Part II

Produced by Gardner Buchanan

THE SPAN O' LIFE

THE SPAN O' LIFE

A Tale of Louisbourg & Quebec

By WILLIAM McLENNAN

and J. N. McILWRAITH

Illustrations by F. de Myrbach

_The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,

Nor deep eneugh the sea,

Nor braid eneugh this weary warld

To part my Love frae me_

NEW YORK AND LONDON:

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

TORONTO:

THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year

1899, by Harper & Brothers, at the Department of Agriculture.

Copyright, 1899, by HARPER & BROTHERS.

_All rights reserved._

PREFACE

The reader familiar with the amusing memoirs of the Chevalier

Johnstone will recognise in how far Maxwell was suggested thereby;

if he be equally familiar with the detail of Canadian history of

the period he will have little difficulty in discovering the

originals of Sarennes and some of the secondary characters, and,

in the Epilogue, the legend of the death of the celebrated missionary,

le R. P. Jean Baptiste de la Brosse. But while the experience of

some actual man or woman has suggested a type to be portrayed, it

is only as a type, and with no intention of representing the

individual in the character of the story. Nor is the attempt to

set forth the respective attitude of the Canadian and the old-country

Frenchman to be read as a personal expression of the authors', but

as their conception of an unfortunate condition between colonist

and official that obtained as fully in Canada as it did between

the same classes in the English colonies.

Long habit has made the English names of many places and positions

so familiar to many in Canada that to adhere to the French form in

all instances would be as unnatural as to Anglicise all names

throughout--which will explain the lack of uniformity in this

particular.

The authors have pleasure in acknowledging their indebtedness to

M. l'Abbe Casgrain, of Quebec, for valuable personal assistance in

determining local detail, and to Mtre. Joseph Edmond Roy, N.P., of

Levis, for information on the period and the use of his version of

the death of the pere de la Brosse from his interesting monograph,

"Tadoussac."

W. McL. and J. N. McI.

CONTENTS

PART I

MAXWELL'S STORY

I. "After High Floods Come Low Ebbs"

II. I Discover a New Interest in Life

III. "The Dead and the Absent are Always Wrong"

IV. In Which I Make Acquaintance with One Near to Me

V. I Assist at an Interview with a Great Man

VI. How I Take to the Road Again, and of the Company

I Fall in With

VII. How I Come to Take a Great Resolve

VIII. How I Make Both Friends and Enemies in New France

IX. "Joy and Sorrow are Next-door Neighbours"

X. "He who Sows Hatred Shall Gather Rue"

XI. "A Friend at One's Back is a Safe Bridge"

PART II

MARGARET'S STORY

XII. What Happened in the Baie des Chaleurs

XIII. Le Pere Jean, Missionary to the Indians

XIV. I am Directed into a New Path

XV. The Marquis de Montcalm-Gozon de St. Veran

XVI. At Beaulieu

XVII. I Find Myself in a False Position

XVIII. I am Rescued from a Great Danger

XIX. On the Isle Aux Coudres

XX. At Quebec

XXI. I Awake from my Dream

XXII. I am Tortured by Myself and Others

XXIII. The Heights of Quebec

XXIV. Reconciliation

XXV. A Forlorn Hope

PART III

MAXWELL'S STORY

XXVI. I Close One Account and Open Another

XXVII. I Find a Key to my Dilemma

XXVIII. I Make a False Move

XXIX. I Put my Fortune to the Touch

Epilogue

ILLUSTRATIONS

"'A REBEL WENCH, LADS, AND MUST SEE HER LOVER CLOSE!'"

"'THAT IS A LIE!' SHE SAID, CALMLY, RAISING HER FACE"

"'WHY DO YOU SLEEP IN YOUR CLOTHES?'"

"'OH, YOUR GRACE, YOUR GRACE, HE IS ALL I HAVE LEFT

IN THE WORLD!'"

"HE ORDERED HIS MEN TO GIVE WAY IN A VOICE THAT SUGGESTED

THE CLAP OF A PRISON DOOR"

"HOW I MADE THEM LAUGH OVER MY APPEARANCE!"

"SHE STOOD ERECT, HER FACE WHITE WITH EMOTION"

"'M. LE LIEUTENANT, YOU HAVE MY SINCEREST SYMPATHY!'"

"I CRAWLED OUT BRUISED, BUT OTHERWISE UNHURT"

"'CHEVALIER, I KNOW YOU NOW'"

"AND LAID THEM GENTLY ON THE STREAM"

"THE PRIEST RECITED THE HOLY OFFICE OF THE MASS"

"'THERE IS LITTLE I WOULD NOT DO TO PLEASE LE PERE JEAN'"

"'THESE LETTERS CHANGE A DUTY INTO A PLEASURE'"

"THE TWO MEN STOOD FACING EACH OTHER IN SILENCE"

"A STRAIGHT PILLAR OF FIRE WENT LEAPING UP INTO THE NIGHT"

"HE CARRIED ME THROUGH MUD AND WATER, AND SET ME IN HIS

SHALLOP"

"AND, BOWING LOW, ANSWERED HER LIVELY GREETING"

"TANTUM ERGO SACRAMENTUM VENEREMUR CERNUI"

"WE MADE A SAD LITTLE PROCESSION"

"'KEEP UP, MY LAD; YOU ARE AMONG FRIENDS!'"

"WITH HAT IN HAND CAME SPURRING ON"

"'HE THAT DWELLETH IN THE SECRET PLACE OF THE MOST HIGH'"

"SHE SHORTENED UP STRAPS AND ADJUSTED BUCKLES"

"'CALL OFF YOUR MEN, CAPTAIN NAIRN!'"

"HE THREW UP HIS HANDS WITH A WEAK CRY AND COVERED HIS FACE"

"LIFTING HIS LANTHORN, HE HELD IT SO THAT THE LIGHT SHONE

FULL UPON HER"

"'I TAKE IT FOR GRANTED YOU ARE A NON-COMBATANT'"

"'THE SPAN O' LIFE'S NAE LANG ENEUGH,' ETC."

Part I

MAXWELL'S STORY

"_Better the world should know you at a sinner than God as a

hypocrite._"--Old Proverb.

THE SPAN O' LIFE

CHAPTER I

"AFTER HIGH FLOODS COME LOW EBBS"

Every one knows of my connection with the ill-starred Rebellion of

Prince Charles, and for this it was that I found myself, a few

months after the disaster of Culloden, lying close in an obscure

lodging in Greek Street, Soho, London.

Surely a rash proceeding, you may say, this adventuring into the

lion's den! But such has not been my experience: in an escalado,

he who hugs closest the enemy's wall has often a better chance than

he who lies at a distance. And so I, Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel,

Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, Captain en seconde in Berwick's

Foot in the service of His Most Christian Majesty, and late

Aide-de-Camp to General Lord George Murray in the misdirected affair

of His Royal Highness Charles, Prince of Wales and Regent for his

illustrious father, "Jacobus Tertius, Rex Angliae, Hiberniae, et

Franciae, Dei Gratia"--Heaven save the mark!--found it safer and

more to my taste to walk abroad in London under the nose of the

usurping but victorious Hanoverian than to continue skulking under

the broader heavens of the Highlands.

I will not deny there were moments when I would rather have been

enjoying the clearer atmosphere of France (for it is easier to put

a brave face on such dangers once they are safely overcome than

bear them with an unruffled fortitude at the time); but there I

was, with just enough money to discharge my most pressing necessities,

with the precious Cause for which I had sacrificed my hopes of

advancement in my own regiment blown to the four corners of the

Highlands--more remote and unknown up to this time than the four

corners of the earth, though to all appearance about to undergo

such a scouring when I left them that they would be uninhabitable

for any one who was not born with the Broad Arrow printed on his

back.

I was lodging in the attic of a disreputable pot-house, kept by

one of those scurvy Scots who traded on his reputed disloyalty as

a lure to entice unfortunate gentlemen in similar plight to myself

under his roof, and then job them off to the government at so much

a head; but this I only knew of a certainty later.

It was not long, however, before I was relieved from my penury at

least, for my cousin, Lady Jane Drummond, who since my childhood

had stood towards me in the relation of a mother, hearing from me

of my position, raised me above all anxiety in that respect.

I cannot help reflecting here on the inopportuneness with which

Providence is sometimes pleased to bestow its gifts; the starving

wretch, houseless in the streets, has an appetite and a digestion

which, in this regard, make him the envy of the epicure, dowered

with a wealth useless in its most cherished application. And though

ingratitude has never been one of my faults, was it possible not

to feel some resentment at the comparative uselessness of a blessing

which fell at a time when I was debarred from any greater satisfaction

than paying my mean obligations or helping some more needy

unfortunate, while forced to look on those pleasures incidental to

a gentleman's existence with the unsatisfied eye of forbidden

indulgence?

The banker, Mr. Drummond of Charing Cross, who was an old family

friend, and through whom I had received my remittance, could or

would give me no definite information of the movements of my cousin,

Lady Jane, or of her probable arrival at London, so I had nothing

to do but await further news and occupy my time as best I might.

On my arrival I had laid aside all the outward marks of a gentleman,

dressing myself in imitation of--say a scrivener's clerk--and, save

for that bearing which is incorporate with one of my condition and

becomes a second nature, not to be disguised by any outward cloak,

I might fairly well pass for my exemplar.

It was along in the month of July, when having become habituated

to my situation I was accustomed to move about with greater freedom,

that being in Fleet Street, I made one of the crowd to gaze at the

horrid spectacle of the heads of the unfortunate Messieurs Towneley

and Fletcher displayed on Temple Bar, whose cruel fate I had only

escaped by my firm resolution in withstanding the unreasonable

demands of the Duke of Perth to remain behind in their company in

Carlisle.

"Your Grace, though I am willing to shed the last drop of my blood

for Prince Charles," I had answered, with great firmness, "I will

never allow myself to be marked out as a victim for certain

destruction," and I held to my place in the retreat.

At such times the least error in judgment is certain to be attended

by a train of inevitable disaster, and apart from my own personal

escape, for which I am duly thankful, it was a satisfaction to me

that his Grace later on most handsomely acknowledged himself to

have been in the wrong.

But to return: I was plunged in these sombre reflections when I

heard a cry near me, a cry that has never appealed to my support

in vain--that of a lady in distress. I turned at once, and there,

in full view of my sympathising eyes, was as fair an object as I

ever looked upon. An unfortunate lady, overcome by the sights and

sounds about her, had fallen back on the shoulder of her maid, who

supported her bravely; her black silken hood had been displaced,

and her rich amber-coloured hair in some disorder framed her lovely

face. Another moment and I was beside them, shifting the unconscious

lady to my left arm, to the great relief of the maid, who at once

recognised my quality in spite of my disguise.

"Spy 'em close, my beauty! Spy 'em close! Only a penny!" shouted

a ruffian, holding a perspective-glass before the unhappy lady. "A

rebel wench, lads, and must see her lover close!" But I cut his

ribaldry short with a blow in the face, and with my foot pushed

off a wretched hag busily engaged in trying to find the pocket of

my poor charge, and made immediate move to withdraw her from the

crowd.

[Illustration: "A rebel wench, lads, and must see her lover close!"]

But my efforts were met with a storm of curses and howls from the

scum about us, and matters were fast growing serious, when a most

genteelly dressed man pushed in beside us, and, with sword in hand,

soon cleared a way, which I threaded with a determined countenance.

A moment or two concluded the affair, and we were safe.

The lady recovered with surprising spirit, and turning to the

new-comer, cried: "Oh, Gaston! It was horrible beyond words!" and

she clasped his arm with both her shapely hands.

We hurried on without further speech, looking for a hackney-coach;

and when this was found and hailed, the lady turned, and holding

out her hand to me, said: "Sir, forgive the discomposure which

prevented my sooner acknowledgment of your services. What would

have become of me without your aid? I cannot say half what I feel;"

and the lovely creature's eyes filled as she spake.

"My dear young lady," I said, bending over and kissing her hand,

"you could say nothing that would heighten the happiness I have

had in being of service to you;" and in order not to add to her

generous embarrassment I handed her into the coach, whereupon our

common rescuer giving a direction to the man, which I did not

overhear, she and her maid drove off. Then, not to be behind so

fair an original, I turned and complimented the stranger upon his

timely succour.

"Sir," said he, in French, "I perceive, from some sufficient reason,

which I can readily divine, it is convenient for you to appear in

disguise."

"Truly, monsieur," I returned, "I did not hope that a disguise

would protect me from a discerning eye such as yours, but it suffices

for the crowd. I am certain, though, that I confide in a gentleman

when I say I am Hugh Maxwell of Kirkconnel, late captain in Berwick's

Foot, and am entitled to qualify myself as Chevalier."

"And I, Chevalier," he replied, with equal frankness, "am the

Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, at present on a diplomatic mission

towards the Court."

Being equally satisfied with each other's condition, we repaired

to his lodgings in St. James's Street, where we fell into familiar

conversation, in the course of which the Vicomte said,

"I suppose I am correct in my belief that you have been engaged in

the affair of Charles Edward?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Is there any reliable intelligence of his whereabouts?"

"To be absolutely frank with you, my dear Vicomte, it is a matter

of the most perfect indifference to me where he is, or what becomes

of him."

"Heavens!" he exclaimed. "I cannot understand such a feeling."

"Had you seen as much of him as I did, even when he was trying to

appear at his best as Fitzjames; had you been a daily spectator of

the inconceivable folly with which every chance was mismanaged,

every opportunity let slip; of the childish prejudice with which

every true friend was estranged, and of the silly vanity which

daily demanded new incense during the whole of this miserable

affair--you might understand without difficulty," I returned, with

some little heat.

"But, Chevalier," he inquired, soothingly, "may I ask why you

followed his fortunes?"

"From that, Vicomte, which I doubt not has ever guided your own

course in life, from the one motive that has alone influenced

me--principle. My people followed the fortunes of his grandfather

after the Boyne, and on both sides of my house, Maxwells and

Geraldines, our name has been synonymous with loyalty to the Stuart

cause abroad as well as at home."

"I know your name and its equivalent, Chevalier. May I ask to

which branch you belong?"

"I scarce know how to qualify my standing," I answered, laughing;

"we have been proscribed rebels so long that I have lost touch with

those things men most value in regard to family. Just as I am a

Chevalier without so much as a steed whereon to mount my knightship,

so am I a Maxwell of Kirkconnel without title to a rood of ground

or a kinsman within measurable distance; and my father before me

held naught he could call his own save his honour, my lady mother,

and my unworthy self. No! if there be a Spanish branch, I swear

I'll lay claim to that, for 'tis Spain assuredly that must hold my

flocks and herds, not to name my chateaux."

"Chevalier," he began, earnestly, "I shall esteem it a favour--"

"Not for the world, my dear Vicomte! Money is the one anxiety which

seldom causes me a second thought. My habit of life is simple,

and my only ambition my profession. But to go back to the happy

chance of our meeting, may I inquire, without indiscretion, the

name of the young lady whom you rescued?"

"Oh, come, come! Honour where honour is due. I am no more responsible

for the rescue than yourself. The young lady is a Miss Grey, living

with her aunt in temporary lodgings in Essex Street, off the Strand."

"I have a suspicion, sir, that the name may be as temporary as her

lodging, and that I am fortunate in applying to one who can give

me reliable information."

To this, however, the Vicomte only bowed somewhat stiffly, and

being unwilling that any contretemps should arise to mar so promising

an acquaintance--though the Lord only knows what umbrage any one

could take from my remark--I made my adieux, the Vicomte most

obligingly offering me his services should I wish to pass over to

France. But of these I could not as yet avail myself, as it was

necessary I should know of Lady Jane's intentions more definitely;

so, with my acknowledgments, the interview ended.

CHAPTER II

I DISCOVER A NEW INTEREST IN LIFE

On my way back to Soho I turned over matters with interest. I had

but little difficulty in placing the Vicomte; he was one of those

clear, simple souls, very charming at times in woman, but less

acceptable in the man of the world.

No one can admire purity of mind in a woman more than myself, but

I have no hesitation in stating that at times I find it positively

disconcerting when displayed in too obvious a degree by a man. In

woman, it is to be desired above all things, and woman is so far

superior to man in the manipulation of the more delicate qualities,

that she seldom errs in her concealments, and when she reveals,

she does so at the most opportune moment, and so effectively that,

though it be no more than a glimpse, it suffices.

And these reflections brought me naturally to Miss Grey; indeed,

in fancy I had never been away from her since we met. The Vicomte's

manner absolutely confirmed me in my belief that the name was

assumed.

Now if a man does not wish to tell you the truth, and the occasion

be important, he has just one of two alternatives: the one, is to

tell a lie with such assurance and bearing that it carries conviction

with it; but, egad! if he won't do that, then the only other is to

run you through.

The Vicomte not having been ready for either, I was so far in his

confidence that I knew "Miss Grey" was an assumed name; and I

shrewdly suspected, from the familiarity of her manner with him,

that their mutual relation might be closer than he cared to admit--a

suspicion I resolved to put to the touch. Accordingly, the next

day I made as careful a toilet as my cursed disguise would admit

of, and took my way to Essex Street.

