"Seven there were, and now--Miller, Burnham, Carberry--all

dead. And Leverett in the hand of God, if still he lives. And

Jim Knapps badly wounded. That leaves but poor Cuffee and

me."

"To-night you'd better lie in my den. If my grandmother has

returned to it, you can tackle her; but indeed I fear you'll see her

no more. Norcot was to turn her gold and trinkets into paper

money. Then she meant to go to France."

"Why wait till to-morrow? Why not to-night?"

"I cannot get there, Mr. Stark. I've walked forty miles and

more to-day. Five yet lie before us, and that will settle me.

Food's been scarce, too, of late. I'm not in good fighting trim, I

fear."

Stark seized his hand.

"By God! you've done your share! But your troubles are

near over. You come with me to Vermont, or I'll not go. I've

sworn to myself that you come. I don't leave this country

without you."

"You are very generous and good."

They tramped over the night-hidden land in silence. Twice

Lee had to stop and rest awhile. Then he walked forward.

Before midnight they reached the ruined cot under Sittaford Tor.

Plenty of food was hidden there, and both ate heartily, drank

from a rivulet at hand, and then slept side by side.

The place was empty, for Lovey Lee had not returned to it;

but before dawn the old woman, like an aged tigress, came slinking

back. Upon entering the cot and striking a light, she saw not

only her grandson, but the pale upturned face of Cecil Stark.

Neither moved in their profound slumber; but the woman

instantly extinguished her taper, and crept out of doors again.

"It's a hell of a tramp to take twice in one night," she thought.

"Yet 'tis good for another clear hundred, and Norcot shan't hear

it for less."

Then she set her old bones creaking again upon the way to

Chagford.

CHAPTER VIII

BEARDING THE LION

To Maurice Malherb it seemed that he was living his life over

again. Upon the second disappearance of his daughter, the

old turmoil recurred; but less fury marked his manners and more

method. Grace had gone for a long tramp over the Moor, and

had never returned home. She set out after her mid-day meal

and was no more seen. Neither had any man nor woman heard

of her. Tom Putt, indeed, remembered the letter that he had

conveyed to her through Mr. Cloberry; but he also knew this

missive came from John Lee. Therefore he felt no alarm, but

doubted not that John was working with Cecil Stark, and that

Grace was safe.

When the catastrophe at Prince Town became known and it

transpired that not a few besides Stark were reported missing, the

Americans declared their compatriots were fallen in the struggle

and had been hastily buried by night, that the numbers of the

slain might not challenge too much attention; but the history of

the time may be relied upon in this matter, and it is safe to

assume that those unaccounted for upon that unhappy night

escaped in the subsequent confusion, even as Cecil Stark had

done.

So, at least, concluded Maurice Malherb; and, awake to the

significance of the incident in connection with his daughter's

disappearance, he was first minded to yield and let her have her

way; but then he came back to himself, and fury awoke him, and

he sought Peter Norcot, that the wool-stapler might assist him to

recover his daughter.

Malherb rode over the Moor to Chagford upon the morning

after the tragedy at Prince Town; and on his way he reflected

concerning his own peculiar position.

It was now generally known that in a fit of rage he had slain

an ancient woman upon Cater's Beam. But since the attributes

of Lovey Lee and her history came also to be apprehended; so

soon as it was understood that Lovey had plotted with the

American prisoners and herself was hiding from a rope when

Malherb destroyed her, no further concern in the matter touched

men's minds. The times were troublous; there was much to

think of; none made it his business to take action, and Malherb's

only punishment lay within his own heart and brain.

His personal grief did not lessen; his wife alone knew of the

tortures that he still suffered. His physical health began to

break under the strain, for the man's old zest in food departed;

his zest in sport was dead; and his zest in life and the work of

life had wholly vanished. Remorse ate him alive.

To Chagford he came, and Gertrude Norcot, who had not seen

him for many days, started to find the master of Fox Tor Farm

much changed. His demeanour had altered; his carriage had

grown humble; his head had sunk forward under the blows of

time. Native pugnacity had given place to melancholy; even

the incisive and stern methods of his speech were merged into

a hollow and phlegmatic indifference, as of one careless of

affairs.

Yet to-day he was sufficiently himself to be eager, and even

passionate, as he recounted events.

"Peter has heard all," said Miss Norcot. "He has not been

idle. Indeed, for three days he has lived in the saddle.

Certainly we have seen very little indeed of him here."

"Your daughter must have a strange disposition," said a weak

voice; and, turning round, Malherb saw a little clergyman, who

held out his hand. He was flat-faced, meek and humble.

"Our kinsman, Mr. Relton Norcot," said the lady. "Peter

had occasion to go to London recently, and on his way back

through Exeter he picked up Relton. My cousin stands in need

of rest, for he works too hard."

"It is the duty of man to toil," said the minister. "What is

life without work? A formless void."

"And where is Peter now?" inquired Malherb.

"Heaven knows," answered Gertrude. "He may return to

dinner, or he may not do so. Will you stay with us for the

night?"

"No, no; I must home to my wife. I am sorry to miss him.

Let him know that Cecil Stark has escaped from the War Prison.

This will quicken his wits as it has quickened mine. I have

watchers set round about Holne. And also at Dartmouth. And

yet there is that in me which begets a great indifference now. It

is vain to fight the young, for Time is on their side."

"You must be brave, dear Mr. Malherb."

Miss Norcot put a light hand upon his arm.

"You can touch me," he said, "knowing what you know?"

"Indeed, yes. You have atoned."

He shook his head, and the clergyman spoke.

"Who shall fling the first stone, my dear sir? Who shall hale

you before your outraged country?"

Malherb stared at him, as a man who sees an unpleasant

insect suddenly where before there was none. Then his

expression changed.

"You say well. Who shall? There is but one man. His

duty it is, and he hangs back."

Miss Norcot was much interested.

"You mean her grandson? But he cannot, dear Mr. Malherb,

for he, too, stands in danger of the law. He ought to have

been hung long ago."

"I mean Maurice Malherb," he said, speaking to himself

rather than to her. "Farewell. Tell Peter that I have been

here. If he learns anything of comfort, let him hasten to us at

Fox Tor Farm."

"Be of good cheer," said the clergyman; but Malherb did not

answer. He departed and left them whispering together.

Hardly had his horse gone out of the courtyard when Peter

appeared. He had been above, in his bedchamber.

"You have made your sister say the thing which was not, my

dear Peter," said the clergyman mournfully.

"Pardon me," she answered. "I did nothing of the sort.

He asked where my brother was, and I said that Heaven knew.

That was not to say I did not know."

They fell to talking, and Maurice Malherb went slowly towards

Chagford. For a moment he stopped at Norcot's place of business

beside Teign river, and asked if Peter was there; but a

doorkeeper shook his head, and the master went on his way to

the "Three Crowns," that he might bait his horse before

returning home.

And as he passed the great manufactory, Maurice Malherb

had been within twenty yards of his daughter; for there she was

hidden; there, where hundreds of busy men and women circled

round about her and the roar of water-wheels and the hum of

looms made grand music of industry from dawn till eve, Grace

Malherb was securely shut up in Norcot's private rooms. Two

apartments had been prepared for her, and Peter's sister visited

the girl every night after dark. The full extent of her brother's

purpose Gertrude only suspected when he returned from London

and brought the Rev. Relton Norcot along with him; but how

Peter proposed to compass the marriage his sister had not yet

comprehended. Her sympathies were with him, however, and

she was true and trustworthy. She guessed which way things

were tending. She understood now that Peter's sole reason for

going to London was that he might procure a Special License of

marriage; and she knew that he had got it. Gertrude doubted

not that days--perhaps hours--would bring the sequel; and

nightly she exhausted her powers of persuasion upon Grace from

eleven o'clock until one, in the silent factory; but as yet the

captive showed no signs of being tamed. Norcot had also striven with

her, and now she was a chained fury, so that Peter told his sister

frankly that he went in fear of his eyes. Even his equanimity had

given out, and he was casting round to know by what channel the

ceremony might be celebrated as quickly as possible. But no

course of action appeared until the night before Malherb's visit.

Then Lovey Lee had brought her news out of the cottage on

Sittaford's side, and, from that moment, Peter began to see light.

Long ago he had asked himself whether Cecil Stark could be

made of any service in the great matter of Grace; and now,

when he learned that the American was almost at his door,

Peter's spidery instincts served him well. While yet he waited,

confident of the speedy advent of Stark, the future began to

unfold, and a project as extraordinary as it was difficult matured in

the merchant's brains.

"An enterprise involving violent melodrama, no doubt," he

told himself, "but then these are melodramatic times, and in the

rush and hurry of wars, and rumours of wars--in the scare of

Bonaparte and the tragedy over the hills at Prince Town, a little

lawlessness must pass unnoticed. Tut, tut! Does not the world

still think that fool at Fox Tor Farm a murderer? Yet no hand

is lifted against him. And there is a source of strength there;

for when we tell him that he is innocent of blood, he'll be so

overjoyed that he'll forgive anything and anybody. And she--once

married all must right itself. Let it work then. Come, Mr. Cecil

Stark of Vermont! I'm nearly ready for you; indeed, 'tis

perfectly plain that I can't get on much further without you.

But pray God Malherb don't run upon him riding home! Yet

'tis improbable, for he'll hardly stir till nightfall. Then the man

Lee will bring him hither. And now to see my lady. Here's

news indeed for her."

All that afternoon Norcot was closeted with Grace, and when

he left her, she let him kiss her!

"May the night bring him," she said, "for each moment is

a century when I think of my dear ones at home and all their

sufferings now."

And that night Cecil Stark arrived. As a fugitive himself, liable

to be recaptured and returned to Prince Town by any man eager

to earn three pounds, the young sailor exercised caution; and for

the sake of his guide it was also necessary that he should incur

no risk; but ere midnight he came, and Norcot himself ushered

him into the house.

"A hearty welcome!" he said, with the most genial handgrip.

"I expected you. Had you not escaped yesterday, I was coming

to Prince Town to see Short and go bail for you; but love has a

thousand wings and a thousand voices. Come in, Mr. Stark.

Henceforth you are my guest."

He offered his hand, but the other did not take it.

"One word, sir. Is Miss Malherb here?"

"Come in, come in. You gladden my heart; for Heaven can

bear witness that I took to you from the first moment ever I saw

you--when you came so near to braining that beautiful lady.

I'm 'a beast of company but not of the herd,' as Plutarch says.

Give me a friend or two, not a regiment of 'em. There was that

in your face--

Born to command, to conquer and to spare;

As mercy mild, yet terrible as war.'

Come in."

"'Wolves do change their hair, but not their hearts'!

There's a quotation for yours," said Stark suddenly and bluntly.

Mr. Norcot started.

"Tut, tut! I thought we were old friends."

"Answer me. Is Miss Malherb here?"

"Here, yet not here," replied Peter, pressing his breast.

"'Smiling then Love took his dart

And drew her picture on my heart.'

But I can relieve your mind. The maiden is well and exceedingly

happy."

"Then was John Lee right; you abducted her."

"Ah! that agile lad! Mercury's a fool to him."

Stark took off his hat and entered the house.

"I am here to escort Miss Malherb to her parents, Mr. Norcot."

"And a pleasant enough task too--for both of you. Now

enter and rest your weary limbs--nay; don't look suspicious.

