Captain’s words grew warmer, their talk competed in its energy with the
animated winds that struck the windows.

“Now, sir, tell me of these barbarous politics,” she commanded, like
one who only knows obedience.

“Nay, dear lady, tell me of your own,” says he.

Strange how she was fired by his words! He saw her colour glow and
burn, and the lamps in her eyes were lit.

“My father is my politics,” says she.

The Captain could not have recoiled more palpably had a live coal
cracked out of the blaze and dropped upon his hand.

“Ha!” he breathed, “your father!”

“Sir, they will imprison him; and when they do they will imprison this
very heart of mine. Perhaps, sir, you never knew a father, perhaps
you never loved a father, perhaps you never saw a father’s honourable
silver hairs. Sir, they will imprison him; and when they do, life will
be all empty to me.” The lady fell into a sudden weeping. The sobs
shook her as a reed. And though she fought with all her handkerchief
against the slow but certain tears they crept down to her powder, and
so gravely furrowed it that afterwards she shrank the farther in the
shade.

But through a convenient interval of cambric this distressed daughter
intently marked the Captain’s face. The good man had been long
apprenticed to the sword and to the world, but sure the lady’s agonies
did move him.

“Tell me,” he said, “what I can do? What is my power? I am but a
servant of the King. Madam, do you think it is my pleasure to put you
in such pain? Madam, I am but a menial, a tool. I am not the law by
which you suffer, and if I were, do you suppose I would not let it
spare you?” There was a fine indignant sternness in the man that made
the lady tremble. Yet she exulted, too, for Captain Grantley was
steadily ripening to the deed exacted of him. In confidence, however,
I had better tell you that this incorrigible Bab Gossiter, like the
naughty child she was, was playing with a fire, and in the sequel which
she is pledged to presently set forth, you shall be told how badly that
fire burnt the lovely, heedless fool.

CHAPTER XII.

I DEFY DEAR LADY GRIMSTONE.

IT was a late hour when the lady apparently exposed her soul. She
had not one to expose, it is true, but the Captain was deluded into
thinking that she had, and persuasion is more powerful than fact. Her
father was her blood, her breath; his honour was her own. The Captain
gave her the humble admiration of a soldier. Daughters of this mould,
who could worship a parent in this manner, must always command the
tender reverence of one whose dream was to be the diligent servant of
his country. He was also touched. Men of the sword are very human,
he informed her. It was a relief, she replied, to have that on such
eminent authority, because, to avenge the joyous escapade of an
innocent girl, a soldier had proposed to treat her venerable sire with
a brutality that was incredible. She did not refine her language to his
delicate ear. How could she, being moved so deeply? Did not her lips
twitch with feeling, her eyes flash with passion? Alas the Captain!
He might have seen “the drums and tramplings of three conquests,”
but, being human, could he resist her generous anguish, her lovely
indignation? Nay, he swore it, he was pained for her as deeply as ever
she was for her father. But the word “avenge” he resented sternly.

“Madam, I say again, I am not the law. I am merely the puppet who obeys
it.”

“Must he obey it then?” Madam tapped a satin shoe quite loud upon the
hearth-tiles.

“I hold a commission; I am but a puppet,” groaned the Captain, with
cheeks of the colour of the damask at his side.

“A puppet!” She rose a queen, and cast the phrase upon him. “A puppet!
Then, sir,” demanded she, “do you suppose I can afford to lavish my
precious hours upon a puppet?”

An excellent tactician, she swept from the room, offended and
imperious, without condescending to receive his tremulous reply. In her
wisdom she knew this to be the proper moment to withdraw. The Captain
had been carried by easy stages to a sufficient harmony of heart. This
final discord must jangle in his finest nerves for many hours, set his
teeth on edge, and keep him fretful. The lady calculated that he would
not shut his eyes that night. He had been given a sight of happiness,
that he might know how much he stood to lose.

My train was laid then. Let a spark fall from my eyes to-morrow, and I
did not doubt it, it would blow his duty to the devil. One learns to
read the symptoms that precede explosion. Leaving the Captain I tripped
to the card-players on my lightest toe. My heart accorded with my step.
The trio were now at commerce; and such a handsome heap of coins was
piled before Miss Prue that the guinea I had lent her to begin with
appeared magnified into a dozen.

“Bab,” says she, turning to me with a pretty eagerness. “I am
remarkably in luck. I have turned the ace up five times running--and my
conscience, here it is the sixth!”

It was midnight now, and the hour for retirement. The suite of chambers
in the south wing were happily at my disposal. One room commanding the
park had been aired during the day by my direction, to be in readiness
that night for the masquerader. He was conducted to it now by Mrs.
Emblem and myself, and was given much instruction in the treatment of
his femininity. Two new morning dresses of my own were hung up in his
wardrobe; a pot of rouge and a whole armoury of weapons of the toilet
were put against his mirror; and such a quantity of advice was strewn
upon him touching his carriage and behaviour on the morrow, that he
began to yawn in a most abominable manner, and declared I was too
earnest in this mummery.

“Mummery,” says I, “you are playing for your life, that’s all, my
bravo.”

“_My_ life, yes,” says he; “but that is my affair entirely. Have you
not said that a beggar with bare elbows is no more to be considered
than is a farthing candle by a person of condition like yourself?”

Mrs. Emblem saw the cunning laugh lurking in his eye and the smile that
trickled over his lower lip when he said this, and looked at me with
a face of inquiring innocence, as though the lad had been speaking
Greek and would my superior education be kind enough to supply the
meaning for her. At a second glance I perceived that the expression of
her countenance corresponded pretty nearly with his own. This made me
angry. Here was tacit understanding and conspiracy, with secret mirth
beneath it. I could have borne this easily--nay, was always blithe
to take my share in such spicy sport when able, and enjoy a laugh at
others with the best. But this impudent pair were laughing at _me_.
Yes, I felt genuinely angry.

“Very true,” says I, “you are indeed a beggar with bare elbows. And
being that, it is a pity you should evince such a disposition to forget
it.”

“My dear madam, the fault is yours, I think,” says he. “For if you will
have as much anxiety for my well-being as you would have were I the
Cham of Tartary or some other three-tailed bashaw of high birth, merit,
and authority, even a beggar will be led in time to presume upon it and
forget the humility of his mansion.”

“Would you taunt me then with my gentle-hearted nature, that permits me
to look as kindly on the mean and low as on the noble and exalted?”

“Was my Lady Barbarity ever taunted with her gentle-hearted nature?”

It was so difficult to have the laugh of him, that I began to admire
the agility with which he generally contrived to have the laugh of
me. The fact was that the rogue had an instinct that penetrated much
too far. He knew better than I could tell him that he had caught a
gaily-painted butterfly and had stuck it on a pin. His wanton fingers
itched to twirl that pin to remind, I suppose, the gaudy, flimsy
creature of its strange captivity.

“Bab,” Miss Prue says, as I was about to retire to my chamber, “your
papa trusts that I shall spend not less than a month at Cleeby. When he
said that your aunt seemed to grow uneasy in her soul.”

“Poor auntie,” I says, sympathetically; “but Prue, I hope you know what
a wretch you are? And the way you eat is positive immodesty. My aunt
observed it. As for the way in which you played his lordship, it was
too notorious for words. My aunt observed that also. In fact, in half
an evening you have so stabbed the dear creature through her sex, that
she will ne’er forgive you for it.”

“Pray recite my errors,” says he, flinging himself into an arm-chair,
and stretching out his legs and crumpling his petticoats. “Your voice
is so musical it will send me to sleep as promptly as a powder.”

He shut his eyes at this and dropped his chin upon his necklace.
Nodding to Mrs. Polly I went off to my dressing-room, followed by my
maid. But on opening the door to step from one chamber to the other,
we heard plain sounds of feet across the corridor and the rustle of
departing draperies. ’Twas too dark to distinguish anything, and though
we promptly went in the direction of the noise, the cause of it was
under cover before we could in any way detect it.

Now I was certain that a spy had been set upon us, and peradventure we
had been overheard. Could anyone have listened at the door? ’Twould be
fatal had they done so. The masquerader had by no means conducted his
share of the conversation in a Prue-like voice; besides, the discussion
of certain matters and its general tenour would be quite enough
for any eavesdropper to put a name upon the lady’s true identity.
Our carelessness had been indeed of the grossest sort; we had not
restrained ourselves with one precaution. Low tones, an occasional eye
upon the door, the selection of a proper topic, and there had been
nought to fear from anybody. But as it was we were probably undone. Our
own incaution was indeed bitterly to blame. In my chamber I let Emblem
see the darkness of the whole affair, and gave her freely of my fears;
also scolded her so sharply for our accident that the frightened fool
began to weep like anything. But there was one point in her behaviour
that both pleased and annoyed me. When I told her that if it was verily
a spy who had been at the keyhole our sprightly Prue would dance at
Tyburn shortly, Mrs. Polly gave a little gasp and a little cry, let
fall the hair-brush she was wielding on my head, and burst out in new
tears, while her cheeks turned to the colour of my shoulders.