Giving my name to the man at the door, for the lodgings were genteel

beyond the ordinary, which advanced me in my surmise as to the fair

one's condition, I was ushered into a drawing-room which would have

been much better for a little more light than was permitted to

enter through the drawn curtains.

In a few moments the door opened and an elderly lady entered, whom

I conjectured to be the aunt.

"Madam," I said, bowing low, "it was my good fortune to be of some

slight service to your niece yesterday, and I have ventured to call

and inquire if the shock has proved at all serious. My name, madam,

is--"

"Tut, tut, boy! None of your airs and graces with me! Your name is

Hughie Maxwell, and many's the time I've skelped you into good

manners. Come here and kiss your old cousin, you scamp!" And without

waiting for me to comply with her invitation, she threw her arms

about me and discomposed me sadly enough with an unexpected outburst

of weeping.

When she had recovered somewhat we settled down to explanations;

questionings from her and answers from me, until at length she was

satisfied on all my movements. Then came my turn, and I began with

a definite object in view, but carefully guarding my advances, when

she cut my finessing short:

"Now, Hughie, stop your fiddle-faddle, and ask me who 'my niece'

is. You stupid blockhead, don't you know your curiosity is peeking

out at every corner of your eyes? 'My niece' is Margaret Nairn."

"A relation of Lord Nairne?"

"No one would count her so save a Highlander; they are from the

far North, not the Perth people; but don't interrupt! Her mother

and I were school-mates and friends somewhat more than a hundred

years ago. I have had the girl with me in Edinburgh and Paris, and

when I found she was doomed to be buried alive with her father in

their lonely old house in the Highlands, and neither woman nor

protector about, I took her, the child of my oldest friend, to my

care, and at no time have I been more thankful than now, when the

whole country is set by the ears. We are in London masquerading as

'Mistress Grey and her niece,' as her only brother, Archie, an

officer in the French service, is mixed up in this unfortunate

affair, and it is probably only a matter of time until he gets into

trouble and will need every effort I may be able to put forth in

his behalf. No, you have not come across him, for he was on some

secret mission; and it is possible he may not have set foot in

Scotland at all. We can but wait and see. Now that your curiosity

is satisfied, doubtless you are longing to see the young lady

herself; but let me warn you, Master Hughie, I will have none of

your philandering. Margaret is as dear to me as if she were my own

daughter born, and I may as well tell you at once I have plans for

her future with which I will brook no interference."

"May I ask, cousin, if your plans include M. de Trincardel?"

"My certes! But it is like your impudence to know my mind quicker

than I tell it. Yes, since you must know, a marriage is arranged

between them, and I have pledged myself for Margaret's fitting

establishment. There it is all, in two words; and now I am going

for the young lady herself. See that you congratulate her."

Do not imagine that her conditions cost me a second thought, nor

the declaration of her future intentions a pang. My cousin was a

woman, and as such was privileged to change her mind as often as

she chose, and I was still young enough not to be worried by the

thought that some day I might not be the one called upon to step

into her comfortable shoes. As for the Vicomte, he must play for

his own hand. So I awaited with impatience the appearance of my

fair supplanter.

She was much younger than I had supposed, not more than sixteen;

but if I had been mistaken in her age, I had not over-estimated

her beauty. Her hair was really the same rich amber-colour that

had awakened my admiration; her forehead was broad and low; her

eyes between hazel and gray, with clear, well-marked brows; her

nose straight and regular; and her mouth, though not small, was

beautifully shaped, with the least droop at the corners, which made

her expression winsome in the extreme. Her face was a little angular

as yet, but the lines were good, and her slightly pointed chin was

broken by the merest shadow of a dimple. She was taller than most

women, and if her figure had not rounded out to its full proportion,

her bearing was noble and her carriage graceful.

Difficult as it is for me to give even this cold inventory of her

charms, the sweet witchery of her manner, the fall of her voice,

the winning grace that shone in her every look, are beyond my poor

powers of description. I felt them to my very heart, which lay in

surrender at her feet long before I realized it was even in danger.

Our friendship began without the usual preliminaries of acquaintance.

My sacrifices in the Prince's cause were known to her through Lady

Jane; indeed, when I saw her noble enthusiasm, it fired me till I

half forgot my disappointments, and was once more so fierce a

Jacobite that I satisfied even her sweeping enthusiasm.

If anything further was needed to heighten our mutual interest, it

was forthcoming in the discovery that I had been aide-de-camp to

Lord George Murray, whom she rightly enough regarded as the mainspring

of the enterprise, and to whom she may, in Highland fashion, have

been in some degree akin.

Naught would satisfy her but that I should tell the story of my

adventures, should describe the Prince a thousand times--which I

did with every variation I could think of to engage her

admiration--should relate every incident and conversation with Lord

George, which I did the more willingly that I loved him from my

heart, and it required but little effort to speak of a man who had

played his part so gallantly.

With Lady Jane as moved as Margaret herself, we sat till late, and,

like Othello, I told to the most sympathising ears in the world

the story of my life. They forgot the hour, the place, and all but

the moving recital; and I saw only the glistening eyes, sometimes

wide with horror, sometimes welling over with tears, and sometimes

sparkling with humour, until, like the Moor, I could almost persuade

myself that

"She lov'd me for the dangers I had pass'd,

And I lov'd her that she did pity them."

"Come, come, Hughie! We'll have no more of this! The child will

never close her eyes this night, and you should be ashamed, making

an exhibition of an old fool of a woman!" suddenly cried Lady Jane,

rising and wiping her eyes when I had finished telling of the death

of young Glengarry at Falkirk. And half laughing, half crying, she

kissed me and pushed me out of the room, before I had opportunity

to take a fitting farewell of Margaret, Pearl of all Women.

"If the Vicomte can make any running that will count against this,

I'll be much surprised," I thought to myself as I picked my way

home under a warm drizzle through the dirty, ill-lighted streets.

But outward discomforts mattered not a whit to me, for I had eaten

of the fruit of the gods, and that night I journeyed in the sunlight

of the Pays-du-Tendre, bearing in my heart the idol to which my

soul did homage, as I hummed over the song of some dead and forgotten

but valiant-hearted lady of my own house:

"When day was deid I met my Dear

On fair Kirkconnel Lea,

Though fause een spied, I knew no fear,

His love was over me.

He kissed me fu' upon the mou',

He looked me in the ee,

An' whispered low, 'Nor life nor death

Shall part my Love frae me!'

"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,

Nor deep eneugh the sea,

Nor braid eneugh this weary warld

To part my Love frae me!

"Though mony an' mony a day hath died

On fair Kirkconnel Lea

Sin' I stood by my True Love's side

An' melted 'neath his ee,

Yet ilka wind that fans my cheek

Kissed his in Germanie,

An' bids me bide; for what shall make

To part my Love frae me?

"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,

Nor deep eneugh the sea,

Nor braid eneugh this weary warld

To part my Love frae me!"

Do I need to relate the story of the next day, or of each one which

succeeded? Dear as it is to me, clearly as every fond remembrance

stands out before me, it might but weary a reader to whom I cannot

possibly convey even a conception of the sweet witchery of my

Margaret's engaging manner. Mine, though I might never possess her,

for I was too sincerely attached to Lady Jane to think of standing

in the way of her plans should she finally determine against me;

mine most of all, when I saw how eagerly the dear girl turned to

me whenever I appeared.

The Vicomte often formed one of our party, and it was with some

distress that I saw he was inclined to interfere with the friendship

so happily begun. I have a natural inclination against giving pain;

there is already so much in this world which we cannot prevent, it

seems cruel to add to it intentionally, and it was not without

regret that I saw my innocent endeavours towards the entertainment

of Margaret caused him grave uneasiness. Still, as a man of breeding

he could not admit that his position in her affections was endangered,

and so kept on his way, though his evident disturbance told against

the effectiveness of his advances towards her, and at times rendered

his attack on me singularly unskilful. _Exempli gratia:_ Margaret

was so visibly moved one day by the effect of my singing, for I

then possessed a voice justly admired by those best qualified to

judge, that he was indiscreet enough to remark on my choice of a

song, which was Jacobite to an extreme.

"Chevalier, only an artist could act a part so thoroughly."

It was embarrassing, but I was saved all necessity of a reply by

Margaret's generous outburst:

"Oh, Gaston, for shame! You can never understand what it means to

have lost all for your Prince!"

A somewhat more forceful rejoinder than I should have been able to

make, seeing I had so unguardedly revealed my sentiments on this

very subject to him at our first meeting. Therefore I at once

accepted her defence in the same spirit as it was given; indeed,

I had almost forgotten I had any rancour against the unfortunate

Charles, so completely was I dominated by her enthusiasm.

"Let me sing you another," I exclaimed, "written when our hopes

were still high."

"Yes, yes," she cried, eagerly, clapping her hands. "Let us forget

it has all passed."

And I sang:

"In far Touraine I'd watched each lagging day

Drag on to weary night,

I'd broke my heart when homing birds

Winged o'er me in their flight;

But a Blackbird came one golden eve

And rested on the wing,

And these were the heartsome words I heard

The bonnie Blackbird sing:

"'Go bid your love bind in her hair

The blue of Scotland's Kings,

Go bid her don her bravest gown

And all her gauds and rings,

And bid her shine all maids above

As she can shine alone;

For the news was whispered in the night,

And the night hath told the day,

And the cry hath gone across the land

From Lochaber to the Tay!

From Lochaber far beyond the Tay

The glorious news hath flown--

So bid her don her best array,

For the King shall have his own

Once more!

The King shall have his own!"

"Beyond the Tweed I know each bonnie bird

That lilts the greenwood through,

I know each note from the mavis sweet

To the crooning cushie-doo;

But I ne'er had heard a song that gar'd

My very heart-strings ring

Till I heard that eve in far Touraine

The bonnie Blackbird sing:

"'Go bid your love bind in her hair

The blue of Scotland's Kings,

Go bid her don her bravest gown

And all her gauds and rings,

And bid her shine all maids above,

As she can shine alone;--

For the news was whispered in the night,

And the night hath told the day,

And the cry hath gone across the land

From Lochaber to the Tay!

From Lochaber far beyond the Tay

The glorious news hath flown--

So bid her don her best array,

For the King shall have his own

Once more!

The King shall have his own!'"

Lady Jane was in tears, and my Margaret was little better, though

smiling at me from the spinet, while the Vicomte sat the only

composed one in the room--I being affected, as I always am when I

hear a fine effort, whether by myself or another--when Mr. Colvill,

who was Lady Jane's man of business, entered to us, and without

any preamble began:

"Mr. Maxwell, I have certain information that your lodgings will

be searched to-night, and I have a suspicion that you are the person

sought for."

My poor Margaret cried out and nearly swooned with terror, but Lady

Jane was herself at once. "Give over your nonsense, Peggy, this

instant! Hughie is not a mewling baby to be frightened, with a

warning before him! Colvill, you have acted with the discretion I

should have expected in you, and I thank you in my cousin's name

and my own. Hughie, do you find out some new place at once; I marked

a little sempstress who has a shop in Wych Street only the other

day, and I would apply there if you know of no other. Do not go

back to your old lodgings on any account. When I hear where you

are, I will supply you with everything needful."

The Vicomte very obligingly offered me the shelter of his roof for

the night, but I answered I could not think of exposing him, when

on diplomatic business, to the charge of sheltering a rebel, and

was pleased to have so handsome an excuse to cover my unwillingness

to lie under an obligation towards him.

In a moment the whole aspect of our little party was changed, and

I took my way to seek for a new shelter, leaving anxious hearts

behind me.

CHAPTER III

"THE DEAD AND THE ABSENT ARE ALWAYS WRONG"

I myself was not greatly disturbed over the turn things had taken,

for I had begun to be suspicious of my thrifty Scot in Greek Street,

and, as I had left behind me neither papers nor effects which could

compromise myself or others when he laid his dirty claws upon them,

I turned my back on him without regret.

The hour was late to enter upon a search for new lodgings without

arousing suspicion, and this determined me to try the sempstress

indicated by Lady Jane.

I found the street without difficulty, and, what was better, without

questioning, and soon discovered the little shop with a welcome

gleam of light shewing through the closed shutters. The street was

empty, so I advanced, and, after knocking discreetly, tried the

door, which, to my surprise, I found open, and so entered.

In a low chair behind the counter sate a solitary woman, sewing by

the indifferent light of a shaded candle. She looked at me keenly

and long, but without alarm.

"Madam," said I, closing the door behind me and slipping in the

bolt, "have no fear. My name is Captain Geraldine."

"That is a lie," she said, calmly, raising her face so the full

light of the candle should fall upon it.

Great heavens! It was that of my wife!

I sank down on a settle near the wall and stared at her, absolutely

speechless with surprise and horror, while she continued her sewing

without a second look, though I could mark her hands were trembling

so she could hardly direct her needle.

"Good God! Lucy! Is it really you?" I cried, scarce believing the

evidence of my senses.

"I am she whom you name."

"And you know me?"

"I know that you are Hugh Maxwell," she answered, in the same steady

voice.

"And you know that I am your husband."

"I have no husband. My husband is dead."

"Lucy, do not break my heart! I am not a scoundrel! Do you think

for a moment I could abandon the girl who trusted and married me?

I had the most positive intelligence of your death. Lucy, Lucy,

for God's sake speak, and do not torture me beyond endurance. Tell

me what has happened."

But the trembling hands went on with their task, though she neither

raised her head nor spake. My brain was in a whirl, and I did not

know what to think or how to act, so I preserved at least an outward

quiet for a time, trying to imagine her position.

I was but eighteen when I had married her, a tradesman's daughter,

but my uncertain allowance, as well as the certain wrath of my

family, prevented me acknowledging her as my wife, and no one except

her mother knew of our union.

As I sate trying to find some light, I heard the cry of a lusty

child: "Mother! Mother!" At this her face contracted as with sudden

pain, and saying only, "Wait where you are," she left the shop.

I noticed she had still the same quick, light way of moving, "like

a bird," I used to tell her in the old days: it was but the dull,

ungenerous colour and shape of her stuff gown that hid the dainty

figure I had known, and only some different manner of dressing her

hair that prevented the old trick of the little curls that would

come out about her ears and forehead.

While she was away I thought it all out, and my heart melted with

pity for the poor soul, forced to these years of loneliness, to

this daily struggle for the support of herself and her child--our

child--and, more than all else, to the torturing thought that the

love which had been the sum of her existence was false. What should

I do? Could I be in doubt for a moment? I would make up to her, by

the devotion of a heart rich in feeling, all the sorrows of the

past.

Here she entered again, but now collected and herself as at first.

I rose and advanced to meet her, but she waved me off, and took up

her sewing again in her former position.

"Lucy," I said, standing over her, "does not the voice of our

child--for I cannot doubt it is our child--plead for me? Listen a

moment. When I returned from that ill-starred Russian voyage, I

flew at once to join you. You had been in my heart during all my

absence, and my return home was to be crowned with your love. But,

to my consternation, I found strangers occupying the old rooms,

and the woman told me with every circumstance of harrowing detail

the story of your death by typhus, and that your mother followed

you to the grave scarce a day later. Heartbroken as I was, I never

sought for further confirmation than the nameless graves she pointed

out to me by your parish church. She told me, too, your effects

were burned by order of the overseers, and I took it for granted

she had stolen anything of value that might have been left. When

I found at my banker's that a lieutenancy in Berwick's was awaiting

my application, I only too eagerly seized the opportunity of escaping

from a country where I should be constantly reminded of my ruined

past, and since that day I have never set foot in London till the

present. Oh, Lucy! Lucy! I see it all now. The birth of our child

was approaching. You, poor soul, were an unacknowledged wife; I

was wandering, a shipwrecked stranger beyond all means of

communication, and you fled from the finger of shame that cruel

hands would hare pointed at you. Why that hag should have gone to

such lengths to deceive me I cannot even guess. But now, my dear

love, my dearest wife, it is at an end! I have a position--at least

I am a captain, with fair chance of promotion--I no longer have a

family to consider, and once I get out of this present trap I will

acknowledge you before the whole world, and we will wipe out the

cruel past as if it had never existed."

"I have no past," she said, quietly.

"Then, Lucy darling, as truly as I am your husband I will make you

a future."

"I have no husband," she answered, in the same quiet tone: "my

husband died the day my boy was born."

"But, Lucy, my wife, you have love?"

"Not such love as you mean. My love, such as it is here, is for my

boy. All else is for something beyond."

"But, Lucy, have you nothing left for me? Surely you do not doubt

my word?"

"No," she answered, slowly. "You have never deceived me that I know

of. Until to-night I believed you had left me, but I know now, it

is I who have left you. There never can be anything between us."

"Why, Lucy? Tell me why! Do not sit there holding yourself as if

you were apart from me and mine."

"You have just said the very words which explain it all," she

answered. "I am indeed 'apart from you and yours.' Your explanation

now makes clear why you did not seek me out on your return, and I

accept it fully. But think you for a moment that this wipes out

all I have suffered through these years? Can you explain away, by

any other statement, save that I was 'apart from you and yours.'

the cruel wrong you did when you left me, a helpless girl without

experience, in a position where I was utterly defenceless against

evil tongues in the hour of my trial; so that what should have been

my glory was turned into a load of disgrace which crushed me and

killed my mother? To say you intended to return is no answer, no

defence. You knew all about a world of which I was ignorant, and

you should have shielded me by your knowledge.