There's no mystery here--merely the library of a very busy

man."

Stark sat down and rubbed a wounded foot, while Mr. Norcot

regarded him with a very whimsical expression.

"So you are a new Quixote, come to rescue distressed maidens?

Yet, if you could see the joy on Grace Malherb's countenance at

this moment, you might suspect that your disinterested labour

was in vain, Mr. Stark."

"Only her own assurances will satisfy me. As for you, in

the past I owe you much, Mr. Norcot. With a single-hearted

generosity that I cannot sufficiently admire and I cannot quite

understand, you exerted yourself on behalf of strangers and

captives. But now----'

"Now, perhaps, I am doing the same thing again, Mr. Stark.

Would it surprise you to hear that within this month I have been

to London on your behalf?"

"Why should you do so?"

"Ah!--my modesty refuses to reply. But believe the fact:

for you and Grace Malherb I have been as industrious as a man

can be. She knows and blesses me. You have yet to know."

"Is this true, sir?"

"Why not? And yet against one of your credulous character

a lie would be a good weapon."

"Yes, for a slave to use," said Stark.

"It's a nice point. I'm a casuist, you know. I could mention

a few classical lies that have helped to make the world what it is

to-day--

"'Why should not conscience have vacation

As well as other courts o' the nation?'"

"You jest to ask such a question, or you mistake me, Mr. Norcot."

"'Tis easy to understand how willingly men would give their

monitor a life-long holiday if they could. Yet, 'He that sins

against his conscience sins with a witness.' Fuller. That

inimitable man! I wish my young clerical cousin had something of

his sublime sense and understanding. But Relton's a good lad,

and no bishop can marry you tighter."

"Be frank, Mr. Norcot," said Stark. "Here am I, and I trust

you. I accept your word that Miss Malherb is also here, and

that she is well. But I am determined to take her back to her

father and mother, because I learn that they are ignorant of her

safety, and are suffering much, as it is natural they should suffer."

Peter beamed upon his visitor.

"'How fresh and green you are in this old world!' Now I

understand why your plots miscarried and you failed of your

heroic enterprises, Cecil Stark. Think you that if I'd been rogue

enough to bear off this maid for selfish ends, I should welcome

you so warmly and prepare so frankly to tell you the truth?

Suppose--as doubtless you do suppose--that I had Miss Grace

here, and my parson cousin here, and my Special License to

marry her here, should I make you a welcome and honoured

guest? What was your plan of action then? Do reveal it. As

a student of character I should like to know."

"I trusted to right and honour, and still do so."

"Yet you'd have cut but a poor figure if I had proved that

wolf-hearted wool-dealer you so rudely described."

"I judged from what John Lee told me. Your passion for

Grace Malherb and your determination to marry her are widely

known."

"Well, granted; but first John Lee. Have a care there. He's

malignant and dangerous. Powerless himself, he would leave no

stone unturned to do me a hurt--or you a hurt. Yet all that

ever I did was to try and save his neck. Remember his

granddam."

"I believe him to be honest."

"I know him to be a very silly rascal. He has much

endangered Miss Malherb's happiness. 'A whip for the horse, a

bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back'; but better still,

a bullet for the fool's head. The fools--the fools--they make

nearly all the trouble in the world."

"Lee is a good man and no fool, if I am any judge. At least,

he seems shrewd enough to me. He has served both his mistress

and me nobly before to-day. He correctly guessed all along

where Miss Malherb was now, and he brought me to you."

"Because 'twas his own folly helped to bring her here. We

may use a fool in the affairs of life; and often there's no better

tool. But be careful that no inkling of your ends is trusted to

the fool."

Cecil Stark seemed to see a sinister personal significance in

this speech. He regarded Norcot's smiling countenance with

the closest attention.

"I might take that hint to myself," he said.

"You might; but you would be wrong and ungenerous if you

did," answered the other. "I'm your friend, and I'm going to

prove it under the hand and seal of a greater than either of us."

"Her own?"

"Alas! no. I'm coming to that. If she could have written,

she would have done so. But for the moment it is unhappily

impossible. She desired a thousand messages, but these I would

not bring, because I could only give my word that they were

true. But the written word is none the less convincing."

"Begin at the beginning if you are being honest with me,"

said Stark.

"I would say with the man in the play--

"'A sudden thought strikes me,

Let us swear an eternal friendship';

but, under the circumstances, I'll leave that quotation for you.

When you hear what I've got to say, you'll make it, if you're as

just and honourable as I believe."

"Speak then."

Peter looked at the clock over the mantelpiece.

"Like a sermon, what I have to say must be set forth under

three heads. The application I shall leave with you," he answered.

"First, however, here's a glass of wine. Allow me to drink before

you do so. You would not be justified in trusting me until you

have heard more."

Mr. Norcot poured out two glasses of port, sipped his own

and began his explanations.

CHAPTER IX

A SPECIAL LICENSE

"We must deal," said Norcot, "with the relations of four

people each to the others. And first let us examine

my relations with Grace Malherb. I loved her; I loved her

with a whole-hearted, true and deep love that can only find the

faintest echo in poetry. Herrick's 'To Anthea, who may

command him anything,' comes closest to the real sentiment. But

love grows sick like an ill-grown tree, if it grows one-sided. A

dark hour struck when with acute sorrow and grief I discovered

that I could never win Grace's heart. The bitter truth was

stamped into my soul. She would never love me; she risked her

life to escape from me; frankly, I was odious to her. Yet I had

observed that this emotion of loathing was not always excited

in the female heart by my presence. I was blessed, even in the

moment of desolation, by discovering that I was loved by another

woman.

"'Who'er she be,

That not impossible She

That shall command my heart and me'

does not matter. Suffice it that she exists; and she is beautiful

and virtuous.

"As a matter of fact, I had given up all thought of marrying

when once I discovered that Grace Malherb could never love me.

I had faced the existence of a bachelor with an indifference bred

from disappointment. I had said with Shakespeare--

"'The sweet embraces of a loving wife

Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand Cupids,

Shall never clasp our necks.'

But now I think otherwise. To put it conventionally, I am consoled.

You will, I know, express your gratification at this, even

as Grace did. She kissed me and enjoyed doing it! Think of

that! What a piece of work is the feminine throne of the

emotions!--eh? She kissed me and wished me abundant

blessings--only yesterday.

"''Tis done; I yield; adieu, thou cruel fair!

Adieu, th' averted face, th' ungracious cheek!

From thee I fly to end my grief and care,

To hang--To hang?--yes, round another's neck!'

So I made light of the matter, and now leave it for ever.

"You ask what next? Next comes Grace's relation to you. I

knew that she loved you with all her heart and soul. For you she

suffered the cruel indignities of the past; for you she starved;

for you she fled and risked her life rather than marry me. Her

father was the sole obstacle between you when I dropped out and

came over to your side. He is both hard and senseless--a difficult

type of man. One must not say 'by your leave' to such as he,

because to ask is to be refused. So I propose to take without

asking, and allow him to digest facts only after the occurrence.

He is dangerous now, and those who fear all strike at all. Yet

we've more than one surprise in store for Malherb. Is it nothing

to think yourself a murderer and find yourself innocent? That's

the trump card! There'll be little room for anger in his bosom

on the day when he learns that.

"Well, I'm working without him--for love of his daughter.

'Tis settled betwixt you that you must marry though the heavens

fall. You shall. I'm as set on it as either of you. The day

after to-morrow you are man and wife. So much good news will

bewilder you; but there's bad to go as a tonic with it. You

naturally ask why these great matters do not come to you under

Grace's own hand and seal. Alas! she is blind!"

"Good God! My Grace!"

"Be patient. The fault was entirely mine. Those appointed

to bring her hither at any cost, discovered that she was

young and strong and valiant. An old man and an old woman,

albeit tough enough, found it as much as they could do, and

before they had prevailed and hidden her in the depths of an

ancient wood, all three were scratched and wounded with the

briars and brambles, in which they had struggled. She fought

with true Malherb spirit, but the conquerors came best off; Miss

Malherb was torn, and badly torn, across the face. I have had

the first advice both from Plymouth and from Exeter. For the

present she lives in a dead darkness, and must continue so to do

for a week or more."

"But she will recover her sight? Oh, do not tell me that those

wonderful eyes will see no more."

"I could hardly have borne to jest over the past, my dear

Stark, had the future held anything so terrible. Your lady's

lovely eyes are but dimmed for a time. I spoke with Sir George

Jenning only yesterday. He has little fear of the ultimate result;

but blackest possible night must hem her in for the present. A

gleam might work terrible havoc; the optic nerve is affected, and

such sympathy prevails between the eyes that injury to one may

quickly involve both."

"I hope you look to this yourself. 'Tis hard to avoid daylight

in April."

"My sister Gertrude is nurse."

"If I could but see Grace!"

"See her you certainly cannot. Nobody can. Never sibyl was

wrapped in gleam more Cimmerian; but marry her you may and

shall, if that will suffice you."

The rapidity of these revelations; the intense seriousness and

most kindly expression upon Norcot's face; the bewildering rush

and hurry of his own life during the past few days, all combined

to move Cecil Stark. His wits swooned; his emotions yearned

to believe this marvellous story. He pressed his hand to his

forehead, then noticed the wine at his elbow, picked up the glass

and drained it.

"Man," he said solemnly, "surely it is not in humanity to

juggle upon such a theme? You cannot be deceiving me?"

"Emphatically no," answered Norcot. "I am no juggler, but

a simple wool-merchant of some character and renown in these

parts. In fact, a big toad in a small puddle, as the saying is.

My heart went out to you when first we met, and I resolved,

if opportunity offered, to do you a service. I failed; but it was

your own action that defeated my good offices. This time I

shall succeed, because nobody on this earth can break a marriage

contract if the conditions are within the law of the land."

"She is willing?"

"For a thousand reasons; and, first, before any thought of

you, that her parents may suffer no more. They have

undoubtedly endured a good deal."

"'Tis an insult to the family to wed so."

"She is not of that opinion. The ceremony once complete,

you can go back to prison with a cheerful heart; or, better still,

obtain a passport. I shall ride off instantly to Grace's parents

and explain all. Upon her recovery, and before you depart

to your own land the richer by this lovely rose, a marriage

ceremony as splendid as Malherb's purse can bear may take

place. Would that he would forget to play Lucifer for once

and let me bear the cost."

"Such things as this don't happen," said Stark slowly.

"They don't," answered the other. "Such things can only be

found within the pages of poetry. And yet you see how one

romantic ass, out of the dead love of his past, has planned this

little fairy tale. I am that ass, Mr. Stark. Such things don't

happen; yet this thing is going to happen if you are of the same

mind as Grace Malherb. She has forgiven me everything--even

robbing her of daylight. 'What is the sun compared with him?'

cried she. My God, how she loves you!"

Yet something in Cecil Stark's heart still doubted and cried

for proof positive. Norcot's perfect voice, flowing on like an

oily river, hurt his nerves. He felt that he was being muffled up

and choked in honey. He dashed his hand on the table.

"Proofs--facts--realities--give me these!" he cried. "Show

me how this can be, and I will bless your name for ever."

"I was waiting for you to come to your senses. This astounding

news has acted like strong drink on a hungry man. Proofs

are here--facts--realities too. Read this. You never heard of

Charles Manners Sutton? Yet, 'tis a very well-known name

among respectable people. This word he wrote. 'Tis the

sign-manual of His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury,

Mr. Stark."

