So it seemed to be with Anthony Durrell. The shock of the discovery of

his schemes, and the violent ethical attack made upon him by Nance and

Jeremy appeared to overthrow his normal self. There was a sudden

slackening of all his fibres, both physical and mental. The emotional

part of him, so long smothered and overlaid, broke to the surface as the

intellect lost some of its ascendency. Then--he appeared to become

conscious of the existence of his daughter.

Now Nance had one of those large natures that bears no malice, and is

ready to give of its best when an estranged friend stretches out an

appealing hand. Her father had become to her a weak and pathetic old man

whom the rough virility of younger men shouldered into a corner. She

could not be very sorry for Anthony Durrell without being very tender

toward him.

For some days her father appeared puzzled by a new atmosphere that

enveloped him. Like a man who had been very ill, he was content to sit

and muse and stare at nothing in particular. He had led a very lonely

life, and a selfish one, since the life of a fanatic and a dreamer is

often very selfish. It was now that he felt defeated and feeble that

Nance's nature flooded in upon his consciousness.

She would take his chair into the garden under the shade of one of the

yews, fetch him the books he loved, read to him, talk to him, try to

enter into his thoughts and prejudices. Durrell felt old emotions

stirring in his heart. Some of the old gentleness came back. The harsh,

thin lines melted out of his face.

The change in him was betrayed by the very way he looked at Nance, and

by what he said to her one evening as they sat on the terrace and

watched the sun go down. The sea seemed no longer a strip of ominous

silver across which the immortal dragon of war should swim to scorch up

this green island rich with its yellowing wheat and rolling woods.

Durrell had drifted suddenly into the softer evening lights of fife.

He realised that the girl had had a hard and a lonely life.

"Nance, you must often have been very lonely here."

She looked at him in surprise, but with a kind of compassionate

radiance.

"I have been less lonely these few days, father."

He seemed to reflect upon these words. And perhaps the warm beauty of

the July evening helped the quiet drifting of his thoughts.

"In this life--we make many mistakes."

She nodded as though she understood.

"I used to believe in the efficacy of violence and fear. Curious, in a

man of my habits. I have come to doubt whether the quieter forces are

not more powerful."

She smiled at him.

"People do hate to be driven."

"To be sure."

"It is easier to persuade them, to play the Pied Piper to the world."

He glanced at her with eyes that asked, "Where did you learn this

wisdom?"

And presently he began to speak of De Rothan. It was the first time that

he had mentioned the Chevalier's name since his meeting with Jeremy

Winter. The adventurer had come to rouse in Durrell a feeling of

repulsion. He had allowed himself to realise what manner of man this was

whom he had pretended to call friend.

Nance let him talk, even encouraging him to speak of Jasper Benham.

Jeremy Winter's anxiety had been unable to convince her that this

monstrous piece of kidnapping could be very serious. It was an insolent

attempt to extort terms. That was what Nance believed, not knowing the

abominable and wanton things of which a revengeful man is capable. De

Rothan had not yet taken his change for that rolling in the ditch.

She tried to suggest to Durrell what he should do.

"If the Chevalier de Rothan comes here, father, try and show him how

absurd this is. Jasper and Mr. Winter will let him leave the country.

They will keep silent--for our sakes."

Durrell looked troubled. Since the change in him he distrusted De Rothan

even more than Nance distrusted him.

"This is a difficult man to argue with."

"But what sense is there? Who really believes that the French will

land?"

"My dear, I believed it a week ago."

"But not now----"

"It is possible. De Rothan believes it, or he would have been across the

water many days ago."

She glanced at her father, and realised once more how weak he was. The

one great motive that had inspired him had crumbled away. Even her own

sympathy had helped to sap and to undermine his strength.

Every day Jeremy rode over. He was blunt, laconic, but very courteous to

Anthony Durrell. There were things that troubled him at Rush Heath,

namely, the soothing of Squire Christopher's violent and choleric

curiosity. The old man was bedridden, but he fumed for Jasper. Jeremy

had told lies, that Jasper was away on duty. The whole household had to

be deceived, and Jack Bumpstead kept from gossiping.

But Jeremy had not been able to stand wholly alone. He had been

compelled to take Parson Goffin into his confidence, and by that peppery

gentleman's advice he had enlarged the circle of trust still further.

Certain of Jasper's friends were told the truth. They met at Goffin's,

and held a council of war. The situation seemed absurd, even in its

gravity. A Sussex gentleman kidnapped and held as a hostage in his own

county by a French spy.

Jeremy told Nance all that he had to tell.

"We are having De Rothan's place watched, night and day. They are

burning charcoal in a wood half a mile from the house, and one or two

fellows have joined the charcoal-burners. If we could only collar De

Rothan and his rogues, but they are cunning. They go out singly, and the

fellow Gaston is always in the house."

He smiled grimly over the affair.

"Of course--a night attack would be the thing, after we had laid De

Rothan by the heels. But there's the risk; I don't like taking it. The

scoundrel still rides about as though he were in France. That makes me

feel that he means business, and means to let us know it. He dares us to

interfere."

"But can nothing be done?"

"I have an idea. I will tell it to you in a day or two."

XXXI

Jeremy had not exaggerated when he had said that De Rothan rode about

the country as though he had nothing whatever to fear. His audacity

carried him even into some of the country houses round about, and Jeremy

himself met him in Hastings, riding along the High Street with a groom

at his heels. He bowed to Jeremy and took off his hat.

"Good day to you, sir. I can assure you, in passing, that our mutual

friend is very well."

"Damn your cheek," said Jeremy.

And De Rothan laughed in his face.

Some days elapsed before the Chevalier appeared again at Stonehanger. He

had more desire to see Nance than to warn her father, for Durrell was

becoming a negligible quantity now that the crisis was at hand. De

Rothan was not the man to waste time upon a thing that was no longer of

any use. He had made many shrewd guesses, but he had yet to learn that

Nance herself was arrayed against him.

He found Durrell alone under one of the yews on the terrace. He had been

reading and had fallen asleep with the book open across his knees. He

woke with a start when De Rothan touched him, dropped the book, and

looked up at the Frenchman with a narrowing and mistrustful stare.

"I had no notion you were here, sir. I have not been asleep more than

five minutes."

He was confused, flurried, and De Rothan had quick eyes. He caught the

restless antagonism in the other's manner. Durrell was a little afraid.

De Rothan sat down on the terrace wall, studying Durrell with cynical

and amused eyes.

"So they have been frightening you, have they? Poor friend--poor

comrade!"

Durrell moved restlessly in his chair. He had foreseen this meeting and

had prepared himself for it, yet De Rothan's flippant scorn held him at

a disadvantage.

"I have decided to abandon this enterprise----"

"Did they dangle a rope under your nose? Alas, we have not the blood of

the martyrs in us! That little black-chinned bully has been here with

his tongue and his pistols. He tried his bombast with me, but I had the

adder's head under my heel."

Durrell's face twitched irritably.

"I have not been frightened from my purpose. But I see certain things as

I did not see them before."

"A convenient conscience, eh!"

"I cannot share your methods."

"Indeed! That overwhelms me."

He looked at Durrell with amused contempt.

"So you know that I have compelled Mr. Jasper Benham to be my guest? And

yet you cannot appreciate what a desperate piece of cleverness it was. A

little man comes and storms at you, and instead of holding loyal to me,

you throw up your arms and surrender."

"I have refused to accept your methods."

"Because of a wonderful new affection for this cub of a Sussex squire?

Thunder! I wish you had your girl's courage, and not the heart of a

sheep."

Durrell's eyes began to glitter in his white face.

"It is because of Nance that I have seen fit to renounce you and your

cleverness."

"You overwhelm me! How much does your daughter know?"

"Everything."

"Oh, come, now, come!"

"I said everything."

"And she does not despise you for playing the coward--calling out when

the shoe begins to pinch?"

De Rothan's insolence roused Durrell to a thin and austere dignity.

"Sir, do you think that my daughter admires your idea of honour any more

than I do? Her sympathies are with this young man, concerning whom you

saw fit to tell me many lies."

"Ah--is that so!"

"I have said it. I do not ask your leave to tell the truth."

De Rothan's face seemed to sharpen and to harden its outlines. He looked

at Durrell out of half-closed eyes.

"Let us be frank. Am I to understand that this calf that I have tied up

in a stall is particularly precious to your daughter?"

"I refuse to deal in such terms."

"The devil take all our little nicenesses! Do you mean to tell me that

Nance cares one farthing whether that round-headed young oaf----"

"My daughter is not for your discussion."

De Rothan laughed, but it was the laughter of a man whose self-love felt

savage.

"What a pretty little romance I have been feeding! That I should have

rubbed this young fool on the raw, while sweet Nance pitied him."

Durrell's fingers kept up an agitated rapping on the arms of the chair.

"If you have any sense of honour, De Rothan----"

"Honour! I am packed full of honour. My marrow tingles with it. But you,

Sir Pantaloon, do not understand."

"You are right. I do not understand."

"No, who could expect it. You desert me to play the fond father. It is

very laughable. As if you could not have played the fond father and kept

all your ambitions! Well, Mr. Anthony Durrell, I think there is nothing

left for you but to sit here and wait to see the Emperor land."

"I believe less, sir, in the Emperor than I did."

"A pity! Yet we shall recover from your sudden scepticism. No doubt you

will be happier with your books."

De Rothan rose, and stood looking over Stonehanger Common. His long

mouth curled, and his nostrils were contemptuous. Durrell watched him

uneasily, resentfully, still tapping the chair-rails with his fingers.

"You will release Mr. Benham."

De Rothan turned on him sharply.

"Pardon me--am I so soft a fool! I am not a man who turns back, or who

shirks the holding of an advantage. I have some respect for my own neck,

though I no longer look to you to respect it."

Durrell nodded solemnly.

"No good can come of it. As for this house----"

"Shut the door on me quickly. Lock me out in a great hurry, Mr. Durrell.

I will wish you good morning."

He marched off across the grass, swaggering with stiff shoulders, and

smiling a queer, sidelong smile up at Nance's window. David Barfoot was

holding his horse in the yard. De Rothan glanced at him as though there

were some sudden significance in the thought that the man was deaf.

"Do you sleep well in summer, Mr. David?"

Barfoot stared back at him and said nothing.

In the lane, close to the yew-tree where Jasper had been shot, De Rothan

came right upon Nance and Jeremy Winter. They were climbing the hill

side by side, Jeremy leading his horse by the bridle. The meeting roused

a quick crackle of complex enmities. De Rothan stiffened in the saddle,

and raised his hat to Nance.

She did not look at him, but beyond him, and her face was white frost.

Jeremy bit his lip. There were so many things that he desired to say and

do.

De Rothan smiled in his face as he passed him.

"Good day to you, sir; I may tell our friend that he has a kind relative

who sees that his shoes are kept warm."

"Tell him what you please. It won't matter. Liars are easily known."

"How you would like to argue with me! But I am content with my present

advantages. Good day."

De Rothan rode on, savagely amused. The varied experiences of life had

not made him magnanimous, or tolerant, and cynic that he was he loved

himself like a spoiled and passionate boy. He could not forgive the

snatching away of a thing that he himself desired, his overweening

egotism ruffing itself over the insult.

The most cynical of men are often the worst sensualists, and anything

that balks their appetite rouses the wrath of the animal in them. De

Rothan's hatred of Jasper Benham was natural enough in itself. He had

been meddled with and humiliated by this young man, and De Rothan had no

sentimentality when the stiff-haired anger of a dog was on him. Man of

the world that he was, his cynicism could not save his vanity from being

exasperated by the affair between Nance and Jasper Benham. He might call

it a pinafore romance, and sneer at the crude preferences of a young

girl. His self-love became an angry, snarling, dangerous thing, the more

dangerous because it was clever and could sneer.

"Why not?"

His sullen face gleamed under the light of sudden suggestive thought.

Why not, indeed? There were many ways of humiliating and hurting a man

besides slashing him with a whip.

He roused his horse to a canter, brisked up by the delightful

maliciousness of this new inspiration. He swaggered in the saddle and

assumed a flamboyant jauntiness in passing a coach full of women on the

Hastings road. The preposterous simplicity of the idea made him laugh,

the sly noiseless laughter of a bon viveur enjoying a suggestive story.

"Bravo for the villain! What a queer mix-up of characters we mortals be!

The philosopher crushing the wasp that has stung him. It is the nature

of wasps to sting, therefore a philosopher should not be angry. But

there is a joy in the crushing. And to see the sick black mug of that

little fencing-master! It would be worth it even for that."

De Rothan rode home in great good humour. He left his horse with

François, and went straight to the attic where Jasper was imprisoned.

Gaston opened the door.

