Michael Fane before Judge Jeffreys

*THE BLACK BOX*

*Prologue*

My friends, beware of slim-legged, nimble-footed, white-faced men, in

sober grey, who tell long tales! They make for mischief. Nor do I warn

you without reason; for of such an one I reaped great trouble.

It was in the cool of a still June evening, as I rode leisurely among

these pleasant Dorset lanes of ours, that I came upon him sitting on the

roadside, beneath a larch tree, hugging his bony knees and muttering

like a soothsayer.

His hat--an ancient, greasy thing--lay on the ground beside him; his

grizzled hair seemed to grow upright on a strange-shaped head which ran

into a veritable peak towards the centre; while his face was so lined

and bloodless that it looked for all the world like crinkled parchment.

As for his small, pale eyes, they rose and fell beneath a pair of

quivering lids which kept time with his lips.

But what, I think, surprised me most was that although he must have

heard me, he took no heed whatever--his lips and eyelids went on

fluttering as though the road were empty.

All this was so unlikely and amazing that, on coming level with the

fellow, I pulled up to look at him; yet, notwithstanding that I fairly

blocked his view, he gave no sign of seeing me, but went on jabbering

like the apes which sailors bring ashore. Verily, it seemed he must be

either deaf and blind, or daft; therefore,

"What ails thee, friend?" I cried. To my no small astonishment he

sprang up as one shot, and for a moment stood there staring at me in a

lost, dazed manner; then, raising both hands to his egg-shaped head, he

murmured:

"Save us! So I was not out there among the Indies?"

He pointed with a long, thin finger seaward.

"Nay, friend," I answered soothingly, for indeed I now made certain he

was daft. "Thou wast sitting on a tussock in a Dorset lane, three miles

from Lyme."

"Lyme!" he muttered. "King's Lyme! Lyme Regis, say you?"

"The same," said I.

"Ah! then Heaven be thanked!" says he, shuddering as he hugged his slim,

gaunt body. "For, look you, methought for certain I was out among the

blacks again. Wast ever in the Indies, friend, among the man-eaters?"

he added, glancing swiftly up at me with slit-like eyes.

"Nay," I answered, laughing. "I was never nearer them than Portland,

yonder."

"Then have you much to give thanks for," said he, raising his fingers

tip to tip, as priests do. "Yea, verily, ye cannot be too thankful that

the heathen are unknown to you. I, who have witnessed their

abominations, tell ye so. For, look you, friend, two long accursed

years I lived among the savages, and was partaker, willy-nilly, in their

wickedness. It fell out thus. I and eight others were wrecked upon a

little island in the far South Seas. Perchance 'twas a judgment on us,

for our captain was a buccaneer who spared not anyone. Howsoever that

may be, 'tis certain we were wrecked, and out of six-and-twenty souls

but nine of us reached land, nor was the captain one of these. That

island, friend, was glorious to behold; a Paradise of beauty. Methinks

I see it now" (he shut his eyes)--"its waving palms, its many-coloured

birds and flowers. Aye, truly, it was, as I said before, a Paradise!"

He continued after a slight pause. "But we did not enjoy its beauties

long, for as on the second night we lay asleep beneath the stars (not

having seen a soul upon the island, and therefore feeling safe),--as we

thus slept, I say, we were set upon by savages, and I, even I alone, was

left alive to tell this tale. We had saved some muskets from the wreck,

and thus, aroused by the shrieks of my hapless comrades who had been

speared to death while yet asleep, I, who had lain some distance from

them, leapt up and fired into the murderous wretches, killing one of

them. At that the others stood stock-still for a moment, like dumb,

frightened beasts--Heavens! how amazed they looked!--then, to my great

astonishment (for I made certain my last hour was come), they all, as

one man, dropped face downwards on the ground, and, rubbing their noses

in the earth and patting their ugly heads, broke forth in dismal wails.

But, verily, I understood the matter. They had never heard a

musket-shot before; they took me for a god; they worshipped me. Nor was

I slow to make the most of it. First I recharged my piece, then with a

cry which made them turn their wicked faces up, I pointed to it. Then,

may I die if one and all did not come crawling up to lick my feet like

dogs.

"Well, friend, to make few words of it, when those thrice-accursed

fellows departed to their own island in canoes, I went with them; and

there, for two long, weary years I reigned among them like a king. I

was accounted to have power to heal all sickness. My frown brought

death. Moreover, I had some skill in tricks of hand and eye, the which

I played upon them to a right good purpose. Look you, this is one of

them."

Here he brought forth from his pocket six small carven balls of wood,

about the size of pistol-bullets, and throwing them up swiftly one by

one, caught each in his mouth as it descended. Then, by what means I

know not, he contrived to make them seem to reappear by way of eyes, and

ears, and nose, and sleeves--yea, verily, from everywhere except his

mouth; until the last of them was found inside his hat, which, as I can

swear, he had not touched.

"'Tis naught," quoth he, when this was finished, and I was yet

marvelling at his cleverness. "I have at least a score such tricks, far

better. But now, to finish what I was a-telling. Two years lived I

with those savages, and had wellnigh given up all hope of ever leaving

them, when, on a certain blessed night, as I sat watching for the ship

that never came, I saw a light far off upon the water. Soon I made out

that it was coming nearer. I did not wait another moment, but creeping

down on to the shore, took one of the canoes which always lay there, and

paddled off with all my might.

"The night was dark, the sea was smooth as glass, and so, with all

things favouring me, it was not long before I drew near enough to hail

the vessel. Heavens, friend, how I shouted, and how my voice rang out

across the silent waters! At first they took no heed; but at length

there came an answering shout, and then, to my exceeding joy, I knew by

the change of lights that they were heaving to. Then did I speed again

towards the ship and soon came up with her. Yet when at length I drew

alongside, and lanterns made me plain to those aboard, they eyed me with

ill-favour, and had some mind to keep me off. Nor do I wonder at it;

for truly, friend, what with my streaming hair and beard, and garments

made of beast skins, they must have looked upon me as both mad and

dangerous.

"But I was not to be denied, and so, notwithstanding that two years

among the savages had mightily confused my English, I yet made shift to

tell those wondering seamen swiftly of my sorry plight. Still they must

needs fall to muttering among themselves ere they would hoist me to the

deck; but this they did at last, and straightway fed and clothed me.

This very suit of grey was given me by a gentleman aboard that

ship--Heaven's blessing on him! True, 'tis a trifle large for one so

thin, but 'tis of a fine good cloth, and serves me well. After a voyage

of many months they brought me home, and so--well, here am I; and thus

doth end a story true as holy gospel. Say, friend, what think you of

it?"

"Fine!" I answered warmly. "Why, man, 'twould make a book!"

He gave a cracking laugh and said:

"Nay, no writing books for me, friend; my skill lies not in that

direction; nor, if it did, would I attempt such work. Rather would I

clean forget the horrid business. But alack! I cannot, for ever and

anon it comes upon me suddenly, even as it did just now when you rode

up; and then I see naught, hear naught, save those black-skinned

murderous knaves as they leapt about us on that awful night. Faith!" he

added, rising quickly and passing a hand across his forehead, "let us

talk of something else before the vision comes once more upon me. Say

you that Lyme is but three miles from here?"

"Well, to be quite exact, between that and four."

"And know you much about the place?"

"Just a little, seeing that I have been born and bred there."

"Ah! say you so? Then, truly, you must know many people there?"

"A few."

"Didst ever come across one Gilbert Fane?"

"Well, now," I answered, smiling, "'tis not unusual for one to come

across one's father, is it?"

At that the fellow gave a little start.

"What!" says he. "Your father! He is alive, then?"

"Aye, truly, that he is," I answered, laughing. "At least, he was an

hour ago."

"Well, well, now, just to think of it!" he murmured, rubbing his chin as

though in deep perplexity. "Save us! 'tis strange, indeed!"

"How so?" I asked. "Dost know my father?"

"Nay, that I do not; but 'tis passing strange that I should meet his son

upon this road and tell him what I have."

"How so?" I asked again. "What mystery is this?"

"'Tis no mystery, friend," he answered, looking out to sea, "but truly

it is passing wonderful. Listen. I did not tell you that the man who

gave me this grey suit fell sick, died, and was buried while we were

still at sea. But so, alas! it was; and as I sat beside him when he lay

a-raving in high fever, the name of Lyme was ever on his lips, together

with the names of divers people, and one of these I swear was Gilbert

Fane; for, although I took small notice at the time, your mention of it

brings it clearly back to me. Now say, friend, is not all this strange

beyond compare?"

"It is, indeed," I murmured, looking at him fixedly, as he stood with

half-closed eyes before me. "And what was this luckless fellow's name?"

"Would that I could tell you; but I cannot. They picked him up at some

outlandish place, and methinks 'twas that which made him treat me with

such kindness; but when he died he left naught save his clothes, some

knick-knacks, and a sword. There were no papers. The captain had his

sword and clothes. One day as we sat a-talking he did let fall his name

as if by accident; but then I took no heed, and so have clean forgotten

it. Yet, if I heard it now, methinks I might remember it."

"But say, what manner of man was he?"

"A fine, upstanding fellow, with a ruddy face."

"Ah, there are, and have been, many such in Lyme. But, look you, if you

care to come with me to our house, The Havering, methinks my father

might assist you."

"Ah, many thanks, good friend, but 'twould be of no avail. I am but

come to Lyme because he talked so much of it; and because I thought, by

searching among the gravestones in your churchyard, I might perchance

light on his name, and thus remember it. Aye, verily, I loved that man."