"Go on--explain."

"There's your worthy name also, and that of Grace Sibella

Malherb. You knew not that she was called Sibella too? An

old family name on the mother's side. She was a Carew and my

mother was also a Carew. But this family history won't interest

you?"

"Not now."

"Well, having determined to see you married to my Grace,

I sought the means. There are but three ways in this kingdom

to be married, and all demand the co-operation of the Church.

We lack a purely civil rite, but there is a talk of establishing

such. First comes marriage by Banns, which necessitates three

weeks' notice in a place of worship. This I tried myself, with

results not unfamiliar to you. 'Twas for the best. Marriage by

ordinary license requires but a fifteen days' residence in the parish

where the ceremony is to take place. Doctors' Commons can

supply this document at a moment's notice, or the Bishop of the

Diocese will do so through his Chancellor and Surrogates. Another

glass of wine? You look as if you wanted it. Now this method

is equally out of place, because we cannot entertain you here for

the next fifteen days, much as we should like to do so. The

secret of Grace's whereabouts must be hidden no more. There

remains marriage by Special License--a ceremony permission to

perform which can only be given by the Archbishop of Canterbury

himself. It allows the contracting parties to be married

anywhere they please: in a church, or on a high road, or within

a private dwelling, or at the top of Dartmoor. A priest of the

Church of England and two witnesses complete the entire

necessary conditions. How witnesses can witness a wedding in

the dark is doubtful; but they must do their best, and trust to

their ears if not their eyes.

"That document, beaming upon you there, is the Special

License which will permit you to marry Miss Malherb. I have

friends at Court. His Grace was easily convinced of the

propriety of my application. And fate favoured me, for he loves

your country with a Christian charity very proper in a primate.

It was enough for him that you desired instantly to return home

after your long incarceration, and that your future wife was both

eager and willing to accompany you. Feel it, read it, touch it!

Has it not the very odour of sanctity? All this have I done for

you and for her. You see, I'm not quite the rascal you thought

me.

"'I never bark when out of season,

I never bite without a reason.'

Indeed, barking and biting are quite foreign to my nature."

Stark stared at the Special License without speaking.

"Still you find it difficult to believe in such a torrent of hard

facts. There remains to point out the necessity for a speedy

marriage. I supposed that you would be free a fortnight ago at

latest. Consequently I named a date which will expire in two days.

You must marry the day after to-morrow, if you can bring yourself

to the ordeal so soon. You will stop here, I trust, or if not

here, then at my lodge, which will be safer. As a leading man

among the Americans, they'll seek you sharply. They might find

you in my house; but in my lodge you will be safe. Now what

say you? You must believe or not--all or none. Accept my

simple good faith or reject it."

"Your honour upon it?"

"May I perish miserably, and vanish from among men, and

from the Book of Life, if I am lying to you."

"It is enough! No false man would take such an oath as

that."

Stark leapt to his feet, pressed the other's hand and shook it

warmly.

"God reward you for your deed, Peter Norcot. Generations

to come shall bless you as I do. I believe you with all my heart.

I trust you with all that makes life best living to me."

"So be it. Now get you gone. For safety I'll hold this

document until after your marriage. I have planned the ceremony

for the morning of the day after to-morrow. If possible you shall

speak to Grace to-morrow, but Malherb has his spies here, and

you'll be followed too. Therefore we must run no risk. See

John Lee and send him about his business once and for all;

next repair to my lodge, where you are expected. There a meal

awaits you. Keep close within doors meantime, and I shall come

again to you after dark."

A few moments later Norcot himself took the American to his

door, showed him the lodge at his avenue gates not a quarter of

a mile distant and left him there.

Then he returned to his study, lighted a taper and carefully

destroyed the Special License by fire.

"A neat enough copy," he said, as it curled and flamed and

vanished; "so like the real thing that a man may be forgiven for

calming his mind through the perception of his senses."

Next Norcot went to his desk and drew therefrom another

document in most respects resembling the first. But it was set

out upon thicker paper and the seal was of black wax, not red, as

in the case of the destroyed forgery.

Meanwhile Stark met Lee, and the hollow unreality of his story

fell sinister and threatening upon John's ear.

"You don't believe this nonsense," he asked simply when the

tale was told.

"Every word of it! He has taken a solemn--a terrific oath.

He is a man of the highest honour, or I never yet met with

one!"

"You can credit these unheard-of deeds and believe that he

performed them simply that you may get what you wanted?"

"Not so. 'Tis all done for her sake. He loved her. Even

in losing her, he shows the noble character of his love for ever.

His one thought is her happiness."

"I will never believe it. This is a gigantic lie. There's some

foul deed hiding behind it, and you will live to see that I'm

right."

"We shall not agree there, John. Don't think that I undervalue

your great services to me. Don't think that I can ever forget

your grand loyalty to your mistress. But in this matter, as a man

of the world not lacking for sense and experience, I know that I

am right. I am not clever, yet I feel that I can trust him.

Norcot is a rare figure; but it heartens one, it enlarges one's

ideas to know that such men exist. He himself is loved

elsewhere; and now he desires to make us happy. I have told you

all; I need only add that I believe him as I believe in Heaven,

and I trust him absolutely. He has always been a true friend to

me. For the present I remain here at this lodge, and on the

night after our marriage, if the doctor allows it, I convey my

wife back to her home. Now what shall I do for you, John

Lee? The best can only be a shadow of what you have done

for me."

"You're wrong; you're madly wrong! Where is Miss Grace

herself? Did he tell you that?"

"No; but I gathered that she is in his house."

"Go your way then, and ask me no questions, for I shall go

mine. You are mad in this and will live to repent such trust

bitterly. His life--his whole life and behaviour towards her cry

on my side."

"You forget his past behaviour to me. Is that to count for

nothing? He has always wished me well. For you, John, I have

to thank you for much," he said; "for much, much more than I

can ever pay you back; yet now I ask for another favour. I am

older than you, and perhaps more experienced in the ways of men.

I am not deceived in Peter Norcot. At any rate, the future now

lies with me. Let me ask you to renounce the affair entirely

from this moment, and leave the rest to me. If I am content,

you should be also."

"Never! What do I care for you, or Norcot either? 'Tis only

her that I care for; only her I'm here for. Go your way, but

don't dictate to me. I'll do what I can for her against you both;

and though fifty thousand Norcots took their oath that they meant

you fair, I'd not believe one of 'em. There's no truth in that

man. He's trapped her for himself--not for you. Oh, how clear

it is to me! I was the bait to bring her here; now Providence

has made me bring you; and in some dark, magic way this devil

will make you serve his turn too."

"Go!" said Stark, solemnly and sternly. "I mourn that you

can so misread an honourable man. I am not concerned with his

methods now, but his motives. He planned to lead my love into

happiness by a rough road. I came in the nick of time. He has

expected me. Do you understand? _He expected me_! He has

foreseen every step in these events. I bid you leave my affairs in

my own hands henceforth, John Lee; and I say here from my

heart that, do what you will, you are my friend for ever."

"So be it then. Follow your own fool's way and see whether

it will lead you back to the War Prison, or into the arms of Grace

Malherb, or into your grave. And I, too, will go my way. Her

happiness is my life; not you, or any man living, shall deny me

to strive and fight for her to the end. I marvel and mourn for you.

Your wits are dulled by the cruel prison yonder. Your senses are

held captive by this man."

He spoke sorrowfully, then turned away, and before Stark had

time to beg for patience and consideration, John Lee hastened

into the woods and disappeared.

CHAPTER X

EYES IN THE DARK

Mr. Norcot and his kinsman, the clergyman, were walking

together upon a broad terrace before the wool-stapler's

dwelling-house. They had dined, and now they smoked their

pipes out of doors, for the spring night was mild and clear.

Not twenty yards distant, behind the lattice of a little

summer-house, a man lay concealed; and it chanced that both speakers

came within earshot of him, for the minister, feeling his dinner,

proposed to enter the summer-house and sit down there awhile.

"'Tis your port wine," he said. "What has a poor priest to do

with such liquor?"

"He shall have much to do with it, and be a poor priest no

more after to-morrow."

They sat down within two yards of John Lee. Convinced

that Grace must be hidden here in Norcot's house, John was

endeavouring to learn her apartment, that when nightfall came he

might communicate with her. Through four-and-twenty hours,

since his last interview with Cecil Stark, he had toiled without

success to find her; to-night he was determined to succeed, for

early on the morrow the wedding would take place, if Stark spoke

the truth.

And now kindly chance threw to him information more valuable

than the hiding-place of Grace Malherb. A wedding, indeed,

was to be celebrated; but Peter Norcot, not the American, would

be bridegroom.

The first words that fell upon Lee's ear were spoken by the

clergyman.

"'Tis a very subtle piece of work; a wonderful stroke; yet I

wish you had broke it to any man but me, Peter."

"My dear Relton, you're not in an after-dinner humour.

'Twas not that you drank too much port, but too little. I've a

hundred dozen of that vintage--put down by a loving father

thirty years ago. Well, how like you the thought of

five-and-twenty dozen? 'Tis emphatically a clergyman's wine. What

potential tone--what tolerance--what breadth of view--what a

fine literary flavour to your discourses all lie there!"

"To do evil that good may come--a parlous doctrine."

"Most true. I'll go further and say a damnable doctrine. I'm

asking you to attempt no such thing. You are invited to marry

me to a woman in the dark--a literal, not a spiritual darkness.

She refuses to marry me in the daylight; therefore it is proposed

to put this trick upon her for her own welfare. The young fellow

from Prince Town comes to help us with his presence. He is

sent, as the ram was sent to save Isaac's life. But I do not

sacrifice him: I merely send him back whence he came. This

girl of ours thinks that she loves him; and she believes that she

will marry him to-morrow. Well, you know better."

"My part is a dastard's part."

"What? To say 'Cecil Stark' in the marriage service when

you mean 'Peter Norcot'! What nonsense! As soon as the daylight

bursts in upon our little ceremony, you have only to forget

your error."

"I fear the issue."

"Then you fear a handsome income--a sum which to a man of

your abilities and ambitions should mean power. By assisting at

this pious fraud, you assure the welfare of a good but headstrong

girl, and you oblige me. From being a penniless parson you rise

to wealth and dignity. You----"

"What of Cecil Stark?"

"Mr. Stark broke prison very improperly, and to-morrow morning,

as he quits the matrimonial chamber, a file of soldiers will be

waiting to take him back again. His subsequent story of a cock

and bull no one will heed. Leave that. Have you the service by

heart? 'Tis a great feat."

"I know it well enough."

"There can be no prompting, recollect. The darkness of

Egypt was light compared to the darkness in my study to-morrow.

The grave is not darker. Both he and she are prepared for that.

She thinks that his eyes suffered in an explosion of gunpowder at

Prince Town; he believes that she was seriously injured while

coming here. By a closely shrouded way they enter the room.

Gertrude will bring Grace; I follow with Stark. You are already

there to meet us. In the pitchy dark I hold Grace's hand and

stand beside her; Stark holds Gertrude's hand and thinks that

she is Grace. You'll do your part as fast as may be. Then

Stark, believing himself married, comes out into the daylight

with me, and is packed off to Prince Town in a jiffy, while, soon

afterwards, Grace and I bowl off to Exeter in a barouche and

four. She will think I am taking her home; and then for the

first time she will learn that she is my wife."