“Oh, your la’ship!” she blubbered, with a deal of tragicality, “say not
so.”

“Simpleton,” says I, sternly. “I shall begin to think you regard
this beggar--this rebel--this adventurer--almost like a brother if
you so persistently bear yourself in this way when I mention quite
incidentally, as it were, his proper and natural destination.”

“He hath most lovely eyes, your ladyship,” says she, and wept more
bitterly.

“Ods-body! you are not so far wrong there,” says I, turning a sigh into
a yawn adroitly. “Hath he kissed you yet?”

“Once, I think, ma’am,” she answers, with a modest rose appearing
through her pallor.

“Hath he an opinion of you, then, or was it pastime, merely?”

“’A told me I was kissable,” says she, “a pretty downcast sort of
wench, your la’ship, and swore upon his beard that if he came out of
this predicament with his heart still underneath his chin he’d the best
half of his mind to marry me.”

Here the hussy sighed so desperately from the full depth of her bosom
that a spasm was provoked within my own. To allay that pain I took the
love-sick Mrs. Emblem by the arm and pinched her till she forgot her
heart-ache in one that was less poetical.

Retiring to my earned repose, I found sleep at first as coy as she is
in town. For half an hour I thought on the impudence of my maid, for
another half on the folly of myself.

“Bab,” I soliloquised at the end of an hour’s meditation on this
entertaining theme, “you should be whipt through every market town
in Yorkshire. You are worse than an incorrigible rogue, you are an
incorrigible fool; but any way at nine o’clock to-morrow morning you
shall dismiss Mrs. Polly Emblem without a character.”

Had it not been that I had ratafia to compose me I doubt whether I
should have had any sleep at all. The fear of discovery lay upon me
like a stone. I was persuaded that we had been spied upon. Slumber,
however, mercifully drew a curtain round the miserable consequences
embodied in the future.

Emblem’s light hand woke me.

“Ten o’clock, your la’ship,” says she.

The red sun was in a station over the tree tops in the east, and sent
cold rays across the winter vapours of the park through one corner of
my window. I sipped my chocolate, and hoped the rebel was not abroad
yet.

“He is,” the maid said; “nought would restrain him. At seven o’clock he
knocked me up and made me get him towels and cold water for his tub; at
eight o’clock, my lady, he made me paint his face, friz his hair a bit,
put his head-dress on, and arrange all the points in what he called his
‘feminine machinery’; at nine he was drinking ale and eating of his
breakfast; and ten minutes since I saw him in the morning room teaching
my Lady Grimstone’s polly-parrot to swear like anything.”

“Oh,” says I, “a very pretty occupation to be sure. Here, girl, put
me in my _déshabille_, and let me be upon him ere he’s at a further
mischief. Quick, wench, or next we shall have him teaching hymns to my
papa.”

Half an hour hence I went downstairs to keep a personal eye upon
him. I had not been there five minutes when my aunt’s maid, Tupper,
came in and said that her mistress required my presence in her
room immediately. As the message was so peremptory I dallied some
five-and-twenty minutes longer than I need, for I think that persons of
an elderly habit should never be encouraged in their arbitrary courses.
Had I only foreseen what lay in store when I obeyed this summons, I
should have taken my muff and tippet with me to protect myself from
frostbite. You may have seen an iceberg clad in all its severities of
snow, sitting in a temperature that makes you shiver. If you have had
this felicity you have also seen my aunt, the dowager, this wintry
morning. She smiled a December sun-glint when she saw me.

“Barbara, good morning,” she began.

“Good morning, ma’am,” says I, and curtsied.

“I trust you are very well,” my aunt says.

“Very well indeed, ma’am,” I answered modestly. I’ll confess a little
nerve-twitch. ’Twas a charming idiosyncrasy of my aunt’s that she only
betrayed an interest in one’s health when she was about to administer
a pill of one sort or another. She was about to administer one just
now--a blue one!

“I have sent for you, Barbara,” says the dowager, in shivery thin tones
that were like cold water trickling down one’s spine, “to inform you
that your dear friend, Miss Prudence Canticle, your ownest Prue, the
dearest Prue that ever was, the precious Prue, to whom all the world is
but as a china tea-cup, is just a man, and a very pretty scoundrel.”

An elderly lady of six-and-fifty winters, whose face is Arctic, and is
framed, moreover, in corkscrew curls that look horribly like icicles,
can throw an extraordinary stress and feeling in the mild word, “man.”
And this instant, such an amount did my aunt employ that a feather
might have knocked me down.

“Shall I tell you this man’s name?” the pitiless dowager inquired.

In assent I bowed my head.

“Anthony Dare,” says she, with unction; “escaped rebel, who is to be
hanged as a common malefactor.”

“Yes, aunt, Anthony Dare,” says I; “and ’tis all very true, except in
the main particular. He is not to be hanged as a common malefactor.”

“Indeed,” says she. “But that is the Government’s disposition, I
understand.”

“I do not deny that it is the Government’s disposition, ma’am, but
’tis not the disposition of your niece, Bab Gossiter.”

“You are the law, then, Barbara?”

“Nine-tenths of it,” says I.

“Assertion will be a proof when assumption becomes a claim,” says my
sententious relative.

“Possession is allowed to be nine-tenths of it,” says I; “and certainly
I have possession of this most charming prisoner.”

“A very temporary one,” my aunt says. “’Tis my duty to advise my
brother of this matter; and he will hold it his to acquaint Captain
Grantley and other interested persons.”

“That is as it may be,” says I, calmly, “for I think that on
reflection, my dearest aunt, you will do nothing of the kind.”

“So and indeed!” cries my aunt, in an awful voice. “Barbara, this is
gross--this is impertinence.”

“It may be both, dear aunt,” says I, “or it may be neither, but its
truth, I know, and that I’ll swear to.”

“Defend my virtue!” cried my aunt; “this is beyond all suffering.”

The iceberg strove to freeze me with her eye. And perhaps she would
have done it, too, only that a bright idea took me at the moment
and armed me with new brazenness. My masters of the other sex, if
you would bend us to your will, do it with audacity. No palterings,
no if-you-pleases, no apostrophes. Big, bullying Coercion does our
business. Swear by your beards and the god of thunder, and none of us
shall say you nay, for there is not a petticoat among us can resist
you. This method, then, I clapped upon my aunt, and now look you to the
sequel.

“The matter is just this, dear aunt,” says I. “What about prim old Dame
Propriety? I would have you think of her, dear aunt. There is not a
female of us all can afford to disregard her.”

I pinned such a steady eye upon my aunt that shortly her high look
drooped and was replaced by an ugly one of baffled rage. How fortunate
I had ingenuity enough to hold that cat’s paw! ’Twould have scratched
me else, and badly.

“What will the world say, auntie dear?” I asked. “A word of this in
town and the particular family to which you have the condescension to
belong will be derided by the world. My Lady Clapper will live upon it
for a fortnight. Your very dear friend, Mrs. Saywell, will dispense it
regularly with her new bohea and dish it up hotter than her muffins,
and feed every insatiable man in Mayfair on it. Nor will they find it
indigestible as her buttered crumpets either. A word, dear aunt, and
the whole bench of Bishops will preach a sermon on it, and send all
your presentation stoles and slippers back greatly discoloured with
their tears. We shall be afflicted with the exultation of our enemies
and, worse a hundred times, the commiseration of our friends. Will you
not reflect, dear auntie?”

For the dear lady to reflect was quite unnecessary. Instinct was
sufficient to decide her. She was as likely to rouse good Dame
Propriety, or to make her family the source of common conversation, as
she was to sit in a pew with a hassock in it, or to listen to a Low
Church clergyman.

The countenance of my aunt was something to be seen. Rage laid her
livid; but I was almost proud to look at her, for was she not bred so
properly that she smiled away like anything? She put her teeth hard
upon her lips, and so did bar her anger back, and continued in that
pleasant face that cooled my blood by three degrees.

“Very well, Barbara,” says she, without the faintest passion, though
it had required several seconds to give her this composure, “very
well. But if I outlast the century I will not overlook this monstrous
conduct. From to-day I disinherit you. And I may say that one portion
of my fortune will be diverted into building and endowing a church at
St. Giles’s in the Fields; the other portion to provide a sanctuary for
needy gentlewomen.”

