand liftedhis hat to the Princess. "The signorina, if she will forgive astranger for suggesting it--she may be spared some pain if--"

"She seeks her mother, sir, " said I, cutting him short; "and hermother is the Queen Emilia. "

"Your servant, signorina. " My uncle bowed again and with areassuring smile. "And I am happy to tell you that, so far at least, our expedition has succeeded. Your mother lives, signorina--or, should I say, Princess? Yes, yes, Princess, to be sure--But come, the both of you, and be prepared for gladness or sorrow, as maybetide. "

He ran up the steps and we followed him, across the platform to a lowdoorway in the base of the keep, through this, and up a windingstaircase of spirals, so steep and so many that the head swam. Open lancet windows--one at each complete round of the stair--admitted the morning breeze, and through them, as I clung to thenewel and climbed dizzily, I had glimpses of the sea twinkling farbelow. I counted these windows up to ten or a dozen, but had lost myreckoning for minutes before we emerged, at my uncle's heels, upon asemi-circular landing, and in face of an iron-studded door, the haspof which he rattled gently. A voice answered from within bidding himopen, and very softly he thrust the door wide. 

The room into which we looked was of fair size and circular in shape. Three windows lit it, and between us and the nearest knelt DomBasilio, busy with a web of linen which he was tearing into bandages. His was the voice that had commanded us to enter; and passing in, Iwas aware that the room had two other occupants; for behind the doorstood a truckle bed, and along the bed lay my father, pale as deathand swathed in bandages; and by the foot of the bed, on a stool, witha spinning-wheel beside her, sat a woman. 

It needed no second look to tell me her name. Mean cell though itwas that held her, and mean her seat, the worn face could belong tono one meaner than a Queen. A spool of thread had rolled from herhand, across the floor; yet her hands upon her lap were shaped asthough they still held it. As she sat now, rigid, with her eyes onthe bed, she must have been sitting for minutes. So, while DomBasilio snipped and rent at his bandages, she gazed at my father onthe bed, and my father gazed back into her eyes, drinking the love inthem; and the faces of both seemed to shine with a solemn awe. 

I think we must have been standing there on the threshold, we three, for close upon a minute before my father turned his eyes towards me--so far beyond this life was he travelling, and so far had the soundof our entrance to follow and overtake his dying senses. 

"Prosper! . . . "

"My father!"

He lifted a hand weakly toward the bandages wrapping his breast. "These--these are of her spinning, lad. This is her bed they havelaid me on. . . . Who is it stands there behind your shoulder?"

"It is the Princess, father. You remember the Princess Camilla?Yes, madam"--I turned to the Queen--"it is your daughter I bring--your daughter, and, with your blessing, my wife. "

The Queen, though her daughter knelt, did not offer to embrace her, but lifted two feeble hands over the bowed head as though to bless, while over her hands her gaze still rested on my father. 

"We have had brave work, lad, " he panted. "I am sorry you come latefor it--but you were bound on your own business, eh?" He turned witha ghost of his old smile. "Nay, child, and you did right; I am notblaming you--The young to the young, and let the dead bury the dead!Kiss me, lad, if you can find room between these plaguey bandages. Your pardon, Dom Basilio: you have done your best, and, if I seemungrateful, let me make amends and thank you for giving me this last, best hour. . . . Indeed, Dom Basilio, I am a dead man, but yourbandages are tying my soul here for a while, where it would stay. Gervase"--he reached out a hand to my uncle, who was past hiding histears--"Gervase--brother--there needs no talk, no thanks, betweenyou and me. . . . "

I drew back and, touching Dom Basilio by the shoulder, led him to thewindow. "He has no single wound that in itself would be fatal, " theTrappist whispered; "but a twenty that together have bled him todeath. He hacked his way up this stair through half a score ofGenoese; at the door here, there was none left to hinder him, and we, having found and followed with the keys, climbed over bodies to findhim stretched before it. "

"Emilia!" It was my father's voice lifted in triumph; and the Queenrose at the sound of it, trembling, and stood by the bed. "Emilia!Ah, love--ah, Queen, bend lower!--the love we loved--there, over theTaravo--it was not lost. . . . It meets in our children--and we--andwe--"

The Queen bent. 

"O great one--and we in Heaven!" I raised the Princess and led herto the window fronting the dawn. We looked not toward the pillowwhere their lips met; but into the dawn, and from the dawn into eachother's eyes. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

MY MISTRESS RE-ENLISTS ME. 

 "If all the world were this enchanted isle, I might forget that every man was vile, And look on thee, and even love, awhile. " _The Voyage of Sir Scudamor_. 

We had turned from the bed, that no eyes but the Queen's mightwitness my father's passing. Her arm had slipped beneath his head, to support it, and I listened dreading to hear her announce the end. But yet his great spirit struggled against release, unwilling toexchange its bliss even for bliss celestial; and presently I heardhis voice speaking my name. 

"Prosper, " he said; but his eyes looked upward into the Queen's, andhis voice, as it grew firmer, seemed to interpret a vision not ofearth. "Learn of me that love, though it delight in youth, yetforsakes not the old; nay, though through life its servant follow andnever overtake. Even such service I have paid it, yet behold I havemy reward!

"To you, dear lad, it shall be kinder; yet only on condition that youtrust it. 

"You will need to trust it, for it will change. Lose no faith in thebeam when, breaking from your lady's eyes, it fires you not asbefore. It widens, lad; it is not slackening; it is passing, enlarging into a diviner light. 

"By that light you shall see all men, women, children--yes, and allliving things--akin with you and deserving your help. It is thelight of God upon earth, and its warmth is God's charity, though Hekindle it first as a selfish spark between a youth and a maid. 

"Trust it, then, most of all when it frightens you, its first passionfading. For then, sickening of what is transient, it dies to put onpermanence; as the creature dies--as I am dying, Prosper--into thegreatness of the Creator. 

"Take comfort and courage, then. For though the narrow beam falls nolonger from heaven, you and she will remember the spot where itsurprised you, unsealing your eyes. Let the place, the hour, besacred, and you the witnesses sacred one to another. So He that madeyou ministers shall keep your garlands from fading. 

"O Lord of Love, high and heavenly King! who, making the hands of boyand girl to tremble, dost of their thoughtless impulse build upstates, establish societies, and people the world, accept thesechildren!

"O Master, who payest not by time, take the thanks of thy servant!O Captain, receive my sword! O hands!"--my father raised his stifflytowards the crucifix which Dom Basilio uplifted, standing a littlebehind the Queen. "O wounded hands--nay, they are shaped like thine, Emilia--reach and resume my soul! _In manus tuas, Domine--in manus--in manus tuas. . . . "

"It is over, " said Dom Basilio, slowly, after a long silence. 

I saw the Queen lower the grey head back against its pillow, andturned to the window, where the Princess gazed out over the sea. For a minute--maybe for longer--I stood beside her following hergaze; then, as she lifted a hand and pointed, I was aware of twoships on the south-west horizon, the both under full sail andstanding towards the castle. 

"Last night, " said I, and paused, wondering if indeed so short awhile had passed; "theirs were the guns, off Nonza. "

She nodded, meeting my eyes for an instant only, and averting hersagain to the horizon. To my dismay they were dark and troubled. 

"Not now--not now!" she murmured hurriedly, almost fiercely, as Iwould have touched her hand. Again her eyes crossed mine, and I readthat love no longer looked forth from them, but a gloomy doubt in itsplace. 

From the next window my Uncle Gervase had spied the ships, and nowdrew Dom Basilio's attention to them. The two discussed them for aminute. "Were they Corsican vessels, or Genoese?" Dom Basilioplucked me by the arm, to know my opinion. I told him of the firingwe had heard off Nonza. 

"In my belief, " said I, "they are Corsicans that have drawn off fromthe bombardment, though why I cannot divine, unless it be incuriosity to discover why Giraglia was a-burning last night. "

"If, on the other hand they be Genoese, " answered my uncle, shakinghis head, "this is a serious matter for us. The _Gauntlet_ has butfive men aboard, and will be culled like a peach. "

"Had she fifty, she could not keep up a fight against two gunboats--as gunboats they appear to be, " said I. "You will make a betterdefence of it from the island here, with the few cannon you have notdismounted. "

"In that case I had best take boat, tell Captain Pomery to drop hisanchor, leaving the ketch to her fate, and fetch him ashore to helpus. "

"Do so, " said I. "Yet I trust 'tis a false alarm; for that these areCorsicans I'll lay odds. "

"It may even be, " suggested Dom Basilio, "that the two are enemies, the one in chase of the other. "

"No, " I decided, scanning them; "for they have the look of beingsister ships. And, see you, the leader has rounded the point andcaught sight of the _Gauntlet_. Mark how she is carrying herheadsheets over to windward, to let her consort overtake her. "

"The lad's right!" exclaimed my uncle. "Well, God send they be notGenoese! but I must pull out to the ketch and make sure. You, Prosper, can help Dom Basilio meanwhile to muster his men andright as many cannon as time allows. "

He stepped to the door, tip-toeing softly, and we followed him--witha glance, as we went, at the figure bending over the bed. The Queendid not heed us. 

From the upper terrace at the foot of the tower the Princess and Iwatched my uncle as, with two stalwart Trappists to row him, hepushed out and steered for the _Gauntlet_. We saw him run his boatalongside and climb aboard. Five slow minutes passed, and it becameapparent that Captain Pomery had views of his own about abandoningthe ship, for the _Gauntlet_ neither dropped anchor nor took incanvas, but held on her tack, letting the boat drop astern on atow-rope. 

Just then Dom Basilio sent up half a dozen stout monks to me from thebase of the rock; and for the next few minutes I was kept busy withthem on the eastern bastion, refixing a gun which had been thrown offits carriage in the assault, until, casting another glance seaward, Isaw to my amazement that the ketch had run up her British colours toher mizzen. 

But happily Captain Pomery's defiance was thrown away. A minutelater the leading gunboat ran up a small bundle on her main signalhalliards, and shook out the green flag of Corsica. 

"You can let the gun lie, " said I to my monks. "These are friends. "

"They are my countrymen, " said the Princess at my elbow. "That theyare friends is less certain. "

"At any rate, they are lowering a boat, " said I; "and see, my uncleis jumping into his, to intercept them. "

The Corsicans, manning their boat, pulled straight for the island;but at half a mile's distance or less, being hailed by my uncle, layon their oars and waited while he bore down on them. I saw him lifthis hat to a man seated in the stern-sheets, who stood up and salutedpolitely in response. The two boats drew close alongside, whiletheir commanders conversed, and after a couple of minutes resumedtheir way abreast and drew to the landing-quay, where Dom Basiliostood awaiting them. 

"By his stature and bearing, " said I, conning him through a glasswhich one of the monks passed to me, "this must be the Generalhimself. "

"Paoli?" queried the Princess. 

I nodded. 

"Shall we go down the rock to meet him?"

"It is Paoli's place to mount to us, " said she proudly. 

We waited therefore while my uncle led him up to us. But PascalPaoli was too great a man to trouble about his dignity; and forcourtesies, he contented himself with omitting none. 

"Salutation, O Princess!" He halted within a few steps of the headof the stairway, and lifted his hat. 

"Salutation, O General!"

"And to you, Cavalier!" He included me in his bow, "Pouf!" hepanted, looking about him; "the ascent is a sharp one, under the bestconditions. And you carried it in the darkness, against odds?"He turned upon my uncle. "You English are a great race. "

"Excuse me, General, " said my uncle, indicating Dom Basilio and themonks: "the credit belongs rather to my friends here. "

"I had the pleasure to meet Sir John Constantine, a while ago, outside our new town of Isola Rossa, where he did me a signalservice. You are his son, sir?"

I bowed. 

"I condole with you, since I come too late to thank him--on behalf ofCorsica, Princess--for a yet more brilliant service. An assault suchas your party made last night requires brave men; but even more, itrequires a brave leader and a genius even to conceive it. Let mesay, sirs, that we heard your fire and saw Giraglia blazing, as farsouth as Nonza, where we were conducting a far meaner enterprise; andcame north in wonder where Corsica had found such friends. "

"Say rather, sir, where my mother had found them, " interposed thePrincess, coldly. "Is this curiosity of yours all your business?"

The General met her look frankly. If annoyed, he hid his annoyance. 

"O Princess, " answered he, "I will own that Corsica has left theQueen, your mother, overlong here in captivity. For reasons of stateit was decided to work northward from point to point, clearing theGenoese as we went. We did not reckon that, before we reachedGiraglia, an Englishman of genius would step in to anticipate us. Our hopes, Princess, fell short of an event so happy. But I can saythat every Corsican is glad, and would wish to be such a hero. "

"Did you, then, clear the Genoese from Nonza?" I put in hastily, noting the curl of my mistress's lips. 

"Sir, there were no Genoese to clear. We bombarded it idly, only tolearn that the Commandant Fornari had abandoned it some hours before;that he and his men had escaped northward in long boats, rowing closeunder the land. "

I glanced at the Princess, and saw her mouth whiten. "Excuse me, " Isaid. "Do you tell me that the whole garrison of Nonza had escaped?"

"Unfortunately, yes. " Paoli, too, glanced at the Princess; but for aninstant only. "We landed after the fortress had fired one single gunat us, which we silenced. Beside it we found two men standing atbay; its only defenders; and they, strange to tell, were Corsicans. I have brought them with me on my own ship. "

"You need not tell me their names, " said I. 

"My brother?" the Princess gasped. "Where is my brother?"