Jasper was lying on his straw in the corner, his face turned to the

wall. He sat up when De Rothan entered, his hair over his eyes, a fine

stubble on his upper lip and chin. A man's dignity is apt to go to

pieces under such conditions, showing how greatly he is the slave of his

comb and his razor.

De Rothan eyed him whimsically.

"Very good, Mr. Benham, very good indeed. Work just a little more straw

into your hair. It would be sacrilege to have you washed and barbered."

He gloated, opening his chest, and forcing back his shoulders. Jasper

looked at him stubbornly.

"If it is a question which dog is the dirtier----"

"My good young man, I am a Pharisee of the Pharisees. I make clean the

outside of the cup. Women prefer it. Gaston, come down with me.

Presently you may show Mr. Benham himself in a mirror."

Gaston followed De Rothan to the panelled dining-room. Master and man

were in a good humour with one another.

"Bring the sherry and glasses, Gaston. If you can manage to make our

friend up yonder look a little dirtier and more like an unclean lunatic

I shall be gratified."

He poured out two glasses of wine.

"I expect more visitors, Gaston, my friend. Have two bedrooms got ready,

and see that the locks of the doors are in order."

"More visitors, sir!"

"We are to fetch them to-night, Gaston. I shall want you and François

with me. Jean can stay with the gentleman. He is a surly lad, is Jean.

Tell him to cuff Mr. Benham on the mouth if he tries to talk to him. And

have the horses ready at ten."

XXXII

Nance was awakened that night by the sound of some one walking on the

stone-paved path below her window. She sat up in bed with a fluttering

of the heart, wondering whether the footsteps were the footsteps of her

father, or whether Jeremy had ridden over late with news.

She was about to slip out of bed when she heard voices on the terrace.

There appeared to be several men talking together in undertones. Then

came the crash of glass being broken, as though they were battering in

one of the lower windows.

Nance went cold, her heart drumming, her ears straining to catch the

slightest sound. The smashing of glass had ceased. She heard the voices

again, and then a thud as of a man leaping from a window-sill into one

of the lower rooms.

She told herself that these must be thieves. There was little to steal

in Stonehanger, but even this thought was not altogether comforting. She

knew that some of the country-folk were little better than savages, and

that acts of brutal and even wanton violence were by no means uncommon.

Some of the wild tales she had heard flashed vividly across her

consciousness.

What should she do? Try and join her father? Or would it be better to

lie still and wait, and even pretend to be asleep? She was still

shivering with indecision when she heard the sound of footsteps on the

stairs.

They came up slowly, steadily, with no attempt at concealment. Nance

could see streaks of light showing under her door. The man, whoever he

was, carried a lantern or a candle.

She held her breath when the footsteps turned aside at the landing and

came toward her door. They paused there, and she knew that the man would

be standing within four feet of her bed. With the door open he could

reach in and almost touch her.

Her heart leapt at the sound of a knock, and she had to moisten her lips

before she could speak.

"Who's there?"

"Have nothing to fear. It is the Chevalier de Rothan."

For the moment she felt an irrational rush of gratitude and relief. She

could have embraced the man; he seemed so much less terrible than some

low gipsy or rough footpad. The mere physical fear was appeased for the

moment, but it was to be followed by a dread that was more spiritual and

refined.

"The Chevalier de Rothan?"

"Your very good friend--in spite of many prejudices. Miss Nance, I am

here to secure you and your father. Will you wake him, or shall I?"

She swung her feet out of the bed, and sat with her arms wrapped round

her.

"But what does this mean? Breaking into the house?"

"It means that I am shrewder than you think. I insist upon befriending

you, on placing you somewhere where you will be safe. I must beg you to

rise and dress."

"But still--I do not understand. What right----?"

"It is not necessary that you should understand. I hold myself

responsible. You and Mr. Durrell are coming back with me to my house. I

mistrust your friends. That is sufficient."

There was a confident irony about his masterfulness. She could picture

him standing there with those hard Irish eyes of his smiling at the

door. Her wits groped hither and thither in the darkness, searching for

motives. One thing she realised very vividly, that De Rothan was in a

temper that would not wait to argue.

"But this is ridiculous! You cannot compel us in this way----"

He brushed her words aside.

"I do not explain. In half an hour we leave Stonehanger. You will go

with me, if I have to break down your door and wrap you up in blankets.

I do not desire to use force, so spare me the necessity."

Nance was still groping for his motives, but a fresh drift of thought

obscured the main issue. Out of it emerged a clear spark, shining in the

thick of her bewilderment, the thought that she would be under the same

roof as Jasper Benham, and that she might be able to help Jeremy in his

plans for a release.

"Since you are ready to use force, I do not see how we are to resist

you."

"Sweet Nance, roughness is very far from my desire."

"I will be ready."

She might have seen him smiling at her surrender. He could keep step

with her motives, and visualise her girl's plans even before she had

conceived them.

"Then I will leave you to wake your father."

"Yes."

"I shall wait for you in the hall."

Nance dressed, and went to her father's room. She had to wake him and to

tell him what had happened. Durrell, in the thick of his contemptuous

amazement at De Rothan's audacity, absolutely refused to leave

Stonehanger.

"But, father, what are we to do? We are in the man's power."

"Refuse to do anything."

He persisted in remaining in bed, and Nance had to leave him, and go

down alone into the hall. A lantern stood on the oak chair by the door,

and De Rothan was standing with his back to it. He came forward

gallantly when he saw Nance upon the stairs.

"Nance, you will forgive these highwayman's methods. I cannot help

myself. It is for the best."

He would have taken her hand, but she held aloof, pausing upon one of

the lower steps. His elaborate courtesy repelled her. It was artificial.

The half-amused and half-triumphant glint in his eyes betrayed the real

man.

"Father refuses to leave the house."

"I am sorry. I shall have to persuade him. You will pardon me."

She barred the way.

"No--no roughness; he is an old man."

"You misjudge me; I am not a cut-throat. A few gentle words will serve."

He turned, picked up the lantern, and came back toward the stairs. His

eyes were fixed upon Nance's eyes, and he smiled as he passed her.

"Why will you not do me justice?"

His voice caressed her, and she shrank aside, as though from physical

contact. For the moment a great dread of the man made her wild to

escape, but she steadied herself and remained true to her purpose.

De Rothan walked into Anthony Durrell's room and held the lantern over

the bed.

"Get up, sir, get up. When I offer you my hospitality are you childish

enough to refuse it?"

"I refuse to leave this house."

"Is that so? Then I shall have to take your daughter and leave you

behind."

Durrell started up in bed, vehement and scornful.

"You are an abominable rogue, De Rothan."

"No, sir, I play to make my point. Are you coming with us, or must Nance

and I go alone?"

Durrell rose and began to dress.

Nance was sitting in the half-lit hall. She could see a man standing in

the stone parlour with a lantern in his hand. He was watching her

through the open doorway as though he had been left on guard. Nance was

wondering whether it was possible for her to get at David Barfoot and

leave some message with him for Jeremy Winter. She racked her brains for

some ruse, some excuse.

Why should she not try being boldly frank, and challenge interference?

She rose and walked toward the passage leading into the kitchen, only to

become conscious of some live thing filling the darkness. She recoiled.

Another man was on guard there. She had almost felt his breath upon her

face.

"Pardon, madame, there ees no way heer."

She returned to the hall in time to see the light of De Rothan's lantern

coming down the stairs. He radiated a triumphant tranquillity, and

smiled at her with whimsical satisfaction.

"Mr. Durrell accepts my hospitality."

"You were able to persuade him?"

"With ease."

In twenty minutes they were in the yard, and De Rothan's men unfastening

the horses. De Rothan had suffered Nance to go up and pack a small

valise. He waited for her and for Anthony Durrell, and bowed them out

into the yard. They had brought two spare mounts, a quiet old nag for

Anthony Durrell, and De Rothan's favourite mare Étoile for Nance.

He hung near to Nance, overshadowing her with his presence.

"We have improvised a saddle for you. Étoile is very quiet. Let me help

you up."

"Thank you--I can----"

"Pardon me, you cannot."

His confident courtesy dominated her, and she did not care to bicker

with him.

"Step into my hand. So."

He lifted her up into the seat that was half pannier, half saddle.

Gaston and François had hoisted Durrell on to the old horse. De Rothan

mounted his own, drew up beside Nance, and took Étoile's bridle. They

rode out under the hollies and laurels and across the little stone

bridge into the lane.

It was a fine night, splendid with stars. The world was black and silent

and breathing in its sleep to the faint drift of a light sea breeze. The

air was fresh and dewy. On Stonehanger Common a wood of birch trees with

their delicate fingers caressed the stars.

De Rothan drew deep breaths.

"A southern night, and full of the smell of adventure. Has the desire to

wander at will over the world ever come to you?"

She mistrusted the intimacy of his mood, and his nearness to her.

Moreover, her thoughts were working against him, planning and scheming

perpetually.

"I am so very sleepy."

She felt that he was looking at her.

"Poor Nance, poor girl. You shall go to bed, and not be worried."

He was silent a moment, and she hated him because he seemed so

confident.

"Mr. Benham will be asleep. But to-morrow we shall have a stupendous

surprise for him. Yes, you shall see him. He will be overwhelmed."

She kept a white and stark reserve.

"You do not thank me! Am I not the kindest of friends? You will find me

even more sympathetic than the little fencing-master with the black

jowl. Besides, I have the fly in amber, and he has not."

Nance yawned behind her hand.

"You have a wonderful imagination, Chevalier."

He leaned over and stroked the mare's neck.

"Étoile, you are carrying the Queen of Hearts to-night. She is very

proud, my child. She twists her mouth at your master."

It was two in the morning when they reached the Brick House. There were

candles burning and supper set out in the oak dining-room. De Rothan was

grandiloquent and gracious. He bowed them in as though he put the whole

house at their service.

Durrell was morose and bitter, and Nance tired. Neither wine nor food

was welcome. Distraught and restless, they avoided each other's eyes.

De Rothan called for candles.

"Mr. Durrell, I will show you and your daughter to your rooms."

Their rooms were on the first floor, but not next to one another. De

Rothan gave Nance her candle and threw open the door for her.

"Good night, Miss Nance. There is a little bell within. Ring it if you

should desire anything."

He turned back to show Anthony Durrell to his room.

Nance was standing looking about her at the mahogany furniture, the gay

chintzes, the carved low-post bed. She put the candle down, opened the

window, and looked out. Garden ground seemed to lie some fifteen feet

below; it was all black, but she saw something that glimmered like

water. She was still standing there when she heard the key turned in the

lock of her door. Footsteps died away down the passage. She realised

that she was a prisoner.

It was still early when Tom Stook came lumbering on his long shanks to

Rush Heath Hall. He asked for Mr. Jeremy, and Jeremy came out to him on

the grass before the house.

"He have gone and stole the young leddy and her father."

"What, man, what?"

"They be at t' Brick House. De Rothan brought 'en back from Stonehanger

two hours after midnight."

Jeremy swore a big oath.

"Caught napping--by God!"

XXXIII

Jeremy sent Tom Stook back to lie in Yew-Tree Wood and watch De Rothan's

house. He himself snapped up a brisk breakfast, mounted his horse, and

rode straight to Stonehanger.

Here he found David Barfoot in mighty perplexity and distress, and

looking like an old man who had been robbed of all his savings in the

night. The whole matter was a mystery to him, especially the smashed

window in the parlour. He nearly danced before Jeremy, and began to

shout the news at him.

"Kidnapped or murdered, sir, and me asleep like a pig!"

Winter had learned to speak so that David could understand him. It was a

question of very distinct lip movements, deliberation, and the use of

simple and familiar words.

"Kidnapped they have been, David, but not murdered. The Chevalier de

Rothan is guilty of this."

"The tarrifying villain! He be'unt fur doing Miss Nance any wrong?"

"He had better not, David. We have got to see to that."

"God bless me--sure."

"I want you to help."

"I'll take my holly cudgel, and crack t' Frenchman's head."

Jeremy smiled grimly. He liked that kind of wrath.

"Hold up, David, that would not do at all. We have got a rotten plank to

walk on and if we are too heavy it may break and let us down. Listen to

me now. I have got something to trust you with."

Winter told him the truth about Stonehanger, and also how De Rothan held

Jasper Benham a prisoner. David's eyes grew more and more astonished as

he picked up these amazing facts from Jeremy's lips.

"Mr. Durrell in wid t' French! Bother my bones--I'm fair beat!"

"He's in with them no longer, David. We have got to outwit this rogue of

a Frenchman. I want you to help us."

"Sure."

"I want you to go to the Brick House. Be as innocent as a lamb, and try

to get a few words with your mistress. Tell her I know what has

happened, that De Rothan's house is being watched, and that if she can

help us from the inside, so much the better. Ask her to tell you which

is the window of her room, and that three blinks of a candle or a

lantern at night will stand for a signal."

David scratched his beard.

"Maybe they'll not be fur letting me see her."