"May it so fall out!"

"It cannot fail. I've forgot nothing. There are, of course, a

thousand minor problems and subordinate possibilities; but all

have been provided for."

"You and your wife vanish; Stark returns to prison; and I

am left. How if an infuriated father comes to challenge me?"

"Tut, tut! You are too poor a thing for this business. Well,

what then? You have but to say that at my desire you

conducted a legal and proper service; you have but to show the

marriage license that I leave behind me. You speak of a

straight-forward wedding in honest daylight, and the bride willing.

Concerning Cecil Stark you know nothing. Gertrude and my man,

Mason, the other witness, substantiate you; and soon there will

come a dutiful letter from Grace----"

"You believe that?"

"Once married all is well. The honeymoon will throw a

genial light upon duty. She forgives me in a week and even

begins to understand me. There's only one cloud: I couldn't

get what I wanted out of old Lovey--a certain amphora. She's

much too clever for me. Your pipe is out."

John Lee had heard every syllable of this conversation; and

he had forgotten himself so completely that now, dead to danger,

he was as close to the speakers as he could get, with his face

pressed to the lattice of the summer-house. Suddenly Relton

Norcot struck a light, and before Lee could duck his head the

flame had touched his eyes and revealed him. Peter was quick,

but the other man had the advantage. There was a crash in the

shrubbery, then a figure broke cover, sped into the grass-lands

below, and vanished.

"We are undone!" cried the clergyman. "I knew this could

not come to good. Oh, Peter, my reputation!"

"Peace, you silly sheep, this is no time for babble! All's yet

well. I marked the man and know him. 'Tis the gipsy, John

Lee, and I can deal with him. The problem's simple. He runs

to get at Stark; but that can be prevented."

"For God's sake, let us go in. I'm struck with an ague."

"That such a worm should have power to wield the sacraments

of God! Come you in, and hasten to my sister. Bid Gertrude

summon Mason and go down to the factory at once. Grace

Malherb must be under this roof as quickly as possible. Let

them fetch her now. I cannot trust her there longer, with that

rogue on the prowl. I'll deal with Lee once for all. Hasten,

hasten, my bold jellyfish; your fortune depends on't!"

Relton Norcot, trembling in every limb, entered the house,

while Peter, familiar with the land, and well knowing that he

could reach the lodge where Cecil Stark lay, much more quickly

and directly than was possible for John Lee, now proceeded

thither, knocked at the window of the little room in which the

American resided, mounted the sill and soon stood beside his

guest. Stark was already impatient.

"But eight hours, friend. Then your pearl is yours--the

wealth of Ind! And you'll lunch at Fox Tor Farm with your

stepfather! I wonder a little what wine Malherb will bring out

of his cellar!"

"Eight hours--eight hours."

"When the stable clock beats six and the pheasants call in the

pine-woods yonder, we shall expect you at the house. Farewell

until morning. And one word of caution. Lie very low to-night.

They're hunting for you. They have set a price upon you. A

file of soldiers is in Chagford. It seems that they much resent

your departure at the Prison, for many of the Americans cry that

you were slain when the soldiers fired, and the authorities cannot

easily disprove it since your disappearance."

"I'll disprove it instantly after that I am married."

"Until then bury yourself. John Lee's responsible for this, I

fear. He means us both mischief now. Poor devil--he dared

to love her too."

Norcot departed, whistled for a woodman, and was presently

placing his servants all round his lodge, with injunctions to

prevent any meeting between Cecil Stark and a stranger. He had

offered a handsome reward for the capture of Lee, and was about

to return to his house, when from the stables came unexpected

news.

A groom with a broken head appeared roaring for his master;

and, confronted with Peter, he explained that sudden noises had

brought him into the stable-yard, to find a strange man hastening

out of it on Norcot's own black horse, 'Victor.'

"I knowed un in the dark by his white stocking, an' I said,

'Be that you, maister?' But the man made no answer, so I got

in the way an' axed him who the dowl he was, an' wheer he might

be off to. With that he fetched me such a whisterpoop 'pon the

side of the head that I went down like a man shot, an' afore I

could get up again he was off."

"So much the better," said Mr. Norcot. "Keep quiet about

it for the present. I know the rascal, and I know where he has

gone. He'll come back in the morning."

Then, confident that Lee was safe for the present, Peter hastened

off to the wool factory, that he might assist to bring Grace to his

house.

Lee, indeed, was far away. He had guessed that Norcot would

forestall his approach to Stark, and though John tried hard to get

to the lodge, he knew nothing of the nearest way, and after

running a roundabout course of a mile, finally found himself in

the stable-yard. This accident inspired him to another action,

and he determined to take a horse and ride over to Fox Tor

Farm for Maurice Malherb. It yet wanted two hours of midnight,

and it might be possible to get Malherb to Chagford by dawn.

Lee himself hoped to perform his journey and be back again

while it was yet dark. He carried his plan out instantly, to the

detriment of the stableman who attempted to stop him, and soon,

with a bridle, but bare-backed, he sped over the nightly Moor,

while a glory of rapid motion brought joy to his heart under the

darkness. It was long since he had felt a good horse between

his legs.

Grace Malherb meantime, suspecting nothing, entered the web

of the spider and longed for her marriage hour to come. She

beamed upon the house party assembled, was the soul of graciousness

to Peter Norcot, counted the hours that still kept her from

her father and mother, and mourned only one circumstance; that

her sweetheart's wounded eyes would never see the sun shine

upon his wedding day. It was understood by poor Grace that

Cecil Stark must remain at Chagford until well again; while as

soon as the marriage ceremony was ended, Peter had promised to

escort her home. She was marvellously reconciled to the

wool-stapler. From her first indignation and passion he had weaned

her day by day, and as with the subtlest ingenuity he had

developed his fairy story and lent to it the colours of reality, Grace

at last believed and blessed his name. The natural desire of the

lovers that they should meet, Norcot overruled by many pleas.

Each continued to believe the other blind; each had seen the

forgery; for the rest, oral messages passed between them and

were carefully garbled to fit the pretended circumstances. With

hyperbolical gleam and glitter did Peter do his work, and throw

an enchanted mantle of verity over his enterprise. Actual genius

marked his operations; he made the fantastic solid, the imaginary

real. His masterpiece rang true; it was enduring and full

of vitality. He had, of course, to do with a man and a woman

plunged deep in love; and his deception was absolute.

Now there remained to settle with John Lee, and Norcot prepared

to undertake that task himself. Very accurately he gauged

John's intentions, guessed his destination, and calculated the hour

of his return. Once back again, he would risk all things to

communicate with Stark; but he might be met upon the way, and

stopped once for ever before he did further mischief. Peter

planned his operations to an hour; saw Grace settled with his

sister; prepared his study so that no ray of light could penetrate

it; directed Relton Norcot exactly where to take his place; said

a final word to his man, Mason; and then returned into the

darkness.

"He will come much faster than Malherb," reflected the

wool-stapler, "and, yes--it may be necessary."

He went back into the house, visited his dressing-room, and

brought from it a double-barrelled pistol.

There was but one way by which John Lee would return: down

a narrow lane which separated Norcot's estate from the domains

of the Manor; and here the wool-stapler stationed himself. It

was still dark, and after a patient hour, the night wind quickened

Peter's wits. Upon the first glimmer of dawn, he asked himself

a question.

Why wait a moment longer? Why not escape this simple

difficulty by a little haste?

In an instant he determined to call up Cecil Stark and precipitate

the marriage. But his intention came too late. A horse's

hoofs already clattered down the lane, and the shadowy figure

of a mounted man approached. Whereupon Peter Norcot leapt

into the path from a high hedge, where he had taken his position.

He lifted up his voice and called to the horse; and 'Victor,'

knowing his master's tones, stood still.

John Lee had fulfilled his task, and was now returning from

Fox Tor Farm; while, many miles behind him, followed Maurice

Malherb with Thomas Putt and Mark Bickford, at the best pace

they could command. All three were mounted, and all three

were well armed.

CHAPTER XI

FAREWELL, LOVEY LEE

Dawn, like a red slant gash on a dead man's throat, surprised

Putt and Bickford where they waited for their master on

the way. They had started before him, for Malherb's saddle-horse

was at grass and had to be captured after Lee brought his

news.

"I shall, however, quickly overtake you," Mr. Malherb said to

his men. "Travel by Sherberton; hold over Believer Tor; then

pass under Dagger Farm and cross East Dart at the pack-horse

bridge."

These things the labourers had done and now hesitated to

proceed to Chagford without Maurice Malherb. They dismounted,

therefore, by the old 'cyclopean' span that still crosses Dart

at Postbridge, sheltered themselves and their steeds against the

sting of the air and listened where Dart sang to the savage

dawn. Young green things of the year shivered in the morning

chill; nature still slept; the men got under a flaming brake

of spring furze that made light in the grey; then, waiting there,

they heard the clink of iron-shod feet on granite and knew

that somebody was crossing the bridge. A heron floated upon

broad wings down stream; and in the marshes at hand a

cock curlew woke and uttered strange, bubbling cries of warning

to his mate.

One tall, thin figure appeared upon the bridge, and Putt

observed it.

"What a maypole!" he cried, "yet how a minces in his going

for such a long-legged un!"

"I'll wager the man's up to no good at this hour. Us have

both got hoss pistols: let's stop him! 'Twill warm us," exclaimed

Bickford.

Thomas agreed, and together they leapt from their hiding-place

and blocked the passage of the bridge. Then Putt, at close

quarters, stared into the great white face frowning down upon him

and nearly fell into the water.

"God's Word! 'Tis a ghost from the grave," he shouted.

"'Tis the old varmint us buried after Christmas, come to life an'

got into breeches!"

But Mark Bickford had no imagination.

"If she'm alive, us never buried her," he declared. "Cock

your pistol an' hold it to her head."

"You stand still, Lovey Lee, an' give an account of yourself,"

commanded Putt. "Since you'm alive, I don't care a farden for

you."

"That ban't my name," answered the ancient woman gruffly.

"Stand by an' let me pass, or I'll knock 'e in the river, the pair

of 'e!"

"Her can talk an' tell lies, so her's no more a ghost than us,"

said Bickford. "Now what be you doing here, an' where be you

going, you bad old devil?"

Lovey drew herself up and regarded the two clowns with indignation.

She felt it hard that at this critical moment of her life

such rubbish should beard her thus. All had fallen out as she

desired. Her wealth was secure. In her flat bosom she carried

two thousand pounds of paper money provided by Peter Norcot;

upon her back was a little box strapped tightly there. For the

rest she bore a heavy stick and was now upon her way to

Ashburton. Plans were completed for her escape. She would

proceed to Dartmouth and thence to France.

Perceiving that she had been recognised, the miser attempted

no further evasion. These peasants must be bought and that

instantly. Putt was angry with Lovey for the tricks that she had

played on honest men; but Bickford appeared merely curious to

learn her recent history.

"They wanted to hang you, and still want to," declared Tom.

"But now the world thinks as master killed you."

"Let it go on thinking so," said Lovey. "What matter what

the world thinks, my bold heroes, so long as you've got money in

your purses? I be busy just now, so let me go my way, please,

without more speech."

