THE OLD HAG
Every man has his weak points, even the strongest, and it will often
happen that the greatest weaknesses are to be found in the strongest
men. The very characteristics which make them great in one direction
tend to make them contemptible in another.
It had never occurred to Roger Herrick that he was in any way a hero;
he had merely played a man's part in the circumstances which had
forced him into a prominent position, and so far he was a strong man;
but he entirely overlooked the fact that others could not possibly
judge his actions from the same standpoint as he did himself, and
herein he was weak. Pride and obstinacy fastened themselves upon him.
He had fully intended to give an explanation to Christine, and because
she was not ready to applaud his actions, he remained silent. He loved
her with the sudden strong passion of a man who has not frittered away
his affections by playing at love with many women, and he obstinately
resented her outspoken criticism, while pride stepped in and made him
play the tyrant. He became conscious of his own strength, and would
bend her to his will. She must recognize that he was right and that
she was wrong. Out of her knowledge of him she must learn not to
misunderstand him. The Herricks had always been proud and self-willed,
and it was perhaps hardly wonderful that the family trait should
forcibly show itself now.
It was unfortunate for the country that the man's self-will was
opposed to an equally strong will in the woman. She, too, was proud,
and since she had been kept in the dark it was only natural that she
should suppose Herrick's ambition had triumphed over every other
consideration. A woman loves a man for what she believes him to be,
and in Christine's case the proud woman had bent to a humble though
brave suitor. She was prepared to give much, but it must be pleaded
for. Now it was demanded of her by a man who, having promised to serve
her, had merely used her as a stepping-stone to power. She could not
hate him even now, although she told herself that she did, but he must
suffer, he must recognize her power, no matter what the consequences
to herself might be. She found the means ready to her hand in the
schemes of Father Bertrand, who, although he had not divulged to her
his true and ultimate aim, had persuaded her that the actions he
suggested were for the good of the country. It was an appeal which
went straight to her heart, and in her present state of mind no
sacrifice was too great.
The savage instinct lies latent in us all, and it was well that
Herrick had little time to brood over his trouble. The pressing
affairs of the state called forth all his energies, and the dangers
which surrounded and threatened him brought out all that was best in
his character. The fact that he was Duke absorbed him, and the
individuality of Roger Herrick, the English country gentleman, was
swallowed up in the wider personality of the Ruler of Montvilliers. He
was a changed man, and while the dwarf missed something in the new
man, Gaspard Lemasle rejoiced in the Duke he served. The captain knew
that he was a fighter and a man of resource; he now understood that
he was a strategist, a statesman, and a born leader of men.
The rumors from the frontier grew each day more definite. The enemy
was gathered there ready for invasion. Any day news might come that
the frontier had been crossed, and the Duke's actions were eagerly
watched. His enemies said he was afraid to move from Vayenne, that he
would not be able to get even the semblance of an army to follow him,
while even his friends wondered how he could extricate himself from
his difficulties.
The Dukes of Montvilliers had ever been autocrats, asking advice but
seldom, and Herrick, even if he had wished to be otherwise, was forced
into the same position. To none did he explain all his thoughts and
actions. Only Jean knew that Pierre Briant and the charcoal-burners
were searching for the hag. Only Lemasle knew what steps he had taken
to meet the dangers that threatened on the frontier. Only de Bornais
had been his counsellor in other matters, and he had encouraged Father
Bertrand to visit Christine and bring her to reason. He had not
attempted to see her again himself.
Jean was alone with him when news came from Pierre Briant.
"Sir, we found her lying on a heap of dead leaves in the most solitary
depths of the forest," said the soldier.
"She cursed us for not leaving her to die in peace. She was ill, of
that there was no doubt, and we carried her to the charcoal-burners'
hut. She is still alive, but Briant thought it would not do to bring
her to Vayenne. The journey would probably kill her."
"We will come to her to-morrow," said Herrick. "Hasten back at once,
and tell Pierre Briant to treat her well, and keep her alive."
The man saluted, and went out.
"So we are not contented with the difficulties we have, friend Roger,
but go quickly to raise up others," said Jean.
"We try to be honest," was the careless answer, "but it's a difficult
world to be honest in."
"Ay; even our friends stand in the way," said the dwarf. "You'll have
to choose between your friends and honesty some day."
"I am going to try and satisfy both." And the dwarf laughed as Herrick
sent for de Bornais and Lemasle.