Somewhere in the middle of the day I thought the hour a chosen one to
finish off the Captain. With such an application had I pursued the
gallant man the previous evening, and such his frame of mind, that
surely he was suffering even now an ecstasy of sweet pain. Another
amorous glance or two would certainly complete him and drown his duty
in his desperation. These reflections carried me to the library door.
On entering I was met by the Captain’s greeting and the presence of
an unpropitious third. Corporal Flickers was in an ostentatious
occupation of my seat against the fire-place.

“When you are alone, sir, I shall be glad to speak with you,” I said,
this being a hint for the dismissal of the Corporal.

“Important business occupies me most unfortunately just now,” the
Captain said; and I retired to await his disengagement.

I conceived this to be perhaps the matter of an hour, but never was
more faulty in my reckoning. At three o’clock I sent to inquire of
his convenience. ’Twas not yet, however, as the Corporal was with him
still; moreover, said the Captain, in reply, he was like to be so until
far into the evening. At supper-time they were together also. On Emblem
looking farther in the matter, she learned that at the request of the
Captain the Corporal had been served with food there.

We were discussing this strange affair in the privacy of my boudoir,
when Mr. Anthony, whose fund of shrewdness served him in a thousand
ways, advanced a theory meriting much consideration.

“Flickers is his bodyguard,” says he. “Grantley knows it’s in your mind
to captivate him, and fears you’ll do it too, if you so much as have
him to yourself. Flickers is for safety, and you can take my word for
that.”

I thought upon this sadly; for if this was so and the coward’s trick
was only persevered in, I should be completely foiled, and that blue
paper must be in London very soon.

“You are wrong, Prue,” I said, rebelling against my better judgment. “A
soldier and a man like Grantley would never have such a cowardice.”

“Bab,” says he, with insolence, “I’ll bet my back hair on it that I’m
right. The bravest man that ever trod will take to strange shifts when
confronted with the devil. Pity Grantley, do not blame him.”

Of such is the sympathy of boys!

CHAPTER XIII.

I DISPLAY MY INFINITE RESOURCES.

THE morrow was full of anxiety and incident. There was a skirmish with
my aunt--a diversion to be sure, but one of peril. There was also my
distrust. I was compelled to keep an unceasing eye on Mr. Anthony, on
Mrs. Emblem, on the soldiers, on my Lady Grimstone, on Captain Grantley
and the document he held, and most of all on my own susceptibilities.
There was here plenty of material for mischief. The conduct of the
Captain was abominable. Of the six troopers quartered on us, five were
despatched at daybreak to scour the surrounding country for the rebel;
the remaining one, the Corporal, was retained in the library to protect
his commanding officer from the wiles of woman. Never a doubt that Mr.
Anthony had spoken true, and that this prudent cowardice had struck
my only weapon from my hand. Only one means could save his lordship
now--the sacrifice of the poor young fugitive.

I suppose it is the curse of persons of condition that the sword of
pride swings above their heads, suspended tenderly on a single hair.
The first breath of calumny brings it down. The Government had merely
to receive the paper setting forth what was said to be his lordship’s
part in the prisoner’s escape, and ignoring all other consequences,
not the least would be the hawking of his name in every filthy print
of Fleet Street. It would be extremely difficult to bear. Yet bear it
I must, and perchance his committal to the Tower, and divers horrid
businesses, unless the lad was betrayed to his enemies at once.

However, I did not consider that harsh alternative. I could not apply
it an I would. But something must be done, as the Captain took occasion
to remind me. On the evening of the sixth day he sent this polite
missive to my room.

  “Madam:--To-morrow evening the term expires. Unless the rebel is
  discovered to me by the hour of six in the afternoon, my duty
  will compel me to acquaint His Majesty’s Government of the whole
  affair. Madam, I pray you in your own interest to consider deeply
  of your course, for I am persuaded that you have a knowledge of the
  rebel’s whereabouts. Let me remind you that the consequences must be
  inevitably of great prejudice to the Earl, your father, if you permit
  this matter to proceed.--I have, Madam, the honour to be your duteous,
  humble servant,

                                                  J. GRANTLEY.”

Miss Prue was sitting at my tea-table when I read this; and this keen
observer saw me grow red with passion at its contents.

“From a dear friend, I’ll bet a shilling,” he confided to a tea-cup.

“Very,” says I, crumpling up the Captain’s insolence and throwing it
in the grate; and added, “Prue, you must excuse me for five minutes;
I must see that dear friend of ours, the Captain, on something of
importance.”

“The Captain!” says he, all attention.

I was too preoccupied to heed him in any way whatever, and foolishly
repaired to the library without troubling to set at rest any suspicion
of the facts he might entertain. I found the Captain and his bodyguard,
the Corporal, playing backgammon and smoking the horridest tobacco that
ever did offend me.

“Your pardon, gentlemen,” says I, “and as you are at such an important
matter, ’twere best that I withdraw perhaps.”

The Captain put his pipe down and begged me to be seated, while the
Corporal, evidently acting under orders, rose, stepped to the door, but
did not go outside.

“Sir,” I began, “I am come to ask you again to revise that paper. I
will not have his lordship saddled with a misdemeanour which he never
did commit. ’Twas I that set the rebel free, and ’tis I that will abide
the consequence.”

The Captain grimly shook his head.

“My dear lady,” he replied, “it cannot be. Your father is morally
responsible for the crime that hath been wrought in his house against
the King. You must either produce me the prisoner to-morrow by the
hour of six, or submit his lordship to the severe alternative.”

“Captain, this is an absurdity,” says I, tartly; “and to be brief, sir,
your conversation seems extremely like a simpleton’s. Produce you the
prisoner? Ods my life, what a folly do you talk! Ask me to produce you
the devil, and I shall produce him just as easily.”

“Not a doubt about it,” says the Captain, laughing at the anger in my
eyes.

Before I could retort upon him, my attention was distracted by the
sudden opening of the door. To my horror I saw the apparition of the
rebel. His mouth was stern, and there was a high sparkle in his eyes.
One glance and I read all the contents of his mind. By some strange
means he had discovered the dilemma I was in, and to spare me the
inconvenience that I suffered had come to deliver his person up to
justice. His purpose was distinctly written in his face.

It was a terrible instant, and only a wonderful decision could stave
off fatality. I sprang up and sailed towards him ere he could speak
the word that would betray him, and pushed him by main force past the
Corporal, and over the threshold of the door.

“Oh, Prue, you prying rogue!” I cried, laughing with a heartiness that
was intended to be heard. “You spy, you suspicious wretch, you are
dying I can see, to get an inkling of this matter; but I’ll stake my
soul that you do not overhear a word.”

I had no sooner expelled him from the room with this peremptory mirth,
than I whispered feverishly in his ear:

“For God’s sake do not do it now! Go back to my room, and I will follow
and talk the matter over.”

Thereupon I boldly rejoined the Captain and the Corporal, and slapped
the library door in the face of the prisoner standing on the mat. The
suspicions I had aroused by a course so strange must be soothed at any
cost. Unlimited lying came greatly to my aid. I ordered the puzzled
Corporal to turn the key upon the lady.

“She is just burning with curiosity,” I laughed; “but I’ll take care
that she shall not satisfy it.”

’Twas a mercy that the Captain’s leg was in such a posture, that his
back was to the door, and though he must have heard sounds of a woman’s
entrance, and that I was in a flutter of one kind or another, and
had been excited to strange steps, he could not possibly have seen
Miss Prue, and happily his injury forbade him turning round to look.
Again, the Corporal was of such a primitive intelligence that he never
suspected anything at all. Finding the Captain as resolute as ever, I
took an early chance to quit the arbitrary wretch, and sought the rebel.

His appearance in the library was simple to explain. He had got a hint
of my predicament, and to relieve me was ready to sacrifice himself.
He was in my room awaiting me. Entering, I closed the door, turned the
key and put it in my pocket.

“Would you spoil all, then?” I bitterly began.

“You have told lies,” says he in his coarse fashion.

“For you,” says I, swiftly.

My look caused the deepest tawny to creep into his face.

“You swore upon your oath,” says he, “that to harbour me would place
you in no danger. Madam, you have lied.”

“I shall be glad for you to prove that,” I answered languidly.

I should have been inclined to enjoy his anger and his insolence I
think, had there not been a note of warning in his tone that frightened
me. That he had made his mind up on this point was very plain.

“I will prove it in three words,” says he. “First I read the paper you
crumpled up and cast into the grate. My other information I have pulled
out of Mrs. Polly Emblem.”