"That's certain. You have got to fox them if you can."

"Sure."

"You'll find me at the Queen's Head, Sedlescombe."

"I'll lock up t' house and go this very hour."

David, like many a quiet and rather dour old man, had had his adventures

as a youngster. Orchard-raiding, smuggling, poaching, had all come

easily, and he had retained that primitive rustic cunning that is never

wholly lost despite a bent back and the Bible. Jeremy had told him of

the charcoal-burners in Yew-Tree Wood and of Tom Stook lying in ambush

like a great lean hound. David knew Tom Stook, and Tom Stook knew David.

They were dogs who had poached and ratted together.

David made for Yew-Tree Wood that morning, and found Tom Stook lying

along the limb of an oak with a bottle under his chin, for it was July

and hot weather. They gave and received explanations, grinning solemnly

at each other under the shade of the trees.

"De Rothan be gone Guestling way."

"Sure?"

"I saw him go out on his nag. To get a word wid t' lady--be that it?"

"Ay."

"It be'unt safe to whack in and fight 'em. Mr. Winter he be sly. I've

seed her at her window."

"Have ye?"

"At t' back o' t' house. Sure, Dave, ain't Farmer Cross's bull bruk out

o' t' meadow, gored Will Gray, and come rampin' down yonder?"

David looked at Tom Stook and grinned. It was amazing how well he could

hear the vernacular on occasions.

"Sine--and t' beast be blood mad!"

"We be after him."

"Runnin' five mile!"

"And t' brute be tarrifyin' t' whole country----"

"Sure."

"We seed him go down into t' Brick House meadows."

They cut hazel-sticks and started off on this yokel's game, running

heavily and clumsily after the fashion of hobnailed countrymen. They

made straight toward the Brick House, scrambling through hedges,

flourishing their sticks, and shouting to imaginary comrades.

"He be down yonder, Dave."

"Sure."

"I saw him break into t' garden."

They pounded on, sweating, shouting, flourishing their sticks. A head

appeared at an upper window, and then disappeared. David and Tom Stook

blundered through into the Brick House garden. A man came running round

the corner of the house, a pistol in his pocket, and his hand on the

butt thereof.

Stook bawled at him.

"T' mad bull, man, have ye seen him?"

The Frenchman stared, watchful and suspicious.

"I see no bull."

Stook carried it through. He looked broiled and boisterous, the heated

hero of a five-mile run.

"He bruk through t' hedge here. He be blood mad."

He blundered on, and the Frenchman seemed caught by his hairy and

vigorous enthusiasm. They ran round the house together, David remaining

behind. He had seen someone come to an upper window.

"Miss Nance, we be after ye----"

Nance was looking down at him.

"David! Oh, be careful!"

"I know, miss. Mr. Winter has his eyes open. Be that your window?"

She nodded.

"There is a great cistern full of water under it, David. I thought I

might have let myself down."

He stole up, and glimpsed a big brick tank into which all the rain-water

was guttered from the roof. Trying it with his hazel stick he found he

could not reach the bottom. And it was directly under Nance's window.

"Drat 'em. Don't ye fear, Miss Nance, we be on the watch. Three glints

of a lantern on t' hillside or three glints o' t' candle in your window

will serve as a signal."

"Yes, David."

"I'd better be after that there bull!"

He ran on and overtook Tom Stook and the Frenchman who were on the edge

of the paddock. Stook was scratching a hot head and looking puzzled.

"Damn t' beast, Dave. He be gone along t' bottom. I could have swore be

bruk into t' garden."

"Get on then, man----"

"I be that dry----"

"God badger t' drink. He'll be goring some other body. Run, Tom, run."

They ran, breathing hard, and pounding the grass with their heavy boots.

The Frenchman stood and stared. They were just lumbering, red-faced

yokels so far as he was concerned, and he believed contemptuously in the

existence of the bull. The bovine seriousness, and especially Tom

Stook's thirst, had convinced him of their stolid, sweating sincerity.

No more was heard of the mad bull, though Jasper had heard the shouts of

the two men as they ran down through the fields. The window had been

jammed by Gaston's broad figure. Then Gaston had hurried away, locking

the door after him.

De Rothan had been to Rye, and since there were folk of French

extraction in Rye town, and money was as useful there as anywhere, De

Rothan had long ago been able to assure himself of a friend or two among

the smuggling, seafaring folk. De Rothan had discovered a man who would

have sold King George and both Houses of Parliament for a bag of

guineas. The man who served him was the working owner of a fishing boat,

and one of the most noisy of the Rye patriots. His boat had even been

used as one of the coast patrols between Rye and Hastings, so that the

fellow was in a position to be very useful to De Rothan.

De Rothan and the Rye man had met as though by chance on the flats

between Rye and Winchelsea. They had stopped and gossiped under a

thorn-tree by one of the dikes, De Rothan on his horse, concealed by no

attempt at concealment. The Rye man had gone home with gold pieces tied

up in a red handkerchief, and De Rothan had ridden back by way of

Guestling and Westfield to the Brick House.

He was told of the incident of the mad bull, and smiled over it. None of

De Rothan's French servants knew that David Barfoot had seized a chance

of speaking to Nance Durrell.

Dinner was laid for three, and De Rothan, with the keys of the two

bedrooms in his pocket, went up to release his two guests and to bring

them down to dine. He opened Durrell's door and found the scholar

reading by the window.

"Mr. Anthony, I consider your safety to be so important that I have

taken the liberty of keeping your door locked. We will conduct your

daughter down to dinner."

Durrell said nothing. He put his book aside, and joined De Rothan in the

gallery outside Nance's door.

"Miss Nance, your father and I wait for you to dine with us."

They descended to the panelled room. The man François waited at table,

Nance and her father sitting opposite each other, De Rothan taking the

head. The conversation was largely a monologue on his part, a pretence

at making an ambiguous situation seem natural and honest.

"I cannot help wishing that Mr. Benham were with us; the party would be

complete. But Mr. Benham is disinclined to leave his room. He even

seemed angry when I told him that you were here."

Nance stared at the bowl of roses in front of her. Anthony Durrell

glanced slantwise at De Rothan. His enmity was austere and solemn.

"I may eat your food, Chevalier, but I do not touch your hypocrisy."

"That is a fanatical and rather illogical temper. You do not like my

wine, sir, and yet you drink it!"

"I eat to live, but I do not live to lie."

His angry sententiousness amused De Rothan.

"Leave the little moral problems at the bottom of your glass, Mr.

Anthony. Why, a month ago you were not so particular. Besides, François

here understands English. We need not hang our prejudices out to dry

before our servants."

The rest of the meal dragged through in silence. Nance, sitting with

downcast eyes, heard De Rothan proposing a walk in the garden.

"I must find you some sweet corner, Miss Nance, where you can dabble

your hands among flowers. I am not forgetting that you may like to take

a posy up to Mr. Benham."

His ironical good humour troubled her. The garden was a garden of

clipped yews, brick paths, and rank green grass, but Nance and her

father were distraught and restless, moving and speaking as though under

compulsion. Nance had a vague hope that Jeremy might leap up from

somewhere, and that De Rothan's cunningly balanced house of cards might

come tumbling about his head. But he seemed gay and debonair, inspired

by a mischievous and cynical courtesy that bubbled over into

playfulness.

"Will you not gather some flowers for Mr. Benham?"

Nance was too much in earnest to be able to match his flippant irony.

"No? You will not? And yet in half an hour or so we are going to pay

this youngster a visit. It was a promise, was it not? I always keep my

promises."

His voice made Nance afraid, it was so callous and so confident.

"When shall I see Mr. Benham?"

"Now, if you like."

She gave De Rothan a puzzled and mistrustful look. What was he trying to

bring about? What were his motives?

"As you please."

"Come, then. Mr. Durrell, we will leave you for a few minutes."

Durrell looked fixedly at De Rothan.

"Chevalier----"

De Rothan guessed what his thoughts were and what he wished to say. He

bowed to the father, and then to Nance.

"Sir, your whole attitude is one of unjustified distrust. I love my

friends--if I hate my enemies. Miss Nance is far safer in my house than

if she were at Stonehanger."

Durrell blinked self-consciously under frowning eyebrows.

"I wish to take you at your word, De Rothan."

"Follow your inclinations, my good friend. Miss Nance, are you afraid to

follow me into my own house?"

She looked at him steadily, feeling that it was necessary that she

should show no fear.

"No."

"That is good. Come."

She was struck by the intent, shrewd, but half-mocking look he gave her.

XXXIV

De Rothan led Nance to the attic story of the Brick House, talking all

the while with a gay and railing vivacity that sharpened the edge of her

feeling of suspense.

"Mr. Benham is so valuable to me that I have to lodge him high up near

the gods. You may find him a little moody. It seems, too, that a certain

display of dirt and disorder helps him to maintain an attitude of

resentment and independence. Have you ever heard of pride refusing soap

and water?"

She felt that there was an abominable cleverness about this man that

might succeed in turning her finer instincts into ridicule. It was the

old trick of throwing some evil-smelling stuff over a man's coat just as

he was about to meet the woman of his desire. It might be contemptible

and sordid, but the taint lingered and offended the senses.

They, passed along the gallery and stopped before a stout oak door. De

Rothan knocked gently.

The man Gaston was within, and he appeared to fling the door open with

studied suddenness, showing Jasper Benham sprawling on his bed of straw.

He was asleep and snoring, head hanging back over a rough bolster

stuffed with straw, his face flaccid and vacant, his shirt open at the

throat. That one glimpse of him was a shock to Nance. De Rothan had come

near persuading her to be disgusted.

Gaston went out, closing the door, while De Rothan walked across to

Jasper and stood looking down at him with pleased vindictiveness.

"Mr. Benham--sir, wake up; here is a lady to see you. You see how he

sleeps, Miss Nance, this fat young Sussex ox. Wake up, sir, wake up."

He touched Jasper with his foot, and Jasper woke up, snarling.

"Curse you! Let me alone!"

"Mr. Benham, here is a friend to see you."

Jasper sat up and caught sight of Nance. His face showed utter

astonishment, nor was it lovely to look upon with its sprouting beard,

uncombed hair, and streakings of dirt. His irons made a ridiculous

jangling. There was much in the picture to provoke laughter and pity.

"Mr. Benham, do you not recognise the lady?"

Jasper did not look at De Rothan. The sudden heat of his angry

humiliation was too bitter and too fierce in him. His eyes fixed

themselves on Nance's shoes; nor had he a word to say.

"Come, Mr. Benham, come--are you not pleased?"

There was a sneer in De Rothan's voice, and it stung Nance to the quick.

A sudden great pity carried her away. Jasper was humbled before her and

before his enemy, and this shame of his transfigured all that was

uncouth and ridiculous. It was she who felt humiliated and sneered at.

She turned on De Rothan.

"I understand now. I did not understand before."

He shrugged his shoulders, but the scorn and anger in her eyes stung

him.

"My child, this is what we call romance. You do not seem to appreciate

the opportunities I am giving you. No mere humdrum, thread-and-needle

experiences----"

She regarded him steadily, thoughtfully, and then turned to Jasper.

"It sounds so empty to say that I am sorry."

Her voice made him look up. It seemed to uplift his courage and his

pride, and to rescue him from the foolish squalor of his surroundings.

"Don't worry about me, Nance. It comes of my own conceit. But why are

you here?"

Her eyes shone angrily.

"Because, like you, I have been kidnapped."

"You, too!"

"Yes, and I know everything."

Jasper met De Rothan's eyes, and De Rothan smiled at him.

"If circumstances admitted it, my dear young people, I would leave you

alone together. But----"

Nance ignored him.

"Jasper, it makes me burn with anger----"

His eyes no longer shirked hers, and even his grime and his uncouthness

heightened the tragic note that she persisted in hearing.

"I treated our friend here as a gentleman. It was foolish of me.

Chevalier, I never ought to have let you out of that ditch."

De Rothan jerked a laugh, and Nance's eyes flashed to Jasper's. They

said, "Well done, throw your scorn in his face."

He showed her his chained wrists.

"Pretty things, these, as the result of an affair of honour. Do you

know, Nance, he had his men hidden in Darvel's Wood to pelt me with

stones so that I should not hurt him."

She gave a dry little laugh, and glanced at De Rothan.

"That was very brave and honourable."

His sudden arrogance showed that he was growing out of patience with

their scorn.

"Miss Nance, you have not the sense yet to know men, and the ways of

men. If you were only five years older, and if you had been married to

Mr. Benham here for five years, I should have had more hope of you.

Still, it may be good for you both to remember that I am the man in

power."

Jasper eyed him meaningly.

"You can be as insolent to me as you please, but----"

"Mr. Benham, let us have no fool's bellowing. I say what I please, even

to a woman. I have brought you two together to see how weak in the head

my poor Nance here might, be. It is a bad case, but I shall cure her.

