THE GOLD SMUGGLER AND THE PHILOSOPHER
On the evening of the day which had seen Miss Molly's departure for
the main land, Rene, after the usual brisk post-prandial altercation
with old Margery by her kitchen fire, was cheerfully finding his way,
lantern in hand, to his turret, when in the silence of the night he
heard the door of the keep open and close, and presently recognised
Sir Adrian's tread echoing on the flagged steps beneath him.
Astonished at this premature return and full of vague dismay, he
hurried down to receive his master.
There was a cloud on Sir Adrian's face, plainly discernible in spite
of the unaltered composure of his manner.
"I did not expect your honour back so soon," said Rene, tentatively.
"I myself did not anticipate to return. I had thought I might perhaps
stay some days at Pulwick. But I find there is no home like this one
for me, Rene."
There was a long silence. But when Rene had rekindled a blaze upon the
hearth and set the lamp upon the table, he stood a moment before
withdrawing, almost begging by his look some further crumb of
information.
"My room is ready, I suppose?" inquired Sir Adrian.
"Yes, your honour," quoth the man ruefully, "Margery and I put it back
exactly as--as before."
"Good-night then, good-night!" said the master after a pause, warming
his hands as the flames began to leap through the network of twigs. "I
shall go to bed, I am tired; I had to row myself across. You will take
the boat back to-morrow morning."
Rene opened his mouth to speak; caught the sound of a sigh coming from
the hearthside, and, shaking his head, in silence obeyed the implied
dismissal. And bitterly did he meditate in his bunk, that night, upon
the swift crumbling of those air-castles he had built himself so
gaily erstwhile, in the rose and blue atmosphere that _La Demoiselle_
had seemed to bring with her to Scarthey.
* * * * *
From the morrow the old regular mode of life began again in the keep.
Sir Adrian read a good deal, or at least appeared so to do; but Rene,
who kept him more than ever under his glances of wistful sympathy,
noted that far from being absorbed, as of old, in the pages of his
book, the recluse's eyes wandered much off its edges into space; that
when writing, or at least intent on writing, his pen would linger long
in the bottle and hover listlessly over the paper; that he was more
abstracted, even than his wont, when looking out of the eastern
window; and that on the platform of the beacon it was the landward
view which most drew his gaze.
There was also more music in the keep than was the custom in evener
days. Seated at his organ the light-keeper seemed to find a voice for
such thoughts as were not to be spoken or written, and relief for the
nameless pity of them. But never a word passed between the two men on
the subject that filled both their hearts.
It was Sir Adrian's pleasure that things at Scarthey should seem to be
exactly the same as before, and that was enough for Rene.
"And yet," mused the faithful fellow, within his disturbed mind, "the
ruins now look like a house the day after an interment. If we were
lonely before, my faith, now we are desolate?" and, trying to find
something or somebody to charge with the curse of it, he invariably
fell to upon Mr. Landale's sleek head, why, he could hardly have
explained.
Three new days had thus passed in the regularity, if not the serenity
of the old--they seemed old already, buried far back in the past,
those days that had lapsed so evenly before the brightness of youthful
and beautiful life had entered the keep for one brief moment, and
departing, again left it a ruin indeed--when the retirement of
Scarthey was once more invaded by an unexpected visitor. It was about
sundown of the shortest day. Sir Adrian was at his organ, almost
unconsciously interpreting his own sadness into music. In time the
yearning of his soul had had expression, the echo of the last sighing
chord died away in the tranquil air, yet the musician, with head bent
upon his breast, remained lost in far-away thoughts.
A slight shuffling noise disturbed him; turning round to greet Rene as
he supposed, he was astonished to see a man's figure lolling in his
own arm-chair.
As he peered inquiringly into the twilight, the intruder rose to his
feet, and cried with a voice loud and clear, pleasant withal to the
ear:
"Sir Adrian, I am sorry you have stopped so soon; I never heard
anything more beautiful! The door was ajar, and I crept in like a cat,
not to disturb you."
Still in doubt, but with his fine air of courtesy, the light-keeper
advanced towards the uninvited guest.
"Am I mistaken," he said, with some hesitation, "surely this is Hubert
Cochrane's voice?"
"Jack Smith's voice, my dear fellow; Jack Smith, at your service,
please to remember," answered the visitor, with a genial ring of
laughter in his words. "Not that it matters much here, I suppose! Had
I not heard the peal of your organ I should have thought Scarthey
deserted indeed. I could find no groom of the chambers to announce me
in due form."
As he spoke, the two had drawn near each other and clasped hands
heartily.
"Now, to think of your knowing my voice in this manner! You have a
devilish knack of spotting your man, Sir Adrian. It is almost four
years since I was here last, is it not?"
