THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY REVEL. 

by

ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH. 

1903

This e-text prepared from a reprint of a version published in 1903

PREFACE

When I started to set down these early adventures of Harry Revel, I meant to dedicate them to my friend Mr. W. F. Collier of Woodtown, Horrabridge: but he died while the story was writing, and now cannottwit me with the pranks I have played among his stories of bygonePlymouth, nor send me his forgiveness--as he would have done. Peace be to him for a lover of Dartmoor and true gentleman of Devon!

So now I have only to beg, by way of preface, that no one will botherhimself by inquiring too curiously into the geography, topography, etc. Of this tale, or of any that I have written or may write. If these tales have any sense of locality, they certainly will notsquare with the ordnance maps; and even the magnetic pole works looseand goes astray at times--a phenomenon often observed by sailors offthe sea-coast of Bohemia. 

It may be permissible to add that the story which follows by no meansexhausts the adventures, civil and military, of Harry Revel. But therecital of his further campaigning in company with Mr. Benjamin Jope, and of the verses in which Miss Plinlimmon commemorated it, willdepend upon public favour. 

 A. T. QUILLER-COUCH. 

THE HAVEN, FOWEY, March 28th, 1903. 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter

I. I FIND MYSELF A FOUNDLING. 

II. I START IN LIFE AS AN EMINENT PERSON. 

III. I AM BOUND APPRENTICE. 

IV. MISS PLINLIMMON. 

V. THE SHADOW OF ARCHIBOLD. 

VI. I STUMBLE INTO HORRORS. 

VII. I ESCAPE FROM THE JEW'S HOUSE. 

VIII. POOR TOM BOWLING. 

IX. SALTASH FERRY. 

X. I GO ON A HONEYMOON. 

XI. FLIGHT. 

XII. I FALL AMONG SMUGGLERS. 

XIII. THE MAN IN THE VERANDAH. 

XIV. THE MOCK-ORANGE BUSH. 

XV. MINDEN COTTAGE. 

XVI. MR. JACK ROGERS AS A MAN OF AFFAIRS. 

XVII. LYDIA BELCHER INTERVENES. 

XVIII. THE OWL'S CRY. 

XIX. CHECKMATE. 

XX. ISABEL'S REVENGE. 

XXI. I GO CAMPAIGNING WITH LORD WELLINGTON. 

XXII. ON THE GREATER TESSON. 

XXIII. IN CIUDAD RODRIGO. 

XXIV. I EXCHANGE THE LAUREL FOR THE OLIVE. 

CHAPTER I. 

I FIND MYSELF A FOUNDLING. 

My earliest recollections are of a square courtyard surrounded byhigh walls and paved with blue and white pebbles in geometricalpatterns--circles, parallelograms, and lozenges. Two of these wallswere blank, and had been coped with broken bottles; a third, similarly coped, had heavy folding doors of timber, leaden-grey incolour and studded with black bolt-heads. Beside them stood aleaden-grey sentry-box, and in this sat a red-faced man with a woodenleg and a pigtail, whose business was to attend to the wicket andkeep an eye on us small boys as we played. He owned two books whichhe read constantly: one was Foxe's _Martyrs_, and the other (whichhad no title on the binding) I opened one day and found to be_The Devil on Two Sticks_. 

The arch over these gates bore two gilt legends. That facing theroadway ran: "_Train up a Child in the Way he should Go, _" whichprepared the visitor to read on the inner side: "_When he is Old hewill not Depart from it. _" But we twenty-five small foundlings, whoseldom evaded the wicket, and so passed our days with the second halfof the quotation, found in it a particular and dreadful meaning. 

The fourth and last wall was the front of the hospital, atwo-storeyed building of grey limestone, with a clock and a smallcupola of copper, weather-greened, and a steeply pitched roof ofslate pierced with dormer windows, behind one of which (because of atendency to walk in my sleep) I slept in the charge of MissPlinlimmon, the matron. Below the eaves ran a line of eight tallwindows, the three on the extreme right belonging to the chapel; andbelow these again a low-browed colonnade, in the shelter of which weplayed on rainy days, but never in fine weather--though its smoothlimestone slabs made an excellent pitch for marbles, whereas onthe pebbles in the yard expertness could only be attained byheart-breaking practice. Yet we preferred them. If it did nothingelse, the Genevan Hospital, by Plymouth Dock, taught us to suitourselves to the world as we found it. 

I do not remember that we were unhappy or nursed any sense of injury, except over the porridge for breakfast. The Rev. Mr. Scougall, ourpastor, had founded the hospital some twenty years before with themoney subscribed by certain Calvinistic ladies among whom heministered, and under the patronage of a Port Admiral of like belief, then occupying Admiralty House. His purpose (to which we had not thesmallest objection) was to rescue us small jetsam and save us frommany dreadful Christian heresies, more especially those of Rome. But he came from the north of Britain and argued (I suppose) thatwhat porridge had done for him in childhood it might well do for us--a conclusion against which our poor little southern stomachsrebelled. It oppressed me worse than any, for since the discovery ofmy sleep-walking habit my supper (of plain bread and water) had beendocked, so that I came ravenous to breakfast and yet could not eat. 

Nevertheless, I do not think we were unhappy. Perhaps we were tooyoung, and at any rate we had nothing with which to contrast our lot. Across the roadway outside lay blue water, and of this and of rovingships and boats and free passers-by glimpses came to us through thewicket when Mr. George, the porter (we always addressed him as "Mr. "and supposed him to resemble the King in features), admitted avisitor, or the laundress, or the butcher's boy. And sometimes webroke off a game to watch the topmasts of a vessel gliding bysilently, above the wall's coping. But if at any time the worldcalled to us, we took second thoughts, remembering our clothes. 

We wore, I dare say, the most infernal costume ever devised by man--atightish snuff-coloured jacket with diminutive tails, an orangewaistcoat, snuff-coloured breeches, grey-blue worsted stockings, andsquare-toed shoes with iron toe-plates. Add a flat-topped cap withan immense leathern brim; add Genevan neck-bands; add, last of all, aleathern badge with "G. F. H. " (Genevan Foundling Hospital) dependingfrom the left breast-button; and you may imagine with what diffidencewe took our rare walks abroad. The dock-boys, of course, greeted uswith cries of "Yellow Hammer!" The butcher-boy had once even daredto fling that taunt at us within our own yard; and we left him in nodoubt about the hammering, gallant fellow though he was and wore aspur on his left heel. But no bodily deformity could have corrodedus as did those thrice-accursed garments with terror of the worldwithout and of its laughter. 

Of a world yet more distant we were taught the gloomiest views. Twice a week regularly, and incidentally whenever he found occasion, Mr. Scougall painted the flames of hell for us in the liveliestcolours. We never doubted his word that our chances of escaping themwere small indeed; but somehow, as life did not allure, so eternitydid not greatly frighten us. Meanwhile we played at our marbles. We knew, in spite of the legend over the gateway, that at the age often or so our elder companions disappeared. They went, as a fact, into various trades and callings, like ordinary parish apprentices. Perhaps we guessed this; if so, it must have been vaguely, and Iincline to believe that we confused their disappearance with death inour childish musings on the common lot. They never came back to seeus; and I remember that we were curiously shy of speaking about them, once gone. 

From Miss Plinlimmon's window above the eaves I could look over thefront wall on to an edge of roadway, a straight dock like a canal--crowded with shipping--and a fort which fired a gun in the earlymorning and again at sunset. And every morning, too, the drums wouldsound from the hill at our back; and be answered by a soldier, whocame steadily down the roadway beside the dock, halted in front ofour gates, and blew a call on his bugle. Other bugle-calls soundedall around us throughout the day and far into our sleep-time: butthis was the only performer I ever saw. He wore a red coat, a highjapanned hat, and clean white pantaloons with black gaiters: and Itook it for granted that he was always the same soldier. Yet I hadplenty of opportunities for observing him, for Miss Plinlimmon madeit a rule that I should stand at the window and continue to gaze outof it while she dressed. 

One day she paused in the act of plaiting her hair. "Harry, " saidshe, "I shall always think of you and that tune together. It iscalled the Revelly, which is a French word. "

"But the soldier is English?" said I. 

"Oh, I truly trust so--a heart of oak, I should hope! England cannothave too many of them in these days, when a weak woman can scarce layherself down in her bed at night with the certainty of getting up inthe same position in the morning. "

(They were days when, as I afterwards learnt, Napoleon's troops andflat-bottomed boats were gathered at Boulogne and waiting theiropportunity to invade us. But of this scarcely an echo penetrated toour courtyard, although the streets outside were filled daily withthe tramping of troops and rolling of store-wagons. We knew that ourcountry--whatever that might mean--was at war with France, and weplayed in our yard a game called "French and English. " That was all:and Miss Plinlimmon, good soul, if at times she awoke in the nightand shuddered and listened for the yells of Frenchmen in the town, heroically kept her fears to herself. This was as near as she evercame to imparting them. )

"I have often thought of you, Harry, " she went on, "as embracing amilitary career. Mr. Scougall very kindly allows me to choosesurnames for you boys when you--when you leave us. He says (but Ifear in flattery) that I have more invention than he. " And here, though bound on my word of honour not to look, I felt sure she wassmiling to herself in the glass. "What would you say if I christenedyou Revelly?"

"Oh, please, no!" I entreated. "Let mine be an English name. Why--why couldn't I be called Plinlimmon? I would rather have thatthan any name in the world. "

"You are a darling!" exclaimed she, much to my surprise; and, thenext moment, I felt a little pecking kiss on the back of my neck. She usually kissed me at night, after my prayers were said: butsomehow this was different, and it fetched tears to my eyes--greatlyto my surprise, for we were not given to tears at the GenevanHospital. "Plinlimmon is a mountain in Wales, and that, I dare say, is what makes me so romantic. Now, you are not romantic in theleast: and, besides, it wouldn't do. No, indeed. But you shall becalled by an English name, if you wish, though to my mind there's a_je ne sais quoi_ about the French. I once knew a Frenchman, awriting and dancing master, called Duvelleroy, which always seemedthe beautifullest name. "

"Was he beautiful himself?" I asked. 

"He used to play a kit--which is a kind of small fiddle--holding itacross his waist. It made him look as if he were cutting himself inhalf; which did not contribute to that result. But suppose, now, wecall you Revel--Harry Revel? That's English enough, and will remindme just the same--if Mr. Scougall will not think it tooAnacherontic. "

I saw no reason to fear this: but then I had no idea what shemeant by it, or by calling herself romantic. She was certainlysoft-hearted. She possessed many books, as well as an album in herown handwriting, and encouraged me to read aloud to her on summermornings when the sun was up and ahead of us. And once, in the storyof _Maximilian, or Quite the Gentleman: Founded on Fact and Designedto excite the Love of Virtue in the Rising Generation_, at a pointwhere the hero's small brother Felix is carried away by an eagle, shedissolved in tears. "In my native Wales, " she explained afterwards, "the wild sheep leap from rock to rock so much as a matter of coursethat you would, in time, be surprised if they didn't. And thatnaturally gives me a sympathy with all that is sublime on the onehand or affecting on the other. "

Yet later--but I cannot separate these things accurately in time--Iawoke in my cot one night and heard Miss Plinlimmon sobbing. The sound was dreadful to me and I longed to creep across the room toher dark bedside and comfort her; though I could tell she was tryingto suppress it for fear of disturbing me. In the end her sobs ceasedand, still wondering, I dropped off to sleep, nor next day did I dareto question her. 

But it could not have been long after this that we boys got wind ofMr. Scougall's approaching marriage with a wealthy lady of the town. I must speak of this ceremony, because, as the fates ordained, itgave me my first start in life. 

CHAPTER II. 

I START IN LIFE AS AN EMINENT PERSON. 

Mr. Scougall was a lean, strident man who, if he lectured usoften, whipped us on the whole with judgment and when we deserved it. So we bore him no grudge. But neither did we love him nor take anylively interest in him as a bridegroom, and I was startled to findthese feelings shared by Mr. George in the porter's box when Idiscussed the news with him. "I'm to have a new suit of clothes, "said Mr. George, "but whoever gets Scougall, he's no catch. "This sounded blasphemous, while it gave me a sort of fearful joy. I reported it, under seal of secrecy, to Miss Plinlimmon. "Naval men, my dear Harry, " was her comment, "are notoriously bluntand outspoken, even when retired upon a pension; perhaps, indeed, ifanything, more so. It is in consequence of this habit that they havesometimes performed their grandest feats, as, for instance, whenHoratio Nelson put his spy-glass up to his blind eye. I advise youto do the same and treat Mr. George as a chartered heart of oak, without remembering his indiscretions to repeat them. " She went onto tell me that sailor-men were beloved in Plymouth and allowed to dopretty well as they pleased; and how, quite recently, a Quaker ladyhad been stopped in Bedford Street by a Jack Tar who said he hadsworn to kiss her. "Thee must be quick about it, then, " said theQuaker lady. And he was. 

I suppose this anecdote encouraged me to be more familiar with Mr. George. At any rate, I confided to him next day that I thought ofbeing a soldier. 

"Do you know what we used to say in the Navy?" he answered. "We usedto say, 'A friend before a messmate, a messmate before a shipmate, ashipmate before a dog, and a dog before a soldier. '"

"You think, " said I, somewhat discouraged, "that the Navy would be abetter opening for me?"

"Ay, " he answered again, eyeing me gloomily; "that is, if so be yecan't contrive to get to jail. " He cast a glance down upon hisjury-leg and patted the straps of it with his open palm. "The leg, now, that used to be here--I left it in a French prison called Jivvy, and often I thinks to myself, 'That there leg is having better luckthan the rest of me. ' And here's another curious thing. What d'yethink they call it in France when you remember a person in yourwill?"

I hadn't a notion, and said so. 

"Why, 'legs, '" said he. "And they've got one of mine. If a man wassuperstitious, you might almost call it a coincidence, hey?"

This was the longest conversation I ever had with Mr. George. I havesince found that sentiments very like his about the Navy have beenuttered by Dr. Samuel Johnson. But Mr. George spoke them out of hisown experience. 

Mr. Scougall's bride was the widow of a Plymouth publican who hadsold his business and retired upon a small farm across the Hamoaze, near the Cornish village of Anthony. On the wedding morning (whichfell early in July) she had, by agreement with her groom, prepared adelightful surprise for us. We trooped after prayers into thedining-hall to find, in place of the hateful porridge, a feast laidout--ham and eggs, cold veal pies, gooseberry preserves, and--best ofall--plate upon plate of strawberries with bowl upon bowl of coolclotted cream. Not a child of us had ever tasted strawberries orcream in his life, so you may guess if we ate with prudence. At half-past ten Miss Plinlimmon (who had not found the heart torestrain our appetites) marshalled and led us forth, gorged andtorpid, to the church where at eleven o'clock the ceremony was totake place. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she cast them up towards thewindow behind which Mr. Scougall, no doubt, was at that momentarraying himself: but she commanded a firm step, and even a firmvoice to remark outside the wicket, as she looked up at thechimney-pots, that Nature had put on her fairest garb. 

The day, to be sure, was monstrously hot and stuffy. Not a breath ofwind ruffled the waters of the dock, around the head of which wetrudged to a recently erected church on the opposite shore. I remember observing, on our way, the dazzling brilliance of itsweathercock. 

We found its interior spacious but warm, and the air heavy with thescent--it comes back to me as I write--of a peculiar sweet oil usedin the lamps. Perhaps Mr. Scougall had calculated that a ceremony sointeresting to him would attract a throng of sightseers; at any rate, we were packed into a gallery at the extreme western end of thechurch, and in due time watched the proceedings from that respectfuldistance and across a gulf of empty pews. 

--That is to say, some of us watched. I have no doubt that MissPlinlimmon did, for instance; nay, that her attention was riveted. Otherwise I cannot explain what followed. 

On the previous night I had gone to bed almost supperless, as usual. I had come, as usual, ravenous to breakfast, and for once I hadsated, and more than sated, desire. For years after, though hungryoften enough in the course of them, I never thought with longing uponcold veal or strawberries, nor have I ever recovered an unmitigatedappetite for either. 

It is certain, then, that even before the ceremony began--and thebride arrived several minutes late--I slumbered on the back bench ofthe gallery. The evidence of six boys seated near me agrees that, atthe moment when Mr. Scougall produced the ring, I arose quietly, butwithout warning, and made my exit by the belfry door. They supposedthat I was taken ill; they themselves were feeling more or lessuncomfortable. 

The belfry stairway, by which we had reached the door of our gallery, wound upward beyond it to the top of the tower, and gave issue by alow doorway upon the dwarf battlements, from which sprang a spiresome eighty feet high. This spire was, in fact, a narrowing octagon, its sides hung with slate, its eight ridges faced with Bath stone, and edged from top to bottom with ornamental crockets. 

The service over, bride and bridegroom withdrew with their friends tothe vestry for the signing of the register; and there, while theydallied and interchanged good wishes, were interrupted by the beadle, a white-faced pew-opener, and two draymen from the street, with news(as one of the draymen put it, shouting down the rest) that "one ofScougall's yellow orphans was up clinging to the weathercock by hisblessed eyebrows; and was this a time for joking, or for feelingashamed of themselves and sending for a constable?"

The drayman shouted and gesticulated so fiercely with a great handflung aloft that Mr. Scougall, almost before comprehending, precipitated himself from the church. Outside stood his hiredcarriage with its pair of greys, but the driver was pointing with hiswhip and craning his neck like the rest of the small crowd. 

It may have been their outcries, but I believe it was the ringing ofthe dockyard bell for the dinner-hour, which awoke me. In my dreamsmy arms had been about some kindly neck (and of my dreams in thosedays, though but a glimpse ever survived the waking, in thoseglimpses dwelt the shade, if not the presence, of my unknown mother). They were, in fact, clasped around the leg of the weathercock. Unsympathetic support! But I have known worse friends. A mercy itwas, at any rate, that I kept my embrace during the moments whensense returned to me, with vision of the wonders spread around andbelow. Truly I enjoyed a wonderful view--across the roofs ofPlymouth, quivering under the noon sun, and away to the violet hillsof Dartmoor; and, again, across the water and shipping of the Hamoazeto the green slopes of Mount Edgcumbe and the massed trees slumberingin the heat. Slumber, indeed, and a great quiet seemed to rest overme, over the houses, the ships, the whole wide land. By the blessingof Heaven, not so much as the faintest breeze played about the spire, or cooled the copper rod burning my hand (and, again, it may havebeen this that woke me). I sat astride the topmost crocket, andglancing down between my boot heels, spied the carriage with its pairof greys flattened upon the roadway just beyond the verge of thebattlements, and Mr. Scougall himself dancing and waving his armslike a small but very lively beetle. 

Doubtless, I had ascended by the narrow stairway of the crockets: butto descend by them with a lot of useless senses about me would be avery different matter. No giddiness attacked me as yet; indeed Iknew rather than felt my position to be serious. For a moment Ithought of leaving my perch and letting myself slip down the face ofthe slates, to be pulled up short by the parapet; but the length ofthe slide daunted me, and the parapet appeared dangerously shallow. I should shoot over it to a certainty and go whirling into air. On the other hand, to drop from my present saddle into the one belowwas no easy feat. For this I must back myself over the edge of it, and cling with body and legs in air while I judged my fall into thenext. To do this thirty times or so in succession without mistakewas past hoping for: there were at least thirty crockets to bemanoeuvred, and a single miscalculation would send me spinningbackwards to my fate. Above all, I had not the strength for it. 

So I sat considering for a while; not terrified, but with a brainexceedingly blank and hopeless. It never occurred to me that, if Isat still and held on, steeplejacks would be summoned and laddersbrought to me; and I am glad that it did not, for this would havetaken hours, and I know now that I could not have held out for halfan hour inactive. But another thought came. I saw the slates at thefoot of the weathercock, that they were thinly edged and of lightscantling. I knew that they must be nailed upon a wooden frameworknot unlike a ladder. And at the Genevan Hospital, as I haverecorded, we wore stout plates on our shoes. 

I am told that it was a bad few moments for the lookers-on when theysaw me lower myself sideways from my crocket and begin to hammer onthe slates with my toes: for at first they did not comprehend, andthen they reasoned that the slates were new, and if I failed to kickthrough them, to pull myself back to the crocket again would be adesperate job. 

But they did not know our shoe-leather. Mr. Scougall, whatever hisfaults, usually contrived to get value for his money, and at thetenth kick or so my toes went clean through the slate and rested onthe laths within. Next came the most delicate moment of all, forwith a less certain grip on the crocket I had to kick a second holelower down, and transfer my hand-hold from the stone to the woodenlath laid bare by my first kicks. 

This, too, with a long poise and then a flying clutch, Iaccomplished; and with the rest of my descent I will not weary thereader. It was interminably slow, and it was laborious; but, tospeak comparatively, it was safe. My boots lasted me to withintwenty feet of the parapet, and then, just as I had kicked my toesbare, a steeplejack appeared at the little doorway with a ladder. Planting it in a jiffy, he scrambled up, took me under his arm, boreme down and laid me against the parapet, where at first I began tocry and then emptied my small body with throe after throe ofsickness. 

I recovered to find Mr. Scougall and another clergyman (the vicar)standing by the little door and gazing up at my line of holes on theface of the spire. Mr. Scougall was offering to pay. 

"But no, " said the vicar, "we will set the damage down against thelad's preservation; that is, if I don't recover from the contractor, who has undoubtedly swindled us over these slates. "

CHAPTER III. 

I AM BOUND APPRENTICE. 

Although holidays were a thing unknown at the Genevan Hospital, yet discipline grew sensibly lighter during Mr. Scougall's honeymoon, being left to Miss Plinlimmon on the understanding that in emergencyshe might call in the strong and secular arm of Mr. George. But we all loved Miss Plinlimmon, and never drove her beyondappealing to what she called our better instincts. 

Her dearest aspiration (believe it if you can) was to make gentlemenof us--of us, doomed to start in life as parish apprentices!And to this her curriculum recurred whether it had been divagatinginto history, geography, astronomy, English composition, or religiousknowledge. "The author of the book before me, a B. A. --otherwise aBachelor of Arts, but not on that account necessarily unmarried--observes that to believe the sun goes round the earth is a vulgarerror. For my part I should hardly go so far: but it warns us howseverely those may be judged who obtrusively urge in society opinionswhich the wise in their closets have condemned. " "The refulgentorb--another way, my dears, of saying the sun--is in the vicinity ofPersia an object of religious adoration. The Christian nations, better instructed, content themselves with esteeming it warmly, andas they follow its course in the heavens, draw from it the usefullesson to look always on the bright side of things. " Humblebeneficent soul! I never met another who had learned that lessonso thoroughly. Once she pointed out to me at the end of herdictation-book a publisher's colophon of a sundial with the word_Finis_ above it, and, underneath, the words "Every Hour ShortensLife. " "Now, I prefer to think that every hour lengthens it, " saidshe, with one of her few smiles; for her cheerfulness was alwaysserious. 

Best of all were the hours when she read to us extracts fromher album. "At least, " she explained, "I _call_ it an album. I ever longed to possess one, adorned with remarks--moral orsprightly, as the case might be--by the Choicest Spirits of our Age, and signed in their own illustrious handwriting. But in my sphere oflife these were hard--nay, impossible--to come by; so in my dilemma Ihad recourse to subterfuge, and having studied the career of this orthat eminent man, I chose a subject and composed what (as it seemedto me) he would _most likely_ have written upon it, signing his namebelow--but in print, that the signatures may not pass hereafter forreal ones, should the book fall into the hands of strangers. You must not think, therefore, that the lines on Statesmanship whichI am about to read you, beginning 'But why Statesmans _ship_?Because, my lords and gentlemen, the State is indeed a ship, anddemands a skilful helmsman'--you must not think that they wereactually penned by the Right Honourable William Pitt. But I feelsure the sentiments are such as he would have approved, and perhapsmight have uttered had the occasion arisen. "

This puzzled us, and I am not sure that we took any trouble todiscriminate Miss Plinlimmon's share in these compositions from thatof their signatories. Indeed, the first time I set eyes on LordWellington (as he rode by us to inspect the breaches in CiudadRodrigo) my memory saluted him as the Honourable Arthur Wellesley, author of the passage, "Though educated at Eton, I have often caughtmyself envying the quaintly expressed motto of the more ancientseminary amid the Hampshire chalk-hills, i. E. _Manners makyth man_";and to this day I associate General Paoli with an apostrophe"O Corsica! O my country, bleeding and inanimate!" etc. , and withMiss Plinlimmon's foot-note: "N. B. --The author of these affectinglines, himself a blameless patriot, actually stood godfather tothe babe who has since become the infamous Napoleon Bonaparte. Oh, irony! What had been the feelings of the good Paoli, could hehave foreseen this eventuality, as he promised and vowed beside thefont! (if they have such things in Corsica: a point on which I amuncertain). "

I dwell on these halcyon days with Miss Plinlimmon because, as theywere the last I spent at the Genevan Hospital, so they soften all myrecollections of it with their own gentle prismatic haze. In fact, a bare fortnight had gone by since my adventure on the spire when Iwas summoned to Mr. Scougall's parlour and there found MissPlinlimmon in conversation with a tall and very stout man: and if hereyelids were pink, I paid more attention to the stout man's, whichwere rimmed with black--a more unusual sight. His neck, too, wasblack up to a well-defined line; the rest of it, and his cheeks, redwith the red of prize beef. 

"This is the boy--hem--Revel, of whom we were speaking. " MissPlinlimmon smiled at me and blushed faintly as she uttered the name. "Harry, shake hands with Mr. Trapp. He has come expressly to makeyour acquaintance. "

Somehow I gathered that this politeness took Mr. Trapp aback; but heheld out his hand. It was astonishingly black. 

"Pray be seated, Mr. Trapp. "

"The furniture, ma'am!"

"Ah, to be sure!" Mr. Scougall's freshly upholstered chairs had allbeen wrapped in holland coverings pending his return. "Mr. Trapp, Harry, is a--a chimney-sweep. "

"Oh!" said I, somewhat ruefully. 

"And if I can answer for your character (as I believe I can), " shewent on with a wan, almost wistful smile, "he is ready to make youhis apprentice. "

"But I had rather be a soldier, Miss Plinlimmon!"

She still kept her smile, but I could read in it that my pleading wasuseless; that the decision really lay beyond her. 

"Boys will be boys, Mr. Trapp. " She turned to him with her air ofgentility. "You will forgive Harry for preferring a red coat to--toyour calling. " (I thought this treacherous of Miss Plinlimmon. As if she did not prefer it herself!) "No doubt he will learn intime that all duty is alike noble, whether it bids a man mount thedeadly breach or climb a--or do the sort of climbing required in yourprofession. "

"I climbed up that spire in my sleep, " said I, sullenly. 

"That's just it, " Mr. Trapp agreed. "That's what put me on the trackof ye. 'Here's a tacker, ' I said, 'can climb up to the top ofEmmanuel's in his sleep, and I've been wasting money and temper onthem that won't go up an ord'nary chimbley when they're wideawake, 'ithout I lights a furze-bush underneath to hurry them. '"

"I trust, " put in Miss Plinlimmon, aghast, "you are jesting, Mr. Trapp?"

"Jesting, ma'am?"

"You do not really employ that barbarous method of acceleration?"

"Meaning furze-bushes? Why, no, ma'am; not often. Look ye here, young sir, " he continued, dismissing (as of no account) this subject, so interesting to me; "you was wide awake, anyway, when you camedown, and that you can't deny. "

"Harry, " persisted Miss Plinlimmon, "has not been used to harshtreatment. You will like his manners: he is a very gentlemanly boy. "

Mr. Trapp stared at her, then at me, then slowly around the room. "Gentlemanly?" he echoed at length, in a wondering way, under hisbreath. 

"I have used my best endeavours. Yes, though I say it to his face, you will really--if careful to appeal to his better instincts--findhim one of Nature's gentlemen. "

Mr. Trapp broke into a grin of relief; almost you could say that heheaved a sigh. 

"Oh, that's all?" said he. "Why, Lord love ye, ma'am, I've beencalled that myself before now!"

So to Mr. Trapp I was bound, early next week, before the magistratessitting in petty sessional division, to serve him and to receivefrom him proper sustenance and clothing until the age of twenty-one. And I (as nearly as could be guessed, for I had no birthday) hadbarely turned ten. Mr. Scougall arrived in time to pilot me throughthese formalities and hand me over to Mr. Trapp: but at a partinginterview, throughout which we both wept copiously, Miss Plinlimmongave me for souvenir a small Testament with this inscription on thefly-leaf:

 H. REVEL, _from his affectionate friend, A. Plinlimmon_. 

 _O happy, happy days, when childhood's cares Were soon forgotten! But now, when dear ones all around are still the same, Where shall we be in ten years' time?_

"They were my own composition, " she explained. Mr. George bade me agloomier farewell. "You might come to some good, " he saidcontemplatively; "and then again you mightn't. I ain't what theycall a _pessimist_, but I thinks poorly of most things. It's safer. "

Mr. Trapp was exceedingly jocose as he conveyed me home to his housebeside the Barbican, Plymouth; stopping on the way before everybuilding of exceptional height and asking me quizzically how I wouldpropose to set about climbing it. At the time, in the soreness of myheart, I resented this heavy pleasantry, and to be sure, after thetenth repetition or so, the diversity of the buildings to which heapplied it but poorly concealed its sameness. But, in fact, he wasdoing his best to be kind, and succeeded in a sort; for it roused achildish scorn in me and so fetched back my heart, which at startinghad been somewhere in my boots. 

I took it for granted that a sweep must inhabit a dingy hovel, andcertainly the crowded filth of the Barbican promised nothing betteras we threaded our way among fishermen, fish-jowters, blowzy women, and children playing hop-scotch with the heads of decaying fish. At the seaward end of it, and close beside the bow-fronted CustomHouse, we turned aside into an alley which led uphill between highblank walls to the base of the Citadel: and here, stuck as if it werea marten's nest under the shadow of the ramparts, a freshlywhitewashed cottage overhung the slope, with a sweep's brush danglingover its doorway and the sign "S. Trapp, Chimney Sweep in Season. "

While I wondered what might be the season for chimney-sweeps, a smallbead-eyed woman emerged from the doorway and shook a dustervigorously: in the which act catching sight of us, she paused. 

"I've a-got en, my dear, " said Mr. Trapp much as a man might announcethe capture of a fish: and though he did not actually lift me forinspection his hand seemed to waver over my collar. 

But it was Mrs. Trapp, who, after a fleeting glance at me, caught herhusband by the collar. 

"And you actilly went in that state, you nasty keerless hulks!O, you heart-breaker!"

Mr. Trapp in custody managed to send me a sidelong, humorous grin. 

"My dear, I thought 'twould be a surprise for you--business taking methat way, and the magistrates being used to worse. "

"You heart-breaker!" repeated Mrs. Trapp. "And me slaving morn andnight to catch up with your messy ways! What did I tell you thefirst time you came back from the Hospital looking like a malkin, andwith a clean shift of clothes laid out for you and the water on theboil, that I couldn't have taken more trouble, no, not for a funeral?Didn't I tell you 'twas positively lowering?"

"I ha'n't a doubt you did, my dear. "

"That's what you are. You're a lowering man. And there by your ownaccount you met a lady, with your neck streaked like a ham-rasher, and me not by--thank goodness!--to see what her feelings were; andnow 'tis magistrates. But nothing warns you. I suppose you thoughtthat as 'twas only fondlings without any father or mother it didn'tmatter how you dressed!"

Mrs. Trapp, though she might seem to talk at random, had a wifelyknack of dropping a shaft home. Her husband protested. 

"Come, come, Maria--you know I'm not that sort of man!"

"How do I know what sort of man you are, under all that dirt?For my part, if I'd been a magistrate, you shouldn't have walked offwith the boy till you'd washed yourself, not if you'd gone down onyour hands and knees for it; and him with his face shining all overlike a little Moses on the Mount, which does the lady credit if she'sthe one you saw; though how they can dress children up likepickle-herrings it beats me. Your bed's at the top of the house, child, and there you'll find a suit o' clothes that I've washed andaired after the last boy. I only hope you won't catch any of hisnasty tricks in 'em. Straight up the stairs and the little door tothe left at the top. "

"Unless"--Mr. Trapp picked up courage for one more pleasantry--"you'dlike to make a start at once and go up by way of the chimbley. "

He was rash. As a pugilist might eye a recovering opponent supposedto be stunned, so Mrs. Trapp eyed Mr. Trapp. 

"I thought I told you plain enough, " she said, "that you're alowering man. What's worse, you're an unconverted one. Oh, younasty, fat, plain-featured fellow! Go indoors and wash yourself, this instant!"

I spent close upon four years with this couple: and good parents theywere to me, as well as devoted to each other. Mrs. Trapp may havebeen "cracked, " as she certainly suffered from a determination ofwords to the mouth: but, as a child will, I took her and the rest ofthe world as I found them. She began to mother me at once; and onthe very next morning took my clothes in hand, snipped the ridiculoustails off the jacket, and sent it, with the breeches, to the dyer's. The yellow waistcoat she cut into pin-cushions, two for upstairs andtwo for the parlour. 

Having no children to save for, Mr. Trapp could afford to feed andclothe an apprentice and take life easily to boot. Mrs. Trapp wouldnever allow him to climb a ladder; had even chained him to _terrafirma_ by a vow--since, as she explained to me once, "he's anunconverted man. There's no harm in 'en; but I couldn't bear to havehim cut off in his sins. Besides, with such a figure, he'd scatter. "

I recollect it as a foretaste of his kindness that on the first earlymorning, as he led me forth to my first experiment, we paused betweenthe blank walls of the alley that I might practise the sweep's callin comparative privacy. The sound of my own voice, reverberatedthere, covered me with shame, though it could scarcely have beenlouder than the cheeping of the birds on the Citadel ramparts above. "Hark to that fellow, now!" said my master, as the notes of a buglesang out clear and brave in the dawn. "He's no bigger than you, Iwarrant, and has no more call to be proud of his business. " In timeI grew bold enough and used to begin my "Sweep, Swee--eep!" at themouth of the alley to warn Mrs. Trapp of our return. 

My first chimney daunted me, though it was a wide one, belonging to acottage, well fitted with climbing brackets, and so straight thatfrom the flat hearth-stone you could see a patch of blue sky with thegulls sailing across it. Mr. Trapp instructed me well and Ilistened, setting my small jaws to choke down the terror: but, oncestarted, with his voice guiding me from below and growing hollower asI ascended, I found that all came easily enough. "Bravo!" he shoutedup from the far side of the street, whither he had run out to see mewave my brush from the summit. In a day or two he began to boast ofme, and I had to do my young best to live up to a reputation; for thefame of my feat on Emmanuel Church spire had spread all over theBarbican. Being reckoned a bold fellow, I had to justify myself infighting with the urchins of my age there; in which, and inwrestling, I contrived to hold my own. My shame was that I had neverlearnt to swim. All my rivals could swim, and even in the winterweather seemed to pass half their time in the filthy water of SuttonPool, or in running races, stark naked, along the quay's edge. 

Our trade, steady and leisurable until the last week of March, thenwent up with a rush and continued at high pressure through April andMay, so that, dog-tired in every limb, I had much ado to drag myselfto bed up the garret stairs after Mrs. Trapp had rubbed my ankleswith goose-fat where the climbing-irons galled them. While this wasdoing, Mr. Trapp would smoke his pipe and watch and assure me thatmine were the "growing-pains" natural to sweeps, and Mrs. Trapp(without meaning it in the least) lamented the fate which had tiedher for life to one. "It being well known that my birthday is the15th of the month and its rightful motto in Proverbs thirty-one, 'She riseth also while it is yet night and giveth meat to herhousehold and a portion to her maidens'; and me never able to hire agel at eight pounds a year even!"

"If you did, " retorted Mr. Trapp, "I don't see you turning out atmidnight to feed her. "

Early in June this high-tide of business slackened, and by the closeof the second week we were moderately idle. On Midsummer morning Idescended to find, to my vast astonishment, Mr. Trapp seated at tablebefore a bowl of bread and milk and wearing a thick blue guernseytucked inside his trousers, the waist of which reached so high as toreduce his braces to mere shoulder-straps. I could not imagine whyhe, a man given to perspiration, should add to his garments at thisseason. 

Breakfast over, he beckoned me to the door and jerked his thumbtowards the lintel. The usual, sign had been replaced by a shorterone: "S. Trapp. Gone Driving. "

"If folks, " said he, "ha'n't the foresight to get swept aforeMidsummer, I don't humour 'em. "

"Are--are you really going for a drive, sir?" I stammered. 

"To be sure I am. I drive every day in the summer. What do yousuppose?"

"It won't be a chaise and pair, sir?" I hazarded, though even thiswould not have surprised me. 

"Not to-day. Lord knows what we may come to, but to-day 'tismackerel and whiting; later on, pilchards. "

He took me down to the quay; and there, sure enough, we stepped onboard a boat lying ready, with two men in her, who fended off andbegan to hoist sails at once. Mr. Trapp took the helm. It turnedout that he owned a share in the vessel and worked her from Midsummerto Michaelmas with a crew of two men and a boy. The men were calledIsaac and Morgan (I cannot remember their other names), the oneextremely old and surly, the other cheerful, curly-haired and active, and both sparing of words. I was to be the boy. 

We baited our hooks and whiffed for mackerel as we tacked out of theSound. And by and by we came to what Isaac called the "grounds"(though I could see nothing to distinguish it from the rest of thesea) and cast anchor and weighted our lines differently and caught afew whiting while we ate our dinner. The wind had fallen to a flatcalm. After dinner Mr. Trapp looked up and said to Isaac:

"Got a life-belt on board?"

"What in thunder do 'ee want it for?" asked Isaac. 

"That's my business, " said Mr. Trapp. 