Gaston, you can come in."

The man entered, smothering a grin.

"Now, my most sweet lady----"

He shepherded Nance out with a sweep of the arm, but she went slowly,

holding her pride aloof, and giving Jasper a look that he could

treasure.

Nance went to her room, De Rothan following her to the door, and bowing

as she entered. She heard the key turned in the lock, and then De

Rothan's footsteps dying away down the stairs.

Nance went to the window, and, leaning her elbows on the sill, looked

across toward the oak wood on the hill to the west of the house. What

was De Rothan's ultimate desire with regard to her, and did he believe

in the crushing of England by Napoleon's army of invasion? Supposing

this should happen, what would become of them all? She saw not only

herself, but Jasper and her father at the mercy of a man who would be in

a position to satisfy any vindictive whim or passion.

Nance had travelled beyond mere amazement. Incredible things had

happened, and were happening. Even the seemingly quiet life that her

father had led all these years had been but the fitting-out of the ship

of adventure. Monotony indeed! The prudish stolidity of English life!

And yet there were people who lived as though all the world was a

comfortable breakfast-table, little people who dabbled with their

teaspoons, and for whom time was spaced out by a change of underclothing

and the donning of a Sunday hat.

Nance kept asking herself, "What is Jeremy Winter doing?" For Jeremy

seemed their one hope, the one man capable of dealing with this devil of

a Frenchman. She knew that Jeremy had to be sly and cautious, yet this

very cautiousness had begun to try her patience. She wanted things to

happen, quickly and even violently. She wanted Jasper freed, and De

Rothan confounded. The suspense would be intolerable, with this man

holding her at his mercy.

Meanwhile De Rothan had rejoined Durrell in the garden--Durrell, whose

face carried an expression of resentful bewilderment. He was so little

of a man of action that he was still gaping at the events of the

previous night. The whole adventure would be over and done with before

he had decided what part he ought to play.

De Rothan twitted him maliciously.

"Come, come, friend Durrell, put away that grieved look. I have all

these people in the hollow of my hand, and for the glory of La Belle

France, and Liberty. A month ago you would have been patting me on the

shoulder."

Durrell looked at him with an old man's thin distrust.

"Yes, but what are your plans?"

"Why, to pick up some of these fine English estates, to live as one of

the grandees of the Empire, to marry and found a family!"

"That is all very magnificent, but----"

"Men of courage are ready to meet the 'buts' of life. A general has his

line of retreat as well as his line of advance. You will not object to

joining me if I have to return to France!"

"What do you mean?"

"If we are foiled I shall not leave you behind to be hanged. I am too

good a comrade. I shall take you and Nance back with me to France."

Durrell stood open-mouthed, staring, and De Rothan smiled at his amazed

face.

"The idea surprises you! You are struck by it, eh?"

"De Rothan, I have had enough of this monstrous fooling."

"Will it be fooling if I marry your daughter?"

"Sir?"

"Save your emotions."

"You think you can marry Nance!"

"There are three reasons why I should marry her. Because I desire to,

because she does not desire me to, and because Mr. Jasper Benham will be

struck across the face. Motives indeed! Our motives in life are

curiously complex. I love complexities, entanglements, quarrels. Am I a

man for a tame hare? Psst! Durrell, if a woman provokes me I like her

all the better."

Durrell stared at him in impotent indignation.

"You are beyond me, De Rothan, and yet not beyond me."

"Indeed, I should not have to go far! What time is it? I think I shall

have to request you to be locked up in your room."

That night Nance watched at her window, sitting there in the darkness

with a cloak over her shoulders. She had heard De Rothan pass along the

gallery, pause outside her door, and then walk on toward his room. When

the dusk fell she had managed to push an oak chest against the door so

that no one could force their way in without waking her if she were

asleep.

The house seemed very silent, and the summer night was a noiseless

glitter of stars. Now and again she heard the faint splashing of water

as frogs leapt in the great rain-water cistern below her window.

It was past midnight when Nance saw a glimmer out in the woods on the

opposite hillside. It moved to and fro three times, and then

disappeared. Nance had brought a tinder-box with her, and a candle stood

on the little table at her elbow. It took her some time to get a light,

but she managed it and moved the candle to and fro three times across

the window. Then she blew it out and sat down to wait.

A quarter of an hour passed before she heard a faint splash in the water

below. She leaned out of the window and stared down into the darkness,

to see nothing but vague outlines and an uncertain glimmering of water.

Then something moved, close to the wall. A whisper came up to her out of

the darkness.

"Nance----"

She leaned out and curved her hands about her mouth as though to confine

her voice and throw it down to the man below.

"Who is it?"

"Jeremy."

She shivered with excitement.

"Oh, I'm glad, so glad."

"Not too fast, child. Where is Jasper? Do you know anything?"

"They have him in irons in one of the attics."

"Irons! Damn them!"

"I am locked into my room and father into his. A man seems to sleep in

the same attic as Jasper."

Jeremy was silent a moment.

"Cunning rogues. Ssh! Nance, could you let down a cord or anything, a

couple of sheets tied together?"

"Are you coming in?"

"No, no, not this time. Listen. Do you know what opium is?"

"Yes."

"Then let down a line. Here's a packet of poppy-powder."

Nance went to the bed, stripped the sheets off, tied them together, and

let the rope out of the window. The lower end dangled itself in the

water of the cistern.

"Jerk it to one side----"

She tried several times before Jeremy managed to catch the wet sheet on

the end of a stick. He fastened the packet to the dry part of the sheet.

"Right, Nance. Do you think you can manage to get this stuff into the

wine--De Rothan's wine?"

"I'll try. Would it kill him?"

"No, there's not enough for that. If we could get him drugged, we could

deal with the others. Try the trick to-morrow evening. We shall be on

the watch in the wood. If you succeed, signal with your candle."

Nance had pulled up the sheets, and had the packet in her hands.

"Is there no other way, Jeremy?"

"We will try this. Are you afraid?"

"Yes--and no. No--not for Jasper's sake."

"Good. No more risks to-night. And, Nance?"

"Yes."

"If anything bad should happen, call, shout, someone will be within

hearing. We should break in and chance the rest. See?"

"Yes."

"Good night, child."

"Good night, Jeremy, good night."

XXXV

Parson Goffin came cantering up to Rush Heath House, his face radiant,

his nag's coat shining with sweat. The parson's face glowed, and he was

in magnificent good humour. Bumpers of exultation, and of far stronger

drink, had been tossed down the throats of many Sussex worthies that

morning. The powder on his coat and waistcoat showed that Mr. Goffin had

been taking snuff with feverish exhilaration.

He pulled up in front of the house, waving his hat, and shouting.

"Hallo, there, Squire--Jeremy--three cheers for old England."

Squire Kit was asleep, but Jeremy came out like a boy out of school.

"Hallo, hallo, what news?"

"Villeneuve has been caught and plucked. Hoorah, sir, hoorah, no damned

French fleet in the Channel."

"By George, Goffin!"

"The news had just come into Rye. I was in Hastings early, but, good

Lord, one never hears anything but old women's gossip in Hastings!

Calder fell in with Villeneuve off Ferrol. He had fifteen ships to

twenty, but he went in and hammered at him. No great victory, sir, but

he has kept Villeneuve from Brest and from the Channel."

Jeremy snapped his fingers.

"Sing old Rose, and burn the bellows! Good, by George--for England."

"Villeneuve got away into Ferrol, but he's there, sir, and not off

Boulogne. And some of them are cursing Calder for not doing better. Why,

damn 'em, he has stopped the Frenchman's rush. It's all up with him for

a dash on the Straits of Dover. And I'll wager that Nelson is not very

far from the coast of Spain."

He blew, perspired, and exulted.

"A drink, Jeremy, my man, my pulpit for a drink. Here's to old England!"

"Pots will have a busy day. Hi, Jack, Sue, Marjorie, here--all of

you--run, now, fill up the brown jugs. The French have had one on the

nose, and are stopping to think it over! Run, you beggars, kisses all

round for the wenches. Toss the brown ale down and be merry."

Jeremy took the news and a jug of ale to Squire Christopher.

"Villeneuve has been headed out of the Channel, sir."

"Murder my soul, Jerry, news--that's news. Let all the apothecaries go

to blazes. Give me a drink, man; the jug will do. Here's to the roast

beef. We'll soon have lad Jasper home, eh?"

Jeremy kept a stolid face.

"Count on that, Kit; we'll soon have the lad home."

But he went down to join Goffin, with a grim mouth and thoughtful eyes.

"This is good for the country, Goffin, but over yonder it may mean

something dangerous. And here is Kit calling out for the lad----"

Goffin emptied his mug for the third time.

"The game is up for the scoundrel. He knows it by now."

"Yes. He hears things quickly enough, but you don't know this sort of

man, Goffin. You have never come across the breed. I have. A bit of

Irish and a bit of French, and a kind of pleasant cynical villainy

thrown in. He is the stage rogue off the stage--to the last insolent

cock of the rapier. Yet he's no mere actor man in a black doublet and a

plumed hat. He'd pistol you before you could say pat, if it were worth

his while to do it."

"The linen sounds too dirty, Jeremy! He will make off across the water."

"Yes, and take the girl with him. And perhaps stick a knife into Jasper

before he goes."

"Poof, sir, you make the man a monster. I'll not believe it. Your

adventures in Spain----"

Jeremy smiled a rather hard smile.

"Good sir, tell me, I have seen the savage, and the passionate side of

life--I have. Blood and steel! Good Lord, Goffin; these things are real;

they aren't bits of wood and cups of cheap wine. Men lust, and stab, and

shoot. They do; I assure you. I suppose it has been so peaceful over the

water----"

Goffin grunted.

"Well, what are we wasting precious time for, sir?"

"Ask the impossible monster! I am not going to waste time. I am going to

get our men together and draw a leaguer about De Rothan's place. We

shall use craft if we can. It will be safer for the girl and for

Jasper."

Jeremy was in the saddle before the day was half an hour older. He knew

that the news of Villeneuve's defeat would be serious news to De Rothan,

and that it would go far toward making him a desperate man. The climax

that he had schemed and waited for had vanished. There might still be a

vague chance of Villeneuve sailing out of Ferrol and trying to fight his

way into the Channel, but Jeremy, unlike the scaremongers, was well

content with things as they were. Villeneuve had not shown himself to be

the man for a great enterprise. The haunting and inexorable genius of

Nelson dogged him, casting a premonition of disaster over the

Frenchman's mind.

Jeremy rode out to gather in Jasper's friends. He called up John

Steyning, of Catsfield, and young Parsloe, of the "Black Horse," and

told each of them to bring two or three sturdy men. The meeting-place

was to be the "Queen's Head" Inn at Sedlescombe. They were to gather

there unostentatiously, as though it were a matter of chance. Jeremy

himself rode on to Hastings. He had an old friend quartered there as

surgeon to the troops, Surgeon Stott, a one-eyed, bronze-headed vulture

of a man, fierce of beak and skinny of neck, and with language enough to

satisfy Satan. But Stott was a shrewd and steady surgeon with a quick

hand and a cool head. He could keep his mouth shut, and bring down a

partridge with a pistol-bullet.

Stott was an oddity, and Jeremy found him in a little back room of one

of the Hastings inns, brewing a bowl of punch. He was tasting the stuff,

with the ladle under his hooked nose, when Jeremy entered.

"What, Jeremy--you devil!"

"Punch at this time of day! Empty it out of the window, sir. I am taking

you out on an adventure."

"A fight, eh? I'm game. Instruments or pistols, or both? By George, sir,

I feel in a mood to cut off ten legs in as many minutes."

Jeremy sat down and told him the whole tale.

"So it is not a matter of leg-cutting, Stott."

"No, a quick shot with a pistol, and no pomposity, eh! Shoot the rogue

first, and explain afterward."

"We've got to be careful, Stott. He is as touchy on the trigger as you

are. Have you got a horse of your own?"

"Yes."

"Then come along. We can talk on the road."

By four o'clock Jeremy's party had gathered at the Sedlescombe inn.

Jeremy's opinion of the landlord proved sage and astute. The man did not

even look inquisitive. He had a private room at the gentlemen's service,

and never blinked an eyelid when seven or eight sturdy yokels who were

strangers in the village came scraping their hobnails in his brick-paved

parlour. Parson Goffin turned up with pistols in his coat-tail pockets,

and ready to drink and hobnob with Steyning, young Parsloe, Jeremy, and

Surgeon Stott. Tom Stook and David Barfoot with three or four steady men

were lying in the woods and ditches about the Brick House, keeping

watch.

Jeremy and his friends played bowls on the "Queen's Head" green, and

dined together in the private room, the landlord waiting on them in

person. Over their long pipes Jeremy elaborated his plan of campaign.