The General lowered his eyes. "I regret to tell you, Princess, thatyour brother has fallen into our enemies' hands. They have carriedhim north, to Genoa, and with him the Priest who was his confessor. This I learned from your two heroes, who had entered Nonza with noother purpose than to rescue him, but had arrived too late. They shall be brought ashore, that you may question them. 

"But what is this?" said a voice from the turret-door behind us. "My son Camillo a prisoner, and in Genoa!"

We turned all, to see the Queen standing there, on the threshold. The Princess, suddenly pallid, shot a look at Paoli--a look which atonce defied and implored him. 

"It is true, dear mother, " said she, steadying her voice. 

"God help us all!" The Queen clasped her hands. "The Genoese have nopity. "

"Let your Majesty be reassured, " said Paoli, slowly, "The Genoese, tobe sure, have no pity; yet I can almost promise they will not proceedto extremities with your son. An enemy, madam, may have good reasonsfor negotiating; and although the Genoese Government would bedelighted to break me on the wheel, yet, on some points, I can compelthem to bargain with me. "

He lifted his eyes. Mine were fixed on the Princess's, and I sawthem thank him for the falsehood. 

"Come, dear mother, " she said, taking the Queen's hand. "Though Camillo be in Genoa he can be reached. "

"My poor boy was ever too rash. "

"He can be reached, " the Princess repeated--but I saw her wince--"and he shall be reached. General, I pray you to send these two mento me. And now, mother, let one sorrow be enough for a time. There is woman's work to be done upstairs; take me with you that Imay help. "

I did not understand these last words, but was left puzzling overthem as the two passed through the turret-door and mounted thestairway. Nor did I remember the custom of the country until, tenminutes later, I heard their voices lifted together in the upperchamber intoning a lament over my father's body. 

My father--so my uncle told me--had left express orders that heshould be buried at sea. Throughout the long afternoon, with shortpauses, the voices wailed overhead, while we worked to set thefortress in order for the garrison which Paoli sent (despatching hissecond gunboat) to fetch from Isola Rossa; until, an hour beforesunset, two monks came down the stairway with the corpse, and bore itto the quay, where Billy Priske waited with one of the _Gauntlet's_boats. Paoli and my uncle had taken their places in thestern-sheets, and Dom Basilio and I, having lifted the body on boardand covered it with the _Gauntlet's_ flag, ourselves stepped into thebows, where I took an oar and helped Billy to pull some twentyfurlongs off the shore. Dom Basilio recited the funeral service; andthere, watched by his comrades from the quay, we let sink my fatherinto six fathoms, to sleep at the foot of the great rock which hadbeen his altar. 

As I landed and climbed the path again, I caught sight of Camilla, standing by the parapet of the east bastion, in converse withMarc'antonio and Stephanu. She had braided her hair, and done awaywith all traces of mourning, At the turret door her mother met me, equally neat and composed. 

"I have been waiting for you, " said the Queen. "Come, O son, for Iwant your advice. "

She led me up past the second window of the turret, lifted the latchof an iron-studded door in the opposite wall, and, pushing it open, motioned me to enter. 

"But what is this?" said I, gazing around upon two camp beds, spreadwith white coverlets, and a dressing-table with a jugful oflilac-coloured stocks, such as grew in the crannies of the keep andthe rock-ledges under the platform. 

"I had no mother, " said she, "to prepare my bride-chamber, and roughis the best I can prepare for my child. But it is done with myblessing. "

"Madame--" said I, flushing hotly, and paused at the sound of afootstep on the stair. 

It was the Princess who came; and in an angry haste. She kissed hermother, thrust her gently from the room, and so, closing the door, stood with her back against it. 

"You knew of this?" she demanded. 

"Before God, I did not, " I answered. 

"It is folly. " She glanced around the room. "You will admit that itis folly, " she insisted. 

I bowed my head. "It is folly, if you choose to call it so. "

"I have been wanting to tell you . . . I believe you to be a goodman. Oh yes, the fault is with me! This morning--you remember whatyour father said? Well, I listened, and the truth was made clear tome, that I cannot give you the like of such love--or the like of anysuch as a woman ought to give, who--who--"

"Say no more, " said I, as gently as might be. "I understand. "

"Ah, that is kind of you!" She caught at the admission eagerly. "It is not that I doubted; I see now that some men are not vile. But until I can _feel_ it, what use is being convinced?"She paused, "Moreover, to-night I go on a journey. "

"And I, too, " said I, meeting her eyes firmly. "To Genoa, is itnot?"

"You guessed it? . . . But you have no right--" she faltered. 

I laughed. "But excuse me, my wife, I have all the right in theworld. At what hour will Marc'antonio be ready with the boat?"

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

GENOA. 

 "_Gobbo_. Master young gentleman, I pray you, which is the way to Master Jew's?

 "_Launcelot_. Turn up on the right hand at the next turning, but at the very next turning of all, on your left: marry at the very next turning, turn of no hand, but turn down indirectly to the Jew's house. 

 "_Gobbo_. By God's sonties, 'twill be a hard way to hit. " _The Merchant of Venice_. 

At eleven o'clock that night we four--the Princess, Marc'antonio, Stephanu, and I--hoisted sail and stood away from the north shore ofGiraglia, carrying a fair wind with us. Our boat had been verycunningly chosen for us by Marc'antonio out of the small flotillawhich my father had hired at Cape Corso for the assault. She wasundecked, measured some eighteen feet over-all, and carried afair-sized lateen sail; but her great merit for our purpose, lay inher looks. The inhabitants of Cape Corso (as the reader knows) haveneither the patriotism nor the prejudices of their fellow-islanders;and this (however her owner had come by her) was a boat of Genoesebuild. So Marc'antonio had assured me; and my own observationconfirmed it next day, as we neared the coast off Porto Fino. 

We had laid this course of set purpose, intending to work up to thegreat harbour coastwise from the southward and enter it boldly, passing ourselves off for a crew from Porto Fino with a catch of fishfor market. The others had discarded all that was Corsican in theirdress, and the Princess had ransacked the quarters of the lategarrison on Giraglia to rig us out in odds and ends of Genoesecostume. For the rest we trusted to fortune; but an hour beforestarting I had sought out my Uncle Gervase and made him privy to theplot. He protested, to be sure; but acquiesced in the end with a wryface when I told him that the Princess and I were determined. 

This understood, at once my excellent and most practical uncle turnedto business. Within ten minutes it was agreed between us that the_Gauntlet_ should sail back with General Paoli and anchor under thebatteries of Isola Rossa to await our return. She was to wait thereone month exactly. If within that time we did not return, he was toconclude either that our enterprise had come to grief or that we hadre-shaped our designs and without respect to the _Gauntlet's_movements. In any event, at the end of one calendar month he mightcount himself free to weigh anchor for England. We next discussedthe Queen. My uncle opined, but could not say with certainty, thatthe General had it in mind to offer her protection and an honourableretirement on her own estates above the Taravo. I bade him tell herthat, if she could wean herself from Corsica to follow her daughter, our house of Constantine would be proud to lodge her--I hoped, forthe remainder of her days--for certain, until she should tire of itand us. 

The rest (I say) we left to chance, which at first served ussmoothly. The breeze, though it continued fair, fell light soonafter daybreak, and noon was well past before we sighted the Liguriancoast. We dowsed sail and pulled towards it leisurably, waiting forthe hour when the fishing-boats should put out from Porto Fino: whichthey did towards sunset, running out by ones and two's before thebreeze which then began to draw off the land, and making a prettymoving picture against the evening glow. When night had fallen wehoisted our lateen again and worked up towards them. 

These fishermen (as I reasoned, from our own Cornish practice) wouldshoot their nets soon after nightfall and before the moon's rising--to haul them, perhaps, two hours later, and await the approach ofmorning for their second cast. Towards midnight, then, we sailedboldly up to the outermost boat and spoke her through Marc'antonio, who (_fas est ab hoste doceri_) had in old campaigns picked up enoughof the Genoese patois to mimic it very passably. He announced us assent by certain Genoese fishmongers--a new and enterprising firmwhose name he invented on the spur of the moment--to trade for thefirst catch of fish and carry them early to market, where theirfreshness would command good prices. The fishermen, at firstsuspicious, gave way at sight of the Genoese money in his hand, andaccepted an offer which not only saved them a journey but (as wecalculated) put from three to four extra livres in their pockets. Within twenty minutes they had transferred two thousand fish to ourboat, and we sailed off into the darkness, ostensibly to trade withthe others. Doubtless they wished us good night for a set of fools. 

We did not trouble their fellows. Two thousand fish, artfully spreadto look like thrice the number, ought to pass us under the eyes ofall Genoa: so for Genoa we headed forthwith, hauling up on thestarboard tack and heeling to our gunwale under the breeze whichfreshened and blew steadily off the shore. 

Sunrise found us almost abreast of the harbour: and the clocks fromthe city churches were striking seven as we rounded up under thegreat mole on the eastern side of the entrance and floated into thecalm basin within. I confess that my heart sank as Genoa opened inpanorama before us, spreading in a vast semicircle with its dockyardsand warehouses, its palaces, its roofs climbing in terrace afterterrace to the villas and flower-gardens on the heights: nor was thissense of our impudence lessened by reflecting that, once within themole, we had not a notion to which of the quays a fishing-boat oughtto steer to avoid suspicion. But here, again, fortune helped us. To the right, at the extreme inner corner of the mole, I espied halfa dozen boats, not unlike our own, huddled close under a stonestairway; and I had no sooner thrust down the helm than a man, catching sight of us, came running along the mole to barter. 

Marc'antonio's conduct of the ensuing bargain was nothing short ofmasterly. The stranger--a fishmonger's runner--turned as he met usand trotted alongside, shaping his hands like a trumpet and bawlingdown his price. Marc'antonio, affecting a slight deafness, signalledto him to bawl louder, hunched his shoulders, shook his headvehemently, held up ten fingers, then eight, then (after a long andpassionate protest from above) eight again. By this time two othertraffickers had joined the contest, and with scarcely a word on hisside Marc'antonio kept them going, as a juggler plays with threeballs. Not until our boat's nose grated alongside the landing wasthe bargain concluded, and the first runner, a bag of silver in hisfist, almost tumbled upon us down the slippery stairs in his hurry toclinch it. 

I stepped ashore and held out a hand to the Princess who, in hercharacter of _paesana_, very properly ignored it. Luckily thecourtesy escaped notice. Stephanu was making fast the boat; therunner counting his coins into Marc'antonio's hand. 

The Princess and I mounted the stairs and, after a pretence to loiterand await our comrades, strolled off towards the city around thecircuit of the quay. We passed the great warehouses of the PortoFranco, staring up at them, but impassively, in true country fashion, and a little beyond them came to the entrance of a street which--forit was strewn with cabbage leaves and other refuse--we judged to leadto the vegetable market. 

"Let us turn aside here, " said the Princess. "I was brought up in acabbage-market, remember; and the smell may help to put me at myease. "

Now along the quays we had met and passed but a few idlers, the hourbeing early for business; but in the market, when we reached it, wefound a throng--citizens and citizens' wives and housekeepers, allarmed with baskets and chaffering around the stalls. The crowddaunted me at first; but finding it too intent to heed us, I drewbreath and was observing it at leisure when my eyes fell on the backof a man who, bending over a stall on my right, held forth a cabbagein one hand while with the other--so far as the basket on his armallowed--he gesticulated violently, cheapening the price against anequally voluble saleswoman. 

Good heavens! That back--that voice--surely I knew them!

The man turned, holding the cabbage aloft and calling gods, mortals, and especially the population of Genoa, to witness. It was Mr. Pett!--and, catching sight of me, he stared wildly, almost droppingthe vegetable. 

"Angels and ministers--" here, at a quick sign of warning from me, hechecked himself sharply. "_O anima profetica, il mio zio!_ . . . Devil a doubt but it sounds better in Shakespeare's mother-English, "he added, as I hurried him aside; and then--for he still grasped thecabbage, and the stallwoman was shouting after him for a thief. "You'll excuse me, signora. Two soldi, I think you said? It is aninfamy. What? Your cabbage has a good heart? Ah, but has it everloved? Has it ever leapt in transport, recognizing a long-lostfriend? Importunate woman, take your fee, basely extracted from mein a moment of weakness. O, heel of Achilles! O, locks of Samson!Go to, Delilah, and henceforth for this may a murrain light on thycucumbers!

"Though, strictly speaking, " said Mr. Fett, as I drew him away anddown the street leading to the quay, "I believe murrain to be adisease peculiar to cattle. Well, my friend, and how goes it withyou? For me"--here he tapped his basket, in which the cabbagecrowned a pile of green-stuff--"I am reduced to _buying_ my salads. "He wheeled about, following my glance, and saluted the Princess, whohad followed and overtaken us. 

"Man, " said I, "you shall tell us your story as soon as ever you havehelped us to a safe lodging. But here are we--and there, comingtowards us along the quay, are two comrades--four Corsicans in all, whose lives, if the Genoese detect us, are not worth five minutes'purchase. "

"Then, excuse me, " said Mr. Fett, becoming serious of a sudden, "butisn't it a damned foolish business that brings you?"

"It may be, " I answered. "But the point is, Can you help us?"

"To a lodging? Why, certainly, as luck has it, I can take youstraight--no, not straight exactly, but the devil of a way round--toone where you can lie as snug as fleas in a blanket. Oh--er--butexcuse me--" He checked himself and stood rubbing his chin, with adubious glance at the Princess. 