“Oh, the wretched wench!” cries I, and summoned her from my
dressing-room immediately.

The fool came as limp as rags, and cowered from my anger pitifully.

“If you please, your la’ship,” she whimpered, “’a fairly tore it from
my breast. I could not help myself, my lady--’deed I couldn’t--that’s a
fact.”

“You silly trout, I’ve a mind to boil you, and that’s another fact.
But no, you half-wit, it were better to dismiss you on this instant.
Off, you slut, and pack your boxes and do not offend me with your face
another hour.”

“Oh, please, please, my lady,” sobbed the simpleton falling on her
knees.

“Enough of this Bab,” says Miss Prue, sternly, with a fine indignation
in her eyes. “Leave the poor creature be. She says she couldn’t help
herself, and I’m here to vouch it. I fetched it out of her like
anything, for she’s but a woman after all. Bab, drop it; do you hear
me?”

The rogue slapped his hand upon the table with the grandeur of an
emperor. Thereupon I rated her the more soundly for her fault. The
miserable Emblem first looked at her champion, and then at me in the
most piteous manner. Thereat Miss Prue’s countenance became a blaze of
anger.

“Damn it, Bab,” says she, “if you only were a man!”

In the effort to contain her wrath she went striding up and down the
room. Suddenly she dealt a vicious kick at a Sheraton what-not, inlaid
with pearl, that was worth as much as the blood-money on her head,
brought it down in pieces, and smashed to atoms a priceless china vase.
Then she turned on me.

“Bab, you are a perfect brute!” and then said to Emblem, softly, “Poor
wench! But don’t you fret, my dear, for I will see you are not hurt.”

Having delivered his mind thus freely, he strode to the door and tried
it.

“No, boy, you don’t,” says I, and ran to the door the other side of the
chamber that led into my dressing-room. Hastily I secured that also,
and took the custody of the key.

“Now sit down,” I did command him; “for I am to have a talk with you,
my friend.”

“I hope you will enjoy it,” he said, “as it is to be the last.”

“Surely,” says I, “you cannot have the folly to be resolute in this?
Would you yield your life up for a whim? Doth not your very soul turn
dark at the thought of death--and such a death?”

I shivered as I spoke, and the lad turned paler.

“No,” says he, “that is--at least,” he dropped his tone, “I do not
think about it.”

“You will have to do,” I answered, with the slow unction of a priest.
“And you so full of lusty youth. Do I not see health sparkling in your
eyes? The world must be lovely to you, I am certain. Your heart is fed
on sunshine, and the singing of the birds is the only sound you hear.
And are there no ambitions in you? Have you never dreamt of glory?”

He turned still paler at this speech, and a sort of grim joy took hold
of me when I saw how my unaccustomed gravity was sinking in his mind.

“But you?” he said.

“I am not to be regarded. I have less to lose than you. Life itself in
your case; in mine only a new story for the town.”

“Do you forget that they can attaint you of high treason?” he replied.
“And that would mean a long imprisonment, and you would find it a
tedious and very weary thing. I know, for I have tried it.”

“High treason--imprisonment!” says I; “these are bogies for a child.
Politics are wonderful affairs, but if they can clap Bab Gossiter in
the ‘Jug’ and diet her on bad bread and dirty water, let ’em do it,
boy, by every means, and I’ll admire ’em for it.”

“But if they threaten others?” he replied. “For instance, your papa,
the Earl.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” I laughed; but in my breast there was no levity. “A peer
of the realm!”

“He is not to blame for being that,” he answered, slyly, “and they will
not the less respect him for it I am sure. And what of Derwentwater,
Kenmare, Nithsdale in the late rebellion?”

Being properly hipped on this, I tried new tactics.

“Ah, I see,” says I, “you wish to play at Hero, do you? Want a pretext
to make the world ring by your devotion to a lady’s little finger. A
truce, boy, to these palpable devices.”

He coloured high. Ridicule is the sovereign remedy for poetic notions
in the young. He merely sniffed my black draught, however, and flung it
from him.

“Very shrewd of you,” says he, “but I never was afraid of being laughed
at.”

I turned to Emblem with a frank amazement.

“Go you for a bodkin, girl, and I will prick him with it, for I would
fain discover if this child of ours is actually made of blood and
flesh. Not afraid of being laughed at!”

Straight I fell into a peal to prove how monstrously he lied. He chewed
his lip, and struggled to cover up his very evident vexation.

“Sneer,” says he, with anger darting from his eyes, “but my
determination’s taken. A week ago I swore that a single hair of my Lady
Barbara should not suffer for her mercy. And when I make an oath I keep
one, whatever others do.”

He rose. A glance assured me that he was in an ugly mood of heroism.
He held his hand out for the key. I glanced into his face, saw all the
muscles in it tight, and his mouth locked in a silence that seemed to
render the gravest word ridiculous.

“Oh come,” I cries, “enough of claptrap! Have I done all this to be
thwarted by a child? Do you not see if you persevere in this proud
folly that the Captain triumphs? And I, a victorious rebel, should find
it easier far to endure the Tower than the humiliations of defeat.”

“Alas! these palpable devices,” he sighed. “But it’s the key I want,
not trickeries.”

Again I had a taste of my impotence with him. Hitherto my lightest
whim was a law for the greatest or the meanest; this moment, though,
a very beggar defied my imperious command. Nor would he budge from his
perverseness. Pretty soon his intolerable behaviour made my anger rise.
It was increased when I remembered his utter dependence and his low
condition. And yet I took a kind of admiration of him too. He was so
bold, so contradictory, so brazenly impertinent withal, that I began to
feel there was more in his sex than I had suspected.

“Child,” says I, “I am dreadfully enraged with you and with your ways,
but,” I added, musingly, while I read the decision in his face, “do you
know I have half a mind to love you for them.”

“Pray don’t,” says he, uneasily.

“I have, though. I think you’ll make the prettiest man that ever was.
You are not a bit according to the pattern. You appear to even have a
will, a very unusual circumstance in anything that’s masculine. Child,”
I says, “do you know that I have half a mind to make a husband of you?
I like you, my lad. You are headstrong, but I think you are a charming
boy.”

I patted him upon the shoulder with an air of high approval. He knit
his teeth, and cried in a crimson heat:

“Confound you, woman, I am not your pussy-cat, nor your King Charles’
spaniel.”

“No,” says I; “and that is why I like you. You are so unstrokable.”

“The key,” says he.

“Understand me, sir,” says I, severely. “If I am ever at all tender to
a person, I become very much his friend and delight to serve him. Now
I can best serve you by denying you this key. And while we are on this
argument I should be glad to ask you whether there is anything you owe
me?”

“My life,” he answered, promptly.

“Very well,” says I; “and are you to be so thankless as to throw away
that which I have given you?”

“Oh well,” says he, nervously, and dropped the boldness of his look,
“if that is how you put it--but, madam, for the world I would not have
your name imperilled or your father’s. Why, ’tis gratitude that makes
me so contumacious in this matter.”

“Now,” says I, “here’s something I should like you to reflect upon. I
refuse most absolutely to yield up your person to the State. And should
you do this of your own accord I will not forgive you for it; no, sir,
I will not! And I will not even go to Tyburn to see how prettily you
hang. And my vanity will sicken horribly. For in every enterprise I
crave to be victorious, and I support a whipping as badly as you do a
thoroughly polite behaviour.”

“But the paper going south,” he put in, doggedly.

“Yes, I’ve thought of that, and it hath occurred to me that if your
prayers, Emblem’s wit, and my resources cannot play a pretty little
trick upon the Captain, the Captain’s very wise.”

’Twas then Miss Prue did prick her ears up.

“Trick!” says she, “anything daring? Aught with a spice about it? Now,
Bab, let’s have it!”

“It is my intention to kidnap my good friend Corporal Flickers,” I
replied.

“Kidnap Corporal Flickers,” cries he, in a voice of pregnant
admiration. “Why, Bab, your heart is big enough for five. Bravo!”

“At six o’clock to-morrow evening he is to take that paper, ride to
York, and catch the London mail,” says I. “But he will not get beyond
our gate-house, for everything is to be most excellently planned.”

“And you will perhaps be wanting my assistance,” says he, keenly.

“Very probable indeed,” says I to pacify him somewhat, though I did not
intend to risk his safety in the matter.

Thus by fair words, devices, and appeals he was prevailed upon to sit
in peace, and for the present to let things pursue their courses. Much
as I rejoiced in this, however, I was angry with myself for being such
a tender sort of fool. For the moment, though, a more instant matter
filled my thoughts. Such a nicety of performance was required in this
new affair that fearing the least miscarriage, I directed my personal
attention to it. Habiting myself for an evening stroll, I stepped into
the heavy bitter night, winter though it was, went softly down the
drive, and demanded admittance at the gate-house door.