They were to surround De Rothan's house that night on the chance that

Nance Durrell might be able to set the spell working within. This scheme

failing them, Jeremy proposed that they should break into De Rothan's

stables, make off with his horse-flesh, and see whether some such

argument could not bring him to reason.

Jeremy had pictured De Rothan as a desperate man, and if there is

anything in the saying that a man's temper can give him a black face,

then De Rothan was in some such desperate temper. He had ridden out very

early in the direction of Guestling and the sea, and Tom Stook, lying in

a dry ditch and peering through the hedge-bottom, saw him return. His

horse shied where the grass lane turned in from the by-road, and

something ominous about the incident seemed to set a spark to De

Rothan's black anger. He beat the horse about the head with his fist,

and then sawed at the bit till the beast's mouth bled.

Stook was no lamb, but De Rothan's savagery angered him.

"You tarrifyin' devil! Someone may be giving you a bloody mouth before

long."

The first person whom De Rothan spoke with at the Brick House was the

man Gaston. François had taken Gaston's place for an hour, and the

elder man was stretching his legs in the garden. He knew the various

expressions of De Rothan's face as well as a shepherd knows the face of

the sky. There was thunder about, and the horizon looked ominous.

De Rothan's horse was still quivering with fright. Gaston took the

bridle, and waited stolidly for orders.

"Thunder, don't stare at me, man, like that! This morning I have heard

the name of a coward. Villeneuve has wrecked us, if he has been careful

of his fleet."

"Villeneuve, monsieur!"

"The heart of a chicken! That the Emperor should have trusted such a

man! I heard the news at Rye. Maybe you have heard bells ringing. One

night more here, and then for France."

Gaston was about to lead the horse round to the stable, but De Rothan

stopped him.

"No, no, I know these yokels are on the watch. If they were to break

into the stable and snap up our horses we should be badly placed. The

hall can serve as a stable to-night. Have a few staples knocked into the

wainscoting and bring all the beasts in. Men and horses all under one

roof."

Gaston nodded.

"What of the young man, monsieur?"

"We will use him till the last moment, and he will be useful, even then.

Come here, Gaston. Some things must be spoken quietly."

They stood close together, Gaston intent and swarthy, stolidly ready to

follow the adventure through. Once or twice he blinked his eyes at De

Rothan as though astonished.

"Madame goes with us, monsieur?"

"I have said as much."

"And the young man, monsieur! Are we to leave him chained up like an ox

in a stall?"

"Growing soft at heart, Gaston? I have no pity for people who get in my

way. Besides, the trick will keep his good friends busy, and we shall

have to snatch our time. I agreed with Martin this very morning. It will

be high water at midnight to-morrow. He will run close in at Pett Level

and take us off."

"Then I will see to the horses, monsieur."

"Yes, now, at once. Then we will dine. I will go and warn Miss Durrell

and her father."

Nance was sitting at her window when she heard De Rothan's footsteps in

the gallery. The sound stirred the secret purpose of her suspense. All

day she had been thinking over Jeremy's plan, and it seemed so

impossible, so much like a trick out of an old play.

De Rothan knocked at her door.

"Nance, we dine in an hour."

"Yes."

"I will be here at your door to give you an arm."

She heard him go on to her father's room and knock. Their voices sounded

harsh and quarrelsome. For comfort she gazed out toward the oak wood on

the slope of the hill where Jeremy's watchers were hidden. She was

almost angry with Jeremy for putting such a weapon into her hands. What

chance had she to use it, and why did they thrust the responsibility

upon a woman?

She heard De Rothan repass her door. He was humming that song that the

royalists had sung so gallantly and so fatefully at Versailles: "_O,

Richard, O mon roi, si l'univers t'abandon_----"

A feeling of helplessness possessed her. She rested her forehead on her

crossed wrists and tried to think of something she could do.

XXXVI

Nance heard the sound of hammering below, and it connected itself in her

mind with some vague idea that the house was being barricaded against

attack. She was still leaning her crossed arms on the window-sill when

she heard De Rothan's knock.

She went out to him with Jeremy's packet hidden under her bodice. She

had torn off the sealed end and just folded the paper over so that the

powder could be emptied out quickly.

There was a gaiety about De Rothan that baffled her. It was not unlike

the insolent sprightliness of an aristocrat passing to the guillotine.

"Your father refuses to dine with us to-night."

"He is not ill?"

"Only in temper. You will not grudge me a little kindness."

"No. Besides, I am hungry."

He laughed, and offered her his arm.

"Let us be honest. Even heroines have to eat and drink and wash their

faces. It is monstrous nonsense, all this romance and all this

glorifying of women. A boy adores indiscriminately, a man chooses the

least offensive necessity. That is the difference between a boy's love

and a man's."

As they descended the oak stairway, François came in from the porch

with a horse following at the end of a halter. The beast followed him

quietly enough, though its hoofs made a rare racket on the oak

floor-boards of the hall. The unexpectedness of it made Nance falter.

"Nothing but a horse, _ma chère._"

"It startled me."

"You tremble. You are not made to be an adventurous heroine, to do

wonderful and absurd things, climb down ropes, and hold villains at the

point of a pistol. We are asking our horses to dine with us, that is

all. Now, tell me frankly, how do you like adventure?"

"I don't like it at all."

"No, of course not. It is abominably uncomfortable, but people will have

it that it is fine and exciting--to read about."

The man Jean waited on them at table, while François went in and out of

the big hall bringing the horses in from the stable and fastening them

to the staples that had been driven into the wainscoting. Nance's place

was at the lower end of the oak table, where the light from the window

fell upon her face. De Rothan sat well back in his chair, watching her

and keeping up a whimsical monologue.

"Why the old chivalry folk glorified you women, Nance, I do not know. I

have had experience, and I have never come across a woman who was not a

fool. Wonderful creatures, eh--all cream and roses and starry eyes and

tenderness and purity! Just because of something that is called a

petticoat. And Mr. Benham thinks you the most wonderful young woman in

the whole world! Now, I do not. And since a man cannot get on without a

woman, he makes the best of a bad bargain."

She felt that he was laughing at her, and yet there was something

vindictive and passionate behind it.

"You are too clever for me, Chevalier."

"No doubt I am. We have nothing to do with a woman's brains--God help

them. But we are not all brain. That is the tragedy."

She met his eyes and hated them for their sudden animal frankness. It

was probable that for the moment this rather sentimental girl understood

De Rothan and the type of manhood that he represented, a manhood that

could be passionate and unscrupulous, and yet could despise itself for

being passionate. "To fret oneself about this schoolgirl!"--that was

what he was saying to himself.

Nance shrank into herself, and thought of Jasper, without realising that

De Rothan was in many ways the finer man. He was a well-polished rogue,

and had done, many clever things in his time. Jasper Benham would be

remarkable mainly as the father of a family. But Nance's thoughts did

not run in this direction.

Jean had been dismissed by De Rothan. He reappeared at the door and said

something in French. De Rothan pushed his chair back and rose.

"Miss Nance, you will pardon me?"

She felt her face crimsoning as she saw her opportunity rushing upon

her.

"Yes."

He went out, closing the door after him. Nance was up and unfolding the

packet with shaking and ineffectual fingers. De Rothan's silver tankard

was half full. She slipped round the table and emptied the powder into

it, and, crumpling up the paper, thrust it back into the bosom of her

dress.

She was shaking like an old lady with the palsy, and trying desperately

to hide it, when De Rothan returned. He came in with a casual air,

humming the same song as he had hummed in the gallery. He gave one sharp

sidelong glance at Nance, and smiled.

"You will pardon my turning the hall into a stable, but circumstances

are urgent. François needed orders. I trust the opportunity was of

use."

His ironical air chilled her. She saw him resume his seat, take the

tankard, look into it, sip a little of the drink, and then lean back in

the chair and laugh.

"Nance, _ma chère_, you have not pledged me yet. Let me pass you a

loving cup."

She sat and stared at him helplessly, feeling herself a fool.

"What, you will not drink to me? Supposing we send the cup to Mr.

Benham? I will put more liquor in it, for no doubt he is thirsty. Jean,

man, Jean. Here."

Jean came in and stood beside Nance's chair. But De Rothan did not look

at him. His eyes were fixed upon Nance.

"Jean, I thought I wanted you, but I find I do not. Go and help

François with the horses."

The man vanished, and De Rothan sat with one hand holding the handle of

the tankard, his eyes still fixed on Nance. She felt humiliated,

outwitted, stripped naked before him. It was so palpable that he knew

and that the knowledge amused him.

"Nance, you cannot play the part, my child. We are too clever for the

sweet Tragedy Queen who tilts little packets of poison into a

gentleman's cup. Did that shiny-faced bully of a fencing-master take me

for such a fool!"

She had nothing to say to him.

"Whisperings at midnight under a lady's window! Some houses carry sounds

very queerly, child, and men who value their necks do not run too many

risks. Oh, I do not blame you. Husbands are poisoned more often than

lovers, and yet I am inclined to tempt the peril."

He rose and emptied the tankard out of the window.

"No doubt you would like to think over the possibilities of this little

affair? Sleep well to-night. You may need it. Do not waste the precious

horns making little signals with candles."

He moved across and opened the door for her. Nance had risen.

Resentment, and half-childish anger had taken the place of her sense of

blundering helplessness.

"I hate you," her eyes told him.

And he laughed.

"François, see that the horses behave properly. Miss Durrell goes to

her room."

Nance felt bitterly befooled, and not so much in love with Jeremy's

cleverness. De Rothan's sneering complacency made her horribly afraid.

Supposing he should win through, outwit Jeremy, and get away to France?

And supposing, too, that he intended taking her with him? The whole

thing was preposterous and yet abominably real. She watched the dusk

falling, brooding at her window, while the woods blackened against the

summer sunset. She supposed that Jeremy and his friends were hidden

yonder in the woods. They would be watching the house for her signal, a

signal that she could not give.

Nance did not sleep that night, which was hardly to be wondered at. The

house was full of noises, the stamping of the horses on the oak floor of

the hall, the passing to and fro of men, the noise of hammering in some

distant room. De Rothan was preparing his baggage for a sudden retreat,

packing such valuables as he possessed, and ordering his men to break

everything that had to be left behind. Jean was sent round with a

hatchet, and was smashing chairs to pieces, hammering in the cases of

the clocks, and splitting the panels of chests and cupboards.

Then, some time after midnight, Nance heard someone talking in the

orchard beyond the stables. There was a sound as of men running, a

scuffling of feet on the stones of the yard, a shattering of glass, and

the splitting of wood. Then someone exclaimed angrily, and shadows

shuffled away disappointedly into the darkness. Nance heard De Rothan

speaking from one of the upper windows.

"There is nothing to be stolen there, gentlemen. I disposed of my horses

this morning. We happen to be awake here, so I should advise you to go

away quietly."

Under an apple-tree in the orchard Jeremy was swearing into the

sympathetic ears of Surgeon Stott.

"Confound the fellow, it is like grabbing an eel. He has taken his

horses inside the house. I know what that means. He is going to make a

bolt for the sea."

Parson Goffin appeared, a long black shadow among the apple-trees. He

was taking snuff, and was ripe for a luxurious and irrepressible

explosion.

"Ha--tissho--ha--t----"

"Damn you, Goffin, you are a nice man for a night surprise!"

"It was not much of a surprise, sir. I can sneeze with impunity. Ha

tisshoo--ha tissho."

Jeremy swore. It was getting ridiculous.

"Look here, Stott, we shall have to bivouac here--blockade the place."

"That's the game, sir."

"I'll send Parsloe back for provisions, and then on to the coast to try

and warn the sailor people to look out for suspicious visitors. We will

sit down here, and trumpet with our noses, parson, and hope for the

walls of Jericho to fall."

When daylight came those in the Brick House saw Jeremy's people

bivouacking in the orchard and in the meadow in front of the house.

Jeremy had divided his party into two bodies so as to command both sides

of the place. Nance, standing at her window, saw Jeremy walking up and

down the orchard, his hat cocked at a militant angle, and a short clay

pipe between his teeth. He stopped and waved his hat to her, when she

appeared at the window, and Nance waved back. There was something

comforting about Jeremy's activity and about the men whom she could see

sitting with their backs against the trunks of the apple-trees with

muskets or old shot-guns ready across their knees. Hardly one of the

yokels could shoot, but still they looked impressive.

The Brick House itself seemed very quiet and undisturbed. About eight

o'clock Nance heard footsteps on the stairs, and a tray was set down

outside her door. She opened the door when she thought the man had gone,

only to find De Rothan standing close by in the gallery, and looking

through a window at Jeremy's men in the meadow. Surgeon Stott had

command there. They had lit a fire, and the blue-grey smoke went up into

the sunlight.

De Rothan turned and smiled at Nance.

"These good people are very attentive. Yes, take your tray, _ma chère_,

we still have some tea-cups left us."