So Isaac hunted up a belt made of pieces of cork and then was orderedto lash one of the sweeps so that it stuck well outboard. "Now, mylad, " said Mr. Trapp, turning to me, "you've been a very good lad'pon the whole, and I see you fighting with the tackers down 'pon thequay and holding your own. But they can swim, and you can't, andit's wearing your spirit. So here's a chance to larn. I can't larn'ee myself, for the fashion's come up since I was a youngster. Can you swim, Morgan?"

Morgan could not; and old Isaac said he couldn't see the use of it--if you capsized, it only lengthened out the trouble. 

"Well, then, you must larn yourself, " said Mr. Trapp to me. "I've heard that pigs and men are the only animals it don't come toby nature. And that's a scandal however you look at it. "

So strip I did, and was girt with the belt under my armpits, tied toa rope, and slipped over the side in fear and trembling. I swalloweda pint or two of salt water and wept (but they could not see this, though they watched me curiously), I dare say, half a pint of it backin tears of fright. I knew by observation how legs and arms shouldbe worked, but made disheartening efforts to put it into practice. At length, utterly ashamed, I was hauled out and congratulated: atwhich I stared. 

"As for the swimmin', " said Isaac, "I can't call to mind that I'veseen worse: but for pluck, considering the number of sharks at aboutthis season, I couldn't ask better of his age. "

I had not thought of sharks--supposed them, indeed, to inhabit thetropics only. We caught one towards sunset, after it had fouled allour lines, and smashed its head with the unshipped tiller as it cameto the surface. It measured five feet and a little over, and welashed it alongside the gunwale and carried it home in triumph nextmorning (having shot the nets at sundown and slept and hauled them upempty at sunrise--the pilchards being scarce as yet, though a few hadbeen caught off the Eddystone). I don't suppose the shark would haveinterfered with my bath, but I gave myself airs on the strength ofhim. 

CHAPTER IV. 

MISS PLINLIMMON. 

Late in August, and a week or two before Mr. Trapp changed hissignboard and resumed his proper business, I was idling by the edgeof the Barbican one evening when a boy, whose eye I had blackedrecently, charged up behind me and pushed me over. I pretended to bedrowning, and sank theatrically as he and half a dozen others, conveniently naked, plunged to the rescue. They dived for my bodywith great zeal, while I, having slipped under the keel of atrading-ketch and climbed on board by her accommodation-ladderdangling on the far side, watched them from behind a stack offlower-pots on her deck. When they desisted, and I had seen theculprit first treated as a leper by the crowd, then haled before twoconstables and examined at length, finally led homeward by the earand cuffed at every few steps by his mother (a widow), I slipped backinto the water, dived back under the ketch, and, emerging, asked thecause of the disturbance. This made a new reputation for me, at theexpense of some emotion to Mrs. Trapp, to whom the news of my deceasehad been borne on the swiftest wings of rumour. 

But I have tarried too long over those days of my apprenticeship, andam yet only at the beginning. Were there no story to be told, Imight fill a chapter by fishing up recollections of Plymouth in thosedays; of the women, for instance, carried down in procession to theBarbican and ducked for scolding. A husband had but to go before theMayor (Mr. Trapp sometimes threatened it) and swear that his wife wasa common scold, and the Mayor gave him an order to hoist her on ahorse and take her to the ducking-chair to be dipped thrice in SuttonPool. At last a poor creature died of it, and that put an end to thebad business. Then there were the press-gangs. Time and again Ihave run naked from bathing to watch the press as, after hunting fromtavern to tavern, it dragged a man off screaming to the steps, thesailors often man-handling him and the officer joking with the crowdand behaving as cool and gentlemanly as you please. Mr. Trapp and Iwere by the door one evening, measuring out the soot, when a man camepanting up the alley and rushed past us into the back kitchen withoutso much as "by your leave. " Half a minute later up came the press, and the young officer at the head of them was for pushing past andinto the house; but Mr. Trapp blocked the doorway, with Mrs. Trappfull of fight in the rear. 

"Stand by!" says the officer to his men. "And you, sir, what thedevil do you mean by setting yourself in the way of his Majesty'sService?"

"An Englishman's house, " said Mr. Trapp, "is his castle. "

"D'ye hear that?" screamed Mrs. Trapp. 

"An Englishman's house, " repeated Mr. Trapp slowly, "is his castle. The storms may assail it, and the winds whistle round it, but theKing himself cannot do so. "

The officer knew the law and called off his gang. When the coast wasclear we went to search for the man, and found he had vanished, taking half a flitch of bacon with him off the kitchen-rack. 

All those days, too, throb in my head to the tramp of soldiers in thestreets, and ring with bugles blown almost incessantly from theramparts high above my garret. On Sundays Mr. Trapp and I used totake our walk together around the ramparts, between church anddinner-time, after listening to the Royal Marine Band as it played upGeorge Street and Bedford Street on the way from service in St. Andrew's Church. If we met a soldier we had to stand aside; indeed, even common privates in those days (so proudly the Army bore itself, though its triumphs were to come) would take the wall of a woman--agreater insult then than now, or at least a more unusual one. A young officer of the '--'th Regiment once put this indignity uponMrs. Trapp, in Southside Street. The day was a wet one, and thegutter ran with liquid mud. Mrs. Trapp recovered her balance, slipped off her pattens, and stamped them on the back of his scarletcoat--two oval O's for him to walk about with. 

Those were days, too, which kept our Plymouth stones rattling. Besides the coaches--the "Quicksilver, " which carried the mails and acoachman and guard in scarlet liveries, the humdrum "Defiance" andthe dashing "Subscription" or "Scrippy" post-chaises came and wentcontinually, whisking naval officers between us and London withdispatches: and sometimes the whole populace turned out to cheer astrains of artillery wagons, escorted by armed seamen, marines, andsoldiers, horse and foot, rumbled up from Dock towards the Citadelwith treasure from some captured frigate. I could tell, too, of thegreat November Fair in the Market Place, and the rejoicings on theKing's Jubilee, when I paid a halfpenny to go inside the huge hollowbonfire built on the Hoe: but all this would keep me from my story--for which I must hark back to Miss Plinlimmon. 

For many months I heard nothing of this dear lady, and it seemed thatI had parted from her for ever, when one evening as I returned fromcarrying a bag of soot out to Mutley Plain (where a market-gardenerwanted some for his beds), Mrs. Trapp put into my hands a letteraddressed in the familiar Italian hand to "H. Revel, residing withMr. S. Trapp, House Renovator, near the Barbican. " It ran:

 "My dearest Harry, --I wonder if, amid your new avocations, you will take the pleasure in the handwriting of an _old friend_? I remember you many times daily, and often when I wake in the night; and commend you to God morning and evening, kneeling on the place where your cot used to stand, for I have no one now to care for in my room. There is little change in our life here; though Mr. Scougall, as I foreboded, takes less heart in his ministrations, and I should not wonder if he retired before long. But this is between ourselves. Punctual as ever in his duties, he rarely spends the night here, but departs at six p. M. For his wife's farm, where Mrs. S. Very naturally prefers to reside. Indeed, I wish she would absent herself altogether; for when she comes, it is to criticise the housekeeping, in which I regret to say she does not maintain that generous spirit of which she gave promise in the veal pies, etc. , of that _ever memorable_ morning. I never condescended to be a bride: yet I feel sure, that had I done so, it would have given me an extra compassion for the fatherless. "

 "But enough of myself. My object in writing is to tell you that my birthday falls on Wednesday next (May 1st, dedicated by the Ancient Romans to the Goddess of Flowers, as I was yearly reminded in my happy youth. But how often Fate withholds from us her seeming promises!). It might be a bond between us, my dear boy, if you will take that day for your birthday too. Pray humour me in this; for indeed your going has left a void which I cannot fill, and perhaps do not wish to, except with thoughts of you. I trust there used to be no _partiality_; but for some reason you were dearer to me than the others; and I feel as if God, in His mysterious way, sent you into my life _with meaning_. Do you think that Mr. Trapp, if you asked him politely (and I trust you have not forgotten your politeness), would permit you to meet me at 5 p. M. On Wednesday, in Mr. Tucker's Bun Shop, in Bedford Street, to celebrate your birthday with an affectionate friend? Such ever is, "

 "Amelia Plinlimmon. "

"Oh, very well, " said Mr. Trapp when I showed him the letter and putmy request; "only don't let her swell you out of shape. Chimbleys isnarrower than they used to be. May-day is Sweeps' Holiday, too, though we don't keep it up in Plymouth: I dare say the lady thought'pon that. In my bachelor days I used to be Jack in the Greenreggilar. "

"It's just as well I never saw ye, then, " said his wife tartly. "And to imagine that a lady like Miss Plinlimmon would concernherself with your deboshes! But you'd lower the King on his throne. "

Indeed, Mr. Trapp went on to give some colour to this. "I wonderwhat she means, talking about Roman goddesses?" he mused. "I seenone, once, in a penny show; and it was marked outside 'Men onlyAdmitted. '"

Mrs. Trapp swept me from the room. 

On May-day, then, I entered Mr. Tucker's Bun Shop with a beatingheart, a scrubbed face and a sprig of southernwood in my button-hole, and Miss Plinlimmon fell on my neck and kissed me. All the formalityof the Genevan Hospital dropped away from her as a garment, and leftonly the tender formality of her own nature, so human that it amazedme. I had never really known her until now. She had prepared afeast, including Mr. Tucker's famous cheese-cakes, "as patronised byQueen Charlotte, " and cakes called "maids of honour. " "To my mind, "said Miss Plinlimmon, taking one, "there is always an air ofrefinement about this shop. " She praised my growth, and thecleanliness of my skin, and the care with which Mrs. Trapp kept myclothes; and laughed when I reported some of Mrs. Trapp's sayings--but tremulously: indeed, more than once her eyes brimmed as she gazedacross the table. "You cannot think how happy I am!" she almostwhispered, and broke off to draw my attention to a young officer whohad entered the shop, with two ladies in fresh summer gowns ofsprigged muslin, and who stood by the counter buying sweetmeats. "If you can do so without staring, Harry, always make a point ofobserving such people as that. You will be surprised at the littlehints you pick up. " I told her, growing bold, that I knew no finerlady than she, and never wanted to--which I still think a happy andhighly creditable speech for a boy of eleven. She flushed withpleasure. "I have birth, I hope, " she said, and with that her colourdeepened, perhaps with a suspicion that this might hurt my feelings. "But since our reverses, " she went on hurriedly, "we Plinlimmons havestood still; and one should move with the times. I am not with thosewho think good manners need be old-fashioned ones. " She recurred toMrs. Trapp. "I feel sure she must be an excellent woman. Your clothes are well kept, and I read more in needlework than youthink. Also folks cannot neglect their cleanliness and then furbishthemselves up in a day. I see by your complexion that she attends toyou. I hope you are careful not to laugh at her when she makes thoseludicrous speeches?"

But I shifted the talk from Mrs. Trapp. 

"What did you mean, just now, by 'we, ' Miss Plinlimmon?" I asked. 

"Did I say 'we'?"

"You talked about your reverses--'our reverses, ' you said. I wishyou would tell me about it: I never heard, before, of anyonebelonging to you. "

"'We' means 'my brother and I, '" she said, and said no more until shehad paid the bill and we walked up to the Hoe together. There shechose a seat overlooking the Sound and close above the amphitheatre(in those days used as a bull-ring) where Corineus the Trojan hadwrestled, ages before, with the giant Gogmagog and defeated him. 

"My brother Arthur--Captain Arthur Plinlimmon of the King's Own--isthe soul of honour. I do not believe a nobler gentleman lives in thewhole wide world: but then we are descended from the great Glendower, King of Wales (I will show you the pedigree, some day), and haveTudor blood, too, in our veins. When dear papa died and wediscovered he had been speculating unfortunately in East IndiaStock--'buying for a fall' was, I am told, his besetting weakness, though I could never understand the process--Arthur offered me a homeand maintenance for life. Of course I refused: for the blow reducedhim, too, to bitter poverty, and he was married. And, besides, Icould never bear his wife, who was a woman of fashion andextravagant. She is dead now, poor thing, so we will not talk ofher: but she could never be made to understand that theircircumstances were altered, and died leaving some debts and onechild, a boy called Archibald, who is now close on twenty years old. So there is my story, Harry; and a very ordinary one, is it not?"

"Where does Captain Plinlimmon live?" I asked. 

"He is quartered in Lancaster just now, with his regiment: and Archielives with him. He had hoped to buy the poor boy a commission beforethis, but could not do so honourably until all the debts were paid. 'The sins of the fathers--'" She broke off and glanced at menervously. 

But I was not of an age to suspect why, or to understand my own lotat all. "I suppose you love this Archibald better than anybody, "said I with a twinge of jealousy. 

"Oh, no, " she exclaimed quickly, and at once corrected herself. "Not so much as I ought. I love him, of course, for his father'ssake: but in features he takes after his mother very strikingly, andthat--on the few occasions I have seen him--chilled me. It is wrong, I know; and no doubt with more opportunity I should have grown veryfond of him. Sometimes I tax myself, Harry, with being frail in myaffections: they require renewing with a sight of--of their object. That is why we are keeping our birthdays together to-day. "

She smiled at me, almost archly, putting out a hand to rest it onmine, which lay on my knee; then suddenly the smile wavered, and hereyes began to brim; I saw in them, as in troubled water, brokenimages of a hundred things I had known in dreams; and her arm wasabout my neck and I nestled against her. 

"Dear Harry! Dear boy!"

I cannot tell how long we sat there: certainly until the shipshung out their riding-lights and the May stars shone down on us. At whiles we talked, and at whiles were silent: and both the talk andthe silences (if you will not laugh) held some such meanings as theyhold for lovers. More than ever she was not the Miss Plinlimmon Iremembered, but a strange woman, coming forth and revealing herselfwith the stars. She actually confessed that she loathed porridge!--"though for example's sake, you know, I force myself to eat it. I think it unfair to compel children to a discipline you cannotendure with them. "

She parted with me under the moonlit Citadel, at the head of aby-lane leading to the Trapps' cottage. "I shall not write often, orsee you, " she said. "It is seldom that I get a holiday or even anhour to myself, and we will not unsettle ourselves"--mark, if thechild could not, the noble condescension--"in our duties that areperhaps the more blessed for being stern. But a year hence forcertain, if spared, we will meet. Until then be a gentleman alwaysand--I may ask it now--for my sake. "

So we parted, and for a whole year I saw nothing of her, nor heardexcept at Christmas, when she sent me a closely written letter of sixsheets, of which I will transcribe only the poetical conclusion:

 "Christmas comes but once a year: And why? we well may ask. Repine not. We are probably unequal To a severer task. "

CHAPTER V. 

THE SHADOW OF ARCHIBALD. 

It is not only children who, having once tasted bliss, suppose fondlythat one has only to prepare a time and place for it again and it canbe repeated. But he must be a queer child who starts with expectingany less. Certainly no doubts assailed me when the anniversary cameround and I made my way to Mr. Tucker's Bun Shop; nor did MissPlinlimmon's greeting lack anything of tenderness. She began at onceto talk away merrily: but children are demons to detect somethingamiss, and there was a note in her gaiety which somehow did not soundin key. After a while she broke off in the middle of a sentence andsat stirring her tea, as with a mind withdrawn; recovered herself, and catching at her last words, continued--but on a differentsubject; then, reading some puzzlement in my eyes, exclaimedabruptly, "My dear Harry, you have grown beyond knowledge!"

"Were you thinking of that?" I asked, for I had heard it twicealready. 

She answered one question with another. "Of what were _you_thinking?"

I hesitated, for in truth I had been thinking how much older she hadgrown. A year is a long time to a child, but it did not account tome for a curious wanness in her colour. Her hair was greyer, too, and there were dark rings under her eyes. "You seem differentsomehow, Miss Plinlimmon. "

"Do I? The Hospital has been wearing me out, of late. I havethought sometimes of resigning and trying my fortune elsewhere: butthe thought of the children restrains me. I make many mistakes withthem--perhaps more as the years go on: they love me, however, forthey know that I mean well, and it would haunt me if they fell intobad hands. Now I am not sure that Mr. Scougall would choose the bestsuccessor. Before he married I could have trusted his judgment. "She fell a-musing again. "Archibald is here in Plymouth, " she addedinconsequently. "My nephew, you know. "

I nodded, and asked, "Is he quartered here?"

"Why, how did you know he was in the Army?"

"You told me Major Arthur was saving up to buy him a commission. "

"How well you remember!" she sighed. "Alas! no: the debts were tooheavy. Archibald is in the Army, but he has enlisted as a private, in the 105th, the North Wilts Regiment. His father advised it: hesays that, in these days, commissions are to be won by young mencontent to begin in the ranks; and the lad has (I believe) a goodfriend in Colonel Festonhaugh, who commands the North Wilts. He andArthur are old comrades in arms. But garrison life does not suit thepoor boy, or so he complains. He is a little sore with his fatherfor subjecting him to it, and cannot take his stern view about payingthe debts. That is natural enough, perhaps. " She heaved anothersigh. "His regiment--or rather the second battalion, to which hebelongs--was ordered down to Plymouth last January, and since thenhas been occupied with drill and petty irritating duties at which hegrumbles sorely--though I believe there is a prospect of their beingordered out to Portugal before long. "

"You see him often?" I asked. 

She seemed to pause a moment. "Yes; oh, yes to be sure, I see himfrequently. That is only natural, is it not?"

We left the shop and strolled towards the Hoe. I felt that somethingwas interfering to spoil our day; and felt unreasonably sure of it onfinding our old seat occupied by three soldiers--two of themsupporting a drunken comrade. We made disconsolately for an emptybench, some fifty yards away. 

"They belong to Archibald's regiment, " said Miss Plinlimmon as wesettled ourselves to talk. I had noted that she scanned themnarrowly. "Why, here _is_ Archibald!" she exclaimed: and I looked upand saw a young red-coat sauntering towards us. 

Her tone, I was jealously glad to observe, had not been entirelyjoyous. And Master Archibald, as he drew near, did not seem in thebest of tempers. He was beyond all doubt a handsome youth, andstraight-limbed; but apparently a sullen one. He kept his eyes onthe ground and only lifted them for a moment when close in front ofus. 

"Good afternoon, aunt. "

"Good afternoon, Archibald. This is Harry--my friend of whom youhave heard me speak. "

He glanced at me with a curt nod. I could see that he considered mea nuisance. An awkward silence fell between the three of us, brokenat length by a start and a smothered exclamation from MissPlinlimmon. 

Archibald glanced over his shoulder carelessly. "Oh, yes, " said he, "they are baiting a bull down yonder. "

The ridge hid the bull-ring from us. Dogs had been barking therewhen we seated ourselves, but the noise held no meaning for us. It was the bull's roar which had startled Miss Plinlimmon. 

"Pray let us go!" She gathered her shawl about her in a twitter. "This is quite horrible!"

"There's nothing to be afraid of, " he assured her. "The brute's tiedfast enough. Don't go, aunt: I want a word with you. "

He glowered at me again, and this time with meaning. I saw that hewished me gone, and I moved to go. 

"This is Harry's birthday. I am keeping it with him: his birthday aswell as mine, Archibald. "

"Gad, I forgot! I'm sorry, aunt--Many happy returns of the day!"

"Thank you, " said she drily. "And now if you particularly wish tospeak to me, I will walk with you, but only a short way. Harry shallfind another seat. "

As they walked away side by side, I turned my head to look for abench farther removed from the bull-ring; and so became aware ofanother soldier, in uniform similar to Mr. Archibald's, stretchedprone on the turf a few paces behind me. 

When I stood up and turned to have a look at him, his head haddropped on his arms and he appeared to be sleeping. But I could havesworn that when I first caught sight of him he had been gazing afterthe pair. 

Well, there was nothing in this (you will say) to disturb me; yet forsome reason it made me alert, if not uneasy. I chose another seat, but at no great distance, and kept him in view. He raised his headonce, stared around like one confused and not wholly awake, anddropped into slumber again. Miss Plinlimmon and Archibald turned andcame pacing back; turned again and repeated this quarter-deck walkthree or four times. He was talking, and now and then using a slightgesture. I could not see that she responded. At any rate, she didnot turn to him. But the man on the grass occupied most of myattention, and I missed the parting. An odd fancy took me to watchif he stirred again while I counted a hundred. He did not, and Ishifted my gaze to find Miss Plinlimmon coming towards me unescorted. Archibald had disappeared. 

Her eyes were red, and her voice trembled a little. "And now, " saidshe, "that's enough of my affairs, please God!" She began to putquestions about the Trapps. And while I answered them I happenedto look along the flat stretch of turf to the right, in time to see, at perhaps a hundred yards' distance, a soldier cross it from behindand go hurrying down the slope towards the bull-ring. I recognisedhim at a glance. He was the black-avised man who had pretended to besleeping. 

Almost at once, as I remember it--but I dare say some minutes hadpassed--a furious hubbub arose below us, mixed with the yelling ofdogs and a few sharp screams. And, before we knew what it meant, atthe point where the black-avised man had disappeared, he camescrambling back, found his legs and headed desperately towards us, with a bull behind him in full chase. 

I managed to drag Miss Plinlimmon off the bench, thrust her like abundle beneath it, and scrambled after her into shelter but a secondor two before the pair came thundering by; for the bull's hoovesshook the ground; and so small a space--ten or twelve yards at themost--divided him from the man, that they passed in one rush, andwith them half a dozen bulldogs hanging at the brute's heels as iftrailed along by an invisible cord. Next after these pelted MasterArchibald, shouting and tugging at his side-arm; and after him again, but well in the rear, a whole rabble of bull-baiters, butchers, soldiers, boys and mongrels, all yelping together with excitement andterror, the men flourishing swords and pitchforks. 

To speak of the man first. --I have since seen soldiers crazed andrunning in battle, but never such a face as passed me in that briefvision. His lips were wide, his eyes strained and almost startingfrom his head, the pupils turned a little backward as if fascinatedby the terror at his heels, imploring help, seeking a chance todouble--all three together--and yet absolutely fixed and rigid. 

The bull made no account of us, though below the seat I caught thelight of his red eye as he plunged past, head to ground and so closethat his hot breath smote in our faces and the broken end of ropeabout the base of his horns whipped the grass by my fingers. Perhaps the red coat attracted his rage. But he seemed to nurse aspecial grudge against the man. 

This appeared when, a stone's-throw beyond our seat, the man sprangsideways to the left of his course--in the nick of time, too, for ashe sprang he seemed to clear the horns by a bare foot. The bull'sheavier rush carried him forward for several yards before he swervedhimself on to the new line of pursuit; and this let up MasterArchibald, who by this time had his side-arm loose. 

"Ham-string 'en!" yelled a blue-shirted butcher, pausing beside usand panting. "Quick, you fool--ham-string 'en!"

For some reason the young man seemed to hesitate. Likely enough hedid not hear; perhaps had lost presence of mind. At any rate, for asecond or so, his arm hung on the stroke, and as the bull swervedagain he jabbed his bayonet feebly at the haunch. 

The butcher swore furiously. "Murdered by folly if ever man was!Ye bitter fool, " he shouted, "it's pricked him on, ye've done!"

The black-faced man, having gained maybe a dozen yards by hismanoeuvre, was now heading for the Citadel gate; beside which--so faraway that we saw them as toys--stood a sentry-box and the figure of asentry beside it. Could he reach this gate? His altered course hadtaken him a little downhill, to the left of the ridge, and to regainit by the Citadel he must fetch a slight loop. Luckily the bullcould not reason: he followed his enemy. But there was just a chancethat by running along the ridge the chase might be headed off. The crowd saw this and set off anew, with Master Archibald still alittle in front and increasing his lead. I scrambled from under theseat and followed. 

But almost at once it became plain that we were out-distanced. Alone of us Master Archibald had a chance; and if the man were to besaved, it lay either with him or with the sentry at the gate. 

I can yet remember the look on the sentry's face as we drew closerand his features grew distinct. He stood in the middle of the shortroadway which led to the drawbridge, and clearly it had within a fewmoments dawned upon him that _he_ was the point upon which thesefatal forces were converging. A low wall fenced him on either hand, and as he braced himself, grasping his Brown Bess--a fine picture ofDuty triumphing over Irresolution--into this narrow passage pouredthe chase, rolled as it were in a flying heap; the hunted man justperceptibly first, the bull and Archibald Plinlimmon cannoningagainst each other at the entrance. Master Archibald was hurledaside by the impact of the brute's hindquarters and shot, at first onall fours, then prone, alongside the base of the wall; but he hadmanaged to get his thrust home, and this time with effect. The bulltossed his head with a mighty roar, ducked it again and charged onhis prey, who flung up both arms and fell spent by the sentry-box. The sentry sprang to the other side of the roadway and let fly hischarge at random as box, man, and bull crashed to earth together, anda dreadful bellow mingled with the sharper notes of splintered wood. 

It was the end. The bullet had cut clean through the bull's spine atthe neck, and the crowd dragged him lifeless, a board of thesentry-box still impaled on his horns, off the legs of theblack-avised man--who, at first supposed to be dead also, awoke outof his swoon to moan feebly for water. 

While this was fetching, the butcher knelt and lifted him against hisknee. He struck me as ill-favoured enough--not to say ghastly--withthe dust and blood on his face (for a splinter had laid open hischeek), and its complexion an unhealthy white against his mattedhair. I took note that he wore sergeant's stripes. 

"What's the poor thing called?" someone inquired of the sentry. 

The sentry, being an Irishman, mistook the idiom. "He's called aBull, " said he, stroking the barrel of his rifle. "H'what the divvleelse?"

"But 'tis the man we mean. "

"Oh, _he's_ called Letcher; sergeant; North Wilts. "

Letcher gulped down a mouthful of water and managed to sit up, pushing the butcher's arm aside. 

"Where's Plinlimmon?" he asked hoarsely. "Hurt?"

"Here I am, old fellow, " answered Archibald, reeling rather thanstepping forward. "A crack on the skull, that's all. Hope you'renone the worse?" His own face was bleeding from a nasty graze on theright temple. 

"H'm?" said Letcher. "Mean it? You'd better mean it by--!" hesnarled suddenly, his face twisted with pain or malice. "You weren'ttoo smart, the first go. Why the deuce didn't you hamstring thebrute? You heard them shouting?"

"That's asackly what I told 'en, " put in the butcher. 

"Oh, stow your fat talk, you silly Devonshire-man!" The butcher'stongue was too big for his mouth, and Letcher mimicked himferociously and with an accuracy quite wonderful, his exhaustionconsidered. He leaned back and panted. "The brute touched me--underthe thigh, here. I doubt I'm bleeding. " He closed his eyes andfainted away. 

They found, on lifting him, that he spoke truth. The bull had goredhim in the leg: a nasty wound beginning at the back of the knee, running upward and missing the main artery by a bare inch. A squadof soldiers had run out, hearing the shot, and these bore him intothe Citadel, Master Archibald limping behind. 

The crowd began to disperse, and I made my way back to MissPlinlimmon. 

"A providential escape!" said she on hearing my report. "I am gladthat Archibald acquitted himself well. " She went on to tell me of ayouthful adventure of her own with a mountain bull, in her nativeWales. 

Some days later she sent me a poem on the occurrence:

 "Lo, as he strides his native scene, The bull--how dignified his mien! When tethered, otherwise! Yet _one_ his tether broke and ran After a military man Before these very eyes!"

"I feel that I have been more successful with the metre than usual, "she added, "having been guided by a little poem, a favourite of mine, which, as it also inculcates kindness to the brute creation, you willdo well, Harry, to commit to memory. It runs:

 "'Poor little birds! If people knew What sorrows little birds go through, I think that even boys Would never deem it sport, or fun, To stand and fire a frightful gun For nothing but the noise. '"

The shadow of Mr. Archibald seemed doomed to rest upon ouranniversaries. This second one, though more than exciting enough, had not answered my expectations: and, on the third, when I presentedmyself at the Bun Shop it was to learn with dismay that MissPlinlimmon had not arrived; with dismay and something more--for I hadwalked into the country towards Plympton early that morning andraided an orchard under the trees of which grew a fine crop ofcolumbines, seeded from a neighbouring garden. Also I jingledtogether in my pocket no less a sum than two bright shillings, whichMr. Trapp had magnificently handed over to me out of a wager of fivehe had made with an East Country skipper that I could dive and takethe water, hands first, off the jib-boom of any vessel selected fromthe shipping then at anchor in Cattewater. I knew that MissPlinlimmon wanted a box to hold her skeins, and I also knew the priceof one in a window in George Street, and had the shopman's promisenot to part with it before five o'clock that evening. I wished MissPlinlimmon to admire it first, and then I meant to enter the shop ina lordly fashion and, emerging, to put the treasure in her hands. 

So I paced the pavement in front of Mr. Tucker's, the prey of athousand misgivings. But at length, and fully half an hour late, shehove in sight. 

"I have been detained, dear, " she explained as we kissed, "--byArchibald, " she added. 

Always that accursed Archibald! "Did he wish you many happyreturns?" I asked, thrusting my bunch of columbines upon her with ablush. 

"You dear, dear boy!" she chirruped. But she ignored my question. When we were seated, too, she made the poorest attempt to eat, butkept exclaiming on the beauty of my flowers. 

The meal over, she drew out her purse to pay. "We shan't be seeingMr. Archibald to-day?" I asked wistfully, preparing to go. 

"You may be certain--" With that she paused, with a blank look whichchanged to one of shame and utter confusion. The purse was empty. 

"Oh, Harry--what shall I do? There were five shillings in itwhen--. I counted them out and laid the purse on the table beside mygloves. I was just picking them up when--when Archibald--"Her voice failed again and she turned to the shop-woman. "Somethingmost unfortunate has happened. Will you, please, send for Mr. Tucker? He will know me. I have been here on several previousoccasions--"

I had not the slightest notion of the price of eatables; but I, too, turned on the shopwoman with a bold face, albeit with a flutteringheart. 

"How much?" I demanded. 

"One-and-ninepence, sir. "

I know not which made me the happier--relief, or the glory of beingaddressed as "sir. " I paid, pocketed my threepence change, and inthe elation of it offered Miss Plinlimmon my arm. We walked downGeorge Street, past the work-box in the window. I managed to passwithout wincing, though desperately afraid that the shopman might popout--it seemed but natural he should be lying in wait--and hold me tomy bargain. 

Our session upon the Hoe, though uninterrupted, did not recapture thedear abandonment of our first blissful birthday. Miss Plinlimmoncould neither forget the mishap to her purse, nor speak quite freelyabout it. A week later she celebrated her redemption in thefollowing stanza:

 "A friend in need is a friend indeed, We have oft-times heard: And King Richard the Third Was reduced to crying, 'My kingdom for a horse!' O, may we never want a friend! 'Or a bottle to give him, ' I omit, as coarse. "

She enclosed one-and-ninepence in the missive: and so obtained herwork-box after all--it being, by a miracle, still unsold. 

CHAPTER VI. 

I STUMBLE INTO HORRORS. 

It was exactly seven weeks later--that is to say, on the eveningof June 18th, 1811--that as I stood in the doorway whistling_Come, cheer up, my lads_, to Mrs. Trapp's tame blackbird, the oldJew slop-dealer came shuffling up the alley and demanded word with mymaster. 

His name was Rodriguez--"I. Rodriguez, Marine Stores"--and his shopstood at the corner of the Barbican as you turn into SouthsideStreet. He had an extraordinarily fine face, narrow, emaciated, witha noble hook to his nose (which was neither pendulous nor fleshy) anda black pointed beard divided by a line of grey. We boys feared him, one and all: but in a furred cloak and skull-cap he would have made abrave picture. The dirt of his person, however, was a scandal. I told him that Mr. Trapp had walked over and taken the ferry toCremyll, where his boat was fitting out for the summer. "But Mrs. Trapp is washing-up at the back. Shall I call her?"

"God forbid!" said he. "I am not come to listen, but to speak. "

I asked him then if I could take a message. 

"As wine in a leaky vessel, so is a message committed to a child. Two of my chimneys need to be swept. "

"I can remember that, sir, " said I. 

He eyed me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. "Yes; you willremember, " he said, as if somehow he had satisfied himself. Yet hiseyes continued to search me. "You have not swept my chimneysbefore?"

"I have been working for Mr. Trapp almost three years, " said Idemurely. 

"Yes, I have seen your face. But I do not often have my chimneysswept: it is dreadful waste of money. The soot, now--your master andI cannot agree about it. I say that the soot is mine, that I madeit, in my own chimney, with my own fuel; therefore it should be myproperty, but your master claims it. Five years ago I left mychimneys un-swept while I argued this; but one of them took fire, andso I lost my soot, and the Corporation fined me five shillings. It was terrible. " He fell back a pace and studied me again. "If my brother Aaron could see your face, boy, he would want to paintit and you might make money. "

"Where does he live, sir?" I asked. 

"Eh? Good boy--good boy! He lives in Lisbon, in the Ghetto off theStreet of the Four Evangelists. " He laughed, high up in his nose, atmy discomfiture. "If you ever meet him, mention my name: but firstof all tell your master I shall expect him at five o'clock to-morrowmorning. " He wished me good night and shuffled away down the alley, still laughing at his joke. 

At five o'clock next morning, or a little before, Mr. Trapp and Istarted for the house. The Barbican had not yet awaked to business. Its frowzy blinds were down, and out on the Pool nothing moved but afishing-boat sweeping in upon the first of the flood. 

At the entrance of Southside Street, however, we almost overtook asoldier walking towards the town. He walked slowly and with a veryslight limp, but seemed to quicken his pace a little, and kept aheadof us. The barracks being full just then, many soldiers had theirbillets about the town, and that one should be abroad at such an hourwas nothing suspicious: yet my eyes were still following him when Mr. Trapp halted and knocked at the Jew's door. At the sound, I saw theman start and hesitate for an instant in his stride: and in thatinstant, though he held on his pace and was lost to sight around thestreet-corner, I recognised him and understood the limp. He was theman of the bull-chase--Sergeant Letcher (as the sentry had named him)of the North Wilts. 

Nobody answered Mr. Trapp's knock, though he repeated it four or fivetimes. He stepped back into the roadway and scanned the unshutteredupper windows. They were uncurtained, too, every one, and grimedwith dust: and through this dust we could see rows of cast-off suitsdangling within like limp suicides. 

"Very odd, " commented Mr. Trapp. "You're sure he said five o'clock?"

"Sure, " said I. 

"Besides--five o'clock or six--why can't the old skin-flint answer?"

He knocked again vigorously. A blind-cord creaked, a window went upover a ship-chandler's shop next door, and a man thrust out his head. 

"What's wrong?" he demanded. 

"Sorry to disturb ye, Clemow; but old Rodriguez, here, bespoke us tosweep his chimneys at five, and we can't get admittance. "

"Why, I heard him unbolt for ye an hour ago!" said the ship-chandler. "He woke me up with his noise, letting down the chain. "

The door had a latch-handle and Mr. Trapp grasped it. "Drat me, butyou're right!" he exclaimed, as he pressed his thumb and the door atonce yielded. "Huh!" He stared into the empty passage, out of whicha room opened on either hand, each hung with cast-off suits whichseemed to sway slightly in the scanty light filtered through theshutter-holes. "I don't stomach moving among these. Even in broaddaylight I'm never too sure there ain't a man hidden in one of 'em. He might be dead, too--by the smell. "

He stepped to the foot of the uncarpeted stairs. "Mister Rodriguez!"he called. His voice echoed up past the cobwebbed landing and seemedto go wandering aloft among unclean mysteries to the very roof. Nobody answered. 

"Mister Rodriguez!" he called again, and waited. "Let's try thekitchen, " he suggested. "We started with that, last time: and, if mymemory holds good, 'tis the only chimney he uses. He beds in a smallroom right over us, next the roof, and keeps a fire going therethrough the winter: but the flue of it leads into the same shaft--apretty wide shaft as I rec'llect. "

We groped our way by the foot of the staircase and along a line ofcupboards to the kitchen. The window of this looked out upon abackyard piled with refuse timber, packing-cases, and plasterstatuary broken and black with soot. Within, the hearth had beenswept as if in preparation for us. On the dirty table stood amilk-jug with a news-sheet folded and laid across its top, ahalf-loaf of bread, and a plate of meat--but of what kind we did notpause to examine. It looked nauseous enough. A brindled cat made adash past us and upstairs. Its unexpected charge greatly unsettledMr. Trapp. 

"It daunts me--I declare it do!" he confided hoarsely. "But he'sbeen here, anyway; and he expects us. " He waved a hand towards thehearth. "Shall I call again? Or what d'ye say to getting it over?"

"I'm ready, " said I. To tell the truth, the inside of the chimneyseemed more inviting to me than the rest of the house. I wasaccustomed to chimneys. 

"Up we go, then!" Mr. Trapp began to spread his bags. He always usedthe first person plural on these occasions--meaning, no doubt, that Itook with me his moral support. "The shaft's easy enough, I mind--two storeys above this, and all the flues leadin' to your right. I'll be out in the street by the time you hail. "

I hadn't a doubt he would. "One week to Midsummer!" I cried, tohearten me--for we were both counting the days now between us and thefishing. He grinned, and up I went. 

The chimney was foul, to be sure, but once past the first ten or adozen feet I mounted quickly. Towards the top the shaft narrowed sothat for a while I had my doubts if it could be squeezed through: butI found, on reaching it, that the brickwork shelved inwards veryslightly, though furred or crusted with an extra thick coating ofsoot below the vent. Through this I broke in triumph, sweating frommy haste; and brushing the filth from my eyes, leaned both arms onthe chimney-pot while I scanned the roofs around for a glimpsebetween them, down to the street and Mr. Trapp. I did so at ease, for a flue entered the main shaft immediately below the stack, whichwas a decidedly dumpy one--in fact, less than five feet tall; so thatI supported myself not by the arms alone but by resting my toes onthe ridge where flue and shaft met. 

