THE WOOD END
Richard Barrington knew that he had fallen into some trap, the exact
nature of it and the danger he could not know. After a pause, a long
pause it seemed to Jeanne St. Clair, long enough for a villain to
fashion a lying tale, he turned to her.
"It seems, mademoiselle, that I have been robbed as well as deceived."
"In spite of that," she said, pointing to the iron token, "I am inclined
to listen to the message."
"Mademoiselle, I regret that I ever undertook to carry it. I had other
business in hand, but an oath to a dead man was binding."
"A dead man? Lucien?"
"I know nothing of Lucien. For all I know he may already be making merry
at my discomfiture. The dead man was one Rouzet, or so he told me, and
he called himself your servant."
"He was Lucien's servant, a faithful one," she answered.
"At least he was faithful in some one's service since he died in it, and
I can honor him for that even though he deceived me."
"You have told me so much you must tell me more," she said, a persuasive
tone in her voice.
She must hear the story. Whether this man were honest or not she must
make him speak. Whatever plot was on foot she must know it. To some one
surely Lucien had given the gold star. Much must depend on her receiving
the message he had sent with it.
"You must tell me," she repeated.
"And knowing far more than I do you may laugh at me for a simple
gentleman easily fooled. Still, he is something of a hero who can stand
being laughed at. Many years ago I had that from a countryman of yours,
the Marquis de Lafayette. I was on my way to visit him in Paris, when
this mission was thrust upon me."
Concisely but in every detail Barrington told her what had happened at
Trémont, and explained how he had become acquainted with Monsieur le
Comte at Beauvais. He made no attempt to conceal the fact that he had
come to France to place himself at the disposal of Monsieur de
Lafayette. If there were any risk in telling this woman so, he was
rather relieved to have real danger to face instead of lying and
intrigue; the one he might meet successfully, but he was no adept in
battling with the other.
"You took the star from Rouzet's coat after he was dead you say, are you
sure it was a gold star you took?"
"I made certain by looking at it."
"And you can thoroughly trust your servant?"
"As myself, mademoiselle."
"You have not told me your name," she said.
"Richard Barrington," he answered, and then he laughed a little. "Why I
trust you, I do not know. I may be putting it into your power to do me a
great deal of harm."
"If I have the power, I shall not use it," she answered.
There was a moment coming when she would have to decide whether these
words constituted a promise given without reservation, or whether the
promise were contingent on his being honest, as now she believed him to
be.
"For that I thank you," he returned.
"And you have my thanks for coming to Beauvais. That you have been
robbed only makes it clearer how bitter Lucien's enemies are. Have you
any plan, Monsieur Barrington, by which I could reach Paris in safety?"
The question set his thoughts rushing into a new channel. He felt
suddenly responsible for her, knew that to prevent her going even into
the shadow of harm he was prepared to face any danger. It was not her
beauty which influenced him, a moment ago he had been ready to despise
it if she were a deceitful woman; something more subtle than her beauty
appealed to him, herself, the revelation of herself which was in her
question.
"It is impossible for you to go to Paris, mademoiselle. The crowd of
refugees in this château is proof enough that the danger is too great.
How any man, no matter what his need may be, could ask you to put
yourself in such jeopardy, I cannot understand."
"Yet you undertook to bring the message to Beauvais. Was it in your mind
to advise that no notice should be taken of it?"
"Indeed, mademoiselle, I thought of little beyond fulfilling the oath I
had taken, and to go my way again as quickly as possible."
"The answer to the message must rest with me, Monsieur Barrington," she
said, quietly. "It was not by my own will that I left Paris. I am not
afraid to return. Will you help me?"
"Mademoiselle, I----"
"Please, Monsieur Barrington. It means life or death, perchance, to the
man I love."
"Curse him for asking you to face such a danger."
"Hush, you cannot understand," she said, putting her hand upon his arm.
"I know Lucien. From Beauvais you will journey to Paris. Will you let me
go with you?"
"No. I will not help you to your destruction. I will carry whatever
message you will to this man, but I will not do more."
"Then take this message: Jeanne St. Clair is on her way to Paris; she
asked my escort, but since I would not give it she has found another.
Tell him that, Monsieur Barrington."