"Four years?--so it is; and four years that have done well by you, it
would appear. What a picture of strength and lustiness! It really
seems to regenerate one, and put heart of grace in one, only to take
you by the hand.--Welcome, Captain Smith!"
Nothing could have more succinctly described the outer man of him who
chose to be known by that most nondescript of patronymics. Sir Adrian
stood for a moment, contemplating, with glances of approval such as he
seldom bestowed on his fellow-man, the symmetrical, slender, yet
vigorous figure of his friend, and responding with an unwonted
cheerfulness to the smile that lit up the steel-blue eyes, and parted
the shapely, strong, and good-humoured mouth of the privateersman.
"Dear me, and what a buck we have become!" continued the baronet,
"what splendid plumage! It is good to see you so prosperous. And so
this is the latest fashion? No doubt it sets forth the frame of a
goodly man, though no one could guess at the 'sea dog' beneath such a
set of garments. I used to consider my brother Rupert the most
especial dandy I had ever seen; but that, evidently, was my limited
experience: even Rupert cannot display so perfect a fit in
bottle-green coats, so faultless a silken stock, buckskins of such
matchless drab!"
Captain Jack laughed, blushed slightly under the friendly banter, and
allowed himself to be thrust back into the seat he had just vacated.
"Welcome again, on my lonely estate. I hope this is not to be a mere
flying visit? You know my misanthropy vanishes when I have your
company. How did you come? Not by the causeway, I should say," smiling
again, and glancing at the unblemished top-boots.
"I have two men waiting for me in the gig below; my schooner, the
_Peregrine_, lies in the offing."
The elder man turned to the window, and through the grey curtain of
crepuscule recognised the rakish topsail schooner that had excited
Molly's admiration some days before. He gazed forth upon it a few
meditative moments.
"Not knowing whether I would find you ready to receive me," pursued
the captain, "I arranged that the _Peregrine_ was to wait for me if I
had to return to-night."
"Which, of course, is not to be heard of," said Sir Adrian. "Here is
Renny; he will carry word that with me you remain to-night.... Come,
Renny, do you recognise an old acquaintance?"
Already well disposed towards any one who could call this note of
pleasure into the loved voice, the Breton, who had just entered,
turned to give a broad stare at the handsome stranger, then burst into
a guffaw of pure delight. "By my faith, it is Mr. the Lieutenant!" he
ejaculated; adding, as ingeniously as Tanty herself might have done,
that he would never have known him again.
"It is Mr. the Captain now, Renny," said that person, and held out a
strong hand to grip that of the little Frenchman, which the latter,
after the preliminary rubbing upon his trousers that his code of
manners enjoined, readily extended.
"Ah, it is a good wind that sent you here this day," said he, with a
sigh of satisfaction when this ceremony had been duly gone through.
"You say well," acquiesced his master, "it has ever been a good wind
that has brought Captain Jack across my path."
And then receiving directions to refresh the gig's crew and dismiss
them back to their ship with instructions to return for orders on the
morrow, the servant hurried forth, leaving the two friends once more
alone.
"Thanks," said Captain Jack, when the door had closed upon the
messenger. "That will exactly suit my purpose. I have a good many
things to talk over with you, since you so kindly give me the
opportunity. In the first place, let me unburden myself of a debt
which is now of old standing--and let me say at the same time," added
the young man, rising to deposit upon the table a letter-case which he
had taken from his breast-pocket, "that though my actual debt is now
met, my obligation to you remains the same and will always be so. You
said just now that I looked prosperous, and so I am--owing somewhat to
good luck, it is true, but owing above all to you. No luck would have
availed me much without _that_ to start upon." And he pointed to the
contents of the case, a thick bundle of notes which his host was now
smilingly turning over with the tip of his fingers.
"I might have sent you a draft, but there is no letter-post that I
know of to Scarthey, and, besides, it struck me that just as these
four thousand pounds had privately passed between you and me, you
might prefer them to be returned in the same manner."
"I prefer it, since it has brought you in person," said Sir Adrian,
thrusting the parcel into a drawer and pulling his chair closer
towards his guest. "Dealings with a man like you give one a taste of
an ideal world. Would that more human transactions could be carried
out in so simple and frank a manner as this little business of ours!"
Captain Jack laughed outright.
"Upon my word, you are a greater marvel to me every time I see
you--which is not by any means often enough!"