Now, as the reader will remember, it was the height of summer, andthe day had brightened considerably since we entered the house. The sudden sunshine set me blinking, and while I cleared my eyes itseemed to me that a man--a dark figure--something, at any rate, andsomething a great deal too large to be mistaken for a cat--stole fromunder the gable above which my chimney rose, and, swiftly crossing apatch of flat leaded roof to the right, disappeared around achimney-stack on the far side of it. 

I ceased rubbing my eyes and stared at the stack. It was a tall one, rising from a good fifteen feet below almost to a level with mine, and I could not possibly look over it. _Something_, I felt sure, lurked behind it, and my ears seemed to hold the sound of a softfootstep. I forgot Mr. Trapp. By pulling myself a little higher Icould get a better view, not of the stack, but of the stretch of roofbeyond it: nobody could break cover in that direction and escape me. I took a firm grip on the corroded bricks and heaved on them. 

Next moment they had given way under my hands, falling inwards: and Iwas falling with them. 

I kicked out, striving to find again with my toes the ridge where theflue joined the shaft--missed it--and went shooting down to the rightthrough a smother of soot. 

The total fall--or slide, rather--was not a severe one, after all;twenty feet perhaps, though uncomfortable enough for sixty. I pulledmyself up quite suddenly, my feet resting on a ledge which, as Ishook the soot off and recovered my wits, turned out to be the uppersill of a grate. Then, growing suddenly cautious when the need forcaution was over, I descended the next foot or two back foremost, asone goes down a ladder, and jumped out into the room clear of thehearthstone. 

And with that, as I turned, a scream rose to my throat and diedthere. I had almost jumped upon the stretched-out body of a man. 

CHAPTER VII. 

I ESCAPE FROM THE JEW'S HOUSE. 

It was Mr. Rodriguez. He lay face downward and slantwise across thefront of the hearth, with arms spread, fingers hooked, and his neckprotruding from the collar of his dingy dressing-gown like a pluckedfowl's. He had cast a slipper in falling, and the flesh of one heelshowed through its rent stocking. For a moment I supposed him in afit; the next, I was recoiling towards the wall, away from a darkmoist line which ran from under his left armpit and along the unevenboards to the far corner by the window, and there, under a disorderedtruckle-bed, spread itself in a pool. 

With my eyes glued upon this horrid sight I slowly straightenedmyself up--having crouched back until I felt the wall behind me--andso grew aware of a door beside the chimney-breast, and that it stoodajar upon the empty landing. The dead man's heels pointed towardsit, his head towards the window at the foot of the bed. 

And still my shaken wits could not clutch at the meaning of what Isaw. I only felt that there was something horrible, menacing, hideously malignant in the figure at my feet: only craved forstrength of will to dash by it, reach the door and fling myself downthe stairs--anywhere--away from it. Had it stirred, I believe it hadthen and there destroyed my reason. 

But it did not stir. And all the while I knew that the thing laywith its breast in a bath of blood; that it had been stabbed in theback and the blood welling down under the clothes had gathered in apool, ready to gush and spread on all sides as soon as the bodyshould be lifted or its attitude interfered with. I cannot tell howI found time to reason this out; but I did. 

I knew, too, that I could not scream aloud if I tried: but I had nodesire to try. _It_ might wake and lift up its head! I feltbackwards with my hand along the wall, groping unconsciously forsomething to aid my spring towards the door; but desisted. For themoment I could not lift a foot. 

With that--either this was all a dream or I heard footsteps on theflat roof outside; very slow, soft footsteps, too, as of somebodywalking on tiptoe. But if on tiptoe, why was he coming _towards_ me?Yet so it was; my ear told me distinctly. 

As his feet crunched the leads close outside the window I caught agleam of scarlet; then the frame grew dark between me and thedaylight, and through the pane a man peered cautiously into the room. 

It was Archibald Plinlimmon. 

He peered in, turning his face sideways for a better view and shadingit, after a moment, with his hand. So shaded, and with the daylightbehind it, his face after that first instant became an inscrutableblur. 

But while he peered speech broke from me--words and a wild laugh. 

"Look at it! Look at it!" I cried, and pointed. 

He drew back instantly, and was gone. 

"Don't leave me! Mr. Plinlimmon--please don't leave me!" I made aleap for the window--halted helplessly--and fell back again from thebody. I was alone again. But power to move had come back, and Imust use it while it lasted. If I could gain the stairs now . . . 

Stealthily, and more stealthily as the fear returned and grew, Ireached the door, pushed it open, and looked out on the landing. Butfor a worm-eaten trunk and a line of old suits dangling from pegsaround the wall, it was bare. The little light filtered through acracked and discoloured window high up in the slope of the roof. The stairhead lay a short two yards from me, to be reached by onebold leap. 

This, however, was not what I first saw; nay, how or when I saw it isa wonder still. For, across the landing, a door faced me; and, as Ipushed mine open, this door had moved--was moving yet, as if to shut. 

It did not quite shut. It came to a standstill when almost a footajar. Beyond it I could see yet other suits of clothes hanging: andamong these lurked someone, watching me, perhaps, through the chinkby the hinges. I was sure of it--was almost sure I had seen a handon the edge of the door; a hand with a ring on one of its fingers, and just the edge, and no more, of a black cuff. 

For perhaps five seconds I endured it, my hair lifting: then, withone sharp scream I dashed back into the room and across the corpse;struggled for a moment with the window-sash; and flinging it up, dropped out upon the leads. 

Out there, in the restorative sunshine, my first thought was to crawlaway as fast and as far as possible; to reach some hiding-place whereI might lie down and pant, unpursued by the horrors of that house. The roofs on my right were flat; I staggered along them, halting atevery few steps to lean a hand for support against one or other ofthe chimney-stacks, now growing warm in the sunshine. 

From the far side of one, as I leaned clinging, a man sprang up, almost at my feet. It was Archie Plinlimmon again. He had beenflattening himself against its shadow; and at first--so white andfierce was his face--I made sure he meant to hurl me over and on tothe street below. 

"What do you want? What have you seen?" Though he spoke fiercely, his teeth chattered. "Oh--it's you!" he exclaimed, recognising methrough my soot. 

"Mr. Plinlimmon--" I began. 

"I didn't do it. I didn't--" He broke off. "For Heaven's sake, howare we to get down out of this?"

"There's no way on the street side, " I answered, "unless--"

He took me up short. "The street? We can't go that way--it's asmuch as my neck's worth. Yours, too. "

"Mr. Trapp's waiting for me, " I answered stupidly. 

"Who knows who isn't waiting?" he snapped. "We'll have to cut out ofthis. " He pointed downward on the side away from the street. "I say, what happened? Who did it, eh?"

"I slipped in the chimney, " I answered again. "He wanted hischimneys swept this morning. We knocked--Mr. Trapp and I--and no oneanswered: then we tried the door, and it opened. There was no oneabout, and no one in the street but Sergeant Letcher. "

He began to shake. "Sergeant Letcher? What do you know aboutSergeant Letcher?"

"Nothing, except that he was in the street--the man the bull chased, you know. "

He was shaking yet. "I ought to kill you, " said he. "But I didn'tdo it. Look here, show me a way down and I'll let you off. You're used to this work, ain't you?"

"How did you come up?" I asked, innocently enough. 

"By the Lord, if you ask questions, I'll strangle you! You were inthe room with--with _it_! I saw you: I'll swear I saw you. Get medown out of this, and hide--get on board some ship, and clear. See? If you breathe a word that you've seen me, I'll cut your heartout. You understand me?"

I hadn't a doubt then that he was guilty. His fear was too craven. "There's a warehouse at the end here, " said I, and led the way to it. But when we reached it, its roof rose in a sharp slope from the lowparapet guarding the leads where we stood. 

"But I don't see, " he objected; "and, anyway, I can't manage that. "

I pointed to a louver skylight half-way up the roof. "We can prisethat open, or break it. It's easy enough to reach, " I assured him. 

He was extraordinarily clumsy on the slates, but obeyed myinstructions like a child. I wrenched at the wooden louvers. 

"Got a knife?" I asked. 

He produced one--an ugly-looking weapon, but clean. By good luck, wedid not need it; for as he passed it to me, the louver at which I wastugging broke and came away in my hand. We easily loosened anotherand, squeezing through, dropped into the loft upon a sliding pile ofgrain. 

The loft was dark enough; but a glimmer of light shone through thechinks of a door at the far end. Unbolting it, we looked down, fromthe height of thirty feet or so, into a deserted lane. Or rather _I_looked down: for while I fumbled with the bolts Master Archie hadbanged his head into something hard, and dropped, rubbing the hurtand cursing. 

It proved to be the timber cross-piece of a derrick used for hoistingsacks of grain into the loft, working on an axle, and now swunginboard for the night. A double rope ran through the pulley at itsend and had been hitched back over the iron winch which worked it. We pushed the derrick out over the lane and I manned the winchhandle, while Master Archie caught hold of the hook and pulley at theend of the double line. Checking the handle with all my strength Ilowered him as noiselessly as I could. As his feet touched thecobbles below he let go and, without a thought of my safety, made offdown the lane. 

I tugged the derrick inboard and recaptured the rope; cogged thewinch, swung out, dropped hand over hand into the lane, and raced upit with all the terrors of the law at my heels. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

POOR TOM BOWLING. 

Master Archibald's advice to me--to escape down to the water-side andconceal myself on shipboard--though acute enough in its way, took noaccount of certain difficulties none the less real because a soldierwould naturally overlook them. To hide in a ship's hold you mustfirst get on board of her unobserved, which in broad daylight is nextto impossible. Moreover, to reach Cattewater I must either fetch acircuit through purlieus where every householder knew me and everyurchin was a nodding acquaintance, or make a straight dash close bythe spot where by this time Mr. Trapp would be getting anxious--ifindeed Southside Street and the Barbican were not already resoundingwith the hue and cry. No: if friendly vessel were to receive andhide me, she lay far off, across the heart of the town, amid theshipping of the Dock. Yonder, too, Miss Plinlimmon resided. 

If you think it absurd that my thoughts turned to her, whose weakarms could certainly shield no one from the clutches of the law, Ibeg you to remember my age, and that I had never known anotherprotector. She, at least, would hear me and never doubt myinnocence. She must hear, too, of Archie's danger. 

That to reach her, even if I eluded pursuit to the Hospital gate, Imust run the gauntlet of Mr. George--who would assuredly askquestions--and possibly of Mr. Scougall, scarcely occurred to me. To reach her--to sob out my story in her arms and hear her voicesoothing me--this only I desired for the moment; and it seemed thatif I could only hear her voice speaking, I might wake and feel thesehorrors dissolve like an evil dream. Meanwhile I ran. 

But at the end of a lane leading into Treville Street, and as I leaptaside to avoid colliding with the hind-wheels of a hackney-coachdrawn in there and at a standstill close by the kerb, to myunspeakable fright I felt myself gripped by the jacket-collar. 

"Hi! Bring-to and 'vast kicking, young coal-dust! Where're yebound, hey? Answer me, and take your black mop out of a gentleman'sweskit. "

"To--to Dock, sir, " I stammered. "Let me go, please: I'm in ahurry. "

My captor held me out at arm's length and eyed me. He was a sailor, and rigged out in his best shore-going clothes--tarpaulin hat, bluecoat and waistcoat, and a broad leathern belt to hold up his ducktrousers, on which my sooty head had left its mark. He grinned at megood-naturedly. I saw that he had been drinking. 

"In a hurry? And what's your hurry about? Business?"

"Ye--es, sir. "

"'Stonishing what spirit boys'll put into work nowadays! I've seenboys run for a leg o' mutton, and likewise I've seen 'em run whenthey've broken ship; but on the path o' duty, my sonny, you've thelegs of any boy in my ex-perience. Well, for once, you'll putpleasure first. I'm bound for Dock or thereabouts myself, and underconvoy. " He waved his hand up the street, where twelve or fifteenhackney-coaches stood in line ahead. 

"If you please, sir--"

He threw open the coach door. "Jump in. The frigate sets the rateo' sailing. That's Bill. "

I hesitated, rebellious. 

"That's Bill. Messmate o' mine on the _Bedford_, and afore that onthe _Vesuvius_ bomb. There, sonny--don't stand gaping at me like astuck pig: I never expected ye to _know_ him! And now the time'spast, and ye'll go far afore finding a better. Bill Adams his namewas; but Bill to me, always, and in all weathers. " Here for a momenthe became maudlin. "Paid off but three days agone, same as myself, and now--cut down like a flower! He's the corpse, ahead, in thefirst conveyance. "

"Is this a funeral, sir?"

"Darn your eyes, don't it look like one? And after the expense I'vebeen to!" He paused, eyed me solemnly, opened his mouth, and pointeddown it with his forefinger. "Drink done it. " His voice wasimpressive. "Steer you wide of the drink, my lad; or else drop downon it gradual. If drink must be your moorings, don't pick 'em up toorash. 'A boiled leg o' mutton first, ' says I, persuasive; '_and_turnips, ' and got him to Symonds's boarding-house for the verypurpose, Symonds being noted. And Symonds--I'll do him thatjustice--says the same. Symonds says--"

But at this point a young woman--and pretty, too, though daubed withpaint--thrust her hat and head out of a window, three carriages away, and demanded to know what in the name of Moses we were waiting for. 

"Signals, my dear. The flagship's forra'd; and keep your eye liftingthat way, _if_ you please. I'm main glad you fell in with us, " hewent on affably, turning to me; "because you round it up nicely. Barring the sharks in black weepers, you're the only mourning-card inthe bunch, and I'll see you get a good position at the grave. "

"Thank you, sir. "

"Don't mention it. We're doin' our best. When poor Bill droppeddown in Symonds's"--he jerked his thumb towards the boarding-housedoor--"Symonds himself was for turning everyone out. Very nicefeeling he showed, I will say. 'Damn it, here's a go!' he says;'and the man looked healthy enough for another ten year, with propercare!'--and went off at once to stop the fiddlers and put up theshutters. But, of course, it meant a loss to him, the place beingfull at the time; and I felt a sort of responsibility for havingintroduced Bill. So I went after him and says I, 'This is a mostunforeseen occurrence. ' 'Not a bit, ' says he; 'accidents willhappen. ' I told him that the corpse had never been a wet blanket;it wasn't his nature; and I felt sure he wouldn't like the thought. 'If that's the case, says Symonds, 'I've a little room at the backwhere he'd go very comfortable--quite shut off, as you might say. We must send for the doctor, of course, and the crowner can sit onhim to-morrow--that is, if you feel sure deceased wouldn' think itany disrespect. ' 'Disrespect?' says I. 'You don't know Bill. Why, it's what he'd arsk for!' So there we carried him, and I sentfor the undertaker same time as the doctor, and ordered it of oak;and next morning, down I tramped to Dock and chose out a grave, brick-lined, having heard him say often, 'Plymouth folk for wasting, but Dock folk for lasting. ' I won't say but what, between whiles, we've been pretty lively at Symonds's; and I won't say--Hallo!Here's more luck! Your servant, sir!"

He stepped forward--leaving me shielded and half hidden by the coachdoor--and accosted a stranger walking briskly up the pavement towardsus with a small valise in his hand; a gentlemanly person of aboutthirty-five or forty, in clerical suit and bands. 

"Eh? Good-morning!" nodded the clergyman affably. 

"Might I arsk where you're bound?" Then, after a pause, "My name'sJope, sir; Benjamin Jope, of the _Bedford_, seventy-four, bo'sun'smate--now paid off. "

The clergyman, at first taken aback by the sudden question, recoveredhis smile. "And mine, sir, is Whitmore--the Reverend John Whitmore--bound just now in the direction of Dock. Can I serve youthereabouts?"

Mr. Jope waved his hand towards the coach door. "Jump inside! Oh, you needn't be ashamed to ride behind Bill!"

"But who is Bill?" The Rev. Mr. Whitmore advanced to the coach doorlike a man in two minds. "Ah, I see--a funeral!" he exclaimed as amute advanced--assailed from each coach window, as he passed, withindecorous obloquy--to announce that the _cortege_ was ready tostart. For the last two minutes heads had been popping out at thesewindows--heads with dyed ringlets and heads with artificiallycoloured noses--and their owners demanding to know if Ben Jope meantto keep them there all day, if the corpse was expected to lead offthe ball, and so on; and I, cowering by the coach step, had shrunkfrom their gaze as I flinched now under Mr. Whitmore's. 

"Hallo!" said he, and gave me (as I thought) a searching look. "What's this? A chimney-sweep?"

"If your Reverence will not object?"

I turned my eyes away, but felt that this clergyman was studying me. "Not at all, " said he quietly after a moment's pause. "Is he boundfor Dock, too?"

"He said so. "

"Eh? Then we'll see that he gets there. After you, youngster!"To my terror the words seemed charged with meaning, but I dared notlook him in the face. I clambered in and dropped into a seat with myback to the driver. He placed himself opposite, nursing the valiseon his knees. Ben Jope came last and slammed-to the door after him. 

"Way-ho!" he shouted. "Easy canvas!" and with that plumped downbeside me, and took off his tarpaulin hat, extracted a handkerchief, and carefully wiped his brow and the back of his neck. 

"Well!" he sighed. "Bill's launched, anyhow. "

"Shipmate?" asked the clergyman. 

"Messmate, " answered Mr. Jope; and, opening his mouth, pointed downit with his forefinger. "Not that a better fellow ever lived. "

"I can quite believe it, " said Mr. Whitmore sympathetically. He hada pleasant voice, but somehow I did not want to catch his eye. Instead I kept my gaze fastened upon the knees of his well-fittingpantaloons. No divine could have been more correctly attired, andyet there was a latent horsiness about his cut. I set him down for asporting parson from the country, and wondered why he wore clothes somuch superior to those of the Plymouth parsons known to me by sight. 

"Just listen to that now!" exclaimed Mr. Jope. A cornet in one ofthe coaches ahead had struck up _Tom Bowling_, and before we reachedthe head of the street from coach after coach the funeral party brokeinto song:

 "Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of his crew-ew; No more he'll hear the te--empest how--wow--ling, For death has broach'd him to. His form was of the--e ma--hanliest beau--eau--ty--"

"I wouldn't say that, quite, " observed Mr. Jope pensively. "To beginwith, he'd had the small-pox. "

"_De gustibus nil nisi bonum_, " Mr. Whitmore observed soothingly. 

"What's that?"

"Latin. "

"Wonderful! Would ye mind saying it again?"

The words were obligingly repeated. 

"Wonderful! And what might be the meaning of it, making so bold?"

"It means 'Speak well of the dead. '"

"Well, we're doing of it, anyhow. Hark to 'em ahead there!"

The _cortege_, in fact, was attracting general attention. Folks onthe pavement halted to watch and grin as we went by: one or two, catching sight of familiar faces within the coaches, waved theirhandkerchiefs or shouted back salutations: and as we crawled out ofOld Town Street and past St. Andrew's Church a small crowd raisedthree cheers for us. And still above it the cornet blared and themourners' voices rose uproarious:

 "His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair; And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly, Ah, many's the time and oft! But mirth is turned to melanchol--ol--y-- For Tom is gone aloft. "

"Bill couldn't sing a note, " Mr. Jope murmured: "but as you say, sir--Would you oblige us again?" Again the Latin was repeated, andhe swung round upon me. "Think of that, now! Be you a scholar, hey?--read, write and cipher? How would you spell 'sojer' forinstance?"

The question knocked the wind out of me, and I felt my face whiteningunder the clergyman's eyes. 

"Soldier--S. O. L. D. I. E. R, " I managed to answer, but scarce above awhisper. 

"Very good: now make a rhyme to it. "

"I--please, sir, I don't know any rhymes. "

"Well, that's honest, anyway. Now I'll tell you why I asked. "He turned and addressed Mr. Whitmore. "I'm Cornish born, sir; fromSaltash, up across the river. Afore I went to sea there was a maidlivin' next door to us that wanted to marry me. Well, when she foundI wasn't to be had, she picked up with a fellow from the VictuallingYard and married he, and came down to Dock to live. Man's name wasBabbage, and they hadn't been married six months afore he tumbledinto a brine-vat and was drowned. 'That's one narrow escape to me, 'I said. Next news I had was a letter telling me she'd a boy born, and please would I stand godfather? I didn't like to say no, out ofrespect to her family. So I wrote home from Gibraltar that I wasagreeable, only it must be done by proxy and she mustn't make it noprecedent. That must be ten years back; and what with one thing andanother I never set eyes 'pon mother or child till yesterday when--having to run down to Dock to order Bill's grave--I thought 'twouldbe neighbourly to drop 'em a visit. I found the boy growed to be aterrible plain child, about the size of this youngster. I didn'tlike the boy at all. So I says to his mother, 'I s'pose he'sclever?'--for dang it! thinks I, he must be clever to make up forbeing so plain-featured as all that. 'Benjy'--she'd a-called himBenjamin after me--'Benjy's the cleverest child for his age that everyou see, ' she says. 'Why, ' says she, 'he'll pitch-to and make up arhyme 'pon anything!' 'Can he so?' I says, pulling a greatcrown-piece out of my pocket (not that I liked the cut of his jib, but the woman had been hinting about my being his godfather):'Now, my lad, let's see if you're so gifted as your mother makes out. There's a sojer now passin' the window. Make a rhyme 'pon he, andyou shall have the money. ' What d'ye think that ghastly boy did?'Aw, that's easy, ' he says--"

 'Sojer, sojer, Diddy, diddy, dodger!'

"'Now hand me over the money, ' he says. I could have slapped hisear. "

Almost as he ended his simple story, the procession came to a halt:the strains of _Tom Bowling_ changed into noisy--and, on the part ofthe ladies, very unladylike--expostulations. Mr. Jope startedforward and leaned out of the window. 

"I think, " said the Rev. Mr. Whitmore, "we have arrived at thetoll-gate. "

"D'ye mean to say the sharks want to take toll on Bill?"

"Likely enough. "

"On Bill? And him a-going to his long home? Here--hold hard!"Mr. Jope leapt out into the roadway and disappeared. 

Upon us two, left alone in the coach, there fell a dreadful silence. Mr. Whitmore leaned forward and touched my knee; and I met his eye. 

The face I looked into was thin and refined; clean-shaven and atrifle pale as if with the habit of study. A slight baldness by thetemples gave the brow unusual height. His eyes I did not like atall: instead of soothing the terror in mine they seemed to bedrinking it in and tasting it and calculating. 

"I passed by the Barbican just now, " said he; "and heard someinquiries about a small chimney-sweep. "

He paused, as if waiting. But I had no speech in me. 

"It was a very strange story they were telling--a very dreadful andstrange story: still when I came upon you I saw, of course, it wasincredible. Boys of your size"--he hesitated and left the sentenceunfinished. "Still, you may have seen something--hey?"

Again I could not answer. 

"At any rate, " he went on, "I gave you the benefit of the doubt andresolved to warn you. It was a mistake to run away: but themischief's done. How were you proposing to make off?"

"You--you won't give me up, sir?"

"No, for I think you must be innocent--of what they told me, atleast. I feel so certain of it that, as you see, my conscienceallows me to warn you. In the first place, avoid the Torpoint Ferry. It will without doubt be watched. I should make for the docks, hideuntil night, and try to stow myself on shipboard. Secondly"--he putout a hand and softly unfastened the coach door--"I am going to leaveyou. Our friend Mr. Jope is engaged, I see, in an altercation withthe toll-keeper. He seems a good-natured fellow. The driver(it may help you to know) is drunk. Of course, if by ill-luck theytrace me out, to question me, I shall be obliged to tell what I know. It amounts to very little: still--I have no wish to tell it. One word more: get a wash as soon as you can, and by some meansacquire a clean suit of clothes. I may be then unable to swear toyou: may be able to say that your face is as unfamiliar to me as itwas--or as mine was to you--when Mr. Jope introduced us. Eh?"His look was piercing. 

"Thank you, sir. "

He picked up his valise, nodded, and after a swift glance up thestreet and around at the driver, to make sure that his head wasturned, stepped briskly out upon the pavement and disappeared aroundthe back of the coach. 

CHAPTER IX. 

SALTASH FERRY. 

Apparently the hackney coachman was accustomed to difficulties withthe toll-gate; for he rested on the box in profoundest slumber, recumbent, with his chin sunk on his chest; and only woke up--with astart which shook the vehicle--when a black hearse with plumes wavingwent rattling by us and back towards Plymouth. 

A minute later Mr. Jope reappeared at the coach door, perspiringcopiously, but triumphant. 

"Oh, it's been heavinly!" he announced. "Why, hallo! Where's hisReverence?"

"He couldn't wait, sir. He--he preferred to walk. "

"Eh? I didn't see 'en pass the toll-bar. That's a pity, too; forI wanted to take his opinion. Oh, my son, it's been heavinly!First of all I tried argyment and called the toll-man a son of abitch; and then he fetched up a constable, and, as luck would haveit, Nan--she's in the second coach--knew all about _him_; leastways, she talked as if she did. Well, the toll-man stuck to his card ofcharges and said he hadn't made the law, but it was threepence foreverything on four wheels. 'Four wheels?' I said. 'Don't talk soweak! We brought nothing into the world and we can't take it out;but you'd take the breeches off a Highlander, ' I says. 'He's on fourwheels, ' says the fellow, stubborn as ever. 'So was Elijah, ' says I;'but if you're so mighty particular, we'll try ye another way. 'I paid off the crew of the hearse, gave the word to cast loose, anddown we dumped poor Bill slap in the middle of the roadway. 'Now, ' says I, 'we'll leave talking of wheels. What's your chargefor 'en on the flat?' 'Eight bearers at a ha'penny makes fourpence, 'he says. 'No, no, my son, ' I says, 'there ain't a-going to be nobearers. _He's_ happy enough if he stops here all night. You maycharge 'en as a covered conveyance, as I see you've a right to; butthe card says nothing about rate of drivin', except that it mustn'tbe reckless; and, you may lay to it, Bill won't be that. ' At firstthe constable talked big about obstructing the traffic: but Nan wastelling the crowd such terrible things about his past that for veryshame he grew quiet, and the pair agreed that, by lashin' Bill a-topof the first coach, we might pass him through _gratis_ as personalluggage--Why, what's the boy cryin' for? It's all over now; and aprinciple's a principle. "

But still, as the squadron got under way again and moved on amid thecheers of the populace, I sat speechless, dry-eyed, shaken withdreadful sobs. 

"Easy, my lad--don't start the timbers. In trouble--hey?"

I nodded. 

"I thought as much, when I shipped ye. Sit up, and tell me; butfirst listen to this. All trouble's big to a boy, but one o' yourage don't often do what's past mendin', if he takes it honest. That's comfort, hey? Very well: now haul up and inspect damages, andwe'll see what's to be done. "

"It's about a Jew, sir, " I stammered at length. 

He nodded. "Now we're making headway. "

"He--he was murdered. I saw him--"

"Look here, " said Mr. Jope, very grave but seemingly not astonished:"hadn't you best get under the seat?"

"I--I didn't do it, sir. Really, I didn't. "

"I'm not suggestin' it, " said Mr. Jope. "Still, all circumstancesconsidered, I'd get under the seat. "

"If you wish it, sir. "

"I wouldn't go so far as to say _that_: but 'tis my advice. " Andunder the seat I crawled obediently. "Now, then, " said he, with anabsurd air of one addressing vacancy; "if you didn' do it, who did?"

"I don't know, sir. "

"Then where's your difficulty?"

"But I saw a man staring in at the window--it was upstairs in a roomclose to the roof; and afterwards I found him on the roof, and he wasall of a tremble, and in two minds, so he said, about pitching meover. I showed him the way down. If you please, sir, " I broke off, "you're not to tell anyone about this, whatever happens!"

"Eh? Why not?"

"Because--" I hesitated. 

"Friend of yours?"

"Not a friend, sir. He's a young man, in the Army; and his aunt--sheused to be very kind to me. I ran away at first because I wasafraid: but they can't do anything to me, can they? I didn't findthe--the--the--Mr. Rodriguez, I mean--until he was dead. But if theycatch me I shall have to give evidence, and Mr. Archie--though Idon't believe he did it--"

"Belay there!" commanded Mr. Jope! "I'm beginning to see thingsclearer, though I won't say 'tis altogether easy to follow ye yet. Far as I can make out, you're not a bad boy. You ran away becauseyou were scared. Well, I don't blame ye for that. I never seen adead Jew myself, though I often wanted to. You won't go back if youcan help it, 'cos why? 'Cos you don't want to tell on a man: 'coshis aunt's a friend o' yourn: and 'cos you don't believe he's guilty. What's your name?"

"Harry, sir: Harry Revel. "

"Well, then, my name's Ben Jope, and as such you'll call me. I'm sorry, in a way, that it rhymes with 'rope, ' which it neverstruck me before in all these years, and wouldn't now but forthinkin' 'pon that ghastly godson o' mine and how much better Istomach ye. I promise nothing, mind: but if you'll keep quiet underthat seat, I'll think it over. "

Certainly, having made my confession, I felt easier in mind as I layhuddled under the seat, though it seemed to me that Mr. Jope tookmatters lightly. For the squadron ahead had resumed the singing of_Tom Bowling_ and he sat humming a bar or two here and there withevident pleasure, and paused only to bow out of window andacknowledge the cheers of the passers-by. 

At the end of five minutes, however, he spoke aloud again. 

"The first thing, " he announced, "is to stay where you are. Let me think, now--Who seen you? There's the parson: he's gone. And there's the jarvey: he's drunk as a lord. Anyone else?"

"There was one of the young ladies that looked out of window. "

"True: then 'tis too risky. When the company gets out, you'll haveto get out. Let the jarvey see you do it: the rest don't matter. You can pretend to walk with us a little way, then slip back andunder the seat again--takin' care that this time the jarvey _don't_see you. That's easy enough, eh?"

I assured him I could manage it. 

"Then leave the rest to me, and bide still. I got to think of Bill, now; and more by token here's the graveyard gate!"

He thrust the door open and motioned me to tumble out ahead of him. As the rest of the funeral guests alighted, he worked me veryskilfully before him into the driver's view, having taken care to setthe coach door wide on the off side. 

"It's understood that you wait, all o' ye?" said Mr. Jope to thedriver. 

The man lifted a lazy eye. "Take your time, " he said: "don't mindme. I hope "--he stiffened himself suddenly--"I knows a gentlemanwhen I sees one. "

Mr. Jope turned away and from that moment ignored my existence. The coffin was unlashed and lowered from the leading coach; theclergyman at the gate began to recite the sacred office, and thefuneral train, reduced to decorum by his voice, followed him as heturned, and trooped along the path towards the mortuary chapel. I moved with the crowd to its porch, drew aside to make way for alady in rouge and sprigged muslin, and slipped behind the chapelwall. The far end of it hid me from the view of the coaches, andfrom it a pretty direct path led to a gap in the hedge, and a stile. Reaching and crossing this, I found myself in a by-lane leading backinto the high road. There were no houses with windows to overlookme. I sauntered around at leisure, took the line of coaches in therear, and crawled back to my hiding-place--it astonished me with whatease. Every driver sat on his box, and every driver slumbered. 

The mystery of this was resolved when--it seemed an hour later; butactually, I dare say, Bill's obsequies took but the normal twentyminutes or so--Mr. Jope shepherded his flock back through the gatesand, red-eyed, addressed them while he distributed largess along theline of jarveys. 

"I thank ye, friends, " said he in a muffled voice which at first Iattributed to emotion. "The fare home is paid to the foot of GeorgeStreet--I arranged that with the jobmaster, and this here little giftis private, between me and the drivers, to drink Bill's health. Andnow I'll shake hands. " Here followed sounds of coughing and choking, and he resumed in feeble gasping sentences, "Thank ye, my dear; I'vebrought up the two guineas, but you've a-made me swallow my quid o'baccy. Hows'ever, you meant it for the best. And that's what I hada mind to say to ye all. " His voice grew firmer--"You're a pleasantlot, and we've spent the time very lively and sociable, and you donethis here last service to Bill in a way that brings tears to my eyes. Still, if you won't mind my saying it, a little of ye lasts a longtime, and I'm going home to live clean. So here's wishing all well, and good-bye!"

Not one of the party seemed to resent this dismissal. The womenlaughed hilariously and called him a darling. There was a smackingexchange of kisses; and the coaches, having been packed at length, started for home to the strains of the cornet and a chorus of cheers. Mr. Jope sprang in beside me, and leaning out of the farther window, waved his neckerchief for a while, then pensively readjusted it, andcalled to the driver--

"St. Budeaux!"

The driver, after a moment, turned heavily in his seat, and answered, "Nonsense!"

"I tell ye, I want to drive to St. Budeaux, by Saltash Ferry. "

"And _I_ tell _you_, 'Get out!' St. Budeaux? The idea!"

"Why, what's wrong with St. Budeaux?"

"Oh, I'm not goin' to _argue_ with you, " said the driver. "I'm goin'home. "

And he began to turn his horse's head. Mr. Jope sprang out upon theroadway. The driver, with sudden and unexpected agility, droppedoff--on the other side. 

"Look here, it's grindin' the faces of the poor!" he pleaded, breathing hard. 

"It _will_ be, " assented Mr. Jope grimly. 

"I been up all night: at a ball. "

"If it comes to that, so've I: at Symonds's. "

"Mine was at Admiralty House, " said the driver. "I wasn' dancin'. "

"What about the horse?"

"The horse? the ho--Oh, I take your meanin'! The horse is all right:he's a fresh one. Poor I may be, " he announced inconsecutively, "but I wouldn' live the life of one of them there women of fashion, not for a million of money. " He ruminated for a moment. "Did Isay a million?"

"You did. "

"Well I don't wishaggerate. I don't, if you understand me, wish--to--exaggerate: so we'll put it at half a million. "

"All right: jump up!"

To my astonishment, no less than to Mr. Jope's (who had scarcely timeto skip back into the coach), the man scrambled up to his seatwithout more ado, flicked his whip, and began to urge the horseforward. At the end of five minutes or so, however, he pulled upjust as abruptly. 

"Eh?" Mr. Jope put forth his head. "Ah, I see--public-house!"

He alighted, and entered; returned with a pot of porter in one handand a glass of brandy in the other; dexterously tipped half thebrandy into the porter, and handed up the mixture. The driver tookit down at one steady draught. 

The pot and glass were returned and we jogged on again. We were nowwell beyond the outskirts of Stoke and between dusty hedges overwhich the honeysuckle trailed. Butterflies poised themselves andflickered beside us, and the sun, as it climbed, drew up from theland the fragrance of freshly mown hay and mingled it with the stuffyodour of the coach. By and by we halted again, by another roadsideinn, and again Mr. Jope fetched forth and administered insidiousdrink. 

"If this is going to last, " said the charioteer dreamily, "may I havestrength to see the end o't!"

I did not catch this prayer, but Mr. Jope reported it to me as heresumed his seat, with an ill-timed laugh. The fellow, who had beengathering up his reins, lurched round suddenly and gazed in throughthe glass front. 

"You was sayin'?" he demanded. 

"Nothing, " answered Mr. Jope hastily. "I was talking to myself, that's all. "

"The point is, Am I, or am I not, an objic of derision?"

"If you don't drive on this moment, I'll step around and punch yourhead. "

"Tha's all right. Tha's right as ninepence. It's not much I arsk--only to have things clear. " He drove on. 

We halted at yet another public-house--I remember its name, the Halfa Face--and must have journeyed a mile or so beyond it when the endcame. We had locked wheels in the clumsiest fashion with ahay-wagon; and the wagoner, who had quartered to give us room and tospare, was pardonably wroth. Mr. Jope descended, pacified him, andstepped around to the back of the coach, the hinder axle of which, amoment later, I felt gently lifted beneath me and slewed clear of theobstruction. 

"My word, mister, but you've a tidy strength!" exclaimed the wagoner. 

"No more than you, my son--if so much: 'tain't the strength, but theapplication. That's 'Nelson's touch. ' Ever heard of it?"

"I've heard of _him_, I should hope. Look y' here, mister, did youever know him? Honour bright, now!"

"Friends, my son: dear, dear friends! And the gentleman 'pon thebox, there, drunk some of the very rum he was brought home in. He's never recovered it. "

"And to think of my meeting you!"

"Ay, 'tis a small world, " agreed Mr. Jope cheerfully: "like a cook'sgalley, small and cosy and no time to chat in it. Now then, myslumb'ring ogre!"

The driver, who from the moment of the mishap had remained comatose, shook his reins feebly and we jogged forward. But this was his lasteffort. At the next sharp bend in the road he lurched suddenly, swayed for a moment, and toppled to earth with a thud. The horsecame to a halt. 

Mr. Jope was out in a moment. He glanced up and down the road. 

"Tumble out, youngster! There's no one in sight. "

"Is--is he hurt?"

"Blest if _I_ know. " He stooped over the prostrate body. "Hurt?" heasked, and after a moment reported, "No, I reckon not: talkin' in hissleep, more like--for the only word I can make out is 'Jezebel. 'That don't help us much, do it?" He scanned the road again. "There's only one thing to do. I can't drive ye: I never steered yetwith the tiller lines in front--it al'ays seemed to me un-Christian. We must take to the fields. I used to know these parts, and by thebearings we can't be half a mile above the ferry. Here, through thatgate to the left!"

We left the man lying and his horse cropping the hedgerow a few pacesahead; and struck off to the left, down across a field of young corninterspersed with poppies. The broad estuary shone at our feet, withits beaches uncovered--for the tide was low--and across its crowdedshipping I marked and recognised (for Mr. Trapp had often describedthem to me) a line of dismal prison-hulks, now disused, moored headto stern off a mudbank on the farther shore. 