"How long have you been in England?"

"I came ashore three days ago at Bristol, and have been walking ever

since."

"You must be weary, then."

"No; but I am wondrous poor. Look you, friend, I am so needy that for a

groat I would climb this towering larch tree, and swing among the

branches at the top."

"Do it," said I, by way of proving him.

Instantly he sprang upon the tree, and went up it like a monkey. And

when he reached the top he leapt from branch to branch, whistling and

swinging, till I felt certain he must miss his hold and come tumbling

down.

"Bravo! Well done!" I cried. "Come down for your reward."

Down he came at a speed which fairly took my breath away, and then

stood, cap in hand, before me, as calm as if he had never left his

tussock.

Bringing forth a handful of silver pieces (I never lacked for money) I

picked a shilling out and gave it to him.

"This is too much," quoth he, with shaking head; "and were not my

necessity so great I would not take it."

"Nay, 'tis well earned," I answered; "but may I ask a favour? The trick

you showed me with the little balls--wilt do that again?"

"With all my heart," says he; and forthwith did it; and many others,

too, still more astonishing.

"More work, more pay," said I, when he had finished. "Here is another

shilling. And, look you, if you care to call at our house, The

Havering--'tis a lonesome place a mile or so from Lyme, and well-beknown

to all--if you choose to call, I say, you may be certain of a welcome.

My father, I'll wager, would rejoice to see those tricks of yours. And

that reminds me; you have my name, friend--prithee, what is yours?"

"Well, 'tis a passing curious one," he answered, grinning like a skull.

"Nay, worse than that, 'tis downright heathenish and wicked--Tubal

Ammon--as black a name, I trow, as ever was."

"Well, well," said I, consolingly, "you did not name yourself; and 'tis

at least one easily remembered. So now, friend Ammon, here is a right

good evening to you; and, as I said before, if you choose to call upon

us at The Havering you may be certain of a right hearty welcome."

With that I would have ridden off, but he touched my arm and said:

"Stay! I would fain return such kindness by showing thee some very

curious things. See," he added, bringing forth a little carven case,

"here is a tiny bow and arrows. Toys, say you? and yet the veriest

scratch from one of these fine points means death; for they are

poisoned. Again, this amulet, the which I keep so thickly wrapped in

cloth: behold how richly it is carved, how beautiful and innocent it

looks; but wear it for an hour and you are dead, for, likewise, it is

poisoned. And, yet again, this tiny wooden dart, scarce bigger than a

tailor's needle; one prick from it means death--poisoned also. The

wretches that I lived with use these things, and many more besides, for

secret killing. Take them in your hands, good sir, I pray you. Your

gloves will save all harm. Examine them and see how finely they are

wrought."

I did so; and was bending over them in gloating fashion when a gentle

click aroused me, and, turning suddenly, I found the muzzle of a pistol

close beside my head, with an evil, grinning face beyond it.

"Good friend," said Tubal Ammon, "thou art rich and I am very needy.

Give me all thou hast, and give it quickly."

This was an ugly business, sure enough. I was unarmed, while a bullet

with scarce a foot to travel could not fail to hit the mark. Yes; the

pressure of a finger meant sure death, nor did I doubt the rascal's

villainous intention, even if I gave him what he asked; for either he

would shoot me as I got the money out or as I turned to ride away. My

horse was just the very thing he wanted. Thus I argued swiftly with

myself, and saw that to dissemble was my only hope.

"Well, now," said I, looking straight along the pistol into his

squinting face, "this is indeed a poor return for favours; still,

advantage counts for everything, and needs must when the devil drives.

So, if you will kindly lower your weapon, friend, for fear of accidents,

I will oblige you."

He fell into the trap. Down went the pistol, and, with a greedy look,

he drew quite close. Next moment I had kicked him in the wind with all

my might, and sent him flying backward to the ground. Then, as he lay

there gasping, I threw his poisonous relics over him, and with a gay

"Good morrow to you, Master Ammon!" galloped off.

"A murderous footpad--nothing more or less," I muttered, as we dropped

into a walk. "Well, 'tis a handsome warning not to ride again unarmed

on byways, even on a summer's evening; and at least the rascal got a

warning too."

That was how I summed the matter up; but, as you will see hereafter, it

had been greatly better for us all if Tubal Ammon had been lying dead

upon the road behind me.

*CHAPTER I*

*Concerning "A Certain Person"*

It was on the tenth day of June, in the year sixteen hundred and

eighty-five (and three days after my first meeting with Tubal Ammon),

when, as you know, King James the Second had scarce been three months on

his quaking throne, that I, Michael Fane, of Lyme Regis, in the county

of Dorset, fell headlong, as it were, and quite unwittingly, into such a

pother of adventure, mystery, and trouble, as few men--let alone a

youth, as I then was--may hope to come through with their lives. That,

however, by a rare good fortune, having been my lot, I am minded, now in

these peaceful days, when good King William rules us with a firm, wise

hand, to set down, for all of you who care to read it, a full and true

account of what befell me in those throbbing months of blood and

warfare.

To begin, then (as my old preceptor, Master Pencraft, used to put it),

at the right end of the rope, I was summoned before breakfast on that

bright June morning to my father's study, in our old house, The

Havering, just outside the town, where we two lived together, my mother

having died three years before.

Now, although we were ever early risers at The Havering, I had never

known my father require me to attend on him at such an hour (it being

scarcely half-past six); but recollecting that I was eighteen that very

day, the thought of some present being at the bottom of the matter added

speed to the steps of filial duty as I hurried to the study.

I found my father seated, quill in hand, very stiff and upright at his

table, on which some papers were spread out before him; while at his

elbow stood the hour-glass to which he still clung, because, as he said,

the ticking of a clock disturbed his thoughts. The sunlight falling on

his whitened hair and beard made them shine like silver; and I remember,

too, that through the open window came the gladsome morning song of

birds. In truth, there could scarce have been a sight which promised

more of peace and less of violence.

As I entered, my father looked up at me with those keen, deep-set eyes

which could still flash fire for all their nearly seventy years of use.

"Good morning to you, Michael!" said he.

"Good morning to you, sir!" I answered, feeling some uneasiness, for the

flickering smile with which he greeted me had scarcely touched his face

before it vanished, leaving him grave and solemn as a judge; so that I

stood there with my hand upon the door-latch, wondering swiftly which of

my many sins had found me out.

"Be seated, Michael," said my father, pointing with his pen-point to a

chair in front of him; and down I sat, with some such qualms as I was

used to have when paying those private visits to my schoolmaster which

were wont to end in certain flagellation.

For what seemed quite an age, my father sat there looking at me in a

fixed, abstracted way which made me feel still more uncomfortable; then,

having laid down his pen and turned the hour-glass, he leaned back in

his chair with folded hands and said:

"Michael, my son, you have passed another milestone on life's road; you

are eighteen to-day--a man, in fact."

Here he paused, as though expecting me to speak: but although his words

had mightily relieved me, and made me feel a good inch taller, too, I

could think of no answer for them; and so I only nodded--sat a little

straighter in my chair, and wondered what was coming next. Perceiving

this, he thus continued:

"Yes, Michael, you are now old enough to play the man in right good

earnest. 'Tis high time that you were up and doing in the world. For,

mark you, I would not have a son of mine an idle, useless popinjay."

"Nor would I choose the part," I put in bluntly.

"Nay, I am sure you would not," rejoined my father proudly. "You come

of a wrong stock for that. But, look you, you spoke of choosing parts;

what part, what calling, would you choose if you were able?"

"Fighting--soldiering, that is," I answered readily.

A blazing, warlike gleam leapt suddenly into the old man's eyes, and as

he sat bolt upright in his chair, and glanced with glowing pride at that

well-tried sword of his which hung upon the wall, I thought I never saw

so fine a man.

"'Tis well and bravely said," he murmured. "Fighting--soldiering! A

young man could not make a better choice than that. And, as you know,

Michael, I speak from great experience. In the days of good King

Charles the Martyr--God rest his soul!--I fought in nigh a dozen

battles, counting skirmishes. And gladly would I fight again if I were

able. Ah, yes! there is no finer work for any man than fighting for his

king."

"His king!" I echoed. "Must I then fight for James?"

"Certes," replied my father with an astonished look. "For whom else

would you fight, my son?"

"I know not, but I hate King James," I blurted out. "He is a cruel man,

a poltroon, and a----"

"Hush!" broke in my father, raising a warning hand; and even as he spoke

there came a sound like that of someone stirring stealthily among the

shrubs outside the window.

We both rose and looked out searchingly, but as there was nothing to be

seen, sat down again.

"What was it, think you?" I asked.

"A cat, perhaps; or maybe the dog," replied my father.

But I was far from satisfied; for I had distinctly heard that which, his

hearing being somewhat hard, had escaped the old man's notice--to wit,

what sounded like cautious, slinking footsteps. However, as the thing

could not be proved, I let it pass.

"You spake without due thought, son Michael," said my father gravely.

"Such words as you just now used are as dangerous as wild. Kings must

vary, even as mankind itself doth vary. There must be good and bad in

everything; and sometimes 'tis the kingship that we fight for, not the

man. And mark you, Michael, even a bad king were far better than no

king at all--aye, a thousand times!"

I felt far from sure of that, but my father was no man to argue with,

especially upon one's birthday, so I did not press the matter.

"But is there no other king that I can fight for?" I asked. "John

Cornish went from Lyme here, as you know, into the Netherlands, fought

for the Prince of Orange, and became a captain. Can I not do the same,

sir?"