William Goodman was the keeper and lived there, a widower, with John,
his son, a sturdy six-foot yokel. They made a pair whom Heaven might
have created especially for my business. They sat in the gate-house
kitchen at a meal of beef and ale. William Goodman--sly, ancient,
lean--was a man of sense, and proved it by being faithful as a dog to
the family he had served for forty years. He had only been once before
the Justices, and the occasion was when he had cracked the sconce of a
man who had contumeliously hinted within William’s hearing that my Lord
of Long Acre was not so handsome a nobleman as the Duke of Marlborough.
After they had received me with the most horrible embarrassment, and
Goodman, the younger, had had the misfortune to turn a jug of ale into
his lap, I sat down and explained my mission as succinctly as I could.

“Have you a coal-hole under this kitchen?” I began.

“Yes, my lady,” said the elder.

“Exactly as I thought,” says I. “And suppose a man was put into it;
could he very well get out?”

“Depends upon the man, your ladyship,” says the elder, leering like a
fox.

“One who did not happen to be a friend of the family,” says I, mightily
enjoying William Goodman’s face.

“He might o’ course,” says he, with his natural caution, “and, o’
course, he mightn’t; but, my lady, if I was betting on it, I should put
my money on he mightn’t.”

“Well, Goodman,” says I, “I should like you to understand that I have
put my money on ‘he mightn’t.’ Now there is a certain person to be put
into that coal-hole, and out he must not come until I send the order.
And let me give you a few particulars.”

These were brief and simple. Mr. Flickers must be lured into the
gate-house, sprung upon, taken by surprise, laid in the cellar, and
kept there both tight and privy at my pleasure; while I should be
pleased if it could be contrived that a blue paper passed from his
possession to my own.

“And no unnecessary violence, Goodman. I would not have unnecessary
violence for the world. But do you think all this is to be done?”

“Your ladyship can call it done already,” Goodman answered. “And what
was it, my lady, you thought he called his lordship?”

“Doddering old something, I believe,” says I; “cannot take a Bible oath
on the exact text of it, but ‘doddering old something’ is the very
synonym of what he said.”

“When the pore man falls, I hope as ’ow he won’t fall on his head,”
says William, piously, but with a high significance.

“Now, no unnecessary violence,” I said; “but I’ll take my life that
‘dodder’ is the word he used.”

There was here a question as to the disposal of his horse. It was
resolved to convey it to the High Farm, some miles up the moor, the
same evening and hold it there in secret till the time was by for the
Corporal’s release. And I had such a high regard for Goodman and his
son that I did not hesitate to think them the equals of their word.
Wherefore I went home to dress in a cheerful mood, and passed a lively
evening with my aunt, his lordship, and Miss Prue.

My aunt put me quite remarkably in mind of a ferret held up by the
throat. The creature was prepared to bite on the first occasion, only
the season was not yet, for to attempt to do so now was to run the risk
of having the life choked out of it.

“Aunt,” says I, as we sat at supper, “my dearest Prue tells me she must
leave us in a day or two.”

“Niece,” says my aunt, politely, “I shall be grieved indeed to forego
her charming company.”

But here the dowager’s steely smile shone out and caught my eye,
and--well, I wished it had not done so.

CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S WIT BECOMES A RIVAL OF MY OWN.

ON the fateful morrow the frost still held, and gave no sign of
yielding. The Doctor rode over towards noon to attend the Captain’s
leg. When he left the library I took his professional opinion on both
that member and its owner.

“Doing nicely, very nicely,” says the Doctor. “Nor are the injuries as
serious as we did at first suppose.”

“We shall have him about on crutches in a day or two, perhaps?” says I,
making a wry face.

“Not this fortnight,” says the Doctor, “nay, not this three weeks. This
morning now he tried to alter the position of his leg, but it was so
stiff and gave the poor man such an excruciating pain that he desisted
the instant he began.”

“I was trusting, Doctor,” I replied, “that the Captain would have his
heels up for at least a month. A man of his activity would benefit by
rest.”

“Well, my dear lady, let us think about it,” says the Doctor.

“And I believe, sir,” says I, insinuatingly, “that you had better stay
to dinner while you do.”

I never remember a day that took longer to consume the sun’s light,
or a night more tardy to arrive. At five p.m. the Captain scrawled
the information: “In an hour, madam, unless a particular circumstance
prevents it, my report must be dispatched.” And I was grateful to
the Captain’s air of mystery for causing me to laugh so. “Unless a
particular circumstance prevents it.” A little after six Emblem bore
me the news that the Corporal was mounted and away. As Goodman was to
bring me the result as soon as one had been arrived at, I awaited him
in privacy, and was so nervous and excited, too, that I preferred to
have my supper served there, instead of wearing the mask of my habitual
indifference, and sitting down with the family as usual.

Seven struck, but no Goodman came. A quarter past, and I began to
speculate upon miscarriages. But presently, to my relief, I caught the
sound of heavy boots ascending, and on his knock I invited Goodman to
come in.

“Well?” says I.

“Under lock and key, your ladyship,” says Goodman. “’A kicked a bit,
’a swore a bit, when we took him from behind; but we dropped him in,
and slipped the bolt and turned the key; his ’oss has been taken to
the farm, and I left John, my son, a sittin’ afore the cellar door a
readin’ in The Courier.”

“No unnecessary violence, I hope,” says I.

“Not a bit, my lady. But it’s a mercy that there weren’t. He turned
rampageous like; but John, my son, had got him by the muffler, and my
knee was a kneelin’ in the middle of his shirt. We dropped him in the
hole, simple an’ easy as a child. He might ’a fell upon his nose, but
I judge from the crackin’ sort o’ sound he made that it liker was his
head. But he’ll take no hurt, my lady; no, not he, for that Corp’ral’s
the toughest tooth that ever chewed up bull-beef.”

“And did you abstract the paper?” I inquired.

“Here it is,” says he, and gave it to me with a proud appearance.

I dismissed the honest fellow with a purse and a few compliments on his
exceptional ability, which even the best of men are greedy to receive;
and gave him some instructions touching their captive’s entertainment.
You may take it that I never was more complacent in any battle than
in the signal victory my arms had achieved in this. The Captain’s
wit might be considerable, but it was indeed a satisfaction to hold
the proof that my own resources were, after all, despite my foe’s
unscrupulosity and keenness, good enough to thwart him. His emissary,
his special messenger, his wretched tool, was under lock and key; the
dread instrument he had so diligently waved above my head, and had
disturbed my dreams with, had not yet reached the Government, but lay
upon my writing-table, a prisoner of war. ’Twas a very triumph. I
picked up this red-sealed horror and brandished it before the blaze.
“The Secretary of State, Whitehall, London.” I insulted that elegant
inscription in divers ways, but ere I bestowed upon it the crowning
indignity of all, its committal to the flames, the whim seized me
to read its precious contents once again. Tearing off the cover, I
drew forth four precisely folded sheets of foolscap. But directly
afterwards, I think a feather might have felled me. There was not a
word of writing on them!

What could be the meaning? The packet had been sealed implicitly with
a great array of wax; had been addressed in a large, fair hand to the
Secretary of State; had been ravished from the custody of Flickers, yet
here it was, blanker than my hand.

I was wholly staggered. Presently I plagued my wits for explanations,
but no matter how diligent my mind was it could not override the fact
that the letter was empty. Later I took counsel of Mrs. Emblem, but she
could merely stare and wag her silly head. On her suggestion, however,
I resummoned William Goodman. He swore an oath that this was the only
document on the person of the Corporal. When I pressed him on the
point he reluctantly admitted that as they barred the door upon the
prisoner after the rape of the packet, he called out to them to this,
or similar, effect:

“These dirty doings is all that ladyship o’ yours. I know; but harkee!
just you tell that brazen jade o’ yours the Captain’s not a fool, the
Captain’s not, but smart, downright smart, my boys, and laughs at such
as her. And tell her she’s welcome to the paper, for it’s not a bit o’
use to her, nor to me, nor to the Captain, and she’s welcome to chew
it to her supper if she likes; and you can tell her, boys, that the
Captain’s laughing at her in his sleeve.”