"Have you no fear, mademoiselle?"
"For myself--none."
"Very well, I will try and see you safely into Paris. You will go most
easily as a woman of the people, one who has some aristocrat enemy on
whom she wishes to be avenged. Do you think you can play such a part?"
"I will do as you bid me."
"Hide your hair, mademoiselle; wear some hideous cloak which may do
something to spoil your beauty. If you will go, I may be a safer escort
than any other. I claim friendship with Monsieur de Lafayette, so I am
for the people. Even if we cause suspicion they will hardly prevent our
going to Paris. Your return----"
"We need not arrange for that now, monsieur. When will you start?"
"As soon as possible."
"To-morrow at dawn," she answered. "At the foot of the road leading up
to Beauvais, you will see to your left a wood which ends abruptly as it
approaches the valley down which we must go to the frontier. I have
papers that shall help me to pass. I have always known that I should
have to return to Paris. Amongst the trees at the end of the wood I will
come to you to-morrow--at dawn."
"I and my servant will await you there, mademoiselle. At least two men
shall do their utmost to protect you."
He picked up her mask which had fallen to the floor.
"Will you fasten it for me?" she said.
It was rather clumsily done. His fingers trembled a little as they
touched her hair. He was very close to her; her personality, the faint
perfume about her, took fast hold of him. What manner of man could this
Lucien be who had won the love of such a woman as this?
He put on his own mask, and then taking up the lantern followed her back
along the narrow stone passage. As she came to the corridor she stopped.
"Let me go alone," she said. "To-night we will not meet again. To-morrow
at dawn."
Barrington did not return to the ballroom, but after lingering in the
great hall for a few minutes with a view of deceiving any one who might
be watching his movements, he left the château. So far he had fulfilled
his oath, but he had discharged it only to accept a much greater
responsibility. To-morrow he would be riding towards Paris, the cavalier
of a beautiful aristocrat. The position must be full of danger for him;
truly it was thrust upon him against his will, yet there was an
elasticity in his step as he went back to his lodgings which suggested
compensations in the position. By a strange chain of circumstances,
Jeanne St. Clair had come into his life; there was something added to
the mere fact of living, whether of joy or pain he could not determine,
but he was very sure that his outlook upon life could never be quite the
same again. For good or ill this woman must influence him to some
extent, she could never pass out of his life again, leaving him as he
was before. There was a fresh wind blowing across the square of
Beauvais, yet it was powerless to disperse the subtle perfume which
lingered about him, which was an enfolding atmosphere, which must remain
with him always. He told his tale to Seth in a short, direct manner,
emphasizing no single point in it. The star had been stolen, when or how
he did not attempt to guess. Monsieur le Comte had grossly deceived
them, his purpose time would show. The woman was as far removed from his
description as pole is from pole. He had delivered his message, but
circumstances decreed that they could not return alone.
Seth listened to his young master, and made no comment until the tale
was ended.
"She is a beautiful woman, then."
"Yes, I think that would be the world's opinion. It is not her beauty
which has influenced me."
"Still, the future might have had less difficulty in it if a man had
quarrelled with you to-night instead of a woman pleaded," Seth answered.
"True enough, but one cannot choose the difficulties he will face. We
must take them as they come, and console ourselves with the reflection
that there is a good purpose somewhere behind them."
"For all that, Master Richard, there are some who overburden themselves
with difficulties which do not concern them. It will be pleasant
traveling with a pretty woman, but I fancy trouble is likely to ride in
our company, too. They mostly go together, women and trouble; and the
prettier the women are, the greater the trouble, that's my experience.
There's just one question in my mind: on which side are we ranged--with
the people or with the aristocrats?"
"With the people. Once this woman is in Paris, I----"
Seth looked at him, waiting for the completion of the sentence. It
remained unfinished.
"A wise pause, Master Richard. Who can tell what may happen in Paris?
Indeed, we may never reach Paris. At dawn, you said. That gives little
time for rest. In these hills the sun gets up early."