My father frowned and stroked his beard, as was his wont when not well

pleased.

"That is fortune-soldiering," he answered gravely; "a thing I do not

favour. For although it certainly hath bred good fighters, 'tis apt to

lead to looseness--selling the sword, that is, for money to the highest

bidder. Nay, Michael, I would not have my son do that. Fight for your

king and country when the time comes, and let that suffice."

"But how and where, then, shall I fight?" I asked. "Since Monmouth cut

the Covenanters up at Bothwell Brig there hath been naught worth the

name of fighting; and although 'tis said the Duke of Argyle is in

Scotland with some followers, that will not touch us: he will soon be

done for. Nay, sir, I see no chance of fighting here in England. All

is peace."

"Yes, but methinks it will not be so long, Michael," rejoined my father

with a knowing look.

"What mean you, sir?" I asked.

"I mean," he answered, leaning forward with his arms upon the table and

speaking in a whisper, "I mean that I have certain knowledge that at any

moment bloody civil war may again break out among us."

"How, sir, and what proof?" I cried, springing to my feet.

"Sit down," replied my father quietly. Then, opening a drawer, he drew

therefrom a letter. "Here is my proof," he said, unfolding it, "though

certes it was not for me; I found it wedged inside a larger document

which came by post last night. Thus it had been overlooked. I opened

it unthinkingly, and, when I saw the nature of its contents, kept it;

and that rightly, as it seems to me. Read it," he added, holding the

paper out across the table.

'Twas addressed to a man well known to us; one who had fought with Blake

when he held Lyme so stoutly against Prince Maurice in the Civil Wars.

The writing was a poor scrawl enough, and hard to read in parts, but

this is how it ran:--

"Dated from London, 8th June, 1685.

"FRIEND,

"These are to advise thee that honest Protestants forthwith prepare and

make themselves very ready, for they have notice here at Court that a

Certain Person will forthwith appear in the West, which puts them here

at Court into a most dreadful fear and confusion; 'tis hoped, therefore,

that all honest men who are true Protestants will stick together and

make ready for the trumpet call of Freedom. Argyle have had great

success in Scotland, and have already destroyed great part of the King's

forces there; and we hear from good hands that he hath sure an army that

doth increase so mightily daily that nothing can oppose them; and if

they be once up in the West they would suddenly be up in all parts of

England, all Protestants being certainly prepared and resolved rather to

die than to live Slaves and Papists. Therefore make good use hereof,

and impart it to such as you can trust, that you may all be prepared and

ready against the appearance of a Certain Person, which will be

forthwith if not already.

"From your friend,

"F.R."

"This is a pretty riddle, sir," said I, laying down the letter.

"Nay," quoth the old man, smiling at my puzzled look; "'tis plain as any

horn-book. Who, think you, is the Certain Person named herein?" He

touched the letter.

"Nay, sir, I cannot tell," I answered.

"Guess! The name begins with M."

But as I knew several names beginning with that letter this information

did not greatly help me; and though I was soon astonished that it had

not done so, I could only shake my head and say:

"I cannot guess."

"Well, then, I will tell thee," said my father. "The Certain Person is

none other than James, Duke of Monmouth."

This time I sprang up so vehemently that over went my chair and I came

near to following it.

"What!" I cried. "Monmouth! That pretty fellow whom I saw five years

ago at Colyton when he rode through the West so proudly, with thousands

of fine gentlemen behind him?"

"The very same," replied my father gravely.

"But is he not an exile in the Netherlands?" I asked, amazed.

"That is his portion," said my father, looking mighty stern. "Or,

rather, was."

"Then, what comes he here for?"

"To stir up rank rebellion; to play the fine Pretender; in a word, to

try and wrest the crown from him who rightly wears it, to wit, his

uncle, our King James."

"That being so," said I, drawing myself up very straight and feeling

mightily important, "I fight for Monmouth."

'Twas now my father's turn to show amazement, the which he did by

springing to his feet with such suddenness and anger that I fell back a

step or two.

"Stop!" he hissed across the table. "You know not what you say. Such

words as those would hang a man if they were overheard. Wouldst fight

for a usurper?"

"They say he is the rightful heir," said I.

"'They say'! Who say?" returned my father hotly.

"Why, those who have a right to know," I answered glumly, for my pride

was hurt.

"Then know that 'they' say wrong," he scornfully rejoined. "This

Monmouth hath no more title to the crown than you or I have."

"But, sir, is he not the eldest son of Charles the Second?"

"They have no proof who say so. Therefore I say again, he hath no

claim, no title to the throne of England."

This seemed a crushing answer right enough, and so for a moment I was

silent. But I had read and heard--as no doubt you have also--of some

mysterious written proof of Charles's marriage to one Lucy Walters,

Monmouth's mother. 'Twas said to have been hidden in a black box

somewhere, which, when the needful time arrived, was nowhere to be

found; and even they who had professed to having seen the very document

in question, roundly denied all knowledge of it when brought before the

Council. To be quite honest, I had but small belief in it myself, but

now, in my fallen pride, it served my purpose; so----

"What of the Black Box?" I said, looking as wise as any parrot.

I had expected that my father's answer to this question would be short

and sharp--indeed, perhaps nothing save a scornful laugh; but, to my

great astonishment, he dropped back straight into his chair and stared

at me like one possessed, while his breath came thick and fast, as

though he had suffered some great shock.

"What do you know of that?" he gasped at last.

"Nothing, father," I answered carelessly by way of calming him, for

knowing that he suffered from a weakness of the heart I was afraid lest

harm should come to him. "Nothing, that is, beyond what others know.

Indeed, I thought 'twas common knowledge."

"Common knowledge!" echoed my father with a fearful start. "What do you

mean?"

"Why, the report that there is somewhere written proof of Charles's

marriage. Is it not common knowledge? I remember hearing of it when I

was a boy at school."

"Yes, yes; but the box in which 'twas said to have been hidden! What do

you know of that?"

He put this question with a feverish eagerness and then gazed at me

searchingly, if indeed not suspiciously.

"Nothing," I answered firmly; "absolutely nothing."

On hearing this my father heaved a sigh of deep relief, and for a space

stared at me in a far-off, wondering manner, as though he were scarce

certain of my presence; then, leaning slowly forward on the table, he

said:

"Michael, 'tis passing strange that you should be the first to mention

that which I have brought you here to speak of, but, having done so, the

need for a preamble is at least removed. Know, then, that the tale of

the Black Box, albeit so bedecked and garnished with absurdities by the

tongue of busy gossip, is not entirely fabulous. For, verily, that box

exists. I have it here."

When I heard this I was as one struck dumb. To think that in that

quiet, book-lined chamber there lay a hidden secret which, as it seemed

to me, might have the power to turn a kingdom upside down! I was

aghast, and as I gazed in blank bewilderment about the room it was as

though black boxes had usurped the very shelves and lurked in every

corner. Thus for a moment I was speechless, then my eyes went slowly

back to him from whom this most astounding news had come, and who now

sat watching me intently.

"You have it, sir!" I said in a voice that sounded strange and distant

to my ears. "Where? How?"

"That you shall know presently. All in good time," replied my father

with a curious little smile, which I can see again distinctly as I write

these words. "But, first of all, I ask your promise as a man and son

that not a word of what I show and tell you shall pass your lips so long

as I am living. When I am gone you may do as you choose, but until then

this matter must be treated as a bounden secret sacred to us two, and to

us alone. Have I your oath that this shall be so, Michael?"

"You have," I answered. "Here is my hand upon it."

Our hands met firm and solemnly across the table. Then my father rose,

and taking down a picture of my mother which hung upon the wall, pressed

with his fingers on the wainscoting beneath. Instantly a panelled door

flew open, revealing a secret cupboard big enough to hold two men.

After some groping in a bottom corner of this chamber, he discovered

what he sought, and, returning to the table, laid thereon a little box

of ebony, about eight inches square.

*CHAPTER II*

*The Secret of the Black Box*

Sitting with his hands upon the box as though 'twere something which

might jump away, my father tapped it gently, saying:

"That which I am about to show you, Michael, is what no eye save mine

hath seen except one other. Yours will make a third; which goes to prove

how thoroughly I trust you."

Unbuttoning his vest, he brought forth a curious-looking key, which hung

by a narrow ribbon from his neck. With this he solemnly unlocked the

box, and having thrown the lid back, laid it again upon the table.

'Twas lined with purple velvet, and, so far as I could see, contained

two separate papers neatly tied with silk. The undermost of these he

took out first and laid it on the table.

"Read that," he said, "and tell me what you think of it."

Greatly wondering, I undid the cord and scanned the contents of the

paper. Then my hand shook, for this is what I read:

"Know all men, that our eldest and well-beloved child, James, Duke of

Monmouth, is our rightful heir, in proof whereof we herewith give the

marriage contract made between his mother, Lucy Walters, and ourselves.

"Given at our Palace of Whitehall, this sixteenth day of August, in the

Year of Grace 1679.

"CHARLES R."

"Well, what think you of it?" asked my father, as our eyes met.

"Why," I answered eagerly, "it proves exactly what I said: that Monmouth

is the rightful King of England."

"Ah! you say so," quoth my father grimly. "Now read this."

This was none other than the marriage contract mentioned in the

foregoing letter. 'Twas dated from Cologne, set forth every detail of

the matter, and was also signed by Charles.

"Well, and what now?" asked my father gloatingly, as I laid the

parchment on the table.

"Well, 'tis clear as any pikestaff," I replied. "Monmouth should be

King without a question."