The other raised his eyebrows in interrogation, and the sailor went
on:
"Is it really possible that it is to _my_ mode of dealing that you
attribute the delightful simplicity of a transaction involving a
little fortune from hand to hand? And where pray, in this terraqueous
sublunary sphere--I heard that good phrase from a literary exquisite
at Bath, and it seems to me comprehensive--where, then, on this
terraqueous sublunary globe of ours, Sir Adrian Landale, could one
expect to find another person ready to lend a privateersman, trading
under an irresponsible name, the sum of four thousand pounds, without
any other security than his volunteered promise to return it--if
possible?"
Sir Adrian, ignoring the tribute to his own merits, arose and placed
his friendly hand on the speaker's shoulder: "And now, my dear Jack,"
he said gravely, "that the war is over, you will have to turn your
energies in another direction. I am glad you are out of that unworthy
trade."
Captain Jack bounded up: "No, no, Sir Adrian, I value your opinion too
much to allow such a statement to pass unchallenged. Unworthy trade!
We have not given back those French devils one half of the harm they
have done to our own merchant service; it was war, you know, and you
know also, or perhaps you don't--in which case let me tell you--that
my _Cormorant_ has made her goodly name, ay, and brought her commander
a fair share of his credit, by her energy in bringing to an incredible
number of those d----d French sharks--beg pardon, but you know the
pestilent breed. Well, we shall never agree upon the subject I fear.
As for me, the smart of the salt air, the sting of the salt breeze,
the fighting, the danger, they have got into my blood; and even now it
sometimes comes over me that life will not be perfect life to me
without the dancing boards under my feet and the free waves around me,
and my jolly boys to lead to death or glory. Yet, could you but know
it, this is the veriest treason, and I revoke the words a thousand
times. You look amazed, and well you may: ah, I have much to tell you!
But I take it you will not care to hear all I have been able to
achieve on the basis of your munificent help at my--ahem, unworthy
trade."
"Well, no," said Sir Adrian smiling, "I can quite imagine it, and
imagine it without enthusiasm, though, perhaps, as you say, such
things have to be. But I should like to know of these present
circumstances, these prospects which make you look so happy. No doubt
the fruits of peace?"
"Yes, I suppose in one way they may be called so. Yet without the war
and your helping hand they would even now hang as far from me as the
grapes from the fox.--When I arrived in England three months after the
peace had been signed, I had accumulated in the books of certain banks
a tolerably respectable account, to the credit of a certain person,
whose name, oddly enough, you on one or two occasions have applied,
absently, to Captain Jack Smith. I was, I will own, already feeling
inclined to discuss with myself the propriety of assuming the name in
question, when, there came something in my way of which I shall tell
you presently; which something has made me resolve to remain Captain
Smith for some time longer. The old _Cormorant_ lay at Bristol, and
being too big for this new purpose, I sold her. It was like cutting
off a limb. I loved every plank of her; knew every frisk of her! She
served me well to the end, for she fetched her value--almost. Next,
having time on my hands, I bethought myself of seeing again a little
of the world; and when I tell you that I drove over to Bath, you may
perhaps begin to see what I am coming to."
Sir Adrian suddenly turned in his chair to face his friend again, with
a look of singular attention.
"Well, no, not exactly, and yet--unless--? Pshaw! impossible----!"
upon which lucid commentary he stopped, gazing with anxious inquiry
into Captain Jack's smiling eyes. "Ah, I believe you have just a
glimmer of the truth with that confounded perspicacity of yours,"
saying which the sailor laughed and blushed not unbecomingly. "This is
how it came about: I had transactions with old John Harewood, the
banker, in Bristol, transactions advantageous to both sides, but
perhaps most to him--sly old dog. At any rate, the old fellow took a
monstrous fancy to me, over his claret, and when I mentioned Bath,
recommended me to call upon his wife (a very fine dame, who prefers
the fashion of the Spa to the business of Bristol, and consequently
lives as much in the former place as good John Harewood will allow).
Well, you wonder at my looking prosperous and happy. Listen, for here
is the _hic_: At Lady Maria Harewood's I met one who, if I mistake
not, is of your kin. Already, then, somewhere at the back of my memory
dwelt the name of Savenaye----Halloa, bless me! I have surely said
nothing to----!"
The young man broke off, disconcerted. Sir Adrian's face had become
unwontedly clouded, but he waved the speaker on impatiently: "No, no,
I am surprised, of course, only surprised; never mind me, my thoughts
wandered--please go on. So you have met her?"
"Ay, that I have! Now it is no use beating about the bush. You who
know her--you do know her of course--will jump at once to the only
possible conclusion. Ah, Adrian!" Captain Jack pursued, pacing
enthusiastically about, "I have been no saint, and no doubt I have
fancied myself as a lover once or twice ere this; but to see that
girl, sir, means a change in a man's life: to have met the light of
those sweet eyes is to love, to love in reality. It is to feel ashamed
of the idiotic make-believes of former loves. To love her, even in
vague hope, is to be glorious already; and, by George, to have her
troth, is to be--I cannot say what ... to be what I am now!"