"Indeed, sir, " she put in, smoothing down at her peasant-skirt, "I think you first found me lodging upon a bare rock, and even inthis new dress it hardly becomes me to be more fastidious. "

"I was thinking less of the lodgings, Princess, than of the company:though, to be sure, the girls are very good-hearted, and Donna Julia, our _prima amorosa_, makes a most discreet _duenna_, off the boards. There is Badcock too--il signore Badcocchio: give Badcock a hint, andhe will diffuse a most permeating respectability. For the youngladies who dwell at the entrance of the court, over the archway, Iwon't answer. My acquaintance with them has not passed beyond aninterchange of winks: but we might send Badcock to expostulate withthem. "

"You are not dealing with a child, sir, " said the Princess, with alook at me and a somewhat heightened colour. "Be assured that Ishall have eyes only for what I choose to see. "

Mr. Fett bowed. "As for the lodgings, I can guarantee them. They lie on the edge of a small Jew quarter--not the main _ghetto_--and within a stone's-throw of the alleged birthplace of Columbus; ifthat be a recommendation. Actually they are rated in the weavers'quarter, the burgh of San Stefano, between the old and new walls, alittle on the left of the main street as you go up from Sant' Andreatowards Porticello, by the second turning beyond the Olive Gate. "

"I thank you, " I interrupted, "but at a reasonable pace we mightarrive there before you have done giving us the direction. "

"My loquacity, sir, did you understand it, " said Mr. Fett, with anair of fine reproach, "springs less from the desire to instruct thanfrom the ebullience of my feelings at so happy a rencounter. "

"Well, that's very handsomely said, " I acknowledged. "Oh, sir, Ihave a deal to tell, and to hear! But we will talk anon. Meanwhile"--he touched my arm as he led the way, and I fell into stepbeside him--"permit me to note a change in the lady since I last hadthe pleasure of meeting her--a distinct lessening of _hauteur_--atouch of (shall I say?) womanliness. Would it be too much to ask ifyou are running away with her?"

"It would, " said I. "As a matter of fact she is in Genoa to seek herbrother, the Prince Camillo. "

"Nevertheless, " he insisted, and with an impertinence I could notrebuke (for fear of drawing the attention of the passers-by, who werenumerous)--"nevertheless I divine that you have much either to tellme or conceal. "

He, at any rate, was not reticent. On our way he informed me thathis companions in the lodgings were a troupe of strolling playersamong whom he held the important role of _capo comico_. We reachedthe house after threading our way through a couple of tortuous alleysleading off a street which called itself the Via Servi, and under anarchway with a window from which a girl blew Mr. Fett an unabashedkiss across a box of geraniums. The master of it, a Messer' Nicola(by surname Fazio) had rooms for us and to spare. To him Mr. Fetthanded the market-basket, after extracting from it an enormous melon, and bade him escort the Princess upstairs and give her choice of thecleanest apartments at his disposal. He then led us to the mainliving-room where, from a corner-cupboard, he produced glasses, plates, spoons, a bowl of sugar, and a flask of white wine. The flask he pushed towards Marc'antonio and Stephanu: the melon hedivided with his clasp-knife. 

"You will join us?" he asked, profering a slice. "You will drink, then, at least? Ah, that is better. And will you convey myapologies to your two bandits and beg them to excuse my conversingwith you in English? To tell the truth"--here, having helped them toa slice apiece and laid one aside for the Princess, he took theremainder upon his own plate--"though as a rule we make collation atnoon or a little before, my English stomach cries out against anempty morning. You will like my Thespians, sir, when you see 'em. The younger ladies are decidedly--er--vivacious. Bianca, ourColumbine, has all the makings of a beauty--she has but just turnedthe corner of seventeen; and Lauretta, who plays the schemingchambermaid, is more than passably good-looking. As for Donna Julia, her charms at this time of day are moral rather than physical: but, having married our leading lover, Rinaldo, she continues to exact hisvows on the stage and the current rate of pay for them from thetreasury. Does Rinaldo's passion show signs of flagging? She pullshis ears for it, later on, in conjugal seclusion. Poor fellow!--

 "_Non equidem invideo; miror magis_. 

"Do the night's takings fall short of her equally high standard?She threatens to pull mine: for I, cavalier, am the treasurer. . . . But at what rate am I overrunning my impulses to ask news from you!How does your father, sir--that modern Bayard? And Captain Pomery?And my old friend Billy Priske?"

I told him, briefly as I could, of my father's end. He laid down hisspoon and looked at me for a while across the table with eyes which, being unused to emotion, betrayed it awkwardly, with a certain shame. 

"A great, a lofty gentleman! . . . You'll excuse me, cavalier, but Iam not always nor altogether an ass--and I say to you that half adozen such knights would rejuvenate Christendom. As it is, we livein the last worst ages when the breed can afford but one phoenix at atime, and he must perforce spend himself on forlorn hopes. Mark you, I say 'spend, ' not 'waste': the seed of such examples cannot bewasted--"

 'Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust:'

nay, not their actions only, but their every high thought whicheither fate froze or fortune and circumstance choked before it couldput forth flower. Did I ever tell you, Cavalier, the Story of MyFather and the Jobbing Gardener?"

"Not that I remember, " said I. 

"Yet it is full of instruction as an egg is full of meat. My father, who (let me remind you) is a wholesale dealer in flash jewellery, hadever a passion for gardening, albeit that for long he had neither thetime nor the money nor even the space to indulge his hobby. His garden--a parallelogram of seventy-two feet by twenty-three, confined by brick walls--lay at the back of our domicile, whichexcluded all but the late afternoon sunshine. As the Mantuan wouldobserve--"

 'nec fertilis illa juvencis, Nec Cereri opportuna seges, nec commoda Baccho. '

To attend to it my father employed, on Wednesdays and Saturdays, anold fellow over whose head some sixty-five summers had passed withoutimparting to it a single secret. In short, he was the very worstgardener in West Bromicheham, and so obstinately, so insufferably, opinionated withal that one day, in a fit of irritation, my fatherslew him with his own spade. 

"This done, he had at once to consider how to dispose of the body. Our garden, as I have said, was confined within brick walls, two longand one short; and this last my father had screened with a rusticshed and a couple of laurel-bushes; that from his back-parlourwindow, where he sat and smoked his pipe on a Sunday afternoon, hemight watch the path 'wandering, ' as he put it, 'into the shrubbery, 'and feast his eyes on a domain which extended not only further thanthe arm could stretch, but even a little further than the eye couldreach. 

"In the space, then, intervening between the laurels and the terminalwall my father dug a grave two spits deep and interred the corpse, covering it with a light compost of loam and leaf-mould. This was ona Wednesday--the second Wednesday in July, as he was alwaysparticular to mention. (And I have heard him tell the story a scoreof times. )

"On the Sunday week, at half-past three in the afternoon, my fatherhad finished his pipe and was laying it down, before covering hishead (as his custom was) with a silk handkerchief to protect hisslumber from the flies, when, happening to glance towards theshrubbery, he espied a remarkably fine crimson hollyhock overtoppingthe laurels. He rubbed his eyes. He had invested in past years manya shilling in hollyhock seed, but never till now had a plant bloomedin his garden. 

"He rubbed his eyes, I say. But there stood the hollyhock. He rushed from the room, through the back-doorway and down thegarden. My excellent mother, aroused from her siesta by the slammingof the door, dropped the Family Bible from her lap, and tottered inpursuit. She found my father at the angle of the shrubbery, at astandstill before a tangled mass of vegetation. Hollyhocks, sunflowers, larkspurs, lilies, carnations, stocks--every bulb, everyseed which the dead man had failed to cultivate--were ramping now andclimbing from his grave high into the light. My father tore his waythrough the thicket to the tool-shed, dragged forth a hook andpositively hacked a path back to my mother, barely in time to releaseher from the coils of a major convolvulus (_ipomoea purpurea) whichhad her fast by the ankles. 

"Now, this story, which my father used to tell modestly enough, toaccount for his success at our local flower-shows, seems to me tohold a deeper significance, and a moral which I will not insult yourintelligence by extracting for you . . . The _actions_ of the just?Foh!" continued Mr. Fett, and filled his mouth with melon. "What about their _passions?_ Why, sir, yet another story occurs tome, which might pass for an express epologue upon your father'scareer. Did you never hear tell of the Grand Duchess Sophia ofCarinthia and her Three Wooers?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Fett--" I began. 

"Pardon _me_, sir, " he cut me short, with a flourish of his spoon. "I know what you would say: that you are impatient rather to hear howit is that you find me here in Genoa. That also you shall hear, butpermit me to come to it in my own way. For the moment your news hasunhinged me, and you will help my recovery by allowing me to talk alittle faster than I can think. . . . I loved your father, Cavalier. . . . But our tale, just now, is of--"

"THE GRAND DUCHESS AND HER THREE WOOERS. "

"Once upon a time, in Carinthia, there lived a Grand Duchess, ofmarriageable age. Her parents had died during her childhood, leavingher a fine palace and an ample fortune, which, however, was not--touse the parlance of the Exchange--easily realizable, because itconsisted mainly in an avenue of polished gold. By this avenue, which extended for three statute miles, the palace was approachedbetween two parallel lines of Spanish chestnuts. It ran in aneasterly direction and was kept in a high state of polish by twohundred retainers, so that it shone magnificently every morning whenthe Grand Duchess awoke, drew her curtains, and looked forth towardsthe sunrise. 

"Her name was Sophia, and the charms of her young mind rivalled thoseof her person. Therefore suitors in plenty presented themselves, butonly to be rejected by her Chancellor (to whom she left the task ofpreliminary inspection) until he had reduced the list to three, whomwe will call Prince Melchior, Prince Otto, and Prince Caspar. The two former reigned over neighbouring states, but Prince Caspar, Ihave heard, came from the north, beyond the Alps. 

"A day, then, was fixed for these three to learn their fate, and theymet at the foot of the avenue, at the far end of which, on her palacesteps, stood the Grand Duchess to make her choice. Now, when PrinceMelchior came to the golden road, he thought it would be a sin and ashame were his horse to set hoof on it and scratch it and perchancebreak off a plate of it; so he turned aside and rode up along theright of it under the chestnuts. Likewise and for the same reasonPrince Otto turned aside and rode on the left. But Prince Casparthought of the lady so devoutly and wished so much to be with herthat he never noticed the golden pavement at all, but rode straightup the middle of it at a gallop. 

"When the three arrived, Sophia felt that she liked Prince Caspar bestfor his impetuosity; but, on the other hand, she was terribly annoyedwith him for having dented her precious avenue with hoof-marks. She temporized, therefore, professing herself unable to decide, anddismissed them for three years with a promise to marry the one who inthat time should prove himself the noblest knight. 

"Thereupon Prince Melchior and Prince Otto rode away in anger, forthey coveted the golden road as well as the lady. Prince Melchior, who loved fighting, went home to collect an army and avenge theinsult, as he called it. Prince Otto, whose mind worked more subtly, set himself by secret means to stir up disaffection among theCarinthians, telling them that their labour and suffering had gone tomake the splendid useless avenue of gold; and he persuaded them themore easily because it was perfectly true. (He forbore to add thatho coveted it for his own. ) But Prince Caspar, having seen hislady-love, could find no room in his heart either for anger or evenfor schemes to prove his valour. He could think of her and of heronly, day and night. And finding that his thoughts brought hernearer to him the nearer he rode to the stars, he turned his horsetowards the Alps, and there, on the summit, among the snows, livedsolitary in a little hut. 

"His mountain overlooked the plain of Carinthia, but from such aheight that no news ever came to him of the Grand Duchess or herpeople. From his hut, to which never a woodman climbed, nor even astray hunter, he saw only a few villages shining when they took thesun, a lake or two, and a belt of forest through which--for it hidthe palace--sometimes at daybreak a light glinted from the goldenavenue. But one night the whole plain broke out far and wide withbonfires, and from the grand-ducal park--over which the sky shonereddest--he caught the sound of a bell ringing. Then he bethoughthim that the three years were past, and that these illuminations werefor the wedding; and he crept to bed, ashamed and sorrowful that hehad failed and another deserved. 

"Towards daybreak, as he tossed on his straw, he seemed to hear thebells drawing nearer and nearer, until they sounded close at hand. He sprang up, and from the door of his hut he saw a rider on mulebackcoming up the mountain track through the snow. The rider was awoman, and as she alighted and tottered towards him, he recognizedthe Grand Duchess. He carried her in and set her before his fire;and there, while he spread food before her, she told him that thePrinces Melchior and Otto had harried her lands and burnt her palace, and were even now fighting with each other for the golden avenue. 

"Then, " said Caspar, pulling his rusty sword from under a heap offaggots, "I will go down and win it from them; for I see my hourcoming at last. "

But the Princess said, "Foolish man, it is here! And as for thegolden avenue, that too is here, or all that was ever worth yourwinning. " And thereupon she drew aside her cloak, shaking the snowfrom it; and when the folds parted and the firelight fell on herbosom, he saw a breastplate gleaming--a single plate of gold--and inthe centre of it the imprint of a horse's hoof. 

"So these two, Cavalier--or so the story reached me--lived content intheir silly hut, nor ever thought it worth their while to descend tothe plain and lose what they had found. . . . But you were goodenough just now to inquire concerning my own poor adventures. "

"Billy Priske, " said I, "has given me some account of them up to yourparting from my father--at Calenzana, was it not?"