"A man's purse be his stronghold as you say," answered

Bickford; "an' mine's nought better'n a shelled peascod this

many days; but since there's twenty pound on your head, me an'

Putt here will make ten apiece by you."

"Ten pound was offered, not twenty," answered Lovey.

"I say 'twas twenty."

"You'm a cruel devil to rob an old woman."

"'Tis the State will pay, not you," answered Bickford.

"An' you'm the cruel devil," retorted Putt--"you as have

brought Malherb's head so low--to the grave a'most."

"Money's money," repeated Bickford, "an' if you've got any,

Mother Lee, now be the time to spend some. Us know you'm

made of it, for all your rags. What'll you pay us not to take you

along to Prince Town?"

Lovey wrung her hands.

"You silly zanies--me--look at me--clad in a dead man's

clothes! Money--a few poor pounds scraped together--God He

knows how few. An' a long life of starvation to come by 'em."

"What's in thicky box?" asked Bickford abruptly.

"Nought--a mere glass toy kept for old sake's sake. A thing

not worth a rush but for memory. An' since you ax for money,

I'll give 'e half I've got, though 'tis like giving 'e my life's

blood--a five-pound note to share."

Her greed, even in this tremendous crisis, overreached her wit.

A round sum had dazzled the labourers, and they had doubtless

accepted it and let her depart, only to regret their conduct too

late. But this miserly offer ruined Lovey Lee. Bickford was of

a grasping nature also. Now greed met greed, and both man and

woman were presently punished.

"'Tis much too little. Us want to see what be in that box

slung so snug on your shoulder."

"An' see I will," added Tom Putt.

"My solemn word of honour, 'tis no more than a little trashy

joney of glass--a keepsake of one long dead. Not worth a

shilling to anybody but me. Leave that. Since five won't satisfy

you I'll make it ten. Then I'm a ruined woman."

"Give me that box--else I'll take it," said Putt firmly.

"Not that, not that; if you'm a man, don't touch it. 'Tis

everything to me, nought to nobody else. I was lying--I was

lying to 'e. I be in such a hurry. I've got more than I said--just

a few pounds. Fifty-fifty sovereigns in paper--twenty-five

apiece to let me go my way."

"That's better," said Putt. "I'll close at that if you will,

Mark."

"Not me--not now. Her's lying still. Us have got her, now

us'll squeeze her. Us must see what's in that box--money or no

money. I lay 'tis stuffed with diamonds."

"Oh, Christ!" cried the woman. "What 'tis to deal with two

pig-headed fools! Here--here be a hundred pounds--take it

and let me pass."

She turned from them, dived in her breast and flourished the

notes before their faces.

"Pretty money seemingly, but not enough," said Bickford.

"I lay there's thousands hid where your damned old heart beats.

An' not a penny of it but what was stolen."

"An' I be more set than ever on seeing the inside of that there

li'l box," added Putt stolidly. "An' I be going to, or God's my

judge, I'll take you to Prince Town, Lovey Lee."

The woman stared helplessly upon them.

"There ban't no law on your side," continued Putt calmly;

"for you'm dead an' buried in Widecombe churchyard; and a

human, once dead an' buried, have no more rights than a bird in

a tree. So you'd best to open that box afore I take it away from

'e for good an' all."

Fire flashed in Lovey's eyes and her teeth closed like a trap.

More than her life was now at stake; yet she stood powerless

before this determined man.

"Will you swear to give it back to me, afore the God of

Doom?" she asked, drawing the box round from her shoulder.

"I'll swear to nought. If 'tis only a glass image, it be useless

to any sensible chap, an' you can keep it. But if 'tis watches or

gold trinkrums, then you've stole 'em, an' we'll take 'em for

ourselves," declared Bickford.

"See for yourself, then, you cursed clods! An' come off this

bridge. If it fell!"

The woman's anger died as she opened her box; her hands

trembled; her man's hat had fallen off, and tattered wisps of

white hair hung round her head. She sat down, cowered over

the treasure, and revealed her sex in this attitude.

Lovey opened her box with utmost care, and from a close

packing of sphagnum moss, brought forth the Malherb amphora.

Putt took it clumsily, and she screamed to him to be cautious.

Bickford then examined the box, and reported that nothing more

remained in it.

"Then give my poor vase back for the love of your mothers,"

she cried. "You see 'twas solemn truth I spoke to 'e."

"First, there's the matter of money," answered Bickford.

"What money be you going to part with? You'm made of banknotes

by the look of it. Maybe you'll never get the chance of

setting up two young men in life again."

"If I could get my hands on your dog's throat!"

"You can't; an' best be civil, or you'll repent it," answered

Bickford.

Then he took the amphora from Putt's hand, walked twenty

yards away, and set it up carefully on a rock.

"You said fifty each," said Mark as he returned. "I lay you

meant more." Then the labourer broke off and addressed his

companion. "Ban't no sin to drag money out of this old

mully-grubs; for you know so well as me that she never come by an

honest penny in her life. Now I've slicked up her trash 'pon

yonder rock, an' I be going to chuck stones at it till she comes to

my figure; and sarve her damn well right, for she's bad to the

bone--as all Dartymoor knows."

Lovey shrieked and Thomas Putt answered judicially--

"To terrify some money out of her be a fair thing. 'Tis

payment for what master suffered."

The woman screamed and groaned. She fell at their feet,

clasped their knees, grovelled, uttered blessings and cursings,

raved until a steam hung over her lips in the chill air, called upon

God and the devil to help her.

"What's the figure then?" asked Putt.

"Five hunderd--five hunderd pound this instant between you.

For your sweethearts for----"

In answer, and before Putt, who was well satisfied, could stop

him, Mark Bickford had flung a stone at the amphora. The

pebble started to the right, came round true with the throw, and

missed the precious vessel by inches. The woman followed the

flight, and a lifetime of agony passed over her in the space of

seconds. Then she turned upon Mark and poured forth a flood

of appalling curses.

"Ban't five hunderd enough?" asked Thomas calmly.

"No, Tom, it ban't," answered the avaricious Bickford. "This

here's the chance of a lifetime. Us'll be made men or mice, for

evermore."

Putt picked up a stone.

"I do think she'm rich enough to part with a bit more," he

said. "Now I be going to have a chuck, an' I'm a better shot

than him, ban't I, Mark?"

"Yes, you be."

"Three hunderd--three hunderd--four hunderd--four hunderd

for each of 'e. I'd tear my heart out for 'e if I could, you greedy,

cruel dogs. Spare it, spare all that an old woman have got in

the wide world. If you knew--if----"

Putt flung a stone and took care to do no harm. His missile fell

into the river a yard wide. Then Bickford prepared to fling again.

"Third time be lucky," he said. "I'll bet you all the old

bitch's money as I scat un to shivers now."

"Four fifty for each of 'e--four hunderd an' fifty each; an' it

do leave me picked clean to the bone."

She plunged her hand into her breast and dragged out a pile

of notes.

"Take it an' leave me to starve, you sarpints; you as rob

widows' houses. Take it; an' may it turn to hell fire an' burn

your entrails for everlasting!"

"Four fifty's good enough for me," said Putt.

"Bah! you'm a fool," answered Bickford. "You don't know

how to pick a nut when you've got one. Leave her to me. I

say five hunderd apiece--that, or this stone goes."

"Before the eyes of Heaven, I haven't got it! Strip these

dead man's rags off me; you'll find no more. 'Tis every farthing

I have in the world--a long life's bitter earnings!"

The labourer, with an eye upon her, drew his hand slowly

back to throw again. For a second Lovey's fingers fluttered

involuntarily towards her breast; and Mark Bickford saw and

laughed in triumph.

"Ha, ha, ha! I knowed I was right. Yet I'll send it along;

just to bring the old hell-cat to reason."

He flung again, without meaning to injure the amphora, but

hit the rock on which it stood and missed the treasure by a hair's

breadth. At the same moment Maurice Malherb's horse appeared

round the rock, and the glancing stone very nearly struck

Mr. Bickford's master.

"You vagabonds! What means----?" cried out Malherb.

Then he broke off and stared at an object near his elbow. There,

under red dawnlight, glittered the Malherb amphora, and the

frank yet lurid illumination awoke new beauties in that dazzling

gem. Each Cupid blushed with life as he peeped from the

acanthus leaves. For a moment the master glared at his treasure

while Bickford and Putt shivered. Then Lovey Lee, perceiving,

indeed, that hope was dead, uttered a mournful howl. The

sound wakened Malherb from his trance. He dismounted, picked

up the amphora, and came forward.

"What man is that?" he asked; "and what are you knaves

doing, loitering here?"

Then he approached Lovey, and knew her, and his servants

saw him turn pale. He dropped back a pace and the amphora

fell out of his hand--into soft heather where it took no hurt.

A moment later his face turned cherry-red and his eyes rolled

up. Putt rushed forward, but the danger passed and Malherb's

brain resisted the shock.

"I must not rejoice too soon, or I may perish. And

yet--speak. This is a woman--the woman of all women!"

"'Tis true, your honour's goodness. Lovey Lee, begging your

pardon; her as you thought you'd properly knocked 'pon the

head."

"An' she'm wrapped up in fifty-pound notes, your honour,"

said Bickford, "an' I hope your honour won't let her keep 'em

from two honest men, for 'tis stolen money, an' her was going

to----"

"Peace!" thundered Malherb. "Take yourselves and your

buzzing behind me."

He had not removed his eyes from Lovey Lee's face. His

mind and soul were there.

Now he approached her and spoke gently.

"Tell me," he said. "Let me hear your voice. Do not fear.

Are you Lovey Lee--she whom I struck down and left for dead

a thousand years ago on Cater's Beam?"

Lovey calculated the chances. She was broken now, for at

last the Malherb amphora lay in the power of its rightful owner.

Unconquerable hate gleamed in her eyes, but her voice sounded

meek and mild.

"A cruel blow, Malherb, an' me so old. Yet I agged 'e to it.

Forgive my evil tongue. I'm a woman still, for all my wickedness.

I'll kneel to 'e; I'll pray to 'e; I'll lick thy boots. I've

paid for my sins, God knows that; don't send me to the gallows,

after all these days."

"You are Lovey Lee?"

"Ess--that forlorn wretch. Look!"

She pulled back her hair and he saw his handiwork.

"Forgive a coward's blow, woman."

"'Twas the hand of God, not yours," she answered. "When

you cracked my head, you let a thousand devils out. I bless

your name--even I----"

"This day is sacred for evermore," he said very slowly. "To

many you have brought darkness and sorrow; to me you stand

here now a messenger of light from Heaven--an angel of good

tidings. Henceforth may your name be blessed. Alive and not

dead!"

The labourers stared, and Lovey cast them a bitter glance that

penetrated to their rude consciousness. Their hopes, at least,

were shattered.

She pointed to the amphora, where it lay at Malherb's feet.

"They've stabbed me to the soul and taken half my remaining

years from me. A moment more and it would have been splinters

in the river--my life and my heart's blood."

Maurice Malherb stared at the glass bubble. To him it was

an atom of inconceivable insignificance in the face of this

stupendous discovery that Lovey lived.

"Her snake's life be wrapped up in that toy, your honour,"

said Bickford, "an' I'll swear to God she said it weren't of no

account to anybody but her."