"Do not think I am unhuman, I am simply unfeeling on the side to

which you would appeal. I have lived too long alone, I have suffered

too much alone, to look to any human creature for such help or such

comfort as you would bring. I know you were honest, I know you were

loving and tender, but that has all passed for me. You do not come

into my life at any point; I can look on you without a throb of my

heart either in love or in hate--"

"But, Lucy, I am not changed. I am the same Hugh Maxwell you knew."

"You are Hugh Maxwell--but there is no question of likeness, of

being the same, for there is no Lucy. She is as really dead to you

to-day as you thought when you mourned her six years ago. The

'Mistress Routh' who speaks now is a widow, by God's grace a member

of the Society of Methodists, and you need never seek through her

to find any trace of the girl you knew. She is dead, dead, dead,

and may the Lord have mercy on her soul!"

It was like standing before a closed grave.

Against this all my prayers, my tears, my entreaties, availed

nothing, until at last I ceased in very despair at the firmness of

this unmovable woman, whom I had left a pretty, wilful, changeable

girl a few years before.

The candle had long since burned itself out, and the gray of the

morning was beginning to struggle in at every opening when I gave

up the contest.

"Mistress Routh," said I, smiling at the odd address, "I have been

overlong in coming to my business. I am a proscribed rebel with a

price set on my head, and I seek a new lodging, my old one being

unsafe. I was directed here almost by chance. Can you give me such

room as you can spare? There is but little or no danger in harbouring

me, for I am reported to be in Scotland with the Prince, 'the Young

Pretender,' if you like it so. I will be as circumspect in my

movements as possible. Above all, I will never shew by word or sign

that I knew you before, even when we are alone, nor will I betray

your secret to our boy. You are free to refuse me, and should you

do so, I will seek shelter elsewhere; but whether I go or stay, I

give you my word of honour as a gentleman that your secret rests

where it lies in my heart until such time as you see fit to proclaim

it yourself. Will you, then, consent to let me have a room under

your roof until such time as I can get over to France?"

After a little she said: "Yes; I can take your word. But remember,

from this night you are a stranger to me. You will pay as a

stranger, and come and go as a stranger."

And so this unnatural treaty was ratified. My hostess made such

preparation for my comfort as I would allow, and when alone I sate

on my couch trying to put my thoughts in order.

It was only then that Margaret came back to me. During my long

struggle with my poor wife no thought of another had entered my

mind, my whole endeavour being directed towards making such amends

for the cruelties of an undeserved fate as were possible; but now,

when alone, the realisation of what it meant in my relation towards

Margaret overwhelmed me. All unwittingly I had been playing the

part of a low scoundrel towards the fairest, purest soul in the

whole world; I had been living in a Fool's Paradise, drinking the

sweetest draught that ever intoxicated a human soul, and now,

without an instant's warning, the cup was dashed from my lips.

Poor Margaret! Poor Lucy! Poor Hugh! My heart was aching for them

all.

CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH I MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH ONE NEAR TO ME

I stretched myself out at length, with my cloak over me, and dozed

uneasily until awakened by a soft knocking at the door, which was

slowly pushed open, and a brown head made its appearance in the

room.

"Come in!" I cried, and there entered to me as handsome a boy of

six as ever delighted a man's eyes.

I would have given the world to take him to my heart, but I was on

parole. So we stared at each other, and I can only hope he was as

well satisfied with his inspection as I was with mine.

"Does your mother know of your coming?" I asked, for I was determined

to take no unfair advantage.

"She told me I could come," he answered, without any backwardness,

yet with modesty.

"Good. Well, what do you think?"

"Why do you sleep in your clothes?"

[Illustration: "Why do you sleep in your clothes?"]

"Oh, a soldier often sleeps in his clothes."

"But I don't think you're a soldier."

"Why?"

"Where is your sword?"

"I'll get that by-and-by."

"If I was a soldier I'd sleep with my sword."

"Well, you'd find it a mighty uncomfortable bedfellow," I answered,

laughing. At which he laughed too, and we were fast becoming friends.

"Will you be a soldier?" I went on.

"I don't know. What's your name?"

"One moment, my young diplomat. Do you never answer a question but

by asking another? Surely you're not a Scotchman?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what do you think you are?"

"I think I'm a Methodist."

"So you are. But that may be much the same thing, for aught I know.

My name's Captain Geraldine. Now tell me yours."

"Christopher. Can you sing?"

"I can sing, my boy, like a mavis, like a bird-of-paradise. Would

you like to taste my quality?" and without more ado I sang to him.

"The span o' Life's nae lang eneugh,

Nor deep eneugh the sea,

Nor braid eneugh this weary warld

To part my Love frae me."

"I like that," he said, gravely, when I had made an end. "You sing

well."

"So I have been informed, sir; and I am most sensible of your

confirmation of the favourable verdict, which is flattering beyond

my poor deserts."

But he did not find this at all to his taste, and I was sorry to

see my untimely nonsense caused him to shrink somewhat from me,

which hurt me to a degree I could not have believed possible.

But my embarrassment was relieved by his mother's voice calling us

from the foot of the stairs, and hand in hand we went down together.

I looked at my hostess with much curiosity, and found her quiet

and serene, though the traces of the anxiety of overnight were

visible in her pale face and tired eyes.

"Good-morning, Mistress Routh."

"Good-morning, Captain Geraldine. I see my boy has taken to you;

it is a good sign."

The words were like balm to me, and I looked at her searchingly to

see expected signs of relenting, but I recognised only too clearly

it was the kindly civility of an entire stranger, and I felt more

strongly than at any moment before that the door of the past was

irrevocably closed between us.

I sate down at the table, but she remained standing, and folding

her hands, repeated a long grace. It was so utterly strange, so

utterly foreign to all I had ever known of her, that it deepened

the impression tenfold that I belonged to a world apart from hers.

In a sense it shocked my feeling of what was proper. Her Protestantism

had never been any barrier in our life together, for I have known

too many different ways to happiness not to believe there may be

more than one to heaven. I have known too many devout Protestants

to have a shadow of doubt as to their sincerity; but I have always

been a believer in the established order of things, and for a woman

to take any part in matters religious, beyond teaching her children

their hymns and prayers, was foreign to my experience.

We ate our breakfast to the accompaniment of the boy's chatter,

and if there were any embarrassment, I am free to confess it was

on my side alone. I could perfectly understand her courage and

resolution of the night before, but this wonderful acting was simply

marvellous; it was, as far as I knew, no more possible to the Lucy

I had known than talking Castilian; but, upon my soul, I never

admired her more in my life. This, however, I took good care not

to shew in word or gesture: if she had so utterly renounced all

vanities and pomps, why should she have the incense of admiration?

She would probably consider it an offering to idols.

"Mistress Routh, if my presence will not discommode you, I purpose

to lie quiet for a day or two, until I can get such clothes as may

serve both as a change of character and a more fitting appearance

for myself. Do you happen to know of so rare a bird as a periwig-maker

who can keep his counsel? If I could have such an one attend me

here, I could at least do away with this lanky hair and fit myself

to a decent wig; then I could venture out under cover of a cloak,

and find a tailor to complete the transformation. But I take it

you may know but little of these manlike fripperies."

"I do know a man who may be trusted, who, though a member of our

Society, is forced to gain his living by like vanities," she

returned.

"Madam," said I, "you evidently do not estimate the quality of

vanity at its proper value. Now I hold it in reality to be the

eighth of the Cardinal Virtues. I have known it to keep men from

being slovenly through their regard for the outward respect of

others, and cleanliness comes very near to godliness. I have known

it to keep men out of low company through their desire to catch a

reflected glory from their superiors, and company is an informant

of character. I have even known it to make men open-handed through

a dislike to appear niggardly in public, and--" But I saw a look

of such evident distress on the face before me that I checked my

flight in very pity. A man with any sensibility will find himself

constantly curbed by his regard for the feelings of others.

When Mistress Routh's assistant appeared I took the opportunity of

sending a note to Lady Jane, telling of my whereabouts, and that

I would present myself in a day or two when I had effected sufficient

change in my appearance.

This I was enabled to do by the help of the wig-maker--who was

clever enough with what he put outside other men's heads, though

I could not think so highly of what he had got into his own--and

by a liberal supply of gold pieces to my tailor.

I was now dressed with some approach to my ideas of what was fitting,

and my own satisfaction was only equalled by that of little

Christopher.

"Ah, Kit, my boy," I admonished him, for I felt it incumbent on me

to contribute somewhat to the general morality of such a household,

"I am no more Captain Geraldine in these fine feathers than I was

in the scurvy black of the lawyer's clerk."

"But you feel more like Captain Geraldine," the boy said, pertinently

enough.

"I do, my boy, I do, for I am still subject to the vanities of the

flesh."

"Don't say that!" the boy cried, half angrily--"that is like they

talk at meeting," and I felt ashamed I should have let slip anything

before the child that could hurt his sense of my bearing towards

what his mother respected, though I was puzzled to rightly estimate

his own expression.

"I won't, my lad, but listen!" and I gave my sword a flourish and

began the rattling air,

"Dans les gardes francaises

J'avais un amoureux--"

and then I suddenly reflected I had no right to sing these ribald

songs before the boy, even though he might not understand a word,

and again I was ashamed, so fell a-story-telling, and I told him

tales that made even his favourites of Agag and Sisera seem pale,

and the singing was forgotten.

Though these constant talks with Kit, who would scarce be kept a

moment from my side, were entertaining enough, and my heart warmed

more and more to him as I saw his strong young feeling blossom out,

I could not help the time dragging most wearisomely. The evenings

were intolerable, and I felt the atmosphere absolutely suffocating

at times. Mistress Routh was so completely Mistress Routh I soon

realised that the Lucy in her was of a truth not only dead but

buried out of my sight forever. Now if I have a failing, it is of

too keen an enjoyment of the present, rather than an indulgence in

unavailing regrets for the past, so that in a little I began to

speculate if the Hugh Maxwell who was the Hugh Maxwell of this

buried Lucy had not vanished also. Certainly I was not the Hugh

Maxwell she knew. She said so herself; she showed only too plainly

I had neither plot nor lot in her present life; and, after all,

the life that is lived is the life that is dead. So I accepted what

I had done my best to refuse, and turned again to the only life

that was open before me--I went to Lady Jane's that very evening.

CHAPTER V

I ASSIST AT AN INTERVIEW WITH A GREAT MAN

I found the household in Essex Street in a state of perturbation

which was soon explained. News had come that Margaret's brother

Archibald had been arrested, as Lady Jane had foreseen, and was

now confined in Fort William. Margaret, though distressed greatly,

was such an ardent Jacobite that I verily believe she would rather

have seen her brother in some danger of losing his head than have

had him out of the business altogether.

She was neither so distressed nor elated, however, that she was

oblivious to my altered appearance, and I could see Lady Jane

herself was well pleased that her Hughie should cut somewhat of a

figure in the eyes of her protegee. She had a natural desire to

justify her affections.

But I simply mark this in passing; the real business in hand was

to devise some means for young Nairn's safety. This was the less

serious inasmuch as he certainly had never been in arms for the

Prince, and had been prudent enough to destroy all evidence of his

secret mission--in fact, his letter informed us that the one man

capable of giving evidence against him was withheld by circumstances

so disgraceful to himself there was no danger of any direct testimony

on this point.

The position could not be more favourable, and it was only a question

of the most judicious plan of succour.

The Vicomte, though desirous of alleviating Margaret's anxiety,

was debarred by his position from taking any active part, a

circumstance of which I was not backward in taking advantage; for

though the late distressing revelation--I refer to my meeting with

Mistress Routh--prevented my making any personal advances towards

Margaret, common humanity prompted me to my utmost efforts for her

relief.

Finally it was determined that Lady Jane should obtain a private

interview with the Duke of Newcastle, and, accompanied by Margaret,

make a personal appeal, which, from Lady Jane's connections, we

flattered ourselves had some hopes of success.

"Cousin," I said, "I have a proposal. Let me go with you. I am

quite unknown, my accent at least is not that of a Scotchman, so

I shall not in any way imperil your success, and I have had some

small experience with my superiors which may not be without its

use."

"Well, Hughie, I may not have the same admiration as yourself for

your accent, but I have the firmest belief in your confidence: that

will not betray you in any strait. And I am as firm a believer in

having a man about; they are bothersome creatures often, but have

their uses at times. At all events, I feel safer in their company;

they bring out the best in me. Yes, on the whole, I think you had

better come."

The following week, through the services of the Vicomte, we were

enabled to arrange for a meeting with the Duke at his house, and

accordingly one morning we took our way by coach to Lincoln's Inn

Fields.

We were ushered into his presence with marvellously little ceremony,

and found him seated at a desk covered with a litter of papers

before a blazing fire, for it was early in January.

He did not pay the slightest attention to the announcement of our

names, beyond raising his head and saying rapidly, without even

returning our salutation, "Yes, yes, yes; be seated, be seated,"

with such a hurried, stuttering stammer that I felt reassured at

once, though I could see both my companions were somewhat overawed

now they were in the presence of the Great Man.

As he kept shuffling over his papers, now reading a few words from

one, then throwing it down, and mixing a dozen others up in hopeless

confusion, now writing a bit, and then frowning and waving his pen,

I felt still more assured, for it all went to show he was only an

ordinary human creature under all his titles and dignities, and

was no more free from little affectations than any other mortal

might be.

At length he ceased his pretence of work, for it was nothing else,

and took notice of us.

"Ladies, I ask your pardon--your pardon. Yes, yes, let me see, you

have some appointment with me. Eh, what was it again? Oh, I remember,

you are Lady Enderby. Yes, yes--"

"No, your Grace; I am Lady Jane Drummond; this is my ward, Miss

Margaret Nairn, and this my cousin, Captain Geraldine; our business

is to implore your Grace's assistance towards the release of her

brother, Captain Nairn, arrested in error, and now confined in Fort

William."

"Awkward, eh? Mistakes like that might be very awkward--very awkward

indeed. No doubt he is one of these pestilent rebels--eh?"

"Indeed, your Grace, he has never drawn sword in the matter at all;

and what is more, he is an officer in the French service, holding

his full commission therein."

"Oh, I have no doubt he is the most innocent creature in the world!

but will you explain, madam, what he was doing in Scotland just

when the rebels happened to be in full swing--eh?"

"Indeed, your Grace, he never put foot in Scotland until this

unhappy business was ended at Culloden."

"That's a pity, now, a great pity. As the vulgar say, he came 'just

a day too late for the fair.' Had he only come in time, his Majesty

might have had one rebel less to deal with, and--"

But he was cut short by poor Margaret, who, unable to stand the

torture any longer, wailed out: "Oh, your Grace, do not say that!

My father was buried only a few months before my brother was

arrested, and he is the only one near to me now left."

Even the abominable flippancy of the man before us was arrested by

the sight of the anguish of this dear soul, and with some approach

to sensibility he said:

"There, there, my dear! We cannot mend matters now." And for some

minutes he heard and questioned Lady Jane with some shew of decency,

but evidently with an effort, for it was not long before he broke

out again: "How much simpler it would all be if you did not interfere,

madam!"

This angered her beyond control, and she replied: "Your Grace may

have no feeling for the sorrow that breaks the hearts of others,

but this is only a case for common justice."

"You, you, you have a keen sense of justice, madam," he stammered,

much nettled. "You are not wanting in courage, either; 'tis a pity

you could not have turned your talents to some account."

Poor Margaret, seeing the turn things were taking, now advanced,

and throwing herself at his feet, poured forth her heart to him in

entreaties with the tears running down her lovely face. At first

he seemed much moved, and shifted himself in his chair most

uncomfortably, fairly squirming like a worm on a pin; but, to my

disappointment, I soon saw he was coming back to his usual humour,

even as she was entreating--"Oh, your Grace, your Grace, he is all

I have left in the world! I have been a motherless girl since I

can remember; I have been away from my father, at school for years;

and my brother whom I played with, the one person whom I have prayed

for more than all others, is now in danger of his life"--and she

ended in a burst of sobs.

[Illustration: "Oh, Your Grace, Your Grace, he is all I have

left in the world."]

For answer he merely yawned, and said, turning to me, "What did

you say your name was--eh?"

"Geraldine, your Grace."

"Oh! No particular family, I suppose?"

"No, your Grace, of no family in particular," I answered.

"He! he! he!" cackled his Grace. "Oh, I can see farther than I get

credit for! You, you, you'll remedy that some day--eh? Miss--Miss--

What did you say your name was?"

"Nairn, your Grace," answered poor Margaret, still sobbing, while

Lady Jane stood glowering behind her. My gorge rose at his

heartlessness.

"Nairn. Umph! That's an evil-smelling name these days for any such

petition," he grumbled.

Then suddenly turning to face me, "Now I suppose you had nothing

to do with this barelegged rebellion?" he went on, to my dismay,

but answered it himself with a self-satisfied chuckle: "But no, of

course not. You never would have come here if you had. No, no! No

man of sense would."