"At Calenzana. " Mr. Fett sighed assent. "Ah! Cavalier, it has beena stony road we have travelled from Calenzana. _Infandum jubesrenovare dolorem_ . . . But Badcock must bear the blame. "

 Badcock with his flute made trees--

Has it ever struck you sir, that Orpheus possibly found the gift ofApollo a confounded nuisance; that he must have longed at times toget rid of his attendant beasts and compose in private? Even so itwas with Badcock. 

"That infernal _mufro_ chivvied us up the road to Calvi and into thevery arms of a Genoese picket. The soldiers arrested us--there wasno need to arrest the _mufro_, for he trotted at our heels--andmarched us to the citadel, into the presence of the commandant. To the commandant (acting, as I thought, upon a happy inspiration) Iat once offered the beast in exchange for our liberty. I was metwith the reply that, as between rarities, he would make no invidiousdistinctions, but preferred to keep the three of us; and moreoverthat the _mufro_ (which had already put a sergeant and two privatesoldiers out of action) appeared amenable only to the strains of Mr. Badcock's flute. . . . And this was a fact, Cavalier. At first, andexcusably, I had supposed the brute's behaviour to express aversion;until, observing that he waited for the conclusion of a piece beforebutting at Mr. Badcock's stomach, I discovered this to be hisrough-and-ready method of demanding an _encore_. 

"The commandant proved to be a _virtuoso_. Persons of thattemperament (as you may have remarked) are often unequal to the lifeof the camp with its deadening routine, its incessant demand forvigilance in details; and, as a matter of fact, he was on the pointof being superseded for incompetence. His recall arrived, and for ashort while he was minded to make a parting gift of us to his latecomrades-in-arms, sharing us up among the three regiments thatcomposed the garrison and endowing them with a _mascot_ apiece; butafter a sharp struggle selfishness prevailed and he carried us withhim to the mainland. There for a week or two, in an elegant palacebehind the _Darsena_, we solaced his retirement and amused a selectcircle of his friends, till (wearying perchance of Badcock'sminstrelsy) he dismissed us with a purse of sequins and bade us go tothe devil, at the same time explaining that only the ingratitude hehad experienced at the hands of his countrymen prevented his offeringus as a gift to the Republic. 

"We left the city that afternoon and climbed the gorges towards Novi, intending our steps upon Turin. The _mufro_ trotted behind us, andmile after mile at the brute's behest--its stern behest, Cavalier--Mr. Badcock fluted its favourite air, _I attempt from love's sicknessto fly_. But at the last shop before passing the gate I had providedmyself with a gun; and at nightfall, on a ledge above the torrentroaring at our feet, I did the deed. . . . Yes, Cavalier, you beholda sportsman who has slain a wild sheep of Corsica. Such men arerare. 

"The echoes of the report attracted a company of pedestrians comingdown the pass. They proved to be a party of comedians moving onGenoa from Turin, whence the Church had expelled them (as I gathered)upon an unjust suspicion of offending against public morals. At sight of Badcock, their leader, with little ado, offered him aplace in the troupe. His ignorance of Italian was no bar; forpantomime, in which he was to play the role of pantaloon, is enacted(as you are aware) in dumb-show. Nay, on the strength only of ournationality they enlisted us both; for Englishmen, they told me, arefamous over the continent of Europe for other things and for makingthe best clowns. We therefore turned back with them to Genoa. 

"But oh, Cavalier! these bodily happenings which I recite to you, what are they in comparison with the adventures of the spirit?I am in Italy--in Genoa, to be sure, which of all Italian citiespasses for the unfriendliest to the Muse: but that is my probation. I have embraced the mission of my life. Here in Italy--here in theland of the vine, the olive--of Maecenas and the Medicis--it shallbe mine to revive the arts and to make them pay; and if I can win outof this city of skinflints at a profit, I shall have served myapprenticeship and shall know my success assured. The Genoese, cavalier, are a banausic race, and penurious at that; they will gowhere the devil cannot, which is between the oak and the rind;opportunity given, they would sneak the breeches off a highlander:they divide their time between commercialism and a licentiousness ofwhich, sordid as it is, they habitually beat down the price. And yetGenoa is Italy, and has the feeling of Italy--the golden atmosphere, the clean outlines, the amplitude of its public spaces, the veryshadows in the square, the statues looking down upon the crowd, thepose, the colouring, of any chance poor onion-seller in the market--"

But here Mr. Fett broke off his harangue to rise and salute thePrincess, who, entering with our host at her heels, turned toMarc'antonio and bade him, as purse-bearer, count out the money for aweek's lodging. Payment in advance (it seemed) was the rule inGenoa. Messer' Fazio bit each coin carefully as it was tendered, andhad scarcely pocketed the last before a noise at the front-doorfollowed by peals of laughter announced the arrival of ourfellow-lodgers. They burst into the room singing a chorus, _O pescatore da maremma_, and led by Mr. Badcock, who wore a wreathof seaweed a-cock over one eye and waved a dripping basket ofsea-urchins. Two pretty girls held on to him, one by each arm, andthrust him staggering through the doorway. 

"O pesca--to--o--o--" Mr. Badcock's eyes, alighting on me, grewsuddenly large as gooseberries and he checked himself in the middleof a roulade. "Eh! why! bless my soul, if it's not--"

"Precisely, " interjected Mr. Fett, with a quick warning wink and awave of his hand to introduce us. "_I pescatori da maremma_. . . . To them enter Proteus with his attendant nymphs. . . . Theyrush on him and bind him with strings of sausages (will the DonnaJulia oblige by tucking up her sleeves and fetching the sausages fromthe back kitchen, _with_ a brazier?) The music, slow at first, becomes agitated as the old man struggles with his captors; it thensinks and breaks forth triumphantly, _largo maestoso_, as hediscourses on the future greatness of Genoa. The whole written, invented, and entirely stage-managed by Il Signore Fetto, Director ofPeriodic Festivities to the Genoese Republic. . . . To be serious, ladies, allow me to present to you four fellow-lodgers from--er--Porto Fino, whom I have invited to share our repast. What ho!without, there! A brazier! Fazio--slave--to the macaroni! Bianca, trip to the cupboard and fetch forth the Val Pulchello. Badcock, hand me over the basket and go to the ant, thou sluggard; and thou, Rinaldo, to the kitchen, where already the sausages hiss, awaitingthee. . . . "

In less than twenty minutes we were seated at table. Master Fazio'shotel (it appeared) welcomed all manner of strange guests, and(thanks to Mr. Fett's dextrous tomfooling) the comedians made us athome at once, without questions asked. Twice I saw Mr. Badcock, ashe held a mouthful of macaroni suspended on his fork, like an anglerdangling his bait over a fish, pause and roll his eyes towards me;and twice Mr. Fett slapped him opportunely between theshoulder-blades. 

He had seated me between the Duenna and the pretty Bianca, to both ofwhom--for both talked incessantly--I gave answers at random; whichby-and-by the Columbine observed, and also that I stole a glance nowand then across the Princess, who was trying her best to listen tothe conversation of the Matamor. 

"Are you newly married, you two?" asked the Columbine, slily. "Oh, you need not blush! She puts us all in the shade. You are inlove with her, at least? Well, she scorns us and is not clever atconcealing it: but I will not revenge myself by trying to steal youaway. I am magnanimous, for my part; and, moreover, all women love alover. "

CHAPTER XXIX. 

VENDETTA. 

 "Have ye not seyn som tyme a pale face Among a prees, of him that hath be lad Toward his death, wher-as him gat no grace, And swich a colour in his face hath had, Men mighte knowe his face that was bistad, Amonges alle the faces in that route. " CHAUCER. _Man of Lawe's Tale_. 

"Criticism, " said Mr. Fett, with his mouth full of sausage, "is theflower of all the arts. "

"For my part, I hate it, " put in the melancholy Rinaldo. 

"To be sure, " Mr. Fett conceded, "if all men grasped this greattruth, there would be an end of artists; and in time, by consequence, of critics, who live by them and for whom they exist. Therefore Ikeep my discovery as a Platonic secret, and utter it butoccasionally, in my cups, and when"--with a severe glance at Mr. Badcock--"the vulgar are not attending. "

Mr. Badcock woke up at once. "On the contrary, " he explained, "I listen best with my eyes closed; a habit I acquired in AxminsterParish Church. Indeed, I am all ears. "

"Indeed you are. . . . Well then, as I was about to say, the secretof success in the Arts is to make other men do the work for you. At this obviously he will excel who has learnt to appraise othermen's work, and knows exactly of what they are capable; that is tosay, the Critic. Believe me, dear friends, the happiest moment of mylife will come when, as _impresario_ I shall have realized theambition of giving myself, as _capo comico_, the sack at twenty-fourhours' notice. "

"A man should know his own worth, " grumbled Rinaldo, "if only inself-defence on pay-day. "

"'Tis notorious, my dear Rinaldo, that your mere artist never does. Intent upon expressing self, he misses the detachment which alone isOlympian; whereas the critic--Tell me, why is an architectarchitectonic? Because he sits in his parlour, pushing the brownsherry and chatting with his clients, while his clerks express theirsouls for him in a back office. This lesson, O Badcocchio, I learntfrom an uncle of mine, who had amassed a tidy competence by thusvicariously erecting a quite incredible number of villa residencesfor retired tradesmen in the midlands--to be precise, in and aroundWolverhampton. I say vicariously, for on his deathbed it brought himinexpressible comfort that he himself had not designed these things. 

"He was in many respects a remarkable man, and came near to being agreat one. His name originally was Lorenzo Smith, to which in lateryears he added that of Desborough--partly for euphony, partly becausethe initials made to his mind a pleasing combination, partly also inpursuance of his theory of life, that he best succeeds who makesothers work for him. By annexing the Desborough patronymic--which, however, he tactfully spelled Desboro', to avoid conflict with thefamily prejudices--he added, at the cost of a trifling fee to theConsistory Court of Canterbury, a flavour of old gentility to theartistic promise of Lorenzo, the solid commercial assurance of Smith. Together the three proved irresistible. He prospered. He died worthtwenty-five thousand pounds, which had indeed been fifty thousand butfor an unlucky error. 

"Like many another discoverer, he pushed his discovery too far. He reasoned--but the reasoning was not _in pari materia_--that whathe had applied to Art he could apply to Religion. In compliment towhat he understood to be the ancient faith of the Desboroughs he hadembraced the principles of Roman Catholicism--his motto, by the way, was _Thorough_--and this landed him, shortly after middle age, in anawkward predicament. He had, in an access of spleen, set fire to thehouse of a client whose payments were in arrear. The good priest whoconfessed him recommended, nay enjoined, an expiatory pilgrimage toRome; and my uncle, on the excuse of a rush of orders, despatched ajunior clerk to perform the pilgrimage for him. 

"For a time all went well. The young man (whom my uncle had promotedfrom the painting of public-house sign-boards) made his way to Rome, saluted the statue of the Fisherman, climbed on his knees up theScala Sancta, laid out the prescribed sum on relics, beads, scapulars, medals, and what-not, and, in short, fulfilled all thearticles of my uncle's vow. On the second evening, after anexhausting tour of the churches, he sat down in a tavern, andincautiously, upon an empty stomach, treated himself to a whole flaskof the white wine of Sicily. It produced a revulsion, in which heremembered his Protestant upbringing; and the upshot was, a Switzerfound him, late that night, supine in the roadway beneath the Vaticangardens, gazing up at the moon and damning the Pope. Behaviour solittle consonant with his letters of introduction naturally awokemisgivings. He was taken to the cells, where he broke down, and withcrapulous tears confessed the imposture; which so incensed HisHoliness that my uncle only bought himself off excommunication bypayment of a crippling sum down, and an annual tribute of his ownweight (sixteen stone twelve) in candles of pure spermaceti. O Badcock, fill Donna Julia's glass, and pass the bottle!"

We spent the next five days in company with these strangefellow-lodgers, and more than once it gave me an uncanny feeling toturn in the midst of Mr. Fett's prattle and, catching the eye ofMarc'antonio or Stephanu as they sat and listened with absolutegravity, to reflect on the desperate business we were here to do. We went about the city openly, no man suspecting us. On the dayafter our arrival we discovered the Prince Camillo's quarters. The Republic had lodged him, with a small retinue, in the PalazzoVerde, a handsome building (though not to be reckoned among thestatelier palaces of the city), with a front on the Via Balbi, and agarden enclosed by high walls, around which ran the discreetest of_vicoli_. One of the Dorias, so tradition said, had built it tohouse a mistress, early in the seventeenth century. I doubt not thePrince Camillo found comfortable quarters there. For the rest, hehad begun to enjoy himself after the fashion he had learnt inBrussels, returning to dissipation with an undisguised zest. The Genoese--themselves a self-contained people, and hypocritical, ifnot virtuous--made less than a nine days' wonder of him, he was soengagingly shameless, so frankly glad to have exchanged Corsica forthe fleshpots. There was talk that in a few days he would makeformal and public resignation of his crown in the great hall of theBank of Saint George. Meanwhile, he flaunted it in the streets, theshops, the theatres. His very publicity baulked us. We tracked himdaily--his sister and I, in our peasant dress; but found never achance to surprise him alone. His eyes, which rested nowhere, neverdetected us. 

We hunted him together, not consulting Marc'antonio and Stephanu, butrather agreeing to keep them out of the way. Indeed I divined thatthe Princess's anxiety to hold him in sight was due in some degree toher fear of these two and what they might intend. For my part, Iwatched them of an evening, at Messer' Fazio's board, expecting somesign of jealousy. But it appeared that they had resigned her to me, and were content to be excluded from our counsels. 