"'Twas true. If you'd cracked it, my life would have cracked

with it. But now--'tis mine no more. My light's out; my

thread's spun. I only ax that I may hold it in this old hand

once again; then I'll give it to 'e, an' vanish out of man's sight

for ever."

This she said meaning to destroy the vase, to dash it into a

thousand fragments at Malherb's feet and take the consequences.

He did not guess at her malignant purpose. Her harsh, high

voice was now the music of Heaven to his ear; the lizard life in

her wrinkled carcase oozed like balm upon his sight and made

him young. He feasted his senses upon her, even while he

doubted his senses; and in spirit uttered a petition to his Maker

that this might be no dream.

"Touch me, Lovey Lee," he commanded. "Hold my hand

in yours, press upon it. I must feel your flesh warm; I must

put my finger upon your pulse that I may know your heart is

beating. You have risen from the dead and lifted me from

worse than death. Give me your hand."

She held out to him her gnarled, huge paw. It was wrinkled

and bony; each great artery ran like a blue cord under the brown

skin; each black nail was sharp as an eagle's claw.

"Heed your going," she said, "else that treasure there will fall

under your heel--the amphora."

He saw her eyes burning upon it, and a sudden, mad, Malherb

impulse took him.

"You have given me my life once more, shall I rob you of

yours again? No! Take up that trash and begone. Bear

witness she lives, you men. Now depart, and let that

glass--priceless as the world goes--be my payment to you. 'Tis little

enough for what I gain this day--light, air, life, Heaven, the

right to walk the earth and to look the world in the face. An

innocent man! Oh, God of Mercy, I thank Thee!"

With a strange cry, as of some mother-beast that recovers her

lost young, the ancient creature fell upon her treasure, hid it

away quickly and disappeared, like a shadow, behind the mist.

Not a word she spoke of thanks nor of blessing; but she gathered

up the amphora and melted away into the morning air, like some

fantastic exhalation of dawn that vanishes at sunrise.

Neither did Malherb speak again. He mounted his horse,

watched Lovey depart, and then, forgetting, as it seemed, the

men behind him, galloped fast upon his way. Exultation marked

his movements. His attitude was of a boy that rode to hounds,

liven the gravity of the present enterprise was for a time

powerless to make him grave.

The men behind him felt that their master was struggling

with a full heart. They knew that had he been alone, Malherb

had shouted to the sun and wakened the echoes of the ancient

hills with thanksgivings. The nature of his joy they failed

signally to apprehend. As for Bickford and Putt, their own

state was the reverse of gracious.

"I can't go so fast," said Mark to Tom. "Us have made damned

fools of ourselves to-day--got within reach of hundreds and

missed 'em. I could tear my hair off. Blast the old witch!"

"'Tis fair payment for being so beastly greedy," answered Putt.

"All your fault. If you'd took what she offered last, you'd have

had it in your pocket now, instead of nought. Sarve you right."

"I ban't much in a mind to sit down under it, however,"

growled Bickford.

"No more be I, for that matter--only just let me think a

minute."

After riding forward another hundred yards Mr. Putt stopped

suddenly.

"My hoss have fallen lame," he said.

"Not she," answered Bickford. "Her goeth well as ever."

"I say she's lame," retorted the other. "Get you after master,

best pace you can. I'll come presently. There's a stone in the

mare's hoof."

Bickford's slow brains now perceived his friend's drift.

"You'll get the sack for it," he said, looking back into the

valley where Lovey Lee had disappeared.

"No great matter if I did; but I shan't. When the man

comes to his senses--why, that's the blessed jug all the fuss was

about! 'Tis worth thousands of pounds."

"Halves wi' me," said Bickford.

"Shares, perhaps," answered Putt. "I ban't going to say

'halves'; I've growed rather sick of you since the morning."

In a moment Thomas turned on his tracks and Mark

Bickford hastened after his master. Malherb never looked back,

and the riders were already upon the high ground above Chagford

and just about to enter that lane, where, two hours earlier, John

Lee had met with Peter Norcot, when Bickford heard a galloping

horse and saw that Putt was returning. At sight of Tom's

countenance even his phlegmatic companion was staggered, for

Putt presented a dismal and hideous spectacle. His breast

was soaked with blood and four deep parallel gashes between

white weals scored his face from brow to chin. His pink-rimmed

eyes were bulging and one of his ears had swollen to ridiculous

dimensions. But upon his back was a box that contained the

Malherb amphora.

"Aw jimmery! you've got it!" cried Mark. "But, 'slife!

she've torn your eyes out of your head!"

"Her tried to. I've fought a cargo of mountain cats. God

knows how I've come out alive. But I didn't fire--not a shot;

though sore tempted. I didn't kill her; she've done for herself.

I catched her down nigh Drury Farm, and went for her without

words. She seed my meaning in a flash. Curse! Never I heard

such a hail of gashly curses; an' she come at me all ends up like

a bulldog. Her nails was in my eyes afore I could draw breath;

but I kept my seat while she tore an' scratched, an' grabbed the

box; an' by good chance the strap gived way. Then she ran

fifty yards after my hoss; an' then she knowed 'twas all up wi'

her, an' stopped. 'Twas awful what comed after. Her heart

cracked. I heard a sound like a woodpecker tapping, an' looked,

an' seed her beating her head in with a gert stone. But she

couldn't die that way, so she went to a rock an' flinged herself

against it skull first, like a ram butting. An' then she rolled

over, over an' over into the river. God's my judge I'd have saved

her if it had been any other mortal she!"

"All that pile of paper money?"

"'Twas nought to her, after the vase was gone."

"All that good money!"

"Pulp by now. She'm dead this time, anyway, if she'm flesh

and blood."

"I wish you'd took the money, all the same."

"You can go to hell an' ax her for the money," said Putt

indignantly. "I've got this here thing for master--not you. You'm a

miserly hunks, an' I hope you won't be a penny the better by this

job, for you don't desarve to be."

As he spoke the men drew up to their leader, and all three

riders trotted slowly down the steep lane which led into Chagford.

CHAPTER XII

MANOR WOODS

When John Lee saw Peter Norcot at his horse's head,

he was well satisfied. That Norcot was determined he

should not have any communication with Cecil Stark, John

perceived, but he also knew that while Peter stood beside him here,

no harm could befall Grace. To keep the man from returning to

his house and his enterprise would answer Lee's purpose quite as

well as speech with Stark.

"Excellently met," said Norcot. "I've waited long for you. I

need not ask if 'Victor' carried you well. But you're growing too

busy, John Lee. Now come aside and explain why you are so

active in this business. Have a care, young man! You run into

considerable danger."

"I don't fear you. And you know well enough the reasons

that I am busy. You've hatched a piece of damnable knavery,

and by God's goodness I overheard it. Stark trusts you; you've

deceived his honest heart. But I never trusted you. Not one

word of your wickedness surprised me."

"Well, plain speaking is good for the soul, my poor John.

And any soul-prescription may be worth your attention just now,

for, unless you mend your manners, I shall have to be short and

sharp with you.

"'The dreadful reckoning; and men smile no more.'

You overheard me and my cousin. Was it all clear to you?

Were there any gaps? You may as well know exactly what is

going to happen since the affair interests you so deeply. Ask

what questions you please, but be brief. Poor 'Victor'! You've

made him gallop to-night."

Norcot tethered his horse at a gate; then he entered it and

Lee followed him.

"Come into the Manor Woods. I can give you half an hour,

no more. After that time our little play begins, and I am to be

wedded to Grace Malherb, for better, for worse. You know all

that."

"And Cecil Stark?"

"Stark, good soul, will play his part and press a wedding-ring

upon my sister's finger. Then the light of day serves to show

him Sergeant Bradridge and a file of soldiers patiently waiting for

his sapient person to convey him back to Prince Town."

"Think better of it. Don't blast your own life and that of this

man and woman. She will always hate you, as she always has."

"Advice! Well, take some from me. I cannot stop long,

but----"

"Stop you shall, Peter Norcot! Not until you've killed me do

you return to this knavery."

"I was afraid you'd take that view. I don't want blood on my

hands to-day. Even I have my superstitions and sentiments.

Consider; if you detain me how things must fall awry. It would

be the play of _Hamlet_ without the Dane. Why, my fool cousin

might even lose his head and marry 'em, if that was possible! A

pretty conceit. She'll feel my hand in the dead darkness and

think 'tis his. I am dumb and he speaks the answers. He'll feel

my sister's hand and think 'tis hers. Gertrude is dumb, and

Grace speaks the answers. But these things cannot be managed

without me. I must get back at any cost. My wedding tour is

planned. Better live to think of me and my happy bride upon

the Continent than perish in this cold dawn. Death is so final."

"'Tis you shall die, for I will kill you rather than let you

return now."

"The possibility of this attitude on your part had occurred to

me, John Lee. Unfortunately for yourself, you have never

understood me. I am no enemy to any living man. I wish the world

well. But I, too, have my life to live, and those who intervene

between me and my plans and purposes pay for their blunder. I

will tell you something, since we have no witness. It may help

you to comprehend me and draw you out of the jaws of death,

wherein frankly you stand at this moment. I killed my late uncle,

Norman Norcot. I took his gun while he sat in thought, and

thrust it under his chin and shot him like a rabbit. Do you wish

to follow him?"

Without answering, John Lee dashed forward at Norcot's throat;

but Peter's hand, though in his pocket, was on a pistol trigger.

He leapt swiftly aside, and before Lee could turn, the

wool-stapler had fired into his body. For a second John stood

shaking; then he sank forward and fell on his face. Frightened

blackbirds fled shrieking, with shrill chink-chink-chink-chinketty-chink;

the smoke arose and hung in a thin flat layer under the

boughs of the trees.

"Lucky wretch!" said the murderer, looking down. "'Death

is a morsel best bolted whole,' as divine Montaigne remarks.

Naught is nastier to chew upon. May I go as easy when my turn

comes!

"'Light lay the earth, John Lee, upon thy clay--

That so the dogs may easier find their prey.'

Yes--Squire Yeoland's dogs, and his gamekeepers. It remains

to plan your next appearance before I hasten on to my own."

He stood and reflected, then nodded his head quickly.

"They stand along the covert side at regular intervals, and

happily I know how to find 'em. Rest there, 'thou wretched,

rash, intruding fool,' until I've found what I seek."

He put up his pistol, then looked at his watch.

"How time flies!"

Turning round, Peter now plunged into the forest, and at a

covert side, where a drive was cut through dense larch woods

with undergrowth of furze and briar, he began to make search,

and advanced, foot by foot, with the utmost caution. Each yard

of the ground he scrutinised as though his own life depended

upon it; and, indeed, the man's present quest did not lack for

personal danger. Here, a yard within the pheasant coverts, were

set spring-guns two feet above the ground. The countryside

raged against these infernal engines, but at that date they were

legal, and a man might place them in his own preserves if it

pleased him to do so.

Norcot's purpose was now to discover one of these weapons

and to drag John Lee before it. He then designed to discharge

the gun into his victim's wounded side, and so leave the corpse

for others to find. With utmost care he pursued his search; and

presently he started back with an oath, for his foot actually scraped

a wire, and, looking up, he saw the short, squat muzzle of a gun

fastened to a young larch and pointing straight at his belly.

Peter sweated at this escape. For a moment it unsteadied him.

Then tearing down an ash sapling, peeling it, and sticking it

beside the wire, he returned hastily where the dead man

lay--thirty yards distant.