"I should think not!" snorted Lady Jane, fairly beside herself.

"Quite right, madam, quite right. You are a woman, of perspicacity,"

answered his lordship, without a ruffle. Then he turned to me

again:

"And pray what did bring you here, sir?"

"Your Grace, it was at my earnest recommendation these ladies were

moved to appear in person to lay their case before the most powerful

nobleman in the Three Kingdoms. They come here, your Grace, not to

plead, but to explain. Their explanation is now made, and they are

satisfied it is in the hands of one who is ever ready to listen to

the suit of innocence, whose whole life is a guarantee for the

exercise of justice, and whose finger need but be lifted to relieve

the unfortunate from unmerited disgrace."

To my surprise, he did not seem so taken with my effort as I had

hoped. Even as I was speaking he had thrown himself back in his

chair, and sate resting his elbows on the arms, staring at me over

his finger-tips in the most disconcerting fashion without moving

a muscle of his face. I was positively afraid to venture a word

more under the spell of that equivocal gaze.

"Yes, yes, yes," he broke out, suddenly, drawing himself close up

to his desk and seizing a pen, with which he began making slow

notes on the paper before him.

"What did you say the young man's name was?" he muttered. "Oh, yes,

Nairn--Archibald Nairn. Yes. Fort William--eh? French officer in

active service. And you can give me your word he was not in arms--

eh?"

"I can, your Grace, without hesitation."

The moment I had spoken I saw my mistake. So did his Grace, who

wheeled round on me like a flash.

"Then, sir, I take it you are in a position to know!"

My blood fairly ran cold, for I saw only too clearly his folly of

manner was but a cloak, and that now it was quite as much a question

of myself as of Nairn.

"I am, your Grace," I answered, in my most assured tones.

"Perhaps you are able to produce a muster-roll of the rebel

forces--eh, Captain Fitzgerald? That would be highly satisfactory

in more ways than one."

"Surely, your Grace, this is no laughing matter. Your Grace has my

word of honour that Captain Nairn was not in Scotland until after

Culloden was fought--"

"--And lost--Captain Fitzgerald? Surely that is not the way for a

loyal subject to put it."

"I cannot cross swords with your Grace," I returned, with a low

bow to cover my trepidation; "even if our positions did not make

it an impossibility, it would be too unequal a contest."

The flattery was gross, and only my apprehensions could excuse its

clumsiness, but to my intense relief it availed, and he turned to

his desk again, while I held my breath expectant of his next attack.

But none came. He muttered and mumbled to himself, while we stood

stock-still, scarce venturing to look at each other, for the fate

of Nairn was hanging in the balance, and a straw might turn it

either way. At length he picked up his pen and wrote rapidly for

a few moments; then carefully sanding the paper he read it over

slowly, still muttering and shaking his head; but at last, turning

to Margaret, who all this time had remained on her knees, he handed

it to her, saying:

"There, miss; take it, take it. Get married; get your brother

married; but for Heaven's sake don't bring up any little rebels!

And Captain Fitzgerald," he added, meaningly, "don't imagine I

can't see as far as other men! No thanks! No! I hate thanks, and

tears--and--and--Good-morning, ladies, good-morning!" whereupon

he rose and shuffled over in front of the fire, where he stood

rubbing his hands, leaving us to bow ourselves out to a full view

of his back, which, upon my soul, was a fairer landscape than his

face--but with Margaret holding fast the order for her brother's

release.

CHAPTER VI

HOW I TAKE TO THE ROAD AGAIN, AND OF THE COMPANY

I FALL IN WITH

I fully expected an outburst from Lady Jane the moment we were in

the coach, but all she said was:

"Such a man! I have known women silly and vain; I have known women

cruel and brainless; but such a combination of the qualities I

never expected to meet in man; it makes me blush for the vices of

my sex!"

"Do not scold him, dear, do not scold him!" cried Margaret, joyously.

"My heart is too full of thankfulness to hear a word against him."

"My dear Mistress--Margaret," said I, "I would not for the world

dash your joy, but there is still much to do, for I doubt if even

the King could give a pardon off-hand in this fashion. Remember,

England is not France."

"Oh, do not say it is useless!" she cried, in sudden alarm.

"Not useless, certainly. I doubt, however, if the presentation of

that scrap of paper before the gates of Fort William would reward

you with anything more than the most bitter of disappointments and

a broken heart. It was an easy way enough for his Grace to rid

himself of our importunities, but we'll make it more effective than

he guesses. Now is the time for the Vicomte to play his part. He

is in a position where, with many anxious to do him favours, he

can readily place this in the proper channel where it will go

through the necessary hands, of which we know nothing, and could

not reach if we did; he can so place it without reflection on his

position, without suspicion of his motive, and I'm certain you can

count upon his best efforts in your service."

"Come, come, Hughie!" broke in Lady Jane; "you needn't be trying

to take credit to yourself for what Gaston is only too ready to

do. That your flattering and ready tongue stood us in good stead

with this silly noddy I'll not dispute, but I can readily see as

clearly as he says he can; and though your suggestion is good, it

should end there. Let Gaston make his offers himself."

So I laughed, and at once abandoned that line of approach. Lady

Jane might not always have control of her temper, but she knew

every move a man might make, even before he realised it himself,

as in the present instance; possibly this was the reason she was

so tolerant of my sex.

However, I had but little time for such reflections. The more I

thought over the end of our interview with the Duke the less I

liked it, and on comparing impressions with Lady Jane on our arrival

at Essex Street, she quite agreed that I was in a ticklish position.

London was then infested with spies, most of whom had a keen scent

for what the failure of our late enterprise had now fixed as treason,

and despite my precaution in keeping out of questionable resorts

and company, I knew that in my case 'twas little more difficult to

smoke the Jacobite, than the gentleman, in whatever disguise I

might assume.

"Hughie, I'm not one for silly alarms," said Lady Jane, "but I

mistrust that doddering old pantaloon, and 'you must build a high

wall to keep out fear.' You've done all you can here, and I doubt

but you've got yourself in a rare coil in the doing of it. Now to

undo it as best we may."

"I'll not deny that things look 'unchancy,' as we say in the North,

Cousin Jane; but, for the life of me, I don't see how they are to

be bettered by anything I can do now."

"My heart! But men are slow to see ahead! We will be away out of

this the moment we are assured of this young callant's safety, in

a week or so at most, I hope. I will take ship from Harwich, and

you shall journey with us as my servant, my courier."

"Do you think that is absolutely necessary, cousin?"

"Hughie, Hughie, how long will you continue to walk with Vanity?"

"Just so long as I must lie down with Adversity, cousin. Cannot

you understand it is humiliating for a man of my condition to go

masquerading about the country as a lackey?"

"Not so readily as I can understand the awkwardness of being laid

by the heels, Master Hughie. Now don't have any more nonsense! Do

you start off this very night for Huntingdon, and lie at the Bell

Inn there, until you hear from me. It will not be for more than a

week. Let me see, yes, 'Simpkin' will be a good name for you."

"Do I look like Simpkin?" I returned, indignantly.

"My certes, no! You look more like the Grand Turk at the moment,"

she answered, laughing. "But you must conceal your rank, my lord,

by your modesty and 'Mr. Simpkin,' until I can offer it a more

effective covering in a suit of bottle-green livery."

"I trust your ladyship will not require any reference as to

character?"

"It is written on your face, sir. There! I will countersign it for

you," whereat she put her two hands on my cheeks and kissed me.

"'Pon my soul, Cousin Jane, I don't wonder the men raved over you!"

I said, in admiration.

"No, poor things, it doesn't take much to set them off at the best

of times. But do not begin your flatteries, Hughie; even age is no

warrant for common-sense when it meets with old gratifications. Be

off, now, and get back here for supper, ready for your travels."

I hurried off to my old lodgings, and soon made such preparation

for my journey as was necessary.

When I parted from Mistress Routh I said: "I have learned during

the time spent under your roof how irrevocable your resolve is,

and have accepted it as absolutely as yourself, but now that I am

going away from England, which I shall probably never set foot in

again, and it is still more probable that we may never meet, I have

one promise to exact which you cannot refuse. It is presumable my

way in life will be in some degree successful, and that my son may

some day need such aid as I may be able to give him; he is yours

while you live, but promise me when your time comes you will tell

him who his father is. Because you have chosen a different way of

life from mine, do not be tempted to allow the boy to go to strangers

when you know he has a heart waiting to love and cherish him. I

have never done a dishonourable action in my life, so far as I can

judge, and, if only for his sake, I will always try and keep my

conscience free to make the same affirmation. A message to Mr.

Drummond, the banker, in Charing Cross, will always find me. Can

you refuse?"

"No; it is only justice. Your claim comes after mine. I promise I

will not die without telling the boy who you are."

For herself she resolutely refused to take a shilling more than

was due for my lodging, but I succeeded in forcing her acceptance

of a matter of twenty pounds, the last of my own money, not Lady

Jane's, to be used for the boy. She stood beside me silent and

unmoved while I kissed him in his sleep, and when I parted from

her she said, "Good-bye, Captain Geraldine," with a composure I

fain would have assumed myself, but it was impossible.

The supper at Lady Jane's was gay enough, even the Vicomte

contributing his modicum of entertainment, no doubt stimulated

thereto by the thought of my near departure, and surely, when a

man may give pleasure by his goings as well as by his comings, he

is in a position to be envied. I sang Jacobite songs that evening

with an expression that would have carried conviction to the Duke

of Cumberland himself, and when I took my departure with the Vicomte

after midnight, I left a veritable hot-bed of sedition behind.

My companion, though outwardly civil, took my little pleasantries

with so ill a grace that I was in a measure prepared for his words

at our parting before the coach-office.

"Chevalier, you are a man of many charming parts; I trust you will

long be spared to exercise them in quarters where they may fail to

give offence to any one."

"My dear Vicomte," I replied, "Providence has bestowed on me only

my poor talents, but has not granted me the power to provide

appreciation in others. Still, if you should feel at any time that

I am answerable for your personal short-comings, do not, I pray,

let any false delicacy stand in your way. I should be complimented

in sustaining such an argument." At which he only bowed in his

stateliest manner, and wishing me a safe journey, bent his steps

towards St. James's Street.

I must confess such a quarrel would have been infinitely to my

taste, but unfortunately there would have been no satisfaction to

me, even had I pushed it to a successful issue. My way towards

Margaret was stopped by a much more serious obstacle than any man

who ever drew sword. Did the Vicomte but know this, possibly my

connection with Lady Jane might not have appeared to him so radical

a reason for keeping the peace between us. With these thoughts and

others germane to them I whiled away the time until the coach was

ready, and at the dead hour of two in the morning we rolled out of

London on our way to Huntingdon, where we arrived at eight the

following evening.

I put up at the Bell, which was comfortable enough, and made shift

to employ my time through the long week before me in some manner

that would reasonably account for my stay in a dull country town

which offered no attractions to a man of fashion.

At length my letters reached me, and my gorge rose at the address:

_Mr. Simpkin,_

_Lying at the Bell Inn,_

_Huntingdon._

Now it had never cost me a second thought to travel as a pedlar

when making my escape from Scotland, but this wishy-washy nonentity

of a name annoyed me beyond measure. Think you, did ever "Mr.

Simpkin" salute at Fontenoy, or make a leg at Marly? I doubt it.

Nor is it strange that a man, with no more vanity than myself,

should find some little vexation at the perversity of Lady Jane in

fastening this ridicule upon me. That it was intentional I could

not doubt from her letter, for she rallied me upon it at every turn

she could drag in. However, I had the consolation that I was to

join her forthwith at Harwich, and my journey across the country

over bad roads with a pair of wretched nags gave me more material

discomforts to rail at, and by these means I brought myself to a

frame of mind that I could at least imagine Lady Jane's enjoyment

of her childish jest.

When I reached Newmarket, I found, to my disgust, it was impossible

to go forward again that night, but was on the road bright and

early the next morning; however, it was evening before I was set

down at a decent-looking inn beside an arm of the sea, across which

I saw the spires of Harwich twinkling a welcome to me in the setting

sun.

Having settled with the post-boys, I desired the land-lord to attend

me within.

"I see you have boats there, which is fortunate, for I wish to be

set across the water at once," I said, on his entry.

"That is impossible, your honour; it is too late."

"Nonsense, my man. There is for a bottle of your best, and enough

to make up to you my not remaining overnight. I must set off at

once!"

"But, your honour, it can't be done. No boat is allowed to cross

after sunset. The frigate lying there is for no other purpose than

to prevent it. 'Tis on account of the smuggling."

"Don't talk such rank nonsense to me, sir. Do I look like a smuggler?"

"No, your honour, you do not, so far as I can judge."

"Then come, my man, I must be put across."

"Oh, sir, 'tis of no use; I should be a ruined man," cried the

poor-spirited creature, almost snivelling.

Seeing this, I tried him on a new tack. "You scoundrel!" said I,

laying my hand on my sword and advancing towards him threateningly,

"if you fail to have me on my way before half an hour is over, I'll

pink the soul out of you."

"Oh Lord, sir, have a care what you do!" he shrieked in terror,

and before I could intercept him he had thrown open the door into

the adjoining room, where three officers sat at their wine before

the fire.

"Captain Galway! Your honour! I am undone for upholding the law!

Save me! Save me!"

"Damn you for a whining hound! What do you mean by rushing in like

this?" roared the officer addressed, who I marked wore a naval

uniform.

During the babel of explanations which followed from the terrified

creature, I was by no means easy in my mind, for I could not but

think the frigate was stationed there for a purpose that touched

me more nearly than smuggling, and certainly King's officers were

not the company I should have chosen. But hesitation would have

been the height of folly. I advanced assuredly, and addressing the

company, said:

"Gentlemen, your pardon, for I am afraid that I am really more to

blame than this poor man, who it appears was only preventing an

unintentional breach of the law on my part. The truth is, I am most

anxious to cross over to Harwich to-night, and had no thought to

meet with any obstacle in my design, least of all that I should be

taken for a smuggler."

There was a laugh at this, and he whom the inn-keeper had addressed

as Captain Galway said, roundly enough:

"Thank God, sir, his Majesty's officers have still something above

the excise to look after!"

"Then, sir," I replied, though his words confirmed me in my suspicion,

"I have but this moment paid for a bottle of our host's best; we

can discuss it with your leave, and it may serve as footing for my

interruption."

There were bows on all sides at this, and my gentleman introduced

himself as Captain Galway, commanding the _Triumphant_, now riding

at anchor in the bay, and his friends as Major Greenway and Captain

Hargreaves, of the 32d Regiment. In turn I introduced myself as

Mr. Johnstone, for I was determined to have done with Mr. Simpkin,

come what might.

"Ah!" drawled Captain Hargreaves, "one of the Johnsons of Worcester?"

"No," I answered, shortly; "mine is the Border family, but I come

direct from London."

Much to my relief, our host now made his appearance with the wine,

and put an end to this uncomfortable questioning. His sample proved

excellent; so good that I doubted if even the smuggling story might

not have some foundation, and so exact was it to Captain Galway's

palate that before we had made an end of the second bottle he swore

by all his gods, whose seats appeared to be chiefly in those parts

which served for his most important corporate functions, that I

should be put across the water though he had to do it himself.

So far everything seemed to run exactly to my liking; but when at

his invitation I took my place in the stern-sheets of his boat, it

was not without uneasiness I observed Captain Hargreaves draw him

aside and whisper to him earnestly, and on his taking his place I

saw his humour was altered.

He ordered his men to give way in a voice that suggested the clap

of a prison door, and his first words to me were scarce reassuring:

"You are from the Border, you say, Mr. Johnstone? Possibly from

the northern side?"

[Illustration: "He ordered his men to give way in a voice that

suggested the clap of a prison door."]

"Yes," I answered, seeing what was before me, and cursing the ill

luck that had drawn me into such a trap, but determined to put a

bold face on it. "Yes, I am from Kirksmuir, beyond Lanark."

"Then you may know my midshipman here, Mr. Lockhart, of Carnwath?"

and he indicated a lad about eighteen beside me.

My heart sank within me, for this very boy's elder brother had

unfortunately been drawn into this unhappy rebellion, and with him

I had been intimate. I had been a constant guest at his father's

house, and it was impossible to tell what this youngster might have

heard.

"Mr. Lockhart's family is honourably known, sir, throughout our

country, and I doubt not he can speak equally well of my own," I

returned, in my best manner, and fortunately for me the lad was

either so bashful, or so busily employed in racking his brain to

puzzle out what family mine was, that he could make no reply, and

I went on, with my most careless air:

"Surely, Captain Galway, it is unnecessary to keep so far down with

the tide as it sets. I would not take you out of your way for the

world."

"Oh, nonsense!" he cried, with a poor attempt at heartiness. "You

shall come on board. We too seldom meet with one of your quality

to part so easily. You must make your excuses to your friends. Say

you were kept a prisoner." And he laughed loudly at his wit.

Good heavens! how I despised the man who could make a jest of a

fellow-creature in such a strait! Had I been a swimmer, I would

have taken the chance of a plunge over the side; but in my case

that would have been little short of suicide.