Another thing puzzled me. Public as the Prince made himself, he wasnever accompanied by his evil spirit (as I held him) the priestDomenico. Yet--_ame damnee_, or master devil, whichever he mightbe--I felt sure that the key of our success lay in unearthing him. So, while the Princess tracked her brother, I begged off at whiles tohaunt the purlieus of the Palazzo Verde--for three days withoutsuccess. But on the fourth I made a small discovery. 

The rear of the Palazzo Verde, I have said, was surrounded by narrowalleys, of which that to the south was but a lane, scarcely five feetin width, dividing its garden from the back wall of another palace(as I remember, one of the Durazzi). Halfway up this lane a narrowdoor broke the wall of the Palazzo Verde's garden. I had tried thisdoor, and found it locked. 

On the afternoon of the fourth day, as I turned into this lane, amiddle-aged man met and passed me at the entrance, walking in ahurry. I had no proof that he came from the garden-door of thePalazzo Verde, but I thought it worthwhile to turn and follow him;which I did, keeping at a distance, until he entered a goldsmith'sshop in the Strada Nuova, where presently, through the pane, I sawhim talking with a customer across the counter. I retraced my stepsto the lane. The door (needless to say) was closed; but behind it, not far within the garden, I heard a gentle persistent tapping, as ofa hammer, and wondered what it might mean. 

It spoke eloquently for the Prince Camillo's zest after pleasure thathe pursued it abroad in spite of the weather, which was abominable. A searching mistral blew through the streets for four days, parchingthe blood, and on the night of the fourth rose to something like ahurricane. Our players fought their way against it to the theatre, only to find it empty; and returned in the lowest of spirits. The pretty Bianca was especially disconsolate. 

Before dawn the gale dropped, and between eleven o'clock and noon, ina flat calm, the snow began, freezing as it fell. 

The Prince Camillo did not show himself in the streets that day. But towards dusk, as we passed down the Via Roma, he drove by in animprovised sleigh with bells jingling on the necks of his horses. He was bound for the theatre, which stood at the head of the street. The Princess turned with me, and we were in time to see him alightand run up the steps, radiant, wrapped in furs, and carrying a greatbouquet of pink roses, such as grow in the Genoese gardens throughoutthe winter. 

But it appeared that, if we kept good watch on him, others had beenkeeping better; for, five minutes later, as we stood debating whetherto follow him into the theatre, Marc'antonio and Stephanu emergedfrom its portico and came towards us. 

"O Princess, " said Marc'antonio, "we have seen him at length and hadword with him. When we told him that you were here in Genoa, helooked at us for a moment like a man distraught--did he not, Stephanu?"

"One would have said he was going to faint, " Stephanu corroborated. 

"I think, with all his faults, he is terrified for your sake, for therisk you run. He implored us to get you away from the city; and whenwe told him it was impossible, he sent word that he would come to youafter the play, and himself try to persuade you. We dared not lethim know where we lodged, for fear of treachery; so, being hurried, we appointed the street by the Weavers' Gate, where, if you will meethim, masked, a little after nine o'clock, Stephanu and I will benear--in case of accidents--and doubtless the Cavalier also. "

"Did he say anything of the crown, O Marc'antonio?"

"No, Princess, for we had not time. The crowd was all around us, youunderstand; and he drew up and talked to us, forcing himself tosmile, like a nobleman amusing himself with two peasants. For thecrown, we shall leave you to deal with him. "

"And I shall hold you to that bargain, O Marc'antonio, " said she. "But what will you two be doing with yourselves meanwhile?"

"With permission, Princess, we return to the theatre. We shall watchthe play, and keep our eyes on him; and at half-past seven o'clockthe girl Bianca dances in the ballet. Mbe! I have not witnessed aballet since my days of travel. "

"And I will run home, then, and fetch my mask. At nine o'clock, yousay?"

"At nine, or a little after--and by the Weavers' Gate. "

"And you will leave him to me? You understand, you two, that thereis to be no violence. "

"As we hope for Heaven, Princess. "

"Farewell, then, until nine o'clock!" She dismissed them, and theyreturned to the portico and passed into the theatre. "That is good, "said she, turning to me with a sigh that seemed to lift a weight fromher heart. "For, to tell the truth, I was afraid of them. "

For me, I was afraid of them still, having observed some constraintin Marc'antonio as he told his story, and also that, though I triedhim, his eyes refused to meet mine. To be sure, there was a naturalawkwardness in speaking of the Prince to his sister. NeverthelessMarc'antonio's manner made me uneasy. 

It continued to worry me after I had escorted the Princess back toour lodgings. Across the court, in the chamber over the archway, some one was playing very prettily upon a mandolin. In spite of thecold I stepped to the outer door to listen, and stood there gazingout upon the thick-falling snow, busy with my thoughts. Yes, decidedly Marc'antonio's manner had been strange. . . . 

While I stood there, a clock, down in the city, chimed out thehalf-hour. Its deep note, striking across the tinkle of themandolin, fetched me out of my brown study. Half-past seven. . . . I had an hour and a half to spare; ample time to step down to thePalazzo Verde and reconnoitre. If only I could hit upon some scentof the priest Domenico!

I started at a brisk pace to warm my blood, which had taken a chillfrom the draught of the doorway. The snow by this time layankle-deep, and even deeper in the pitfalls with which the ill-litstreets abounded; but in twenty minutes I had reached the Via Balbi. The wind was rising; in spite of the snow driven against my face Ihad not noticed until I heard it humming in the alley which led underthe shadow of the garden wall. I had scarcely noticed it before myears caught the jingle of bells approaching swiftly down the ViaBalbi. 

"Eh?" thought I, "is the Prince returning, then, to change his dress?Or has he sent home his carriage, meaning to pursue the adventure onfoot?"

There was no time to run back to the street corner and satisfy mycuriosity. The horses went clashing past the head of the alley at agallop, and presently I heard the front gates of the palace grindopen on their great hinges. Half a minute later they were closedagain with a jar, and almost immediately the clocks of the city beganto toll out the hour. 

Was it my fancy? Or did the last note die away with a long-drawnchoking sound, as of some one struggling for breath? . . . And, last time, it had been the tap-tap of a hammer. . . . Surely, strange noises haunted this alley. . . . 

I listened. I knew that I must be standing near the small door inthe wall, though in the darkness I could not see it. The sinistersound was not repeated. I could be sworn, though, that my eyes hadheard it; and still, for two minutes perhaps, I stood listening, myface lifted towards the wall's coping. Then indeed I heardsomething--not at all that for which I strained my ears, but a softmuffled footfall on the snow behind me--and faced about on it, clutching at the sailor's knife I wore in my belt. 

It was a woman. She had almost blundered into me as I stood in theshadow of the wall, and now, within reach of my arm, drew back with agasp of terror. Terror indeed held her numb while I craned forward, peering into her face. 

"Signorina Bianca!"

"But what--what brings you?" she stammered, still between quick gaspsfor breath. 

In the darkness, close by, a door slammed. 

"Ah!" said I, drawing in my breath. Stretching out a hand, I laid iton her shoulder, from which the cloak fell away, disclosing a frostyglint of tinsel. "So it was for _you_ the Prince drove home earlyfrom the theatre! But why is the door left open?"

Pretty Bianca began to whimper. "I--I do not know; unless some onehas stolen my key. " She put a hand down to fumble in the pocket ofher cloak. 

"Then we had best discover, " said I, and drew her (though notungently) to the door. I found it after a little groping and, lifting the latch--for the gust of wind had fastened it--thrust itopen upon a light which, though by no means brilliant, dazzled meafter the darkness of the alley. 

I had counted on the door's opening straight into the garden. To my dismay I found myself in a narrow vestibule floored withlozenges of black and white marble and running, under the wall to myleft, towards an archway where a dim lamp burned before a velvetcurtain. For a moment I halted irresolute, and then, slipping a handunder Bianca's arm, led her forward to the archway and drew aside thecurtain. 

Again I stood blinking, dazzled by the light of many candles--or werethey but two or three candles, multiplied by the mirrors around thewalls and the gleams from the gilded furniture? And what--mercifulGod, _what!_--was that foul thing hanging from the centralchandelier?--hanging there while its shadow, thrown upward past theglass pendants, wavered in a black blot that seemed to expand andcontract upon the ceiling?

It was a man hanging there, with his neck bent over the curtain'srope that corded it to the chandelier; a man in a priest's frock, under which his bare feet dangled limp and hideous. 

As the unhappy Bianca slid from under my arm to the floor, I tiptoedforward and stared up into the face. It was the face of the priestDomenico, livid, distorted, grinning down at me. With a shiver Isprang past the corpse for a doorway facing me, that led stillfurther into this unholy pavilion. The curtain before it had beenwrenched away from the rings over the lintel--by the hand, no doubt, of the poor wretch as he had been haled to execution--since, save fora missing cord, the furniture of the room was undisturbed. The roombeyond was bare, uncarpeted, and furnished like a workshop. A solitary lamp burned low on a bracket, over a table littered withtools, and in the middle of the room stood a brazier, the coals in ityet glowing, with five or sick steel-handled implements left as theyhad been thrust into the heart of the fire. Were they, then, alsotorturers, these murderers?

My eyes turned again to the work-table. On it, among the tools, rested a crown--the crown of Corsica! Nay, there were two--twocrowns of Corsica! . . . In what new art of treachery had the manbeen surprised? Treachery to Genoa, on top of treachery to Corsica. . . . The crowns were surprisingly alike, even to the stones aroundthe band--and I bethought me of the jeweller I had met in the alley. But, feeling around the rim of each, I recognized the true one by adent it had taken against the _Gauntlet's_ ballast. Quick asthought, then, I whipped it under my arm, ran back to Bianca, andthrust it under her cloak as I bent over her. 

She lay in a cold swoon. I could not leave her in this horribleplace. . . . 

I was lifting her to carry her out into the alley, when--in theworkshop or beyond it--a key grated in a lock; and I raised myselferect as the Prince Camillo came through the pavilion, humming acareless tune of opera. 

"Hola!" he broke off and called, "Hola, padre, where the devil areyou hiding? And where's the pretty Bianca? . . . O, confusion seizeyour puss-in-the-corner! I shall be jealous, I tell you--and br-r-h!what a mistral of a draught!"

He came into the room rubbing his hands, half scolding, halflaughing, with the drops of melted snow yet shining on his furredrobe from his walk across the garden. I saw him halt on thethreshold and look about him, prepared to call "Hola!" once again. I saw his eyes fall on the corpse dangling from the chandelier, fixthemselves on it, and slowly freeze. I saw him take one totteringstep forward; and then, from an alcove, Marc'antonio and Stephanustepped quietly out and posted themselves between him and retreat. 

"It will be best done quietly, " said Marc'antonio. "The Cavalier, there"--he pointed to me--"has the true crown, and will carry it togood keeping. You will pardon us, O Cavalier, that we were forced totell the Princess an untruth this evening; but right is right, and wecould not permit her to interfere. "

In all my life I have never seen such a face as the Prince turnedupon us, knowing that he must die. The face grinning from thechandelier was scarcely less horrible. 

He put up a hand to it. "Not here!" he managed to say. "In the nextroom--not here!"

"As your highness wishes. " Marc'antonio let him pass into theworkshop and he stood before the brazier, stretching out his palms asthough to warm them. 

"These!" he whispered hoarsely, pointing to the instruments on thebrazier. 

"Your Highness misunderstands. We are not torturers, we of theColonne, " answered Marc'antonio, gravely. 

A clock on the mantelpiece tinkled out the hour of nine. 

"No, nor shall be murderers, " I interposed. "The Princess is yetyour mistress, O Marc'antonio, and I am her husband. In thePrincess's name I command you both that you do not harm him. "

To my amazement the wretched youth drew himself up, his cowardicegone, his face twisted with sudden venomous passion. 

"_You? You_ will protect me? Dog, I can die, but not owe _that!_"

I leapt forward, disregarding him, seeing that Marc'antonio's handwas lifted, and that in it a dagger glittered. But before I couldleap the Prince had snatched one of the steel rods from the brazier--a charcoal rake. And as I struck up Marc'antonio's arm, the rakecrashed down on my skull, tearing the scalp with its white-hot teeth. 

I staggered back with both hands held to my head. I did not see thestroke itself; but between my spread fingers I saw the Prince sink tothe floor with the handle of Marc'antonio's dagger between hisshoulder-blades. I saw the blood gush from his mouth. And with thatI heard scream after scream from the doorway where Bianca stoodswaying, and shouts from the garden answering her screams. 

"Foolish girl!" said Marc'antonio, quietly. "And yet, perhaps, sobest!"

He stepped over the Prince's body, and taking me by both shoulders, hurried me through the room where the priest hung, and forth into thevestibule. Stephanu did the same with Bianca, halting on his way tocatch up the crown and wrap it carefully in the girl's cloak. At thegarden gate he thrust the bundle into my hands, even as Marc'antoniopushed us both into the lane. 

Outside the door I caught at the wall and drew breath, blinking whilethe hot blood ran over my eyes. I looked for them to follow and helpme, for I needed help. But the door was closed softly behind us, anda moment later I heard their footsteps as they ran back along thevestibule, back towards the shouting voices; then, after a longsilence, a shot; then a loud cry, "CORSICA!" and another shot. 

"They have killed him?"

I turned feebly to Bianca; but Bianca had not spoken. She leaned, dumb with fright, against the wall of the alleyway, and stared at thePrincess, who faced us, panting, in the whirls of snow. 