The lover's face was illumined; he walked the room like one treading
on air as the joy within him found its voice in words.
Sir Adrian listened with an extraordinary tightness at his heart. He
had loved one woman even so; that love was still with him, as the
scent clings to the phial; but the sight of this young, joyful love
made him feel old in that hour--old as he had never realised before.
There was no room in his being for such love again. And yet...? There
was a tremulous anxiety in the question he put, after a short pause.
"There are _two_ Demoiselles de Savenaye, Jack; which is it?"
Captain Jack halted, turned on his heels, and exclaimed
enthusiastically: "To me there is but one--one woman in the
world--Madeleine!" His look met that of Sir Adrian in full, and even
in the midst of his own self-centred mood he could not fail to notice
the transient gleam that shot in the elder's eyes, and the sudden
relaxation of his features. He pondered for a moment or two, scanning
the while the countenance of the recluse; then a smile lighted up his
own bronzed face in a very sweet and winning way. "As her kinsman,
have I your approval?" he asked and proceeded earnestly: "To tell the
truth at once, I was looking to even more than your approval--to your
support."
Sir Adrian's mood had undergone a change: as a breeze sweeping from a
new quarter clears in a moment a darkening mist from the face of the
earth, Captain Jack's answer had blown away for the nonce the
atmosphere of misgiving that enveloped him. He answered promptly, and
with warmth: "Being your friend, I am glad to know of this; being her
kinsman, I may add, my dear _Hubert_"--there was just a tinge of
hesitation, followed by a certain emphasis, on the change of name--"I
promise to support you in your hopes, in so far as I have any
influence; for power or right over my cousin I have none."
The sailor threw himself down once more in his arm-chair; and, tapping
his shining hessians with the stem of his long clay in smiling
abstraction, began, with all a lover's egotism, to expatiate on the
theme that filled his heart.
"It is a singular, an admirable, a never sufficiently-to-be-praised
conjunction of affairs which has ultimately brought me near you when I
was pursuing the Light o' my Heart, ruthlessly snatched away by a
cunning and implacable dragon, known to you as Miss O'Donoghue. I say
_dragon_ in courtesy; I called her by better names before I realised
what a service she was unconsciously rendering us by this sudden
removal."
"Known to me!" laughed Sir Adrian. "My own mother's sister!"
"Then I still further retract. Moreover, seeing how things have turned
out, I must now regard her as an angel in disguise. Don't look so
surprised! Has she not brought my love under your protection? I
thought I was tolerably proof against the little god, but then he had
never shot his arrows at me from between the long lashes of Madeleine
de Savenaye. Oh, those eyes, Adrian! So unlike those southern eyes I
have known so well, too well in other days, brilliant, hard,
challenging battle from the first glance, and yet from the first
promising that surrender which is ever so speedy. Pah! no more of such
memories. Before _her_ blue eyes, on my first introduction, I
felt--well, I felt as the novice does under the first broadside."
The speaker looked dreamily into space, as if the delicious moment
rose again panoramically before him.
"Well," he pursued, "that did me no harm, after all. Lady Maria
Harewood, who, I have learned since, deals strongly in sentiment, and,
being unfortunately debarred by circumstances from indulgence in the
soothing luxury on her own behalf, loves to promote matches more
poetical--she calls it more 'harmonious'--than her own very prosaic
one, she, dear lady, was delighted with such a rarity as a bashful
privateersman--her 'tame corsair,' as I heard her call your humble
servant.--I was a hero, sir, a perfect hero of romance in the course
of a few days! On the strength of this renown thrust upon me I found
grace before the most adorable blue eyes; had words of sympathy from
the sweetest lips, and smiles from the most bewitching little mouth in
all the world. So you see I owe poor Lady Maria a good thought.... You
laugh?"
Sir Adrian was smiling, but all in benevolence, at the artlessness of
this eager youth, who in all the unconscious glory of his looks and
strength, ascribed the credit of his entrance into a maiden's heart to
the virtue of a few irresponsible words of recommendation.
"Ah! those were days! Everything went on smoothly, and I was debating
with myself whether I would not, at once, boldly ask her to be the
wife of Hubert Cochrane; though the casting of Jack Smith's skin would
have necessitated the giving up of several of his free-trading
engagements."
"Free trading! You do not mean to say, man alive, that you have turned
smuggler now!" interrupted Sir Adrian aghast.
"Smuggler," cried Jack with his frank laugh, "peace, I beg, friend!