"Ah! you think so," said my father shrewdly. "Small wonder either; but

be not too hasty in your judgments, Michael. Now read that," he added,

handing me the final paper with a glowing look of triumph.

This writing was my father's well-known hand, and 'tis small wonder that

I read it with amazement; for this is how it ran:

"I, Gilbert Fane, of The Havering, by Lyme, in the County of Dorset,

writing with full knowledge of the matter, do hereby solemnly declare

the documents inside this Box to be rank forgeries.

"GILBERT FANE."

When, dumbfounded and bewildered, I raised my eyes from this amazing

statement 'twas to find my father's fixed upon me with a hungry look.

"Ah! and what now?" he asked, drumming the table with his fingers.

For a moment I could find no words, then:

"Forgeries!" I fairly gasped.

"Yes, rank forgeries," replied the old man grimly.

"But--sir--" I stammered, "'tis the King's own writing."

"You are sure of that, eh?"

"Yes, sure as death."

"And why?"

"Because I saw a letter from King Charles at Sir John Berkeley's house

but a week ago. 'Tis framed and hangs upon the wall; and the writing is

the same as that," I added, pointing to the documents.

"You have good cause for saying that; yet 'tis not so."

"Well, at any rate two peas were never more alike. I remember thinking

that the 'Charles' looked more like Charley--just as this one does.

Yes, 'tis wonderfully like it."

"Ah! I am with you there," rejoined my father grimly. "As you say,

'tis wonderfully like indeed--and why? Because 'twas written by a

wonderfully clever man."

"And who was that?" I asked point-blank.

"One Robert Ferguson," replied my father slowly.

"What! the great Ferguson?" I cried, astonished.

"Great if you choose to call him so," came the answer, in the same deep,

measured tones. "But wicked, I should say. Ferguson the

plotter!"--(here he raised his voice)--"Ferguson the traitor, liar,

thief, and hypocrite! As black a scoundrel as e'er set foot upon God's

earth!"

As, with blazing eyes and ever-rising voice, my father poured forth this

fierce denunciation, my amazement broke all bounds. I knew this man,

this wicked rogue, by cold repute--as who did not? for his name and

deeds were blazoned everywhere. How he had been Churchman,

Presbyterian, Independent, Writer, and Preceptor--everything by turn.

How he had used religion as a cloak for vilest ends; how he had played

false with every party; and how, in the end, when the Rye House plot

leaked out (of which he was prime mover), he had, with a mocking laugh,

abandoned his accomplices to their fate, while he, disguised, escaped

abroad.

Yes, I knew this brazen, barefaced rogue right well; but that these

documents--these fresh examples of his falsity and cunning--should have

come into our house, was what so amazed me; and this perplexity was

swiftly noted by my father, for while I yet sat there in blank

bewilderment he smiled and said:

"This matter sorely puzzles you, I see."

"Puzzles me!" I cried. "Aye, sir, that it does and more. What can you

have had to do with Ferguson, and how came you by those papers?"

"That is a natural question," he said, "and I will answer it as briefly

as may be. About six years ago I met this man, this rogue, this

Ferguson, in London; though I did not then know that 'twas he, for, as

you know, he went by divers names, and had a separate lodging for each

name. With me he passed as one Elijah Annabat, a scrivener, in the

city; and, oh! shame on me for my blindness, Michael, but his words and

ways were such that I counted him a right good fellow cursed with an

ugly face. Nay, worse, I even trusted him with money. But I overrun my

tale.

"At last we became so friendly that I went to visit him at his lodging

in the Chepe, and there it was that I first saw him working on these

forgeries. Night after night I found him bending over them, working like

one possessed. He said that he was making copies for a man in high

estate; but one night he chanced to leave a sheet uncovered at the

bottom, and there I read 'Charles R.' 'Ah! "high estate" indeed',

thought I, but of course said nothing. Well, to make few words of it,

another night I chanced to catch him locking up his precious papers in

this very box. This time methought he had an evil, hunted look upon his

ugly face, but, though I had my doubts, I did not see my way to question

him; and as my business took me home upon the morrow, I bade Elijah

Annabat farewell. Now, as I said, I had been surpassing fool enough to

trust him with some money, on which he did profess he could obtain great

usury within a month. Well, I had been home at least two months, and

yet had had no tidings of the matter, so I wrote to him. Another month

passed, but no answer came. I wrote again; but still there was no

answer. Then, while I was yet turning over in my mind what course to

take, the Black Box tale leapt over England, and with it flashed into my

memory what I had seen in London. 'Ah! I will pay a visit to Elijah

Annabat,' said I: and forthwith posted up to town.

"By rare good chance I found him in, and, what was still more to my

liking, there was he seated at a table with the Black Box in his hands.

As I came suddenly upon him he turned a savage glance towards me; then,

having quickly hid the box beneath some papers, he rose, and, holding

out his hand, grinned like a cat and said:

"'Well met, good Master Fane!'

"'Well met, indeed, good Master Annabat!' quoth I, remaining stiff and

frowning by the door. 'Where is my money?'

"His face changed instantly, as though a mask had fallen from it; and

for a time he stood there stroking his bristly chin and shooting glances

at me from beneath his heavy eyebrows.

"'Hum!' he said at last. 'Your money, eh, friend? Ah, to be sure, your

money. Yes, of course. Well, friend, I fear 'tis like the sheep of

which we read in Holy Scripture--lost!'"

"On hearing this, I paused a moment: then suddenly a wild idea seized

me. 'That being so,' I said, 'I will have your Black Box in exchange

for it.'

"Never have I seen a man so struck as he was by those words. His face

went white, then red; and then, without a moment's warning, he sprang on

me like a tiger.

"He was a younger and a stronger man than I, and moreover had the

advantage of attack; but, as you know, I was something of a wrestler in

my youth, and so by a well-proved trick I sent him flying from me.

Reeling back, his head struck full upon the wall, and there he lay like

one dead. Nor was this all, for, as he fell, a paper left his pocket.

Picking it up I read 'To Robert Ferguson, Esquire.' That was enough for

me. Taking the box I left him lying there, and started straightway on

my homeward journey.

"As for Ferguson, I hoped devoutly he was killed, and still regret he

was not; but, alack! within a fortnight from that time the Rye House

Plot came out, and he was forced to flee the country, and, thank Heaven,

hath never dared to show his wicked face in England since. So there you

have the answer to your question, Michael," said my father, in

conclusion. "Is all now clear to you, my son?"

"Yes, sir," I answered, "it is clear enough how you met Ferguson and got

his box; but why, having such clear proof of his amazing falseness, did

you not expose him to the world?"

"Because I dared not, Michael," replied the old man slowly. "Wrong

breeds wrong, and violence violence. In my anger I had taken that to

which I had no right; but, as you see, there is naught save my written

word to prove I was not privy to these forgeries; nor would those in

authority have believed it was not so. And remember that the law was

even then, as ten times more so now, gathered up in one foul, cruel

fellow--that bloody-minded man, Judge Jeffreys. Yea, verily, to be

found with this," he added, tapping the box significantly, "would then,

as now, have spelt death to any man. And although, even six years ago

my days were not many, I had no wish to cut them short by dangling at a

rope-end. Wherefore I kept the box, and--well, here it is."

"And Ferguson made no stir about it?"

"Nay, by the same token that he dare not, for would they not have asked

how he had knowledge of it? What now? Hast any further questions,

Michael?"

"Nay, sir," I answered, after thinking for a moment, "I have no more

questions, but, if I may, I would make one suggestion."

"Ah, certainly; what is it?"

"Why, that in your written statement you should add unto the words 'Rank

forgeries'--'by Ferguson, the Plotter.'"

"A right excellent suggestion, too," rejoined my father. "It shall be

done forthwith."

Taking up his pen he did it, and was replacing the papers in their small

black house, when I saw him add the letter concerning "A Certain

Person", which, as you know, did not belong to him.

"Stay!" I interrupted, "why that one, sir?"

"Because 'tis the safest place for it," he answered, as he closed and

locked the lid. "To give it to its rightful owner would need

explanations, and those would be risky and might lead to trouble.

Therefore let it rest here. And now," he added, pushing back the box,

"I have told you everything. I always meant to do so on your eighteenth

birthday, and glad am I 'tis done, for the sharing of a secret trustily

brings great relief. As to the future; well, as I said before, when I

am gone--when the secret is again one man's--you will do exactly as you

please, but I would counsel you, when that time comes, to burn the box

and all that it contains."

"Why not burn it now," I put in eagerly, "and be done with it for ever?"

My father drew the box towards him, and, as it seemed to me, caressed

it.

"Because," he said, "I could not bring myself to do it. 'Tis perchance

naught save an old man's foolish fancy, Michael, but I tell you I have

kept this little thing so long that I--I love it, even as I fear it."

"Then why not burn the papers only?" I suggested.

"Ah! that would leave an empty shell indeed; and what is a body when the

heart is taken from it? Nor would I trust the flames. No, no! When I

am dead, burn as and what you please, but until then my little friend

goes back into his resting-place. Come! let me show you how the panel

may be opened."

With that, he replaced the box in its dark corner, and, having closed

the cupboard door, was just showing me the secret of the spring, when we

were once more startled by a noise outside--this time like that of

snapping twigs.

For a moment we both stood stock-still, listening, then running to the

window, looked out anxiously. But again there was nothing to be seen.

The ancient, broad-leaved chestnut tree which grew quite close above a

neighbouring wall and threw deep shadows on the lawn beneath, gave forth

no sign.