"Plain sailing, my lad, " panted Mr. Jope, as the cornfield threw upits heat in our faces. "See, yonder's Saltash!" He pointed up theriver to a small town which seemed to run toppling down a steep hilland spread itself like a landslip at the base. "I got a sisterliving there, if we can only fetch across; a very powerful woman;widowed, and sells fish. "

We took an oblique line down the hillside, and descended, some two orthree hundred yards below the ferry, upon a foreshore firm for themost part and strewn with flat stones, but melting into mud by thewater's edge. A small trading ketch lay there, careened as the tidehad left her; but at no great angle, thanks to her flat-bottomedbuild. A line of tattered flags, with no wind to stir them, led downfrom the truck of either mast, and as we drew near I called Mr. Jope's attention to an immense bunch of foxgloves and pink valerianon her bowsprit end. 

"Looks like a wedding, don't it?" said he; and turning up his cleanwhite trousers he strolled down to the water's edge for a closerlook. "Scandalous, " he added, examining her timbers. 

"What's scandalous?"

He pointed with his finger. "Rotten as touch"; and he pensively drewout an enormous clasp-knife. "A man ought to be fined for treatinghuman life so careless. See here!"

He drove the knife at a selected spot, and the blade sank in to thehilt. 

From the interior, prompt on the stroke, arose a faint scream. 

CHAPTER X. 

I GO ON A HONEYMOON. 

"Sure-ly I know that voice?" said Mr. Jope. 

He drew out the knife reflectively. It relieved me to see that noblood dyed the blade. 

"Oh, Mr. Jope, I was afraid you'd stabbed him!"

"'Tisn't a him, 'tis a her. I touched somebody up, and that's thetruth. "

"Ahoy there!" said a voice immediately overhead; and we looked up. A round-faced man was gazing down on us from the tilted bulwarks. "You might ha' given us notice, " he grumbled. 

"I knew 'twas soft, but not so soft as all that, " Mr. Jope explained. 

"Got such a thing as a scrap o' chalk about ye?"

"No. "

The round-faced man felt in his pocket and tossed down a piece. "Mark a bit of a line round the place, will ye? I'll give it a lickof paint afore the tide rises. It's only right the owner should haveit pointed out to him. "

"Belong to these parts?" asked Mr. Jope affably, having drawn therequired circle. "I don't seem to remember your face. "

"No?" The man seemed to think this out at leisure. "I was marriedthis morning, " he said at length with an air of explanation. 

"Wish ye joy. Saltash maid?"

"Widow. Name of Sarah Treleaven. "

"Why that's my sister!" exclaimed Mr. Jope. 

"Is it?" The round-faced man took the news without apparent surpriseor emotion. "Well, I'm married to her, any way. "

"Monstrous fine woman, " Mr. Jope observed cheerfully. 

"Ay; she's all that. It seems like a dream. You'd best step onboard: the ladder's on t'other side. "

As we passed under the vessel's stern I looked up and read her name--_Glad Tidings, Port of Fowey_. 

"I've a-broken it to her, " our host announced, meeting us at the topof the ladder. "She says you're to come down. "

Down the companion we followed him accordingly and so into a smallcabin occupied--or, let me rather say, filled--by the stoutest womanit has ever been my lot to meet. She reclined--in such a positionas to display a pair of colossal feet, shoeless, clothed in thickworsted stockings--upon a locker on the starboard side: and no one, regarding her, could wonder that this also was the side towardswhich the vessel listed. Her broad recumbent back was supported by apile of seamen's bags, almost as plethoric as herself and containing(if one might judge from a number of miscellaneous articlesprotruding from their distended mouths) her bridal outfit. Unprepared as she was for a second visitor in the form of a smallchimney-sweep, she betrayed no astonishment; but after receiving herbrother's kiss on either cheek bent a composed gaze on me, and soeyed me for perhaps half a minute. Her features were not uncomely. 

"O. P. , " she addressed her husband. "Ask him, Who's his friend?"

"Who's your friend?" asked the husband, turning to Mr. Jope. 

"Chimney-sweep, " said Mr. Jope; "leastways, so apprenticed, as Iunderstand. "

The pair gazed at me anew. 

"I asked, " said the woman at length, "because this is a poor placefor chimbleys. "

"He's in trouble, " Mr. Jope explained; "in trouble--along o' killinga Jew. "

"Oh no, Mr. Jope!" I cried. "I didn't--"

"Couldn't, " interrupted his sister shortly, and fell into a brownstudy. "Constables after him?" she asked. 

Mr. Jope nodded. 

Her next utterance struck me as irrelevant, to say the least of it. "Ben, 'tis high time you followed O. P. 's example. "

"Meaning?" queried Ben. 

"O, Onesimus. P, Pengelly. Example, marriage. There's thewidow Babbage, down to Dock: she always had a hankering for you. You're neglecting your privileges. "

"Ever seen that boy of hers?" asked Ben in an aggrieved voice. "No, of course you haven't, or you wouldn't suggest it. And whymarry me up to a widow?"

"O. P. , " said the lady, "tell him you prefer it. "

"I prefer it, " said Mr. Pengelly. 

"Oh, " explained Ben, "present company always excepted, o' course. I wish you joy. "

 "Thank ye, " the lady answered graciously. "You shall drink the sameby and by in a dish o' tea; which I reckon will suit ye best thismorning, " she added eyeing him. "O. P. , put on the kettle. "

Ben Jope winced and attempted to turn the subject. "What's yourcargo, this trip?" he asked cheerfully. 

"I didn't write, " she went on, ignoring the question. "O. P. Took meso sudden. "

"Oh, Sarah!" Mr. Pengelly expostulated. 

"You did; you know you did, you rogue!"

Mr. Pengelly took her amorous glance and turned to us. "It seemslike a dream, " he said, and went out with the kettle. 

The lady resumed her business-like air. "We sail for Looe next tide. It's queer now, your turning up like this. "

"Providential. I came o' purpose, though, to look ye up. "

"I might ha' been a limpet. "

"Eh?"

"By the way you prised at me with that knife o' yours. And you callit Providence. "

Ben grinned. "Providence or no, you'll get this lad out o' the way, Sarah?"

"H'm?" She considered me. "I can't take him home to Looe. "

"Why not?"

"Folks would talk, " she said modestly. 

"'Od rabbit it!" exclaimed Ben. "He's ten year old; and you weresaying just now that the man took ye sudden!"

"Well, I'll see what can be done: but on conditions. "

"Conditions?"

"Ay, we'll talk that over while he's cleanin' himself. " She liftedher voice and called, "O. P. , is that water warm?"

"Middlin', " came O. P. 's voice from a small cuddy outside. 

"Then see to the child and wash him. Put him inside yourfoul-weather suit for the time, and then take his clothes out on thebeach and burn 'em. That seam'll be the better for a lick of pitchafore the tide rises, and you can use the same fire for the caldron. "

So she dismissed me; and in the cuddy, having washed myself clean ofsoot, I was helped by Mr. Pengelly into a pair of trousers whichreached to my neck, and a seaman's guernsey, which descended to myknees. My stockings I soaped, scrubbed, wrung out and laid acrossthe companion rail to dry: but, as it turned out, I was never to usethem or my shoes again. My sweep's jumper, waistcoat, and breechesMr. Pengelly carried off, to burn them. 

All this while Ben Jope and his sister had been talking earnestly: Ihad heard at intervals the murmur of their voices through thepartition; but no distinct words save once, when Mrs. Pengelly calledout to her husband to keep an eye along the beach and report theappearance of constables. Now so ludicrous was the figure I cut inmy borrowed clothes that on returning to the cabin I expected to bewelcomed with laughter. To my surprise, Ben Jope arose at once witha serious face and shook me by the hand. 

"Good-bye, my lad, " he said. "She makes it a condition. "

"You're not leaving me, Mr. Jope!"

"Worse'n that. I'm a-goin to marry the widow Babbage. "

"Oh, ma'am!" I appealed. 

"It'll do him good, " said Mrs. Pengelly. 

"I honestly think, Sarah, " poor Ben protested, "that just now you'resetting too much store by wedlock altogether. "

"It's my conditions with you; and you may take it or leave it, Ben. "His sister was adamant, and he turned ruefully to go. 

"And you're doing this for me, Mr. Jope!" I caught his hand. 

"Don't 'ee mention it. Blast the child!" He crammed his tarpaulinhat on his head. "I don't mean you, my lad, but t'other one. If he makes up a rhyme 'pon me, I'll--I'll--"

Speech failed him. He wrung my hand, staggered up the companion, andwas gone. 

"It'll be the making of him, " said Mrs. Pengelly with composure. "I don't like the woman myself, but a better manager you wouldn'tmeet. "

She remembered presently that Ben had departed without his promiseddish of tea, and this seemed to suggest to her that the time hadarrived for preparing a meal. With singular dexterity and almostwithout shifting her posture she slipped one of the seamen's bagsfrom somewhere beneath her shoulders, drew it upon her lap, andproduced a miscellaneous feast--a cheek of pork, a loaf, a saffroncake; a covered jar which, being opened, diffused the fragrance ofmarinated pilchards; a bagful of periwinkles, a bunch of enormousradishes, a dish of cream wrapped about in cabbage-leaves, a basketof raspberries similarly wrapped; finally, two bottles of stout. 

"To my mind, " she explained as she set these forth on the tablebeside her, each accurately in its place, and with such economyof exertion that only one hand and wrist seemed to be moving, "for my part, I think a widow-woman should be married quiet. I don'tknow what _your_ opinion may be?"

I thought it wise to say that her opinion was also mine. 

"It took place at eight o'clock this morning. " She disengaged a pinfrom the front of her bodice, extracted a periwinkle from its shell, ate it, sighed, and said, "It seems years already. I gathered thesemyself, so you may trust 'em. " She disengaged another pin and handedit to me. "We meant to be alone, but there's plenty for three. Now you're here, you'll have to give a toast--or a sentiment, " sheadded. She made this demand in form when O. P. Appeared, smellingstrongly of pitch, and taking his seat on the locker opposite, helpedhimself to marinated pilchards. 

"But I don't know any sentiments, ma'am. "

"Nonsense. Didn't they learn you any poetry at school?"

Most happily I bethought me of Miss Plinlimmon's verses in myTestament--now alas! left in the Trapps' cottage and lost to me; andrecited them as bravely as I could. 

"Ah!" sighed Mrs. Pengelly, "there's many a true word spoken in jest. 'Where shall we be in ten years' time?' Where indeed?"

"Here, " her husband cheerfully suggested, with his mouth full. 

"Hush, O. P. ! You never buried a first. "

She demanded more, and I gave her Wolfe's last words before Quebec(signed by him in Miss Plinlimmon's Album). 

 "'They run!'--but who? 'The Frenchmen!' Such Was the report conveyed to the dying hero. 'Thank Heaven!' he cried, 'I thought as much. ' In Canada the glass is frequently below zero. "

On hearing the author's name and my description of Miss Plinlimmon, she fell into deep thought. 

"I suppose, now, she'd look higher than Ben?"

I told her that, so far as I knew, Miss Plinlimmon had no desire tomarry. 

"She'd look higher, with her gifts, you may take my word for it. "But a furrow lingered for some time on Mrs. Pengelly's brow, and(I think) a doubt in her mind that she had been too precipitate. 

The meal over, she composed herself to slumber; and Mr. Pengelly andI spent the afternoon together on deck, where he smoked many pipeswhile I scanned the shore for signs of pursuit. But no: the tiderose and still the foreshore remained deserted. Above us the ferryplied lazily, and at whiles I could hear the voices of thepassengers. Nothing, even to my strained ears, spoke of excitement;and yet, in the great town beyond the hill, murder had been done andmen were searching for me. So the day dragged by. 

Towards evening, as the vessel beneath us fleeted and the deckresumed its level, Mr. Pengelly began to uncover the mainsail. I asked him if he expected any crew aboard? For surely, thought I, he could not work this ketch of forty tons or so single-handed. 

He shook his head. "There was a boy, but I paid him off. Sarahtakes the helm from this night forth. You wouldn't believe it, butshe can swig upon a rope too: and as for pulling an oar--"He went on to tell me that she had been rowing a pair of paddles whenhis eye first lit on her: and I gathered that the courtship had beenconducted on these waters under the gaze of Saltash, the male in oneboat pursuing, the female eluding him in another, for longindomitable, but at length gracefully surrendering. 

My handiness with the ropes, when I volunteered to help in hoistingsail, surprised and even perplexed him. "But I thought you was achimney-sweeper?" he insisted. I told him then of my voyages withMr. Trapp, yet without completely reassuring him. Hitherto he hadtaken me on my own warrant, and Ben's, without a trace of suspicion:but henceforth I caught him eyeing me furtively from time to time, and overheard him muttering as he went about his preparations. 

As he had promised, when the time came for hauling up our smallanchor, Mrs. Pengelly emerged from the companion hatch like a _geni_from a bottle. She bore two large hunches of saffron cake and handedone to each of us before moving aft to uncover the wheel. 

CHAPTER XI. 

FLIGHT. 

The sails drew as we got the anchor on board; and by the time O. P. And I had done sluicing the hawser clean of the mud it brought up, wewere working down the Hamoaze with a light and baffling wind, butcarrying a strong tide under us. Evening fell with a warm yellowhaze: the banks slipping past us grew dim and dimmer: here and therea light shone among the long-shore houses. I felt more confident, and no longer concealed myself as we tacked under the sterns of thegreat ships at anchor or put about when close alongside. 

As we cleared Devil's Point and had our first glimpse of the greyline where night was fast closing down on open sea, I noted a certainrelaxation in Mr. Pengelly, as if he too had been feeling the strain. He began to chat with me. The wind, he said, was backing and wemight look for this spell of weather to break up before long. Once past the Rame we should be right as ninepence and might run downthe coast on a soldier's wind: it would stiffen a bit out yonderunless he was mistaken. He pulled out his pipe and lit it. Aft loomed the bulk of Mrs. Pengelly at the wheel. Save for a callnow and again to warn us that the helm was down, to put about, shesteered in silence. And she steered admirably. 

We had opened the lights of Cawsand and were heading in towards it onthe port tack when, as O. P. Smoked and chatted and I watched thespark of the Eddystone growing and dying, her voice reached us, lowbut distinct. 

"There's a boat coming. Get below, boy!"

Sure enough as I scrambled for the hatchway in a flutter, someonehailed us out of the darkness. 

"Ahoy, there!"

"Ahoy!" O. P. Called back, after a moment, into the darkness. 

"What's your name?"

"The _Glad Tidings_, of Looe, and thither bound. Who be you?"

"Water-guard. Is that you speaking, Mr. Pengelly?"

"Ay, sure. Anything the matter?"

"Seen such a thing as the body of a young chimney-sweep on your waydown? Age, ten or thereabouts. There's one missing. "

"You don't say so! Drowned?"

His wife having put about, Mr. Pengelly obligingly hauled a sheet ortwo to windward, and brought the _Glad Tidings_ almost to astandstill, allowing the boat to come close alongside. 

"Drowned?" he asked again. 

"Worse than that, " said the officer's voice (and it soundeddreadfully close); "there's been murder committed, and the child wasin the house at the time. The belief is, he's been made away with. "

"Save us all! Murder? Whereto?"

"On the Barbican--an old Jew there, called Rodriguez. Who's thatyou've got at the helm?"

"Missus. "

"Never knew ye was married. "

"Nor did I, till this mornin'. "

"Eh? Wish ye luck, I'm sure; and you, ma'am, likewise!"

"Thank ye, Mr. Tucker, " answered the lady. "The same to you and manyof 'em--which by that I don't mean wives. "

"Good Lord, is that _you_, Sally? Well, I'm jiggered! And I owe youninepence for that last pair of flatfish you sold me!"

"Tenpence, " said Mrs. Pengelly. "But I can trust a gentleman. Where d'ye say this here murder was committed?"

"Barbican. "

"I don't wonder at anything happening there. They're a stinking lot. Why don't ye s'arch the shipping there and in Cattewater?"

"We've been s'arching all day. And now the constables are offtowards Stoke--it seems a child answering all particulars was seen inthat direction this morning. "

"That don't look like being made away with. "

"In a case like this, " answered Mr. Tucker sagely, "as often as notthere's wheels within wheels. Well, I won't detain ye. Good-night, friends!"

"Good-night!"

I heard the creak of thole-pins as the rowers gave way, and the washof oars as the boat shot off into the dark. Mr. Pengelly sent me alow whistle and I crept forth. 

"Hear what they said?" he asked. 

"They--they didn't give much trouble. "

"Depends what you call trouble. " He seemed slightly hurt in hisfeelings, and added, with asperity and obvious truth, "Carry it offhow you will, a honeymoon's a honeymoon, and a man doesn't expect tobe interrupted with questions about a sweep's apprentice. "

"Stand by!" cautioned the voice aft, low and firm as before. "By the sound of it they've stopped rowing. "

"If they come on us again, we're done for. That Tucker's a fool, butI noticed one or two of the men muttering together. "

"Sounds as if they were putting about. Can the boy swim?" asked Mrs. Pengelly anxiously. 

"I'll bet he can't. "

"But I can, " said I. "If you'll put the helm down, ma'am, and holdin, I think she'll almost fetch Penlee Point. I don't want to getyou into trouble. "

We all listened. And sure enough the sound of oars was approachingagain out of the darkness. 

"Mr. Pengelly can lower me overside, " I urged, "as soon as we're nearshore. It's safest in every way. "

"So best, " she answered shortly, and again put the _Glad Tidings_about. I began to pluck off my clothes. 

The boat was evidently watching us: for, dark as the evening hadgrown, almost as soon as our helm went down the sound of oars ceasedastern--to begin again a few seconds later, but more gently, as ifsomeone had given the order for silence. O. P. Peered under the slackof the mainsail. 

"There she is!" he muttered. "Tucker will be trying to force heralongside under our lee. " He picked up and uncoiled a spare rope. "You'd best take hold o' this and let me slip ye over the starboardside, forra'd there, as she goes about. Bain't afeard, hey?"

"I'm not afraid of anything but being caught, sir. "

"Sarah will take her in close: there's plenty water. "

"O. P. , " said the voice aft. 

"My angel. "

"Tell 'en he's a good boy, and I wouldn' mind having one like him. "

"You're a good boy, " said O. P. , and covered the remainder of themessage with a discreet cough. "Seems to me Tucker's holdin' off abit, " he added, peering again under the sail. "Wonder what his gameis?"

But I was already stripped, and already the high land loomed over us. Down went the helm again, and "Now's your time, " muttered O. P. As wescrambled forward to cast off sheets. Amid the flapping of her headsails as she hung for a moment or two in stays, I slipped oversideand took the water easily while the black mass of her stern swungslowly round and covered me from view of the boat. Then, as the tallside began to gather way and slip by me, I cast a glance towards landand dived. 

I came to the surface warily and trod water whilst I spied for theboat, which--as I reckoned--must be more than a gunshot distant. The sound of oars guided me, and I dived again in a terror. For shehad not turned about to follow the ketch, but was heading almostdirectly towards me, as if to cut me off from the shore. 

My small body was almost bursting when I rose for air and anotherlook. The boat had not altered her course, and I gasped with a newhope. What if, after all, she were not pursuing me? I let my legssink and trod water. No: I had not been spied. She was pointingstraight for the shore. But what should take a long-boat, manned (asI made out) by a dark crowd of rowers and passengers, at this hour tothis deserted spot? Why was she not putting-in for Cawsand, aroundthe point? And did she carry the water-guard? Was this Tucker'sboat after all, or another?

Still treading water, I heard her nose take the ground, and presentlythe feet of men shuffling, as they disembarked, over loose stones:then a low curse following on a slip and a splash. "Who's thattalking?" a voice inquired, quick and angry. "Sergeant! Take thatman's name. " But apparently the sergeant could not discover him. The footfalls grew more regular and seemed to be mounting the cliff, along the base of which, perhaps a hundred yards from shore, the tidewas now sweeping me. I gave myself to it and noiselessly, little bylittle working towards land, was borne out of hearing. 

Another ten minutes and my feet touched bottom. I pulled myself outupon a weed-covered rock, and along it to a slate-strewn foreshoreoverhung by a low cliff of shale, grey and glimmering in thedarkness. But even in the darkness a ridge of harder rock showed mea likely way. I remembered that the cliff hereabouts was of no greatheight and scalable in a score of places. Very cautiously, andsometimes sitting and straddling the ridge while my fingers sought anew grip, I mounted to the edge of a heathery down; and there, afterpricking myself sorely among the furze-bushes that guarded it, founda passage through and cast myself at full length on the short turf. 

For a while I lay and panted, flat on my back, staring up at thestars: for the wind had chopped about and was now drawing gently offshore, clearing the sky. But, though gentle, it had an edge of chillwhich by and by brought me to my feet again. Far out on the darkwaters of the Sound glimmered the starboard light of the _GladTidings_, and it seemed to me that she was heading in for shore. Had the Pengellys too discovered that the boat was not thewater-guard's? And was O. P. Working the ketch back to give me achance of rejoining her? Else why was she not slackening sheets andrunning? Vain hope! I suppose that the new slant of wind took sometime in reaching her; for, just as I was preparing to creep backbetween the furze-whins and scramble down to the foreshore again, thegreen light was quenched. She had altered her helm and was clearingthe Sound. 

I dared not hail her. Indeed, had I risked it, the odds were againstmy voice carrying so far, to be recognised. And while I stood andsearched the darkness into which she had disappeared, my ear caughtagain the muffled tramp of the soldiers, this time advancing towardsme. I waited no longer, but started running for dear life up theshoulder of the down. 

The swim and the chill breeze had numbed my legs and arms. After afew hundred yards, however, I felt life coming back to them, and Iran like a hare. I was stark naked, and here and there my feetstruck a heather root pushed above the turf, or wounded themselves onlow-lying sprouts of furze; but as my eyes grew used to the darksward I learned to avoid these. So close the night hung around methat even on the sky-line I had no fear of being spied. I crossedthe ridge and tore down the farther slope; stumbled through a muddybrook and mounted another hillside. My heart was drumming now, butterror held me to it--over this second ridge and downhill again. 

I supposed myself but half-way down this slope, or only a littlemore, when in springing aside to avoid a low bush I missed footingaltogether; went hurling down into night, dropped plumb upon anotherfurze-bush--a withered one--and heard and felt it snap under me;struck the cliff-side, bruising my hip, and slid down on loose stonesfor another few yards. As I checked myself, sprawling, and came to astandstill, some of these stones rolled on and splashed into waterfar below. 

For a minute or so, at full length on this treacherous bed, I couldpluck up no heart to move. Then, inch by inch at first, I drewmyself up to the broken bush and found beside it a flat ledge, smoothand grassy, which led inland and downwards. I think it must havebeen a sheep-track. I kept to it on hands and knees, and it broughtme down to the head of a small cove where a faint line of brimingshowed the sea's edge rippling on a beach of flat grey stones. 

My hip was hurting me, and I could run no farther. I groped alongthe base of the eastern cliff and crawled into a shallow cave closeby a pile of seaweed which showed the high mark of the tide nowreceding. With daylight I might discover a better hiding-place. Meanwhile I snuggled down and drew a coverlet of seaweed over me forwarmth. 

CHAPTER XII. 

I FALL AMONG SMUGGLERS. 

I awoke to a most curious sensation. The night was still black andonly the ridge of the cliff opposite showed, by the light of the manystars, its dull outline above; yet I felt that the whole beach hadsuddenly become crowded with people--that they were moving stealthilyabout me, whispering, picking their way among the loose stones, hunting me and yet hushing their voices as though themselves afraid. 

At first, you may be sure--wakened as I was from sleep--I had nodoubt but that this unseen band of folk was after me. All thatfollowed my awakening passed so quickly that I cannot separate dreamsnow from guesses nor apprehensions from realities. I do remember, however, that, whereas the soldiers from whom I had run had been onfoot, my first fears were of a pursuit by cavalrymen, and thereforeit seems likely that some sound of horses' trampling must have setthem in train: but, though I strained my ears, they detected nothingof the sort--only a subdued murmur, as of human voices, down by thewater's edge, and now and again the cautious crunch of a footstepupon shingle. Even this I had not heard but for the extreme quiet onthe sea under the off-shore wind. 

Gradually, by the light of the stars, I separated from thesurrounding shadows that of a whole mass of people inert and darklycrowded there: and then--almost as I guessed their business--thecliff above me shot up a flame; and their forms and their dismayedupturned faces stood out distinct in the glare of it. 

"Loose the horses and clear!" yelled someone; and another voice deepand wrathful began to curse, but was drowned by a stampede of hoofsupon the shingle. Straight forth from the sea--or so it looked tome--some twenty or thirty naked horses, without rider, bit, orbridle, broke from the crowd and came plunging up the beach at agallop. They were met by a roar from the cove-head, and with that aline of glittering helmets and cuirasses sprang out of the night andcharged past me. 

"Dragoons! Dragoons!"

As the yell reached me from the waterside and the men there scatteredand ran, I saw the shock of the double charge--the flame overheadlighting up every detail of it. The riderless horses, though theyopened and swerved, neither turned tail nor checked their pace, butheading suddenly towards the left wing of the troop went through itas water through a gate, the dragoons either vainly hacking at themwith their sabres, or leaning from their saddles and as vainlyattempting to grip the brutes. Grip there was none to be had. These were smugglers' horses, clipped to the skin, with houghedmanes, and tails and bodies sleek with soft soap. Nor did thedragoons waste more trouble upon them, but charged forward and downupon the crowd at the water's edge. 

And as they charged I saw--but could not believe--that on a suddenthe crowd had vanished. A moment before they had been jostling, shouting, cursing. They were gone now like ghosts. The light stillflared overhead. It showed no boat beyond the cove--only thetroopers reaching right across it in an irregular line, as each manhad been able to check his horse--the most of them on the verge ofthe shingle, but many floundering girth-deep, and one or two evenswimming. The Riding Officer, who had followed them, was bawling andpointing with his whip towards the cliff--at what I could not tell. 

I had no time to wonder: for an unholy din broke out, on the sameinstant, at the head of the beach. A couple of the smugglers' horseshad been hurled over by the dragoons' impact, and lay, hurt beyondrecovery, lashing out across the shingle with their heels. A thirdhad gone down under a sabre-cut, but had staggered up and was lobbingafter his comrades at a painful canter. They had traversed the heavyshingle, reached the harder stones at the cove's head and weresailing away at stretched gallop when a volley rang out from theshadow of the cliff there, and the scream of more than one mingledwith fresh shouting. At that moment, and just before the flame aboveme sank and died almost as swiftly as it had first shot up, asoldier--not a dragoon, but a man in red coat and white breeches--ranforward and sprang at the girth of the wounded horse, which hadstumbled again. He did the wise thing--for a single girth was thesehorses' only harness: but whether he caught it or not I could nottell. Ten or a dozen soldiers followed, to help him. And, the nextinstant, total darkness came down on the scene like a shutter. 

It did not last long. The red-coats, it turned out, had broughtlanterns, and now, at a shouted order from their commanding officeranswering the call of the dragoon officer below, began to light them. They meant, I doubted not, to make a strict search of the cliffs;and, if they did--my cave being but a shallow one--there was no hopefor me. But just then a dismounted trooper came running up thebeach, his scabbard scraping the shingle as he went by: and his firstwords explained the mystery of the crowd's disappearance. 

"Where's your officer commanding?" he panted. "The devils have gotaway into the next cove through a kind of hole in the cliff--a kindof archway so far as we make out. They've blocked it with stones andposted three-four men there, threatening sudden death. By their ownaccount they're armed. Major Dilke's holding them to parley, andwants the loan of a lantern while you, sir, march your men round andtake the gang in the rear. They reckon they've none but us to dealwith. "

The infantry officer grunted that he understood, sent the trooperback with a lantern, and quietly formed up and marched off hiscompany. From my hiding-place I caught scraps of the parley at thelower end of the beach--or rather of Major Dilke's share in it; forthe smugglers answered him through a tunnel, and I could only heartheir voices mumbling in response to the threats which he flung forthon the wide night. He was in no sweet temper, having been cheated ofa rich haul: for the flare had, of course, warned away the expectedboat, and I supposed that some of the red-coats had been dispatchedat once to search the headland for the man who lit it. Revenge wasnow the Major's game, and, by his tune, he meant to have it. 

But while I lay listening, a stone trickled from the cliff overheadand plumped softly upon the seaweed at the mouth of my cave. It wasfollowed by a rush of small gravel (had the Major not, at the moment, been declaiming at his loudest, his men must surely have heard it):and this again by the plumb fall of a heavy body which still lay fora full five seconds after alighting, and then emitted a groan soeloquent that it raised the roots of my hair. 

I held my breath. More seconds passed, and the body groaned again, still more dolefully. 

We were within three yards of one another; and, friend or foe, if he continued to lie and groan like this for long, flesh and bloodcould not stand it. 

"Are you hurt?" I summoned up voice to ask. 

"The devil!" I had feared that he would scream. But he sat up--I saw his shoulders fill the mouth of the cave between me and thestarlight. By his attitude he was peering at me through thedarkness. "Who are you?"

"If you please, sir, I'm a boy. "

"Glad to hear it. I took you at first for one of those cursedsoldiers. Hiding, eh?"

"Yes, sir. "

"So am I: but this is a mighty poor place for it. They may be hereany moment with their lanterns: we had better cut across whileeverything's dark. Gad!" he said, throwing his head back as if tostare upwards, "I must have dropped twenty feet. Wonder if I'vebroken anything?" He stood up, and appeared to be feeling his limbscarefully. "Sound as a bell!" he announced. "Come along, youngster:we'll get out of this first and talk afterwards. "

He put out a hand, seeking for mine; but, missing it, touched my ribswith his open palm and drew it away sharply. 

"Good Lord, the boy's naked!"

"I've been swimming, " said I. 

"All right. Get out of this first and talk afterwards, that's theorder. There's a rug in my tilbury, if we can only reach it. Nowthen, follow me close--and gently over the shingle!"

Like shadows we stole forth and across the cove. No one spied us, and, thanks perhaps to Major Dilke's sustained oratory, no one heard. 

"There's a track hereabouts, " my new friend whispered as we gainedthe farther cliff. "This looks like it--no--yes, here it is!Close after me, sonny, and up we go. Surely, 'tis Robinson Crusoeand man Friday with a touch of something else thrown in--can't thinkwhat, for the moment, unless 'tis the scaling of Plataea. Ever readThucydides?"

"No, sir. "

"He's a nigger. He floored me at Brasenose: but I bear the old cockno malice. Now you wouldn't think I was a University man, eh?"

"No, sir. " I had not the least notion of his meaning. 

"I am, though; and, what's more, I'm a Justice of the Peace andDeputy-Lieutenant for the county of Cornwall. Ever heard of JackRogers of Brynn?"

Once more I had to answer "No, sir. "

"Then, excuse me, but where in thunder do you come from?" He haltedand confronted me in the path. This was a facer, for the words"Justice of the Peace" had already set me quaking. 

"If you please, sir, I'd rather not tell. "

"No, I dare say not, " he replied magisterially. "It's my fate to getinto these false positions. Now there was Josh Truscott ofBlowinghouse--Justice of the Peace and owned two thousand acres--whatyou might call a neat little property. _He_ never allowed it tointerfere, and yet somehow he carried it off. Do I make myselfplain?"

"Not very, sir. "

"Well, for instance, one day he was expecting company. There was afountain in the middle of the lawn at Blowinghouse, and a statue ofHercules that his old father had brought home from Italy and plantedin the middle of it. Josh couldn't bear that statue--said themuscles were all wrong. So, if you please, he takes it down, dresseshimself in nothing at all--same as you might be, bare as my palm--anda Justice of the Peace, mind you--and stands himself in the middle ofthe fountain, with all the guests arriving. Not an easy thing topass off, and it caused a scandal: but folks didn't seem to mind. 'It was Truscott's way, ' they said: 'after all, he comes of a cleverfamily, and we hope his son will be better. ' A man wants characterto carry off a thing like that. "

I agreed that character must have been Mr. Truscott's secret. 

"Now _I_ couldn't do that for the life of me, " Mr. Rogers sighed, andchuckled over another reminiscence. "Josh had a shindy once with agroom. The fellow asked for a rise in wages. 'You couldn't havesaid anything more hurtful to my feelings, ' Josh told him, andknocked him down. There was a hole in one of his orchards wherethey'd been rooting up an old apple-tree. He put the fellow in that, tilled him up to his neck in earth, and kept him there till heapologised. Not at all an easy thing for a Justice of the Peace topass off: but, bless you, folks said that he came of a clever countyfamily, and hoped his son would be better. The fellow didn't evenbring an action. " Mr. Rogers broke off suddenly, and seemed tomeditate a new train of thought. "Hang it!" he exclaimed. "Ibelieve 'tis a hundred pounds. I must look it up when I get back. "

"What is a hundred pounds, sir?" I asked. 

"Penalty for showing a coast-light without authority. Lydia laid meten pounds I hadn't the pluck, though; and that'll bring it down toninety at the worst. She'd a small fortune in this trip, too, whichshe stood to lose: but, as it turns out, I've saved that for her. Oh, she's a treasure!"

"Did you light the flare?" I began to see that I had fallen in withan original, and that he might be humoured. 

"Eh?--to be sure I did! 'Slocked away the man in charge by mimickingPascoe's voice--he's the freighter, and talks like a man with no roofto his mouth. I'm a pretty good mimic, though I say it. Nothingeasier, after that. You see, Lydia had laid me ten pounds that as aJustice of the Peace I hadn't wit nor pluck to spoil her next run;honestly, that is. She knows I wouldn't blow on her for worlds. Oh, we understand one another! Now you and I'll go off and call onher, and hear what she says about it. For in a way I've won, and ina way I've not. I stopped the run, but also I've saved the cargo forher: for the devil a notion had I that the soldiers had wind of it;and, but for the flare, the boats would have run in and lost everytub. Here we are, my lad!"

We had climbed the cliff and were crossing a field of stubble grass, very painful to my feet. I saw the shadow of a low hedge in front, but these words of Mr. Rogers conveyed nothing to me. "Soh, soh, mygirl!" he called softly, advancing towards the shadow: and at first Isupposed him to be addressing the mysterious Lydia. But following Isaw him smoothing the neck of a small mare tethered beside the hedge, and the next moment had almost blundered against a light two-wheeledcarriage resting on its shafts a few yards away. 

Mr. Rogers whispered to me to lift the shafts. "And be quiet aboutit: there's a road t'other side of the hedge. Soh, my girl--sweetly, sweetly!" He backed the mare between the shafts, harnessed her, andled her along to a gate opening on the road. 

"Jump up, my lad, " he commanded, as he steered the tilbury through;and up I jumped. "There's a rug somewhere by your feet, andLydia'll do the rest for you. Cl'k, my darling!"

Away we bowled. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE MAN IN THE VERANDAH. 

The mare settled down to a beautiful stride and we spun alongsmoothly over a road which, for a coast road, must have been welllaid, or Mr. Rogers's tilbury was hung on exceptionally good springs. We were travelling inland, for the wind blew in our faces, and Ihuddled myself up from it in the rug--on which a dew had fallen, making it damp and sticky. For two miles or so we must have held onat this pace without exchanging a word, meeting neither vehicle norpedestrian in all that distance, nor passing any; and so came to asign-post and swerved by it into a broader road, which ran level formaybe half a mile and then began to climb. Here Mr. Rogers easeddown the mare and handed me the reins, bidding me hold them while helit a cigar. 

"We're safe enough now, " said he, pulling out a pocket tinder-box:"and while I'm about it we'd better light the lamps. " He slippedthem from their sockets and lit the pair cleverly from the samebrimstone match. "The _Highflier_'s due about this time, " heexplained; "and Russell's Wagon 's another nasty thing to hit in thedark. We're on the main road, you know. " Before refixing the lampbeside him, he held it up for a good stare at me, and grinned. "Well, you're a nice guest for a spinster at this hour, I must say!But there's no shyness about Lydia. "

"Is she--is this Miss Lydia unmarried?" I made bold to ask. 

"Lydia Belcher 's a woman in a thousand. There's no better fellowliving, and I've known worse ladies. Yes, she's unmarried. "

He took the reins from me and the mare quickened her pace. Aftersucking at his cigar for a while he chuckled aloud. "She's to beseen to be believed: past forty and wears top-boots. But she was abeauty in her day. Her mother's looks were famous--she was daughterto one of the Earl's cottagers, on the edge of the moors"--here Mr. Rogers jerked his thumb significantly, but in what direction thenight hid from me: "married old Sam Belcher, one of his lordship'skeepers, a fellow not fit to black her boots; and had this one child, Lydia. This was just about the time of the Earl's own marriage. Folks talked, of course: and sure enough, when the Earl came to die, 'twas found he'd left Lydia a thousand a year in the funds. That's the story: and Lydia--well she's Lydia. Couldn't marry whereshe would, I suppose, and wouldn't where she could; though they dosay Whitmore 's trimming sail for her. "

"Whitmore?" I echoed. 

"Ay, the curate: monstrous clever fellow, and a sportsman too:Trinity College Dublin man. Don't happen to know him, do you?"

"Is he a thin-faced gentleman, very neatly dressed? Oh, but it can'tbe the gentleman I mean, sir! The one I mean has a slow way ofspeaking, and the hair seems gone on each side of his forehead--"

"That's Whitmore, to a T. So you know him? Well, you'll meet him atLydia's, I shouldn't wonder. He's there most nights. "

"If you please, sir, will you set me down? I can shift for myselfsomehow--indeed I can! I promised--that is, I mean, Mr. Whitmorewon't like it if--if--"

While I stammered on, Mr. Rogers pulled up the mare, quartering atthe same time to make room for the mail-coach as it thundered up theroad from westward and swept by at the gallop, with lamps flashingand bits and swingles shaken in chorus. 