Miscall not a gentleman thus. Smuggler--pirate? I cut a pretty figure
evidently in your worship's eyes. Lucky for me you never would be
sworn as a magistrate, or where should I be ... and you too, between
duty and friendship?--But to proceed: I was about, as I have said, to
give that up for the reasons I mentioned, when, upon a certain fine
evening, I crossed the path of one of the most masterful old maids I
have ever seen, or even heard of; and, would you believe it?"--this
with a quizzical look at his host's grave face--"this misguided old
lady took such a violent dislike to me at first sight, and expressed
it so thoroughly well, that, hang me if I was not completely brought
to. And all for escorting my dear one from Lady Maria's house to her
own! Well, the walk was worth it--though the old crocodile was on the
watch for us, ready to snap; had got wind of the secret, somehow, a
secret unspoken even between us two. This first and last interview
took place on the flags, in front of No. 17 Camden Place, Bath. Oh! It
was a very one-sided affair from the beginning, and ended abruptly in
a door being banged in my face. Then I heard about Miss O'Donoghue's
peculiarities in the direction of exclusiveness. And then, also, oddly
enough, for the first time, of the great fortune going with my
Madeleine's hand. Of course I saw it all, and, I may say, forgave the
old lady. In short, I realised that, in Miss O'Donoghue's mind, I am
nothing but an unprincipled fortune-seeker and adventurer. Now you,
Adrian, can vouch that, whatever my faults, I am none such."
Sir Adrian threw a quiet glance at his friend, whose eyes sparkled as
they met it.
"God knows," continued the latter, "that all I care for, concerning
the money, is that _she_ may have it. This last venture, the biggest
and most difficult of all, I then decided to undertake, that I might
be the fitter mate for the heiress--bless her! Oh, Adrian, man, could
you have seen her sweet tearful face that night, you would understand
that I could not rest upon such a parting. In the dawn of the next
morning I was in the street--not so much upon the chance of meeting,
though I knew that such sweetness would have now to be all stolen--but
to watch her door, her window; a lover's trick, rewarded by lover's
luck! Leaning on the railings, through the cold mist (cold it was,
though I never felt it, but I mind me now how the icicles broke under
my hand), what should I see, before even the church-bells had set to
chiming, or the yawning sluts to pull the kitchen curtains, but a
bloated monster of a coach, dragging and sliding up the street to
halt at her very door. Then out came the beldam herself, and two
muffled-up slender things--my Madeleine one of course; but I had a
regular turn at sight of them, for I swear I could not tell which was
which! Off rattled the chariot at a smart pace; and there I stood,
friend, feeling as if my heart was tied behind with the trunks."
The sailor laughed, ran his fingers through his curls and stamped in
lively recollection.
"Nothing to be drawn from their landlady. But I am not the man to
allow a prize to be snatched from under my very nose. So,
anathematising Miss O'Donoghue's family-tree, root, stem, and
branch--except that most lovely off-shoot I mean to transplant (you
will forgive this heat of blood; it was clearing for action so to
speak)--I ran out and overtook the ostler whom I had seen putting the
finishing touch to the lashing of boxes behind! _'Gloucester!'_ says
he. The word was worth the guinea it cost me, a hundred times
over.--In less than an hour I was in the saddle, ready for pursuit,
cantering boot to boot with my man--a trusty fellow who knows how to
hold his tongue, and can sit a horse in the bargain. Neither at
Gloucester, nor the next day, up to Worcester, could we succeed in
doing more than keep our fugitives in view. When they had alighted at
one inn, as ascertained by my squire, we patronised the opposition
hostelry, and the ensuing morning cantered steadily in pursuit, on
_our_ new post-horses half an hour after they had rumbled away with
_their_ relays. But the evening of our arrival at Worcester, my fellow
found out, at last, what the next stage was to be, and--clever chap,
he lost nothing for his sharpness--that the Three Kings' Heads had
been recommended to the old lady as the best house in Shrewsbury. This
time we took the lead, and on to Shrewsbury, and were at the glorious
old Kings' Heads (I in a private room, tight as wax) a good couple of
hours before the chariot made its appearance. And there, man, there!
my pretty one and I met again!"
"That was, no doubt," put in Sir Adrian, in his gentle, indulgent way,
"what made the Kings' Heads so glorious?"
"Ay. Right! And yet it was but a few seconds, on the stair, under a
smoky lamp, but her beauty filled the landing with radiance as her
kindness did my soul.--It was but for a moment, all blessed moment,
too brief, alas! Ah, Adrian, friend--old hermit in your cell--_you_
have never known life, you who have never tasted a moment such as
that! Then we started apart: there was a noise below, and she had only
time to whisper that she was on her way to Pulwick to some
relatives--had only heard it that very day--when steps came up the
stairs, creaking. With a last promise, a last word of love, I leaped
back into my own chamber, there to see (through the chink between door
and post) the untimely old mischief-maker herself pass slowly, sour
and solemn, towards her apartments, leaning upon her other niece's
arm. How could I have thought _that_ baggage like my princess?