Dim twilight was on all the plain, darkness in the wood, when Richard
Barrington and Seth tied their horses to a tree and awaited the coming
of Jeanne St. Clair at the wood end. Ever the first to catch the fire
from the upcoming day, the summits of the great double mountain which
dominated the country blushed a faint rose color which each instant
glowed brighter and clearer, and then peak after peak was caught by the
same rose flush, and light, like a gracious benediction, fell slowly
into valley and gorge, while myriad shades of color pulsated into new
life in earth and sky. The two men watched this magic beauty of the dawn
in silence. So wondrous was it, so majestic, so far beyond the schemes
and thoughts of insignificant man, that it was almost impossible not to
see in it some portent, something of promise or warning. Even Seth,
practical and farseeing as he was, forgot the actualities of life for a
little space, while Richard's dreams took flight into that upper world
of rosy flame and forgot the deep valleys, dark with difficulty and
danger. This new day which was being born was perfect, with a beauty his
eyes had never seen before; the woman he waited for was perfect, too, a
revelation. She and the dawn filled his soul. They were more real than
anything past, present, or to come, and his being sang a Te Deum of
thanksgiving.
"She should be here," he said, turning to Seth and speaking in a hushed
voice without knowing that he did so.
Seth laid his hand sharply upon his arm, and pointed through the trees
to the road which came down to the plain from Beauvais. Four men were
approaching, walking quickly and talking together. They came straight
towards the end of the wood as men having a purpose.
"Quick! The horses!" said Barrington. "Draw back farther into the wood
and let them pass."
Holding their horses, and hidden among the trees, they watched the men
come to the spot where they had been a moment or two before. Here they
stopped, looked round on every side and listened.
"They are looking for us," Seth whispered. "It may be the lady cannot
come and has sent them to tell us so."
"Four of them!" Barrington said.
He did not move. These men were not lackeys, they were gentlemen.
Barrington wondered whether they had chosen this secluded spot to settle
some private quarrel of last night's making.
"Scented danger and gone," said one.
Another shook his head and stared into the depths of the wood before
him with such a keen pair of eyes that Barrington believed he must be
seen.
"Not a man to run from danger," he said, "unless mademoiselle were
strangely deceived."
The remark decided Barrington's course of action. He stepped forward
followed by Seth, who tied up the horses again and then took up a
position behind his master.
"Are you seeking me, gentlemen?"
"If your name be Monsieur Barrington," the man with the keen eyes
answered.
"It is."
The four men bowed low and Barrington did the same.
"My companion thought we were too late," said the spokesman, "but I had
a different opinion. We are four gentlemen devoted to Mademoiselle St.
Clair, and she has charged us with a commission."
"You are very welcome unless you bring bad news," said Barrington.
"For you it may be," was the answer with a smile. "Mademoiselle will not
need you to escort her to Paris."
Barrington had not sought such an honor. Until the moment he had
fastened her mask, touching her hair and touched by her personality, he
would rather have been without the honor; now he was disappointed,
angry. She had found another escort and despised him. She was as other
women, unreliable, changeable, inconstant.
"You bring some proof that mademoiselle has entrusted you with this
message."
"This," was the answer, and the man held up the little iron star.
"I am not greatly grieved to be relieved of such a responsibility,
gentlemen," said Barrington, with a short laugh. "Perhaps you will tell
mademoiselle so."
"Pardon, but monsieur hardly understands. For some purpose monsieur came
to Beauvais with an attempt to deceive mademoiselle with this little
iron trinket. It is not possible to let such a thing pass, and it is
most undesirable that monsieur should be allowed to have the opportunity
of again practicing such deceit. Mademoiselle listened to him, feigned
to be satisfied with his explanation, in fact, met deceit with deceit.
My opinion was that half a dozen lackeys should be sent to chastise
monsieur, but mademoiselle decided otherwise. You were too good to die
by a lackey's hand, she declared, therefore, monsieur, we are here."
"Four gentlemen for six lackeys!" laughed Barrington. "It is a strange
computation of values."
"The methods are different," was the answer. "I think we do you too much
honor, but mademoiselle has willed it. We have already arranged our
order of precedence, and monsieur has the pleasure of first crossing
swords with me. If his skill is greater than mine, then he will have the
pleasure of meeting these other gentlemen. You have my word for
honorable treatment, but it is necessary that the fight is to the
death."
"And my servant here?"
The man shrugged his shoulders. Seth was beneath his consideration.