"Come, sir, come! You make a poor return for my offer of hospitality,"

he continued, banteringly; "you are not at all the same man I took

you for at the inn."

"Pardon me," I returned, quickly, for his last remark spurred me

to my utmost effort, "you gentlemen who go down to the sea in ships

forget that we landsmen find even the wobble of a boat discommoding.

No man is the same with an uneasy stomach."

"Next thing to an uneasy conscience--eh, Mr. Johnstone?"

"Worse, sir, far worse. You may forget the one at times, but the

other is never at rest."

"Oh, well, we are for a time now, at all events!" he cried, with

a ring of triumph in his voice, as we slowed up alongside the great

ship, and the sailors made us fast by the ladder.

"After you, sir," said my tormentor, as he pointed upward, and,

willy-nilly, I mounted the shaking steps with the horrid thought

that perhaps it was the last ladder I should mount save one that

would lead to a platform whence I would make my last bow to a

howling mob at Tyburn.

"It is fast growing dark, sir; we will not stand on ceremony," said

the captain, leading to the cabin.

"Do not, I pray," I answered, with some firmness, for now I was

only anxious for the last act of the ghastly farce to end; the

suspense was growing intolerable.

When wine and glasses were placed before us, the captain filled

them both and raised his.

"'Pon my soul, Mr. Johnstone, I am sorry to lose so good a companion,

but we must not put your landsman's endurance to too hard a proof.

I wish you a safe arrival with all my heart! My men will put you

ashore at once."

I was so fluttered by the unexpected turn and the honest heartiness

he threw into his words that I could scarce reply, but in some way

I made my acknowledgments. In a few moments I was over the side

and speeding towards the Harwich shore with all the force of six

oars pulled by six impatient men, and I'll wager none among them

was so impatient as the passenger they carried.

CHAPTER VII

HOW I COME TO TAKE A GREAT RESOLVE

I rewarded the men handsomely enough to call forth their approval,

and made my compliments so fully to Mr. Lockhart, with so many

messages to his family, that I left him more puzzled than ever as

to who Mr. Johnstone of Kirksmuir might be; and then picking up my

portmanteau, made as though I would enter the town.

Once the boat was safely out of sight, I looked about for a quiet

spot, and proceeded to effect a transformation in my outward

appearance more in keeping with my new role of courier. Removing

my wig, I smoothed my hair back, and fastened it with a plain

riband. I undid my sword, and snapping the blade, put the hilt,

which was handsomely mounted in silver, to one side, and then

stripping the lace and silver braid off my hat, I bound wig and

blade together and flung them into the sea. From my portmanteau

I took a pair of stout black hose which I drew over the more modish

ones I wore, removed the buckles from my shoes, and placing them

with the sword-hilt in the portmanteau, muffled myself carefully

in my cloak, and, taking up my burden, trudged towards the town.

I found the inn where Lady Jane and Margaret lodged without

difficulty, and on my inquiry for them the land-lord said:

"If you are the servant my lady has been expecting, let me tell

you you have been within an ace of losing your place, for you are

a day late, and but for the wind she would have sailed this morning.

You are to go to your room at once, and then you wait on her, and

I, for one, don't envy you your reception! Take your things and

come this way."

The thought of being so near friends banished any petty annoyance

I might have felt at this treatment; indeed I could but so admire

Lady Jane's cleverness that I entered into the jest, and inquired

what manner of person my new mistress might be.

"Masterful, masterful. 'Tis a God's mercy she was not born a man,

or it might have been ill holding with her!" the honest creature

returned, with much decision, and I at once placed him as a man of

fair judgment.

In my room I found the suit of bottle-green livery Lady Jane had

promised laid out for me, so I soon made my transformation complete,

and presented myself at the door my guide had pointed out.

My cousin's voice, in answer to my discreet signal on the panel,

bade me enter, and my welcome was a merry one. How I made them

laugh over my appearance! With what satisfaction did I turn the

tables on Lady Jane by the landlord's estimate of her character,

when she attempted to resume her quizzing over "Mr. Simpkin"! But

it was when I came to the relation of my adventure with Captain

Galway that I met a veritable triumph. To Lady Jane it afforded a

new mark for her wit, and she professed to be vastly amused at my

groundless alarm; but to Margaret, who was much distressed by Lady

Jane's levity, 'twas all tragedy of the most serious description.

[Illustration: "How I made them laugh over my appearance!"]

The measures taken for her brother's safety had proved entirely

effectual, and it was clear that Margaret credited me solely with

his release, which was now assured, though I honestly believe the

Duke's signature would have been only so much worthless paper had

I not suggested the Vicomte's services. Be this as it may, I did

not hold I was bound to combat with her sense of gratitude, for

Heaven knows I have so often suffered under an over-sufficiency of

undeserved censure that a little overflowing of approbation was

most welcome.

We hoped to be off early the next morning, but, alas, on our

awakening the wind was as unfavourable as before, and there were

no signs of a change. It was an anxious day for all of us. It was

clear enough the Duke of Newcastle had suspected me, and though it

was possible he did not realise my importance, it was quite probable

he would have Lady Jane's following closely watched for the presence

of Captain "Fitzgerald," as he chose to style me. The proximity of

the _Triumphant_ and her over-hospitable commander, with his prying

friend Mr. Hargreaves, was never out of my mind, and it was with

no small uneasiness I learned the Governor of the town had been

unceasing in his attentions to the two ladies. True, this may have

meant nothing but pure civility, but the purest civility may prove

as embarrassing as the commonest intrusion when one has anything

to conceal. Confound the man! He pressed his ill-timed courtesies

upon us twenty times a day, and I could not but grow apprehensive

when I marked the scarce-concealed curiosity with which he regarded

me. Had I been a slave in a barracoon, my points could not have

been gone over more carefully; and had I been both deaf and dumb,

my qualities could not have been discussed with more openness.

Never before had I realised that even a lackey might resent hearing

himself discussed like an animal at a fair, and Lady Jane took a

perverse delight in provoking the Governor's critiques when I was

within earshot. Our morning walk in his garden will serve as an

ensample.

"Has your fellow any experience of travel," the Governor would ask,

stopping in his walk and eyeing me as if he were at a court-martial,

"or is he as useless as the rest of his kind?"

"I've no doubt hell prove stupid enough when we get where we really

need him," she would answer, coolly, bending over some favourite

flower. "'Tis really shameful the lying recommendation one's friends

give servants nowadays."

"He looks stupid enough to prove honest," growled the Governor,

"but if he were put through a few weeks' drill, with my sergeant's

cane behind those fat calves of his, 'twould smarten him up a bit."

"What lovely Gueldre roses!" exclaimed Margaret, enthusiastically,

and straightway fell to praising one flower after another with such

rapidity and success that even Lady Jane's ingenuity could find no

opportunity to lead the Governor back to the torture again.

However, I had my revenge, for Lady Jane herself was unpleasantly

startled that same day as we sate at dinner in our room, and the

Governor chose to pay us another visit without warning.

There was a frantic scurry for a few moments as we removed all

traces of my place, and his Excellency must have had a suspicious

train of thought running through his head as he waited for me to

unlock the door. This I did with unmoved countenance, and Lady Jane

made the excuse of being somewhat en deshabille, as the room was

over-warm with the fire, and it passed without further remark,

though I could see he eyed me from time to time as I stood behind

her chair. I waited on them, I flatter myself, quite as perfectly

as the most highly trained servant--for the table is a point to

which I have always devoted much attention, and my knowledge stood

me in good stead now.

Whatever his suspicions were, he did not dare to make them known;

Lady Jane was a person of too recognised a position not to make it

highly inconvenient for any one who might interfere with her without

due justification; and the next day we sailed without hinderance.

Upon our arrival at the Hague, the first letter we received was

one from the Vicomte to Margaret, assuring her of her brother's

safety, and informing her it was commonly reported in London that

Prince Charles had escaped to the continent in the train of Lady

Jane Drummond, so we knew to a certainty the Governor had mistaken

me for the Prince, and informed the Court of his suspicions.

Whether the mistake was flattering to me or not, I cannot fairly

judge. So far as the Prince stood morally or intellectually, he

was beneath my contempt, but physically, my impression is that he

was handsome--at least he had a fine carriage and bearing. It is

most difficult to judge any man in his position; all my training

and education, and that of my ancestors for generations before me,

had been such that I have scarce been able to look on a king save

with a feeling close akin to reverence. So with these reservations

I allow the dubious compliment to pass. But whatever I might think,

there was no doubt but the circumstance had raised me many degrees

in Margaret's estimation. And this also I owed to the unwitting

services of the Vicomte, who had successively helped me on to nearly

every advance in her affections.

From the Hague we journeyed by easy stages to Paris, where Lady

Jane found suitable lodgings for herself and Margaret in the rue

Dauphine, while I found a humble one, better fitted to my purse,

in the rue du Petit-Bourbon.

I at once made application to join my old regiment, but to my

chagrin I was only put off from month to month, and, insisting on

an answer, I was curtly informed there was no captaincy vacant,

and I must remain satisfied with the small pension the king was

pleased to give me as officer in the Scottish expedition, or accept

a subaltern's position.

When the Vicomte arrived, by the end of May, he resumed his position

in the Royal Guard, and his evening visits to Lady Jane, or rather

to Margaret. About the middle of the summer he succeeded in obtaining

an authentic copy of the Act of Indemnity, which was studied with

the greatest interest by us all. The terms were fair, even generous,

but I was not astonished to find my name among those excluded from

its favour. It mattered little to me that I was henceforward a

marked man, with a price on my head, doomed to perpetual banishment;

for, being in no sense an Englishman, and a Scot only by descent,

exclusion from the Three Kingdoms meant little to me; blood and

training had made me an alien in feeling, and fate had ever thrown

me and mine on the side of the unfortunate; Maxwells and Geraldines,

we had always been on the losing side; it had become second nature.

But with Margaret it was far different. Her generous soul was in

arms at once; my exclusion from the Act had raised me to the niche

of a hero in her temple, and again it was the Vicomte who had

contributed to this elevation.

Margaret now began to grow anxious again concerning her brother.

Why did he not join us? Could any new complication have arisen to

cause his re-arrest? These and a thousand other disturbing

speculations troubled her unceasingly, until they were put beyond

all doubt by a letter, which fell upon us like a bomb:

"_January_ 19, 1748.

"My dearest Peggy,--I have resolved on a step which I can scarce

expect you to approve, perhaps not even to understand at present,

though I have every hope that some day you will do both.

"My situation briefly is this: I have no hope whatever of another

effectual attempt on the part of the Prince, and I have set my

face against foreign service. Still, I was bred to the sword,

and so must bide by it. As I have neither the means nor the

inclination for an idle existence, and it has pleased the King

to grant me my pardon without exacting any terms, I am resolved

to offer him my sword and duty without reserve.

"Let no one persuade you into thinking that I am playing a part,

or have been won over by new friends or promises. I have won

myself over from empty plots and idle dreams to an honourable

career, and I have put the past from me without a regret, save

that my decision will cause you pain, my dear and only sister.

"Whether you write me in anger or write not at all, you cannot

in any way lessen the affection in which I will always cherish

you.

"Your loving brother,

"Archd. Nairn."

"A most sensible determination," I thought, "and does much credit

both to his sense of honour and his judgment," but I need hardly

say I took care not to air my appreciations of his course before

Lady Jane, and still less before Mistress Margaret, who was little

short of distracted.

The poor girl had swooned on receiving the news, and for two days

was utterly overwhelmed by what she held to be the disgrace of his

desertion.

The Vicomte was singularly unfortunate in his attempt at consolation.

"Marguerite, mon amie," he said one evening, before us all, "your

brother should lose no claim to your esteem. Remember, the cause

of the Prince Charles is lost beyond all redemption. Your brother

is under the greatest of all obligations to his legal King; he owes

him his life. If my humble opinion be of value, I conceive he has

acted strictly within the laws which govern the conscience of a

gentleman and a man of honour."

"Gaston! How dare you? I am not a child; I am a woman loyal to my

heart's core! I know nothing of your fine distinctions which

constitute 'a gentleman and a man of honour,' But I do know the

feeling which made men charge almost single-handed on the English

line at Culloden. I know, too, the feeling which made the humblest

Highland mother give up the child of her heart, and wish she had

twenty more, to die for her King and her Prince. Better--far, far

better that my brother had died unpardoned but loyal! He died for

me the day his hand signed that traitorous compact. God pity me!

I have neither father, mother, nor brother left. I have naught but

you," she cried, as she buried her face on Lady Jane's shoulder,

and shook with the storm of grief that swept over her. Lady Jane

motioned us to leave, and we withdrew sorrowfully enough.

It was weeks before the poor girl recovered her old liveliness;

but she could not combat against the natural elasticity of youth,

though the struggle left its trace in a sudden maturity quite

unlooked for. Her relation towards the Vicomte became visibly

colder; and he, simple soul, instead of being spurred to greater

effort, went blundering on in his direct childlike way, with but

small effect, though warmly reinforced by Lady Jane.

All this time His Royal Highness Prince Charles was making no slight

stir in Paris. He was in deep disgrace with the King, whom he

treated with the most studied discourtesy. An unwelcome and dangerous

intruder, he paid not the slightest attention to the repeated

requests that he should leave the capital; he kept open house in

his hotel on the Quai des Theatins, and appeared nightly at the

Opera despite every consideration of good taste and breeding. And

yet one-half Paris looked on and applauded, blaming the King for

his inhospitality to this hero of a hundred flights.

I did my own prospects of advancement no small harm by allowing

myself to accompany Margaret and Lady Jane to one of his levees,

where he bestowed much fulsome flattery on me, though he took good

care it should reflect on himself, for he never could pass over an

occasion to shine before a woman--one of the weakest vanities that

ever inflated the soul of man.

The Vicomte was much chagrined over our going, and inclined to lay

the blame upon me.

"M. de Kirkconnel," said he, addressing Margaret, "should know that

such a proceeding is extremely injudicious when the Prince stands

in such ambiguous relations towards the Court; especially when

aware of my position towards you and my official duty in the present

difficult negotiations with the Prince."

"'M. de Kirkconnel,' as you style him," retorted Margaret, with

great spirit, "has only done his duty, M. le Vicomte, as 'a

gentleman and a man of honour,' in accompanying two ladies to pay

their respects to the son of their King--whatever may be his

relations towards a time-serving government."

"Tut, tut, Margaret!" broke in Lady Jane, "none of your hoity-toity

airs? Gaston is perfectly right. I blame myself for not having

thought of his position in the matter. We'll keep ourselves outside

these delicate questions, for which women have too hot heads, until

wiser ones settle them, one way or another."

That Lady Jane was much displeased was evidenced by the strenuous

efforts to procure me a captaincy which she put on foot again with

renewed vigour, and, to tell the truth, I was not sorry, for I was

beginning to find no little embarrassment in Margaret's unconscious

revelation of her feelings towards me, and I was heartily sorry

for the Vicomte as well.

Nothing came of Lady Jane's efforts, and now we all began to live

a life of much discomfort. That the Vicomte disliked me was patent,

and yet he would make no effective efforts to better his own position

with Margaret; that Lady Jane was troubled at my presence was writ

large on her expressive countenance, and yet she could not bear me

to leave unless fittingly provided; and that Margaret, our Pearl

of Great Price, was as cold to the Vicomte as she was affectionate

to me I could not greatly, and all this to our common disquiet.

The Vicomte sighed for possession, Lady Jane for the fulfilment of

her plans, and I for the end of a situation that had become wellnigh

impossible.

At length the explosion came.

It was an open secret that the Prince would be removed by force,

as he had obstinately refused to listen to either proposals,

entreaties, or commands, and in short was courting disgrace, for

Heaven only knows what, unless perchance he hoped to rise only by

his failures and reverses. At all events, preparations were made

without concealment for his arrest on the evening of the 10th of

December, as he drove to the Opera, and the Vicomte, from his

position in the Household Troops, had charge of the arrangements.

Margaret had heard the rumour that very day, and had sent the

Vicomte peremptory word to come to the rue Dauphine; but no doubt

it was his duties, certainly not any hesitation at facing the

interview, which prevented his complying with her command.

The next day, when he presented himself, the news of the arrest

was all over Paris, with every absurd exaggeration of detail.

He entered admirably composed, though knowing a painful scene was

before him, and after saluting Lady Jane, he advanced towards

Margaret, holding out his hand.

She stood erect, her face white with emotion.

[Illustration: "She stood erect, her face white with emotion."]

"One moment, M. le Vicomte, until I see whether I can touch that

hand again or not. Is it true that it was laid on my Prince?"

"No, mademoiselle, it was not."

"Who, then, arrested him?"

"M. de Vaudreuil, mademoiselle."

"And you? What did you do?"

"I stood there, mademoiselle, and saw that M. de Vaudreuil carried

out his instructions."

"His instructions? Who gave them

"I did, mademoiselle."

"What! To arrest the Prince?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle."

"And you think this was the part of 'a gentleman and a man of

honour?'"

"Certainly, mademoiselle. It was my duty."