"Ah, Michael," quoth my father, smiling, though his look was most

uneasy, "methinks it is a case of guilty consciences begetting fearful

thoughts. A bird, an animal it surely was, or----" He stopped; for

suddenly, from nowhere, as it seemed to me, a great black cat sprang

into view and fled helter-skelter down the garden walk, with a goodly

length of narrow cord trailing from its neck.

We started back as though it had been the Evil One himself; then, as the

brute dashed out of view, turned to each other and broke out a-laughing.

But verily it struck me that our mirth was far from being hearty; and,

looking back, it seems a mockery that we laughed at all.

"So much for the disturber of our peace," remarked my father. "A poor

beast, doubtless tortured by some cruel lad, hath saved himself

from--hanging."

"'Tis a case of gallows cheating, then," said I; "and one of blackness,

too--a black cat there, a black box here."

I said this lightly, but my father cast a swift, uneasy glance towards

the secret panel.

"That's true enough," he answered quickly. "But now for brighter

matters. This is your eighteenth birthday, Michael, and I have here for

you two presents which may help you on that way of soldiering which, as

I knew, would be your choice."

Going to a corner he brought therefrom two parcels, a long one and a

short one, neatly wrapped in cloth, and laid them on the table. The

larger one he undid first, and there, to my great delight, I saw as fine

a sword as any man could wish to wear; then, while I yet stood

enraptured at so grand a thing, he brought forth from the other package

a brace of handsome pistols with holsters all complete.

"Take these with a father's blessing," said the old man, bowing

graciously. "And may you use them well and worthily, my son!"

"Sir!" I began, and forthwith tried to thank him, but the words came

stumbling awkwardly.

Then he must needs strap on the sword himself, and make me stand while

he surveyed the hang of it like any captain on parade.

"Yes, 'tis well enough, 'twill do," he said at last; "but remember,

Michael, that the truest blade is naught unless there be a good, true

heart behind it."

"Aye, sir, I will remember that," I answered solemnly.

"Ah, I am sure of it," rejoined my father. "And now I have it in mind

to write to my friend Lord Feversham concerning you. It may be that he

hath an ensignship or cornetcy to offer. Would that suit you?"

"With all my heart," I answered eagerly; "and may the chance to use this

sword come soon!"

My father smiled.

"Ah, never fear," he said, "'twill come quite soon enough; perhaps too

soon."

"You have no doubt, then, as to the meaning of that secret letter?"

"None whatever."

"And you feel certain that the Duke is coming on us?"

"Yes, quite certain, Michael."

"And where, think you, will he land?"

"Ah! there you ask too much. That is beyond my knowledge. But 'twill

be somewhere in the West, beyond a doubt."

"Will you not warn them up in London, then, of such grave danger?"

"Ah, I have thought of that. But where would be the use? The King, and

those around him, must know far more of this than I. Besides, rightly

to warn, the letter must be shown, and that, as I said before, is

fraught with real danger in such times as these."

I saw the truth of that, and was silent for a moment; then a thought

struck me.

"What if Monmouth landed here at Lyme?" I said.

My father started at the words.

"God forbid!" said he. "Our little town hath had enough of fighting for

all time. Enough! Let us leave warfare for the present, Michael;

'twill come quite soon enough--too soon, methinks. But that reminds me;

I have been thinking much about your meeting with that cut-throat rascal

on the road a few nights ago; and the more I think of it, the stranger

doth it seem. His name, now, I am not sure of it--what was it?--Tubal

something."

"Tubal Ammon."

"Ah, yes; and what a name it is! It rings of wickedness and cunning.

Still, I greatly doubt if it be his real name; as I also doubt that fine

long tale he told you of the Indians."

"Yet what of those strange things he showed me?"

"Ah, they do not greatly count, methinks; for as a sailor he might well

have come by them in far-off countries. Perchance his story was half

lies, half truth. But what most puzzles me, what in fact I cannot put

away, is the man he told you of who died aboard that ship, and spoke of

me and Lyme. If that be true, 'tis very strange."

"I scarcely think it was true, sir, but rather a piece of trickery to

hold me in the lane. Having found out my name, that is, he made a tale

to fit it."

"Perhaps you hit it rightly, Michael--and yet----"

"Well, sir, at any rate I fear it is impossible for us to prove it; for

no doubt the rascal is far enough away by now."

Barely had I said those words when from without there came the loud

snapping of a tree branch, followed by a heavy thud, and this again by

the sound of swiftly-running feet.

Springing to the window, I looked out. As I have said, a lusty chestnut

tree grew close above a neighbouring wall. This time its leaves were

shaking violently, while a broken branch lay lodged upon the wall top;

but there was no one to be seen, and so it was clear that whoever had

fallen must have gone down on the far side of the wall, that is, the one

on which the tree was rooted.

"What is it?" asked my father in an anxious whisper, leaning over me.

"A broken branch," I answered. "Someone was certainly in yonder tree."

The hand upon my shoulder trembled.

"Ah! say you so? Who could it have been?"

"That I will try to find out."

Climbing through the casement, which was but some ten feet above the

ground, I dropped lightly to the lawn. Midway in the garden wall a

little door led to a small demesne, of shrubbery and orchard. Full

carefully I opened this, and, passing through, stood listening. Not a

sound was to be heard, and as the grass had been mown but a day or two

before, and still lay in a thick swath, there was little chance of

finding tracks.

Going to the chestnut tree I examined it carefully, but found no marks

upon the trunk. Beyond the broken branch (a smallish one) there was no

sign of him who had disturbed us, save for a hollow in the hay beneath,

where he had fallen.

Having made sure of this, I again paused to listen; then, as no sound

reached me, I went in and out among the trees and shrubs, probing the

latter with my sword and searching every likely place. In this fashion

I had covered three parts of the ground, and had wellnigh given up all

hope of finding anything, when suddenly there came a rending crash from

the far end of the orchard, and by the sound of it not twenty yards from

where I was then engaged in exploring the recesses of a laurel bush.

Darting off in the direction of the noise, I soon perceived the cause of

it. Someone had gone by sheer force through a lofty hedge of privet,

which served as a boundary to the orchard. Where one had thus escaped,

another might be counted on to follow; taking a run, I hurled myself

fiercely at the hedge, and after much struggling (for it was wondrous

thick and strong) tumbled head foremost, out upon the other side.

Here a narrow foothold ended in a high, steep bank, and such was my

eagerness that I had much ado to keep from rolling to the bottom; but by

clutching at the grass I saved myself, and rising, looked about me.

Below me lay a well-grown spinney, and from thence, though no one was in

sight, came the sound of swiftly-running feet.

Next moment I was down the bank and speeding round the outskirts of the

wood, with flying footsteps right ahead of me. I was reckoned very

fleet in those days, but he whom I now pursued flew like the wind; and

what with that, and the many bends and juttings of the wood, he beat me:

run as I would I could not get a sight of him.

In this mad fashion we must have circled round the wood at least three

times, and I was just wondering what the end of such a giddy chase would

be, when suddenly the running footsteps of my quarry ceased behind a

clump of bushes thirty yards or so ahead. Breathless, I stopped to

listen. The hurried pad of feet was followed by a curious scraping

noise--then all was still again.

Drawing my sword I crept up to the bushes and took a cautious peep

beyond them. But there was no one visible, and, indeed, I had not

thought there would be. Still, I was greatly puzzled, for it seemed

certain that the fellow could neither have run on nor through the wood

without my hearing him. Where, then, was he?

Asking myself that question, I fell to searching carefully with hand and

sword among the bushes. But they proved innocent of harbourage; no one

was there. In doing this I came beneath a thick-leaved oak tree, and

chancing to glance up, was startled by the vision of a pair of shoeless,

grey-hosed feet, which dangled from a lofty branch; no more of their

owner was visible to me, the rest of him being hidden by the foliage.

So astonished was I by this sight, that at first I could do naught save

stare in blank amazement. Then an idea came to me. Walking off as

though I had not noticed anything, I covered twenty yards or more, then

turned suddenly and faced the tree. Barely had I done this ere a pistol

shot rang out, and, as the bullet whistled past my head, I saw the evil,

crinkled mask of Tubal Ammon peering at me from the oak leaves.

*CHAPTER III*

*Up a Tree*

Too utterly amazed either for speech or action, I stood stock-still and

watched the pistol smoke curl slowly up above the tree; while Tubal

Ammon, shooting forth his ugly head until it hung out like a

green-framed gargoyle, surveyed me with a hideous leer. Thus for a

moment there was a tense silence as we stared at one another.

"Well met!" said I at last.

"And badly aimed," quoth he, grinning as though the thing were but a

jest.

"Quite well enough for me," I answered, folding my arms and frowning on

him. "Another inch or so and----"

"Aye, that is true," he broke in quickly. "Yet doth an inch make all

the difference betwixt a good shot and a bad one. But, verily, the

leaves were in my way, nor, to tell the truth, was I very steady on this

branch."

"Make no excuses," I replied: "you did your best to kill me; that is

quite sufficient."

"Nay, 'twas a chancy accident," said he, bringing his monkey head a

little farther out. "Look you, when you walked away just now I took a

thoughtless aim--'twas habit--nothing more. Then when you swung round

suddenly I started on this perch of mine and fired by accident."

"That is a lie!" I thundered.

"Nay, friend, 'tis gospel truth. If I had wished to kill you should I

not have done it while you lurked beneath this tree?"

"No; for you could not see me then, by reason of the leaves."

"Ah, there you err most grievously. I saw you well. You made a lovely

mark. I could have shot you easily."