"There would have been fewer words with the lackeys' method, I presume,"
said Barrington. "I am not inclined to fight a duel."
"Monsieur is a little afraid."
"As you will."
"Afraid as well as being a liar and deceiver of women?"
"As much one as the other," Barrington answered carelessly.
"Then, monsieur, I am afraid we shall have to employ lackeys' methods."
"Now we come to level ground and understand each other," said
Barrington. "There is no quarrel between us which a duel may settle. You
are four men bound together to take my life if you can, but you shall
not have the chance of taking it with a semblance of honesty by calling
it a duel. You attack two travellers; if you can, rob them of what you
will."
"That's better, Master Richard, I'm a poor hand at understanding jargon
of this kind, but I have an idea of how to deal with thieves and
murderers."
"Be careful, Seth," Barrington whispered.
The attack was immediate and sharp, without ceremony, and determined.
Misunderstanding Barrington's attitude they were perhaps a little
careless, believing him a coward at heart. Their methods, too, were
rather those of the duelist than the fighter, and this gave Barrington
and Seth some advantage. The keen-eyed man was as ready with his sword
as with his tongue. He had been confident of saving his companions from
soiling their blades had Richard consented to cross swords with him, and
he advanced upon his enemy to bring the battle to a speedy conclusion.
He even waved his companions aside, and it was with him Barrington had
first to deal. Their blades were the first to speak, and in a moment the
Frenchman knew that he had no mean swordsman to do with.
"This would have been keen pleasure had you been a gentleman," he said.
Barrington did not answer. He was armed for real warfare, his weapon
was heavier than his opponent's and he took advantage of the fact. This
was fighting, not dueling; and he beat the weapon down, snapping the
blade near the hilt. The next moment the other Frenchman had engaged him
fiercely.
With Seth there was even greater advantage. He was a servant and a
lackey, and the punctilious gentlemen opposed to him were not inclined
to cross swords with him. They looked to see him show fear, the very
last thing in the world he was likely to do. Seth's arm was long and his
method of fighting more or less his own, the most unceremonious,
possibly, that these gentlemen had ever had to do with. Deeply cut in
the wrist one man dropped his sword. In a moment Seth's foot was upon
it, and as he turned to meet his other adversary he had taken a pistol
from his pocket.
The Frenchman uttered an exclamation of surprise, and Seth laughed.
"If not the sword point, a bullet; either will serve," he said.
Then Seth was conscious of two things, one a certainty, the other
imagination perhaps. Across his enemy's shoulder he caught sight of the
road which led up to Beauvais, and down it came two men running towards
the wood. After all, their opponents were to be six instead of four.
This was certain. His master was separated from him by a few paces, and
it seemed to Seth that he was being hard pressed. At any rate, if it
were not so, the two men running towards them must turn the scale.
Feigning a vigorous onslaught upon his opponent, who was already
somewhat disconcerted, Seth deliberately fired at the man fighting his
master, who fell backwards with a cry.
"Seth!" Richard exclaimed.
"Look! there are two more running to the attack. This is a time to waive
ceremony and be gone. To horse, Master Richard!"
The keen-eyed man, who had been powerless being without a sword, now
caught up the weapon which the fallen man had dropped.
"There's another pistol shot if you move," cried Seth, with one foot in
the stirrup.
It is doubtful whether the threat would have stopped him, but the two
men suddenly running towards him through the trees did. He knew them and
they were not expected.
Barrington and Seth seized the opportunity, and putting spurs to their
horses were riding towards the head of the valley which led down to the
frontier. They broke into a gallop as soon as they reached the road, and
for some time neither of them spoke.
"Had we waited the whole of Beauvais would have been upon us. All's fair
in war."
"And in love, they say," Barrington added.
A low growl expressed Seth's opinion on this point.
"Right, Seth, right," was the bitter answer. "I have had my lesson, and
enough of women for a lifetime. You have your wish. We ride alone to
Paris."
The two men who entered the wood as Barrington and Seth rode out of it
were lackeys, and ran to their master.
"Monsieur! Monsieur!"
"What is it?" he asked with an angry oath.
"Monsieur, there is some mistake. Mademoiselle St. Clair left Beauvais
last night before the dance was over at the château."