He appeared audaciously cheerful, as though enjoying this essay in

strategy.

"Mr. Benham has been asking for you, but I thought that it would not be

kind to leave his wounds too raw. The end of his imprisonment is very

near. I hope to return him soon to his friends."

Nance faltered in the doorway, yearning to know what De Rothan was

hiding behind this mask of composure.

"Then you will let us go back to our friends?" He eyed her curiously.

"Mr. Benham will return home. Your father can please himself. As for

you, _ma chère_, in your case you will please the Chevalier de Rothan."

"You cannot mean----"

"I desire you to go with me to France. It is a fair country and will

please you."

She made as though to close the door on him, run to the window, and

shout to Jeremy. A gesture of De Rothan's restrained her.

"No, child, do not run and call to your friends. I assure you that it

would be fatal to Mr. Benham; nor would it help you in the least."

"But, it is impossible! You cannot take me against my will!"

He made a soothing movement with his hands.

"Tsst, child, do not excite yourself. I am doing you a great honour. In

France you will no longer be the daughter of an old schoolmaster. There,

take up your tray and get your breakfast. One should not go into action

hungry."

XXXVII

Most of that day Nance sat at her window overlooking the orchard. Once

or twice she waved to Jeremy and he waved back to her, but Nance had

conceived such a deadly dread of De Rothan that she was afraid to bestir

herself in her own cause. It seemed to be Jasper's life against her own

honour, for there was something about De Rothan's sneering cheerfulness

that made her believe that he would not hesitate to carry out his

threats.

But Nance did not go untempted, seeing that Jeremy and his men were

within hail, and that one appealing cry from her would bring the whole

crisis to an end. They would storm the house, and overwhelm De Rothan

and his Frenchmen. But then, in the meantime, what would have befallen

Jasper, with that sullen beast of a Gaston on guard over him in the

attic?

Nance understood what Jeremy's tactics were. He was showing De Rothan

with ostentation--that he was surrounded, and was waiting for the

Frenchman to come to terms. And Jeremy's strategy reacted upon Nance.

She had worn herself into a fever of emotional anguish, but her own

helplessness made itself felt. She would leave things to these men, let

herself drift. All, all--was it not impossible for De Rothan to break

away and reach the sea?

As for De Rothan, he was not the proper villain who stalked the

passages, biting his nails, and muttering love and vengeance. He looked

plump, sprightly, dressed to perfection, and very much unflurried. These

wasps buzzing in the orchard seemed to amuse him. He even went into the

garden and walked magnificently up and down the brick path, stopping at

the gate to lift his hat to Surgeon Stott who was busy with a glass and

bottle.

The surgeon approached the gate, thinking De Rothan had come out to

parley.

"Is it the white flag, sir?"

"Good morning, sir. I hope you like my meadow? No, I am taking the

air--that is all."

"Impudent blackguard!" said the surgeon.

But De Rothan did not seem to hear.

About eleven o'clock that morning he went up to see Jasper Benham, who

had been growing more and more exasperated each day over his own squalid

helplessness. Bad food and an abundance of physical discomfort soon take

the romance out of life, especially when there is no one to applaud a

man's fortitude. But Jasper had an abnormal amount of obstinacy. He hung

on to his ideals, when many men would have wished De Rothan, old

Durrell, and his daughter at Jericho.

"Good morning to you, Mr. Benham. It may please you to know that you

will be free to-morrow."

Jasper eyed him with grim hostility. De Rothan's good humour and his

shining self-satisfaction were not soothing.

"Thanks. But on what terms?"

"Terms, Mr. Benham?"

"You are not the man to surrender something for nothing."

"Eh! But I have all that I desire. You see, I leave you here, looking

your best and feeling proud of all that you have accomplished. I make my

departure with such valuables as I have by me. I take Miss Durrell with

me into France to be my mistress."

If Jasper's manhood needed reinspiring it found its inspiration in these

words of De Rothan's. A moment ago he had felt glad that the adventure

was at an end, that he would be able to stretch his legs, wash, drink a

glass of good wine, and eat a well-cooked dinner. The smell of liberty

had entered his nostrils. But here De Rothan had roused a deeper and

more powerful instinct, stronger physically even than thirst, hunger,

and the desire to be clean.

"You scoundrel!"

De Rothan looked at him quizzically.

"Mr. Benham, you have a good opinion of yourself. Does it not occur to

you that a woman may change her mind?"

"No."

"That is strange! How little you must know of women. Consider for a

moment. I am a very passable man, taller by half a hand than you are,

better built, not so thick in the skull. I am an aristocrat, a wit, and

a man who has travelled. Women love a man with a little of the devil in

him; it is human nature. I could kill you in half a minute if we were

put up to fight with swords. Nance knows that. And it counts with a

woman."

"What a liar you are!"

"No; I am telling the truth because--my little man--it will sting you

far more than if I laid my hand across your face. I depart for France.

Nance has chosen to come with me. It is not very wonderful that she

should prefer a French aristocrat and a man of the world to a little

red-faced Sussex squireling who has lived his life in three parishes.

Why should I laugh at you? It is not worth it."

"Still, you are a liar."

"Wait till to-morrow and judge by the facts. You will have that charming

old gentleman Mr. Durrell to comfort you. Embrace him, and try to

imagine that he is his daughter."

Jasper had gathered himself for a great effort. Every muscle and sinew

raged in him. He drew in his breath, and gave one wrench at the irons

that held him. But even if he had been fit and strong he could not have

broken them. The iron wristlets bit into the flesh.

He lay back against the wall, balked and humiliated, weighed down by his

own impotent wrath.

"This is not the end."

De Rothan moved backward toward the door.

"Do not excite yourself. You will be free in a few hours."

Jasper watched him as a chained dog watches a man who has struck him

brutally with a stick. He knew that his own fury was pleasant to De

Rothan.

"You accursed coward!"

"Ah, Mr. Benham; you may need your own courage presently."

Little did Jasper guess that Jeremy and Surgeon Stott were walking up

and down the meadow within a hundred paces of the house. The surgeon

kept a shrewd eye cocked on the windows. He moistened his lips with a

dry tongue, and leered knowingly at his own thoughts.

"He will either have to bolt, Jerry, or we shall starve him out. The

fellow is trying what insolence will do. I'll wager that he'll come out

hat in hand before long."

Jeremy was not so sanguine.

"It is not all wind, Stott. There's pith in the chap. I wish I knew his

game."

"Sit tight--that's ours. Rummy affair, Jeremy, some twenty Englishmen

blockading Frenchmen in an English house! We must keep two men on the

watch all night, with one of us to go the rounds."

And Jeremy agreed.

There was a full moon that night, and Nance, sitting at her window, knew

that the moon had risen by the huge black shadow of the house that

covered the yard and stables and spread across the orchard. She was

vividly awake, alert, overstrung, ready for anything to happen. As the

moon climbed higher the shadow of the house shortened, and she could see

the orchard and the figure of a man going to and fro among the trees.

The moonlight glinted on a musket barrel, and made his face look a grey

patch when he turned at each end of his beat.

Brick House had been restless. There had been a stamping of feet in the

attics overhead, and a rending sound as though men were splitting the

woodwork with hatchets. But for an hour absolute silence had held, and

the sentry out yonder might have thought the place asleep.

Nance was wondering whether she would have to watch all night. Her eyes

ached with weariness rather than with the desire for sleep. The black

boughs and foliage of the orchard trees swam into strange fantastic

shapes under the moon.

It was then that she heard a vague stirring in the rooms below. Someone

ran upstairs with a light patter of bare feet. In the hall voices spoke

in undertones, making a vague murmuring.

Nance heard footsteps in the gallery. They stopped outside her door.

Intuition warned her that it was De Rothan.

"Nance, I have good news for you."

She faltered by the window, keeping silence out of a feeling of

mistrust.

"Nance, are you asleep? Come, I have good news."

She rose and crossed the room.

"What is it--what do you want?"

"Nance, I see that the game is up. They will starve us into surrender. I

am going to send you out to make terms for me."

She thrilled.

"Me? To Jeremy?"

"Yes. We cannot get away from here, but still--I have my prisoner up

above. I want you to be magnanimous--to try to get me terms."

The little oak chest stood against the door. Nance pushed it aside,

trembling with the rush of her belief in the loosening of the net about

her. When she opened the door she saw De Rothan standing in the gallery.

The windows threw moonlit patches upon the floor.

"You see how hopeless it is for me."

He sighed.

"There are too many of them, and they have hemmed me in. I can leave the

country to-night if your friends yonder will come to terms."

He spoke dejectedly as though utterly discouraged.

"You will do this for me, go out as my friend?"

"Yes."

"Come, then, let us waste no time."

He had been standing with his head bent and his hands behind him, a

melancholy shadow in the long, moon-streaked gallery. Nance came out

from her room, believing what she desired to believe, and that De Rothan

had been driven to surrender. But before she could throw her hands up, a

blanket was tossed over her head, and she felt herself smothered in it

and wrapped round by De Rothan's arms. He carried her along the gallery

and down the stairs, holding her so tightly that she felt like a child

crushed in a crowd.

Confused movements were going on in the darkness about her. She heard

harness jingling, and smelt the smell of horses.

"Quick, François! The scarf--tie it so."

Something soft was passed about her body and knotted so that she could

not move her arms. She felt herself lifted on to the back of a horse and

held there by two strong hands. Someone mounted behind her, and she

guessed that it was De Rothan.

"Bide quiet, _ma chère_, and no harm will come. Gaston, are you there?"

A man came running down the stairs.

"It is done, monsieur, it is done."

Nance heard the words, and their vague, suggestive horror numbed her

heart. She was like a cataleptic, unable to move or to cry out. Strange,

wild things were happening, and she could not help herself. She was

aware of a dull red wound in the midst of her consciousness, the thought

that Jasper had been given his death.

"Open the door, man. Softly--ready? Follow me and keep close."

De Rothan's arm tightened about her. He spoke sharply as the horse

moved.

"Bend low, bend low."

He forced her down, bending over her as the horse passed through the

doorway into the porch. There was a clatter of hoofs, the breath of the

night breeze sweeping in. Then Nance felt De Rothan straighten himself

in the saddle. They were going at a walk down the brick path to the gate

in the garden wall.

Then, suddenly, the horse broke into wild, cantering life. They seemed

to sweep forward with a rush of wind, and a clattering of hoofs behind

them. A man shouted somewhere, and was still shouting as they galloped

over the meadow. A pistol cracked. Nance heard a queer sighing sound go

by her and die away into the distance.

De Rothan gave a sharp, exultant cry. The horse slowed up. Nance felt De

Rothan bend and swing something aside. It was the gate leading out of

the meadow into the lane. Shuffling, snorting horses came crowding up

behind. Then there was the burst of a fresh gallop between high black

hedges that banked out the moonlight.

XXXVIII

Smoke curled from the muzzle of Surgeon Stott's empty pistol, and his

mouth emptied itself of sundry emphatic curses. He shouted at Tom Stook,

who was standing and staring across the meadow.

"Run, man, run! Rouse Mr. Winter."

But Jeremy had been roused a minute ago by the sentinel in the orchard,

who had bent over him where he lay asleep under an apple-tree and pulled

him by the arm.

"Mr. Winter, sir, Mr. Winter, the house be a' fire."

Jeremy had sprung up, to find the man pointing at the attic story of the

Brick House.

The place was black under the moon, but at one gable end an attic window

showed the red glow of fire. The casement frames were clearly outlined;

from the open lattice came little swirls of smoke, and for a moment a

black shape showed within like a man tossing his arms in despair.

Jeremy's heart leapt in him.

"Good God!"

He ran round rousing his men, calling in particular for John Jenner the

Rookhurst blacksmith. They began their rush toward the house just after

Stott's pistol shot barked out a grim warning. Stott, Jeremy, and their

men met in the front garden, holding back for the moment as though not

knowing whether they were facing enemies or friends.

"Stott?"

"It is Stott, sir. They have broken through, curse 'em."

"And the house is on fire. The devil has left Jasper to burn in his

attic----"

"By George! And they have got the girl."

"We'll catch and butcher the lot of them. Jenner, Jack Jenner, have you

got your tools?"

"Sure, Mr. Winter, sure."

Then things happened as De Rothan had counted on their happening.

Jeremy, Stott, Steyning, and young Parsloe stormed into the house,

Jeremy carrying a lantern that one of the men had brought lit from the

orchard. They made no tarrying in the hall, but rushed for the stairs,

Jeremy carrying visions of Jasper tied up in a burning room.

Half way up the stairs a figure came blundering down on them. It was

Anthony Durrell, half dressed, and bewildered.

Jeremy held his hand.

"George, sir--I had nearly fired into you. Which is Benham's room? Do

you know?"

Durrell was inarticulate.