"Enough!" I answered sharply. "We shall gain naught by arguing the

matter. Listen, friend Tubal Ammon, this is our second meeting. Three

nights ago you would have killed me on the road----"

"Nay, wrong again," he put in eagerly. "'Twas but an empty threat; and

greatly did I suffer for it. Yea, verily, I still can feel the kick you

gave me. Yet do I not complain," he added with a snivel. "'Twas well

deserved."

"It was, indeed," said I; "and a pistol bullet had been more so. But

let that pass. Say, what brought you lurking round our house just now?"

"My conscience!"

"Ho! ho!" I mocked. "The conscience of one Tubal Ammon, eh? A groat

for it!"

"Nay, 'tis above all price," he whined, shutting his eyes and drawing

down the corners of his ugly mouth. "A fortune would not buy it."

"Quite so," said I. "You cannot buy a shadow. Again, what brought you

spying on us from the tree?"

"A guilty conscience," he replied; "for did I not reward great goodness

with a base ingratitude? Yea, verily. Ever since I treated you thus

shamefully black thoughts have been my portion. I could not rest. I

felt that I must look upon the house of him whose kindness had been thus

wickedly requited. Perchance, thought I, I may behold him also.

Therefore I got me into your orchard while it was still dark, and

waited. Soon after daylight came I heard the opening of a casement, and

looking from my hiding-place behind a bush beheld an old man standing at

a window. As fine a gentleman as I have ever seen. Say, friend, was

that your father?"

"Yes. Go on," I answered sharply.

"Ah me! Now just to think of it!" quoth Tubal Ammon, drawing in his

breath softly. "The very man whose name I heard so oft from him who was

so good to me aboard that ship. Well, friend, I watched your father

till he left the window, and presently I heard your voice. Then,

creeping up beside the wall, I climbed that tree and gazed into the

room. I could just see you both; and twice you heard me and looked

forth."

"And didst hear what we talked about?" I asked.

"Nay, I caught nothing save a hum of voices," he answered readily.

"And what of the black cat?"

He started at those words; then, with a little shudder, answered:

"Ah, an evil beast as ever was. I found it just above me in the tree,

and cast a noose about its neck, meaning to strangle it for fear it

should betray me, but it shot off and took my cord along with it. Soon

afterwards the faithless branch broke, and--well, you know the rest.

Thus ends my true confession, friend--what say you?"

"Why, this," I answered sternly; "the conscience part of it is little to

my liking; for 'tis my firm belief you came to spy, and afterwards to

rob. If it be not so--if my judgment is at fault, come down and prove

your words."

"How so? What mean you, friend?" he asked.

"Come down, and let me take you to my father," I replied.

"Nay, nay!" cracked Tubal Ammon, shaking his head until the leaves

around it fairly danced. "I dare not."

"And why not?"

"Because methinks that you would hold me prisoner and deliver me to

justice."

"Nay, have no fear of that. You are not worth the trouble. Come, then,

and tell my father what you have told me. No harm will come of it. You

shall go free. You have my word for that."

"I will consider it," said Tubal Ammon, and with that disappeared behind

the leaves.

As I stood listening a gentle click came from the tree.

"What are you doing there?" I shouted.

"Wrestling with my thoughts," came back the high-pitched answer.

"Or reloading--which?" I asked. "If 'tis the latter, save yourself the

trouble, for, look you, I am safe from bullets."

With that I slipped behind a tree-trunk, and for wellnigh a minute there

was silence. Then out popped Ammon's shaven head again.

"'Twould seem your faith in me is small," he sang.

"Truly it is not very great," I answered. "Why have you reloaded?"

"Because necessity is best served by readiness, good friend."

"You are not coming down, then?"

"Nay, I have considered it most carefully. I am not coming down."

"What, then?"

"Well, friend, it doth appear to me that we are quits. You have no

pistol, and therefore cannot come against me; nor can you even leave

that tree with safety. By the same token I am swordless, and therefore

'twould be a matter of exceeding risk for me to descend; for if I fired

and missed, what then? Thus, you are there, and I am here."

"Yes, and you would kill me if you could for all your priceless

conscience."

"Nay, put it not thus harshly, friend. Say, rather, that I must be free

at all cost."

"Which goes to prove a guilty conscience."

"No, a ready wit. But let us not waste words. _Verbum sat sapienti_.

Truly my Latin needs a little furbishing; still, 'twill serve. Look

you, friend, I offer thee a clean, straight bargain. Go thy way and let

me go mine."

"The time has gone for bargaining," I answered sternly. "I will stay

here till help arrives. 'Twill not be long, I fancy."

On hearing that his thin lips parted in a grin which showed two rows of

firm-set teeth and made his face a picture of maliciousness.

"Ah, say you so?" he hissed. "Then I am ready. _In omnia paratus_. And

yet again, _eventus stultorum magister_."

With that he disappeared from view, the branches shook, and in a flash I

knew that he was bent on swift pursuit and murder. But scarcely had he

moved when a cry rang out behind me, and turning round, I saw my father

speeding round the wood-end, twenty yards off, with a pistol in his

hand.

"Have a care! Come not too close!" I shouted, pointing to the tree.

"He is up there, with a pistol!"

"Who?"

"The man we want."

"He is fairly caught, then," quoth my father grimly, as he stopped and

cocked his pistol.

"Be not too sure of that," I answered.

Even as I spoke, there came a great commotion from the tree, as of one

struggling desperately; and then a frantic, gurgling cry broke out:

"Help! caught by neck! Strangling. Help!"

"'Twould seem as though swift justice had him," said my father. "Come,

let us see," he added, moving forward.

"Nay, have a care," said I. "I trust him not. He is as crafty as Old

Nick. To go beneath the tree might mean a well-aimed bullet."

"Nathless, we cannot see the villain hang. What's to be done? Is he

high up, think you?"

"Yes, near the top; or so at least he was."

"Ah, then, I have it. We must get a ladder. There is that long one

hanging on the garden wall. The very thing. Come, Michael, let us

fetch it. Hark! he is surely strangling," he added, as the cries grew

still more guttural and frantic. "Come, quickly!"

So off we sped, and having got the ladder, and a brace of loaded

pistols, returned full quickly to the spot. But there were no cries

now; leaves lay thick beneath the oak tree, but its erstwhile shaking

branches were quite still, and not a sound was to be heard.

"Belike enough the miserable wretch is dead by now," remarked my father,

as we laid the ladder down and listened for a while. And with that he

would have gone straight forward to the tree; but my knowledge of the

"miserable wretch's" ways enjoined greater caution.

"Stay! Let us try this first," I said.

Drawing a pistol from my belt, I fired into the tree and listened

carefully; but there was neither sound nor movement, save where the

bullet tore its way.

"Dead, sure enough!" exclaimed my father.

"Well, we will prove it now," said I, though far from certain of the

risk we ran in doing so.

Soon we had the ladder reared against a lofty branch: then, taking a

pistol in my hand, I climbed up cautiously into the tree.

At first I could see little, by reason of the thickness of the foliage;

but as I neared the top 'twas quickly evident that Tubal Ammon was not

there. Some broken twigs betrayed the place where he had sat; but that

was all the sign there was of him.

"Well!" cried my father from below. "What see you, Michael? Is he

there?"

"No, sir; he is not here," I answered. "'Tis as I thought--we have been

fooled; our bird has flown."

"Well, well; no matter," said my father, with, methought, a touch of

disappointment in his voice. "'Twere better so than that he should be

hanging."

"Be none so sure of that," I murmured to myself, descending quickly to

the ground. And there we stood and faced each other, like the beaten

men we were.

"Dost know who he was?" enquired my father with a searching look.

"Yes, full well," I answered.

"Ah! and who then was he?"

"Tubal Ammon!"

My father started back.

"What!" he cried, "the man who held thee on the road three nights ago?"

"The very same, sir," I replied.

"Then, indeed, it hath an ugly look. What, think you, brought him

prowling round our place?"

"The hope of thieving, sir, I fancy."

"Ah! so you think he is then but a common thief?" exclaimed the old man

hopefully.

"Nay, far from common," I replied; "for, verily, he spouted Latin by the

yard."

"Latin!" echoed my father, with a start. "A footpad quoting Latin?

That makes the thing more ugly still. I like it not. Michael," he

added, laying a hand upon my arm, and lowering his voice, as though

afraid of listeners, "think you that he heard or saw what passed betwixt

us?"

"Nay, I scarcely think so; in fact, I asked him and he said he did

not--though, verily, the word of such a prick-eared knave is little to

be valued. But even if he did both see and hear, methinks he would make

little of it."

"Well, well; 'tis to be hoped your way of looking at it is the right

one. Michael" (he dropped his voice into a whisper and glanced quickly

round about him), "Michael, what if he were a creature of that rascal

Ferguson?"

"Nay, sir," I laughed, though feeling far from easy; "it seems to me you

set too great a store upon the knave. He is a thief, and nothing else:

perchance one who hath seen better days--and, therefore, the worst kind

of thief. But 'tis my firm belief that he has earned a handsome lesson,

and that he will not trouble us again."

My father stroked his chin and gravely shook his head.

"I like it not," he murmured; "and certainly the window shall be watched

for many nights to come." He cast a far-off look towards the hills.

"Michael, it is as though I saw great trouble brooding over us. If that

comes, we two will stand together firmly side by side to meet it. Is

that not so, my son?"

"Ah, that we will, indeed!" I answered, grasping his outstretched hand.

Just then the breakfast bell clanged forth, and taking up the ladder, we

went home in broody silence.

*CHAPTER IV*

*Three Ships*

Youth has two suns to every cloud: when one is hid the other shines.