Goodman then withdrew. Turning on Emblem fiercely when he had done so,
I cried out in the very extremity of rage:

“Oh, the deep devil! Oh, the cunning, foxey fiend! But, remark me,
girl, d’ye hear? I say, remark me, I’ll be revenged upon that Captain
as I’m a female. I’m resolved upon it, I’ll be revenged. Ha, thou
ancient enemy, I’ll have thee yet, and then I’ll twist thee. Ha! I see
thee squirming like a lizard in the sun. Thou belly-wriggling snake,
I’ll pay thee for it. Eve was not my early mamma else! I’ll correct
thee of these Eden tricks, thou worm, thou abominable night-bite!”

It was the pains of disappointment, combined with the keen thought
that, after all, the Captain had occasion for his mockery that whipt
me to this transport. The descent from supposition to hard fact was,
indeed, most cruel. My pretty schemes, that had been designed to
assist young Anthony and show the crafty soldier in a foolish light,
where were they now? And the Captain sitting calmly down and laughing
to himself at my predicament! Mrs. Polly Emblem had wisely fled the
chamber, else I would not have answered for her at that instant.

An hour passed, and I had pulled all the curls out of my hair, and had
washed half the powder from my face with weeping, when the door was
opened and Mr. Anthony appeared. He looked at me steadily a minute, a
deal of criticism in his eye.

“Why, Bab,” he cries, “what in the prophet’s name’s upon you? ’Tis
a new _rôle_, I see. What in the name of mercy is the part? Are you
Niobe mourning for her young, or a pale Jocasta, or a drunken baggage
that goes too often to the ‘Jug?’”

“Out, rogue,” says I, “or I will put you out.”

“I see you have already put yourself out,” says he. “But what in
conscience is the matter?”

“Out, rogue,” I repeated. “I will not have your horrid sex intruding on
my presence--wretched, crafty, undermining creatures!”

“Faith!” says he, “I’ve always said it. Wretched, puling, prying
rogues. Here, Bab, I’ll just unslip these petticoats and will resume
the breeches of a man.”

“Mention that word again and I’ll beat you to a purpose, you insolent
slip of beggary.”

“Go on, sweet,” says he, taking his seat calmly by the fire. “I like
it. Your beauty is most monstrous when your eyes blaze. Rat me, if you
don’t look an accidental angel, darling.”

Now, as this audacious rebel sat there laughing quietly in true
enjoyment of my rage, I judged it better to restrain it if I could,
and tell him of the case. He heard me out with patience, approved
heartily of my trick, paid me a compliment on the unscrupulosity of its
character, swore I was a cunning one, and so forth; but when I showed
him the clean paper with never a written word upon it, he cried: “That
beats me!” and grew as thoughtful as an owl.

“Sir Sapience,” says I, “I should value your opinion.”

“Witchcraft, as I’m a Christian man,” says he. “But that Captain
is--well, that Captain is----”

“He is, indeed,” says I, with a significance not to be conveyed by a
mere adjective or noun.

For an hour or more we broke our minds upon this problem. It was the
deepest mystery, and of that provoking kind that makes one unhappy till
one has solved it. As it would not profit us to keep the Corporal in
durance, I judged it right to take measures to release him. But it was
certain that as soon as he was at large my guilt would be published to
his officer. Therefore I took boldness for my course, and stepped down
straightway to the Captain. I carried the blue papers and the mutilated
seal with me.

My enemy was alone. He received me with the courtesy that never failed
him, while I, with the consideration that was habitual to me, asked
politely of his leg.

“Captain,” I decisively began, “an accident of a rather serious sort
hath happened to that emissary of yours.”

“My soul,” cried the Captain, anxiously, “is that so? Pray tell me of
it, madam.”

“I will strike a bargain first,” says I, coolly, and cast the papers
down before his eyes.

I think I never saw a man so taken.

“Ods wounds!” he cries, “how came these in your custody?”

“An accident hath occurred to that emissary of yours,” I repeated,
and smiled upon his urgent face, “and you shall hear the details of
it on condition that you do confess why this packet is a bogus. I can
assure you, Captain, that I am burning to learn the reason for this
make-believe.”

He tried to hedge at this, and get news of the Corporal out of me
without giving me the secret that I so desired. But if he considered
I was a child in these affairs to be evaded lightly he was early
undeceived.

“Not a word, not a hint, sir,” I says, “until you have told me why
you have furnished the Government with such a short account. And I am
persuaded, sir, that that Corporal of yours is in the least enviable
plight.”

My reluctant enemy fenced with me a long half hour, but I was so
tenacious of my course, and parried him with such an ease, that in the
end I forced him to desist.

“Very well,” he said, “I’ll tell you, madam. The fact is I have been
trying to intimidate you. There has been a conspiracy between his
lordship and myself to frighten you into a betrayal of the prisoner.
From the first I have been convinced that you could put your hand upon
that rebel if you cared, and, my dear lady, it may please you now to
know that up to this instant I have not budged one point from that
opinion. I am certain that if you chose you could deliver him up to
us to-night. Now we let you read the particular narrative that held my
lord responsible, and were at pains to cause you to believe that it was
going to the Government for the most obvious of reasons. And as you
are aware, we have even thought fit to prolong the farce by sending
Flickers southward with a bogus packet.”

“This is very fine and pat,” says I, “and sounds like a peroration; but
under your favour, sir, I should be glad to examine you upon it. Will
you tell me, sir, on whom the blame will fall? If it’s not to be on me,
and not to be upon his lordship, who is going to suffer?”

“Yours to command, James Grantley,” the Captain answered, with a grave
and happy dignity that sat upon him charmingly, I thought. “Does your
ladyship suppose that I am a snivel or a cur? Hath your ladyship formed
so kind a judgment of my character as to hold me capable of allowing my
friends to suffer rather than myself.”

This vindication of himself made him appear so handsome and so
lofty, that I felt that this deep enemy of mine had no right to
present so excellent a figure. ’Twas palpable, besides, that he could
out-manœuvre me in every way, and was therefore a person to be hated.

“Well, Captain,” says I, reproachfully, “I trust you do repent of the
fever you have thrown me in; of the sleepless nights you’ve given me:
of the visions of the Tower with which I have been beset.”

“Evildoers,” says he, sternly, “must command no sympathy.”

“’Tis a hard name, sir,” I says.

“Truth, madam, is not a courtier.”

“Ah, no!” I sighed, and added insinuatingly, “but I have never read
the history of the ill-fated Mary of Scotland without costing myself a
tear.”

“Had I been the executioner,” says the Captain, grimly, “there had been
no bungling at the lopping of her lovely, wicked head.”

“My dear Captain, you are perfectly convinced of that?” And I searched
the harsh man terribly with my eyes.

He lowered his own a point, and coughed to cover his confusion. I had
now to tell the Captain of the Corporal’s misfortune. While in the act
of doing this, I kept a lookout for his anger, but except for the most
delicate little smile that seemed to go crawling round his jaw, his
face was as simple and inscrutable as ever.

“I think, madam,” says he, “that I should praise the address you have
displayed. For the second time you have outwitted his Majesty the King.
But, pray, madam, be careful of the third. The third time is generally
crucial.”

“Do I discover a warning or a threat in this, sir?” I pleasantly
inquired.

“Only the expression of an honest admiration,” says the Captain, whose
kind smile on this occasion appeared to be dancing round his teeth.

The Corporal was released that evening. I regret that this honest man’s
opinion of my conduct in this case is not preserved among my archives.
I feel sure that had I been able to supply it, it would have won the
approbation of the gentle reader.

CHAPTER XV.

THE CAPTAIN TRUMPS MY TRICK.

I AM now come to some grave adventures. Even at the remote hour at
which I here retail them, I hardly know whether to shudder or to smile,
so whimsical they were, yet so fraught with consequences of the gravest
sort. Indeed, their memory seems a quaint mingling of laughter and
dismay. There is, I think, scarcely an event in life that cannot be
made food for ridicule by the lightly-minded. In that category I count
one, my kind friends tell me, but of the strange duel that was fought
at which I presided in my person, of the conflict of wills and passions
that befell, of the hopes, the fears, the plottings, the contrivings,
the general foxiness of everyone, but most of all of me; the stern
contentions that appeared to some of us to turn the whole world
topsy-turvy, I could not at the time decide whether to grin or groan
at. And faith! even at this date, I am not come to a decision.