Handsome, if you will; but, with her saucy eye, her raven head, her
brown cheek, no more to be compared to my stately lily than brass to
gold!"
The host listening wonderingly, his eyes fixed with kindly gravity
upon the speaker as he rattled on, here gave a slight start, all
unnoticed of his friend.
"The next morning, when I had seen the coach and its precious freight
move on once more northward, I began the retreat south, hugging myself
upon luck and success. I had business in Salcombe--perhaps you may
have heard of the Salcombe schooners--in connection with the fitting
out of that sailing wonder, the _Peregrine_. And so," concluded
Captain Jack, laughing again in exuberance of joy, "you may possibly
guess one of the reasons that has brought her and me round by your
island."
There ensued a long silence, filled with thoughts, equally pressing
though of widely different complexion, on either side of the hearth.
* * * * *
During the meal, which was presently set forth and proclaimed ready by
Rene, the talk, as was natural in that watchful attendant's presence,
ran only on general topics, and was in consequence fitful and
unspontaneous. But when the two men, for all their difference of age,
temper, and pursuits so strongly, yet so oddly united in sympathy,
were once more alone, they naturally fell back under the influence of
the more engrossing strain of reflection. Again there was silence,
while each mused, gazing into space and vaguely listening to the
plash of high water under the window.
"It must have been a strong motive," said Sir Adrian, after his dreamy
fashion, like one thinking aloud, "to induce a man like you to abandon
his honourable name."
Captain Jack flushed at these words, drew his elbows from the table,
and shot a keen, inquiring glance at his friend, which, however, fell
promptly before the latter's unconscious gaze and was succeeded by one
of reflective melancholy. Then, with a slight sigh, he raised his
glass to the lamp, and while peering abstractedly through the ruby,
"The story of turning my back upon my house," he said musingly,
"shaking its very dust off my feet, so to speak, and starting life
afresh unbeholden to my father (even for what he could not take away
from me--my own name),--is a simple affair, although pitiful enough
perhaps. But memories of family wrongs and family quarrels are of
their nature painful; and, as I am a mirth-loving fellow, I hate to
bring them upon me. But perhaps it has occurred to you that I may have
brought some disgrace upon the name I have forsaken."
"I never allowed myself to think so," said Sir Adrian, surprised.
"Your very presence by my fireside is proof of it."
Again the captain scrutinised his host; then with a little laugh:
"Pardon me," he cried, "with another man one might accept that likely
proof and be flattered. But with you? why, I believe I know you too
well not to feel sure that you would have received me as kindly and
unreservedly, no matter what my past if only you thought that I had
repented; that you would forgive even a _crime_ regretted; and having
forgiven, forget.... But, to resume, you will believe me when I say
that there was nothing of the sort. No," he went on, with a musing
air, "but I could tell you of a boy, disliked at home for his stubborn
spirit, and one day thrashed, thrashed mercilessly--at a time when he
had thought he had reached to the pride of man's estate, thrashed by
his own father, and for no just cause.... Oh, Adrian, it is a terrible
thing to have put such resentment into a lad's heart." He rose as he
spoke, and placed himself before the hearth.
"If ever I have sons," he added after a pause, and at the words his
whole handsome face relaxed, and became suffused with a tender glow,
"I would rather cut my right hand off than raise such a spirit in
them. Well, I daresay you can guess the rest; I will even tell you in
a few words, and then dismiss the subject.--I have always had a
certain shrewdness at the bottom of my recklessness. Now there was a
cousin of the family, who had taken to commerce in Liverpool, and who
was therefore despised, ignored and insulted by us gentry of the
Shaws. So when I packed my bundle, and walked out of the park gate, I
thought of him; and two days later I presented myself at his mansion
in Rodney Street, Liverpool. I told him my name, whereat he scowled;
but he was promptly brought round upon hearing of my firm
determination to renounce it and all relations with my father's house
for ever, and of my reasons for this resolve, which he found
excellent. I could not have lighted upon a better man. He hated my
family as heartily as even I could wish, and readily, out of spite to
them, undertook to aid me. He was a most enterprising scoundrel, had a
share in half a dozen floating ventures. I expressed a desire for life
on the ocean wave, and he started me merrily as his nephew, Jack
Smith, to learn the business on a slaver of his. The 'ebony trade,'
you know, was all the go then, Adrian. Many great gentlemen in
Lancashire had shares in it. Now it is considered low. To say true, a
year of it was more than enough for me--too much! It sickened me. My
uncle laughed when I demurred at a second journey, but to humour me,
as I had learned something of the sailing trade, he found me another
berth, on board a privateer, the _St. Nicholas_. My fortune was made
from the moment I set foot on that lucky ship, as you know."