"Mr. Winter, sir! I--I have not----"

Jeremy swore, thrust him aside, and rushed on, the rest following,

leaving Durrell flattened against the wall.

The smell of the fire guided them, the pungent scent of burning wood.

The stairs leading to the attic story were narrow and tortuous like the

stairs in an old tower. Jeremy was the first to get a glimpse of the

yellow light streaming under an attic door. The crackle of burning wood

could be heard. Little puffs of smoke were drifting into the passage.

Jeremy rushed to the door of the burning room and found it locked. He

charged at it with his shoulder, but it did not budge.

"Jack Jenner--at this door, man. Jasper, lad--Jasper----"

Suddenly those who were in the gallery stood listening, and looking into

each other's eyes. The smith was caught in the act of raising a heavy

hammer. Stott had his hand on Jeremy's shoulder.

"Hallo, Jeremy, hallo----"

It was like a ghost voice coming, not from the burning room, but down

the long gallery with its dormer windows and its sloping eaves. Some of

the men on the stairs looked scared, and waited to see what Jeremy would

do.

"Jasper--hallo----"

"Hallo--hallo."

Jeremy gave a shout and went running down the gallery. This devil's

trick of De Rothan's was not so brutal as it had seemed. It had been a

ruse to trick them and to gain time, but it was a ruse that touched more

than the edge of murder.

"Jasper, lad, where are you?"

"In here; the end room."

The door was locked, and Jeremy made way for Jenner the smith. The man

took a run, lifted one leg, and set the sole of a heavy boot over the

place where the lock should be. The door flew in as though it had been

unfastened and had been caught by a gust of wind.

Jeremy's lantern showed Jasper on his straw.

Winter was on his knees, one arm over Jasper's shoulders, and shouting

to the smith to get to work.

"We thought the scoundrel had roasted you, lad, for the house is on

fire. Knock these bolts out of the floor, Jenner, knock 'em out--by

glory. We have half our night's work to do yet."

The smith was hammering at the bolts that held the rings in the floor

boards. Surgeon Stott had shut the door and was standing with his back

to it. A man in Jasper Benham's condition does not yearn to be gaped at

by grooms and ploughmen. In the gallery young Parsloe stood watching the

door of the burning attic. He had a coil of rope over his arm so that

they should have a means of escape if the fire broke through into the

gallery before Jasper could be released.

"What has happened, Jeremy? Where's De Rothan?"

"Got away, lad; broken through our lines. We have been blockading the

place."

"Nance----"

Jeremy's mouth hardened for action.

"That's it, lad, we have got to catch him and the girl before he gets

afloat."

"She didn't go willingly, Jerry?"

"Tied up in a blanket, sir," said Stott from the door.

Jasper's impatience flared up like a fire.

"Jack Jenner, man, smash those infernal bolts out, can't you? Never mind

me; I'm not afraid of a bruise or two."

"Sure, Master Benham, sure, it be t' oak as holds."

"Hit at 'em, man, hit at 'em. We can deal with the darbies afterward."

The smith managed to smash the bolts out of the oak, and Jasper was

free. He tried to stand, but found himself lurching against Jeremy, weak

in the knees and giddy. Jenner the smith was a man of tact. He stooped,

and made "a broad back" to carry Jasper below.

"Climb up, Mr. Benham, sir."

Stott went out to clear the men down the stairs, and Jeremy hoisted

Jasper on to Jack Jenner's back.

They were none too soon. The door of the attic was gaping and falling

apart, and yellow flames were licking the charred wood. The gallery was

full of smoke that turned to silver where the moonlight touched it. Jack

Jenner, blinking his eyes, swung along like a stolid elephant, with

Jasper on his back.

So they made their way out of the house and came out into the garden

where Anthony Durrell was pacing up and down with long, jerky strides.

He ran at Jeremy, waving his arms, and crying out like a man who had

been wounded.

"Nance--my daughter. Mr. Winter, sir, I implore you----"

Jeremy soothed him.

"That's just our business, Mr. Durrell; don't waste time, sir, by

shouting at the moon."

He turned to the men.

"Run, you beggars; bring the horses round from the orchard. And Tom, my

man, bring my sword. It stands against the apple-tree where I was

dozing. It's tally-ho, and a moonlit gallop."

Jasper was sitting on the grass with the smith at work upon the leg

irons and handcuffs.

"There is a horse for me, Jeremy?"

"Do you think you are fit to ride?"

"Do you think I am going to stay behind?"

"You can't sit a horse after three weeks in irons."

"I can ride Devil Dick.".

"He's with us."

"Then I go on Devil Dick's back."

"We shall have to tie you on."

"Tie me on! Be dashed to you!"

The smith had broken the catches of the handcuffs, and Jasper's arms

were free. The leg irons were a stiffer proposition.

"Leave the anklets on, Jack, and get the bar away."

"It be easier to knock off t' anklets, sir."

"Get along, then, for God's sake."

Jeremy stood and watched.

"You had better let us get along, lad," he said, gently, "time is

precious."

"But, Jeremy, I've been waiting for this chance----"

"It'll be away over the water if we don't hurry. Besides, lad, you are

not fit to fight it out with De Rothan."

"Look here, Jerry. I must have a shot or a thrust at him."

"And does somebody want to weep over a corpse? Be reasonable, lad. Leave

the Frenchman to me."

Jasper looked savage and dejected.

"Oh, call me a baby, Jeremy, and have done with it."

"Now, lad, now, do you think the old devil don't love you? Why, I'd put

a pistol into Squire Kit's fist and tell him to shoot me if I were to

let you run yourself to-night on that scoundrel's sword. The spirit is

willing, sir, but the flesh is weak. Hallo--here come the horses."

Jack Jenner sat back on his heels with a grunt of satisfaction.

"That be one of t' quickest jobs, Mr. Benham, sir----"

Jasper was up on the instant.

"God bless you, Jack Jenner. Jeremy, I say, Jeremy----"

"Well, lad?"

"I say, my confounded head's like a churn, going round and round. Have

you got a flask on you?"

"Here, Stott, you're the man. Give the lad a dose of schnapps."

The horses were ready in the meadow, and the men ready to mount. Stott

had brought out a flask from his tail pocket, and also a thick sandwich

of bread and beef.

"I'm an old campaigner, Mr. Benham; set your teeth into that, man, as we

go along."

In another minute they were in the saddle and riding across the meadow.

Several of the men had to be left behind, but counting Steyning and

young Parsloe they mustered nine riders. Each man had a brace of pistols

and a hanger, while Jeremy had his long sword. He meant it to be of use

that night in dealing with De Rothan.

As they paused at the gate leading to the lane, a sudden glare of light

made them look back toward the house. The flames had broken through the

roof, and one long tongue was waving high in the air like a great

wavering sword.

The light lit up grim faces and eager eyes.

"Which way, Jeremy?"

"Pett Level. We happen to have got the other side of De Rothan's game,

and bought his own man over his head."

"There'll be a boat waiting."

"There'll be no boat, or I'm a blockhead."

Jeremy gave a queer, hard laugh.

"Now, then, put 'em at it, boys. Tally-ho, tally-ho. I'm for the brush

of the French fox."

And they went galloping through the moonlight.

XXXIX

De Rothan seemed to know all the lanes, paths, and by-roads as though he

had been born in those parts and had played the smuggler on many a

night. He cast a half circle round Westfield village, and took the road

that led toward Icklesham and Guestling, riding a little ahead of his

men, his right arm supporting Nance. She was still smothered up in the

blanket, and unable to move her arms.

The country was fairly open, with the road climbing low hills and

dropping down into valleys. The moon painted everything in a broad

effect of black and greys, and showed the road as a white thread before

them. De Rothan was not playing for concealment. It was a question of

speed, and of a dash for the shore along Pett Level where the Rye boat

would be waiting to take them on board.

When they had covered a mile or more De Rothan pulled up on the top of a

hill, looked back, and listened. His men drew in and waited in silence.

The night seemed still and empty of all sound, and there was no rattle

of hoofs to tell of pursuit.

De Rothan turned his horse and rode on.

"How is it with you, sweet Nance?"

She would not answer him.

"Frightened and outraged, eh? Come, come, you must make allowances for

the spirit of adventure. If I have to cover your beauty with a blanket,

it is to keep you from making the moon jealous. I thought all the world

loved a pirate, a highwayman, and a gentlemanly villain! Once on board

the lugger, eh! You shall see me in a red cap and big sea boots, and

with a belt full of cutlasses and pistols. Ha--ha! That is the stage

cry, eh? Ha--ha! Your friends are finding some little affairs to keep

them about my house."

Nance shivered, and felt a wild desire to cry out. She had come by a

blind horror of the man, a horror that was quickened by her own physical

helplessness. Already her heart had accused him of Jasper Benham's

death, for those words of Gaston's still haunted her.

De Rothan appeared to divine her emotions.

"You are longing to ask questions, my Nance, and you feel like a fly in

a web? What has become of Mr. Benham and of your good father? Well, I

will try to put your mind at rest. Mr. Benham is having his irons

knocked off, and is drinking a pot of beer. Your father may be scolding

the moon. And Brick House is burning."

He felt her body quiver. She was overstrung with suspense, incredulity,

and fear.

"Why did we set the house alight? Well, you see, sweet one, it was an

excellent trick for distracting the bull. They could not leave Mr.

Benham there to be burned. When they have finished yonder, we may have

them after us. But then, you see, they may not know where to find us."

She wondered whether he was speaking the truth, or merely talking to

reassure her. His triumphant playfulness had all the glittering hardness

of a well-cut stone. It was useless to appeal to him, and there was

nothing that she could do to help herself.

The minutes seemed to gallop and to keep pace with the horses. They

appeared to be mounting some rising ground, and to be moving over

grassland by the dull thudding of the horses' hoofs. Presently De Rothan

drew in, and his men came round him, making a black blur upon the summit

of a hill.

To the right rose the long black ridge that climbed up to Fairlight

Down, and before them lay the sea; a tranquil, summer sea under the

moon. The shore was like a dark fringe to a silver robe.

De Rothan and his men were at gaze, looking for something that should

have been visible out yonder. For some moments there was silence, and

Nance felt the thread of hope breaking beneath the weight of her

suspense.

"Hum--we are a little early. Let us go down to the shore."

The horses were turned into a narrow, high-banked lane that descended

steeply toward the flats between the high ground and the sea. Loose

stones rolled and scattered under the horses' hoofs. Nance had a feeling

that De Rothan's mood had changed. His arm seemed to hold her more

tightly. He was grimmer, less pleased with the chances of the night.

In another minute they had reached the bottom of the hill, and loose

stones gave place again to grass. They moved on for another two hundred

yards or more before De Rothan reined in.

Nance felt herself lifted down from De Rothan's horse. The scarf that

fastened her arms was untied, and the blanket taken away. She found

herself standing on rough grassland that ended in the shingle of the

beach. The place was very lonely, with masses of furze and of bramble

screening the shore and covering much of the ground between the sea and

the hills. The tide was making a faint splashing along the shingle

banks, the broken water catching the moonlight and turning it into a

thousand glimmering scales.

De Rothan was standing on a little hillock and looking out to sea. His

profile was visible to Nance, hard, intent, and a little scornful. The

man was anxious, but not afraid.

He turned to her with an air of cynical courtesy.

"Will it please you to walk a little way along the shore with me? I have

certain things to say to you."

She was afraid of being alone with him, and De Rothan saw it.

"Come, come, I am not going to cut your throat, or be violent. Gaston,

keep yourselves and your horses under cover of that furze. We shall not

have long to wait. Now, Nance, I am ready."

The stretch of coarse grass divided the furze banks and the shingle, and

De Rothan set off eastward along it with Nance at his side. The girl was

white and on the alert. The splashing of the sea upon the shingle was

full of a sinister and shivering suggestiveness.

"My Nance, you are still very young. Why are you so afraid of me and of

the future that I offer you?"

The triumphant tenderness in his voice made her shudder.

"Need you ask me such questions?"

"It is all bold adventure, is it not, and am I not a man to gallop off

with a girl's heart?"

"Adventure! I hate the word!"

He laughed.

"Poor Nance, after all, it does not suit the click of knitting needles.

It is only pleasant in books, eh? Well, well, why not some pretty

château across the water, with swans on the moat, and a fine old-time

garden? You would not quarrel with such quiet, homely things."

Her very dread of him made her passionately impatient. She turned to one

side and sat down on a low bank in the full light of the moon.

"I'll not answer you."

"Mr. Benham is a homely young man, eh? He smells more of the fireside

and the kitchen? Whereas I am a gallant, and one of the best swordsmen

in France."

She rested her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her two hands.

"What kind of man are you to treat me like this? If you had one shred of

honour in you----"

"Honour? I have as much honour in me as Mr. Benham, and much more in the

way of brains."