Now Norcot deliberately took off his coat and waistcoat, that

they might escape all mark of this deed. Next, he bent down,

grasped Lee under the armpits, gripped his own hands round the

other's back, and began steadily to drag him where stood the

peeled ash wand at the edge of the copse.

He had approached to within ten yards of the wire, and was

turning his head to see his exact position, when a startling quiver

ran through the inert mass he dragged along. Lee, though

wounded to death, was not yet dead. His feet stuck to the

ground, and Peter felt a pair of arms, limp until now, suddenly

lifted and tightening round his waist. This unexpected spark of

life galvanising a corpse shook him. His own breast was wet

with the other's blood, for John bled from the lung; but he was

still alive, and Norcot guessed at his vitality by the sudden

tightening of the wounded man's arms round his neck. For answer he

squeezed his wretched burden with a hug like a bear, whereon

poor Lee relaxed his hold and his head fell forward again.

But just as Peter had reached the wire and was about to drop

the dying man in a line with the muzzle of the spring-gun,

John's consciousness returned. He appeared to divine the

enemy's intent, and for a moment his strength waxed and he

struggled desperately. Drenched with blood and blinded by

Lee's arm over his face, Peter started back, to be free of his

foe, took him by the throat and hurled him to the ground with

all his strength.

"Die!" cried the murderer. "Cease this struggling like a

stuck pig and die decently. I----"

John had hold of the other's leg, but Norcot kicked him and

tore himself free as he spoke. The force of this action, however,

made Peter lose equilibrium. He stepped backwards, hit a

hidden root, slipped his foot and fell heavily upon the wire of the

spring-gun.

Lee, kicked in the face, had fainted; but he was out of the

line of fire; and now he recovered consciousness in time to gaze

about him and witness the end of Peter Norcot.

The unlucky wool-stapler, falling as he struck the wire, had

received the charge, at close quarters, in his back. The shot,

though intended to maim or wound, but not to kill, was, under

these circumstances, and at this range, fatal. Moments separated

Norcot from death. The stinging, red-hot agony of the blow

did not deprive him of consciousness. Then, using his last

breath, he cried aloud--

"Death and hell--done for! To leave life now! No luck!

Tut--urg--gurg----"

And Lee, with fading eyes, saw Peter Norcot's life-blood choke

him.

Thrice he writhed; thrice he beat the earth with his hands and

fought for air; then he perished.

Cock pheasants began to crow in the coverts; and far away, a

keeper, hearing gun-fire, put a whistle to his mouth and blew it.

CHAPTER XIII

THE PASSING OF JOHN

Gertrude Norcot stood under the morning light, in

misery and suspense, for the appointed time had passed;

all was in readiness; only her brother tarried. Cecil Stark had

been closeted in the darkened library with Relton Norcot for half

an hour; the man Mason waited at the door; Grace Malherb,

wild with impatience, and already frightened at the delay, asked a

thousand questions, and was with difficulty prevented from leaving

the drawing-room, where she waited with Gertrude.

Peter Norcot's sister stood irresolute and fearful. That Peter

should be late on such a critical occasion was only to be explained

by unlooked-for ill fortune. What to do she could not guess;

possibility of action there was none; nor dared she speak to

Relton, for he had his hands full with the American. Then, as

she stood in the first clear sunshine of that day, came the sound

of a galloping horse. It approached swiftly, and, not even waiting

until the rider appeared, Miss Norcot, positive that her brother

was close at hand, hastened into the house and bade Grace

Malherb follow her as quickly as possible.

"At last Peter has returned," she said. "He will come after

us in a moment. Without him we could not begin, for he is one

of the witnesses of the marriage; but we may precede him now.

Already I hear him in the hall. Hasten! And do not fear the

dead darkness. It is vital to Mr. Cecil that no ray of light shall

yet touch his eyes."

"Thank God that Peter is here, dear Gertrude. I began to

fear a thousand things. Go in front and I will follow you close."

Gertrude hastened behind the heavy curtains that led to the

study. Through successive folds of increasing gloom they appeared

to penetrate; and then a door stayed their progress.

"Hold my hand now," said Miss Norcot. "Enter with me and

let me shut the door quickly behind us. Do not speak yet, or let

him know that you are here."

"Hark!" cried Grace. "Voices behind us--but not Peter's

voice! Gertrude, it is father! No other man speaks so deep or

roars so loud."

A great volume of sound echoed in the rear, and for a

moment Gertrude Norcot lost her presence of mind.

"Something has happened to my brother," she said. "I feel

it--I know it. He would be here if he had power to be here.

Come quickly!"

She pushed Grace into the darkened room, followed her and

locked the door.

"Peace," she said; "let no voice be lifted. We are in danger!"

Meanwhile Maurice Malherb, followed by Thomas Putt and

Mark Bickford, had appeared before the dwelling of Peter Norcot,

and become witnesses to strange sights. Upon one side of the

building, standing at ease and evidently waiting for information

from within, were Sergeant Bradridge and a dozen soldiers;

while close at hand a barouche, with four horses and a postilion,

drove slowly up and down.

Sergeant Bradridge saluted Malherb, but received no answering

compliment.

"There's devilry afoot here!" cried the master. "We'll not

wait to ring bells, I only pray we're in time. 'Twould match

my usual fortune if the blessing that Heaven sent at dawn was

to be followed by a crushing catastrophe in this affair. Follow

close, my men, and use your weapons if occasion demands it."

He dismounted, while his blown horse, with outstretched legs,

bent its head and panted hard. Then, banishing ceremony,

Malherb entered the house, and his followers came close at his

heels. Gertrude Norcot heard him bawl for Peter as she locked

the door of the study. But none answered, and for a moment

Norcot's sister regretted her action. She should have faced the

furious father and, with an excuse, have led him from the house.

She lacked her brother's intelligence and ready wit, however, and

now the four waited in silence, while noises without approached

and grew louder.

Malherb was raving aloud and tramping through the silent house.

"I'll leave no room unsearched! The scoundrel lied to me

when last I came here--or his sister and that white-faced worm

her cousin, did so. Come; be rough and ready. Fiends and

furies! What trap of curtain on curtain is this? The house is

a spider's web! Prime your pistols and fire 'em if any man stops

you."

Malherb began tearing down the black hangings that separated

him from the study; Bickford lent a hand. Behind them came

Putt and his uncle, in hasty converse.

Sergeant Bradridge explained that he was here to capture Cecil

Stark and take him back to the War Prison; while Thomas in

few words told the news, and related how that Peter Norcot had

stolen Grace Malherb from her home and was even now supposed

to be wedding her against her will by special license.

"'Tis him an' the Lord Archbishop against Mr. Malherb an'

me an' Bickford here; an' I'll back us," said Putt; "an' if you

want to make him a friend for evermore, you'd better lend a

hand to catch this here Peter Norcot; for if I know him, the

man will take a darned lot of catching. He may have scented

John Lee's work and be off a'ready."

"Close up!" ordered Malherb. "Here's a locked door; but I

heard voices behind it. Stand by while I break it down, and

help me to take him if he shows fight."

He fired his pistol into the lock of the door, blew it out, and

then dashed into the pitchy darkness beyond.

He felt a woman against him, and Gertrude Norcot's voice was

lifted.

"Stand back, Maurice Malherb; you are doing a wicked and

a dangerous thing. My brother----"

"Where is he?--let him answer for himself. Who are here

in this Egyptian darkness? Grace--Grace--speak! It is your

father."

"Dear father--oh, listen, I pray you, and try to understand.

All is well--all will be well. Peter has been most good and

generous. He----"

"Light!" shouted Malherb. "Who can breathe in this inky

air? Hold the door, Putt. Let no man escape while I make

for the window and let in day."

"Her eyes, sir!" cried Cecil Stark. "For Heaven's sake have

caution! It may mean eternal blindness for her!"

"Not my eyes, dear Cecil--yours, yours! Oh, father, his

eyes!"

"Damn everybody's eyes!" roared the master. "There are

foul things wriggling here--as we find under the upturned stone.

But see 'em we must, to crush 'em!"

Stark interposed fiercely, and the men closed in the dark.

"You shall not, sir; you know not that Grace's eyes depend

upon it for their recovery."

"Who the deuce are you? Not Peter----?"

"Cecil Stark. I am here to marry your daughter at Norcot's

wish and hope."

"That Yankee again! Light, I say, or I shall go mad!"

The men reeled and crashed against the window.

Stark lost his adversary for a moment, and Malherb, feeling

the curtains, tore them down, got to the shutter behind them,

and by main force dragged it off its hinges and broke the bolt.

A great flood of light burst upon the room, and every eye was

dazzled by the morning sunshine. Cowering in one corner, clad in

his black robe and bands, sat Relton Norcot; Stark stood against

Malherb and turned with a cry of horror to Grace as the daylight

streamed upon her; while she in her turn hastened to him. The

brown eyes fell upon the grey, and each saw that the other's were

unharmed.

Gertrude Norcot spoke to Malherb.

"My brother alone can solve this apparent mystery," she said.

"I pray you to withhold your judgment and your passion,

Maurice Malherb, until Peter is here to speak and explain all for

himself."

"I'm waiting for him. I've nothing to do with anybody else.

Where is he? How comes it that he is not here to marry my

daughter as he intended, the knave?"

"'Twas for me that he had plotted this romance," said Stark.

"I cannot hear his name abused. The fault is all mine. I----"

"I'll hark to you later. For the present your business is with

Bradridge here. This was what your admirable friend, Peter

Norcot, had planned for you: a quick return to Prince Town.

Nothing could be better, I trow. And now, my clerk----"

He turned to where Relton Norcot had been sitting, but the

clergyman was gone. Unobserved he had slipped behind the

curtains, got out of a window and disappeared.

"He's wise," said Malherb. "He feels that fresh air and daylight

will best serve his purpose now. We shall find him anon."

Then he approached Grace and took her into his arms.

"Come what may, I'm in time. This is the greatest day of all

my life. You shall hear about that. I could forgive the

world--I could pardon all my enemies! But let those who know

where Norcot bides hasten to him and bring him hither. He

must answer for much. And answer to me he shall before I

break bread. That he should prove a knave!"

"If evil has been done," said Gertrude Norcot, "remember

that my brother is still absent. Do not wrong the absent,

Maurice Malherb. Wait until he can speak for himself. Yet

ill has without doubt overtaken him. Nothing but sudden

tribulation can have kept him from us."

Her prophecy was scarcely uttered when the man Mason ran

past Putt and entered the room without ceremony.

"Come," he said; "'tis all over with 'em--both. One be

dead an' t'other dying. They'm bringing 'em 'pon hurdles.

Keeper Rowe heard gun-fire, and at last, after searching in the

spinneys above an hour, he found what had failed out there. Oh,

my God!--all up with poor master! Dead as a nail, an' drowned

in his own blood by the looks of it."

They hastened out upon the terrace, there to find the soldiers

and a dozen working-men crowding round two hurdles. With a

bitter cry Gertrude flung herself upon one, and pressed her arms

about her brother. In the bosom of death he reposed; his

features were ash-coloured; peace marked his countenance.

Upon each of his eyes the labouring men had set a penny

to hide them, but the coins fell off as his sister flung herself upon

Norcot's corpse, and underneath, filmed with death, yet reflecting

something of the vanished man himself, his blue eyeballs

stared upwards through a glaze. They altered his expression and

brought back to it a shadow of Norcot's eternal smile.