I own that from the bottom of my heart I admired him. It was clear

what was coming, yet he never faltered, never wavered, nor made

any attempt at appeal or explanation. It was like the man. I envied

him his courage.

"Did you never think for one moment of me? Of my devotion to him

and his cause? Did not my regard, my affection even, weigh for one

moment with you?" she went on, excitedly.

"Marguerite, Marguerite! This is cruel! This is unjust! I worship

you as I have never worshipped woman, and at this moment you are

breaking my heart!"

"You have broken mine," she answered, coldly, and turning, walked

slowly out of the room.

He stood with his face like marble.

Then Lady Jane rose, and laying her hand on his shoulder, said:

"Gaston, I never thought more of you in my life, and the mother

who bore you may well be proud of such a son. Margaret is but a

child; when she thinks over what has happened, she will see matters

in their true light. Girls' hearts do not break so easily. My own

would have flown in pieces a thousand times if it had followed my

imaginations," she said, gayly; and then more tenderly, "Be patient

with her, Gaston; she is only a child."

But he shook his head sadly without reply.

"My dear Vicomte," I said, "I know you have cause to look on me

with no friendly eye; but believe me, I can echo every word my

cousin has spoken. I can only admire and hope for such courage

myself; and that I may prove the sincerity of my profession, I will

withdraw entirely from a scene where I am only a disturbance. I

have no thought, no hope of winning Margaret for myself. I will

volunteer for service in Canada at once, and at least shall not

have the regret of standing in the way of one I honour so highly."

To all of which he said little, but that little so direct and

feeling that we stepped out into the rue Dauphine together, more

nearly friends than we had ever been.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW I MAKE BOTH FRIENDS AND ENEMIES IN NEW FRANCE

My resolution was immediate, but it was a different matter carrying

it into effect. After many applications, and even entreaties, the

most favourable opening I could obtain was the offer of an ensign's

commission. It was almost beyond even my self-abnegation to accept

such degradation. Only by the thought of Margaret, and the consoling

comfort that I was making the sacrifice entirely for her sake,

joined with the absolute promise of the minister that I should not

long remain in such a subordinate position, could I bring myself

to the point of acceptance.

Meantime the Vicomte had not in any degree taken a proper advantage

of my disinterestedness; for, instead of winning back the affections

of his adored one by direct and oft-repeated attack, he withdrew

himself entirely from her company, and plunged into a course of

the most reckless dissipation, making Paris ring with the tales of

his extravagance and folly. Then suddenly, to every one's

astonishment, he threw up his commission, and disappeared so

effectually, that not even his intimates knew what had come to him.

Those at the rue Dauphine were as ignorant as the rest of the world,

and though his withdrawal was unquestionably a relief to Margaret,

it was a source of deep mortification and sorrow to Lady Jane.

However, neither letters nor inquiries were of any avail, and the

most rigorous search only elicited the fact that no one knew what

had become of the Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, beyond that he had

voluntarily disappeared without any adequate motive being assigned.

At length the time came for me to embark for my miserable command.

Margaret made but little effort to conceal her grief. "It is

dreadful, dreadful, this parting!" she cried. "One after another

I am losing those to whom I am most attached--first my brother,

then Gaston, and now you. I am, indeed, 'a stranger in a strange

land,' and if aught happens to Lady Jane, think what will become

of me? But I am not thinking of myself alone," she added, quickly.

"Believe me, my greatest sorrow is that you, who have sacrificed

so much for your loyalty, who have met with such reverses, such

pitiful ill return for all your devotion to your King, are now

doomed to an exile worse than before--to the acceptance of a rank

that is an insult to your condition, to banishment in a savage

country far from all those you love--and you accept it all without

a murmur. Now I know, for you have taught me, the definition of 'a

gentleman and a man of honour.'"

With this recognition, so worthy of her generous nature, she looked

at me so proudly that I would have given anything to kneel at her

feet and confess it was only the fact of being "a gentleman and a

man of honour" which prevented me answering the love that glowed

from every feature of her sweet face and throbbed in every pulse

of her ardent young body with the burning words that trembled on

my sealed lips.

"Oh, Margaret, sweet Margaret! I cannot say what I would. I dare

hardly think what I would. Everything is against me!"

"Not everything," she answered, quickly--"not everything, unless

I am nothing! I am with you heart and soul! No, you cannot speak,

because you have no position, and perhaps no future. But I can!

Oh, Hugh, Hugh! I care nothing about it being unmaidenly; I cannot

mind such matters when my heart is breaking. I love you with all

my soul and with all my life. I will think of you every hour you

are away from me, and pray for you every hour until God brings you

back. Oh, Hugh, tell me-tell me you love me!"

"No, miss! Master Hughie shall do nothing of the sort!" interrupted

Lady Jane, who had come in unmarked. "Any man who wishes to do

any love-making, so far as Margaret Nairn is concerned, must first

do so through me.

"There, there! Peggy, my pet--my wee girlie. You may kiss him once

for your poor heart's comfort; and then, my lambie, leave my boy

to me; I am the only mother he has. There, dearie, go now," she

said, tenderly, when I had kissed her as one might kiss a saint;

and without a word Margaret left the room with my cousin, and it

and my heart were empty.

Lady Jane was generous, as was her wont: all that money could do

to make my departure easy was done; and most of all, she comforted

me as a mother might comfort a son--indeed, as she had said to

Margaret, she was the only mother I had ever known.

Again she told me plainly that I must not cherish any hopes upon

her death beyond such humble provision as she might spare. "Margaret

is my daughter, Hughie; and if you are the man I take you for, you

would not deprive her of whatever money may bring."

"Cousin," said I, "I am going away for her sake, for her peace of

mind alone; and if I am content to bury myself alive for this now,

think you I'll regret any other good that can come to her? I love

her with my whole heart and soul, and the greatest bitterness I

have to bear is that I am prevented from declaring my feelings

towards her before I go. She has spoken words to me that call for

all the response in a man's soul, and I go away with my mouth closed

like a clown."

"Tut, tut, Hughie! Now you are letting your vanity get the upperhand

of you. You are bemoaning yourself because you have not cut a better

figure in her eyes. But just one word for your cold comfort. There

never was a young girl in her position yet--bless all their lovely,

trusting hearts--who would not make a hero of the man she loved,

had he the garb of a Merry Andrew and the manners of a Calmuck.

Don't fash yourself over imaginary woes when you've real ones in

sight, plain enough, my poor boy. But now leave this profitless

heart-break and let us plan for the future."

Our talk lasted late into the night, and by daybreak I was on my

way to La Rochelle.

And now began the most miserable period of my life, the details of

which I have no intention of inflicting on my reader. A wretched

sea-voyage was a fitting introduction to my place of

banishment--Louisbourg, a pretentious and costly fortification,

but miserably situate and falling to decay for want of the most

necessary repair. There it was, shut in on the one hand by the

monotonous sea, wild and threatening with its ice, and snow, and

storm in winter, sad and depressing with its mournful fog in

summer--and on the other by an unbroken wilderness of rock and

firs--that I ate out my heart in bitterness year after year; my

only alleviation being the rare letters which I received from

Margaret, but which I scarce could answer, though my reticence only

brought forth a fuller expression of the unwavering affection of

her generous soul.

Dear as this indulgence in a cherished affection was to me, I

brought myself to renounce it, for I held I was bound to this for

more than one reason. Now that I had entirely broken with my past,

I recognised that perhaps I should have done so sooner. Was it not

folly to suppose that a girl such as Margaret would not follow her

generous fancy when propinquity was added to inclination? Alas!

that such admirable decisions are only so readily consented to when

the occasion for delinquency is no longer possible!

Then, too, my position towards Lady Jane was a delicate one. She

had clearly indicated to me her intentions as to the disposal of

her fortune. A hopeful or even a contented correspondence was

impossible to one in my situation, and to enter into any truthful

detail of the misery of my surroundings might well appear, even in

her kindly judgment, but an implied appeal to her generosity.

For this it was that I gradually cut down my letters year by year,

until I entirely ceased from all intercourse, and lived my lonely

life as best I might.

For fellow-exiles, I had near an hundred discontented gentlemen,

ruling over a homesick soldiery, two or three unfortunate gentlewomen,

a few greedy and dishonest officials, and a handful of wretched

townspeople, whose prosperity was never fostered in time of peace

nor their safety considered in time of war.

At last, through the friendship of the Comte de Raimond, Governor

of the Island, I obtained a tardy promotion to the rank of lieutenant

in the Regiment of Artois, under M. de St. Julhien, and the

appointment as King's Interpreter, on which I was heartily

congratulated by my comrades, who had long pitied my undeserved

ill fortune.

Until then I had made but little effort to better my condition,

but my advancement, as well as the increase in my pay, aroused me.

I took fresh heart in and my appearance, and began to mix somewhat

in such society as our forlorn situation afforded.

In Madame de Drucour, wife of our Commandant, I found a grande dame

de par le monde, who commanded the admiration and respect of all

our officers and the devotion of the soldiery and townspeople.

In Madame Prevost, the most charming little Canadian, wife of the

Commissary--a creature with the carriage of a lackey and the soul

of a dry-salter--I discovered a heart full of tender sympathy,

dying of ennui. Her husband's unpopularity was such that but few

of the officers would enter his doors, and indeed he was so fierce

a Cerberus in regard to his unfortunate wife, that he made any

attempt at alleviation of her unhappy condition wellnigh impossible.

However, through my acquaintance with a M. de Sarennes, a Canadian

partisan officer, who stood high in his favour, he saw fit to allow

my visits, and I willingly put up with his want of breeding to

offer such attention as I might to his prisoner, for so in truth

she was.

Sarennes was attractive enough, in so far as his outward appearance

went, but, like most of his countrymen--that is, the Canadians--was

wanting in all those externals which are essential to a gentleman.

He was courageous, but a braggart; he was well born, but had no

breeding; he was open and friendly, but, I feared, truculent; and

his sense of honour was not above the universal dishonesty which

disgraced and wrecked his unfortunate country.

I had suspected his intimacy with Prevost had some less honourable

foundation than a pitying admiration for his unfortunate wife, and

I was confirmed in this by his proposal in my quarters one evening

that I should hand over to him some blanks, signed by St. Julhien,

on the Commissary, for stores, etc., which I was to requisition as

required.

"May I ask to what use you intend to put them?" I said, more to

sound him than for information, for this was one of the most favoured

forms of peculation in the colonies.

"Oh, none that you will ever know of, Chevalier; and I should think

an addition to your inadequate pay would not come amiss," he added,

artfully, without even an effort to veil his knavery.

The whole disgraceful, pettifogging scheme disgusted me; but,

because he was a much younger man than I, and I believed might be

in Prevost's power, I refrained from my natural indignation, and

passing over the personal affront, I spake to him with all the

consideration of a friend. I shewed him the path which he was

treading, and pointed out the inevitable disgrace which must attend

such a course, and most of all, the wretched meanness of so

contemptible a crime. But, to my astonishment, he was inclined to

excuse and cloak his wrong-doing.

"Sir," said I, "nothing is further from my liking than an artificial

morality, but I would avoid even the appearance of being cheaply

vicious. Do not weigh out the largest possible measure of dishonesty

to the smallest possible quantum of correction. If you must depart

from that path of virtue towards which we should all direct our

best endeavours, do so in a manner that will at least command the

admiration of gentlemen and the leniency of a Divine Being, who

may consider the frailty of the natural man, but never the tortuous

conclusions of his compromising intellect."

He was apparently sensible of my kindly advice, but I soon discovered

that he not only disregarded it, but was endeavouring to do me an

ill turn with the Commissary by directing his warped and jealous

suspicions towards my innocent attentions to his wife.

The word "innocent" I use advisedly, and lest the reader have any

doubt now or hereafter as to my intention touching the fair Madame

Provost, let me assure him I can lay my hand on my heart and aver

I never at any time held any warmer feeling towards her than the

sympathy of an exile towards a prisoner.

That her stupidly jealous husband, fired by the insinuations of

Sarennes, should distort mere civilities into serious intentions,

and bear himself with such a ridiculous assumption of jaundiced

suspicion that a cause for his uneasiness was readily invented by

a scandal-loving garrison, was no doing of mine. Madame Prevost,

with all her charm, had neither experience nor knowledge in such

affairs; she was simply a woman profoundly unhappy and profoundly

ignorant of the world. Could I have honestly offered her my affections

as well as my sympathies, I might have done so, and had them as

honestly returned; but no woman had ever awakened a throb in my

heart since I bade farewell to one in the rue Dauphine in Paris.

She still remained at once my hope and my despair; and, so long as

she lived, other women were as dead to me. I lay claim to no great

fortitude, to no heroic self-denial--it is seldom a man has attained

the results of virtue with as little conscious effort as I was

called upon to exercise.

But the mere knowledge of the integrity of my motives was not

sufficient to protect them from the idle gossip of the town, and

this inconvenience led to an abrupt termination of our intercourse

in the following manner:

One afternoon, when amusing myself and Mme. Prevost by singing

snatches of old songs, I had ended a favourite of hers with a

telling accompaniment and the effective words,

"J'ai perdu mon coeur volage,

Mon honneur, mon avantage,

De moi ne me parle plus,"

when I was surprised by a burst of pretended applause, and turned

to find M. Prevost facing me with a malicious air.

"Believe me, M. le Lieutenant, you have my sincerest sympathy," he

cried, with mock emphasis.

[Illustration: "M. le Lieutenant, you have my sincerest sympathy!"]

"Upon what, sir?"

"Upon the loss of that inestimable jewel, your honour."

"Pardon me, monsieur; that is merely the license of the verse--a

dangerous thing to translate into plain prose."

"I do not seize the distinction, monsieur."

"You are probably not qualified to judge of either one or the other,

M. Prevost."

"Possibly not, M. le Lieutenant, but I am qualified to judge of

the persons I will admit within my doors; and, 'in plain prose,'

I would wish you to understand you are no longer one of them."

"M. le Commissaire, your meaning is as plain as is your manner;

nothing could be more unqualified, and I regret my inability to

answer it in the same fashion," I returned, not without a certain

appreciation of his handling of the situation.

"Madame," I said to his lady, who had preserved an admirable

composure throughout this passage at arms, "I owe you a thousand

thanks for your kindness, and a thousand regrets should I be the

cause of any misunderstanding between you and your husband;" whereupon

I raised her hand, and kissing it ceremoniously, I effected a not

undignified retreat.

So the summer of '57 dragged on, when one warm afternoon in

September--it was the 25th of the month--I wandered down to the

landing-place to see the arrival of a ship from France that had

slipped through the feeble blockade attempted by the English. I

lazily watched the captain and others disembark with an uninterested

eye until among them I caught sight of a lad of about fifteen years,

whose dress and countenance were certainly English. As he came up

with the others I advanced, and laying my hand on his shoulder,

said,

"You are not French, my lad?"

"Oh no, sir," he answered, looking full at me with an open, engaging

smile; "I am English."

"I thought so. What is your name?"

"Christopher Routh."

"Good God! Kit! I am Captain Geraldine!"

CHAPTER IX

"JOY AND SORROW ARE NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOURS"

As I had not been in the habit of asking favours of my superiors,

permission was readily given that the English lad should be allowed

to share my quarters with me.

I set my servant to work arranging for his comfort, and we sate in

my little garden, I dying with curiosity to hear what lucky chance

had blown him hither.

"Where is your mother, Kit?" I asked.

At this his eyes filled and his lips trembled, and for some moments

he could not reply, during which I was unable to suppress a selfish

hope that perchance my time of probation had ended.

"Mother is lost," he answered, at last. "But let me start fair."

I was pleased to mark the boy spake with an easy address, for I

hate the taint of servility above all things. "Ever since I had

grown up I have been begging her to let me get to sea, and at length

she yielded, in part to my entreaties, and in part to the wishes

of some members of The Society who had settled in Boston, in the

Province of Massachusetts, and agreed to come out to them. For me,

anything answered that would give me my wish, and I did not see

that it mattered whether she was among Methodists in England, or

among Methodists in America."

"You are right, my lad; I imagine they would make the world much

of a likeness wherever they might be."

He answered nothing to my observation, but went on:

"At length all our preparations were complete, and we left in June

last in a wretched old craft, called the _African Chief_, so ill

found that she was dismasted and disabled in the first gale we met

with.

"We were captured, or rather rescued, three days later by this very

ship I have just come in, and the hulk was rerigged and sent back

to France a prize, with her unfortunate crew and passengers as

prisoners. From this fate my mother and I were preserved through

the kindness of a French lady, who took compassion on mother as

the only woman on board, and offered to take her as her waiting-woman,

and I was allowed to accompany her. Anything was better than the

certainty of a prison in France."

"What was the lady's name, Kit? I may know her."

"'Pon my word, sir, I am ashamed to say I don't know myself. There

were no others of her condition on board, and she was addressed by

every one simply as 'Madame.' and I never thought of asking my

mother."

"Never mind; go on."

"We were treated with every kindness, and Madame showed every

conceivable consideration for my poor mother, while I made friends

with all on board, and soon learned enough French to find my way

about ship. Madame and my poor mother found the length of the

voyage tedious to a degree, but I loved every hour of it. We

unfortunately ran short of water, as our casks had so strained

during a heavy gale we encountered they lost all or most of their

contents. Besides this mischief, the gale drove us so far out of

our course to the north, that our captain determined to run into

the Baie des Chaleurs for a fresh supply of water.