"Look here, what's the matter?" he demanded. "Why don't you want tomeet Whitmore?" Then as I would not answer but continued to entreathim, "There's something deuced fishy about you. Here I find you, stark naked, hiding from the soldiers: yet you can't be one of the'trade, ' for you don't know the country or the folks livinghereabouts--only Whitmore: and Whitmore you won't meet, and your nameyou won't tell, nor where you come from--only that you've beenswimming. 'Swimming, ' good Lord! You didn't swim from France, Itake it. " He flicked his whip and fell into a muse. "And I'm aJustice of the Peace, and the Lord knows what I'm compounding with. "He mused again. "Tell you what I'll do, " he exclaimed; "I'll takeyou up to Lydia's as I promised. If Whitmore's there, you shan'tmeet him if you don't want to: and if the house is full, I'll dropyou in the shrubbery with the rug, and get them to break up early. Only I must have your solemn davey that you'll stay there and notquit until I give you leave. Eh?"

I gave that promise. 

"Very well. I'll tip the wink to Lydia, and when we've cleared thecompany, we'll have you in and get the rights of this. Oh, you maytrust Lydia!"

As he said this we were passing a house the long whitewashed front ofwhich abutted glimmering on the road. A light shone behind the blindof one lower window and showed through a chink under the door. "The Major 's sitting up late, " observed Mr. Rogers, and againflicked up the mare. 

Two minutes later he pulled the left rein and we swung through anopen gateway and were rolling over soft gravel. Tall bushes oflaurel on either hand glinted back the lights of the tilbury, andpresently around a sweep of the drive I saw a window shining. Mr. Rogers pulled up once more. 

"Jump out and take the path to the left. It'll bring you out almostfacing the front door. Wait among the laurels there. "

I climbed down and drew my rug about me as he drove on and I heardthe tilbury's wheels come to a halt on the gravel before the house. Then, following the path which wound about a small shrubbery, I cameto the edge of the gravel sweep before the porch just as a groom tookthe mare and cart from him and led them around to the left, towardsthe stables. I saw this distinctly, for on the right of the porch, where there ran a pretty deep verandah, each window on the groundfloor was lit and flung its light across the gravel to the laurelbehind which I crouched. There were in all five windows; of whichthree seemed to belong to an empty room, and two to another filledwith people. The windows of this one stood wide open, and the racketwithin was prodigious. Also the company seemed to consist entirelyof men. But what surprised me most was to see that the tables atwhich these guests drank and supped--as the clatter of knives andplates told me, and the shouting of toasts--were drawn up in asemicircle about a tall bed-canopy reaching almost to the ceiling inthe far right-hand corner. The bed itself was hidden from me by thebroad backs of two sportsmen seated in line with it and nursing abottle apiece under their chairs. 

Now while I wondered, Mr. Jack Rogers passed briskly through the roomwith the closed windows towards this chamber of revelry, preceded byan elderly woman with a smoking dish in her hands. I could not seethe doorway between the two rooms; but the company announced hisappearance with a shout, and several guests pushing back their chairsand rising to welcome him, in the same instant were disclosed to me, first, the pale face of the Rev. Mr. Whitmore under a sporting printby the wall opposite, and next, reclining in the bed, the mostextraordinary figure of a woman. 

So much of her as appeared above the bedclothes was arrayed in anorange-coloured dressing-gown and a night-cap the frills of whichtowered over a face remarkable in many ways, but chiefly for itsbroad masculine forehead and the firm outline of its jaw and chin. Indeed, I could hardly believe that the face belonged to a woman. A slight darkening of the upper lip even suggested a moustache, buton a second look I set this down to the shadow of the bed-canopy. 

A round table stood at her elbow, with a bottle and plate upon it:and in one hand she lifted a rummer to Mr. Rogers's health, crookingback the spoon in it with her forefinger as she drank, that it mightnot incommode her aquiline nose. 

"Good health, Jack, and sit you down!" she hailed him, her voiceringing above the others like a bell. "Tripe and onions it is, andPlymouth gin--the usual fare: and while you're helping yourself, tellme--do I owe you ten pounds or no?"

"That depends, " Mr. Rogers answered, searching about for a cleanplate and seating himself amid the hush of the company. "All thehorses back?"

"Five of 'em. They came in together, nigh on an hour ago, and not atub between 'em. The roan's missing. "

"Maybe the red-coats have him, " said Mr. Rogers, holding out histumbler. "Here, pass the kettle, somebody!"

"Red-coats?" she cried sharply. "You don't tell me--" But thesentence was drowned by a new and (to me) very horrible noise--thefurious barking of dogs from the stables or kennels in the rear ofthe house. Here was a new danger: and I liked it so little--theprospect of being bayed naked through those pitch-dark shrubberies bya pack of hounds--that I broke from my covert of laurel, hurriedlyskirted the broad patch of light on the carriage sweep, and plumpeddown close to the windows, behind a bush of mock-orange at the end ofthe verandah, whence a couple of leaps would land me within it amongMiss Belcher's guests. And I felt that even Mr. Whitmore was lessformidable than Miss Belcher's dogs. 

Their barking died down after a minute or so, and the company, two orthree of whom had started to their feet, seemed to be reassured andbegan to call upon Jack Rogers for his explanation. It now turnedout that, quite unintentionally, I had so posted myself as to hearevery word spoken; and, I regret to say, was deep in Mr. Rogers'sstory--from which he considerately omitted all mention of me--when myeye caught a movement among the shadows at the far end of theverandah. 

A man was stealing along it and towards me, close by the house wall. 

He reached the first of the lighted windows, and peeped warily roundits angle. This room, as I have said, was empty: but while heassured himself of this, the light rested on his face, and throughthe branches of the mock-orange bush I saw his features distinctly. It was Sergeant Letcher. 

He wore his red uniform and white pantaloons, but had slipped off hisboots and--as I saw when he rapidly passed the next two panels oflight--was carrying them in his hand. Reaching the first of the openwindows, he stood for a while in the shade beside it, listening; andthen, to my astonishment, turned and stole back by the way he hadcome. I watched him till he disappeared in the darkness beyond thehouse-porch. 

Meanwhile Miss Belcher had been calling to clear away the supper andset the tables for cards. 

"Nonsense, Lydia!" Mr. Rogers objected. "It's a goodone-in-the-morning, and the company tired. Where's the sense, too, of keeping the place ablaze on a night like this, with GaugerRosewarne scouring the country, and the dragoons behind him, and allin the worst possible tempers?"

"My little Magistrate, " Miss Belcher retorted, "there's naught tohinder your trotting home to bed if you're timorous. Jim's on hisway to the moor by this time with the rest of the horses: 'twas athis starting the dogs gave tongue just now, and I'll have to teachthem better manners. As for the roan, if he's hurt or Rosewarnehappens on him, there's evidence that I sold him to a gipsy threeweeks back, at St. Germans fair. Here, Bathsheba, take the keys ofmy bureau upstairs; you'll find some odd notes in the left-handdrawer by the fire-place. Bring Mr. Rogers down his ten pounds andlet him go. We'll not compromise a Justice of the Peace if we canhelp it. "

"Don't play the fool, Lydia, " growled Mr. Rogers, and addedingenuously, "The fact is, I wanted a word with you alone. "

"Oh, you scandalous man! And me tucked between the sheets!" sheprotested, while the company haw-haw'd. "You'll have to put up withsome more innocent amusement, my dear. There's a badger somewhereround at the back, in a barrel: we'll have him in with the dogs--unless you prefer a quiet round with the cards. "

"Oh, damn the badger at this hour!" swore Mr. Rogers. "Cards arequiet at any rate. Here, Raby--Penrose--Tregaskis--which of you'llcut in? Whitmore--you'll take a hand, won't you?"

"The Parson's tired to-night, and with better excuse than you. He's ridden down from Plymouth. "

"Hallo, Whitmore--what were you doing in Plymouth?"

Mr. Whitmore ignored the question. "I'm ready for a hand, MissBelcher, " he announced quietly: "only let it be something quiet--arubber for choice. "

"Half-guinea points?" asked somebody. 

"Yes, if you will. "

I heard them settle to cards, and their voices sink to a murmur. Now and again a few coins clinked, and one of the guests yawned. 

"You're as melancholy as gib-cats, " announced Miss Belcher. "The next that yawns, I'll send him out to fetch in that badger. Tell us a story, somebody. "

"I heard the beginning of a queer one, " said Mr. Whitmore in hisdeliberate voice. "The folks were discussing it at Torpoint Ferry asI crossed. There's, been a murder at Plymouth, either last night orthis morning. "

"A murder? Who's the victim?"

"An old Jew, living on the Barbican or thereabouts. My deal, is itnot?"

"What's his name?"

"His name?" Mr. Whitmore seemed to be considering. "Wait a moment, or I shall misdeal. " After a pause, he said, "A Spanish-soundingone--Rodriguez, I think. They were all full of it at the Ferry. "

"What! Old Ike Rodriguez? Why, he was down in these parts buying upguineas the other day!" exclaimed Mr. Rogers. 

"Was he?"

"Why, hang it all, Whitmore, " said a guest, "you know he was!More by token I pointed him out to you myself on Looe hill. "

"Was that the man?"

"Of course it was. Don't you remember admiring his face? It put youin mind of Caiaphas--those were your very words, and at the moment Ididn't clearly recollect who Caiaphas was. It can't be three weekssince. "

"Three weeks less two days, " said Miss Belcher; "for he called hereand bought fifteen off me: gave me twenty-four shillings and sixpenceapiece for all but one, which he swore was light. Who's murderedhim?"

"There was talk of a boy, " said Mr. Whitmore, still verydeliberately. "At least, a boy was missing who had been seen in thehouse just previously, and they were watching the ferries for him. Why, surely, Rogers, that's a revoke!"

"A revoke?" stammered Mr. Rogers. "So it is--I beg your pardon, Tregaskis! Damn the cards! I'm too sleepy to tell one suit fromanother. "

"That makes our game then, and the rubber. Rub and rub--shall weplay the conqueror? No? As you please then. How do we stand?"

"We owe three guineas on points, " growled a voice which, to judge byits sulkiness, belonged to Mr. Tregaskis. 

"I'm a clumsy fool, " Mr. Rogers again accused himself. "Here, Whitmore, give me change out of a note. "

"With pleasure. It's as good as a gift, though, with the cards youheld, " said Mr. Whitmore, and I heard the coins jingle in changinghands, when from the shrubbery, where the gravel sweep narrowed, there sounded the low hoot of an owl. Being town-bred and unused toowls, I took it for a human cry in the darkness and shrank closeragainst my mock-orange bush. 

"Hallo, Whitmore, you've dropped a guinea. Here it is, by thetable-leg. Take twenty-four shillings for it, now that old Rodriguezis gone?"

Mr. Whitmore thanked the speaker as the coin was restored to him. "The room's hot, as Mr. Rogers says, and I think I'll step out for amouthful of fresh air. Phe--ew!" he drew a long breath as heappeared at the window. 

He strolled carelessly out beneath the verandah and stood for amoment by one of its pillars. And at that moment the owl's crysounded again, but more softly, from the shrubbery on my left. I knew, then, that it came from no true bird. With a swift glanceback into the room Mr. Whitmore stepped out upon the gravel andfollowed the sound, almost brushing the mock-orange bush as hepassed. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

THE MOCK-ORANGE BUSH. 

To my dismay, he halted but five paces from me. 

"Is that you, Leicester?" he whispered. 

"Sergeant Letcher, if you please, " answered a quiet voice close by;"unless you wish to be called Pickthall. "

"Not so loud--the windows are open. How on earth did you come here?You're not with the van to-night?"

"I came on a horse, and a lame one: one of your tub-carriers. The captain saw me mount him, down at the cove, and sent me off toscour the country for evidence. I guessed pretty well in whatdirection he'd take me. But you're a careless lot, I will say. Look at this bit of rope. "

"For God's sake don't talk so loud! Rope? What rope?"

"Oh, you needn't be afraid! It's not _your_ sort! Here--if you can'tsee, take hold and feel it. Left-handed, you'll notice--Frenchsling-stuff. And that Belcher woman has no more sense of cautionthan to tie up her roses with it! Now see here, my son"--and hisvoice became a snarl--"it may do for her to play tricks. All thecountry knows her, the magistrates included. But for the likes ofyou this dancing on the edge of the law is risky, and I can't affordit. Understand? Why the devil you haunt the house as you do is morethan I can fathom, unless maybe you're making up to marry the oldfool. " He paused and added contemplatively, "'Twould be something inyour line to be sure. Women were always your game. "

"You didn't whistle me out to tell me this, " said Mr. Whitmorestiffly. 

"No, I did not. I want ten pounds. "

Mr. Whitmore groaned. "Look here, Leicst--"

"Be careful!"

"But this makes twice in ten days. It's pushing a man too hardaltogether!"

"Not a bit of it, " Letcher assured him cheerfully. "You're toodevilish fond of your own neck, my lad; and I know it too devilishwell to be come over by that talk. " He chuckled to himself. "How's the beauty down at the cottage?"

"I don't know, " Mr. Whitmore answered sulkily. "Is Plinlimmonthere?"

"No, he's not; and you ought to know he's not. Where have you been, all day?"

The curate was silent. 

"He'll be down again on Saturday, though. Leave of absence is goingcheap, just now. I've an idea that our marching orders must be aboutdue. Maybe I'll be able to run down myself, though my father hadn'tthe luck to be a friend of the Colonel's. If I don't, you're to keepyour eye lifting, and report. "

"Is there really a chance of the order coming?" asked Mr. Whitmore, with a shake in his low voice. 

"Dissemble your joy, my friend! When it comes, I shall call onyou for fifty. Meanwhile I tell you to keep your eye lifting. The battalion's raw, yet. About the order, it's only my guesswork, and before we sail you may yet do the christening. "

"It's damnable!"

"Hush, you fool! Gad, if somebody hasn't heard you! Who's _that_?"

They held their breath; and I held mine, pressing my body into themock-orange bush until the twigs cracked. Mr. Jack Rogers steppedout upon the verandah, and stood by one of the pillars, not a dozenyards from me, contemplating the sky where the dawn was now beginningto break over the dark shrubberies. I heard the two men tip-toeingaway through the laurels. 

He, too, seemed to catch the sound, for he turned his head sharply. But at that moment Miss Belcher's voice called him back into theroom. 

A minute later he reappeared with a loaf of bread in either hand, andwalked moodily past my bush without turning his head or observing me. 

I faced about cautiously and looked after him. From the end of theverandah the ground, sheltered on the right by a belt of evergreentrees, fell away steeply to a valley where, under the paling sky, asheet of water glimmered. Towards this, down the grassy slope, Mr. Rogers went with long strides. I broke cover, and ran after him. 

I ran as fast as my hurt hip and the trailing folds of the rugallowed. The grass underfoot was grey with dew, and overhead thebirds were singing. An old horse that had been sleeping in hispasture heaved himself up and gazed at me as I went by, and eitherhis snort of contempt or the sound of my footsteps must have struckon Mr. Rogers's ear. He turned and allowed me to catch up with him. 

"It's you, eh?" He eyed me between pity and distrust. "Here, catchhold, if you're feeling peckish. "

He thrust a loaf into my hands and I fell on it ravenously, pluckingoff a crust and gnawing it while I trotted beside him. 

"Got to feed her blessed swans now!" he muttered. "The deuce is inher for perversity to-night. "

He kept growling to himself, knitting his brow and pausing once ortwice for a moody stare. He was not drunk, and his high complexionshowed no trace of his all-night sitting; and yet something hadchanged him utterly from the cheerful gentleman of a few hours back. 

The water in the valley bottom proved to be an artificial lake, verycunningly contrived to resemble a wild one. At the head of it, wherewe trod on asphodels and sweet-smelling mints and brushed the youngstalks of the loose-strife, stood a rustic bridge partly screened byalders. Here Mr. Rogers halted, and a couple of fine swans camesteering towards him out of the shadows. 

He broke his loaf into two pieces. "That's for you, " he exclaimed, hurling the first chunk viciously at the male bird. The pair turnedin alarm at the splash and paddled away, hissing. "And that's foryou!" The second chunk caught the female full astern, and Mr. Rogersleaned on the rail and laughed grimly. He thrust his hand into hisbreeches pocket and drew forth a guinea. The young daylight touchedits edge as it lay in his palm. 

"I'm a Justice of the Peace; or I'd toss that after the bread. "

"What's the matter with it, sir?"

He turned it over gingerly with his forefinger. "See?" he said. "I put that mark on it myself, for sport, three weeks ago, and thisvery night I won it back. "

"Was it one you sold to Mr. Rodriguez?"

"Hey?" I thought he would have taken me by the collar. "So you_are_ the boy! What do you know of Rodriguez, boy?"

"I--I was listening in the verandah, sir. And oh, but I've somethingto tell you! I'm the boy, sir, that Mr. Whitmore spoke about--theboy that's being searched for--"

"Look here, " Mr. Rogers interrupted, "I'm a Justice of the Peace, youknow. "

"I can't help it, sir--begging your pardon. But I was in the house, and I saw things: and if they catch me, I must tell. "

"Tell the truth and shame the devil, " said Mr. Rogers. 

"But the more truth I told, sir, the worse it would look for someonewho's innocent. "

"Whitmore?"

"You changed a note with Mr. Whitmore, didn't you, sir?"

This confused him. "You've been using your ears to some purpose, " hegrowled. 

"I don't know how Mr. Whitmore comes to be mixed up in it. But here's another thing, sir--You remember that he walked out afterthe game--for fresh air, he said?"

"Well?"

"And he didn't come back?"

"Well?"

"He stepped out because he was whistled out. There was a man waitingfor him. "

"What man?"

"His name's Letcher--at least--"

"I don't know the name. "

"He was one of the soldiers on the beach this evening. "

"The devil!"

"But he hadn't come about _that_ business. "

"About what, then?"

"Well now, sir, I must ask you a question. They were talking about'the beauty down at the cottage. ' Who would that be?"

"That, " said he slowly, "would be Isabel Brooks, for a certainty. "

"And the cottage?"

"Remember the one we passed on the road?--the one with a lightdownstairs? That's it. She lives there with her father--an oldsoldier and three-parts blind. There's no mischief brewing against_her_, I hope?"

"I don't know sir, " I went on breathlessly. "But if you please, goon answering me. Do you know a young man called Plinlimmon--Archibald Plinlimmon?"

"Plinlimmon? Ay, to be sure I do. Met him there once--anothersoldier, youngish and good-looking--in the ranks, but seemed agentleman--didn't catch his Christian name. The Major introduced himas the son of an old friend--comrade-in-arms, he said, if I remember. He was there with a black-faced fellow, whose name I didn't catcheither. "

"That was Letcher!"

"What? The man Whitmore was talking with? What were they saying?"

"They said something about a christening. And Letcher asked formoney. "

"A christening? What in thunder has a christening to do with it?"

"That's what I don't know, sir. "

Mr. Rogers looked at me and rubbed his chin. "I meant to take you toLydia, " he said; "but now that Whitmore's mixed up in this, I'll beshot if I do. That fellow has bewitched her somehow, and where he'sconcerned--" He glanced up the slope and clutched me suddenly by theshoulder: for Whitmore himself was there, walking alone, and comingstraight towards us. "Talk of the devil--here, hide, boy--duck down, I tell you, there behind the bushes! No! Through the hedge, then--"

I burst across the hedge and dropped through a mat of brambles, dragging my rug after me. The fall landed me on all-fours upon thesunken high road, along which I ran as one demented--stark naked, too--a small Jack of Bedlam under the broadening eye of day; ran pastMiss Belcher's entrance gate with its sentinel masses of talllaurels, and had reached the bend of the road opening the low cottageinto view, when a sudden jingling of bells and tramp of horses droveme aside through a gate on the left, to cower behind a hedge therewhile they passed. 

Two wagons came rumbling by, each drawn by six horses and covered bya huge white tilt bearing in great letters the words "Russell andCo. , Falmouth to London. " On the front of each a lantern shone paleagainst the daylight. At the head of each team rode a wagoner, mounted on a separate horse and carrying a long whip. Beside thewagons tramped four soldiers with fixed bayonets, and two followedbehind: they wore the uniform of the North Wilts Regiment. 

I knew them well enough by repute--these famous wagons conveyinguntold treasure between London and the Falmouth Packets. They passed, and I crept out into the road again, to stare afterthem. 

With that, turning my head, I was aware of a girl in the roadwayoutside the cottage door. But if she had come out to gaze after thewagons, she was gazing now at me. It was too late to hide, andmoreover I had come almost to the end of my powers. With a cry forpity I ran towards her. 

CHAPTER XV. 

MINDEN COTTAGE. 

Stark naked though I was, she did not flinch as I came; only her eyesseemed to widen upon me in wonder. And for all my desperate hurry Ihad time to see, first, that they were graver than other girls' eyes, and next that they were exceedingly beautiful. 

In those days I had small learning (I have little enough, even now), or I might have fancied her some goddess awaiting me between thenight and the dawn. She stood, tall and erect, in a loose whitewrapper, the collar of which had fallen open and revealed thebodice-folds of her nightgown--a cloud at the base of her firmthroat. Her feet were thrust into loose slippers: and her hair hunglow on her neck in dark masses as she had knotted them for the night. 

"Where do you come from, boy?" she asked; but an instant later sheput that question aside as an idle one. "Someone has beenill-treating you! Come indoors!"

She held out a hand and, as I clung to it, led me to the door; butturned with her other hand on the latch. "Is anyone following?"

I shook my head. She was attempting now, but gently, to draw backthe hand to which I clung; and, in resisting, my fingers met andpulled against a ring--a single ring of plain gold. 

Seeing that I had observed it, she made no further effort, but lether hand lie, her eyes at the same moment meeting mine and searchingthem gravely and curiously. 

"Come upstairs, " she said; "but tread softly. My father is a lightsleeper. "

She took me to a room in the corner of which stood a white bed withthe sheets neatly turned down, prepared and ready for a guest. The room was filled with the scent of flowers--fragrant scent ofroses and clean aromatic scent of carnations. There were fainterscents, too, of jasmine and lavender; the first wafted in from agreat bush beyond the open lattice, the second (as I afterwardsdiscovered) exhaled by the white linen of the bed. But flowers wereeverywhere, in bowls and jars and glasses; and as though otherreceptacles for them had failed, one long spray of small rosesclimbed the dressing-table from a brown pitcher at its foot. 

She motioned me to a chair beside the bed, and, almost before I knewwhat was intended, she had fetched a basin of water and was kneelingto wash my feet. 

"No--please!" I protested. 

"But I love children, " she whispered; "and you are but a child. "

So I sat in a kind of dream while she washed away the dust and blood, changing the water twice, and afterwards dried each foot in a towel, pressing firmly but never once hurting me. 

When this was done, she rose and stood musing, contemplating meseriously and yet with a touch of mirth in her eyes. 

"You are such a little one!" she said. "Father's would never fit. "And having poured out fresh water and bidden me wash my body, shestole out. 

She returned with a white garment in her hand and real mirth now inher eyes. My toilet done, she slipped the garment over me. It fellto my feet in long folds, yet so lightly that I scarcely felt I wasclothed: and she clapped her hands in dumb-show. It was one of herown night-gowns. 

I glanced uneasily towards the bed. Its daintiness frightened me, used as I was to the housekeeping--coarse if clean--of Mrs. Trapp. 

"Your prayers first, " she whispered. "Don't you know any?" She eyedme anxiously again. "But you are a good boy? Surely you are a goodboy? Don't boys say their prayers? They ought to. "

Since passing out of Miss Plinlimmon's tutelage, I had sadlyneglected the habit: but I knelt down obediently and in silence. 

She stepped close behind me. "But you're not speaking, " shemurmured. "Father always says his aloud, and so do I. You mustn'tpretend, if you don't really know any. I can teach you. "

She knelt down beside me, and began to say the Lord's Prayer softly. I repeated it after her, sentence by sentence: and this was reallyshamming, for of course I knew it perfectly. At the time I felt onlythat she--this beautiful creature beside me--was in a strange stateof exaltation which I could not in the least understand. I know nowsomething of the springs I had touched and loosened within her--I, anaked waif coming to her out of the night and catching her hand forprotection. It was not I she taught, nor over me that she yearned. She was reaching through me to a child unknown, using me to pressagainst a strange love tearing at the roots of her body, and to breakthe pain of it--the roots of her body, I say; for he who can separatea woman's soul from her body is a wiser man than I. 

She rose from her knees; threw back the sheets and tucked them aboutme as I snuggled down. 

"What is your name?"

"Harry Revel. Are you Miss Isabel Brooks?"

"I am Isabel. "

"Why were you crying, out in the road?"

"Was I crying?"

"Well, not crying exactly: but you looked as if you wanted to. "

She smiled. "We both have our secrets it seems; and you shall tellme yours to-morrow. Will yours let you sleep?"

"I think so, Miss Isabel. I am so tired--and so clean--and this bedis so soft--" I stretched out my arms luxuriously, and almost beforeI knew it she was bending to kiss me, and they were about her neck. Her hair fell over me in a shower and in the shade of it she laughedhappily, kissing me by the ear and whispering, "I have my happysecret, too!"

She straightened herself up, tossed back the dark locks with curvedsweep of arm and wrist, and moved to the door. 

"Good night, Harry Revel!"

A bird was cheeping in the jasmine bush when I dropped asleep, andwhen I awoke he was cheeping there still. Of my dreams I onlyremember that they ended in a vague sense of discomfort, somehowarising from a vision of Mr. Rogers in the act of throwing bread atthe swans, and of the hen bird's flurry as she paddled away. But thesound which I took for the splashing of water came in fact from therings of the window curtain, which Miss Isabel was drawing to shutout the high morning sun. 

She heard me stir and faced about, with her hand yet on the curtain. "Awake?" she cried, and laughed. "You shall have a basin ofbread-and-milk presently: and after that you may get up and put onthese. " She held out a suit of clothes which lay across her arm. "I have borrowed them from Miss Belcher, who distributes all sorts ofgarments at Christmas among the youngsters hereabouts, and hasrummaged this out of her stock. And after that my father will beglad to make your acquaintance. We shall find him in the garden. Now I must go and see to preparing dinner: for it is past noon, though you may not know it. "

Behold me, half an hour later, clad in a blue jacket very tight atthe elbows and corduroy breeches very tight at the knees and warm forthe time of year, as I descended with Isabel into the walled gardenat the back of the cottage. Its whole area cannot have been an acre, and even so the half of it was taken up by a plot of turf, smooth asa bowling green: but beyond this stretched a miniature orchard, andalong the walls ran two deep borders crowded with midsummer flowers--tall white lilies and Canterbury bells; stocks, sweet williams, mignonette, candytuft and larkspurs; bushes of lemon verbena, myrtle, and the white everlasting pea. Near the house all was kept innicest order, with trim ranks of standard roses marching level withthe turfed verges, and tall carnations staked and bending towardsthem across the alley: but around the orchard all grew riotous. The orchard ended in a maze of currant bushes, through which the pathseemed to wander after the sound of running water till it emergedupon another clearing of turf, with a tall filbert tree, and asummer-house beneath it, and a row of beehives set beside a stream. The stream, I afterwards learned, came down from Miss Belcher's park, and was the real boundary of the garden: but Miss Belcher had allowedthe Major to build a wall for privacy, on the far side of it, yet notso high as to shut off the sun from his bee-skeps; and had grantedhim a private entrance through it to the park--a narrow wooden doorapproached by a miniature bridge across the stream. 

"Papa!" called Isabel. 

I heard a movement in the summer-house, and her father appeared inthe doorway. He was old, but held himself so erect that his headalmost touched the lintel of the summer-house door, the posts ofwhich he gripped and so stood framed--a giant of close upon six and ahalf feet in stature. He wore a brown holland suit, with greystockings and square-toed shoes; and at first I mistook him for aQuaker. His snow-white hair was gathered back from his temples, giving salience to a face of ineffable simplicity and goodness--theface of a man at peace with God and all the world, yet touched withthe scars of bygone passions. 

"Papa, this is Harry Revel. "

He bowed with ceremony, a little wide of me. I saw then that hiseyes were sightless. 

"I am happy to make your acquaintance, young sir. My daughterinforms me that you are in trouble. "

"He has promised to tell me all about it, " Isabel put in. "We neednot bother him with questions just now. "

"Assuredly not, " he agreed. "Well, if you will, my lad, tell it toIsabel. What is your age? Barely fourteen? Troubles at that ageare not often incurable. Only whatever you do--and you will pardonan old man for suggesting it--tell the whole truth. When a man, though he be much older than you and his case more serious than yourscan possibly be--when a man once brings himself to make a cleanbreast of it, the odds are on his salvation. Take my word for that, and a wiser man's--By the way, do you understand Latin?"

"No, sir. "

"I am sorry to hear it. But perhaps you play the drum?"

"I--I have never tried, sir. "

"Dear, dear, this is unfortunate: but at least you can serve me byleading me round the garden and telling me where the several flowersgrow, and how they come on. That will be something. "

"I will try, sir: but indeed I can hardly tell one flower fromanother. "

At this his face fell again. "Do you, by chance, know a bee when yousee one?"

"A bee? Oh yes, sir. "

"Come, we have touched bottom at length! Do you understand bees?Can you handle them?"

Here Isabel, seeing my chapfallen face, interposed. 

"And if he does not, papa, you will have the pleasure of teachinghim. "

"Very true, my dear. You must excuse me"--here Major Brooks turnedas if seeing me with his sightless eyes. "But understand that I likeyou far better for owning up. There are men--there is a clergyman inour neighbourhood for one--capable of pretending a knowledge of Latinwhich they don't possess. "

"Doesn't Mr. Whitmore know Latin?" I asked. 

"Hey? Who told you I was speaking of Whitmore?"

I glanced at Isabel, for her eyes drew me. They were fixed on mealmost in terror. 

"I have heard him talk it, sir. "

"Excuse me: you may have heard him pretending. "

"But, papa--" Isabel put forth a hand as if in protest, and I notedthat it trembled and that the ring was missing which she had wornovernight. "You never told me that he--that Mr. Whitmore--"

"Was an impostor? My dear, had you any occasion to seek my opinionof him, or had I any occasion to give it? None, I think: and butfor Master Revel's incomprehensible guess you had not discovered itnow. I have been betrayed into gossip. "

He turned abruptly and, feeling with his hand over the surface of thesummer-house table, picked up a small volume lying there. It struckme that his temper for the moment was not under perfect control. 

Isabel cast at me a look which I could not interpret, and went slowlyback to the house. 

"The meaning of my catechism just now, " said her father, addressingme after listening for awhile to her retreating footsteps, "may bethe plainer when I tell you that I am translating the works of theRoman poet Virgil, line for line, into English verse, and have justreached the beginning of the Fourth Georgic. He is, I may tell you, a poet, and the most marvellous that ever lived; so marvellous, thatthe middle ages mistook him for a magician. That any age is likelyto mistake me--his translator--for a conjuror I think improbable. Nevertheless I do my best. And while translating I hold this book inmy hand, not that I can see to read a line of it, but because themere touch of it, my companion on many campaigns, seems to unloose mymemory. Except in handling this small volume, I have none of thedelicate gift of touch with which blind men are usually credited. But this is page 106, is it not?" He held out the open book towardsme, and added, with sudden apprehension, "You can read, I trust?"

I assured him that I could. 

"And write? Good again! Come in--you will find pen, ink, and paperon the side-drum in the corner. Bring them over to the table andseat yourself. Ready? Now begin, and let me know when you cannotspell a word. "

I seated myself, silently wondering what might be the use of theside-drum in the corner. 

"Let me see--let me see--" He thumbed the book for a while, murmuring words which I could not catch; then thrust it behind hisback with a finger between its pages, straightened himself up, anddeclaimed:

 "Next of aerial honey, gift divine, I sing. Maecenas, be once more benign!"

He paused and instructed me how to spell "aerial" and "Maecenas. "The orthography of these having been settled, I asked his advice upon"benign, " which, as written down by me (I forget how) did not seemconvincing. 

"You are indisputably an honest boy, " said he; "but I have yet toacquire that degree of patience which, by all accounts, consorts withmy affliction. Continue, pray:

 "Prepare the pomp of trifles to behold: Proud peers--a nation's polity unrolled-- Customs, pursuits--its clans, and how they fight, Slight things I labour; not for glory slight, If Heaven attend and Phoebus hearken me. First, then, for site. Seek and instal your Bee--"

--"With a capital B, if you please. The poet says 'bees': but thesingular, especially if written with a capital, adds in my opinionthat mock-heroic touch which, as the translator must frequently missit for all his pains, he had better insert where he can. By the way, how have you spelt 'Phoebus'?"

"F. E. B. U. S, " I answered. 

"I feared so, " he sighed. "And 'site'?"

"S. I. G. H. T. " I felt pretty sure about this. He smote his forehead. 

"That is how Miss Plinlimmon taught me, " I urged almost defiantly. 

"I beg your pardon--'Plinlimmon, ' did you say? An unusual name. Do you indeed know a Miss Plinlimmon?"

"It is the name of my dearest friend, sir. "

"Most singular! You cannot tell me, I dare say, if she happens to berelated to my old friend Arthur Plinlimmon?"

"She is his sister. "

"This is most interesting. I remember her, then, as a girl. You must know that Arthur Plinlimmon and I were comrades in the oldFourth Regiment, and dear friends--are dear friends yet, I trust, although time and circumstances have separated us. His sister usedto keep house for him before his marriage. A most estimable person!And pray where did you make her acquaintance?"

"In the hospital, sir. "

"The hospital? Not an eleemosynary institution for the diseased, Ihope?"

I did not know what this meant. "It's a place for foundlings, sir, "I answered. 

"But--excuse me--Miss Plinlimmon--Agatha? Arabella? I forget forthe moment her Christian name--"

"Amelia, sir. "

"To be sure; Amelia. Well, she could not be a foundling, nor--as Iremember her--did she in the least resemble one. "

"Oh no, sir: she is the matron there. "

"I see. And where is this hospital?"

"At Plymouth Dock. "

"Hey?"

"At Plymouth Dock. A Mr. Scougall keeps it--a sort of clergyman. "

"This is most strange. My friend Arthur's son, young ArchibaldPlinlimmon, is quartered with his regiment there, and often pays us avisit, poor lad. "

"Indeed, sir?"

"His circumstances are not prosperous. Family troubles--moneylosses, you understand: and then his father made an imprudentmarriage. Not that anything can be said against the Leicesters--there are few better families. But the lady, I imagine, did not takekindly to poverty: never learnt to cut her coat according to thecloth. Her uncle might have helped her--Sir Charles, that is--thehead of the family--a childless man with plenty of money. For somereason, however, he had opposed her match with Arthur. A sad story!And now, when their lad is grown and the time come for him to be asoldier, he must start in the ranks. But why in the world, if shelives at Plymouth Dock, has Archibald never mentioned his aunt tous?"

This was more than I could tell him. And you may be sure that thename Leicester made me want to ask questions, not to answer them. But just now Isabel came across the lawn, bearing a tray with aplateful of biscuits, a decanter of claret, and a glass. 

"My dear, " asked her father, "has our friend Archibald ever spoken toyou of an aunt of his--a Miss Plinlimmon--residing at Plymouth Dock?"

"No, papa. " She turned on me, again with that fear and appeal in hereyes, as if in some way I was persecuting her; and the decanter shookand tinkled on the rim of the glass as she poured out the claret. 

The old man lifted the wine and held it between his sightless eyesand the sunshine. 

"A sad story, " he mused: "but, after all, the lad is young and theworld young for him! Rejoice in your youth, Mr. Revel, and honouryour Creator in the days of it. For me, I enjoyed it by God's grace, and it has not forsaken me: no, not when darkness overtook and shutme out of the profession I loved. I cannot see the colour of thiswine, nor the face of this my daughter, nor my garden, yonder, fullof flowers. "

 "Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine--"

"Yet memory returns and consoles my blindness. The colour of thewine is there, the flowers are about me, and Isabel--I am told--resembles her mother. Yes, and away on the edge of Spain, the army Iserved is planting fresh laurels--my old regiment too, the King'sOwn, though James Brooks is by this time scarcely a name to it. Here I sit, hale in wind and limb, and old age creeps on me kindly, telling me that no man is necessary. And yet, if God should come andlay a command on me--some task that a blind man might undertake--I amat God's service. I sit with my loins girt and my soul, I hope, shriven. That is my sermon to you, young sir: a clean breast and nobaggage. I bid you welcome to Minden Cottage!" He drank to me. 

"Is it named from the battle of Minden, sir?" I asked. 

"It is, my lad. "

"Were you there?"

He laughed. "My father won his captaincy there, in a regiment thatmistook orders, charged three lines of cavalry, and broke them oneafter another. It also broke a sound maxim of war by chargingbetween flanking batteries. The British Army has made half itsreputation by mistaking orders--you will understand why, if ever youhave the honour to belong to it. Isabel, get me my drum!"

She fetched it from its corner, with the drumsticks; hitched thesling over her beautiful neck; tightened the straps carefully; andbegan to play a soft tattoo. 

The old man leaned back in his chair; felt in his pocket; and havingfound a silk bandanna handkerchief, unfolded it deliberately, cast itover his head and composed himself to slumber. 

The tattoo ran on, peaceful as a brook. Isabel's arms hung lax andmotionless: only her hands stirred, from the wrists, and so slightly, or else so rapidly without effort, that they too scarcely seemed tomove. Her eyes were averted. 

My ear could not separate the short taps. They ran on and onin a murmur as of bees or of leaves rustling together in a wood;grew imperceptibly gentler; and almost imperceptibly ceased. Isabel glanced at her father, and set the drum back in its corner. We stole out of the summer-house together, and across to the orchard. 

But under the shade of the apple-boughs she turned and faced me. 

"Boy, what do you know?"

CHAPTER XVI. 

MR. JACK ROGERS AS A MAN OF AFFAIRS. 

"I know, " said I, meeting her gaze sturdily, "that you are indanger. "

"How should I be in danger?"

"That I cannot tell you, Miss Isabel, unless you first tell mesomething. "

She waited, her eyes searching mine. 

"Last night, " I went on, "in the road--you were expecting someone. "

Her chin went up proudly; but a tide of red rose with it, flushingher throat and so creeping up and colouring her face. 