"Shot, your honour," said the keeper to Mr. Malherb.

"The rights of it be hid, unless yonder man have got enough

wind in him to tell it. Us found Mr. Norcot wi' a hole blowed

through his poor back by one of them damned spring-guns; an'

t'other be shot too--through the side. Doctor's coming, for I

sent a lad after un; but how it all fell out us'll never know, onless

this poor blid can say."

While he spoke, Grace knelt by John Lee, and he saw her and

smiled. Her arms enfolded him. He had lived to rest his head

upon her breast and feel her tears flow.

"John, John--dear John; you must not die! All is well--you

must live. There was something hidden. We shall never

know. He said that I was blind, and he told me that my love

was blind. And you knew what the mystery was. Oh, if you

could speak! But you mustn't try till you are strong again.

Rest--shut your eyes--God will never let you die, dear John."

The man spoke faintly.

"Is Mr. Stark there?"

"Here; here's my hand holding yours, Lee. I know now that

you were right. He is dead--but you were in the right. Forgive

me for doubting. Your love guided you, mine only blinded

me."

"I didn't kill him," whispered John. "I meant to do it; but

he killed me. He was dragging me away because he thought me

dead. But I had strength left--and he fell back. Then a gun

fired and he died. I can't tell who shot him. Be you there, Miss

Grace?"

"My arms are round you, dear John."

"He meant to wed you in the darkness. He told me so after

I'd fetched the master. He told me all. Now Norcot's dead,

for I saw him die. You're safe--quite safe."

Malherb and a physician were hanging over Lee, but his eyes

had already grown dim and he did not perceive them. The

medical man shook his head.

"Only a matter of minutes," he said. "'Tis wonderful that he's

lived so long."

"John Lee," said Malherb. "You're dying, lad; you're going

the road we all must go. But know that you were in time. My

daughter is safe, as you say. All's out. You've done your duty,

and, though the hand of God killed this man, 'twas you who were

the instrument."

"You've died for us, John!" sobbed Grace. Her cheek sank

down to his and she kissed him.

"A good way to die--some use--some use. 'Tis better'n I

deserve--above my highest hopes. Yet often I dreamed I'd die

for 'e. Mr. Stark?"

"I'm holding your hand, John."

"Love her--love her while your heart beats."

"God knows that I will."

There was a silence, then a sigh; then Malherb lowered John

Lee's head.

"He's gone--a truer Malherb than many who bear the name.

Let every honest man mourn him, for his life was a pure life and

his end noble. He has saved our honour; he----"

The speaker broke off and stared where Grace was weeping in

Cecil Stark's arms.

"What right have you----?" he asked.

"The right that man died for, sir. His love makes mine but

pale, yet, for Grace's sake and for mine, he laid down his life. I

would perish for him if I could bring him back to the living; but

that cannot be. Therefore I will live to bless his name. I will

strive to be worthy of his sacrifice."

"And you, daughter Grace?"

"I was stolen from you, my darling father; and I should have

been stolen for evermore but for what has happened. I love

Cecil and have loved him since I first saw him, so pale and weary

from his struggle with the storm. You saved his life for me,

father. And dear John died for us; his last gentle words----"

"I heard them as well as you," said Maurice Malherb slowly.

"I understood them. Who could not understand them? There

is a solemn obligation that attaches to the last wish of any good

man. I am in his debt for ever. God forgive me, for I used him

ill. Come hither, Stark. To-day the lightning of heaven would

strike me if I spoke one harsh word, or brought one pang to any

human spirit. The Almighty has blessed me; yet his ways are

past our understanding. That you who are an American--yet--yet

of English blood. And there are closer bonds even than

those of country. How simple were the last words he spoke!

Here you stand--you two. So be it. Take my girl's hand, Cecil

Stark. And before Heaven, remember what that dead man, with

his last breath, said to you--'Love her--love her while your

heart beats.'"

CHAPTER XIV

NEWS FROM VERMONT

Eighteen months after Peter Norcot and John Lee were

laid to their rest in the dewy and tree-shadowed churchyard

of Chagford, there arrived a post at Fox Tor Farm with two

packets from a far country. For Annabel Malherb from her

son-in-law, Cecil Stark, of Vermont, came one communication; and

the second reached Mr. Richard Beer. His old companion and

fellow-worker, Putt, had sent it.

After the catastrophe that terminated Peter Norcot's life, it is

to be noted that Thomas Putt assumed a position of some

prominence. Despite his family and his own straitened affairs,

Malherb regretted the ancient Lovey's tragic end; but since she

was now without further question dead and buried: at a cross

road in a suicide's grave, the amphora returned to its owner; and

Tom Putt, as the man responsible for this notable circumstance,

received a very generous reward. With comparative wealth and

the possibilities of a new country before him, Thomas accepted

service under Cecil Stark, and when the young sailor returned to

his own country, he took with him not only his bride, but also a

white and a black attendant. Before the lover sailed for home,

James Knapps had already returned in a cartel ship to his native

land; but Sam Cuffee rejoined Stark as soon as the American

procured his liberation; and Sam never lost sight of his master

again.

At last the mournful mansions of Prince Town were empty

and deserted; grasses and weeds blossomed where sorrowful

feet had pressed their courts; the bats squeaked and clustered

in their mighty corridors; decay and desolation claimed them all.

Moor folk told how no sweet water would cleanse those floors of

blood, how pestilence still lurked in the vaults and foul recesses,

how shadows of mournful spirits here stalked together through

the livelong night, wailed to the moon and only vanished when

grey dawn disturbed them. Dark stories gathered above the

empty War Prison, like crows around a corpse. Rumour hinted

of secret graves and murders unrecorded and unguessed; the

crypts gave up human bones to the searchers; unholy inscriptions

and curses against a forgetful God stared out upon dark

walls at the light of torches; signs of infamy, of evil, and of

all the passion, agony and heartbreak of vanished thousands

appeared; hoarded horrors came to light; a spirit of misery

untold still haunted the mouldering limbo. Yet as time passed, the

forces of Nature worked within these barred gates and toiled by

day and night to sweeten and purify, to obliterate and cleanse.

The west wind and the rain, the frost and the mist, the sunlight

and the storm all laboured here. Torrents washed and hurricanes

howled into every hole and alley; up-springing seeds and

swelling mosses softened the old sentry-ways upon the ramparts;

green things broke the cruel contours of the walls; rusting and

shattered iron at a thousand windows grew red and dripped

streaks of warm colour upon the weathered granite.

Now the War Prison has vanished, and its story is told. In

the vast archives of human torment the narrative fills but a brief

paragraph; and therein all that pitiful history, to the last secret

tear and the last act of malice, to the last noble self-denial

and unanswered prayer, is recorded, to endure for time.

Mr. Beer read his letter aloud after supper in the servants' hall.

"A very understanding man was Thomas Putt, though cunning

an' tricky as a fox, as I always told him," declared Kekewich,

from his seat beside the fire.

"An' larned to write since he went to America, seemingly,"

said Dinah Beer. "There was nought that chap couldn't reach

when he gave his intellects to it."

"He starts off with some general good wishes for all the

company at Fox Tor Farm an' his Uncle Bradridge, if we should

chance to meet with him," began Beer. "Then he goes on

upon affairs in general in these words."

Richard read from Putt's letter:--

"An' I be glad I didn't marry Mason's sister to Chaggyford,

for to be plain, there's better here, an' a man of sense can have

his pick of very fine maidens. But I ban't going to rush at 'em.

I've got my own bit of ground rented from Mr. Stark, an' pretty

soil it is too. The first crop of wheat I takes off it will more than

pay the expenses of clearing! That'll make your mouths to water,

I reckon. Such crops as come up I never did see or hear tell

about, an' if anybody had told me there was such fat virgin land

in the world, just natural with never a load of muck on it since

the Flood, I should have said the man was a liar. An' there

ban't no Duchy in Vermont! An' never a bigger-minded, more

generous gentleman living than Mr. Stark. Thousands upon

thousands of acres he've got. Blamed if I don't believe as you

could put Dartymoor down in the middle an' lose it! He'm a

great farmer; an' I've heard un say 'tis the best of the human

crafts after sailoring. T'other sorts of business teach a man to

be rich, an' powerful like, an' witty; but the land--where should

us be without that? It keeps the world alive an' finds food an'

clothes for all the humans on the earth."

"'Tis true," said Woodman. "An', what's more, I hold as the

land be next to the Bible for keeping a man out of mischief--so

long as he sticks to it. 'Tis the sticking does it. If Adam's self

had but kept to his job----"

"Putt says a bit more; us can have a tell after," interrupted

Beer. Then, amid real and lively interest, he narrated a matter

with which, elsewhere, the master and his wife were also most

deeply concerned.

Maurice Malherb sat and calculated the value of his next year's

crop of wool. As usual, he set it as high as his hopes. He had

sold the Malherb amphora for eighteen thousand pounds, and

henceforth found himself and his farm in prosperous circumstances.

Now Annabel read slowly the budget from Cecil Stark. It was

in the nature of a diary, and anon Malherb, pushing his papers

and figures violently from him, spoke.

"For love of Heaven, leave that solid prosing, and look forward

to the end. Grace--how is it with her? There should be great

news. But he's so balanced, so self-contained, so methodical.

He'll set things in their proper order though the heavens fall.

Look on--look on to the end!"

"He writes from day to day, dear Maurice."

"Let him. We need not read so. Turn the pages quickly."

Mrs. Malherb obeyed, glanced forward, then uttered a joyful

cry and dropped the budget.

"A boy--a precious little boy; and our sweet one well--quite

well--before the letter sailed. 'Gloriously happy,' he says."

"I knew it! Pick up the letter. A boy! They have called

him Maurice Malherb? That is certain."

She read again; then shook her head.

"Not so?" he asked with a heightened voice. "Then 'tis

'Malherb'--just the name. Yet I could have wished----"

"No, dear heart. They have not called him Malherb."

He started and flushed.

"Stark's name alone, I suppose? That is not well. I marvel

they could do so improper a thing! Is it not enough that she

has broken our hearthstone? Will she also forget us?

"The little one is called John, dear Maurice--only that."

He was quite silent for a moment, staring before him. His

warmth died away and then he spoke.

"Good--very good! Well thought on! I'm glad they've done

that. And the dead would be glad. Perchance he is so. All is

right with our girl, you say--you hide nothing?"

"All is as right as our love could wish."

"God be praised for His manifold mercies then."

She rose and came to his side.

"Do you remember, Maurice, how once you wished for Grace's

firstborn, and planned and hoped that he should be a Malherb?"

"Forget it," he said. "'Tis but a fool's part to remember

dreams."

He bent his head and his great square jaw hardened.

"No, no. This place follows me to the dust, and with me

vanishes from man's memory for ever. None shall remember

me after I have passed by, and none bear my name any more.

Let it depart, like the mist 'of the morning, and be forgotten."

"May our grandchild be even such as you, brave heart! A

man among men--generous, honest, just."

Malherb shook his head.

"Never--never. Rather pray that he follow his father. But

not like me--not like me."

She put her arms round his neck and kissed him.

THE END

PLYMOUTH

WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON

PRINTERS

End of Project Gutenberg's The American Prisoner, by Eden Phillpotts