THE DEAD WOMAN
I
He stood bareheaded in the sun in long black riding-coat and muddied
boots and breeches.
"What's that red riband in your button-hole?" asked the boy in a kind
of awe.
"That! that's the Legion of Honour." He came a step forward. "Put your
finger on it. That little bit of riband once lay upon the heart of
Napoleon."
The boy began to tremble. That tiny square of red from which he could
not take his eyes had once throbbed to the heart-beats of the Arch-
enemy!
"D'you know him?"
"Little Boney!" laughing. "Yes, I know him."
The boy listened without hearing. It was all too dreamlike.
"D'you--d'you like him?"
The other chuckled.
"_Like_ him?--I don't know that I exactly _like_ him. You
see he's not what you and I should call a gentleman. Still he serves
me, so I serve him."
The boy's thumb was to his mouth, baby-like. All his anger had passed.
He was gazing at the other with brooding admiration.
This was the man who had kept three counties agog these two months
past!
He was an enemy, but O! he was a hero.
Strangely young too, almost a boy; tall and slight as his own sword,
the grey eyes big under dark brows, the face sun-golden and lean
almost to gauntness.
"How _did_ you do it?" murmured the boy.
The other's eyes clouded; the lids fell.
"I could not have done it but for her," he said.
Then for the first time the boy remembered the dead woman.
II
But it was no dead woman the Gentleman was standing over now; it was a
chestnut mare, the sun glistening on a coat that shone like a girl's
hair. She lay along the turf with lank neck, belly exposed, and shoes
flashing; strangely pathetic as a horse seen in such position always
looks.
There was not a stain of sweat on her coat, not a trace of froth about
her muzzle. A plain snaffle bridle lay beside her. Her head was bare
and fine as a lady's; the eyes wide, the nostrils still.
Strangely like somehow, mare and man; and about both faces something
of the length and strength of the eagle.
There was one marked difference. In the man life still rippled
gloriously; the mare was quiet for ever.
Born to the saddle as to the sea, the boy's eye ran over her.
"What a beauty!" he gasped.
"I couldn't have attempted it but for her," replied the other quietly.
"When the Emperor asked me to undertake it--'Sire,' I said, 'if I may
take my Bonnet Rouge!'... I tell you," he cried, turning almost
fiercely on the boy, "I've left Merton as the first star peeped, and
seen the sun rise out of the sea from here!... But I forgot...."
III
A cold shadow swept over him. Kit could feel the change--it was like
passing from day to night; and it chilled the boy's heart.
Up there in the lonely stillness, sea beneath, heaven above, earth
around, the two faced each other.
All the laughter had ebbed from the man's being. He was still and cold
as his sword.
"D'you know what is in here?" tapping the scent-bottle.
His eyes, frosty now, seemed to bore down to the boy's soul.
Kit froze too.
"Why?"
"Because if you will give me your word that you do not know, I will
let you go."
Those eyes of his were terrible.
"Will you give me your word?"
The boy was pale as ice.
Death in cold blood here on the quiet hillside--death like a pig's in
a sty.... Ugh!...
"No, thank you."
"Then prepare to meet your Maker."
He turned and fiddled with a pistol, snapped it, cursed in an
undertone, and thrust it back in his pocket.
Then he turned again.
The boy stood before him with dark eyes. Slight as a lily, and the
colour of one, he seemed to sway in the breeze.
"Give me your word not to speak of what you know till after Thursday
next--and you may go."
The boy shook his head.
"I mustn't."
The man flashed the hue of lightning.
"Then I must."
An arm swept about the boy. A hand at his waist was fumbling for his
dirk.
For a second the lad struggled: then he felt himself helpless as a
rabbit in a python's grip, and lay back quite still.
Once face to face with God, his heart calmed strangely.
There was a horrible breathing in his ear.
A face, all eyes, was bending over him.
"_My God_! _how like a girl he is_!" came a far whisper.
"Go on, please, and don't insult me," gurgled the boy. And as he said
it, his mind flashed back to Gwen: Gwen with her pride of sex,
standing before him, fists closed, challenging him to fight--"cad!"
"What are you chuckling about?"
"Gwen--my sister.... She thinks a girl's as good as a boy.... Go on."
The hand upon his forehead quitted its hold.
"I can't," said the Gentleman.
The arm about the boy relaxed.
Kit stood up.
"Thank you," he said, and readjusted his collar.
The Gentleman rippled off into laughter.