"I tried"--it was my own voice saying this--"yes, indeed, I tried tosave him. He would not, and they killed him . . . And now they alsoare killed. "

"Yes--yes, I heard them. " She peered close. "Can you walk? Try tothink it is a little way; for it is most necessary you should walk. "

I had not the smallest notion whether I could walk or not. It appeared more important that my head was being eaten with red-hotteeth. But she took my arm and led me. 

"Go before us, foolish girl, and make less noise, " she commanded thesobbing Bianca. 

"But you must try for _my_ sake, " she whispered, "to think it but alittle way. "

And I must have done so with success; for of the way through thestreets I remember nothing but the end--a light shining down thepassage of Messer' Fazio's house, a mandolin still tinkling over thearchway behind us, and a door opening upon a company seated at table, the faces of all--and of Mr. Fett especially--very distinct under thelamp-light. They rose--it seemed, all at once--to welcome us, andtheir faces wavered as they rose. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

THE SUMMIT AND THE STARS. 

 "Aucassins, biax amis doux En quel terre en irons nous? --Douce amie, que sai jou? Moi ne caut u nous aillons, En forest u en destor, Mais que je soie aveuc vous!" _Aucassin and Nicolete. 

 "E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. " _Dante_. 

I awoke to a hum of voices . . . But when my eyes opened, thespeakers were gone, and I lay staring at an open window beyond whichthe sky shone, blue and deep as a well. On a chair beside the windowsat the Princess, her hands in her lap. . . . While I stared at her, two strange fancies played together in my mind like couples crossingin a dance; the first, that she sat there waiting for something tohappen, and had been waiting for a very long, an endless, while; theother that her body had grown transparent. The sunlight seemed tofloat through it as through a curtain. 

I dare say that I lay incapable of movement; but this did notdistress me at all, for I felt no desire to stir--only a contentment, deep as the sky outside, to rest there and let my eyes rest on her. Yet either I must have spoken or (yes, the miracle was no lesslikely!) she heard my thoughts; for she lifted her head and, rising, came towards me. As she drew close, her form appeared to expand, shutting out the light . . . And I drifted back into darkness. 

By-and-by the light glimmered again. I seemed to be rising to it, this time, like a drowned man out of deep water; drowned, notdrowning, for I felt no struggle, but rather stood apart from my bodyand watched it ascending, the arms held downwards, rigid, the palmstouching its thighs--until at the surface, on the top of a wave, mywill rejoined it and forced it to look. Then I knew that I had beenmistaken. The sky was there, deep as a well; and, as before, itshone through an opening; and the opening had a rounded top like thearch of a window; yet it was not a window. As before, my love satbetween me and the light, and the light shone through her. My bedrocked a little under me, and for a while I fancied myself on boardthe _Gauntlet_, laid in my bunk and listening to the rolling of herloose ballast--until my ear distinguished and recognized the soundfor that of wheels, a low rumble through which a horse's footfallplodded, beating time. 

I was scarcely satisfied of this before the sound grew indistinctagain and became a murmur of voices. The arch that framed thesunlight widened; the sky drew nearer, breaking into vivid separatetinctures--orange, blood-red, sapphire-blue; and at the same time thePrincess receded and diminished in stature. . . . The frame was awindow again, and she a figure on a coloured pane, shining there in acompany of saints and angels. But her voice remained beside me, speaking with another voice in a great emptiness. 

The other voice--a man's--talked most of the while. I could notfollow what it said, but by-and-by caught a single word, "Milano";and again two words, "The mountains" and yet again, but after aninterval, "The people are poor; they give nothing; from year's end toyear's end"--and the voice prolonged itself like an echo, repeatingthe words until, as they died away, they seemed to measure out thetime. 

"The more reason why _you_--" began the Princess's voice. "There shall be spared one--a little one--for Our Lady. "

But here I felt myself drifting off once more. I was as one afloatin a whirlpool, now carried near to a straw and anon swept away as Iclutched at it. 

The eddy brought me round again to the window that was no window, therumble of wheels, the plodding of a horse's hoofs. Beyond the lowarch--or was it a pent?--shone a star or two, and against their paleradiance a shadow loomed--the shadow of the Princess, still seated, still patient, still with her hands in her lap. The rumble of thewheels, the slow rocking of my bed beneath me, fitted themselves tothe intermittent flash of the stars, and beat out a rhythm in mymemory--a rhythm, and by degrees the words to fit it--

 "Tanto ch'io vidi delle cose belle Che porta il ciel, per un pertugio tondo, E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. "

_A riveder le stelle_--I closed my eyes, opened them again, and lo!the stars were gone. In their place shone pale dawn, touching thegrey-white arch of a tilt-waggon, on the floor of which I lay in adeep litter of straw. But still by the tilt, between me and thedawn, rested my love, and drowsed, still patient, her hands in herlap. 

"At last! At last!"

She called to the driver--I could not see him, for I lay with my faceto the tilt--and he pulled up his horse with a jolt. Belike he hadbeen slumbering, and with the same jolt awoke himself. I tried tolift a hand--I think to brush away the illusion of the window and itspainted panes. 

Maybe, slight as it was, she mistook the movement to mean that I feltstifled under the hood of the waggon and wanted air. At any rate, she called again, and the driver (I have clean forgotten his face), left his reins and came around to her. Between them they lifted meout and laid me on a bank between the road and a water-course thatran beside it. I heard the water rippling, near by, and presentlyfelt the cool, delicious touch of it as she dipped up a little in herhollowed palms and moistened my bandages. 

Our waggon had come to a halt in the very centre (as it seemed) of agreat plain, criss-crossed with dykes and lines of trees, and dottedwith distant hamlets. The hamlets twinkled in the fresh daylight, and in the nearest one--a mile back on the road--a fine campanilestood up against the sun, which pierced through three windows in itstopmost story. So flat was the plain that mere sky fillednine-tenths of the prospect; and all the wide dome of it tinkled withthe singing of larks. 

"_Ma dove? dove?_ . . . "

The Princess pointed, and far on the road, miles beyond the waggon, I saw that which no man, sick or hale, sees for the first time in hislife without a lift of the heart--the long glittering rampart of theAlps. 

"Do we cross them?"

"_Pianu_. . . . In time, O beloved; thou and I . . . All in goodtime. "

I gazed up at her, half-frightened by the tenderness in her voice;and what I saw frightened me wholly. The sullenness had gone fromher eyes; as a mother upon the child in her lap, so she looked downupon me; but her face was wan, even in the warm sunlight, andpinched, and hollow-eyed. I lifted her hand--a little way only, myown being so weak. It was frail, transparent, as though wasted byvery hunger. 

She read the question I could not ask, and answered it with a bravelaugh. (It appeared, then, that she had taught herself to laugh. )

"We have been sick, thou and I. The mountains will cure us. "

I looked along the road towards them, then up at her again. I remembered afterwards that though she spoke so cheerfully of themountains, her gaze had turned from them, to travel back across theplain. 

"A little while!" she went on. "We must wait a little while torecover our strength. But there are friends yonder, to help us. "

"Friends?" I echoed, wondering that I possessed any. 

"You must leave all talk to me, " she commanded; "and, if you arerested, we ought not to sit idling here. " She helped the driver tolift me back into the waggon, where, as it moved on, she seatedherself in the straw and took my hand. All her shyness had gone, with all her sullenness. 

"There is a farm, " began she, "a bare twelve leagues from here, saysthe waggoner, who knows it. I carry a letter to the farmer from hisbrother, who is the parish priest of Trecate, and a good man. He says that his brother, too, is a good man, and will show uskindness for his sake, because the farm once belonged to my friend, as the elder, until he gave it up to follow God. The pair have notmet since twenty years; for Trecate lies not far from Milan, and thefarm is deep in the mountains, above a village called Domodossola, where the folk are no travellers. . . . "

Here her voice faded into a dream again; for a very little wakingwearied me, then and for weeks to come, and the word Milano broughtback the church, the stained window, the priest's voice talking, andconfused all these with the rumbling of the waggon. But I held mylove's hand, and that was enough. 

We came that same evening to the shore of a lake, beautiful as a pooldropped out of Paradise, and the next day crawled uphill, hour afterhour, over a jolting road to the village, where I lay while thedriver climbed to the farm with the Princess's letter. He was gonefive hours, but returned with the farmer, and the farmer's talleldest son; and the pair had brought a litter, in which to carry mehome. 

The name of this good man was Bavarello--Giacomo Bavarello--and helived with his wife Battestina in a house full of lean children andlive-stock. The house had deep overhanging eaves, held down by cordsand weighted with rocks; but this must have been rather in deferenceto the custom of the country than as a precaution against storms, forthe farmstead lay cosily in a dingle of the mountain, where stormsnever reached it. Yet it took the sun from earliest dawn almost tothe last beam of midsummer daylight. Behind it a pine forest climbedto the snow; and up and across the snow a corniced path traversed theface of the mountain and joined the _diligence_-road a little belowthe summit of the pass. At the point of junction stood a smallchapel, with a dwelling-room attached, where lived a brother from theBenedictine _hospice_ on the far side of the pass. His name wasBrother Polifilo, and it was supposed that he had fallen in love withsolitude (else how could he have endured to live in such a place?);yet his smile justified his name, and his manner of playing with thechildren when he descended to bring us the consolations of religion--which he did by arrangement with the infirm parish priest in thevalley. Also, on fine mornings when the snow held and the littleones could be trusted along the path, the entire household of theBavarelli would troop up to Mass in his tiny chapel. 

For me, it was many weeks before my sick brain allowed me to climbbeyond the pines; and many weeks, though the Princess always wentwith me--before she told me all the story of what had happened inGenoa. Yet we talked much, at one time and another, though we weresilent more; for the silences told more. Only our talk and oursilences were always of the present. It was understood that thewhole story of the past would come, some day, when I had strength forit. Of the future we never spoke. I could not then have told why;though now all too well I can. 

Sick man though I was, bliss filled those days for me, and theirmemory is steeped in bliss. Yet a thought began, after a while, totrouble me. We were living on these poor Bavarelli, and, for aught Iknew, paying them not a penny. The good farmer might be grateful tohis priest-brother down yonder; but even if his gratitude wereinexhaustible we--strangers as we were--ought not to test it so. To be sure, he and his wife wore a smile for us, morning andevening--and this, though I had a notion that Donna Battestina was ofa saving disposition. I had heard the pair of them protest when thePrincess offered to make herself useful in the farm-work--for whichshe was plainly unfit--or, failing that, in the housework. They hadmade up their minds about us, that we were persons of gentle blood, to whom all work must be derogatory. 

The next day I insisted on climbing the slope to the pine-woodwithout support of her arm. 

"It is time, " said I, "that I grew strong; unless somewhere you arehiding a fairy purse. "

She looked at me--for between us, by this time, one spoken word wouldbe the key to a dozen unspoken. "You are not fit to start, " shestammered hastily, "nor will be for a long while. There aremountains behind these, and again more mountains--" She broke offand sat down upon a pine-log, trembling. 

"I was not thinking of that, " said I; "but of these people and theirhospitality. Since we have no money I must work for them--at least, until I can get money sent from England. "

She glanced at me again, and with a shiver up at the snow peaksbeyond the pines. I could read that she struggled with something, deep within her, and I waited. By-and-by she leaned forward, claspedher hands about her knee, and sat silent for a long minute, gazingsouthward over the plain at our feet. 

"Listen, " she said at length, but without turning her eyes. "I havesomething to confess to you. " Her voice dragged upon the words; butshe went on, "You have not asked me what has happened in Genoaafter--that night. The snow covered up our footmarks and theblood--for you were bleeding all the way; but at our lodgings theactors were frightened out of their wits, and worse than ever when Itold them what had happened to Marc'antonio and Stephanu. They wouldall be arrested, they declared; the Bank of Genoa had eyes all overthe city. Nevertheless one of them showed great courage. It wasthat strange friend of yours, Messer' Badcock. My first thought wasto get you down to the boat and slip away to sea; and he offered--healone--first of all to make his way to the harbour and bring word ifthe coast (as he said) was clear. He went very cautiously, by way ofa cellar leading under our house and the next, and opening on a backstreet--this, that his steps might not be traced to the front door;and it was well that he went, for on the quay, hiding behind a stackof timber, he saw two men in uniform posted at the head of thewater-stairs. So he hastened back, using less caution, because bythis time the snow had smoothed over his tracks, and was fallingfaster every moment. The actors had already begun to pack, andMesser' Fazio was running about in a twitter, albeit he declaredthat, beside themselves, not a soul in Genoa knew of his havinglodged these Corsicans. Doubtless, however, his house would besearched in the morning, and the important, the pressing need was toget rid of us. 

"In his haste he could think of nothing better than an oldonion-loft, some sixty paces up the lane at the back. It was a storemerely, not connected with any house, but owned by a rich merchant ofthe city who had acquired it for some debt and straightway forgottenall about it--at least, so Messer' Fazio declared. If we werediscovered in hiding there, it could be explained that we had foundit, and used it for a lodging, asking no man's leave; and suspicionwould fall on no good citizen. 

"I made sure that you were dying, and for myself I was past caring;so I thanked him and told him to do with us as he thought best. He and Messer' Badcock carried you out then, and I followed. The building was of two floors, with a door to each. A flight ofsteps led from the lane to the upper door, which was padlocked; andno one had used that way for twenty years, or so the landlord said. We entered by the lower door, which was broken--both hasp and hinge--and led straight from the lane into a dirty cellar, worse than anycowshed and paved with mud. But from this a ladder rested againstthe wooden ceiling, and just above it was a plank that had workedloose. Messer' Fazio slipped the plank aside, and with great painswe carried you up through the opening and into the loft. I hadbandaged your head so that we left no traces of blood in the lane oron the floor below. Then Messer' Fazio gathered up some onions whichwere strewn on the floor--I believe he had been drying them there onthe sly--and took leave of us in a hurry. When he reached the bottomagain, he carried away the ladder, declaring that it belonged to him. 