"And you have never seen your father since?"
"Neither father, nor brothers, nor any of my kin, save the cousin in
question. All I know is that my father is dead--that he disinherited
me expressly in the event of my being still in the flesh; my eldest
brother reigns; many of us are scattered, God knows where. And my
mother"--the sailor's voice changed slightly--"my mother lives in her
own house, with some of the younger ones. So much I have ascertained
quite recently. She believes me dead, of course. Oh, it will be a good
day, Adrian, when I can come back to her, independent, prosperous,
bringing my beautiful bride with me!... But until I can resume my name
in all freedom, this cannot be."
"But why, my dear fellow, these further risks and adventures? Surely,
even at your showing you have enough of this world's goods; why not
come forward, now, at once, openly? I will introduce you, as soon as
may be, in your real character, for the sake of your mother--of
Madeleine herself."
The sailor shook his head, tempted yet determined.
"I am not free to do so. I have given my word; my honour is engaged,"
he said. Then abruptly asked: "Have you ever heard of guinea
smuggling?"
"Guinea smuggling! No," said Sir Adrian, his amazement giving way to
anxiety.
"No? You surprise me. You who are, or were, I understand, a student of
philosophical matters, freedom of exchange, and international
intercourse and the rest of it--things we never shall have so long as
governments want money, I am thinking.--However, this guinea smuggling
is a comparatively new business. Now, _I_ don't know anything about
the theory; but I know this much of the practice that, while our
preventive service won't let guineas pass the Channel (as goods) this
year, somebody on the other side is devilish anxious to have them at
almost any cost. And the cost, you know, is heavy, for the risk of
confiscation is great. Well, your banker or your rich man will not
trust his bullion to your common free trader--he is not quite such a
fool."
"No," put in Sir Adrian, as the other paused on this mocking
proposition. "In the old days, when I was busy in promoting the
Savenaye expedition, I came across many of that gentry, and I cannot
mind a case where they could have been trusted with such a freight.
But perhaps," he added with a small smile, "the standard may be higher
now."
Captain Jack grinned appreciatively. "That is where the 'likes of me'
comes in. I will confess this not to be my first attempt. It is known
that I am one of the few whose word is warranty. What is more, as I
have said, it is known that I have the luck. Thus, even if I could
bring my own name into such a trade, I would not; it would be the
height of folly to change now."
For all his disapproval Sir Adrian could not repress a look of
amusement. "I verily believe, Jack," he said, shaking his head, "that
you are as superstitious yourself as the best of them!"
"I ought to make a good thing out of it," said Jack, evasively. "And
even with all that is lovely to keep me on shore, I would hardly give
it up, if I could. As things stand I could not if I would. Do not
condemn me, Adrian,--that would be fatal to my hopes--nay, I actually
want your help."
"I would you were out of it," reiterated Sir Adrian; "it takes so
little to turn the current of a man's life when he seems to be making
straight for happiness. As to the morals of it, I fail, I must admit,
to perceive any wrong in smuggling, at least in the abstract, except
that a certain kind of moral teaches that all is wrong that is against
the law. And yet so many of our laws are so ferocious and inept, and
as such the very cause of so much going wrong that might otherwise go
well; so many of those who administer them are themselves so ferocious
and inept, that the mere fact of a pursuit being unlawful is no real
condemnation in my eyes. But, as you know, Jack, those who place
themselves above some laws almost invariably renounce all. If you are
hanged for stealing a horse, or breaking some fiscal law and hanged
for killing a man, the tendency, under stress of circumstances is
obvious. Aye, have we not a proverb about it: as well be hanged for a
sheep as for a lamb?... There are gruesome stories about your free
traders--and gruesome endings to them. I well remember, in my young
days, the clanking gibbet on the sands near Preston and the three
tarred and iron-riveted carcases hanging, each in its chains, with the
perpetual guard of carrion crows.... Hanging in chains is still on the
statute book, I believe. But I'll stop my croaking now. You are not
one to be drawn into brutal ways; nor one, I fear, to be frightened
into prudence. Nevertheless," laughing quietly, "I am curious to know
in what way you expect help from me, in practice. Do you, seriously,
want me to embark actually on a smuggling expedition?--I demur, my
dear fellow."
Obviously relieved of some anxiety, the other burst out laughing.