"Was it Archibald Plinlimmon?"

She put up a hand as if to push me aside: but on a sudden turned andhastened from me, with bowed head, towards the cottage. 

"Miss Isabel!" I cried, following her close. "I meant no harm--howcould I mean you harm? Miss Isabel!"

I would not let her go, but followed her to the door, entreating;even pushed after her into the small kitchen, where at last she facedon me. 

"Why cannot you let me alone, boy? Into what have you comehere to pry? You are odious--yes, odious!" She stamped her foot. "And I thought last night, that you were in trouble. Was I notkind to you for that, and that only?" She broke off pitifully. "Oh, Harry, I am dreadfully unhappy!"

She sank into a chair beside the table, across which she flung an armand so leaned her brow and let the sobs shake her. 

"And I am here to help you, Miss Isabel: only so much is puzzling me!Last night you said you had a secret, and that it was a happy one. To-day you are crying, and it is miserable to see. "

"And why should I not be happy?" She lifted a hand to the bosom ofher bodice, and slipped over her third finger the ring she had wornover-night. 

"Why should I not be expecting him?" she murmured. 

For the moment I was slow in understanding. But I suppose that atlength she saw that in my eyes which satisfied her: for she drew downmy head to her lap, and sat laughing and weeping softly. 

A kettle hanging from a crook in the chimney-place boiled over, hissing down upon the hot wood-ashes. She sprang up and lifted itdown to the hearth. 

"Oh, and I forgot!" Her hand went back to her bodice again. "Mr. Jack Rogers was here this morning inquiring for you. He droveup in his tilbury, and said he was on his way to Plymouth. But heleft this note. "

I took it and deciphered these words, scrawled in an abominable hand:

 "Meet me to-night, nine o'clock, at the place where we parted. J. R. "

"Was Mr. Rogers going to Plymouth?" I asked. 

"Yes, and in a hurry, by the pace he was driving. "

As you may guess, this news discomposed me. Could Mr. Rogers bepreparing a trap? No: certainly not for me. Whitmore, if anyone, washis quarry. But I mistrusted that, if he once started this game, itwould lead him on to another scent. That Archibald Plinlimmon wasinnocent of the Jew's murder I felt sure. Still--what had he beenseeking on the roofs by the Jew's house? It would be an uglyquestion, if Mr. Rogers blundered on it; and in the way of honestblundering I felt Mr. Rogers to be infinitely capable. Would that, trusting in his good nature, I had made a clean breast to him!

A clean breast? Isabel too, poor girl, was aching to make confessionto her father. For weeks her secret had been a sword within her, wearing the flesh, and it eased her somewhat (as I saw) even to havemade confession to me. But she would not speak to her father withoutfirst consulting Archibald. It was he, I gathered, who had enjoinedsilence. Major Brooks (and small blame to him) would assuredlyhave imposed a probation: old men with lovely daughters do notsurrender them at call to penniless youths, even when the pennilessyouth happens to be the son of an old friend. I wished MasterArchibald to perdition for a selfish fool. 

I talked long with Isabel: first in the kitchen, and again on our wayback to the summer-house, where her father sat awake and expectingme, book in hand. 

There she left me, and he began to dictate at once as I settledmyself to write. 

 "First, then, for site. Seek, and instal your Bee Where nor may winds invade (for winds forbid His homeward load); nor sheep, nor heady kid Trample the flowers; nor blundering heifer pass, Brush off the dew and bruise the tender grass; Nor lizard foe in painted armour prowl Round the rich hives. Ban him, ban every fowl-- Bee-bird with Procne of the bloodied breast: These rifle all--our Hero with the rest, Snapped on the wing and haled, a tit-bit, to the nest. --But seek a green moss'd pool, with well-spring nigh; And through the turf a streamlet fleeting by. "

So much, with interminably slow pauses, we accomplished before thelight waned in the summer-house and Isabel called us in to supper, which we ate together in a low-ceiled parlour overlooking the garden. At a quarter to nine, on pretence that I had still to make up arrearsof sleep, she signed to me to wish her father good-night and escortedme out into the passage. A slip of the bolt, and I was free of thenight. 

I found the spot where I had dropped into the road, and cautiouslymounted the hedge, putting the brambles aside and peering throughthem into the fast falling twilight. A low whistle sounded, and Mr. Rogers stepped into view on the footbridge. But he left a companionbehind him in the shadow of the alders, and who this might be I couldneither see nor guess. 

"Is that you, Master Revel?"

There was no help for it now; so over the hedge I climbed and methim. 

"How did you find out--"

--"Your name? Miss Brooks told me, this morning. But, for thatmatter, it's placarded all over Plymouth and at every public andforge and signpost along the road. You're a notorious character, myson. "

I began to quake. 

"Parson, " he went on, turning and addressing the figure in theshadow, "here's the boy. Better make haste, if you have anyquestions to ask him before we get to business. "

There stepped forward, not Mr. Whitmore (as I was fearfullyexpecting), but a figure unknown to me; an old shovel-hatted manleaning on a stick and buttoned to the chin in a black Invernesscape. I felt his eyes peering at me through the dusk. 

"He seems very young to be a trustworthy witness, " croaked this oldgentleman in a voice which seemed to be affected by the night air. 

"He's right enough, " Mr. Rogers answered cheerfully. 

"He shall tell his tale, then, in Mr. Whitmore's presence. I willnot yet believe that a minister of Christ's religion, whose papers--as I have proved to you--are in order, whose testimonials areunexceptionable, who has the Bishop's licence--"

"The Bishop's fiddlestick! The Bishop didn't license him to carrymarked guineas in his pocket, and I don't wait for a licence to carrya warrant in mine. "

"You will at least afford him an opportunity of explaining before youexecute it. To be plain with you, Mr. Rogers, this business is liketo be scandalous, however you look at it. "

"The constables shall remain outside, and the warrant I'll keep in mypocket until your reverence's doubts are at rest. " Mr. Rogers gaveanother low whistle and two men, hitherto concealed at a littledistance in the trees' shadow, stepped silently forward and joinedus. "Ready, lads? Quick march, then!"

We took the path up the valley bottom, and across a grassy shoulderof the park to a small gate in the ring-fence. Beyond this gate alane, or cart-road, dipped steeply downhill to the right; andfollowing it, we came on a high stone wall overtopped by trees. 

"Here's your post, Hodgson, " whispered Mr. Rogers, after waiting forthe constables to come up. "Jim will take the back of the house: andunderstand that no one is to enter or leave. If anyone attempts it, signal to me: one whistle from you, Hodgson, and two from Jim. Off you go, my lad! The signal's the same if I want you--one whistleor two, as the case may be. "

The constable he called Jim crept away in the darkness, while Mr. Rogers found and cautiously opened a wicket-gate leading to acourtlage, across which a solitary window shone on the ground-floorof a house lifting its gables and heavy chimneys against a sky onlyless black than itself. 

"Gad!" said Mr. Rogers softly, "I wonder what Whitmore's doing?The fun would be, now, to find one of these windows unfastened, andslip in upon him without announcing ourselves. 'Twouldn't be thething, though, for a Justice of the Peace, let alone Mr. Doidge here. No: we'll have to do it in order and knock. The maid knows me. Only you two must keep back in the shadow here while she opens thedoor. "

He stepped forward and knocked boldly. 

To the astonishment of us all the door opened almost at once, andwithout any noise of unlocking or drawing of bolts. 

"For Heaven's sake, my dear--unless you want to wake the village--"began a voice testily. It was Mr. Whitmore's, and almost on theinstant, by the light of a candle which he held, he recognised theman on the doorstep. 

"Mr. Rogers? To what do I owe--"

"Good evening, Whitmore! May I come in? Won't detain you long--especially since you seem to be expecting company. "

"It's the maid, " answered Mr. Whitmore coldly, though he seemedconfused. "She has stepped down to the village for an hour, to hermother's cottage, and I am alone. "

"So you call her 'my dear'? That's a bit pastoral, eh?"

"Look here, Rogers: if you're drunk, I beg you to call at some othertime. To tell the truth, I'm busy. "

"Writing your sermon? I thought Saturday was the night for that. 'Pon my honour now I wouldn't intrude, only the business is urgent. "He waited while Mr. Whitmore somewhat grudgingly set the door wide toadmit him. "By the way I've brought a couple of friends with me. "

"Confound it all, Rogers--"

"Oh, you know them. " Mr. Rogers, with his foot planted over thethreshold, airily waved us forward out of the darkness. "Mr. Doidge, your Rector, " he announced; "also Mr. Revel--a recent acquaintance ofyours, as I understand. "

"Good evening, Whitmore, " said the Rector stepping forward. "I oweyou an apology (I sincerely hope) for the circumstances of thisvisit, as I certainly discommend Mr. Rogers's method of introducingus. "

Now, as we two stepped forward, Mr. Whitmore had instantly shot outhis right hand to the door--against which Mr. Rogers, however, hadplanted his foot--with a gesture as if to slam it in our faces. But the sombre apparition of the Rector seemed to freeze him where hestood--or all of him but his left hand which, grasping thecandlestick, slowly and as if involuntarily lifted it above the levelof his eyes. Then, before the Rector had concluded, he lowered it, turned, and walked hastily before us down the passage. 

Still without speaking he passed through a door on his right, and wefollowed him into a sparely furnished room lined with emptybook-shelves. A few books lay scattered on the centre table wherealso, within the shaded light of a reading lamp, stood a tray with adecanter and a couple of glasses. Beside this lamp he set down thecandle and faced us. In those few paces down the passage I hadobserved that he wore riding-boots and spurs, and that they werespotlessly bright and clean. But from this moment I had eyes onlyfor his face, which was ashen white and the more horrible because hewas essaying a painful smile. 

"My dear Rector, " he began, "this is indeed a--a surprise. You saidnothing of any such intention when I had the honour to call on you inPlymouth, two days ago. "

"Good reason for why, " interrupted Mr. Rogers. "Look here, Whitmore--with the Rector's leave we'll get this over. Do you knowthis coin?"

He held forward a guinea under the lamp. 

I could see the unhappy man pick up his courage to fix his gaze onthe coin and hold it fixed. 

"I don't understand you, Rogers, " he answered. "I have, of course, no knowledge of that coin or what it means. To me it looks like anordinary guinea. "

"I had it from you last night, Whitmore: and it is not an ordinaryguinea, but a marked one. What's more, I marked it myself--see, withthis small cross behind the king's head. What's more I sold it, somarked, to Rodriguez, the Jew. "

--"Who, I suppose, promptly put it into circulation in Plymouth, where by chance it was handed to me amid the change when I paid myhotel-bill--if indeed you are absolutely sure you were given thiscoin by me. "

"Come, Rogers, that's an explanation I myself suggested, " put in theRector. 

"The folks at the Royal Hotel, " answered Mr. Rogers curtly, "tell methat you paid your bill in silver. "

It seemed to me that Mr. Rogers was pressing Whitmore harshly, almostwith a note of private vindictiveness in his voice. But while Iwondered at this my eyes fell on the curate's hand as it playednervously with the base of the brass candlestick. There was a ringon the little finger: and in an instant I knew--though I could nothave sworn to it in court--yet knew more certainly than many thingsto which I could have testified on oath--that this was the hand I hadseen closing the door in the Jew's House. 

Through a buzzing of the brain I heard him addressing the Rector andprotesting against the absurdity, the monstrosity, of the charge--yetstill with that recurring agonised glance at me. But my eyes nowwere on Mr. Rogers; and the buzzing ceased and my brain cleared whenhe swung round, inviting me to speak. I cannot tell what question heput to me, but what I said was:

"If you please, sirs, the runners are after me; and it isn't fair tomake me tell yet what happened in the Jew's house, or what I sawthere: for what I told might be twisted and turned against me. "

"Nonsense!" interrupted Mr. Rogers. But the Rector nodded his head. "The boy's right. He's under suspicion himself, and should have alawyer to advise him before he speaks. That's only fair play. "

"But, " I went on "there's another thing, if you'll be pleased to askMr. Whitmore about it. Why is he paying money to a soldier--a manwho calls himself Letcher, but his real name is Leicester? And whathave they been plotting against Miss Isabel down at the Cottage?"

CHAPTER XVII. 

LYDIA BELCHER INTERVENES. 

The effect of my words astounded me. As a regiment holding itselfbravely against an attack in front will suddenly melt at anunexpected shout on its flank and collapse without striking anotherblow, so Mr. Whitmore collapsed. His jaw fell; his eyes wildlysearched the dim corners of the room; his hands gripped the edge ofthe table; he dropped slowly into the chair behind him, dragging thetablecloth askew as he sank. 

With that I felt Mr. Rogers's grip on my shoulder--no gentle one, Ican assure you. He, too, had been gazing at the curate, but nowstared down, searching my face. 

"You've hit him, by George! Quick, boy!--have you learnt more thanyou told me last night? Or is it only guessing?"

"Ask him, " said I, "why he married Miss Isabel. "

"Married! Isabel Brooks married!"--Mr. Rogers's eyes, wide andround, turned slowly from me and fastened themselves on the curate. 

"Not to _him_, but to Archibald Plinlimmon. Mr. Whitmore marriedthem privately. Ask him why!"

"Why?" Mr. Rogers released me and springing on the curate, seizedhim by the collar. "Why, you unhanged cur? Why? Or better, sayit's not true--say _some_thing, else by the Lord I'll kill you hereand now!"

Mr. Whitmore slid from his chair and grovelling on the floor claspedMr. Doidge's knees. "Take him off!" he gasped. "Have mercy--takehim off! You shall hear everything, sir: indeed you shall. Onlyhave mercy, and take him off!"

"Pah!" Mr. Rogers hurled him into a corner. 

"Enough, Mr. Rogers!" commanded the Rector. The two stood eyeing theculprit who, crouching where he fell, gazed up at them dumbly, pitifully, as a dog between two thrashings. 

"Now, sir, " the Rector continued. "You married this couple, itseems. At whose request?"

"At their own, " came the answer in a whisper. 

"Ay, " said Mr. Rogers, "at their own request. You--not being apriest at all, or in orders, but a swindler with a forged licence--married that lady at her own request. "

"Is that true?" the Rector demanded. 

The poor wretch made as if to crawl towards him, to clasp his kneesagain. "Mercy!" he whined, between two sobs. 

"One moment, " Mr. Rogers insisted, as the Rector held up a hand. "Did young Plinlimmon know of the fraud?"

"No. "

"Does he know now?"

"No. "

"Thank the Lord for that small mercy! For, by the Lord, I'd haveshot him without grace to say his prayers. "

"Mr. Rogers!" Again the Rector lifted a reproving hand. 

"You don't understand, sir. For this marriage--which isn't amarriage--Isabel Brooks gave the door to an honest man. He may be abit of a fool, sir: but since she wasn't for him, he prayed she mightfind a better fellow. That's sound Christianity, hey? I can tellyou it came tough enough. And now--" He swung round upon Whitmore. "Did this man Letcher know?" he demanded. 

"He did, Mr. Rogers. Oh, if you only knew what agonies of mind--"

"Stow your agonies of mind. We'll begin with those you've caused. What was Letcher's game?"

"His right name is Leicester, sir. He is Mr. Plinlimmon's cousin--or second cousin, rather--though Mr. Plinlimmon don't know it. "Mr. Whitmore, with his gloss rubbed off, was fast returning to hisnative style even in speech. You could as little mistake him now fora gentleman as for a priest. 

"And how does that bear on your pretty plot?"

"I will tell you, gentlemen: for when George Leicester forced me toit--and it was only under threats so terrible that you would hardlybelieve--"

"In other words, he knew enough to hang you. "

"It was terrorism, gentlemen: I was his slave, body and soul. But when he came and proposed this, and never told me what he was toget by it--for the plan was all his, and I stood to win nothing, absolutely nothing--I determined to find out for myself, thinking(you see) that by getting at his secret I might put myself on levelterms. "

"You mean, that you might discover enough to hang _him_. I hope yousucceeded. "

"To this extent, Mr. Rogers--George Leicester and ArchibaldPlinlimmon's mother were first cousins. There were three Leicestersto begin with, as you might say--Sir Charles, who was head of thefamily and is living yet, though close on eighty, and two youngerbrothers, Archibald and Randall, both dead. Sir Charles was abachelor, and for years his brothers lived with him in a sort ofdependence. Towards middle-age they both married--I was told, by hisorders--and near about at the same time. At any rate each marriedand each had a child--Archibald a daughter and Randall a son. Archibald's daughter--he died two years after her birth--was broughtup by her uncle, Sir Charles, who made a pet of her; but she spoilther prospects by marrying a poor soldier, Captain Plinlimmon. She ran away with him. And the old man would never speak to heragain, nor see her, but cut her out of his will. "

"I see. And she--this daughter of Archibald Leicester--wasArchibald's Plinlimmon's mother. Is she living?"

"Mrs. Plinlimmon died some years ago, " I put in. 

"Hey? What do _you_ know about all this?" asked Mr. Rogers. 

"A little, sir, " I answered. 

"But what little you know--does it bear this man's story out?"

"Yes, sir. "

"It's as well to have some check on it, for I'd trust him just so faras I could fling him by the eyebrows. "

"There was no profit for me in this business, Mr. Rogers, " protestedWhitmore. "I'm telling you the truth, sir!" And indeed the poorrogue, having for the moment another's sins to confess, rattled onwith his story almost glibly. "As I was saying, sir, the old man cuther out of his will: and not only this, but had a Bible fetched andtook his oath upon it that no child of hers should ever touch a pennyof his money. Be so good as to bear that in mind, sir, for it'simportant. "

"I see, " Mr. Rogers nodded. "So that cuts out Master Archibald. And the money, I suppose, went to her brother's child--the boy youspoke of?"

"Softly sir, for now we come to it. That boy--Randall Leicester'sson--was George Leicester--the man who calls himself Letcher. Randall Leicester lived long enough to have his heart broken by him. He started in the Navy, with plenty of pocket-money, and betterprospects; for Sir Charles turned all his affection over to him andmeant to make him his heir. But--if you knew George Leicester, gentlemen, as I do! That man has a devil in him; and the devilshowed himself early. First there was an ugly story about a woman--aplanter's wife in one of the West India islands, where he was servingunder Abercromby--Santa Lucia, I think, or it may have been St. Vincent. They say that after getting her to run with him, he lefther stranded and bolted back to the ship with his pockets full of herjewels. On top of that came a bad business at Naples--an affair ofcards--which cost him his uniform. After that he disappeared, andfor years his uncle has believed him to be dead. "

"Then who gets the money?"

"There's the villainy, sir"--he spoke as if indeed he had taken nohand in it. "Sir Charles, you see, had vowed never to leave it toyoung Plinlimmon: but it seems he's persuaded himself that the oathdoesn't apply to young Plinlimmon's children, should he marry andhave children. To whom else should it go? 'Lawful heirs of hisbody': and if the inheritance is made void by bastardy, you see, heturns up as the legitimate heir and collars the best of theproperty. "

"My God!" shouted Mr. Rogers, and would have leapt on him again hadnot the Rector, with wonderful agility for his years, flung himselfbetween. "You dare to stand there and tell me that, to aid thisdevilry, you pushed a woman into shame--and that woman IsabelBrooks?"

"Mr. Rogers, " the Rector implored, "control yourself! I know betterthan you--every man knows who has been a parish priest--what vilenessa man can be guilty of to save his skin. Reserve your wrath forLeicester, but let this poor creature be--he has an awful expiationbefore him--and consider with me if the worst of this evil cannot beremedied. " He turned to the curate. "You have the registers--theparish papers? Where are they? Here?"

Whitmore nodded towards a door in the corner. 

"Is the licence for this marriage among them? Give me the key. "

The curate seemed to search in his pocket for a moment; then jerked ahand towards the door, as if meaning that no key was necessary. The Rector strode across to search. 

"By God, it shall be remedied!" Mr. Rogers shouted. "Rector!"

The old man turned. 

"Well?" he asked. 

"You can marry them yet?"

"To be sure I can. And if the licence is in order, little time needbe lost. Let me search for it. "

"Man, there's no time to lose! The North Wilts Regiment sailsto-morrow night for Portugal. I heard the news as I left Plymouth. "

"If that's so, " I put in, "Plinlimmon will be down at the cottageto-night, or to-morrow morning to say good-bye. "

"Are you sure of that?"

"Sure, " said I. "Miss Isabel told me that he had his Colonel'spromise. "

Mr. Rogers slapped his thigh. "Egad, boy, it seems to me you're thegood angel in this business! We'll send down to the Cottage atonce. "

He pulled a dog-whistle from his pocket and blew two shrill callsupon it. But above the second sounded the Rector's voice in a sharpexclamation, and we spun round in time to see him fling back the doorin the corner. It opened on a lighted room. 

I was running towards this door to see what his exclamation mightmean when at the other appeared the constable whom Mr. Rogers called"Jim"--a youngish man, and tall, with a round head set like a buttonon top of a massive pair of shoulders. 

"You whistled for me, sir?"

"I did. You will not be wanted to keep watch any longer. Step downto Minden Cottage and give this note to Miss Brooks. " He pulled outa pencil, searched his pockets, found a scrap of paper, and, leaningover the table, scribbled a few lines. "If Miss Brooks has gone tobed, you must knock her up. "

"Very good, sir. " Constable Jim touched his hat and retired. 

"And now what's the matter in there? Come along, you Whitmore. Has he found the licence?"

But this was not what the Rector's cry had announced. The room intowhich we passed had apparently served Mr. Whitmore for a bed-chamberand private study combined, for a bed stood in the corner, and abookcase and bureau on either side of the chimneypiece. In themiddle of the floor lay an open valise, and all around it a litter ofbooks and clothes, tossed here and there as their owner had draggedthem out to make a selection in his packing. 

Mr. Rogers uttered a long whistle. "So you were bolting?" He staredaround, rubbing his chin, and fastened his eyes again on Whitmore. "Now why to-night?"

"My conscience, Mr. Rogers--"

"Oh, the devil take your conscience! Your conscience seems to havetimed matters pretty accurately. Say that your nose smelt a rat. But why to-night?"

I cannot say wherefore; but, as he stared around, a nausea seemed totake the unfortunate man. Perhaps, the excitement of confessionover, the cold shadow of the end rose and thrust itself before him. He was, I feel sure, a coward in grain. He swayed and caught at theledge of the chimneypiece, almost knocking over one of the twocandles which burned there. 

With that there smote on our ears the sounds of two voices inaltercation outside--one a woman's high contralto. Footsteps camebustling through the outer room and there stood on the threshold--Miss Belcher. 

She was attired in a low-crowned beaver hat and a riding habit theskirt of which, hitched high in her left hand, disclosed a pair oftall boots cut like hessians. On this hand blazed an enormousdiamond. The other, resting on her hip, held a hunting-crop and apair of gauntleted gloves. 

"I bid ye be quiet, Sam Hodgson, " she was saying to the expostulatingconstable. "Man, if you dare to get in my way, I'll take the whip toye. To heel, I say! 'Mr. Rogers's orders?' Damn your impidence, what do I care for Mr. Rogers? Why hallo, Jack!--"

As her gaze travelled round the room, Mr. Rogers stepped up andaddressed the constable across her. 

"It's all right, Hodgson: you may go back to your post. Begad, Lydia, " he added as the constable withdrew, "this is a queer hour fora call. "

But Miss Belcher's gaze moved slowly from the Rector--whose bow sheanswered with a curt nod--to me, and from me to the figure ofWhitmore by the fireplace. 

"What's wrong?" she demanded. "Lord, if he's not fainting!"--and asshe ran, the curate swayed and almost fell into her arms. "Brandy, Jack! I saw a bottle in the next room, didn't I? No, thankye, Rector. I can manage him. "

As Mr. Rogers hurried back for the brandy, she lifted the man andcarried him, rejecting our help, to an armchair beside the window. There for a moment, standing with her back to us, she peered into hisface and (as I think now) whispered a word to him. 

"Open the window, boy--he wants air, " she called to me, over hershoulder. 

While I fumbled to draw the curtains she reached an arm past me andflung them back: and so with a turn of the wrist unlatched thecasement and thrust the pane wide. In doing so she leaned the weightof her body on mine, pressing me back among the curtain-folds. 

I heard a cry from the Rector. An oath from Mr. Rogers answered it. But between the cry and the answer Mr. Whitmore had rushed past meand vaulted into the night. 

"Confound you, Lydia!" Mr. Rogers set down the tray with a crash, and leapt over it towards the window, finding his whistle and blowinga shrill call as he ran. "We'll have him yet! Tell Hodgson to takethe lane. Oh, confound your interference!"

Across the yard a clatter of hoofs sounded, cutting short his speech. 

"The gate!" he shouted, clambering across the sill. 

But he was too late. As he dropped upon the cobbles and pelted offto close it, I saw and heard horse and rider go hurtling through theopen gate--an indistinguishable mass. A shout--a jet or two ofsparks--a bang on the thin timbers as on a drum--and the hoofs werethudding away farther and farther into darkness. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE OWL'S CRY. 

Silence--and then Mr. Rogers's voice uplifted and shouting forHodgson!

But Hodgson, it seemed, had found out a way of his own. For a freshsound of hoofs smote on our ears--this time in the lane--a tunepounded out to the accompaniment of loose stones volleyed anddropping between the beats. 

"Drat the man's impidence, " said Miss Belcher coolly; "he's taken mymare!"

"What's that you say?" demanded Mr. Rogers's angry voice from theyard. 

"You won't find another horse, Jack, unless you brought him. Whitmore keeps but one. "

"Confound it all, Lydia!" He came sullenly back towards the window. 

"You've said that before. The man's gone, unless Hodgson canovertake him--which I doubt. He rides sixteen stone if an ounce, andthe mare's used to something under eleven. So give over, my boy, andcome in and tell me what it's all about. "

"Look here, " he growled, clambering back into the room, "there'sdevilry somewhere at the bottom of this. The fellow's nag was readysaddled--I got near enough to see that: and the yard-gate postedopen: and--the devil take it, Lydia, I believe you opened that windowon purpose! Did you?"

"That's telling, my dear. But, if you like, we'll suppose that Idid. "

"Then, " said Mr. Rogers bitterly, "it may interest you to know thatyou've given him bail from the gallows. He's no priest at all: byhis own confession he's a forger: and I'll lay odds he's a murderertoo, if that's enough. But perhaps you knew this without my tellingyou?"

Miss Belcher took a step or two towards the fireplace and back. Her face, hidden for a moment, was composed when she turned it againupon us. 

"Don't be an ass, Jack. I knew nothing of the sort. "

"You knew enough, it seems, " Mr. Rogers persisted sulkily, "to guesshe was in a hurry. And you'll excuse me, Lydia, but this is aserious business. Whether you knew it or not, you've abetted acriminal in escaping from the law, and I've my duty to do. What brought you here to-night?"

"Are you asking that as a Justice of the Peace?"

"I am, " he answered, flushing angrily. 

"Then I shall not answer you. Who is this boy?"

"His name is Harry Revel?"

"What? The youngster the hue-and-cry's after?"

"Quite so: and in a pretty bad mess, since you've opened the cage tothe real bird. "

"Jack Rogers, you don't mean to tell me that he--that Mr. Whitmore--"

"Killed the Jew Rodriguez? Well, Lydia, I've no doubt of it in myown mind: but when you entered we were investigating another crime ofhis, and a dirtier one. "

She swept us all in a gaze, and I suppose that our faces answeredher. 

"Very well, " she said; "I will answer your questions. You may putthem to me as a magistrate later on, but just now you shall listen tothem as a friend and a gentleman. " With her hunting-crop she pointedtowards the door. "In the next room and alone, if you please. Thank you. You will excuse us, Rector?"

She bowed to the old man. Mr. Rogers stood aside to let her pass, then followed. The door closed behind them. 

Mr. Doidge fumbled in his pockets, found his spectacles, adjustedthem with a shaking hand, and sat down before the bureau to searchfor the licence. The pigeon-holes contained but a few bundles ofpapers, all tied very neatly with red tape and docketed. (Neatness, at any rate, was one of Mr. Whitmore's virtues. Although the carpetlay littered with books, boots, and articles of clothing which bytheir number proclaimed the dandy, the few selected for the valisehad been deftly packed and with extreme economy of space. ) In thefirst drawer below the writing flap the Rector found the register andparish account-books in an orderly pile. He seized on the registerat once, opened it, and ran his eyes down the later pages, mutteringwhile he read. 

"There is no entry here of Miss Brooks's marriage, " he announced. "One, two, three, five marriages in all entered in his handwriting:but no such name as Brooks or Plinlimmon. Stay: what is the meaningof this?--a blank line between two entries--one of March 20th, theother of the 25th--both baptisms. Looks as if he'd left room for apost-entry. Let's have a look at the papers. "

He tossed the bundles over and found one labelled "Marriages"; spreadthe papers out and rubbed his head in perplexity. Isabel's licencewas not among them. 

Next he began to open the books and shake them, pausing now and againas a page of figures caught his eye. 

"Accounts seem in order, down to the petty cash. " He stooped, pickedup and opened a small parcel of coin wrapped in paper, which hiselbow had brushed off the ledge. "Fifteen and ninepence--right, to apenny. But where in the world's that licence?"

There were drawers in the lower half of the bookcase, and he directedme to search in these while he hunted again through the bureau. And while we were thus occupied the door opened and Miss Belcherre-entered the room with Mr. Rogers at her heels. Had it beenpossible to associate tears with Miss Belcher, I could have sworn shehad been weeping. Her first words, and the ringing masculine tone ofthem, effaced that half-formed impression. 

"What the dickens are you two about?"

"We are searching for a licence, " the Rector answered. "I am right, Mr. Rogers--am I not?--in my recollection that Whitmore indicated itto be here, in this room, and easily found?"

"To be sure he did, " said Mr. Rogers. 

"I cannot find it among his papers--which, for the rest, are inapple-pie order. "

Thereupon we all fell to searching. In half an hour we had ransackedthe room, and all to no purpose; and so, as if by signal, broke offand eyed one another in dismay. 

And as we did so Miss Belcher laughed aloud and pointed at the valiselying in the middle of the floor--the only thing we had leftunexplored. 

Mr. Rogers flung himself upon it, tossed its contents right and left, dived his hand under a flap, and held up a paper with a shout. 

The Rector clutched it and hurried to the bureau to examine it by thelight of the candles he had taken from the chimney-piece and placedthere to assist his search. 

"It's the licence!" he announced. 

The two others pressed forward to assure themselves. He put thepaper into their hands and, stepping to the rifled valise, bent overit, rubbing his chin meditatively. 

"Now why, " he asked, "would he be taking this particular paper withhim?"

"Because, " Miss Belcher answered, with a glance at Mr. Rogers, "he was a villain, but not a complete one. He was a weak fool--oh, yes, and I hate him for it. But I won't believe but that he loathedthis business. "

"I don't see how you get that out of his packing the paper, to carryit off with him: though it's queer, I allow, " said Mr. Rogers. 

"It's plain enough to me. He meant, if he reached safety, to sendthe thing back to you, Rector, and explain: he meant to set thisthing right. I'll go bail he abominated what he'd done, andabominated the man who compelled him. "

"He called it damnable, " said I. 

The words were scarcely out of my mouth when my ears and sensesstiffened at a sound from the night without, borne to us through theopen window--the hoot of an owl. 

The others heard it too. 

"There he is!" I whispered. 

"Who?" asked Miss Belcher. But I nodded at Mr. Rogers. 

"Letcher: that's his call. "

Mr. Rogers glanced at the window, and grinned. 

"Now here's a chance, " he said softly. 

"Eh?"

"He hasn't seen us. Stand close, everyone--oh, Moses, here's agame!" He seemed to be considering. 

"Let's have it, Jack, " Miss Belcher urged. "Don't be keeping all thefun to yourself. "

"Whist a moment! I was thinking what to do with you three. The door's in line with the window, and he'll spot anyone thatcrosses the room. "

I pointed to the window-skirting. "Not if one crossed close underthe window, sir--hands and knees. "

"Good boy! Can you manage it, Lydia? Keep close by the wall, tuckin your tuppeny and slip across. "

She nodded. "And where after that?"

"Under the bed or behind the far curtain--which you will: and notricks, this time! The near curtain will do for the Rector. Is thatyour hat, sir--there beside you, on the bureau?"

"No: I left mine in the next room. This must belong to Whitmore. "

"Better still! Pass it over--thank you. And now, if you please, we'll exchange coats. " Mr. Rogers began to strip. 

The Rector hesitated, but after a moment his eye twinkled and hecomprehended. The coats were exchanged, and he, too, began to stealtowards the window. 

"This will do for me, sir, " said I, pointing to a cupboard under thebookcase. 

"Plenty of room beneath the bed, " he decided, as Miss Belcherdisappeared behind her curtain. And so it happened that better thaneither she or the Rector I saw what followed. 

We were hiding some while before the owl's cry sounded again and (asit seemed to me) from the same distance as before. Mr. Rogers, inthe Rector's coat and the curate's hat, stepped hurriedly to thevalise and began to re-pack it, kneeling with his back to the window, and full in the line of sight. I am fain to say that he played hispart admirably. The suspense, which kept my heart knocking againstmy ribs, either did not trouble him or threw into his movements justthe amount of agitation to make them plausible. By and by hescrambled up, collected a heap of garments, and flung them back intoa wardrobe beside the bed; stepped to the bureau--still keeping hisface averted from the window--picked up and pocketed the licencewhich the Rector had left there; returned to the valise, and, stooping again, rammed its contents tighter. I saw that he haddisengaged the leather straps which ran round it, pulling them clearof their loops. 

It was then that I heard a light sound on the cobbles outside, andknew it for a footstep. 

"W'st!" said a voice. "W'st--Whitmore!"

CHAPTER XIX. 

CHECKMATE. 

Mr. Rogers's attitude stiffened with mock terror. So natural was itthat I cowered back under the bed. He closed the valise with a snapas a heel grated on the window-ledge and George Leicester droppedinto the room. 

"Wh--ew! So _that's_ why you couldn't hear an old friend's signal!Bolting, were you? No, no, my pretty duck--pay first, if youplease!"

"Take it then!"

Mr. Rogers swung round on him and smote him full on the jaw--a neatblow and beautifully timed. The man went down like an ox, his headstriking the floor with a second thud close beside my hiding-place. 

Miss Belcher ran from her curtain, clapping her hands. But Mr. Rogers had not finished with his man. 

"Shut the window!" he commanded, flinging himself forward andgripping Leicester's hands as they clutched at the carpet. "Here, youngster--pass the straps yonder and hold on to his legs!"

The blow had so rattled Leicester--had come so very near to smitinghim senseless--that he scarcely struggled whilst we bound him, trussing him like a fowl with the aid of Miss Belcher's riding-cropwhich she obligingly handed. He was not a pretty object, with hismouth full of blood and two of his teeth knocked awry, and we madehim a ludicrous one. Towards the end of the operation he began tospit and curse. 

"Gently, my lad!" Mr. Rogers turned him over. 

"You came here to settle up and we don't mean to disappoint you. Let's see what you're worth. " He plunged a hand into Leicester'sbreeches pocket and drew forth a coin or two. 

"Let me alone, you '--' thief!" roared Leicester, his voice comingback to him in full strength. 

"Indeed, Mr. Rogers, " the Rector protested, "this is going too far, Idoubt. "

"It's funny work for a Justice of the Peace, I'll own, " he answered, with a grin at Miss Belcher. "Lydia, my dear, be so good as to bringone of those candles: I want to have a look at these coins. . . . Ah, I thought so!"

"Put that money back where you found it!" snarled Leicester. "By God! I don't know what you're after, but I'll have the law of youfor this evening's work!"

"All in good time, my friend: you shall have as much law as you like, and a trifle over. See, Rector?" Mr. Rogers pointed to a scratch onthe face of one of the coins. 

Leicester began to smell danger. "What's wrong with the money?" hedemanded. Then as no one answered, "There's nothing wrong with it, is there?" he asked. 

"Depends where you got it, and how, " he was answered. 

"Look here--you're not treating me fair, " urged the rogue, changinghis tune. "If it's over the money you're knocking me about likethis, you're maltreating an innocent man; for I had it from ParsonWhitmore--every penny. "

"Ah, if you can prove that"--Mr. Rogers's face was perfectly grave--"you're a lucky man! The Reverend Mr. Whitmore has disappeared. "

The scoundrel's face was a study. Miss Belcher turned to the window, and even the Rector was forced to pull his lip. 

"Disappeared, " Mr. Rogers repeated, "and most mysteriously. The unfortunate part of the business is that before leaving he madeno mention of any money actually paid to you. On the contrary, wegathered that for some reason or other he owed you a considerable sumwhich he found a difficulty in paying. Let me see"--he looked aroundon us as if for confirmation--"the sum was fifty pounds, if I mistakenot? We found it difficult to guess how he, a priest in Holy Orders, came to owe you this substantial amount. But perhaps you met him onhis way, and these guineas in my hand were tendered as part-payment?"

George Leicester blinked. Accustomed to play with the fears ofothers, he understood well enough the banter in Mr. Rogers's tone, and that he was being sauced in his own sauce. He read the menace init too. But what could he answer?

"I had the money from Whitmore, " he repeated doggedly. 

"When?"

"That I'll leave you to find out. " He laughed a short laugh, betweenrage and derision. "Gad! you've a fair stock of impudence among you!First you assault me, half kill me, and tie me up here without apenn'orth of reason given: and now you're inviting me to walk intoanother trap-for all I can learn, merely because it amuses you. Itwon't do, my fine Justice-fellow; and that you'll discover. "

"The question is important, nevertheless. I may tell you that at onetime or another these coins were in the possession of the JewRodriguez, who was found murdered in Southside Street, Plymouth, yesterday morning. You perceive, therefore, that something dependson when and how you came by them. Still, since you prefer--andperhaps wisely--to keep your knowledge to yourself, I'll start bymaking out the warrant and we'll have in the constables. "Mr. Rogers stepped towards the bureau. 