Therefore, notwithstanding all the turmoil of the early morning and the

knowledge that our house concealed a secret which could hang us both, I

soon, for the time at any rate, clean forgot these matters. And so,

when about ten o'clock I buckled on that fine new sword and stepped

(nay, swaggered were a truer word for it) down townwards, there might

have been no forgeries, no Ferguson the Plotter, no Tubal Ammon, and no

Black Box in existence.

For one thing, 'twas as fine a day as any man could wish to see. A

fresh breeze stirred the leaves; the birds were singing gaily; while

through the trees came glimpses of our glorious bay, flashing like

diamonds in the sunlight. Thus I was as happy as a king (nay, happier

than most kings!), and as I strode along, with hand on sword-hilt, I

gave a cheery nod to old acquaintances; frowned sternly on ill-mannered

boys; and cast gay smiles at pretty girls who, ever and anon, peeped out

from upper windows.

Enough, it was a fine bright morning, and I was in fine feather, with as

little thought of coming evil as the larks which soared above my head.

Yet I had scarce set foot inside the town before 'twas clear that some

strange business was afoot. For the women-folk stood gossiping

excitedly at doors, while every man I came across seemed to be hurrying

seaward.

"What is the news?" I asked of one who sped towards me.

"News!" he answered, turning his head upon his shoulder as he ran.

"Three ships, black ships!"

"Well, what of that?" I shouted; but, heeding not, he fled upon his way.

Perceiving that there was little to be gained by questioning, I joined

the merry rout which swarmed towards the sea-front. And there, sure

enough, beating to windward in that part of the bay we call the Cod,

were three strange foreign-looking vessels--one, by the rig of her, a

frigate, though she showed no guns; the other two small merchantmen.

And now I understood the cause of all this great excitement; for neither

of the three ships flew a colour, and somehow, in that first swift

glance, I felt they boded ill for little Lyme.

However, there was small room for thought just then. You know the Cobb,

that world-famed mole of ours, which curves out seaward like a mighty

shepherd's crook, and serves us for a harbour, quay, and everything?

Well, everyone was making for that point of vantage, and so you may be

sure I lost no time in following.

The far end of the Cobb (that is, the sea end) was already thickly

covered with an excited, wondering crowd, and, shouldering my way into

the front line, I soon learned much. How that these three mysterious

craft had first been seen at daybreak beating in slowly against a

northerly wind. How, later on, a ten-oared boat had put off from the

largest vessel, with three men seated in her stern, and made for

Seatown, a little creek some five miles farther down the coast; and,

having landed there her passengers, had presently returned to the ship

bearing but one of them. And, moreover, in conclusion, how an hour

before (that is, before I reached the Cobb) Master Thomas Tye, surveyor

of the port of Lyme, and some of his men, had rowed out to the ships

themselves for information, gone aboard the frigate, and had not since

been seen.

Most of this I learned from our deputy searcher of customs, Master

Samuel Dassell, who, armed with his powerful telescope, stood close to

me, and kept an eye on everything.

Again, some thought the vessels Dutch, some French (I remember Dassell

stood quite firm for Dutch); some dubbed them pirates, others

privateersmen: but one and all agreed 'twas passing strange they flew no

colours, and that the frigate veiled her guns; and therefore that the

whole thing had an ugly look.

You may be sure I did not hear all this without thinking of the amazing

things which I had seen, read, and heard that very morning at The

Havering. Indeed, the more I stared at the three black invaders of our

bay, the more my thoughts flew inland to that which lay hid behind the

secret panel in my father's study, until at length the ships and box of

ebony seemed joined in one black plot.

But, as our old sergeant used to put it when he caught us loose--let us

have no mooning. Nor was there much chance for it that morning; for

just as I was squinting at the ships through Dassell's spyglass, the

crowd behind us swayed about, and a fisherman came elbowing and panting

through it.

"Well, and what now, Joe Rockett?" asked Dassell, turning on him

sharply. "Dost bring us news from Seatown, then?"

"News?" gasped the fellow, wiping the sweat from his forehead, for 'twas

mighty hot. "News? Aye, that I do, sir. Cargoes of it!"

"Then let us have it quick," says Dassell. "What is it?"

"Why," replied the fellow, pointing to the ships, "you see them vessels,

sir?"

"See 'em!" says Dassell, with a scornful laugh. "Good Lord, yes!

Haven't we been staring at 'em for at least three hours?"

"Well," says the man, "just after daybreak a ten-oared boat put off from

yonder frigate and came ashore at Seatown creek."

"I know that, Rockett," says the deputy, closing his spy-glass with a

snap.

"Aye, maybe you do, sir," continued Rockett, "but maybe neither you nor

these gentlemen here know what it brought?"

"No, that I don't. What was it?" asked the deputy.

"Why, what think you now?" says Rockett, casting a swift glance at the

enquiring faces gathered round him. "Well, I'll tell 'ee. Three fine

pretty gentlemen, wi' swords and pistols, stepped ashore from her, and

came along to where some of us was a-spreading out our nets upon the

sands, and behind 'em came a seaman carrying a basket filled wi' bottles

of canary and neats' tongues. Well, up they comes, gave us the top o'

the morning, like the fine gentlemen they were, and then, what think

you, friends?--well, if they didn't ask us to join 'em in the neats'

tongues and canary! Yes, by my soul they did!"

"And you didn't refuse, eh? No, I'll warrant me you joined them,

Rockett," says Dassell, smiling grimly.

"Aye, you'm right there, sir, we did," grinned Rockett, smacking his

lips; "and it were wondrous good."

"I'm sure of that," said Dassell. "And what next?"

"Why, then one of 'em asked us if we'd any news to give. And we told

him as how 'twas said there was rebellion by the Duke of Argyle up to

Scotland.

"'And is that all you've got for us?' he asked; and we told en yes.

"'Well, then, we've got more than that, my man,' says he. 'For, look

you, there's rebellion in Ireland, and there's like to be one in England

too.' Says we, we hoped not, being much amazed and troubled at the

saying. But at that they only laughed and fell a-talking to each other

in some unknown tongue. Just then a waft were hoisted from the frigate

yonder, and the finest of the three stepped back aboard the boat and

rowed away; while t' other two asked us the nearest road to Haychurch,

and away they sped as though 'twere life and death wi' 'em."

"And is that all, my man?" asked Mr. Dassell.

"Yes, fore-right it be so, sir," says Rockett.

"And who knows of this at Seatown?"

"Well, there be the Surveyor o' the Customs there. He came down to the

shore after these merry gentlemen had gone their way, and we told en all

about it. 'Um,' says he, 'the Mayor o' Lyme must know,' and off he goes

to Chidcock for his horse; and I came here along the shore. What make

you of those vessels, sir?"

"I make no good of them," replied the deputy. "I wager that they're up

to mischief."

"Aye, sure," says Rockett. "A ship as flies no flag is like a robber

wi' a mask."

"Ah! what's this?" exclaimed the deputy, who was looking through his

spy-glass. "Yes, 'tis old Sam Robins in his boat. They hail him from

the frigate; he goes alongside. Fool! e has handed up his fish and

gone aboard!"

"Blid and 'ouns!" sang Rockett. "Like enough he hath been made a

prisoner!"

'Twas true enough; old Robins had been swallowed up, even as Tye and his

men were, two hours earlier. Faith! 'twas like the messengers whom Joram

sent to Jehu; for whosoever went aboard those ships came not back again.

Alas for poor Sam Robins' his sale of fish that morning was to prove the

worst he ever made, and cost him dearly in the future.

"I go to seek the Mayor," quoth Dassell, and so passed through the crowd

and left us.

With all the happenings of that fateful day I will not weary you. Hour

by hour excitement grew, till everyone was on the tiptoe of perplexity

and expectation.

As for the Mayor of Lyme, one Gregory Alford, he was wellnigh beside

himself because of these three mysterious ships which thus kept beating

up and down our bay, and (though a gun was fired from shore) refused to

answer or to send the King's boat back to land. A Royalist to his

finger-tips, and owner of two vessels doing a fine trade in cloths with

the merchants of Morlaix, he was also a bitter persecutor of the

Nonconformists, and, at that very time, had the minister and leaders

locked up snugly in the jail. For the which he was much hated, Lyme

being then a hot-bed of dissent. Thus, when, scarce knowing what he

did, he had the town drums beaten, and called out the town guard (a

sorry tag of ill-armed men), the people laughed and jeered, and asked

how that was going to help the matter.

Not till the afternoon was well advanced did I bethink me to go home,

and then 'twas to find the place deserted, save for old Anne, the

housekeeper; and she, poor soul, was sorely deaf. After much bawling, I

made out that news of the ships had reached even to this quiet spot, and

that all our faithless hands--groom, gardener, boy, and everyone--had

gone down to the Cobb. As for my father, she handed me a letter from

him. It told me that he had received an urgent summons eight miles

inland to the bedside of an old friend who lay dying, and that he would

not return till nightfall. A _post scriptum_ bade me watch the garden

when the dusk came.

This suited me right well. Laughing at the thought of Tubal Ammon, I

saddled my mare (the ever-faithful Kitty), rode back to the town, and,

having put my horse up at the "George" there, hurried seawards.

'Twas now high tide, and thus the Cobb was cut off from the land;[1] but

a great crowd was gathered on the shore, with the drums and town guard

in the rear.

[1] The Cobb did not then, as now, join the land, but was out off from

it at high water.

Pushing through the throng, I gained a spot near Dassell and the Mayor,

and added two more eyes to those already fixed upon the ships, which had

now come to anchor in the bay.