"Never fear! I know your dislike to bilge water too well. I
appreciate too well also your comfortable surroundings," he returned,
seating himself once more complacently in his arm-chair, "much as I
should love your company on board my pleasure ship--for, if you
please, the _Peregrine_ is no smuggling lugger, but professes to be a
yacht. Still, you can be of help for all that, and without lifting
even a finger to promote this illicit trade. You may ignore it
completely, and yet you will render me incalculable service, provided
you do not debar me from paying you a few more visits in your
solitude, and give me the range of your caves and cellars."
"You are welcome enough," said the recluse. "I trust it may end as
well as it promises." And, after a pause, "Madeleine does not know the
nature of your present pursuit?"
"Oddly enough, and happily (for our moments of interview are short, as
you may imagine) she is not curious on the subject. I don't know what
notions the old Lady Maria may have put into her head about me. I
think she believes that I am engaged on some secret political intrigue
and approves of such. At least I gathered as much from her sympathetic
reticence; and, between ourselves, I am beginning to believe it
myself."
"How is that?" asked the listener, moved to fresh astonishment by this
new departure.
"Well, I may tell you, who not only can be as silent as the tomb, but
really have a right to know, since you are tacitly of the conspiracy.
This time the transaction is to be with some official of the French
Court. They want the metal, and yet wish to have it secretly. What
their motive may be is food for reflection if you like, but it is no
business of mine. And, besides the fact that one journey will suffice
for a sum which at the previous rate would have required half a score,
all the trouble and uncertainty of landing are disposed of; at any
rate, I am, when all is ready, to be met by a government vessel, get
my _quid pro quo_ as will be settled, and there the matter is to end."
"A curious expedition," mused Sir Adrian.
"Yes," said the sailor, "my last will be the best. By the way, will
you embark a few bags with me? I will take no commission."
Sir Adrian could not help laughing.
"No, thank you; I have no wish to launch any more of my patrimony on
ventures--since it would be of no service to you. I had almost as lief
you had made use of my old crow's nest without letting me into the ins
and outs of your projects. But, be it as it may, it is yours, night
and day. Your visits I shall take as being for me."
"What a man you are, upon my soul, Sir Adrian!" cried Captain Jack,
enthusiastically.
* * * * *
Later on, when the "shaking down" hour, in Captain Jack's phraseology,
had sounded, and the two friends separated to rest, the young man
refused the offer, dictated by hospitality, of his host's own bedroom.
Sir Adrian did not press the point, and, leaving his guest at liberty
to enjoy the couch arranged by Rene in a corner under the bookshelves,
even as when Mademoiselle de Savenaye had been the guest of the peel,
himself retired to that now hallowed apartment.
"Odd fellow, that," soliloquised Captain Jack, as, slowly divesting
himself, he paced about the long room and, in the midst of roseate
reflections, examined his curious abode. "Withal, as good as ever
stepped. It was a fine day's work our old _St. Nicholas_ did, about
this time eight years ago. Rather unlike a crowded battery deck,
this," looking from the solemn books to the glinting organ pipes, and
conscious of the great silence. "As for me, I should go crazy by
myself here. But it suits him. Queer fish!" again ruminated the young
sailor. "He hates no one and yet dislikes almost everybody, except
that funny little Frenchy and me. Whereas _I_ like every man I
meet--unless I detest him!... My beautiful plumage!" this whilst
carefully folding the superfine coat and thereon the endless silken
stock. "Now there's a fellow who does not care a hang for any woman
under the sun, and yet enters into another chap's love affairs as if
he understood it all. I believe it will make him happy to win my cause
with Madeleine. I wish one could do something for _his_ happiness. It
is absurd, you know," as though apostrophising an objector, "a man
can't be happy without a woman. And yet again, my good Jack, you never
thought that before you met Madeleine. He has not met his Madeleine,
that's what it means. Where ignorance is bliss.... Friend Adrian! Let
us console ourselves and call you ignorantly happy, in your old crow's
nest. You have not stocked it so badly either.--For all your ignorance
in love, you have a pretty taste in liquor."
So thinking, he poured himself a last glass of his host's wine, which
he held for a moment in smiling cogitation, looking, with the mind's
eye, through the thick walls of the keep, across the cold mist-covered
sands of Scarthey and again through the warm and scented air of a
certain room (imagination pictured) where Madeleine must at that hour
lie in her slumber. After a moment of silent adoration he sent a
rapturous kiss landwards and tossed his glass with a last toast:
"Madeleine, my sweet! To your softly closed lids."
And again Captain Jack fell to telling over the precious tale of that
morning's interview, furtively secured, by that lover's luck he so
dutifully blessed, under the cluster of Scotch firs near the grey and
crumbling boundary walls of Pulwick Park.