"Wh--" Leicester attempted a low whistle, but his mouth hurt him andhe desisted. An ugly grin of comprehension spread over his face--ofcomprehension and, at the same time, of relief. "That explains, " hemuttered. "But where did he find the pluck?"

"Eh?" Mr. Rogers, in the act of seating himself by the bureau, hadcaught the tone but not the words. As he slewed round with the queryI heard another sound in the adjoining room. 

"Oh, go ahead with your warrant, my Jessamy Justice! It tickles youand don't hurt me. Shall I help you spell it?"

"I was thinking to ask you that favour, " Mr. Rogers replied demurely. "Your name, now?"

"Letcher--L. E. T. C. H. E. R--Sergeant, North Wilts Regiment. "

"Thank you--'Letcher, ' you say? Now I was on the point of writing it'Leicester. '"

In the dead silence that followed he laid down his pen, and with hishands behind him came slowly across the room and stared intoLeicester's face. 

"The game is up, my friend. "

Leicester met the stare, but his jaw and throat worked as though hewere choking. I thought he was trying to answer. If so, the wordsrefused to come. 

Someone knocked at the door. 

Mr. Rogers stepped to it quickly. "That you, Jim?"

"Yessir. "

"Is Miss Brooks with you?" He held the door a very little ajar--notwide enough to give sight of us behind him. 

"Yessir. A gentleman, too, sir: leastways he talks like one, thoughdressed like a private soldier. He won't give his name. " Jim's tonewas an aggrieved one. 

"Thank you: that's quite right. You may go home to bed, if you wish:but be ready for a call. I may want you later on. "

"Be this all you want of me?" Jim was evidently disappointed. 

"I fear so. "

"P'rhaps you don't know it, sir, but Hodgson's gone. There wasnobody at the gate when we came by. "

"Hodgson has a little job on hand. It will certainly occupy him allnight, but I am afraid you cannot help him. Now don't stay askingquestions, my man, but be off to bed. I'll send word if I want you. "

Jim grumbled and withdrew. "Best to get him out of the way, "Mr. Rogers explained to the Rector. "You and I can take this fellowback to Plymouth at daybreak. " He listened for a moment andannounced, "He's gone. Keep an eye on our friend, please, while Iprepare Isabel for it. My word!"--and he heaved a prodigious sigh--"I'd give something to be through with the next ten minutes!"

He opened the door and, passing through, closed it as quickly behindhim. He was absent for half an hour perhaps. We could hear themutter of his voice in the next room and now and again anothermasculine voice interrupting--never Isabel's. The Rector had found aseat for Miss Belcher beside the bureau. He himself took his standbeside the chimney and fingered a volume of the registers, makingpretence to read but keeping his eye alert for any movement ofLeicester. No one spoke; until the prisoner, intercepting a glancefrom Miss Belcher, broke into a sudden brutal laugh. 

"Poor old lady!" he jeered, and his eyes travelled wickedly acrossthe disordered floor. "Whitmore left a lot behind him, eh?"

She rose and turning her back on him, walked to the window. There she leaned out, seeming to study the night: but I saw that hershoulders heaved. 

The Rector looked across with a puzzled frown. Leicester laughedagain: and with that, Miss Belcher came back to him, slipped out theriding-crop which trussed him, and held it under his nose. Her facewas white, but calm. She lifted the stick slowly to bring it acrosshis face, paused, and flung it on the floor. 

"You tempt me to be as dirty as yourself, " she said. "But one womanhas shown you mercy to-night, despising you. Think of that, GeorgeLeicester. "

The door opened again and Mr. Rogers nodded to us. 

"Hallo!" he exclaimed, perceiving the riding-crop on the floor. 

"He can't run, " said Miss Belcher nonchalantly. "But he can standnow, I fancy--and walk, if you loosen his legs a bit. He'll bewanted for a witness, won't he?"

"You're all wanted. " Mr. Rogers helped Leicester to stand andslackened the bond about his ankles. "We'll tighten it again in thenext room, my friend. Stay a moment, Rector!" He pointed to thewardrobe. The Rector went to it and unhitching a clean surplicelaid it across his arm. So we filed into the room where Isabel andArchibald Plinlimmon awaited us. 

They stood in the shadow of the window-curtains, talking together inlow tones: and by their attitudes she was vehemently pleading for afavour which he as vehemently rejected. But when she caught him byboth hands he yielded, and they faced us together--she with herbeautiful face irradiated. 

Miss Belcher stepped to her at once and kissed her; and across thatgood lady's shoulder she cast one look at the prisoner, now beingshuffled into the room by Mr. Rogers. It was neither vindictive norrecriminatory, but cheerful and calm with an utter scorn. I lookednervously at Archibald Plinlimmon. His face was dusky red and sullenwith rage; but I noted with a leap of my heart that he, too, lookedLeicester squarely in the face: and from that moment (if a boy maysay so) I felt there was hope for him. 

The Rector unfolded and donned the surplice. Isabel disengagedherself from Miss Belcher's arms and, drawing off her ring, handed itto her lover. Their eyes met, and hers were smiling bravely: butthey brimmed on a sudden as the tears sprang into his. And now Ifelt that there was strong hope for him. 

Thus I came to be present at their wedding. Indeed, the prisonerclaimed so much of Mr. Rogers's attention during the ceremony thatyou might almost say I acted as groomsman. 

CHAPTER XX. 

ISABEL'S REVENGE. 

When all was over, and the book signed, Isabel walked across to Mr. Rogers and held out her hand. 

"You have been a good friend to me to-night. God will surely blessyou for what you have done. " She paused, with heightened colour. 

Mr. Rogers awkwardly stammered that he hoped she wouldn't mention it. But if the speech was inadequate, his action made up for it. He tookher hand and kissed it respectfully. 

It seemed that she had more to say. "I have still another favour toask, " she went on--I have heard since that a woman always keeps sometenderness for an honest man who has once wooed her, howeverdecidedly she may have said "no. " Isabel's smile was at once tenderand anxious; but it drew no response from Mr. Rogers, who had letdrop her fingers and stood now with eyes uncomfortably averted. 

"I want a wedding gift, " said she. 

"Eh?" He turned a flushed face and perceived that she was pointingat Leicester. 

"I want this man from you. Will you give him to me?"

"For what?"

"You shall see. " She knelt at the prisoner's feet and began tounbuckle the strap about his ankles; shrinking a little at first atthe touch of him, but resolutely conquering her disgust. 

Mr. Rogers put down a hand to prevent her. 

"You never mean to set him free?"

"That is what I ask, " she answered, with an upturned look of appeal. 

"My dear Miss Brooks, " he said, inadvertently using her maiden name, "I am sorry--no, that's a lie--I am jolly glad to say that it can'tbe done. "

"Why? Against whom else has he sinned, to injure them?"

"Against a good many, even if we put it on that ground only. Besides, he'll have to answer another charge altogether. "

"What charge?"

"Of having murdered the Jew Rodriguez. Did I not tell you that wefound marked money in his pocket?"

"But he never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"

Mr. Rogers shrugged his shoulders. "That's for him to prove. "

"But we know he did not, " Isabel insisted, and turned to me. "He never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"

"No, " said I; "it was given him last night by Mr. Whitmore in MissBelcher's shrubbery. "

"He is not guilty of this murder?"

"No, " said I again, "I think not: indeed, I am sure he is not. "I glanced at Archibald Plinlimmon who had been standing with eyesdowncast and gloomy, studying the dim pattern of the carpet at hisfeet. He looked up now: his face had grown resolute. 

"No, " he echoed in a strained voice; "he had nothing to do with themurder. "

"Why, what on earth do _you_ know?" cried Mr. Rogers, and Isabel, too, bent back on her knees and gazed on him amazedly. 

"I was there. "

"_Where_, in Heaven's name?"

"On the roof outside the garret. I looked in and saw the bodylying. "

"You were on the roof--you looked in and saw the body--" Mr. Rogersrepeated the words stupidly, automatically, searching for speech ofhis own. "Man alive, how came you on the roof? What were you doingthere?"

"We were billeted three doors away, " said Archibald, and paused. "I can tell you no more just now. "

"'We'?"

"That man and I. " He pointed at Leicester. 

"And you looked in. What else did you see?" Mr. Rogers's voice wassharp. 

"That I cannot tell you. "

"The murderer?"

"No: not the murderer, " he answered slowly. 

"Then what? Whom?"

"I have said that I cannot tell you. "

"But he can, sir!" I cried recklessly. "He saw _me_! I had justfound the body and was standing beside it when he looked in. "I stopped, panting. It seemed as if all the breath in me had escapedfor the moment with my confession. 

Mr. Rogers turned from me to Archibald. "I think I see. Yousupposed the boy to be guilty, and helped him to get away. "

"No, " answered Archibald, "I did not think him guilty. I did notknow what to think. And it was he who helped me to get away. "

"Why should he help you to get away?"

"I will tell that--but not to you. I will tell it to my wife. "

Isabel had risen from her knees. She went to him and would havetaken his hand. "Not yet, " he said hoarsely, and turned from her. 

Mr. Rogers eyed the Rector in despair. But the Rector merely shookhis head. 

"But confound it all! Where's the murderer, in all this?"

"Sakes alive! Isn't that as clear as daylight?" interjected MissBelcher. "Didn't I let him out of the window more than an hour ago?And isn't Hodgson foundering my mare at this moment in chase of him?See here, Jack, " she went on judicially, "you've played one or twoneat strokes to-night: but one or two neat strokes don't make aprofessional. You'll have to give up this justicing. You've no headfor it. "

"Indeed?" retorted Mr. Rogers. "Then since it seems you see deeperinto this business than most of us, perhaps you'll favour us withyour advice. "

"With all the pleasure in life, my son, " said the lady. "I can seeholes in a ladder: but I don't look deep into a brick wall, for thereason that I don't try. There's some secret between Mr. Plinlimmonand this boy. What it is I don't know, and you don't know: and I'veyet to discover that 'tis any business of ours. All I care to hearabout it is that Mr. Plinlimmon means to tell his wife, for which Icommend him. Now you don't propose to make out a warrant against_him_, I take it? As for the boy, he's done us more servicesto-night than we can count on our fingers. He's saved more than one, and more than two, of us here, let alone five couples married byWhitmore in the four months he was curate. Reckon them in, please, and their children to come. Ah, my dear, " she laid a hand onIsabel's shoulder. "I know what I'm speaking of! He has ended ascandal for the Rector, and in time for the mischief to be repaired. He has even saved that dirty scoundrel there, if it helps a man onJudgment Day that his villainies have miscarried. Well then, whatabout the boy? There's a hue-and-cry after him; but you can't givehim up. Let alone the manner of your meeting him--that business ofthe bonfire--and a pretty tale 'twould make against a Justice of thePeace--"

"I never gave that a thought, Lydia, " Mr. Rogers protested. 

"I know you didn't, my lad: that's why I mentioned it. Well, lettingthat alone, how are you to give the child up? You can't. You knowyou can't. We've to hide him now, though it cost your commission. Eh? to be sure we must. Give him up? Pretty gratitude indeed, andwhat next, I wonder!"

"I never thought of giving him up. "

"I know you didn't, again: but I'm combing out your brains for you, if you'll only stand quiet and not interrupt. Keep your mind fixedon Whitmore. Whitmore's your man. If Hodgson catches him--"

"If Hodgson catches him, he'll be charged with the murder. I've thewarrant in my pocket. Then how are we to hide the boy, or keep anysilence on what has happened here to-night?"

"Ye dunderhead!" Miss Belcher stamped her foot. "What in the name offortune have we to do with the murder? If Hodgson catches him, he'llbe charged with forging the Bishop of Exeter's licence: that's to saywith a crime he's already confessed to you. If you want to hang him, that'll do it. You don't want to hang him twice over, do you? And Idon't reckon he'll be so anxious to be hanged twice that he'llconfess to a murder for the fun of the thing. If you say nothing, he'll say nothing. Upon my word you seem to have that Jew on thebrain! Who made out the warrant?"

"I, of course. "

"Then keep it in your pocket: and when you get home, burn it. It beats me to think why you can't let that murder alone. Rodriguezwas no friend of yours, was he? You can't bring him to life again, can you? And what's your evidence? A couple of marked coins?Barring us few here, who knows of them? Nobody. Barring us fewhere, who knows a whisper beside, to connect Whitmore with themurder? Nobody again. Very well, then: you came here to-night toexpose Whitmore as a false priest and a forger. You took the villainon the hop, and he confessed: so the boy's evidence is not needed. Having confessed, he made his escape. You can say, if you will, thatI helped him. That's all you need remember, and what more d'ye want?It's odds against Hodgson catching him. It's all Lombard Street to achina orange against his bothering you, if caught, with any plea butGuilty. " She ceased, panting with her flow of words. 

"Well, but about this Leicester?" Mr. Rogers objected. 

"What about him? Let him go. Isabel was right in begging him off--though you did it, my dear, for other reasons than mine: but when theheart's right, God bless you, it usually speaks common sense. Let him go. D'ye want to hang him? He's ugly enough, but I don'tsee how you're to do it, unless first of all you catch Whitmore andthen force him to turn cat-in-the-pan, at the risk of his talking toomuch and with the certainty of dragging Isabel into the exposure. Even so, I doubt you'll get evidence. This man is a deal too shrewdto have done any of the forging himself. If Whitmore had knownenough to hang him, Whitmore wouldn't have gone in awe of him. And what Whitmore don't know, Whitmore can't tell. "

All this while the prisoner had kept absolute silence; had stoodmotionless, except that his eyes turned from one speaker to another, and now and then seemed to seek Archibald Plinlimmon's--who, however, refused to return the look. But now he twisted his battered mouthinto something like an appreciative grin. 

"Bravo, Madam!" said he. "You've the wits of the company, if you'lltake my compliments. "

"I misdoubt they're interested ones, " she answered drily, and soaddressed herself again to Mr. Rogers. "Let the man go: you've drawnhis sting. If ever he opens his mouth on to-night's work, we've aplum or two to pop into it. If Mr. Plinlimmon chooses to take him atthe door and horsewhip him, I say nothing against it. Indeed he'swelcome to the loan of my hunting-crop. "

"But no, " put in Isabel quickly, and knelt again; "my husband willnot hurt where I have pardoned!" Rapidly she unloosed the strapabout Leicester's ankles and stood up. "Now hold out your hands, "she said. 

He held them out. She looked him in the face, and a sudden tide ofshame forced her to cover her own. In the silence her husbandstepped to her side. His eyes were steady upon Leicester now. 

"How could you? How could you?" she murmured. 

Then, dragging--as it were--her hands down to the task, she unbuckledthe strap around his wrist and pointed to the door. 

Said Miss Belcher, "So two women have shown you mercy to-night, George Leicester!"

He went, without any swagger. His face was white. Miss Belcher andthe Rector drew back as though he carried a disease, and let himpass. At the door he turned and his eyes, with a kind of miserableraillery in them, challenged Archibald Plinlimmon. 

"Yes, you are right. " The young man took a step towards him. "Between us two there is a word to be said. " He turned on usabruptly. "I have been afraid of that man--yes, afraid. To say thisout, and before Isabel, costs me more courage than to thrash him. Through fear of him I have been a villain. Worse wrong than I did tomy wife--worse in its consequences--I could not do: you know it, allof you; and I must go now and tell it to her father. I did itunknowingly, by this man's contrivance; but not in any fear of him. What I did in fear, and knowingly, was worse in another way--worse inintention. I tell you that but for an accident I might--I mighthave--" He stammered and came to a halt. "No, I cannot tell ityet, " he muttered half defiantly, with a shy look at the Rector. "But this I can tell"--and his voice rose--"that no fear of _him_stays me. You? I have your secret now. You have none of mine Idare not meet. You may go: you have my wife's pardon, it seems. I do not understand it, but you have mine--with this caution. You are my superior officer. If to-morrow, outside of the ranks, youdare to say a word to me, I promise to strike you on the mouthbefore the regiment, and afterwards to tell the whole truth of usboth, and take what punishment may befall. "

So he too pointed towards the door. Leicester bowed and went from usinto the night. 

"That's all very well, " groaned Mr. Rogers, "but I'll have to resignmy commission of the peace. "

"If it's retiring from active service you mean, " said Miss Belchercheerfully, "that's what I began by advising. But stick to thetitle, Jack: you adorn it--indeed you do. And for my part, " shewound up, "I think you've done mighty well to-night, considering. "

"I've let one villain escape, you mean, and t'other go scot free. "

"And the nuisance of it is, " said she with a broadening smile, "I shan't be able to congratulate you in public. "

"Well"--Mr. Rogers regained his cheerfulness as he eyed hisknuckles--"we've let a deal of villainy loose on the world: but I gotin once with the left, and that must be my consolation. What are weto do with this boy?"

"Hide him. "

"Easier said than done. "

"Not a bit. " Miss Belcher turned to me. "Have you any friends, boy, who will be worrying if we keep you a few days?"

"None, ma'am, " said I, and thereby in my haste did much injustice tothe excellent Mr. And Mrs. Trapp. 

"Eh? You have the world before you? Then maybe you're luckierthan you think, my lad. What would you like to be? A sailor, now?I can get you shipped across to Guernsey to-morrow, if you say theword. "

"That would do very well, ma'am: but if you ask me to choose--"

"I do. "

"Then I'll choose to be a soldier, " said I stoutly. 

"H'm! You'll have to grow to it. "

"I could start as a drummer, ma'am. " The drum in Major Brooks'ssummer-house had put that into my head. 

"My father can manage it, I am sure!" cried Isabel. "And meanwhilelet him come back to the Cottage. No one will think of searching forhim there: and to-night, when I have spoken to my father--"

"You will speak to your father to-night?"

Isabel glanced at her bridegroom, who nodded. "To-night, " said hefirmly. "We sail to-morrow. "

Miss Belcher wagged her head at him. "I had my doubts of you, youngman. You've been a fool: but I've a notion you'll do, yet. "

"Good-night, then!" Isabel went to her and held up her cheek to bekissed. 

"Eh? Not a bit of it! I'm coming with you. Don't stare at me now--I've a word to say, and I think maybe 'twill help. "

We left the Rector and Mr. Rogers to their task of overhauling thehouse while they sat up on the chance of Hodgson's returning withWhitmore or with news of him: and trooped up the lane and down acrossthe park to Minden Cottage. 

"Take the child to bed, " said Miss Belcher, as we reached the door:and so to my room Isabel conducted me, the others waiting below. 

She lit my candles and kissed me. "You won't forget your prayersto-night, Harry? And say a prayer for me: I shall need it, though Ihave more call to thank God for sending you. "

A minute later I heard her tap on her father's door. He was awakeand dressed, apparently--for it seemed at any rate but a moment laterthat her voice was guiding his blind footsteps by whispers down thestairs. Had I guessed more of the ordeal before her, my eyes hadclosed less easily than they did. As it was, I tumbled into bed andslept almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. 

I had forgotten to blow out the candles, and they were but halfburnt, yet extinguished, when I awoke from a dream that Isabel waskneeling beside me in their dim light to find her standing at thebed's foot in a fresh print gown and the room filled again withsunshine. Her eyes were red. Poor soul! she had but an hour beforesaid good-bye to Archibald; and Spain and its battlefields lay beforehim, and between their latest kiss and their next--if another theremight be. Yet she smiled bravely, telling me that all was well, andthat her father would be ready for me in the summer-house. 

Major Brooks, when I found him there, made no allusion to the eventsof the night. His face was mild and grave as at our first meeting. At the sound of my footsteps he picked up his Virgil and motioned meto be seated. 

"Let me see, " he began: "_liquidi fontes_, was it not?"--andforthwith began to dictate at his accustomed pace. 

 "But seek a green-moss'd pool, with well-spring nigh, And through the grass a streamlet fleeting by. The porch with palm or oleaster shade-- That when the regents from the hive parade Its gilded youth, in Spring--their Spring!--to prank, To woo their holiday heat a neighbouring bank May lean with branches hospitably cool. And midway, be your water stream or pool, Cross willow-twigs, and massy boulders fling-- A line of stations for the halting wing To dry in summer sunshine, has it shipped A cupful aft, or deep in Neptune dipped. Plant cassias green around, thyme redolent, Full-flowering succory with heavy scent, And violet-beds to drink the channel'd stream. And let your hives (sewn concave, seam to seam, Of cork; or of the supple osier twined) Have narrow entrances; for frosts will bind Honey as hard as dog-days run it thin: --In bees' abhorrence each extreme's akin. Not purposeless they vie with wax to paste Their narrow cells, and choke the crannies fast With pollen, or that gum specific which Out-binds or birdlime or Idxan pitch--"

--And so on, and so on, until midday arrived, and Isabel with theclaret and biscuits. She lingered while he ate: and when he had donehe shut his Virgil, saying (in a tone which, though studiously kind, told me that she was not wholly forgiven):

"Take the drum, Isabel, and give the lad his first lesson. It willnot disturb me. "

She choked down a sob, passed the drum to me, and put the drumsticksinto my hands. And so by signs rather than by words, she began toteach me; scarcely letting me tap the vellum, but instructing merather how to hold the sticks and move my wrists. So quiet were wethat the old man by and by dropped asleep: and then, as she taught, her tears flowed. 

This was the first of many lessons; for I spent a full fortnight atMinden Cottage, free of its ample walled garden, but never showing myface in the high road or at the windows looking upon it. I learnedfrom Isabel that Whitmore had not been found, and that Archibald andhis regiment had sailed for Lisbon. Sometimes Miss Belcher orMr. Rogers paid us a visit, and once the two together: and alwaysthey held long talks with the Major in his summer-house. But theynever invited me to be present at these interviews. 

So the days slipped away and I almost forgot my fears, nor speculatedhow or when the end would come. My elders were planning thisfor me, and meanwhile life, if a trifle dull, was pleasant enough. What vexed me was the old man's obdurate politeness towards Isabel, and her evident distress. It angered me the more that, when she wasnot by he gave never a sign that he brooded on what had befallen, butwent on placidly polishing his petty and (to me) quite uninterestingverses. 

But there came an evening when we finished the Fourth Georgictogether. 

 "Of tillage, timber, herds, and hives, thus far My trivial lay--while Caesar thunders war To deep Euphrates, conquers, pacifies, Twice wins the world and now attempts the skies. Pardon thy Virgil that Parthenope Sufficed a poor tame scholar, who on thee Whilom his boyish pastoral pipe essayed, --Thee, Tityrus, beneath the beechen shade. "

He closed the book. 

"Lord Wellington is not a Caesar, " he said and paused, musing: then, in a low voice, "Parthenope--Parthenope--and to-morrow 'Arms and theman. ' Boy, " said he sharply, "we do not translate the Aeneid. "

"No, sir?"

"Mr. Rogers calls for you to-night. A draft of the 52nd Regimentsails from Plymouth to-morrow. You will find, when you join it inSpain, that--that my son-in-law"--he hesitated and spoke the wordwith a certain prim deliberateness--"has been gazetted to anensigncy in that gallant regiment. I may tell you that he owes thisto no intervention of mine, but solely to the generosity of MissBelcher. Before departing--I will do him so much justice--he spoketo me very frankly of his past, and for my daughter's sake and hisfather's I trust that, as under Providence you were an instrument inaverting its consequences, so you may sound him yet to some actionwhich, whether he lives or falls, may redeem it. Mr. Rogers will supwith us to-night. If I mistake not, I hear his wheels on the road. "He drew himself up to his full height and bowed. "You have done aservice, boy, to the honour of two families. I thank you for it, andshall not omit to remember you daily when I thank God. Shall we goin?"

I had, as I said just now, almost forgotten my fears of the Law: butthat the Law had not relaxed its interest in me was evident from myfriends' precautions. Night had fallen before Mr. Rogers rose fromtable and gave the word for departure, and after exchanging someformal farewells with Major Brooks, and some very tender ones withIsabel, I was packed in the tilbury and driven off into darkness inwhich the world seemed uncomfortably large and vague and my prospectsdisconcertingly ill lit. 

"D'ye know what _that_ is?" asked Mr. Rogers at the end of fiveminutes, pulling up his mare and jerking his whip towards a splash ofwhite beside the road. 

"No, sir. "

He pulled a rein, and brought the light of the offside lamp to bearon a milestone with a bill pasted upon it. 

"A full, particular, and none too flattering description of you, mylad, with an offer of twenty pounds. And I'm a Justice of the Peace!Cl'k, lass!"

On went the mare; and I, who had been feeling like a needle in abundle of hay, now shrank down within my wraps as though the nighthad a thousand eyes. 

We reached the village of Anthony: and here, instead of holding onfor Torpoint and the ferry, Mr. Rogers struck aside into a lane onour right, so steep and narrow that he alighted and led the maredown, holding one of the lamps to guide her as she picked her steps. 

The lane ended beside a sheet of water, pitch-black under the shadowof a wooded shore, and glimmering beyond it with the reflections of afew stars. Mr. Rogers gave a whistle; and a soft whistle answeredhim. I heard a boat's nose grate on the shingle and take ground. 

"All right, Sergeant?"

"Right, sir. Got the boy?"

"Climb down, Harry, " whispered Mr. Rogers. "Shake hands and goodluck to you!"

I was given a hand over the bows by a man whose face I could not see. The boat was full of men, and one dark figure handed me to anothertill I reached the stern-sheets. 

"Give way, lads!" called a voice beside me, as the bow-man pushed usoff. We were travelling fast when at a bend of the creek a line oflights shot into view--innumerable small sparks clustered low on thewater ahead and shining steadily across it. I knew them at once. They were the lights of Plymouth Dock. 

"Where are you taking me?" I cried. 

"That's no question for a soldier, " said a voice which I recognisedas the sergeant's. And one or two of the crew laughed. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

I GO CAMPAIGNING WITH LORD WELLINGTON. 

The vessel to which they rowed me was the _Bute_ transport, bound forPortugal with one hundred and fifty officers and men of the 52ndRegiment, one hundred and twenty of the third battalion 95th Rifles, and a young cornet and three farriers of the 7th Light Dragoons incharge of fifty remounts for that regiment. 

We weighed anchor at daybreak (the date, I may mention, was July28th), and cleared the Sound. At ten o'clock or thereabouts the windfell, and for two days and nights we drifted aimlessly about theChannel at the will of the tides, while the sergeant--a veteran namedHenderson, who had started twenty-five years before by blowing abugle in the 52nd, and therefore served me as index and example ofwhat by patience I might attain to--filled the most of my timebetween sleep and meals with lessons upon that instrument. From ahencoop abaft the mainmast (the _Bute_ was a brig, by the way) I blewback inarticulate farewells to the shores receding from usimperceptibly, if at all; and so illustrated a profound remark of thewar's great historian, that the English are a bellicose rather than amartial race, and by consequence sometimes find themselves committedto military enterprises without having counted the cost or madecomplete preparation. 

On the third day the wind freshened and blew dead foul, decimatingthe horses with sea-sickness, prostrating three-fourths of the men, and shaking the two regiments down into a sociability which outlastedtheir sufferings. To be sure my comrades of the 52nd (as, with afearful joy, I named them to myself in secret), being veterans forthe most part, recovered or recovering from wounds taken in the landto which they were returning with common memories of Sir John Moore, of Benevente, Calcabellos and Corunna, treated the riflemen with thataffable condescension which was all that could be claimed by thirdbattalion youngsters with their soldiering before them. But the 52ndknew the 95th of old. And, veterans and youths, were they not boundto be enrolled together in that noble Light Division, the glory ofwhich was already lifting above the horizon, soon to blaze acrossheaven?

Sergeant Henderson did not suffer from seasickness. For no reward--unless it be the fierce delight of tackling a difficulty for its ownsake--he had sworn to make a bugler of me, given moderately badweather: and when the evening of September 2nd brought us off thecoast of Portugal, he allowed me to shake hands over his success. Early next morning we began to disembark at a place called Figueira, by the mouth of the Mondego river. I stepped ashore with a swellingheart. 

But I carried also a portentously swollen under-lip, with a crack init which showed signs of festering. Now there was a base hospital atFigueira, to the surgeon in charge of which fell the duty ofinspecting the men as they landed and detaining those who were sickor physically unfit. I need not say that his eye was arrested atonce by my unfortunate lip. He examined it. 

"Blood-poisoning, " he announced. "Nasty, if not attended to. Detained for a week. "

He saw my eyes fill with tears at this blow, the more cruel becausequite unexpected; and added not unkindly:

"Eh? What? In a hurry? Never mind, my lad--you'll go up with thenext draft I dare say. Jericho won't fall between this and then. "

I was young, and never doubted that even so slight a promise must beremembered. 

Still, that my merit might leave him no excuse for forgetting, Idetermined that it should not escape attention: and finding myselfconfined to hospital with a trifling hurt which in no way interferedwith my activity, and being at once pounced upon by an over-workedand red-eyed orderly and pressed into service as emergency-man, nurse, and general bottle-washer for three over-crowded tents, Iflung into my new duties a zeal which ended by undoing me. Drummersmight be wanted at the front, but meanwhile the hospital-camp wasundoubtedly short-handed. And my hopes faded as, with the approachof Christmas, wagon after wagon laden with sick soldiers crawled backto us from the low-lying country over which Lord Wellington hadspread his forces between the Agueda and the upper Mondego--menshuddering with ague or bent double with rheumatism, and all bringingdown the same tales of short food, sodden quarters, and arrears ofpay. For three days, they told me, the army had gone without bread, and the commissariat crawled over unthreatened roads at the pace offive to nine miles a day. They cursed the war, the Government athome, above all the Portuguese and everything in Portugal; and yettheir hardships seemed heaven to me in comparison with the hospitalin which, though its duties were frequently disgusting, I hadplenty to eat and nothing to complain of but over-work. 

It was not until Christmas that I won my release, and by a singularaccident. 

It happened that after nightfall on the 23rd of December an ambulancetrain arrived of six wagons, all full of sick demanding instantattention; and, close upon these, four other wagons laden withcavalrymen, wounded more or less severely in a foraging excursionbeyond the Agueda, which had brought them into conflict with a casualparty of Marmont's dragoons. The weather was bitterly cold; the men, apart from this, were unfit for so long a journey and should havebeen attended to promptly at their own headquarters. To make mattersworse, one of the wagons had been overturned six miles back on thefrozen road, and the assistant-surgeon who, owing to the seriousnessof the business, had been sent down in attendance, lost his balancecompletely. Three of the poor fellows had succumbed as they lay, ofcold, wounds and exhaustion, and a dozen others were in desperatecase. 

Our surgeons went to work at once, and until midnight I attendedon them, preparing the lint, washing the blood-stained instruments, changing the water in the pails, and performing other necessarybut more gruesome tasks which I need not particularise. At midnightthe young cavalry surgeon, who had been freely dosed with brandy, professed himself ready to take over the minor casualties. The twohospital surgeons, by this time worn out, accepted the offer andwithdrew. No one thought of me. 

I understand that about an hour later as I sat waiting for orders onthe edge of an unoccupied bed (from which a dead man had been carriedout a little before midnight) I must have dropped across it in asleep of utter exhaustion. It appears too that the young doctor, finding me there a short while after, carried me out and laid me onthe ground with my head against the hut. He never admitted this: forI had been attending upon him, off and on, since his arrival, andthat he failed to recognise me might have been awkwardly accountedfor. But I cannot believe (as certainly I do not remember) that ofmy own motion I crawled outside the hut and stretched myself on thefrozen ground, or that, exhausted as I was, I could have walked tenyards in my sleep. 

At all events, the chill of the bitter dawn awoke me there; and witha yawn I stretched out both arms. My right hand encountered--what?--the body of a man stretched beside me! Still dazed and numb, Irolled over to my elbow, raised myself a little and peered into hisface. 

It was pinched and cold. Its eyes stared straight up at the dawn. From it my gaze travelled slowly over the faces of three other menlaid out accurately alongside of him, feet to feet, head to head. 

I sank back, not yet comprehending, gazed up at the grey sky for awhile, then slowly raised myself on my left elbow. 

On that side lay a score of sleepers, all flat on their backs, andall equally still. Then I understood and leapt up with a scream. It was a line of corpses, and I had been laid out beside them forburial at dawn. 

A sleepy orderly--a friend of mine--poked his head out of the doorwayof the next hut. I pointed to the spot where I had been lying. 

"They must ha' done it in the dark, " he said, slowly regarding thebodies. 

I suppose that my story, spreading about the camp, at lengthpenetrated to headquarters: for on Christmas Day, a transportarriving and landing some light guns and a detachment of artillery, Iwas sent forward with them towards Villa del Ciervo on the left bankof the Agueda, where, by all accounts, the 52nd were posted. 

Our battery was but six light six-pounders; yet even with these wemoved over the frozen and slippery roads at a snail's pace, the mentearing their boots to ribbons as they hung on to the drag-ropes--forthe artillery captain was a martinet and refused to lock the wheels, declaring that it would damage the carriages. Of damage to his menhe never seemed to think: and I, being fool enough to volunteer--though my weight on the rope could have counted for next to nothing--found myself on the second day without heels to my shoes, and on thethird without shoes at all. Nor is it likely that I had ever reachedthe Agueda in time for the fighting had we not been met at Coimbra byan order to leave our guns in the magazine there and hurry forward toCiudad Rodrigo, where my comrades were required to work the24-pounders which composed the bulk of Lord Wellington's siege-train. 

Having been supplied with new boots from the stores in Coimbra, we pushed on eastward through torrents of rain which convertedevery valley bottom into a quag, so that our march was scarcelyless toilsome than before, and the men grumbled worse thanthey had when dragging the guns over the frozen hill-roads. They had been forced to leave their wagons behind at Coimbra, andmarched like infantry soldiers, each man carrying a haversackwith four days' provisions, as well as an extra pair of boots. But what seemed to vex and deject them most was a rumour thatQuartermaster-General Murray had been sent down from the front onleave of absence for England. They argued positively that, withMurray absent, the Commander-in-Chief could not be intending anyaction of importance: they doubted that he had twenty siege-guns athis call even if he stripped Almeida and left that fortressdefenceless. Moreover, who would open a siege in such a country, in the depth of such a winter as this?

Nevertheless we had no sooner passed the bridge of the Coa thanwe discovered our mistake; the roads below Almeida being chokedwith a continuous train of mule transports, tumbrils, light carts, and wagons heaped with fascines, gabions, long balks of timber, sheaves of spades and siege implements--all crawling southwards. Our artillerymen were now halted to await and take charge of threebrass guns said to be on their way down from Pinhel under an escortof Portuguese militia; and, taking leave of them, I was handed overto a company of the 23rd Regiment--hurrying in from one of theoutlying hamlets near Celorico--with whom I reached on the 7th ofJanuary the squalid village of Boden, in and around which the 52ndlay in face of the doomed fortress across the river. 

"Here then is war at last, " thought I that night, as I curledmyself to sleep in a loft where Sergeant Henderson consideratelyfound a corner for me under some pathetically empty fowl-roosts. Sergeant Henderson in his captain's absence had claimed me from adistracted adjutant who wanted to know where the devil I had comefrom, and why, and if I would kindly make myself scarce and leave himin peace--a display of temper pardonable in a man who had just comein wet to his middle from fording the river amid cannoning blocks ofice. 

Here was war at last, and I was not long in making acquaintance withit. I awoke to find, by the light of the lantern swung from theroost overhead, the dozen men in the loft awake and pulling on theirboots. They had lain in their sodden clothes all night: but of theirboots, I found, they were as careful as dandies, and to grease themwould hoard up a lump of fat even while their stomachs craved for it. Sergeant Henderson motioned me to pull on mine. From my preciousbugle I had never parted, even to unsling it, since leaving Figueira. And so I stood ready. 

We bundled on our great-coats, climbed down the ladder, and filed outinto the street. It was dark yet, though I could not guess the hour;and bitter cold, with an east wind which seemed to set the very starsshivering. The men stamped their feet on the frozen road as wehurried to the alarm-post, and there I walked into a crowd of darkfigures which closed around me at once. For a moment I supposed thewhole army to be massed there in the darkness, and wondered foolishlyif we were to assault Ciudad Rodrigo at once. A terrible murmurfilled the night--the more terrible because, while the few wordsspoken near me were idle and jocular, it ran down the jostling crowdinto endless darkness, gathering menace as it went. 

But the sergeant, gripping my shoulder, ordered me gruffly to keepclose beside him, and promised to find me my place. The jostlinggrew regular, almost methodical, and by and by an officer camedown the road carrying a lantern, and spoke with Henderson for amoment. At a word from him the men began to number off. Far up theroad, other lanterns were moving and voices calling. Then after along pause, on the reason of which the company speculated inwhispers, the troops ahead began to move and the order came down tous--"Order arms--Fix bayonets--Shoulder arms!"--a pause--"By theright, quick march!"

An hour later, still in darkness, we halted beside the Agueda whilecompany after company marched down into the water. A body of cavalryhad been drawn across the upper edge of the ford, four deep--thehorses' bodies forming a barrier against the swirling blocks of ice;and under this shelter we crossed, the water rising to my small ribsand touching my heart with a shiver that I recall as I write. But the sergeant's hand was on my collar and steadied me over. 

"How much farther?" I made bold to whisper to him as we groped ourway up the bank. 

"Three miles, maybe: that's as the crow flies. But you mustn'ttalk. "

And not another word did I say. We plodded on--not straight for thefortress, the distant lights of which seemed to be waiting for us, but athwart and, for a mile and more, almost away from it. By and bythe road began to climb; and, a little later, we had left it and werecrossing the shoulder of a grassy hill behind which the lights ofCiudad Rodrigo disappeared from view. 

Here the dawn overtook us; and here at length, along the northernslope of the hill and close under its summit, we were halted. 

Sergeant Henderson gave a satisfied grunt. "Good for _The_Division--the One and Only!" he remarked. "Now, for my part, I'mready for breakfast. "

CHAPTER XXII. 