"Well, well, what make you of it now?" I heard the Mayor ask Dassell

anxiously.

"Rank mischief," snapped the deputy.

"What's to be done, then?"

"Naught can be done, sir. The time for doing has gone by. Had I had my

way, the scoundrels should have answered long ago, or been the heavier

by some cannon-balls. But now it is too late. We can do naught save

watch."

The Mayor groaned aloud; the councillors behind him stared like

frightened sheep; but no one had a helpful word to offer.

And so we stood and watched; watched till our eyeballs ached; watched

till the sinking sun caught all three vessels in a dazzling glare and

made them stand out black as ink, like things of ugly fate. Then, just

on sunset, we heard a great commotion on the ships; the ring of

sharply-given orders, the hurried tread of feet upon the decks, the

creak of pulleys--all these reached us clearly across the smooth, still

waters. As for seeing, the glare of sun was all too blinding, and the

ships too far away, for us to make out anything beyond a dim, blurred

mass of swiftly-moving forms which showed above the bulwarks.

"What is it, think you, Dassell?" asked the Mayor in a fearful, gusty

whisper.

"Lowering boats on the off side, I fancy, sir," replied the deputy, as

calm as though he had been speaking of the weather.

"Boats!" gasped Gregory Alford, raising his hands. "Boats! What! do you

mean to say they're going to land?"

"I fancy so," said Dassell. "Nay, I am certain sure of it!" he added,

raising his voice and pointing. "Hark! here they come!"

Even as he spoke we heard the splash of many oars; and presently five

great boats laden with men, and with the captured King's boat following,

drew from behind the ships.

At first they seemed to be making for the Cobb itself, but passing that

by they swung round to the west of it and headed straight for shore. On

seeing this we all ran pell-mell down to the sea. Heavens! how the

shingle flew beneath our feet, and what a breathless, anxious crowd it

was which gathered near the water! Verily, it seemed as if all Lyme

stood waiting. Men, women, children, young and old were there, yet

scarce a word was spoken; all eyes were fixed upon those sweeping oars,

which brought we knew not what towards us. There was silence on the

water, too--no sound save the creak and splash of oars; and I have oft

thought since, when standing on that fateful spot, that perchance some

dread presentiment of future ill hung over both the comers and the

watchers!

The boats drew nearer, until at length we could make out a thick array

of sword-hilts, pistol stocks, and muskets. Then, indeed, the crowd

buzzed with excitement, and glancing at the Mayor I saw that he fairly

quaked with fear, and that his face was deathly white. He tried to

speak to Dassell, but he could not.

But there was little time to think of Master Alford, for now the

foremost boat had grounded on the shingle, and in a twinkling those

aboard were leaping for the shore. Some reached it dry-shod, others

jumped short and splashed into the water; but one and all were quickly

on the beach. For the most part they were white-wigged, fine-dressed

gentlemen, with swords at their sides and pistols in their belts, while

many carried muskets also.

They took no heed of us, save that one of them, who seemed to be a

leader, turned, and holding up his hand, bade us fall back to make more

room--the which we straightway did.

[Illustration: THE LANDING OF THE DUKE OF MONMOUTH]

Meanwhile the other boats had drawn close in, and those aboard were

leaping shoreward with a will. Eighty odd in all I counted. In the

stern of the last boat a man sat all alone. He was arrayed in purple

and a big plumed hat, with a single glittering star upon his breast, and

wore a jewel-hilted sword. When all else had landed, and he came

forward to the bows to follow, someone ran back into the sea, and,

uncovering, made a knee for him, in order that he might not wet his

feet, and with a gracious bow of thanks he stepped lightly from it to

the shore. And then I knew him; for notwithstanding that five years had

left some mark upon it, there could be no mistake about that face of

almost girlish beauty: and as he stood there for a moment in the slow of

the sunset methought it was small wonder that the common people

worshipped him.

"Monmouth!"

At first the magic word sped through the crowd from mouth to mouth in

startled whispers; then, suddenly, as though by one consent, a great

shout rent the air:

"A Monmouth! A Monmouth! Liberty! The Protestant religion!"

Again and yet again the ringing cry uprose, until the grey old cliffs

behind us seemed mad with echoes; then, as the last shout died away, a

voice which sounded like a puling child's after such tumult broke out

upon the outskirts of the throng:

"Traitors! Treason!"

Looking round that way I saw good Master Gregory Alford speeding for the

town as fast as two fat legs could carry him, his coat-tails flying wide

upon the wind.

Verily the Mayor of Lyme had proved full bitterly that high estate is

apt to have its drawbacks; and also that "A Certain Person" had made no

bad choice of landing-places.

The drums and town guard had already disappeared; so also had friend

Dassell.

*CHAPTER V*

*The Man with the King's Evil*

'Twas plain to see by the glowing look upon his handsome face how

touched the Duke was by these joyous acclamations. Doffing his hat he

bowed both graciously and long; then, as he raised his hand for silence,

a sudden hush fell on the eager throng before him.

"Dear friends," said he, in a voice that rang out clear and sweet upon

the stillness, "I thank you more than words can tell for the

thrice-hearty welcome ye have given me back to that country from which,

as ye know, I have so long been exiled. Dear people, this is neither

time nor place for speech-making, but as for the reason of my

coming--well, methinks the cries which just now fell upon mine ears

proclaim how thoroughly ye are aware of it. Truth, like good wine,

needs little bush, and certainly those words of yours rang true as

Spanish steel; for verily, dear friends, I am Monmouth, your Monmouth,

son of your late beloved King, the champion of that Protestant religion

which ye hold so dear, and of those liberties which are the very

birthright of our country."

At this another mighty shout went up of "Monmouth! our Monmouth!

Liberty! The Protestant religion!" and while the air still rang with

it, a woman, well advanced in years, ran from the crowd, and kneeling at

the Duke's feet, caught up his hand and kissed it. At first he started

back, then, having looked keenly at her face, raised her tenderly and

kissed her on the cheek.

It turned out afterwards that she was some old servant who had known him

when a boy; and you may be sure that this gracious act endeared him

still more greatly to the simple-hearted folk who witnessed it. Indeed,

it seemed as if they were all bent on following the ancient dame's

example, for with a loud, glad cry the crowd surged towards the Duke,

and had not those about him held them back he must have been wellnigh

pressed into the sea.

Then Monmouth once more raised his hand for silence.

"Good people all," said he, "ere we set forth upon our enterprise I

would have you join in giving thanks to God for merciful deliverance

vouchsafed us from the King's ships while at sea."

Uncovering, the Duke knelt down upon the shore, and nearly all the rest

did likewise.

To me he seemed to pray both well and earnestly, and none the less so

for that his prayer was short. Ah, how little did we think just then

that in a few short months many of us would hear prayers and speeches on

that very spot from lips which would soon be closed for ever!

On either side of Monmouth knelt two men, who, by the look of them,

might also well have let go a prayer, for both were dressed as

ministers. He on the right was short and stout, with a rounded, happy

face. His eyes and mouth were tightly closed; his hands were clasped

before him. The man upon the left was tall and bony, with a face that

ill accorded with his garb, being sharp and crafty, and, as I found out

when he turned it suddenly towards the glowing sky, blotched scarlet

with king's evil. A tousled wig hung down upon his forehead, and

beneath it two small villainous black eyes went to and fro as though

they were on wires. Throughout the prayer he never ceased to rub his

bony hands together like one who washed; while, ever and anon, he jerked

forth hallelujahs through his nose. I knew him not from Adam then (I

was to know him all too well thereafter!), but, verily, I hated him upon

the spot.

Prayer being ended, the Duke unsheathed his sword, and holding it high

above his head, cried:

"I draw this weapon in the cause of liberty and true religion, and may

God bless the work that lies before us!"

A loud "Amen!" broke from the crowd, and Monmouth said:

"Forward, and let those who are well disposed towards us follow!"

Then Monmouth's men formed up in double file, a blue flag was unfurled,

in front of which the Duke took up his place, with a fine-dressed

gentleman on either side of him; then those of our townsmen who had the

courage of their voices (some hundred odd) fell in behind, and so they

all went marching to the market-place.

Here beneath the flag, which bore the motto, _Pro religione et

libertate_, a proclamation was read aloud by the lanky, black-eyed

minister, whose evil looks had struck me so upon the shore; and as he

read he fell at times into the broadest Scotch, which it is quite beyond

me to describe. Moreover, what he read was far too long to set down

here. Suffice it to say that 'twas one long indictment of the King (or,

as they put it, James, Duke of York), charging him, among other crimes,

with having poisoned his brother, the late King Charles, and ending with

these words:

"Now let us play the men for our people, and for the cities of our God;

and the Lord do that which seemeth good unto Him."

While the reading of this long tirade was going forward I sought some

information.

"Who are those two fine-dressed men who stand on either side the Duke?"

I asked of a sour-faced fellow at my elbow.

"Those are Monmouth's generals," he answered with a snivel. "He on the

right is Lord Grey of Wark, of whom I cannot say much; but he on the

left is Master Fletcher of Saltoun, a man well skilled in carnal

warfare, a godly man to boot."

"Ah, and that round-faced minister who tries to look so solemn and yet

cannot. Who is he?"

"'Tis Master Hooke, the Duke's private chaplain, a worthy man, I trow,

though somewhat Popish of appearance."

Just then the reader of the declaration turned himself to get a better

light, and the setting sun fell full upon his blotched, scorbutic cheek

and made it look as though 'twere stained with blood.