They entered the room together, Lemasle expecting orders that had been
long waited for, de Bornais a little disturbed in his mind, as was
natural to a man holding such a secret as he did.
"It is time that the threatened danger on the frontier should be
brought to a definite issue," said Herrick. "Lemasle, we march
to-night. De Bornais, we leave the city in your charge. We must keep
what men are necessary to defend the castle and the town, but as few
as possible must remain. We shall have need of all the men we can
command. Arrange it with Captain Lemasle. At the first sight of riot
in the city, deal firmly with it, de Bornais. The men who would plot
and rise against us when their country's freedom is at stake, deserve
little mercy."
"I will defend the town," said de Bornais, and perhaps he hated
himself a little for the deceit he practised, for he added: "Your army
must be small, my lord; is it wise to leave Vayenne?"
"Before we meet the enemy I hope it will be larger," Herrick answered.
"There are some honest men amongst my enemies. In the country's need
I have appealed to them to forget civil dissension for the time being,
and some are inclined to listen to me. I have appointed a
meeting-place, where all honest men in Montvilliers shall send me what
help they can. To-morrow I expect to find a goodly array of stalwart
soldiers there. The enemy at the frontier shall find that we can still
bite, de Bornais, and are not such curs that we cannot drop our own
quarrels when face to face with a common danger."
De Bornais bowed. Words could not come easily. Did the Duke suspect
him, and was this a subtle appeal to his honor?
So at midnight, when a moonless sky was brilliant with low-hanging
stars, the commotion in the court-yard woke Christine out of her first
sleep, and she got up, and went to the window. The torches threw a
weird, dancing light over the scene. Impatient steeds were pawing the
uneven stones, men called hoarsely to one another, and at sharp
commands swung themselves quickly to their saddles, and in troops
passed through the open gate and across the great square, and caused
other sleepers to awake and go to their windows, disturbed by the
unusual noise in the streets. Vayenne had heard no rumor of this
midnight march. Christine had known nothing of it. She watched the men
mount and go, recognized Captain Lemasle as he superintended the
departure, and presently saw him mount his own horse. Then a figure
appeared on the terrace and slowly descended the steps. How different
now to that night when, at the foot of those steps, she had mounted
her horse, and had ridden across the court-yard to look into the face
of a spy. Herrick stood for a moment at the bottom of the steps, and
looked up into the starlit sky--or was the look only toward her
window?--and the next moment he was settling himself in his saddle.
Jean was leaning from the terrace to look at him, and Christine leaned
forward to see him better. Had Herrick looked up again, he might have
caught sight of the white figure at the window. But he did not turn.
He bent down to say something to de Bornais, and then with the last of
the soldiers rode out of the gate, which was immediately closed. Then
the dwarf looked up at the window, and saw the white figure, and
wondered!
The city grew silent under the night when the last of the soldiers had
passed out of it and across the river, the last round was that of the
horses as they passed over the bridge; and to Jean the castle seemed
empty, ghost-haunted, and a place to feel fear in. He could not sleep
on such a night; he climbed to the summit of the western tower, and
was alone with the stars and his thoughts.
When they had been riding for about an hour, Herrick left Lemasle in
command, and taking half-a-dozen men with him, turned in the direction
of the forest. One of the men who knew the hut of the charcoal-burners
acted as guide, and early in the morning they came to the place so
full of memories to Herrick. Pierre Briant heard the horses, and came
out of the hut.
"Is she still alive?" asked Herrick, swinging himself from the saddle.
"Yes, sir: but dying."
"Or shamming, think you?"
"Really dying, sir; there was a rattle in her throat in the night."
The old hag was lying in much the same spot that Herrick himself had
occupied. A fire was upon the hearth, and the smell of the peat was
pungent. The old woman's face looked like a skull over which yellow
skin had been lightly drawn. The closed eyes, sunken, and like empty
sockets, increased the likeness. The noise of Herrick's entrance
disturbed her, and she looked up at him as he stood over her.
"You know me," he said sternly.
"You're a liar, curse you." And although the words were feebly spoken
there was venom in them.
"A wounded man
In a forest lay,
Who the fates decree
Shall be Duke one day."
recited Herrick.
The sound of the doggerel brought a look of interest into the old
hag's face.
"Now do you know me?" asked Herrick. "You were wrong. I was not the
wounded man. I am the one you had bound to a tree, to be left to the
will of fate. Fate has been kind. I am the Duke."