"This we did, and there found it in abundance; and after the boats

had begun to pass backward and forward, and we were convinced there

was no danger, Madame and mother were allowed to have their wish

and leave the ship for a ramble on shore. At first they stayed

within sight, but gradually gaining courage, they strayed away

unnoticed by any of us for some time. When they were missed, an

instant search was made, and we started through the woods hallooing

and firing our pieces, but without result; at length some of the

sailors, who had been in those parts before, discovered a place

where they said Indians had lately camped. We soon found further

traces that confirmed this, and at last a small gray tippet which

I knew to be mother's, and we were no longer in doubt.

"I was wild to keep at the search, but the others persuaded me it

was useless to do so, that these savages wandered over the whole

country, and would certainly carry their prisoners to some post

where they would claim a reward, especially if they thought they

were English, which might well be the case; and in any event there

was no danger of their lives, as these savages never illtreat white

women, except in attack. Anxious as I was, I could not but agree

that they were right, and so said no more; but now I am content to

remain here, as I have a better chance of hearing news than if

exchanged for some French prisoner, as we were hoping all the way

out."

Although I had not the same confidence as the boy, I encouraged

him in his hopefulness, and in turn told him of my own doings since

I had left their roof in London.

My whole existence now took on a different aspect; my duties were

in no degree onerous; and Kit, the dear boy, so won every heart

that he was looked upon as a guest of the whole garrison, rather

than a prisoner. No restrictions were placed upon his movements,

and we roamed over the whole country with our fowling-pieces or

angles, and many a fine string of trout did we present to Madame

de Drucour and other friends.

We explored the country from Louisbourg to Mire, and there we fell

in with Sarennes and his following, with whom Kit was delighted

beyond measure; and indeed there was much in the Canadian to attract

those who did not look beyond the externals. He fairly enchanted

the boy with his tales of savage life, his exhibition of his wild

followers, and his skill in woodcraft and the chase, and I soon

felt that Kit was revolving some plan for discovering the whereabouts

of his mother through his aid.

This was the one flaw in my happiness. If I had not wished for her

death, I had at least hoped never to hear of her again, and indeed

there seemed but little likelihood of it in this remote quarter,

but every inquiry on the part of Kit gave me fresh uneasiness. This

he was quick to perceive, but as I had never given him an inkling

of the reason, he put my holding to him down to the liking of a

solitary exile for one of his own kind.

Sarennes, too, saw my fondness for the lad, and took a pleasure in

attracting him from me on every possible excuse; but it was not

until a dinner given by M. de Drucour at the New Year that I saw

how far his petty cruelty could go.

With an air of assumed geniality he said to the Commandant: "M.

de Drucour, before I start on my expedition to-morrow, I am tempted

to ask for a volunteer in the English lad Christopher. He is anxious

to go, and I shall be pleased to have him."

"But, monsieur, you can hardly have him without me, for I am

responsible to M. de Drucour for his safe-keeping," I broke in,

with a chilling fear at my heart that my one treasure in the world

would be imperilled in such treacherous hands.

"M. de Maxwell seems over-fond of this prisoner," sneered M. Prevost,

who was an unwelcome guest, but could not well be left out on an

official occasion. "A too-lenient jailer may be even more dangerous

than his prisoner at times," he went on; and I saw that further

discussion might only precipitate matters, when I stood in so

delicate a position; for a soldier in foreign service, no matter

what his merit, is ever a ready object of suspicion.

However, M. de Drucour turned matters by addressing me in his usual

courteous and friendly manner: "With these rumours of war in the

spring, have you had no inspiration for your Muse, Chevalier?"

"I have a song, if you will not hold the end a reflection on our

surroundings," I replied. "However, remember that it is not I, but

my sword, that sings, and, I am afraid, only strikes a note common

to us all."

I regret I cannot give the graceful French couplets into which

Madame de Drucour had obligingly turned my verses, and so cleverly

preserved all the fire and strength of my original, which must now

serve as it was written.

"In Spanish hands I've bent and swung

With Spanish grace and skill;

I've scoured Lepanto of the Turk,

And Spain of Boabdil;

I've clanged throughout the Low Countrie;

I've held the Spanish Main;--

Ferrara made and fashioned me,

In Cordova, In Spain.

"In Scottish hands I've saved the pride

That else had starved at home,

When under Bourbon's banner wide

We swept through Holy Rome;

In private fight I've cleared the slight

That Beauty's brow would stain;--

Ferrara made and fashioned me,

In Cordova, in Spain.

"At Killiecrankie with Dundee

I've struck for James the King;

The blood-red waters of the Boyne

Have heard my metal ring;

Again with Mar at Sherriff-muir

I've raised the olden strain;--

Ferrara made and fashioned me,

In Cordova, in Spain.

"Along the line at Fontenoy

I've flashed in wild parade,

When on the English columns fell

The strength of Clare's Brigade;

I've stood for Bonnie Charles until

Culloden's fatal plain;--

Ferrara made and fashioned me,

In Cordova, in Spain.

"But now in exiled hands I rust

Beside the salt sea's marge,

And though I dream of trumpet call,

Of rally, and of charge,

Of screaming fife, and throbbing drum,

As troops defile in train,--

I wake to hear the wailing moan

Of the imprisoning Main--

Dead is all Glory!

Dead all Fame!

Will never sound that song again--

That great, world-wakening refrain?--

Ferrara made and fashioned me,

In Cordova, in Spain."

There was a spontaneous outburst of applause as I ended, for I had

seldom made a better effort, and my closing lines but echoed a

sentiment common to us all--that is, of all of us who were soldiers.

Such a creature as Prevost could never have a generous impulse stir

the weighing-machine which served him in lieu of a soul; and Sarennes

was spoiled for nobler aims by the debasing influence of la petite

guerre, dear to all Canadians. So M. Prevost saw fit to refrain

from all applause; and Sarennes, foolish boy, for boy he was, in

spite of his thirty years, was ill-bred enough to follow his example.

"M. Prevost, surely you are over-critical when you do not applaud,"

said M. de St. Julhien, banteringly. "Remember we are not in the

rue St. Honore, though I would trust this voice even there."

"You have more faith in that, then, than he has in his sword. He

puts it in Spanish and Scotch hands. Why not in French?" snapped

out the little centipede, virulently.

"Possibly there are some French hands in which he would not trust

it," retorted M. de Julhien, to our great delight.

"Do your words bear that construction?" asked the nettled Commissary,

turning on me.

"Possibly, too, M. de Maxwell may think it is not to be trusted in

some Canadian hands," broke in Sarennes, with a hectoring air.

"Now, gentlemen," I returned, "you are coming too fast with your

questions. As for you, M. de Sarennes, I once offered you some good

advice which you did not see fit to follow, and now, even at the

risk of having it similarly disregarded, I will proffer more; which

is, not to expose yourself to punishment for the impertinences of

others. As for your question, when I have had some more satisfactory

experience of Canadians, I shall know better how to answer it."

"And has not your experience of me been satisfactory, monsieur?"

said he, pluming up again.

"You are perfectly qualified to answer that question, yourself,"

I replied, looking "blank requisitions" at him so pointedly that

he simply reddened to the roots of his black hair and held his

tongue, to the amazement of all who had hoped for some further

amusement.

"As for your question, M. Prevost," I continued, rounding on him,

"I made no reflection on Frenchmen in general. They are my comrades,

my brothers-in-arms!" I said, playing to the company at large, by

whom my sentiment was greeted with a burst of applause. "As to

Frenchmen in particular, I have known some who were so dangerous

with the pen that I would indeed hesitate to trust them with the

sword." Now, as Prevost was hated and dreaded for nothing more than

his lying reports to the Minister at home, and as no man in any

position at the table had escaped his venom, my sally was again

greeted not only with applause, but also with a roar of stentorian

laughter.

The whole affair ended in nothing more serious than the hot words

and laughter, for Sarennes, though a braggart, was not evil-tempered,

at least towards me. For Prevost I cared not a maravedi, and would

have spitted him liked a smoked herring at any time with the greatest

pleasure. My chief disappointment was that I had not succeeded in

my attempt to obtain a refusal of Sarennes's request for Kit's

company, an attempt I dared not renew, and was forced to give a

reluctant consent when it was referred to me.

My heart was big with foreboding the last evening we spent together,

and it required an effort almost beyond my powers to refrain from

taking him into my arms and telling him he was my son. I almost

persuaded myself that my life was so wretched, so lonely, so

hopeless, that I would be justified in so doing. But for some reason

or other I did not, why, I cannot pretend to say, and I saw him

march proudly off at daybreak the next morning with my secret still

untold. I wondered if any one would be equally faithful to me.

Such a weary month of January I never passed, for no one knew the

danger of these miserable, skulking little war parties better than

I; and to add to this there was my distrust of Sarennes eating at

my heart every time I tried to make little of my fears.

What wonder was it, when the door of my room opened after a quiet

knock, one stormy afternoon, and the dark face of the Canadian

appeared, that I sprang to my feet and demanded, savagely: "Where

is he? What have you done with him?"

"He was taken," he answered, quietly, "and I am here to answer for

him."

There was such a dignity in his bearing, such a sensibility in his

look, that I was melted at once, and my murderous suspicion put to

flight.

"A thousand pardons, monsieur, for my rudeness. I have been anxious

day and night for the boy. Tell me what has happened."

He told the story simply, and I could not doubt that he told it

truly. It was the ordinary incident, common to these wretched

marauding parties, an attempted surprise, a couple of men lost, my

poor boy wounded and captured before the baffled coureurs de bois

could attempt a rescue.

When Sarennes left me with some words of sympathy, I was suffering

only what hundreds of fathers have suffered before me. That it was

common was no alleviation to my pain.

CHAPTER X

"HE WHO SOWS HATRED SHALL GATHER RUE"

Sarennes had taken himself off again to gather fresh laurels in

ambuscade and retreat, the alternatives which compose the whole

science of la petite guerre, and I had but little to remind me of

my loss save the constant ache at my heart when I was alone, a

position I strove by every means possible to avoid.

That Sarennes was desirous of making some reparation for his injury

towards me, was proved by a letter from him dated in March, and

written from his mother's house at Beaulieu:

"Chevalier,--There is an Englishwoman staying here who claims

to be your wife. What do you wish me to do in the matter? I am

ready to oblige you in any way.

"Sarennes."

I have never made any pretension to a fortitude other than that

which any honourable gentleman of my standing might claim. I was

still sore under this last stroke of undeserved misfortune which

had so cruelly deprived me of Kit, and I could not but look on his

mother as at least the indirect cause of my loss. Under these

feelings I delivered the following to the Indian runner:

"Monsieur,--If you have any regard for me, keep the lady claiming

to be my wife at such distance that I may never set eyes on her

again. Should she be in want, I will gladly reimburse you for

any expenditure you may make on her account.

"Le Chev. Maxwell."

We now come to events on which the antiquary and the student might

demand a larger attention and notice than I shall devote to them.

I have been too prominent an actor in the drama of the downfall of

New France to write on the subject with that calmness and impartiality

with which I try to view all matters; and I leave it to the gentleman

who has passed his lifetime at his desk, undisturbed by any greater

explosion than that of wifely indignation at his late hours and

waste of otherwise valuable ink and paper, to relate the battles

he has never seen and weigh the interests he cannot understand.

In January we had positive intelligence that the English would make

a descent in force at the earliest possible moment in the spring.

On the first day of June we saw from our ramparts the sails of

their fleet spreading over the horizon, and by the eighth they

attempted their descent by land.

We made such defence as seemed possible at the time, but, like all

unsuccessful efforts, it has been severely criticised since, chiefly

by "the gentleman at his desk."

As we lay in position at our post at La Cormorandiere, hourly

expecting the landing of the enemy, it was reported by our

surgeon-general, M. Guerin, that we were utterly without provision

of lint, brandy, and other necessities for the wounded. A messenger

was instantly despatched with a requisition to the Commissary, but

he returned with a message from Prevost saying, "There are none of

these articles in the King's magazines; if the English force our

intrenchments, it will be their business to take care of the wounded;

if, on the other hand, we are successful, we shall have time enough

to attend to them."

Our colonel, M. de St. Julhien, read this heartless reply aloud,

amid the deepest execrations on the part of our officers, and then

turning to me, said, "Here, Chevalier, I understand there is no

love lost between you and this creature. I commission you to see

that these requirements are fulfilled by the morning." And he sate

down and wrote an order on the Commissary to "deliver to the

Chevalier Maxwell such stores as he may demand for the use of the

Company d'Artois."

Armed with this authority, I set forth at once, and arriving at

the town about eight o'clock, made my way to the Commissary's house

and demanded him with scant ceremony.

He appeared with but little delay, and I caught sight of the bright

face of Madame, alight with curiosity, behind him, though he clapped

the door to sharply enough.

"Well, Monsieur le Lieutenant"--he took a petty spite in disregarding

my title of Chevalier--"what brings you here away from your post?"

"Only the definite intention, M. le Commissaire, of seeing that

you obey orders. I require stores for my colonel; there is his

order, and if you try any of your devil's tricks with me, sir, I

will make no more of running you through than I would a rat."

He turned as white as a piece of dried plaster.

"Come, sir, none of your shuffling. I want an answer at once."

"You'll get no answer from me, sir, other than I have sent. I have

no stores; the magazines are empty."

"I know you to be a thief, M. le Commissaire, and it is no great

stretch of imagination to believe you a liar. Show me your vaults."

"Very well, very well. We shall see who is right. We shall see

who is a liar," and he started off with alacrity.

"Wait, sir! Where are you going?"

"Only into the next room to get my keys."

"Very well; I'll go with you," and I followed him into the next

room.

Here we found Madame on tiptoe with excitement and curiosity.

"Where are you going? What is the matter?" she asked, quickly.

"None of your business!" roared her husband, with his usual brutality.

"Only into the vault to look for stores." I answered, throwing as

much feeling into the commonplace answer as was possible.

Prevost provided himself with a lanthorn and led the way through

the passage and down the steps leading to the cellars, muttering

and scolding to himself, for he dared not make a complaint to which

I might reply, until we reached the outer door. This he unlocked,

and I discovered a long passage, evidently underground, for the

air struck me as damp and chill as we traversed it, to the entrance

of the principal vault, which he opened.

"There! See for yourself if I have not told the truth. It is as

empty as death!" and as he spake he held the lanthorn high.

Bat this did not satisfy me. I was determined to take nothing for

granted until I had personally proved the truth of his protestations.

"Give me the light," I said, taking it from him as I entered.

"Willingly." he replied; but I had not taken a dozen steps before

I heard a clang, the quick turn of a key, and found I was a prisoner,

trapped like a rat by the man I most hated and despised.

At first I was inclined to laugh, for the turn was not without its

cleverness, but the inclination was quickly stifled as I realized

what such a situation might mean to one in my position.

A foreign officer failing to be at his post when about to meet his

own countrymen face to face, would be a default open to such

construction as filled me with dismay--a construction which the

wretch who had trapped me would use every means to convert into

the blackest of certainties. When the first feeling of dismay had

passed I made a careful examination of my prison, but the result

brought no encouragement. The vault, which was an outer one, was

only provided with two heavy doors, the one by which I had entered,

and the other doubtless leading to another vault. There was not a

sign of any window or opening, and the walls were covered with a

white coating of fungus. In one corner was some useless household

lumber, and against the wall stood a wooden coffer like those in

well-to-do farmers' houses at home; save for these odds and ends,

the place was indeed empty; in so far, at least, my gentleman had

not lied.

I placed my lanthorn on the floor, and seating myself on the chest,

tried to form some plan of action. There was no use in attempting

to attract attention by raising an outcry, for I was certainly

underground, cut off by the long passage from the house. If I made

a fire the smoke could not escape, and I should only gain suffocation

for my pains. There was absolutely no escape that I could further

by my unaided effort. Dreadful as this thought was, I was tortured

by others infinitely worse; by phantasms that the future might well

convert into horrid realities.

With a too-ready imagination I framed the crafty charges which my

enemy would prefer against me. No sense of shame would prevent him

from distorting my innocent relations towards his wife into a

treacherous attempt upon his honour; he would no doubt trump up

some suggestive story of my presence in his house. My unsupported

statement of my imprisonment must stand against his specious

tale--the word of the accused against that of the injured husband,

and he an official with powerful backing. The ridiculous trap into

which I had so stupidly fallen would be difficult to explain without

derision at any time, but now it was a time of actual war, when

any infraction of duty would be punished with the severest penalty;

nothing short of death would be a sufficient excuse for my failure

to return to my post.

I pictured myself, an alien--for a foreigner is always an alien no

matter what his merit or service may be--fighting for life against

the malevolence of a virulent enemy, contending too against that

monstrous perversion of justice which so often sways a court-martial

--composed as it is of men little qualified by training for impartial

judgment--towards the severest interpretation where an officer

without influence is concerned, to win a cheap applause from

outsiders and inferiors.