ON THE GREATER TESSON. 

I turned for a look behind us and below. At the foot of the slope, where daylight had just begun to touch the dark shadows, stood a lineof mules--animals scarcely taller than the loads they carried, whicha crowd of Portuguese had already begun to unpack; and already, onthe plateau to the left of us half a dozen markers, with aquartermaster, were mapping out a camp for the 52nd. They went towork so deliberately, and took such careful measurements with theirlong tapes, that even a tyro could no longer mistake this for anordinary halt. 

I looked at Sergeant Henderson. Word had just been given to theranks to dismiss, and he returned my look with a humorous wink. 

"That'll do, eh?" He nodded towards the markers. 

"What does it mean?" I asked. 

"It means that we've done with cold baths, my son, and may leave 'emto the other divisions. What else it means you'll discover beforeyou sleep, maybe. " He glanced up at the ridge, towards which at adozen different points our sentries were creeping--some of themescorted by knots of officers--and ducking low as they neared thesky-line. 

"May I go down and watch?" I asked again, pointing at the plateau;for I was young enough to find all operations of war amusing. 

"Ay--if you won't get in the way and trip over the pegs. I'll bedown there myself by 'n by with a fatigue party. "

I left him and strolled down the hill. The morning air was cold andthe turf, on this north side of the hill, frozen hard underfoot. But I felt neither hunger nor weariness. Here was war, and I was init!

As I drew near the plateau a young officer came walking across itand, halting beside the quartermaster, held him in talk for a minute. He wore the collar of his great-coat turned up high about his ears:but I recognised him at once. It was Archibald Plinlimmon. 

Leaving the quartermaster, he strolled towards the edge of theplateau, hard by where I stood; halted again, and gazed down throughhis field-glasses upon the muleteers unloading beneath us; but by andby closed his glasses with a snap, faced round, and was aware of me. 

"Hallo!" said he, as I saluted: but his voice was listless and Ithought him looking wretchedly ill. "You're in Number 4 Company, areyou not? I heard that you'd joined. "

It struck me that at least he might have smiled and seemed glad towelcome me. He did indeed seem inclined to say something more, buthesitated, and fumbled as he slipped back the glasses into theircases. 

"Are they looking after you?" he asked. 

I told him of the sergeant. "But are you well, sir?" I made bold toask. 

He put the question aside. "Henderson's a good man, " he said:"I wish we had him in our company. Ah, " he broke off, "they won't belong pitching tents now!"

He swung slowly on his heel and left me, at a pace almost as listlessas his voice. I felt hurt, rebuffed. To be sure he was an officernow, and I a small bugler: still, without compromising himself, hemight (I felt) have spoken more kindly. 

The fatigue party descended, the tents were brought up anddistributed, and at a silent signal sprang up and expanded like linesof mushrooms. The camp was formed; and the 52nd, in high goodhumour, opened their haversacks and fell to their breakfast. 

The meal over, the men lit their pipes and stretched themselveswithin the tents to make up arrears of sleep. It does not take a boylong to learn how to snatch a nap even on half-thawed turf packedwith moisture, and to manage it without claiming much room. We wereeleven in our tent, not counting the sergeant--who had gone off onsome errand which he did not explain, but which interested the mensufficiently to keep them awake for a while discussing it in lowvoices. 

I was at once too shy to ask questions and too sleepy to listenattentively. Here was war, I told myself, and I was in it. To be sure, I had not yet seen a shot fired, nor--save for theinfrequent boom of a gun beyond the hill--had I heard one: and yetall my ideas of war were undergoing a change. My uppermost sense--odd as it may seem--was one of infinite protection. It seemedimpossible that, with all these cheerful men about me, joking andswearing, I could come to much harm. It surprised me, after mymonths of yearning and weeks of tramping to reach this army, todiscover how little my presence was regarded even in my ownregiment. The men took me for granted, asking no questions. I might have strolled in upon them out of nowhere, with my hands inmy pockets. And the officers, it appeared, were equally incurious. Captain Lockhart, commanding the company, had scarcely flung me alook. The Colonel I had not seen: the Adjutant had dismissed me tothe devil: and Archibald Plinlimmon had treated me as I have told. All this indifference contained much comfort. I began to understandthe restfulness of a great army--a characteristic left clean out ofaccount in a boy's imaginings, who thinks of war as a series ofcombats and brilliant personal efforts at once far more glorious andmore terrifying than the reality. 

So I dreamed, secure, until awakened by my comrades' voices, liftedall together and all excitedly questioning Sergeant Henderson, whosehead and shoulders intruded through the flap-way. 

"Light Company and Number 3, " he was announcing. 

"Blasted favouritism!" swore the man next to me. "Ain't there noother battalion company in the regiment, that Number 3's been pickedfor special twice now in four days?"

"The Major's sweet on 'em, that's why, " snarled another. 

"I ain't saying nothing against the Bobs. But what's the matter with_us_, I'd like to know? Why Number 3 again? Ugh, it makes me sick!"

"Our fun'll come later, lads, " said the sergeant cheerfully. "When you reach _my_ years you'll have learnt to wait. Now, if you'dasked _me_, I'd have chosen the grenadiers: they're every bit as goodas a light company for this work. "

"Ay--grenadiers and Number 4. Why not? It's cruel hard. "

I asked in my ignorance what was happening. My neighbour turned tome with a grin. "Happening? Why, you've a-lost your chance of deathor victory, that's all. Here you are, company bugler for twenty-fourhours by the grace of Heaven and the sergeant's contrivance, andbecause everyone's forgot you and because, as it happens, fortwenty-four hours there's no bugling wanted. To-morrow you'll befound out and sent back to the band, where there's fivesupernumeraries waiting for your shoes. And the bandmaster'll cuffyour head every day for months before you get such another chance. Whereas, if No. 4 Company had been chosen for to-night, by to-morrowyou'd have blown the charge, and half the drummers in the regimentwould be blacking your eyes out of envy. See?"

I did not, very clearly. "Is there to be an attack to-night?"I asked. "And shan't we even see it?"

"Oh yes, we'll _see_ it fast enough. I reckon they won't go so faras to grudge us free seats for the show. "

Sure enough, at eight o'clock, we formed up by companies and weremarched over the dark crest of the hill and a short way down it inface of the lights of Ciudad Rodrigo. Right below us, on our left, shone a detached light. We ourselves showed none. The word forsilence in the ranks had been given at starting, and the captainsspoke in the lowest of voices as they drew their companies togetherin battalion. The light company having been withdrawn, we foundourselves on the extreme left flank, parted by a few yards only fromanother dark mass of men--the 43rd, as a tallish young buglerwhispered close beside me. 

"But how the hell do _you_ come here?" he went on, mistaking me inthe darkness, I suppose, for one of the youngsters in the band. 

"Shut your head, bugler, " commanded a corporal close on my right. 

The men grounded arms and waited, their breath rising like a fog onthe frozen air. Their two tall ranks made a wall before us, shuttingout all view of the lights in the valley. The short or supernumeraryline of non-commissioned officers on our right stood motionless as arow of statues. 

Suddenly a rocket shot up from below, arched its trail of light, andexploded: and on the instant the whole valley answered and explodedbelow us. Between the detonations a cheer rang up the hillside andwas drowned in the noise of musketry, as under a crackle of laughter. Forgetting discipline, I crawled forward three paces and tried topeer between the legs of the rank in front, but was hauled back bythe ear and soundly cursed. The musketry crackled on withoutintermission. Away in Ciudad Rodrigo the walls seemed to open andvomit fireworks, shell after shell curving up and dropping into thevalley. 

"Glory be!" cried someone. "The old man's done it! The Johnnieswouldn't be shelling their own works. "

"Ah, be quiet with ye!" answered an Irish voice; "and the fun not tenminutes old!"

"He's done it, I say! Whist now, see yonder--there's Elder goingdown with his Greasers! Heh? What did I tell you?"

"Silence in the ranks!" commanded an officer, but his own voice shookwith excitement, and we read that he believed the news to be true. 

"Arrah now, sir, " a man in the front rank wheedled softly, "it'sagainst flesh and blood you're ordering us. "

"Wait a moment, then. They've done it, I believe--but no cheering, mind!"

What had been done was this. From the summit of the hill where westood we looked into Ciudad Rodrigo over a lesser hill, and betweenthese two (called the Great and the Lesser Tesson) the French hadfortified and palisaded a convent and built a lunette before it, protecting that side of the town where the ground was least rocky andcould be worked by the sappers. Upon the lunette before this Conventof San Francisco, Colborne (our Colonel of the 52nd) had now flunghimself, with two companies from each of the Light Divisionregiments, and carried it with a rush: and this feat, made possibleby our night march across the Agueda and the negligence of theFrench sentries, in its turn gave the signal for the siege to open. The place was scarcely carried before Elder had his Portuguese atwork spading a trench to the right of it and under what cover itswalls afforded from the artillery of the town, which ceased not allnight to pound away at the lost redoubt. 

The cacadores--seven hundred in all--toiled with a will under shotand shell; and when day broke a trench three feet deep and four widehad been opened and pushed for no less than six hundred yards towardsthe town! Next night the Portuguese were replaced by the FirstDivision, which had been marched over the Agueda. While the LightDivision cooked its food and enjoyed itself on Mount Tesson, theothers had to cross and recross the river between their work andtheir quarters; and I fear that we took their misfortunesphilosophically, feeling that our luck was deserved. To be sure Ihad been taken from my company and relegated to the band: but duringthe twelve days the siege lasted there was always a call for boys towatch the explosions from the town and warn the workmen when a shellwas coming: and, on the whole, since Ciudad Rodrigo contained plentyof ammunition and did not spare it, I enjoyed myself amazingly. 

On the night of the 9th, while the First Division dug at thetrenches, our men helped with the building of three counter-batteriesa little ahead of the convent; and, because the French guns began tomake our hill uncomfortable, we shifted camp and laid a shallowtrench from it, along which we could steal to work under fair cover. On the 10th the Fourth Division took over the siege trenches, and onthe 11th the Third Division relieved: on the 12th came our turn. 

The day breaking with a thick fog, Lord Wellington determined toprofit by it and hurry on the digging, which the bitter frost wasnow miserably impeding. To him, or to someone, it occurred thatby scooping pits in front of the trenches our riflemen (the 95th)might give ease to the diggers by picking off the enemy's gunners. And with this object we were hurried down in force to take up thework as the Third Division dropped it. 

Now I knew the North Wilts to belong to this Division, and it hadoccurred to me on the way down that as likely as not I might runacross Leicester. And keeping a sharp look-out as his regiment filedforth from the trench, I spied him before he caught sight of me. He recognised me at once; but instead of passing with a scowl (as Ihad expected) he treated me to a grin as nearly humorous as hissallow face allowed, and came to a halt. 

"D'ye know who's in there?" he asked, jerking his thumb back towardsCiudad Rodrigo. 

"No, sir, " I answered, scarcely grasping the question, but quaking asthis man always made me quake. 

"Thought you mightn't. Well then, our friend is in there. "

"Our friend?" I echoed. "Who?"

"Whitmore. " His grin became ferocious now. "We have him, now--havehim sure enough, this time--eh?"

But how on earth could Mr. Whitmore have come in Ciudad Rodrigo?Leicester read the question in my eyes, and answered it, pushing hisface close to mine in the fog. 

"He's a deserter. If the river don't come down in flood, we'll havehim sure enough. And it won't, you mark my words! Two or three daysof flood would let up Marmont upon us and spoil everything. But thisweather's going to hold, and--it's a bad death for deserters, " hewound up, with a snarling laugh. 

"Mr. Whitmore a deserter? But how?"

"Ah, you've come to the right man to ask. I bear you no grudge, boy;and as for Plinlimmon--how's _he_ doing, by the way?"

"I've scarcely seen him since I joined. He passed you just now, didn't he?"

"Ay, I saw him. For a man in luck's way he carries a queer sort offace. What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing wrong that I know of. The men reckon him a good officer, too. "

"Well, I'll be even with Master Archibald yet. You hear? But aboutWhitmore now--I caught up with him in Lisbon. You see, he'd got thismoney off the Jew and he counted on another pocketful from thatBelcher woman. He always was a devil to get around women, 'speciallythe old ones. I don't know if you guessed it, that night, but he'dpersuaded the old fool to run off and marry him. Yes, and meantimehe'd taken his passage in one of the Falmouth packets, meaning togive her the slip--and give me the slip too--as soon as he'd laidhands on her purse. Well, you headed him off that little plan; andto save his skin, as you know, he rounded on me. Now what puzzles meis, how you let him slip?"

I did not answer this. 

"The Belcher woman had a hand in it, I'll lay odds. Never mind--don't you answer if you'd rather not. But when I caught up with him, he didn't escape _me_: that's to say, he won't: and it'll be a sightworse for him than if he hadn't tried. "

He paused again, and laughed to himself silently--a laugh unhealthyto watch. 

"I came on him in Lisbon streets, " he went on; "came on him frombehind and put a hand on his shoulder. He's an almighty coward--that's his secret--and the way he jumped did me good. 'Recruit forthe North Wilts, ' said I. He turned and his knees caved under him. 'Wha--what do you mean by that?' says he"--and here Leicesterburlesqued the poor cold stammering knave to the life--"'Oh, for theLord's sake, Leicester, have mercy on me!' 'You'll see the kind ofmercy you're going to get, ' says I; 'but meantime you've a choicebetween hanging and coming along to join the North Wilts. ' 'But whyshould I join the North Wilts?' he asked. 'Well, to begin with, ' Isaid, 'you're a dreadful coward, and there you'll have some chance tofeel what it's really like. And what's more, ' I said, 'I'll takecare you're in my company, and I'm going to live beside you and giveyou hell. I'm going to eat beside you, sleep beside you, marchbeside you: and when things grow hot, and your lilywhite soul beginsto shiver, I'll be close to you still--but _behind_ you, my daisy!'So I promised him, and, being a coward, he chose it. I tell you Ikept my word too: it's lucky for you, boy, that I'm a connoisseur inmy grudges. But Whitmore--he'd betrayed me, you see. Often andoften I had him alone and crying! and I promised myself to be behindhim on just such a job as we're in for--a night assault: oh, he'dhave enjoyed that! But he couldn't stand it. At Celorico he gave methe slip and deserted: and now he's in Ciudad Rodrigo, yonder, andthe trap's closing, and--what's he feeling like, think you? Eh?I know him: it'll get worse and worse for him till the end, and--it'sa bad death for deserters. "

He paused, panting with hate and coughing the fog out of his lungs. I shrank away against the wall of the trench. 

"When he's done with, I won't say but what I'll turn my attention toyou--or to Plinlimmon. You know what Plinlimmon was after--thatmorning--on the roof? He was there to steal. "

He eyed me. 

"Yes, " said I with sudden courage, "he was there to steal. And youwere waiting below, to share profits. "

He fell back a pace, still eyeing me. 

"I'll have to find another way with you than with Whitmore--that'sevident, " he said with a short laugh, and was gone. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

IN CIUDAD RODRIGO. 

Two days later our breaching batteries opened on the town. 

It is not for me to describe this wonderful siege, the operations ofwhich, though witnessing them in part, I did not understand in theleast. I have read more than one book about it since, and could drawyou a map blindfold and tell you where the counter-batteries stood, and where the lunette which Colborne carried, and how far behind itlay the Convent of San Francisco; where the parallels ran, where theFrench brought down a howitzer, and where by a sortie they came nearto cutting up a division. I could trace you the _fausse braye_ andthe main walls, and put my finger on the angle where our guns piercedthe greater breach, and carry it across to the tower where, by thelesser breach, our own storming-party of the Light Division climbedinto the town. During the next five days I saw a many thingsshattered to lay the foundations of a fame which still is proved thesounder the closer men examine it--I mean Lord Wellington's: and inthe end I, Harry Revel, contributed my mite to it in a splinteredankle. I understand now many things which were then a mere confusedhurly-burly: and even now--having arrived at an age when men takestock of themselves and, casting up their accounts with life, crossout their vanities--I am proud to remember that along with the greatCraufurd, Mackinnon, Vandeleur, Colborne our Colonel, and Napier, Itook my unconsidered hurt. To this day you cannot speak the name ofCiudad Rodrigo to me but I hear my own bugle chiming with the restbelow the breaches and swelling the notes of the advance, and myheart swells with it. But I tell you strictly what I saw, and I tellit for this reason only--that the story to which you have beenlistening points through those breaches, and within them has its end. 

To me, watching them day by day from the hillside, they appeared buttrifling gaps in the fortifications. On the 19th I never dreamedthat they were capable of assault; indeed, in the lesser breach tothe left my inexpert eyes could detect no gap at all. What chieflyimpressed me at this time was our enemy's superiority in ammunition. Their guns fired at least thrice to our once. 

Still holding myself strictly to what I saw, I can tell you even lessof the assault itself. I can tell, indeed, how, on the evening ofthe 19th, when we were looking forward to another turn at thetrenches with the Third Division, General Craufurd unexpectedlyparaded us; and how, at a nod from him, Major Napier addressed us. "Men of the Light Division, " he said, "we assault to-night. I havethe honour to lead the storming party, and I want a hundredvolunteers from each regiment. Those who will go with me, stepforward. "

Instantly the battalions surged forward--the press of the volunteerscarrying us with them as if we would have marched on Ciudad Rodrigowith one united front. 

The Major flung up a hand and turned to General Craufurd. Their eyesmet, and they both broke out laughing. 

This much I saw and heard. And when, at six o'clock, they marched usdown under the lee of San Francisco, I saw Lord Wellington ride up, dismount, give over his horse to an orderly and walk past our columninto the darkness. He was going to give the last directions to MajorNapier and the storming party: but they were drawn up behind an angleof the convent wall; and we, the supporting columns, massed in thedarkness two hundred yards in the rear, neither saw the conferencenor caught more than the high clear tones of Craufurd addressing hismen for the last time. 

Then, after many minutes of silence, suddenly the sky over theconvent wall opened with a glare and shut again, and we heard theFrench guns tearing the night. The attack of the Third Division onour right had begun, and the noise of it was taken up by the 95thriflemen, spread wide in three companies to scour the _fausse braye_between the two breaches, and keep the defenders busy along it. As the sound of the assault spread down to us, interrupted again andagain by the explosion of shells, we were marched forward for two orthree hundred yards and halted, put into motion and halted again. We could see the city now, opening and shutting upon us in fieryflashes; and, in the intervals, jet after jet of fire streamed fromthe rifles on our right. 

Then someone shouted to us to advance at the double, and I ranblowing upon my bugle, for now the calls were sounding all about me. I had no thought of death in all this roar--the crowd seemed to closearound and shut that out--until we came to the edge of thecounterscarp facing the _fausse braye_: and by that time the worst ofthe danger had passed. The _fausse braye_ itself was dark, and thedarker for a blaze of light behind it. Our stormers had carried itand swept the defenders back into the true breach beside the tower. Some stray bullets splashed among us as we toppled down the ditch andmounted the scarp--shots fired from Heaven knows where, but probablyfrom some French retreating along the top of the _fausse braye_. 

While we were mounting the scarp Napier and his men must have carriedthe inner breach. At the top we thronged to squeeze through thenarrow entrance, for all the world like a crowd elbowing its way intoa theatre: and as I pressed into the skirts of the throng it seemedto suck me in and choke me. My small ribs caved inwards as we weredriven through by the weight of men behind. The pressure eased, andan explosion threw a dozen of us to earth between the _fausse braye_and the slope of rubble by which the stormers had climbed. 

I picked myself up--gripped my bugle--and ran for the slope, stillblowing. A man of the 43rd gave me a hand and helped me up, for nowwe were stumbling among corpses. What had become of the stormers?Some we were trampling under foot: the rest had swept on and into thetown. 

"Fifty-second to the left, " said my friend as we gained the top ofthe rampart, catching up a cry which now sounded everywhere in thedarkness. "Forty-third to the right--fifty-second to the left!"I turned sharply to the left and ran from him. 

A rush of men overtook me. "This way!" they shouted, swerving asidefrom the line of the ramparts and sliding down the steep inner slopetowards the town. They were mad for loot, but in my ignorance Isupposed them to be obeying orders, and I turned aside and clambereddown after them. 

We crossed a roadway and plunged into a dark and deserted street atthe foot of which shone a solitary lamp. Then I learned what mycomrades were after. The first door they came to they broke downwith their musket-butts. An old man was crouching behind it; and, dragging him out, they tossed him from one to another, jabbing at himwith their bayonets. I ran on, shutting my ears to his screams. 

I was alone now; and, as it seemed, in a forsaken town. Here andthere a light shone beneath a house-door or through the chinks of ashutter. I _felt_ that behind the windows I passed Ciudad Rodrigowas awake and waiting for its punishment. Behind me, along theramparts, the uproar still continued. But the town, here and for themoment, I had to myself: and it was waiting, trembling to know whatmy revenge would be. 

I came next to a small open square; and was crossing it, when in thecorner on my right a door opened softly, showing a lit passagewithin, and a moment later was as softly shut. Scarcely heeding, Iran on; my feet sounding sharply on the frozen cobbles. And withthat a jet of light leapt from under the door-sill across the narrowpavement, almost between my legs: and I pitched headlong, with ashattered foot. 

Doubtless I fainted with the pain: for it could not have been--as itseemed--only a minute later that I opened my eyes to find the squarecrowded and bright with the glare of two burning houses. A herd ofbellowing oxen came charging past the gutter where I lay, pricked onby a score of redcoats yelling in sheer drunkenness as theyflourished their bayonets. Two or three of them wore monks' robesflung over their uniforms, and danced idiotically, holding theirskirts wide. I supposed it had been raining, for a flood ran throughthe gutter and over my broken ankle. In the light of theconflagration it showed pitch black, and by and by I knew it for wineflowing down from a whole cellarful of casks which a score of madmenwere broaching as they dragged them forth from a house on the upperside of the square. A child--he could not have been more than fouryears old--ran screaming by me. From a balcony right overhead asoldier shot at him, missed, and laughed uproariously. Then hereloaded and began firing among the bullocks, now jammed and goringone another at the entrance of a narrow alley. And his shots seemedto be a signal for a general salvo of random musketry. I saw a womancross the roadway with a rifleman close behind her; he swung uphis rifle, holding it by the muzzle, and clubbed her between theshoulders with the butt. 

All night these scenes went by me--these and scenes of which I cannotwrite; unrolled in the blaze of the houses which burnt on, as littleregarded as I who lay in my gutter and watched them to the savageunending music of yells, musketry, and the roar of flames. 

In the height of it my ear caught the regular footfall of troops, anda squad of infantry came swinging round the corner. I supposed it tobe a patrol sent to clear the streets and restore order. A small manin civilian dress--a Portuguese, by his look--walked gingerly besidethe sergeant in charge, chatting and gesticulating. And, almost inthe same instant, I perceived that the men wore the uniform of theNorth Wilts and that the sergeant he held in converse was GeorgeLeicester. 

By the light of the flames he recognised me, shook off his guide andstepped forward. 

"Hurt?" he asked. "Here, step out, a couple of you, and take hold ofthis youngster. He's a friend of mine, and I've something to showhim: something that will amuse him, or I'm mistaken. "

They hoisted me, not meaning to be rough, but hurting me cruellynevertheless: and two of them made a "chair" with crossed hands; butthey left my wounded foot dangling, and I swooned again with pain. 

When I came to, we were in a street--dark but for their lanterns--between a row of houses and a blank wall, and against this wall theywere laying me. The houses opposite were superior to any I had yetseen in Ciudad Rodrigo and had iron balconies before theirfirst-floor windows, broad and deep and overhanging the house-doors. 

On one of these doors Leicester was hammering with his side-arm, thePortuguese standing by on the step below. No one answering, hecalled to two of his men, who advanced and, setting the muzzles oftheir muskets close against the keyhole, blew the door in. Leicestersnatched a lantern and sprang inside, the two men after him. The Portuguese waited. The rest of the soldiers waited too, grounding arms--some in the roadway, others by the wall at the footof which they had laid me. 

A minute passed--two minutes--and then with a crash a man sprangthrough one of the first-floor windows, flung a leg over the balconyrail, and hung a moment in air between the ledge and the street. The window through which he had broken was flung up and Leicestercame running after, grabbing at him vainly as he swung clear. 

There were two figures now on the balcony. A woman had run afterLeicester. She leaned for a moment with both hands on the balconyrail, and turned as if to run back. Leicester caught her around thewaist and held her so while she screamed--shrilly, again and again. 

The man dangled for a moment, dropped with a horrible thud, andanswered with one scream only--but it was worse even than hers tohear. Then the soldiers ran forward and flung themselves upon him. 

"Hold the lantern higher, you fools!" shouted Leicester, strainingthe woman to him, as she struggled and fought to get away. "Over there, by the wall--I want to see his face! Steady now, mybeauty!"

The woman sank in his arms as if fainting, and her screams ceased. There was a stool on the balcony and he seated himself upon it, easing her down and seating her on his knee. This brought his evilface level with the balcony rail; and the lanterns, held high, flaredup at it. 

"Out of the way, youngster!" one of the soldiers commanded grimly. "That wall's wanted. "

He dragged me aside as they pulled Whitmore across the roadway. I think his leg had been broken by the fall. It trailed as theycarried him, and when they set him against the wall it doubled underhim and he fell in a heap. 

"Turn up his face, anyway, " commanded Leicester from the balcony. "I want to see it! And when you've done, you can leave me with thisbeauty. Hey, my lass? The show's waiting. Sit up and have a lookat him!"

I saw Whitmore's face as they turned it up, and the sight of it mademe cover my eyes. I heard the men step out into the roadway, and setback their triggers. Crouching against the wall, I heard the volley. 

As the echoes of it beat from side to side of the narrow street Ilooked again--not towards the wall--but upwards at the balcony, underwhich the men waved their lanterns as they dispersed, leaving thecorpse where it lay. To my surprise Leicester had released thewoman. She was stealing back through the open window and I caughtbut a glimpse of her black head-veil in the wavering lights. But Leicester still leaned forward with his chin on the balcony rail, and grinned upon the street and the wall opposite. 

I dragged myself from the spot. How long it took me I do not know;for I crawled on my belly, and there were pauses in my progress ofwhich I remember nothing. But I remember that at some point in itthere dawned upon me the certainty that this was the very street downwhich I had struck on my way from the ramparts. If not the samestreet, it must have been one close beside and running parallel withit: for at daybreak, with no other guidance than this certainty, Ifound myself back at the breach, nursing my foot and staring stupidlydownward at the bodies on the slope. 

Across the foot of it a young officer was picking his way slowly inthe dawn. A sergeant followed him with a notebook and pencil, andtwo men with lanterns. They were numbering the corpses, halting nowand again to turn one over and hold a light to his face, then to hisbadge. Half-way down, between them and me, a stink-pot yetsmouldered, and the morning air carried a horrible smell of singedflesh. 

As the dawn widened, one of the men opened his lantern and blewout the candle within it. The young officer--it was ArchibaldPlinlimmon--paused in his search and scanned the sky and the rampartsabove. I sent down a feeble hail. 

He heard. His eyes searched along the heaped ruins of gabions, fascines, and dead bodies; and, recognising me, he came slowly up theslope. 

"Hallo!" said he. "Not badly hurt, I hope? I thought we'd clearedall the wounded. Where on earth have you come from?"

"From the town, sir. "

"We'll take you back to it, then. They've rigged up a couple ofhospitals, and it's nearer than camp. Besides, I doubt if there's anambulance left to take you. " He knelt and examined my foot. "Hi, there!" he called down. "You--O'Leary--come and help me withthis boy! Hurt badly, does it? Never mind--we'll get you tohospital in ten minutes. But what on earth brought you crawling backhere?"

"Mr. Archibald!" I gasped, "I saw _him_!"

"Him?"

"Whitmore!"

He stared at me. "You're off your head a bit, boy. You'll be allright when we get you to hospital. "

"But I saw him, sir! They shot him--against the wall. He was adeserter, and they hunted him out. "

"Well, and what is that to me, if they did?" He turned his faceaway. "Isabel, my wife, is dead, " he said slowly. 

"Dead?"

"She is dead--and the child. "

He bowed his face, while I gazed at him incredulous, sick at heart. 

"If what you say is true, " he said, lifting his eyes till, weary anddesperate, they met mine, "she has been avenged to-night. "

"You shall see, " I promised; and as the two soldiers picked me up andlaid me along a plank, I made signs that they were to carry me as Idirected. He nodded, and fell into pace beside my litter. 

The body of Whitmore lay along the foot of the wall where it hadfallen. But when we drew near, it was not at the body that I stared, putting out a hand and gripping Archibald Plinlimmon's arm. 

On the balcony opposite, George Leicester still leaned forward andgrinned down into the street. 

He did not move or glance aside even when Archibald commanded the mento set me down; nor when he passed in at the open door and we waited;nor again when he stepped out on the balcony and called him by name. The corpse stared down still. For it was a corpse, with a woman'sbodkin-dagger driven tight home between the shoulder-blades. 

And so, by an unknown sister's hand, Isabel's wrongs had earthlyvengeance. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

I EXCHANGE THE LAUREL FOR THE OLIVE. 

Thus, in hospital in Ciudad Rodrigo, ended my first campaign; andhere in a few words may end my story. The surgeons, having theirhands full, and detecting no opportunities of credit in a smallbugler with a splintered ankle, sent me down to Belem, splinters andsplints and all, to recover: and at Belem hospital, just as thesurgeons were beginning to congratulate themselves that, althoughnever likely to be fit again for active service, I might in time makea fairly active hospital orderly, the splinters began to work throughthe flesh; and for two months I lay on my back in bed and sufferedmore pain than has been packed into the rest of my life. 

The curious part of it was that, having extracted the final splinter, they promptly invalided me home. From the day I limped on board the_Cumberland_ transport in the Tagus, leaning on two crutches, I beganto mend: and within twelve months--as may hereafter be recounted--Iwas back again, hale and hearty, marching with no perceptible limp, on the soil of Spain. 

But I must not, after all, conclude in this summary fashion. And why? Because scarcely had I set foot in the _Cumberland_ when avoice from somewhere amidships exclaimed:

"My blessed Parliament!"

I looked up and found myself face to face with--Ben Jope!

"And you've grown!" he added, as we shook hands. 

"But Ben, I thought you were married and settled?"

He turned his eyes away uneasily. 

"Whoever said so told you a thundering lie. "

"Nobody told me, " said I; "but when you left me, I understood--"

"My lad, " he interrupted hoarsely, "I couldn't do it. I wentstraight back, same as you saw me start--now don't say a word tillyou've heard the end o't!--I went straight back, and up to doorwithout once looking back. There was a nice brass knocker to thedoor (I never denied the woman had some good qualities); so I fixedmy eyes hard on it and said to myself, if there's peace to be foundin this world--which was a Bible text that came into my head--theheart that is humble, which is the case with me, may look for ithere. And with that I shut my eyes and let fly at it, though everyknock brought my heart into my mouth. Now guess: who d'ye thinkanswered the door? Why, that ghastly boy of hers! There he stood, all freckles and pimples; and says he, grinning:"

 'Mr. Benjamin Jope Moderately well, I hope. '

"I couldn't stand it. I turned tail and ran for my life. "

"But was that quite honourable?" I asked. 

"Ain't I tellin' you to wait till I've done? You don't suppose as itended there, do you? No; I passed my word to that sister of mine, and my word I must keep. So I went back to Symonds's--who was thatpleased to see me again you'd have thought I'd been half round theworld--and I ordered up three-pennorth of rum, and pens and ink tothe same amount: and this is what I wrote, and I hope you'll get itby heart before you're in a hurry again to accuse Ben Jope ofdishonourable conduct--'_Respected Madam_, ' I wrote, '_this is toenquire if you'll marry me. Better late than never, and please don'ttrouble to reply. I'll call for an answer when I wants it. Yours tocommand, B. Jope. N. B. : We might board the boy out_. ' Symonds founda messenger, and I told him on no account to wait for an answer. Now, I hope you call that acting straight?"

"Well, but what was the answer?" I asked. 

He hung his head. "To tell you the truth, I ha'n't called for ityet. You notice I didn't specify no time; and being inclined for av'yage just then, I tramped it down to Falmouth and shipped aboardthe _Marlborough_, Post Office Packet, for Lisbon. "

"And you've been dodging at sea ever since, " said I severely. 

"If you'd only seen that boy!" protested Mr. Jope. 

"I'll call with you and see him as soon as ever we reach Plymouth, " Isaid; "but you passed your word, and your word you must keep. "

"You're sure 'twill be safe for you at Plymouth?" he asked, and (as Ithought) a trifle mischievously. "How about that Jew?"

"Oh, that's all cleared up!"

He sighed. "Some folks has luck. To be sure, he may be dead, " headded, with an attempt at cheerfulness. 

"The Jew?"

"No, the boy. "

I could hold out no hope of this, and he consoled himself withanticipating the time we would spend together at Symonds's. "For ifyou're invalided home, they'll discharge you on leave as soon as wereach port. "

"Unless they keep me in hospital, " said I. 

"Then you'll have to make a cure of it on the voyage. "

"I feel like that, already. But the mischief is I've no home to goto. "

"There's Symonds's. "

"I might give that as an address, to be sure. "

"Damme!" cried Ben, as a bright thought struck him, "why couldn't Iadopt you?"

"The lady might find that an inducement, " said I modestly. 

"I wasn't exactly seeing it in that light, " he confessed. "But, witha boy apiece, she and I might start fair. You could punch his head, brother like. "

The _Cumberland_ weighed anchor on the 2nd of May, and dropped itagain under Staddon Heights on the 29th of that month. To mydelight, the garrison surgeon at Plymouth pronounced me fit totravel: my foot only needed rest, he said; and he asked me where myhome lay. 

I had anticipated this, and answered that a letter addressed to meunder care Miss Amelia Plinlimmon, at the Genevan Foundling Hospital, would certainly find me. And so I was granted two months' leave ofabsence to recover from my wound. 

"But you don't mean to tell me, " said Mr. Jope as we strolled downUnion Street together, "that you haven't a home or relations in thisworld?"

"Neither one nor the other, " said I; "but I have picked up a fewfriends. "

As he drew westward I noticed that he sensibly retarded his pace: buthe had forsworn visiting Symonds's until, as he put it, we knew theworst; and I marched him relentlessly up to the door of doom with itsimmaculate brass knocker. And when, facing it, he shut his eyes, Iput out a hand and knocked for him. 

But it was I who shrank back when the door opened: for the person whoopened it was--Mr. George!--in pigtail and wooden leg unchanged, butin demeanour (so far as agitation allowed me to remark it) moresaturnine than ever. 

"Do the Widow Babbage live here?" stammered Mr. Jope. 

"She do not, " answered Mr. George slowly, and added, "worse luck!"

"Is--is she dead?"

"No, she ain't, " answered Mr. George, and pulled himself up. 

"Then what's the matter with her?"

"There ain't nothing the matter with _her_, as I know by, " answeredMr. George once more, in a non-committal tone. "But I'm her'usband. "

"You--Mr. George?" I gasped. 

Thereupon he recognised me, and his eyes grew round, yet expressed noimmoderate surprise. 

"A nice dance _you've_ led everybody!" he said slowly: "but I wasnever hopeful about you, I'm thankful to say. "

"Where is Miss Plinlimmon living?" I asked. "Has she left theHospital too?"

"She didn't leave it, " he answered. "It left her. The Hospital'sscat. "

"Eh?"

"Bust--sold up--come to an end. Scougall's retired on thedonations. He feathered _his_ nest. And Miss Plinlimmon's gone downinto Cornwall to live with a Major Brooks--a kind of relation ofhers, so far as I can make out. They tell me she've come intomoney. "

I had a question on my lips, but Mr. Jope interrupted. 

"I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir, " he beganpolitely, addressing Mr. George, "and by the look of 'ee, you mustdate from before my time. But speakin' as one man to another, how doyou get along with that boy?"

The door was slammed in our faces. 

Mr. Jope and I regarded one another. "Ben, " said I, "it's urgent, orI wouldn't leave you. I must start at once for Minden Cottage. "

His face fell. "And I was planning a little kick-up at Symonds's, "he said ruefully; "a fiddle or two--to celebrate the occasion;nothing out o' the way. The first time you dropped on us, if youremember, we was not quite ourselves, owing to poor dear Bill: andI'd ha' liked you to form a cheerfuller idea of the place. But if'tis duty, my lad, England expec's and I'm not gainsaying. Duty, isit?"

"Duty it is, " said I. "You walked up to yours nobly, and I must walkon to mine. "

So we shook hands, and I turned my face westward for the ferry. 

I had over-calculated my strength, and limped sorely the last mile ortwo before reaching Minden Cottage. Miss Plinlimmon opened the doorto me, and I forgot my pain for an instant and ran into her arms. But behind her lay an empty house. 

"The Major is in the garden, " she said. "You will find him greatlychanged, I expect. Even since my coming I have noticed thealteration. "

I walked through to the summer-house. The Major was fingering hisVirgil, but laid it down and shook hands gravely. I had much to tellhim, and he seemed to listen; but I do not think that he heard. 

Miss Plinlimmon--dear soul, unknowingly--had prepared for me the veryroom to which Isabel had led me on the night of my first arrival, andin which she had knelt beside me. Miss Plinlimmon had scarcely knownIsabel, and I found her cheerfulness almost distressing when she cameto wish me good night. 

"And I have composed a stanza upon you, " she whispered, "if you carefor such things any longer. But you must understand that it hasbeen, so to speak, improvised, and--what with the supper and onething and another--I have had no time to polish it. "

I said sleepily that, unpolished though it were, I wished to hear itthus; and here it is:

 "Wounded hero, you were shattered In the ankle--do not start! Much, much more it would have mattered In the immediate neighbourhood of the heart. The bullet sped comparatively wide; And you survive, to be Old England's pride. "