"At least I have my pride left me and my scorn for you."

"Dear Nance, do you think you will speak to me like this when we are

over the water? I think not--I think not."

There was something of menace in his eyes, the exultation of fierce

desire. He watched her a moment, and then began to pace up and down,

throwing sharp glances at the moonlit hills and toward the sea. It was

plain that a savage impatience was growing in him, and that even his

insolent complacency could not save him from suspense. Now again he

paused to listen, fancying he heard the sound of galloping upon the

hills.

"Devil take the man! Why is he not here with the boat?"

Nance watched him narrowly as his long shadow went to and fro over the

grass. A glimpse of hope had risen in her, a determination to try some

last desperate trick. She strained her ears, trying to catch some sound

above the moist playing of the water on the shingle. If Jeremy only knew

the road they had taken. If he and Jasper could only arrive in time.

Her heart would have leapt in her could she have seen a long, lithe

figure squirming away amid the furze bushes. It was the figure of a man

who had crept down to reconnoitre, and who was making his way back

toward the higher ground above.

Half way up the hillside there was a thicket of dwarf, wind-twisted

oaks. The man made for this, keeping in the shadow of the furze bushes.

He gained the thicket and disappeared into it, to be surrounded almost

instantly by a crowd of eager men.

"What news, Tom?"

"They be down yonder; t' three chaps wid the horses, and Miss Durrell

and the French blackguard a little way along t' shore."

There was a murmuring of voices, and the clicking of pistol locks.

"Look to your priming, men. Now, listen to me."

They had left their horses on the other side of the hill, crept over the

brow under the shadow of a hedge, and taken cover in the oak thicket.

Tom Stook had been sent out to reconnoitre.

Jeremy told off Steyning and Parsloe with the four men to creep down and

overpower De Rothan's three French servants. He himself with Jasper,

Stott, and Tom Stook took a line a little more to the east so as to

strike the shore where De Rothan and Nance were waiting. Jeremy ordered

Stott to lead, but took second place himself. He had to hold Jasper by

the arm, and plead with him fiercely.

"Am I going to let you spoil all my plans by getting hurt at the last

moment? You have the pluck, but a man who has been in irons for three

weeks is not fit to face a swordsman like De Rothan. Moreover, I want

the surgeon at my elbow. He is a devil with a pistol, and will keep De

Rothan marked."

Jasper knew that Jeremy talked sound sense.

"It goes against the grain, Jeremy."

"I know, lad, I know. I shall love you the more for giving in to me."

They started down through the furze, Steyning, Parsloe, and their men

giving them a short start, since Jeremy's party had farther to go. Tom

Stook led, winding in and out among the furze bushes. Jeremy and Stott

followed close on him, with Jasper in the rear. Jeremy had given him his

sword to carry, having unbuckled it before their advance upon the beach.

Stook paused from time to time. The noise of the sea washing along the

shingle smothered any slight sound they made in brushing through the

grass or against the bushes. In five minutes they were close to the

shore, and could hear De Rothan speaking.

"My Nance, it is no use your putting up your pretty hands against fate.

Come now and kiss me, and let us forgive."

"Only let me be!"

They heard De Rothan's laugh, and then Nance's voice in sudden alarm.

"Look, there is a boat."

"Where?"

"Away yonder. I can see the sail."

Jeremy had risen from behind the furze, and Stott followed him. They saw

that De Rothan had turned and was looking out to sea. Nance had played

her poor little trick on him, and it had answered. She picked up her

skirts and made a dash toward the furze.

Jeremy leapt out on to the grass, shouting.

"Run, Nance, run, into the bushes for your life."

She was still in the moonlight, though nearing the banks of shadow. De

Rothan had twisted about, raised an arm, and taken aim. Jeremy's voice

rang out, fiercely, warningly.

"Not at the girl, not at the girl, De Rothan!"

Then Stott's pistol cracked, and De Rothan's hat went whirling, but left

him unhurt. Whether the shot startled him, or whether he drew the

trigger purposely, his pistol belched flame. Nance was some thirty yards

from him. She gave a curious cry, staggered on a few steps, and then

fell face forward into the furze.

A man's cry echoed Nance's. Jeremy swung round and caught Jasper round

the middle.

"No, no, lad! Leave him to us."

"Let go, Jeremy, damn you, let go."

"Tom Stook--quick! Take hold here."

They held Jasper between them, mastering him with some ease, for he was

weak despite his wild anger against De Rothan. Stott had marched forward

several paces, and was calmly covering De Rothan with his second pistol.

"I've missed ye once, ye damned coward. Stand fast, or I'll put a bullet

through you."

Jeremy had left Jasper to Tom Stook after wrenching his sword out of

Jasper's hand. He joined Stott, sword and pistol ready, his eyes looking

grimly at De Rothan.

"See to the girl, Stott. I'll deal with this gentleman."

Stott threw his pistol down and ran toward Nance, who lay half hidden in

the furze. De Rothan was standing stiff and erect like a black pillar

outlined by the moon. His one pistol was empty, and he had nothing left

him but his sword.

He threw his head back suddenly and shouted to his men.

"Gaston, _à moi_--Gaston----"

His cry came too late. Steyning, Parsloe, and their men had crept down

and overpowered the three Frenchmen without their firing a shot. Their

exultant shouts came with the swish of the water on the shingle.

XL

Jasper had broken away from Tom Stook, whose huge fists had

sympathetically relaxed their hold. Jasper's eyes were turned, not

toward Jeremy Winter and De Rothan, but toward Surgeon Stott, who was

bending over Nance.

Stott, glancing round to see how matters stood, saw Jasper's white face

and shining eyes.

"Keep back, Mr. Benham, keep back. I don't want any one meddling with me

in my business."

He rose and made as though to force Jasper back.

"Look you, sir, you are a man of sense, and I don't want folk hanging

round when I have work to do. If I want you I'll call you."

But Stott's professional whims were not to be humoured on this

particular occasion. Something stirred and moved close to them. Both men

turned to find Nance on her knees, putting her hair back from her

forehead and looking at them questioningly.

"Nance!"

"Jasper!"

Stott felt for his snuff-box and stood aside. Here were these two young

people kneeling face to face--Jasper holding Nance's hands, and looking

at her as a man looks at a love that has been snatched from death.

"Nance, are you hurt?"

"No, no. The bullet only grazed my arm."

"Thank God."

"I think I threw myself down when he fired. It was just instinct. And I

lay here--to be safe--till friends came up."

Jasper was kissing her hands with a man's devoutness, and Stott took

snuff with energy and walked on to where Jeremy and De Rothan were

standing like two statues, staring into each other's eyes. Neither of

them had spoken, neither of them had moved.

"What news, Stott? I haven't eyes in the back of my head."

"Two young people seem very taken with each other."

"She's not hurt, then?"

"A mere scratch."

"God be praised!"

There were deep furrows between Jeremy's eyebrows, and his mouth was a

grim, hard line. He moved three steps nearer to De Rothan, pistol on

hip, sword ready.

"Have you any more cheating cards to play, sir, before we come to the

last hand?"

De Rothan's face looked stormy. The light, insolent humour had left him.

He was up against grim weapons and grim men.

"Shoot away, my little fellow; my own pistol is empty."

As he spoke, he tossed the empty pistol aside upon the grass. Jeremy's

eyes glittered maliciously.

"I do not shoot women and unarmed men, sir. Even a cur may be given a

chance to fight. You have your sword there."

De Rothan bowed to him.

"It is at your service, sir, if you are not afraid."

"Psst, I know that sort of lingo. I am not a raw boy, my friend. I don't

deal in words."

Meanwhile Jasper had lifted Nance to her feet, and was standing with his

arm about her, and looking down into her face. Her eyes glimmered in the

moonlight, soft, dusky eyes that were full of infinite and mysterious

things.

"Dear heart, what you have suffered!"

"And you!"

"I would go through it all again--for this."

She drew in her breath quickly.

"Oh, no, no. You were so near death. And even now I feel that all is not

finished."

She glanced toward the three dark figures of Jeremy, Stott, and De

Rothan. Jasper understood. His arm tightened about her, and he led her

further away along the shore.

"Stay here, Nance. There is nothing to fear."

"No."

"I must be with Jeremy."

She looked at him a little anxiously and saw the steady purpose in his

eyes.

"Jasper, promise me----"

"What, dear heart?"

"You will not risk yourself."

"I promise. I have already promised Jeremy, though it makes me ready to

call myself a coward."

"You--a coward! And that wretched man?"

"He has Jeremy to deal with. He had better have faced the Devil

himself."

There was the noise of men running, and Steyning and young Parsloe

appeared in the moonlight, having left their men to guard De Rothan's

servants. Jasper hailed them as they came up.

"All's well here. Jack Parsloe, man, will you bide with Miss Durrell

while I join Jeremy?"

The youngster raised his hat and bowed to Nance. Jasper and Steyning

hastened on to where Winter and Surgeon Stott faced De Rothan.

It was a grim group, imperturbable and pitiless. Jeremy was speaking to

Stott with the cool and matter-of-fact air of a man arranging a dinner

party. De Rothan's was the only restless figure. He fidgeted with his

sword, and kept moving his head as though his cravat were too tight for

him. His mouth was dry; his eyes shadowy in a sullen and bloodless face.

He looked hard at Jasper with a sudden malicious shrewdness.

"Mr. Benham, you have often uttered big words to me. There was that

little bout of ours in Darvel's Wood. I am ready to renew it."

Jeremy's chin went up. He passed his sword to Stott, and stripped off

his coat.

"That will not serve you, sir. I am your man."

Even in the moonlight they could see De Rothan's sneer.

"No doubt Mr. Benham is nervous----"

Jasper was standing by with white face and set jaw. But Jeremy had seen

through De Rothan's cunning, nor did he mean to let the Frenchman sneer

Jasper into fighting him.

"Enough of that. Off with your coat."

He caught his sword from Stott, and sprang forward toward De Rothan.

There was to be no prevarication, no escape. De Rothan looked into

Jeremy's eyes, threw his coat aside, and drew his sword.

"Come, my little fellow!"

Their swords touched, and they were at it.

De Rothan was one of those long-armed, florid fighters, passionate and

skilful, whose very fierceness had flustered many a weaker man. He began

swaggeringly, to discover in the course of the first few passes with

what a grim master of sword craft he had to deal. This little,

hard-mouthed man was steady as a rock. He put De Rothan's savage and

murderous thrusts aside with an imperturbable confidence that was

pleasant to behold. Those who watched seemed to have no fear for Jeremy.

Stott took snuff with placid satisfaction. There were no sounds but the

tingling of the sword blades and the shuffling of the men's feet.

De Rothan became cautious of a sudden, and his forehead showed lines of

strain. Jeremy's eyes were not pleasant eyes to watch. The man was

untouchable and most damnably cool.

"Tsst--one for you----"

"No--but for you."

With one quick thrust Jeremy pricked De Rothan's forehead, and a red

mark showed between the brows. The savage egotism of the man seemed to

flare up in fury. He leapt back, brushed the blood aside, and then

sprang at Jeremy with a passionate desire to kill.

These fierce, passionate thrusts were his last. There was a flickering

of the blades in the moonlight, and then Jeremy's point went home. The

thrust had all the weight of his body behind it. De Rothan threw up his

arms, seemed to break at the middle, and fell forward on his face.

For a moment there was silence. No one moved, no one spoke. Then Jeremy

pulled up a tuft of grass and calmly wiped his sword.

"What's your verdict, Stott?"

The surgeon and Steyning turned De Rothan over. His eyelids twitched,

but that was all. They saw that he was dead.

"Right through the heart, sir."

"The price he played for. Jasper, lad, shake hands."

All four drew together, talking in undertones. Then Steyning marched off

along the beach in the direction of his men. He passed Parsloe and Nance

with a nod, but he did not speak to them.

There were pieces of driftwood lying along the shingle. Steyning told

two of the men to pick up pieces, and to follow him back along the

shore. Here, close to where De Rothan lay, they began to scrape a

shallow grave in the shingle above high-water mark. When the grave was

ready they lifted De Rothan into it, covered him with shingle, and set

up a piece of driftwood to mark the place.

There was a short silence. The men loitered, saying nothing, and looking

at Winter and Jasper Benham. Surgeon Stott was the first to speak.

"What about the three fellows yonder?"

"Poor devils! Lewes gaol or Rye Harbour? What do you say, Jasper?"

"Let them go."

"Good. That's what was in my heart."

They moved away from the place where De Rothan lay buried and Jasper

found himself alone with Nance. The moonlight was on the sea, and the

waves washed the shingle. The man and the girl held together, as though

they desired to be very close to one another after what had passed.

"It is finished, Nance."

She shivered slightly.

"How lonely it must be--there!"

"Dear heart, I cannot quarrel with the end."

She clung close to him, and her brown eyes filled with tears.