"I had brought with me but a loaf of bread, a flask of milk, and onething else--I will tell you what that was, by-and-by. I sat by you, waiting for you to die. When morning came I forced you to drink someof the milk. The loft was bitterly cold, and I wondered indeed thatyou were not dead. 

"Towards evening I felt faint with hunger, and was gnawing a piece ofmy loaf, when a voice spoke up to me from below. It was a woman'svoice, and I took it at first for Lauretta's--she was the girl, youremember, who played the confidante's part and such-like. But when Ipulled the plank a little aside and looked down, I saw a girl unknownto me--until I recognized her for one of those who lived above thearchway at the entrance of Messer' Fazio's court. Lauretta had toldher, swearing her to be secret, and she was here in pity. She calledherself Gioconda; and I bless her, for your sake. 

"She fetched me bread, milk, and a little wine. But for her--forMesser' Fazio came never near us, and the actors, she told me, haddecamped--we should both have perished. The cold lasted for tendays; I cannot tell how you endured it; but at the end of them Ihoped you might recover, and with that I tried to think of some planfor escaping from Genoa. The worst was, I had no money. . . . "

The Princess paused, and shivered a little. 

"That cold . . . It is in my bones yet. I feel as though the leasttouch of it now would kill me . . . And I want to live. Ah, my love, turn your eyes from me while I tell you what next I did!The crown . . . It belonged to Corsica. I had denied your right toit; but you had won it back from dishonour, and I remembered that inthe band of it were jewels, the price of which might save you. Moreover, the little that kept us from starving came from--thosewomen; and it was hateful to owe them even for a little bread. So I felt then. Afterwards--But you shall hear; only turn away youreyes. I prayed to the Virgin, but my prayers seemed to get no clearanswer. . . . Then I pulled a staple from the wall, and with thepoint of it prised out one of the jewels, an amethyst. . . . I hadspoken already to Gioconda. That evening she brought me one of herdresses, with shoes, stockings, and underskirt; a mirror, too, andbrush and comb, with paints, powders, and black stuff for theeye-lashes, all in the same bundle, which she passed up through thefloor. I dressed myself, painted my face, tired my hair, till Ilooked like even such a woman as Gioconda; and then, letting myselfdown at dark by a rope made of the sheet I drew from under you, I ranthrough the streets to the quarter of the merchants. La Gioconda hadforgotten to pack a cloak in the bundle; the night was snowing, withsnow underfoot; and I had run past the quays before the fear struckme that, at so late an hour, the jewellers would have closed theirshops. But in the street behind the Dogano I found one open, and thejeweller asked no questions. It appeared that he was used to suchwomen, and, having examined the stone through his magnifying-glass, he counted me out three hundred livres. 

"I ran back, faster than I had come, and climbed to the loft, handover hand, with the money weighing me down. It was in my mind tobribe one of the market-women, through Gioconda, to smuggle you outthrough the North Gate, under the baskets in her cart. But the dayhad scarcely broken before Gioconda came (and she had never come yetuntil evening) with terrible news. She said that I must count on herno more, for the accursed clericals (as she called them) had madeinterest with the Genoese Government to clear all the stews, and thatshe and her sisters by the gateway had orders to be quit of the citywithin twenty-four hours; in fact her sisters had begun to packalready, and the whole party would drive away, with their belongings, soon after night-fall. I asked her whither. 'To Milan, ' she said;for at Turin the Church was even stronger and more bigoted than inGenoa. 

"A new thought came to me then. I handed down my money to Gioconda, keeping back only a little, and prayed her to go to the woman, hermistress, and bargain with her to carry you out of the city, concealed beneath the furniture. The girl clapped her hands at thenotion, and ran, but in an hour's time came creeping back in tears. The woman would have more money--even threatened to betray us unlessI found her five hundred livres in all. . . . 

"I borrowed Gioconda's shawl and sent her away, charging her toreturn before evening. Then I loosened another stone from thecrown--a sardonyx--and again I went out through the streets to thejeweller's. It was worse now than by night, for the people stared, and certain men followed me. I took them for spies at first; butpresently my stupid brain cleared, and I guessed for what theymistook me; and then I kept them at their distance, using such tricksas in Brussels I had seen the women use. . . . "

"O brave one! O beloved!"

I stretched out my hand, but she turned from the caress, and hurriedon with her tale, her eyes still fastened on the distant plain, hervoice held level on the tone of a child reciting its task. 

"The jeweller, too, asked many questions. I think he was suspiciousat my coming twice in a few hours. But the sardonyx was a finerstone than the amethyst, and he ended by giving me three hundred andfifty livres. Two of the men were loitering for me outside the shop. I gave them a false address and walked home quickly, longing to runbut not daring. To mislead the men, in case they were following, Imade first for the house by the archway, and there on the stairs Imet the woman coming down with a bundle of stuff. 

"I bargained with her, then and there. There was a horrible manbelonging to the house, and at night-fall he fetched you, a littlebefore the carts arrived; and this was not a minute too soon. For a crowd came with the carts. While the loading went on theystood around the door, calling out vile jokes, and afterwards theyfollowed through the streets, waving torches and beating upon oldpans. I sat in the second cart, among half a dozen women. My face was painted, and I smiled when they smiled. But you layunder the straw at my feet; and when the gate was passed, while thewomen were calling back insults to the soldiers there, I gave thanksto Our Lady. 

"Beloved, that is my story. At Tortona I parted from the women, andhired the waggon which brought us the rest of the way. But I haddone better, perhaps, to go with them to Milan, as Gioconda advised. For my money began to run low, and, save Milan, there was no largetown on the road where I could sell another jewel. Yet here againOur Lady helped; for at Trecate I found the good priest, the brotherof these Bavarelli, and he, having heard my tale, offered to travelto Milan and do my business. So I parted with two more of thestones; and yet a third--a little one--I gave him for Our Lady ofTrecate, as a thank-offering. We have money enough to reward thesegood people, though they lodge us for yet another six months; but thecrown has only one stone remaining. It is a diamond--set in the veryfront of the band--and, I think, more valuable than all the rest. "

Her voice came to a halt. "O beloved, " she asked after a while, quietly, almost desperately, "why are you silent? Can you notforgive?"

"Forgive?" I echoed. "Dear, I was silent, being lost in wonder, inlove. Forget that foolish crown; forget even Corsica! Soon we willtake the diamond and cross the mountains together, to a kingdombetter than Corsica. There, " I wound up, forcing myself to speaklightly, "if ever dispute should arise between us, as king and queenwe will ask my uncle Gervase to decide. He, gallant man, will say, 'Prosper, to whom do you owe your life?' . . . "

"The mountains? Ah, not yet--not yet!" She put out her hands andcrept to me blindly, nestling, pressing her face against my raggedcoat. "A little while, " she sobbed while I held her so. "A littlewhile!--until the child--until our child--"

How can I write what yet remains to be written?

Our child was never born. So often, hand in hand, we had climbed tothe pine-woods that it escaped my notice how she, who had used to bemy support, came by degrees to lean on my arm. I saw her broken byfasting and vigil, and for me, I winced at the sound of her cough. The blood on her handkerchief accused me. "But we must wait untilthe child is born, " I promised myself, "and the mountain air willquickly cure her. " Fool! the good farm-people knew better. While Igained strength, day by day she was wasting. "Only let us cross themountains, " I prayed, "and at home all my life shall pay for herlove!" Fool, again! She would never cross the mountains, now. 

There came a day when I climbed the pine-wood alone. With my newstrength, and because her weight was not on my arm, I climbed higherthan usual; and then the noise of chopping drew me on to the upperedge of the forest, where I found Brother Polifilo with his sleevesrolled, hacking at a tree. He dropped his axe and stared at me, asat a ghost. I could not guess what perturbed him; for he had calledat the farm but the day before and heard me boast of my new strength. 

I sat down to watch him. But after a stroke or two his arm appearedto fail him, and he desisted. Without a word, almost without lookingat me, he laid the axe over his shoulder and went up the path towardshis chapel. 

I gazed after him, wondering. Then, of a sudden, I understood. 

Three days later she died. To the end they could not persuade me itwas possible; nay at the very end, while she lay panting against myarm, I could not believe. 

She died quietly--so quietly. A little before the end she had beenrestless, lying with a pucker on her brow, and eyes that askedpitiably for something--I could not guess what, until she turned themto the chair, over the back of which (for the day was sultry), I hadtossed my coat. 

I reached for the coat and slipped it on. Her eyes grew glad atonce. 

"Closer!" she whispered. As I bent closer, she nestled her faceagainst it. "_La macchia! . . . La macchia!_"

With that last breath, drawing in the scent of it, she laid her headslowly back, and slept. 

The Bavarelli took it for granted that I would bury her in thegraveyard, down the valley. But I consulted with Brother Polifilo. I argued that every high mountain-top by its very nature came withinthe definition of consecrated ground; and after a show of reluctancehe accepted the heresy, on condition I allowed him first to visit thespot chosen and recite the prayer of consecration over it. 

We laid her in the coffin that Brother Polifilo brought, and carriedher to the summit of the mountain overlooking the pass, where therock had allowed us to dig the shallowest of graves. Beside it, whenthe coffin was covered, I said good-bye to the Bavarelli anddismissed them down the hill. They understood that I had yet a wordto speak to the good monk. 

"One thing remains, " I said, and showed him the crown with the fiveempty settings, and the one diamond yet glittering in its band. 

"Help me to build a cairn, " said I. 

So he helped me. We built a tall cairn, and I laid the crown withinit. 

The sun was setting as we laid the last stone in place. We walked insilence down to the pass, and there I shook hands with him by thelittle chapel, and received his blessing before setting my facenorthwards. 

I dare say that he stood for a long while, watching me as I descendedthe curves of the road. But I never once looked back until I hadcrossed the valley, far below. The great peak rose behind me; and itseemed to me that on its summit a diamond shone amongst the stars. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

BY GERVASE ARUNDEL. 

 July 15 (St. Swithun's), 1761. 

My nephew has asked me to write the few words necessary to concludethis narrative. 

The day after my brother's burial, the _Gauntlet_, in company withGeneral Paoli's gunboat, _Il Sampiero_, weighed and left the islandof Giraglia for Isola Rossa, where by agreement we were to wait onecalendar month before sailing for England. 

The foregoing pages will sufficiently explain why the month passedwithout my nephew's putting in an appearance. For my part, albeit myarguments had been powerless to dissuade him from going to Genoa, Inever expected him to return, but consoled myself with the knowledgethat he had gone to his fate in a good cause, and in a spirit notunworthy of his father. 

We were highly indebted during our stay at Isola Rossa to theGeneral, who, being detained there by the business of his newfortifications, exerted himself that we should not lack a singlecomfort, and seemed to inspire a like solicitude in his subjects. I call the Corsicans his subjects since (if the reflection may bepermitted) I never met a man who carried a more authentic air ofkingliness--and I am not forgetting my own dear brother-in-law. Alive, these two men met face to face but once; and Priske, whowitnessed the meeting, yet understood but a bare word or two of whatwas said, will have it that for dignity of bearing the General wouldnot compare with his master. The honest fellow may be right; forcertainly no one could speak with John Constantine and doubt thathere was one of a line of kings. Nevertheless to me(a matter-of-fact man), Paoli appeared scarcely less imposing inperson, and withal bore himself with a businesslike calm which, in asubtle way I cannot describe, seemed to tolerate the others, yetsuggest that, beside his own purpose, theirs were something unreal. As an Englishman I should say that he felt the weight of publicopinion behind him all the while, without which in these days thekingliest nature must miss something of gravity. Yet he has provedmore than once that no public man can be more quixotic, uponoccasion. 

It distressed me to find that the Queen Emilia would have none of hiscourtesies; as I think it distressed him, though he comported himselfperfectly. She rejected, and not too graciously, his offer torestore her to her palace at Casalabriva and secure her there againstall enemies. From the first she had determined, failing her son'sreturn, to sail with us to England; and sail she did. 

But from the first I doubted her reaching it alive. Her sufferingshad worn her out, and it is a matter of dispute between Dom Basilio(who administered the last sacrament), and me whether or no her eyesever saw the home to which we carried her. They were open, and shewas certainly breathing, when we made the entrance of Helford river;for we had lifted her couch upon deck and propped her that she mightcatch the earliest glimpse of Constantine above the trees. They wereopen when we dropped anchor, but she was as certainly dead. She liesburied in the private chapel of the house, disused during mybrother-in-law's lifetime, but since restored and elaboratelydecorated by our Trappist guests. A slab of rose-pink Corsicangranite covers her, and is inscribed with the words, "Orate pro animaEmiliae, Corsicorum Reginae, " the date of her death, and beneath it averse which I took to be from the Vulgate until Parson Gryllsquarrelled with Dom Basilio over it--

 "CRAS AMET QVI NVNQVAM AMAVIT QVIQVE AMAVIT CRAS AMET. "

As I have said, I had parted with all hope to see my nephew again:and it but confirmed my despair when I received a letter from GeneralPaoli with news that the Prince Camillo had been assassinated; forneither his sister nor Prosper had said word to me of the young man'streachery, and I concluded that they had bound themselves to rescuehim, an unwilling prisoner. In our last brief leave-taking on theisland, Prosper had confided to me certain wishes of his concerningthe house at Constantine, and the disposal of his estate; wishes ofwhich I need only say here that they obliged me after a certaininterval to get his death "presumed" (as the phrase is), and for thatpurpose to ride up to London and seek counsel with our lawyer, Mr. Knox. 