The very night of the Corporal’s detention and release was the date of
the first of these important matters. The hour was midnight, or rather
more, when I got into bed. The day with me had been so arduous that no
sooner did my head meet the pillow than I was asleep. I was aware of
nothing till consciousness was restored to me all at once, and I found
myself sitting up in the sheets and listening to strange sounds. It
was very dark, and the wind outside still seemed to be crying with a
night voice; but some unprecedented thing had surely taken place, else
I should not have thus awoke to find all my senses strained and tense
with apprehension. ’Twas a cold enough sensation to discover oneself
sitting thus, with the darkness and silence of death enveloping the
chamber. I was in the act of re-settling myself snugly for repose,
when the cause of my awakening became apparent. Several muffled but
heavy footfalls I heard just the hither side the curtains of my bed,
and while I was fearfully speculating upon the nature of these sounds,
for it was an eerie hour, I caught a noise as of the soft-closing of
my chamber door. At first the horrid, quiet gloom, and the mystery of
it all made a coward of me, and I drew the blankets convulsively about
my head, and sought to subdue the ticking of my heart. But hearing
them repeated in the corridor outside, curiosity managed to suppress
my fears, and I stole from my bed to satisfy it. Opening the door with
the tenderest care, I peeped cautiously across the threshold. The
landing window being uncurtained, the long corridor leading to the
stairs was sensibly lighter than my room. The cause of the alarm was
immediately made plain. A dim figure was creeping painfully towards
the stairs, and dark as it was, my excited eyes were keen enough to
identify its faint outlines and its singular condition. ’Twas a man’s
shape shuffling heavily along; one portion precariously supported by
a stick, the other by a hand pressed against the wall. As soon as I
discerned the details appertaining to him, I had read the riddle of his
apparition. It was none other than my good friend Captain Grantley!

I slipped back into bed with all the sleep banished from my eyes. A
remarkable trembling held me now in every joint. ’Twas a spasm of
downright, arrant fear. Yea, my good friend, Captain Grantley, was
verily the devil! Every day served to reveal in new and unexpected
ways the depth and audacity of his wit. This further manifestation of
it almost paralysed me. ’Twas no common cunning that had taught him to
conceal for what must have been several days the right condition of his
knee.

As I lay awake striving to find a means to check this latest move of
my subtle enemy’s, several bitter facts were writ upon my mind. First,
that I was not his match in craft, no matter how considerable my own;
farther, that if by any chance he had found his way this night to the
room of Prue, our game was lost. There was only one ray of comfort
that his nocturnal expedition brought. It was that whatever might be
his suspicions in regard to the prisoner’s presence in the house, he
held no evidence wherewith to confirm them, else he had not gone
night-walking to obtain it. But had this night-excursion given him the
knowledge? ’Twas a baffling problem. However, I hoped and believed that
he had been unable to visit the room of Prue, since for safety’s sake
I insisted that she should promise to lock her door. Yet in dealing
with a person of the Captain’s calibre, who shall make enough of an
allowance for the scope of his talents and activities? Faith, I had
learned to dread this subtle foe more utterly than anything since the
bogies of my childhood! I do not think I should have feared him so
could I only have killed the reluctant admiration that, in despite of
myself, his skill commanded.

You may be sure that at the dawn’s appearance I rose earlier than
my wont was; and while I made my toilette I sent a message to the
masquerader to induce him to come abroad as early as he could, for I
felt unable to enjoy any peace of mind until I had let him know his
latest danger. And I was the more eager to confide in him, inasmuch as
at a crisis he could display a fine intelligence.

I greeted him with this momentous question:

“Did you lock your chamber door last night, sir?”

“I did,” he answered.

“Then,” says I, “you may congratulate yourself on your escape.”

Therewith I retailed the remarkable experiences I had so lately
undergone. While I did this I noted that his face grew very stern and
ugly.

“Bab,” says he at the conclusion, “these playhouse tricks of ours will
do well to have an ending. This Captain man is too devilish ingenious
to be tolerated any more. He’s too early on the perch for us, Bab, and
that’s a fact. He must either have his wings clipped, else I must fly
away.”

“The time is not yet for you to fly, my lad,” says I; “you know very
well that I have decided to hold you here until I can have you carried
privily to London, and then shipped straightway from Deptford to the
Continent. But as to the clipping of the Captain’s wings, how shall you
set about it?”

“There is a way, you can depend upon it,” he replied with a
significance that startled me; “though to be sure ’tis not one that’s
very gentle.”

“What do you mean, sir?” says I, while a light came in his eyes and
made them shine like meteors.

“Well, I mean just this,” says he, “for me to fly from this house
to-day is certain death, as you remind me. But it is equally impossible
for me to be here abiding now that the Captain’s so alert. ’Twill not
be advisable for this house to hold us both another day. Therefore one
of us must go; and if the name of that one does not happen to be Dare,
then I think it’s Grantley.”

“A very pregnant and luminous piece of reasoning,” says I, “but
provided it is Grantley, how are you going to set the man in motion?”

“You think the man will need a spur?” says he.

“I do, indeed,” says I, “and one both sharp and covert.”

“I have here the very thing,” says he. Upon the word he fumbled in
his skirts, and presently produced a little leather case therefrom.
Plucking off the top, he showed me that a small venomous stiletto lay
twinkling in it. As you may suppose I took several seconds to recover
my breath, then cried:

“What, you bloody-handed rogue, have you murder in your mind?”

“Some may call it murder,” he meekly said, “and some may call it sin,
and as I’m not a learned man I shan’t dispute ’em. But the pith of the
affair is this. If Grantley can contrive to rattle the first blow in
among my ribs, then I shall be a corpse. Yet, on the other hand, if I
can get the first home I shan’t need to strike again.”

“Silence, wretch!” I commanded him with sternness. “Do you dare to talk
of murder to my face, then?”

“Some may call it murder,” he repeated, “but it never was a name of
mine. It’s a time of open war, you see; the rebel and the redcoat; and
I’m a rebel, as you are aware.”

“Well, at the best,” says I, “even if one can square one’s conscience,
’tis not the right English fashion, sir; and therefore I’ll none of it.”

“No,” says he, reluctantly, “perhaps it’s not. And certainly an open
fight would consort kinder with my temper; but how is one to be
arranged? Alas! it is impossible.”

“Impossible or not,” says I, “I am not the one to wink at murder.”

“None the less I would remind you, madam,” he insisted, “that one
there’ll be if once the man on whose behalf you are interfering can
set his hands on me. Tyburn Tree is murder as surely as is an inch of
steel.”

“I am not likely to forget it,” says I, “but I propose to select a
choicer instrument than the stiletto wherewith to save your life.”

But I found it easier indeed to avert than to perform. My interdict
against murder I rigidly enforced; but how to procure the advantages of
that extreme act without paying for them bloodily caused me to waste
hours in fruitless thought. Affairs were at a head, and something
demanded to be done. Captain Grantley was no more the tiger caged. The
fierce, intrepid animal had managed to break his prison, and now was on
the prowl. Small doubt that he was stealthy, savage, and vindictive.
Unless I took an immediate means to ensure the safety of the helpless
creature cowering beneath my promise of protection, he would be torn
limb from limb, and that despite my vows. And in good sooth things had
gone so far that I felt that if by a mischance the poor lad should
perish after all, my heart must perish too.

I now come to perhaps the strangest evening of my life. It behoves
me, therefore, to be respectful of all that did occur. As I have
said, supper was the meal when the family and any guests receiving our
hospitality were expected to assemble, that the evening might be spent
in cheerful intercourse. Ever a social being, the Earl, my papa, when
in the country, was a great stickler for this rule. Therefore, when
the bell summoned us to the board on this most eventful evening, any
tremors that we had we were compelled to lay aside, while we descended
to the supper-table. As our enemy had made no move during the progress
of the day, we were led to foster the opinion that, whatever his
suspicions, his dark errand had been barren, and that accordingly he
lacked a positive knowledge of the rebel’s sanctuary in our house.

I remember that both Miss Prue and I robed with particular care this
evening. Miss Prue heightened her complexion to an almost hectic hue,
for she reminded me that she was in a very “killing” humour. We dawdled
into the dining-room with arms about the waists of one another, as is
the fashion of dear friends. My aunt and my papa were there already;
the usual salutations were interchanged, and no circumstance suggested
that aught beyond the common would occur. But, indeed, an omen thrust
itself upon me a moment later when I noted that an extra chair was
ranged against the table, which was also laid for five instead of four.

“Why, aunt,” cries I, “who is to be our visitor?”

“Patience, child,” my aunt replied, with such an amiable air that
forthwith I suspected her of treachery. And, straight, a pang went
through me, for I was almost sure that we had been lured into a trap
from which it was now too late to escape. And even as this thought
afflicted me, suspicion became dire fact. The door appeared to open and
a commotion arose the other side of the screen. A sound of shuffling,
accompanied by a painfully slow gait, published to me the worst ere
even the ubiquitous Captain hove in view. He came to the table leaning
on the shoulder of a servant, and was propped up also by a stick.