The hag tried to raise a skinny arm, as though to protect herself from
his vengeance.
"Tell me, where was the wounded man taken? Where is he now?"
"Shall be Duke one day," mumbled the old woman.
"Where is he?"
"Ah!" she said, not sharply, but in a long drawn out sound almost like
the hiss of a snake.
"Quick, or we will find means to make you speak."
"You can't, curse you."
"We'll tie her to a tree," said Herrick. "I know the method of it, and
there is no need for care that the rope is loose at her throat."
Two of the men moved forward as though to seize her and carry her out.
"Curse you, let me be," she tried to scream, but the words were only a
whistle. "If I tell, what then?"
"We make no bargain."
"You--you--curse you!"
"Out with her to the tree," said Herrick, and one of the men bent
down, and touched her.
"I'll tell--I'll tell."
"Quickly then."
"Simon sold him to the enemy," the old woman said--"the enemy that's
now on the way to make carrion of such as you. He's dead, or if he
isn't he's safe in a tower by the frontier close to Larne, and you'll
never get him, curse you."
"I know the place, sir," whispered one of the men. "She may be
speaking the truth."
The hag had closed her eyes again, but after a few seconds she opened
them, and in that short interval she seemed to have forgotten all that
had gone before. She started, as though for the first time she
realized that men were looking down at her, and she began to curse
them in a long string of foul oaths which were truly appalling.
Herrick thought she must be shamming sickness, for she suddenly raised
herself almost into a sitting posture, and pointing at him with her
long, skeleton hand, let loose all the vials of her vituperation upon
him, promising him a hell here and damnation of the most horrible and
fantastic kind hereafter.
"Duke!--Liar!" she screamed, and her voice was strong for an instant.
"Duke!--curse you--wounded man--fates--some day--curse!"
The words were in a descending scale, the last a mere whisper, and
then her body heaved as if she would spring to her feet. The next
moment she fell backward with a thud--dead!
Herrick turned away with a shudder. Such a death was horrible.
"The world's well rid of her," said Briant.
"Bury her presently," said Herrick to the charcoal-burners. "God knows
her history, and shall judge her. Bury her out of the beaten track,
and deeply, and then if you will, follow us toward Larne. Montvilliers
has need of every stalwart son she has given birth to."
They were soon riding through the forest again, Pierre Briant and his
men with them. Herrick rode alone a little in advance, and the old
hag's doggerel was singing in his ears. Her last disjointed words were
evidently an attempt to repeat the rhyme. It was well that the
soldiers knew nothing of the circumstances under which it had first
been spoken, or they might have been superstitious enough to look upon
him as a leader foredoomed to failure.
Toward evening they came to the rendezvous, and the sight put new
spirit into Herrick. The nobles had responded to his appeal in a
manner far beyond his greatest hopes. Many of them had come themselves
to the meeting-place bringing all the men they could, and others had
sent men. Herrick found his army greatly increased.
There came forward to meet him the old noble who had spoken in the
great hall that night, and Herrick dismounted to receive him.
"Sir, there was only one way of answering your appeal," said the old
man. "It was worthy of a Duke. My arm is not so strong as it was, but
there is still too much energy in it to stay at home when every good
man is of service."
"I thank you," Herrick answered. "You shall find me as ready to fulfil
my part of the bargain when we return in peace."
"Sir, I know you for a true man, and if I return you shall find me
amongst your friends."
Not all met him in this generous fashion, but they were all willing to
follow him in the defence of their country.
"With such loyalty, who can dream of failure?" said Herrick. "In
Vayenne yonder, they have whispered that the nobles of Montvilliers
were in league with the enemy. It was a false report. Surely there can
be few in the land."
"And they may be in the city," said one.
Herrick would not believe such a thing.
"Their quarrel was with me," he said, "that is a different matter to
treachery toward their country. We march at dawn. See to it, Lemasle.
Not yet is Montvilliers to fall a prey to her enemies."
A great shout welcomed his words, but Herrick's heart was heavy that
night in spite of all. Were there traitors in Vayenne, subtle and
powerful enough to make terms with the enemy? Who were they? Felix? De
Bornais? Christine? Did she hate him so much, that to punish him she
would sacrifice her country? And all night he lay awake, thinking not
of the task before him, but of the woman he loved.