I arrived in London early in the second week of November, 1760--afew days after the decease of our King George II. ; and, my businesswith Mr. Knox drawing to a conclusion, it came into my head toprocure a ticket and go visit the Prince's chamber, near the House ofPeers, where his Majesty's body lay in state. This was on the veryafternoon of the funeral, that would start for the Abbey afternightfall, and at Westminster I found a throng already gathered inthe mud and murk. In the _chambre ardente_, which was hung withpurple, a score of silver lamps depended from the roof around a tallpurple canopy, under which the corpse reposed in its open coffin, flanked with six immense silver candelabra. Between the candelabraand at the head and foot of the coffin stood six gigantic soldiers ofthe guard, rigid as statues, with bowed heads and arms reversed. Only their eyes moved, and I dare say that I stared at them insomething like terror. Certainly a religious awe held me as thepressure of the sightseers carried me forth from the doors again andinto the street, where I wedged myself into the crowd, and waited forthe procession. By this time a fog had rolled up from the river, andthe foot-guards who lined the road had begun to light their torches. Behind them were drawn up the horse-guards, their officers erect insaddle, with naked sabres and heavy scarves of crape. There amid thesounds of minute guns, and of bells tolling I must have waited a fullhour before the procession came by--the fifes, the muffled drums, theyeomen of the guard staggering with the great coffin, thepall-bearers and peers walking two and two, with pages bearing theirheavy trains. All this I watched as it went by, and with a mind soshaken that a hand from behind had plucked twice or thrice at myelbow before I was aware that any one claimed my attention. Then, turning with a moisture in my eyes--for the organ had begun tosound within the abbey--I found myself staring past the torch of afoot-guard and into the face of my nephew, risen from the dead!He was haggard, unkempt in his hair and dress, and (I think) had beenfasting for a long while without being aware of his hunger. He drewme back and away from the crowd; but when I had embraced him, itseemed that to all my eager questions he had nothing to answer. 

"I was starting for Cornwall, to-morrow, " he said. "Shall we traveltogether?" And then, as though painfully recollecting, he passed ahand over his forehead and added, "I have walked half-way acrossEurope. I am a good walker by this time. "

"We will hire horses, to be sure, " said I, finding nothing better tosay. 

The age, the lines in his young face cut me to the heart, and Ilonged to ask concerning the Princess, but dared not. 

"Horses? Ah, yes, to be sure, I come back to riches. Nay, my dearuncle, you are going to tell me that the estates are mortgaged deepas ever--I know. But allow me to tell you there is all the world'sdifference between poverty that is behindhand with its interest, andpoverty that has to trust God for its next meal. "

At the eating-house to which I carried him he held out his scarredpalms to me across the table. 

"They have worked my way for me from the Alps, " said he. "I left mycrown there, and"--he laughed wearily--"I come back to find anothermonarch in the act of laying aside a greater one. My God!The vanity of it!"

He drank off a glass of wine. "Find me a bed, Uncle Gervase, " saidhe. "I feel that I can sleep the clock round. "

We rode out of London next day. He started in a fret to be home, butthis impatience declined by the way, and by the time we crossed Tamarhad sunk to a lethargy. Sore was I to mark the dull gaze he lifted(by habit) at the corner of the road where Constantine comes intoview; and sorer the morning after, when, having put gun into his handand packed him off with Diana, the old setter, at his heel, I met himan hour later returning dejectedly to the house. For the next threeor four months he went listless as a man dragging a wounded limb. But since spring brought back rod and angle, I think and pray thatthe voice of running water (best medicine in Nature) begins to curehim. He has written the foregoing narrative in a hot fit which, while it lasted, more than once kept his lamp burning till daybreak;and although the last chapter was no sooner finished than he flungthe whole away in disgust. I have hopes of him. I may even live tosee a child running about these silent terraces . . . But this, mydearest wish, outruns all present indications; and if Prosper evermarries again it will be as his father married, and not for love. [1]

By good fortune I am able to supply the reader with some later newsof two members of the expedition, Mr. Fett and Mr. Badcock. It cameto me, early this summer, in the following letter:--

 _To Gervase Arundel, Esq. , of Constantine in Cornwall, England_. 

 "Venice. Ash Wednesday (4. 30 a. M. ), 1761. 

 "Excellent Sir, "I take up my pen, and lay aside the false nose I have been wearing night and day for close on a week, to make a communication which will doubtless interest you as it has profoundly affected me. It will also interest your nephew and his lady (whose hands I kiss) if they succeeded in effecting their escape to England--where, failing news of them, I do myself a frequent pleasure to picture them at rest upon the quiet waters of domestic felicity. But I address myself rather to you, whom (albeit on the briefest acquaintance) I shall ever regard as the personification of stability and mild repose. Heracleitus and his followers may prate of a world of flux; but there are men to whom the recollections of their fellows ever turn confidently, secure of finding them in the same place; and of such, sir, you are the palmary example among my acquaintance. 

 "On the circumstances of our retreat from Genoa I need not dilate. We decamped--I and my brother _artistes_--to Pisa, where, after an unsatisfactory season, we broke up our company by mutual consent and went our various ways in search of fortune. Mr. Badcock--by this time a pantaloon of considerable promise and not to be sneezed at in senile parts where affection or natural decay required, or at least excused, a broken accent--threw in his lot with me: and we bent our steps together upon this unique city, where for close upon twelve months I have drawn a respectable salary as Director of Public Festivities to the Sisterhood of the Conventual Body of Santa Chiara. Nor is the post a sinecure; since these estimable women, though themselves vowed against earthly delights, possess a waterside garden which, periodically--and especially in the week preceding Lent--they throw open to the public; a practice from which they derive unselfish pleasure and a useful advertisement. 

 "On Thursday last, the Giovedi Grasso, the Abbess had (in consultation with me) provided an entertainment which not only attracted the rank and fashion of Venice but (I will dare to say) made them forget the exhaustion of the maddest day of carnival with its bull-baiting and battles of _confetti_. An hour before midnight all Venice had taken to its gondolas and was being swept, with song and music, towards the Giudecca. The lagoons swam with the reflections of a thousand moving lanterns, and all their streaming ribbons of light converged upon the bridge of Santa Chiara, beyond which, where the gardens descended in stairways of marble to the water, I had lined the banks with coloured lamps. Discreet narrow water-alleys, less flauntingly lit, but with here and there a caged nightingale singing in the boscage, intersected the sisters' pleasure-grounds; but the main canal led around an ample stretch of turf in the midst of which my workmen had reared a stage for a masque of my composing, entitled _The Rape of Helen_. Badcock, who was to enact the part of Menelaus, had at my request attired himself early, for some few of my nightingales were young birds and not to be depended on, and I had an idea of concealing him in the shrubberies to supply a _flauto obbligato_ while our guests arrived. I had interrupted my instructions to despatch him on some small errand connected with the coloured fires, and he had scarcely disappeared among the laurels, when along the path came strolling two figures I recognized as fellow-countrymen--the young Lord Algernon Shafto, of the English embassy, and his mother's brother, the Venerable John Kynaston Worley, Archdeacon of Wells. Lord Algernon wore a domino. His uncle (I need scarcely say) had made no innovation upon the laced hat and gaiters proper to his archidiaconal rank--though it is likely enough that the Venetians found this costume as eccentric as any in the throng. He had arrived in the city a bare week before; and walked with an arm paternally thrust in his nephew's, while he made acquaintance with the luxurious frivolities of a Venetian carnival. 

 "As they passed me I stooped to trim the peccant wick of one of the many lamps disposed like glowworms along the path: but a moment later their voices told me that my countrymen had found a seat a few paces away, in an arbour whence, by the rays of a paper lantern which overhung it, they could observe the passers-by. 

 "'A wonderful nation, ' the Archdeacon was saying, in that resonant voice of which the well-connected among the Anglican clergy (and their wives) alone possess the secret. 'I may tell you, my dear lad, that this visit to Venice has been a dream of my life, cherished though long deferred. I had not your advantages when I was a young man. The Grand Tour was denied me; and a country curacy with an increasing family promised to remove the realization of my dream to the Greek Kalends. But in all those years I never quite lost sight of it. There is a bull-dog tenacity in us British: and still from time to time I renewed the promise to myself that, should I survive my dear wife--as I hoped to do--'

 "Here, having trimmed my lantern, I straightened myself up to find that Mr. Badcock had returned and was standing behind my shoulder. To my amazement he was trembling like an aspen. 

 "'Hush!' said he, when I would have asked what ailed him. 

 "I listened. I suppose Lord Algernon responded with a polite hope that Venice fulfilled his uncle's long expectation: but I could not catch the words. 

 "'Entirely so, ' was the reply. 'I may even say that it surpasses them. Such an experience enlarges the mind, the--er--outlook. And if a man of sixty can confess so much, how happy should you be, my dear Algy, to have received these impressions at _your_ age! Yet, my dear lad, remember they are of value only when received upon a previous basis of character. The ladies, for instance, who own these delightful grounds . . . Doubtless they are devout, in their way, but in a way how far removed from those God-fearing English traditions which one day, as a landlord among your tenantry and to that extent responsible for the welfare of dependent souls, it will be yours to foster!'

 "Here, warned by a choking cry, I put out a hand to catch Mr. Badcock by the sleeve of his pallium: but too late! With a wild gesture he broke loose from me and plunged down the pergola towards the arbour, at the entrance of which he flung himself on his knees. 

 "'Oh, sir!' he panted, abasing himself and stretching forth both hands to the archidiaconal gaiters. 'Oh, sir, have pity! Teach me to be saved!'

 "The Archdeacon (I will say) after the momentary shock rose to the occasion like a sportsman. A glance sufficed to assure him that the poor creature was in earnest, and with great presence of mind he felt in his pocket for a visiting-card. 

 "'Certainly, my good fellow, certainly . . . If you will call on me to-morrow at my lodgings . . . Two doors from the embassy. . . . Dear me, how provoking! Would you mind, Algernon, lending me one of your cards? I remember now leaving mine on the dressing-table. '

 "He fished out a pencil, took the card his nephew proffered and, having written down name and address, handed it to Badcock. 

 "'The door of grace, my friend, stands ever open to him who knocks. . . . Shall we say at ten-thirty to-morrow morning? Yes, yes, a very convenient hour for me, if you have no objection? Farewell, then, until to-morrow!' With a benedictory wave of the hand he linked arms with Lord Algernon and strolled away down the walk. 

 "'Badcock, ' said I, stepping forward and clapping a hand on his shoulder. 'Hark to the gong calling you to the masque!'

 "But the creature stood as in a trance. 'His signature!' he answered in an awed whisper. 'The Archdeacon of Wells's own signature, and upon Lord Algernon's card!'--and I declare to you that he fell to kissing the pasteboard ecstatically. 

 "Well, he was past all reason. Luckily, having written it, I had his part by rote; and so, snatching his Menelaus' wig and beard, I ran towards the theatre. 

 "That, sir, is all my tale. The man is lost to me. He left Venice yesterday in the Archdeacon's carriage, but in what precise capacity--whether as valet, secretary, or courier--he would not impart. He told me, however, that his salary was sufficient, if not ample, and that he had undertaken as a repentant sinner to make himself generally useful. The Archdeacon, it appears, is collecting evidence in particular of the horrors of a Continental Sabbath. 

 "Addio, sir! For me, I have now parted with the last of my comrades, yet my resolution remains unshaken. On this sacred soil, where so many before me have cultivated the Arts, I will do more. I will make them pay. Meanwhile I beg you to accept my sincere regards, and to believe me

 "Your obliged, obedient servant, "Phineas Fett. "

William Priske has espoused Mrs. Nance, our good housekeeper; Ibelieve upon her own advice. 

The Trappists (sixteen in number) yet dwell with us, and the leftwing of Constantine has been reserved for their use. They havedeserved our gratitude, though, out of respect for their rules, Icould never convey it to them in words. Indeed, it is but seldomthat I get speech even with Dom Basilio. Sometimes when his walkleads him by the river-bank where I stand a-fishing he will seathimself for a while and watch; and then I find a comfort in hispresence, as though we conversed together without help of speech. Then also, though my reason disapprove of our guest's rigour, aninward voice tells me that there is good in their religion, asperchance there is good wherever men have found anchorage for theirsouls. 

I remember once listening in our summer-house, upon St. Swithun'sfeast, while my dear brother-in-law disputed with Mr. Grylls uponaction and contemplation--which of them was the properer end of man. I thought then that each of them, though they talked up and down andat large, was in truth defending his own temperament: and, because Iloved them both, that neither needed defending. For my own part, thesmall daily cares of Constantine have stolen away from me, notaltogether unhappily, the time of choosing, and I ask now but tofollow that counsel of the Apostle wherewith my master Walton closedhis book, and "Study to be Quiet. "

G. A. 

[1] Here--for it scarcely appears in the narrative--let me say thatmy sister was an exemplary wife and, while fate spared her, a devotedmother. I knew my brother-in-law for a great man, incapable of athought or action less than kingly, and I worshipped him (as BenJonson would say) "on this side idolatry"; but if the Constantineshave a fault, it is that they demand too much of life, and exact itsomewhat too much as a matter of course. I have heard this faultattributed to other great men. --G. A. 

FINIS