My blood ran cold at the thought. I stared at the lanthorn until

my eyes ached, and, when I looked elsewhere, the image of the flame

only faded to give place to another scene in the drama that tried

my fortitude almost beyond endurance: It was early dawn outside

the Brouillon Bastion, chilling sheets of fog swept in from over

the dull waters, and there, with back against the ramparts, stood

a coatless figure, with pinioned arms and bandaged eyes, facing a

file of soldiers--the dreadful waiting in the dark, the whispered

commands, the sudden movement of the men, and then--I jumped to my

feet trembling in every limb, and with shaking hand wiped the

gathered perspiration from my forehead, but could not wipe away

the vision of the men staring at the motionless figure lying face

downward on the trampled grass, dishonoured, never to be spoken

of, until the Great Day, when all the injustices of the ages shall

be righted and made clear.

I again seized the lanthorn and re-examined every stone and corner

with feverish hope, only to have despair triumph over it more

completely than before. Then came a season of mad revolt. It was

too horrible! too impossible! that I, Hugh Maxwell, a gentleman,

who had lived delicately, who had shone in society which the world

courted, who had loved fair women, had talked, and smiled, and sung

to them, could in a few short hours be lying a mangled corpse in

this obscure corner of the world, could die the death of a dog, of

a traitor, the most shameful that can come to a man of honour. I

was filled with a vast pity for myself, so mighty and overwhelming

that tears filled my eyes as for another, for I saw myself apart,

as it were, as distinctly as I saw that pitiful figure before the

ramparts; then the childishness of it flashed across me and I

laughed aloud; but my laughter was no more real than my tears, for

neither brought relief, and the weary round began again.

How many hours this continued I do not know, but my attention was

suddenly arrested by a sound at the door, and I made out a jingle

of keys. Quickly blowing out the light, I drew my sword and prepared

to force an exit, no matter what the odds. But scarce had the door

moved when I caught a low whisper. "The chest against the wall!

Quick!" Then followed the voice of Madame Prevost raised in dismay:

"Mon Dieu, Charles! My candle has gone out! Hurry, bring a light!"

The moment's delay sufficed; I gained the chest and squeezed myself

in, letting the lid down over me.

In a moment and before my heart ceased beating I heard her clear

accents again. "There, Charles! There, Antoine! Take it up and

carry it to my room." And I felt the chest slowly lifted, and the

men staggered out, complaining loudly of its weight.

Up the stairs we travelled, uncomfortably for me; then on a level

again along the passage; and I was laughing to myself at the probable

outcome of my adventure, when I heard,

"Where in the name of all the devils are you lugging that thing?"

It was the Commissary!

"To my room. I want to put my furs away," came the soft answer from

madame.

"Blague! Put it down!" And I was jarred on the stone flags.

Then came a pause, and I was speculating on the best mode of attack

for a man in my ridiculous position, when the chest was lifted at

one end and again dropped heavily.

Then came the same voice, but with a tone of triumph to it:

"Well, do as you like; but there is a lot of old rubbish in it.

Take it first, and empty it over the Princess's Bastion!" And once

more the chest was slowly lifted.

A pretty situation surely, and clever on the part of M. the

Commissary again. A tumble down on those rocks or into the moat

would be equally effective, and would not require such explanations

as if my body were found in the King's vaults; but my gentleman

reckoned without his host.

My scheme was as simple as his own. Hardly had we got clear of the

house before my mind was made up. When I judged we were at the

open space between the end of the barricaded street and the ramparts

I uttered a terrifying yell and flapped the lid. It was enough.

The chest went crashing to the ground, and I crawled out, bruised

but otherwise unhurt, and my valiant porters were out of sight.

[Illustration: "I crawled out bruised, but otherwise unhurt."]

Without delay I made my way to M. Bois de la Mothe, in charge of

the fleet, and stated the case, carefully suppressing, however,

all mention of my personal adventure, and by morning was in possession

of the desired stores, extracted from the Commissary by a peremptory

threat to put him in irons and send him to France if they were not

forth-coming.

Long before our preparations could be made for leaving the town,

the sound of musketry reached us from La Cormorandiere, and we knew

the landing was attempted. I was all impatience to be off, but

our scanty stores could not be risked if the attempt were successful;

so with the others I anxiously awaited the result. But, alas! our

stoutest hopes were dashed by the sight of white uniforms straggling

over the crest of the hill in full flight, and, instead of a hospital

train, I was soon heading a sortie to support the retreat of our

troops, with the cannon thundering over our heads to cover their

entry into the threatened town.

CHAPTER XI

"A FRIEND AT ONE'S BACK IS A SAFE BRIDGE"

One after another our positions were abandoned or driven in, until

the plan of defence by our outlying works entirely failed, and we

were forced to fall back on the sorry defences of the town itself.

Our ships did little or no effective service, and though we succeeded

in closing the mouth of the harbour and were comparatively safe on

that side, the English crept closer and closer, until they hemmed

us in between their ever-contracting lines and the sea.

On the evening of the 8th of July the colonel of the regiment of

Bourgogne called for volunteers, and leaving the town by night,

six hundred strong, we hurled ourselves upon the enemy's southern

line, only to be driven back with heavy enough losses on each side,

and at daybreak to see the English General, Wolfe, in a more advanced

position.

Among the prisoners we carried in with us was a young officer of

the 78th, a Highland regiment.

My services as interpreter were not required, as he spake French

perfectly, so it was not until after his interview with M. de

Drucour that I met him in company with my colonel.

"Chevalier, a countryman of your own, an unwilling guest on our

poor hospitality. Captain Nairn, the Chevalier de Kirkconnel."

We bowed, but I supplemented the courtesy by extending my hand,

for I was in no doubt for a moment as to his identity, his likeness

to his sister Margaret being remarkable.

"Captain Nairn is well known to me," I said, laughing. "I could

even name him more intimately."

"Indeed, and what might that be?" he returned, on his guard.

"Archie."

"God bless my soul! Who are you, sir? I haven't heard that name

for ten years!" he exclaimed, in the greatest surprise.

"I can go even further. I can name a certain mission which ended

in Fort William."

"Sir," he answered, with grave dignity, "I dislike mystifications.

Who told you these things?"

"One Maxwell."

"Have a care, sir; you are naming one to whom I am under deep

obligation."

"I am naming one, Captain Nairn, who will be as pleased to be of

service to you now as then."

At this his face fairly flamed with pleasure, and he caught my hand

in both his.

"Chevalier, I know you now. Maxwell of Kirkconnel! There is no

man I would rather meet in this world than yourself."

[Illustration: "Chevalier, I know you now".]

"I cannot make out a word of your jargon," broke in M. de St.

Julhien, "but you seem to understand each other. Barbarians, va!

You are best left in charge of each other. You are on parole,

remember, Captain Nairn--and you are on your honour as host,

remember, Chevalier. Do not disgrace our reputation for hospitality.

If your cellar be low, I have a bottle or two uncracked," he cried,

as he bowed and walked off, and we took our way to my quarters.

My heart was bursting for news of my dear Margaret, but these were

the last tidings I could ask of a brother whose sister had cast

him off. In ordinary courtesy I had to abandon my personal

gratification and feign a lively interest in his adventures.

These, however, I have no intention of inflicting upon my reader.

I have refrained from telling much of interest in connection with

myself through a reticence which is, perhaps, blamable; and Captain

Nairn, although relating a tale which bore every impress of truth,

was bald in his manner, lacking that lively sensibility which is

the charm of all cultivated narration, and, being unable to view

any occurrence save from a personal stand, was utterly lacking in

any sense of humour.

At length I felt I was justified in asking for tidings of her, who

for me, stood first among all women.

"You are aware, Captain Nairn, that when with my cousin Lady Jane

Drummond in London and Paris I saw much of your sister Margaret.

I know of the unhappy resolution she took, on hearing of your

acceptance of service under King George, but may I hope that it is

dissipated ere now, and that you can give me news of her, for these

hostilities have prevented all correspondence for near a year past?"

"No," he answered, gravely; "my poor sister has never brought

herself to forgive me, and I have never had word from her direct

since I informed her of my resolve. I heard before sailing that

Lady Jane had died early last year, leaving her well provided, and

I should not be surprised to learn that she had taken the veil, as

there was some disappointment in connection with the Vicomte de

Trincardel, whom, I believe, she was to have married."

And with this I had to be content, for Nairn was not a man of many

words, and in any event his acquaintance with his sister, whom he

had not seen since a child, was slight compared with mine.

Meantime the besieging line crept closer and closer about us.

Building after building went crashing down, or was swept heavenward

in a tower of flame; our weakened ramparts crumbled day and night

before the never-ceasing storm of shot and shell breaking on them,

and the very earth trembled under the incessant thunder of the

bombardment.

Our one hope lay in the appearance of Sarennes, who had been ordered

to our relief with a sufficient force of Canadians and Indians.

Not that the latter are by any means the formidable foe generally

imagined, but the terror of their name was great in European ears,

and any diversion on the part of so dreaded an ally would give us

instant relief. This was the hope that supported us; our gallant

fellows stood by their guns on their crumbling ramparts, and as

they fell beside them more than one man said: "Our turn next. Wait

till they see the savages!"

"Courage, my children! We only need Sarennes to show himself,"

Drucour repeated, as an incentive when he marked our fire slacken.

"There is another signal for M. de Sarennes!" cried his intrepid

lady, undauntedly, as she daily fired her three cannon with her

own brave hands, and day by day men and officers uncovered and

cheered her as she passed.

Within the crowded casemates by the King's Bastion, the only place

of safety now left, terrified women and children wept and prayed,

and wounded men cried and raved for the delayed succour; every time

the enemy's fire slackened for an instant--it was Sarennes who had

attacked them in rear; every time the thunder redoubled in the

vaulted chambers--it was our support of Sarennes's attempt; but as

day after day came and went without relief, the weeping, prayers,

crying, and ravings were hushed into a dull despair, and on the

ramparts and in the casemates men cursed at the very mention of

that name which had so long been their sole support.

One night in the middle of July, Nairn, in discussing the probable

length of our resistance, said to me:

"Chevalier, What will you do when this is at an end?"

Although it was a question which had been perplexing me constantly,

I answered, carelessly enough, "If this bombardment keep up, the

chances are that I shall not be called upon to settle so important

a point."

"Chances enough," he responded, gravely; "it is never the number

of men who fall, but the number who escape, at which I am astonished.

But that is not the point. I have been thinking much, and am much

troubled about your future."

"So am I, for that matter, though I have never found that I have

advanced it a hair's-breadth by losing a night's sleep over it.

No, no, Captain Nairn, the best thing that can happen to me is to

do the grande culbute."

"Chevalier, I am not only under heavy personal obligation towards

you, but the memory of your friendship for me and mine ties me

closer to you than you know. I stand high in the esteem of my

general, who in turn can command attention to any request. You have

approved of my own conduct in accepting service; let me open the

way for you to the same honourable career. You have abundantly paid

your debt to France; give your arm to your own people. Surely there

come times when you dream of 'home.'"

"Captain Nairn," I answered, "believe me, I can pay you no higher

compliment than in saying I receive your words without offence. I

am sensible, deeply sensible of the kindness, may I say the affection,

which prompts your offer; but 'my people' are wanderers on the face

of the earth; my lot is that of the soldier of fortune. 'Home,'

Nairn! Though I have never set my foot on my own soil save as an

outlaw and a rebel, my heart at times grows faint for it, and the

turn of an old song sets my brain aching and my eyes longing, but

my only inheritance has been the loyalty which has robbed me of it

all. That I am on the losing side is my misfortune; that I have

inspired your respect and affection is my reward. I thank you from

the bottom of my heart, but do not mention the subject again if

you love me."

One personal gratification the siege brought to me was the renewal

of my intercourse with the fair Madame Prevost. Now that I had her

truculent husband under my thumb, for I held exposure over him like

the sword of Damocles, I was free to see as much of her as I chose.

People eat and sleep, breathe and hope, though danger may lie down

with them by night and draw their curtains with the day; at such

times the most marked difference is that life goes with a faster

foot, so that my intimacy with my charming rescuer grew at a pace

altogether disproportionate to the hours.

On the evening of the 24th of July, when capitulation was unavoidable,

when our fire was so weak that it was more like funeral guns than

a defence, and our one anxiety was to obtain honourable terms,

Madame Prevost came to me in a sad state of distraction.

"Chevalier," she said, "it is hopeless! No matter what the commandant

may resolve, we are betrayed. Prevost will force them to accept

any terms, no matter how great the humiliation. It is nothing to

him so long as he escapes; but it is death to me. I have been

despised all these years on account of my connection with him; I

have suffered tortures of shame daily through the siege, and now

all will be crowned with this height of infamy. I cannot bear it!

I cannot look upon it!" And the poor distracted creature fell to

sobbing and weeping as if her very heart would break.

When she had recovered somewhat she revealed her design, which was

that, should Prevost succeed in forcing the commandant to the

disgraceful surrender we all feared, she and I would escape together.

I was much moved by her generous offer, for generous it was beyond

a doubt. I have known too much of women not to recognise when full

credit should be given to their virtues, and if Madame Prevost had

a second thought beyond escaping from the disgrace of the

capitulation, then I know nothing of the sex.

"My dearest madame," I answered, warmly, "'tis quite out of the

question."

"Why? I have seen old Gourdeau, the pilot; his two sons have a boat

at my service. They know every hole and corner of the harbour, and

will do anything for me."

"The boat is not the question, my dear madame; it is yourself I am

thinking of."

"Well, I am ready. I will have everything in readiness, if the

capitulation be not signed by nightfall, it will be by the morning,

and the moment it is determined on, you are free. We can easily

pass out by the wicket near the Brouillon Bastion, and the Gourdeau

will be at their post. I have thought of everything."

"Pardon me, madame; you have thought of everything save yourself.

Have you thought of what the world will say to your flight with

me? It will only credit you with motives of which I know you have

never dreamed."

"Oh, mon Dieu, monsieur I this is cruel of you!" she cried, much

distressed. "I was thinking as much of you as of myself."

"You were, I am sure, thinking more of me than of yourself, and

for this I speak plainly, madame. I am overcome with your generosity,

but my appreciation of it is too high to allow you, an honourable

woman, to wreck your good name for my sake. I cannot go among the

English, where you might be unrecognised, but where I am still a

proscribed rebel; you cannot go among your own people to Quebec,

where you would but suffer a martyrdom for your courage and sacrifice.

No, no, my dear madame, believe me, it is not to be thought of!"

Here she began to cry again, somewhat to my relief, for I saw that

her resolution was giving way.

"Oh, mon ami! I have been nothing but a silly fool of a woman all

my life! Since my husband married me out of a convent, no man has

spoken to me but to flatter, or to make love, until you came. You

are the only one who has treated me as an equal, and because of

this, I would do anything for you. I care nothing for what the

world says!"

"Probably not, madame, because you have no idea what extremely

cruel things it can say," I returned, for enthusiasm is a bad

beginning for argument. "But suppose I were willing. I have only

my sword to depend upon, and you know how much that is worth

nowadays! If I turned it into a spit, I could not even provide a

capon to roast upon it. But long before we came to that pass we

would infallibly be captured or starved, for a woman cannot put up

with the hardships of such a venture. I had some months of it in

Scotland after the Forty-five, and I know what it means. To lodge

a la belle etoile, and to dine with Duke Humphrey, as we English

put it, may be the highest romance, but I assure you the quarters

are draughty in the one, and the table bare with the other."

As I spake her face brightened, and by the time I made an end she

took both my hands and said, determinedly: "Then, mon ami, you

shall go alone. I will have everything in readiness, and I do it

for you with all my heart--the more so that your refusal makes it

better worth the doing," she added, with an attempt at a laugh,

and then turned and ran off, that she might not discover her feelings

further.

It was a surprising outcome, and much as I regretted the seemingly

ungracious part I was forced to play, I could not but rejoice at

the opportunity offered of escaping from English hands, particularly

those of such regiments as Lee's, Lascelles's, or Warburton's, my

old opponents in Scotland. There was no difficulty in carrying out

the simple plan, for, in providing the boat and the men, Madame

Prevost had overcome the one obstacle. Hostilities would be

suspended, vigilance would be relaxed, and if the capitulation were

not signed before nightfall, it would be an easy matter to gain

the harbour, and under cover of the night to pass the enemy's

batteries and make some unguarded point on the coast beyond their

lines before day.

It fell out much as we had anticipated. M. de Drucour demanded the

same terms as those extended to the English at Port Mahon, in

Minorca. These were refused, and he resolved, with our unanimous

consent, to abide by the assault. But Prevost was at work, and so

artfully did he play on our commandant that by eleven o'clock the

same night, July 25, 1758, the terms of the harsh capitulation were

accepted.

At midnight, the capitulation being signed, I passed out by the

Brouillon Bastion, found the men with their shallop in readiness,

and, stepping in, said, in answer to their query:

"All the papers are signed; the English enter in the morning."

"'Dieu seul devine les sots,'" quoted old Gourdeau, sadly. "Shove

off!"

Part II

MARGARET'S STORY

_"Le coeur mene ou il va."_ -- Old Proverb.