You can suppose that every detail of the Captain’s mien and conduct is
writ down in my mind. First he advanced in the most unincriminating
manner, bowed profoundly over my aunt’s extended hand, accepted the
kind words and congratulations of my lord with an air of admirable
courtesy and pleasure, put his palm across his heart and smiled, and
bowed to me as gracefully and deeply as his predicament allowed, and
generally held himself with a sweeping ease that was sublime. Nor was
I much behind him there. I turned to the poor masquerader who was
sustaining the ordeal nobly, and said in a full, clear tone:

“Prue, dear, permit me to present to you Captain Grantley, of the
Thirty-third, one of my oldest and most cherished friends.”

Bows were exchanged by both parties with a gravity that would have been
enjoyable had one’s fears been quieter. Without more ado we assumed
our chairs, and the meal began. My appetite was gratified with a mere
pretence of eating, and even this Barmecidal course was begrudged it by
my heart. Here I was sensibly the poorest actor of the three, for the
Captain laughed, joked, drank, and supped with a military heartiness,
while Miss Prue requested him to pass the salt with the demurest
smile you ever saw. It was quite on the cards, of course, that the
Captain was still in ignorance of the Honourable Prudence Canticle’s
true identity, as her disguise really was without a shade of doubt
ingenious. Yet, on the other hand, to accept this as a fact would be
the height of assumption. The Captain was a terrible variety of man to
whose depth it was impossible to put a limit. He was a master of the
art of concealing what he knew. He had the trick of wooing one into the
comfortable notion that he was pretty well an ignoramus, when he had
practically taken all knowledge for his province. Thus, his present air
of candour notwithstanding, I was woefully afraid.

The conversation was unceasing. The Captain kept up a rattle of the
delightfulest inconsequence, made jests upon his leg that actually
enticed the dowager into a smile, and seemed most magnanimously
inclined to forget the injuries to his person and his reputation, let
bygones be bygones, and pardon even me, the arrantest rebel that had
yet to grin through hemp.

Later, on retiring to the withdrawing-room, we had cards as usual.
Going from one apartment to the other, I was able to secure a short
aside with Prue.

“Suppose,” says I, “you now contract a headache, and retire for the
evening? The less you are exposed the better.”

“Not I,” says she; “I’ll see it through. If he hath already smelled me
out, nought can avail me. If he hath not, but is lingering in doubt, he
will take the fact of my seizing the first chance of escaping from his
scrutiny as an important evidence, and will feed his suspicions on it.”

I had to admit that this in the main was shrewd. Prue came therefore
and bore a hand at cards. The play was continued pretty late. All
things were amicable as could be, and gradually, as the hours passed,
our dark suspicions of the early evening were considerably laid. The
dowager retired at the sound of twelve, as was her custom. The best
part of an hour later, growing drowsy and uncertain in his play, the
Earl rose, gave us good-night, and also went to bed.

On the withdrawal of my lord my spirits rose remarkably, for I judged
that all our doubts were about to be resolved. If the Captain was
still our dupe he would remain, of course, quiescent; or if he had
spied our deception out it was natural to expect him by word or deed
to betray something of his knowledge. But he continued playing with
such an imperturbable and easy mien, his voice remained so candid and
so clear, his eye so open and indulgent, and his manner so frank and
unrestrained, that soon reassuring glances were exchanged between the
masquerader and myself.

For what followed I am, perhaps, to be in a measure blamed. Lulled into
security by the conduct of our enemy, to some extent I gave the rein
to my own desires. From the first I had been winning steadily, and my
appetite for play, always vigorous, seemed to increase as my guineas
grew. True, half of these gains had originally been money of my own,
Prue having been furnished with means for this diversion from my purse,
but the Captain was undoubtedly a loser.

“There!” he cries at last, “that completes the second hundred. And
under your leave, madam, ’tis high time, I think, the loser called,
‘hold, enough!’”

“Then you do not care to work your evil vein out, sir?” says I.

“I should be only too glad to try, dear lady,” he replied, “if I had
not other work to do. Besides, you will observe that, strive as I may,
I cannot scrape together another guinea or another bank-bill.”

As a proof he fumbled with his pockets mightily. He exposed the linings
of those in his coat, and playfully remarked:

“You see, quite empty!”

But how little did we divine his strategy! The next moment showed that
this search for money was but a pretext; and a spasm of mingled rage
and horror seared me when his true intention was unmasked.

Suddenly, as he sat opposing Prue and me the other side of the little
card-table, his right hand was shot across in the direction of my
companion, and a pistol was exposed and rigidly presented within six
inches of her face.

“Stir a muscle, Anthony Dare,” says the Captain, “and you’re dead.”

I could almost feel the poor lad flinch under his heavy rouge. He said
not a word, though, but only trembled and stared dumbly at the iron.

For myself I gave one look at these enemies, and then rose in a tempest
of rage and pity.

“Man,” I says, “are you mad? Anthony Dare? What do you mean?”

“A neat deception, an elegant deception,” says the Captain, “and I give
you my compliments upon it, madam; but now I think it’s at an end. I’ll
confess ’tis pretty enough for boozy troopers; therefore, madam, again
my compliments upon it.”

My reply would have been a fury had he not silenced me with his glance.

“Hush, madam,” says he, “unless you desire to have the house aroused.
To spare you an exposure I have submitted to some inconvenience and
run a certain risk by moving in the matter at this unseasonable hour,
when broad daylight would be greater to my profit. For, believe me, I
am beyond all things anxious to serve your interests so far as my duty
will permit.”

“Or your inclination,” says I, harshly.

“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain to his prisoner, “I would have you
place both your open hands upon the table-cloth, for, Mr. Dare, in
my opinion you are as skilful as they’re grown, allowing for your
years and opportunities. Let me admit at once, sir, that I entertain
a considerable opinion of you. But if, Mr. Dare, I might venture to
advise you, I should make as little noise to-night as possible or the
reputation of her ladyship will be undoubtedly in peril.”

’Twas rather like being choked with a surfeit of strawberries and
cream, or maddened with a brook of silver melody to hear the Captain
use this complimentary tenderness with the subtle notes of triumph
ringing underneath it. And his face! His eyes appeared to overflow with
admiration and solicitude. But there was a quiet curl about his mouth
that made him wholly hateful. The prisoner was the next to speak.

“Captain,” he said, “I’m squarely ta’en. And if you will promise to
spare her ladyship I’ll yield unreservedly. If you will not, you will
have to put a bullet through me, for ’tis more to my taste than Tyburn
in the cart.”

Here, despite himself, the poor wretch shivered.

“Willingly,” says the Captain, “and that’s a bargain. Give me your word
upon it, sir, and then I can put this bit of iron up.”

Thereon the prisoner bowed in assent to his captor, who quietly
replaced the pistol in his coat.

“Mr. Dare,” says the Captain with great suavity, “might I suggest that
you change your clothes before my men can note them.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Dare,” says I, “I would suggest, for my part,
that you advertise yourself before them in this attire. For I do not
doubt that they will rejoice to learn what handsome fools they are.”

“My Lady Barbara is surely hard upon them,” says the Captain.
“Something should be allowed for her powers of deceit.”

“Would you insult me, sir?” I cries, dying to pick a quarrel with the
man. There are periods when one would forfeit willingly one’s figure
in the world to have a virago’s privileges for a short five minutes.
However, I saw full bitterly that railing could not avail.

Perforce I kept my gaze from the white-faced prisoner. I could not
endure to see the lad. Not that he took the matter ill. He was
outwardly as calm as was his foe. But there was something in his mien
that made a dreadful coward of me at a time when I could have wished to
be most brave.

A horrid silence presently ensued. The Captain had said his say
already. And I had much to speak, but for my life I could not speak it
then. As for the prisoner, when I stole a look at him, he was staring
with grim eyes at Sir Peter Lely’s picture of my mother, hung upon
the wall. But he stood as silent as the tomb. Then it was that our
enemy, the Captain, acted in the strangest way--but one, I think, that
honoured both his heart and his intelligence.

“I will withdraw,” says he, looking tenderly at me. “For I fear it will
be your last hour together.” Then looking at the prisoner, “When you
are ready, Mr. Dare, if you will step into the library you will find me
at your service.”

Saying this he rose and hobbled out upon his crutch.

CHAPTER XVI.

IN WHICH I AM WOOED AND WON.

I WAS quite joyfully startled at the Captain’s course.

“Now what’s the fellow mean by this?” I whispered to the lad. “Is it
to give you one more chance while his back is turned, out of pure
compassion, or is he fool enough to trust you?”

“He is fool enough to trust me, madam,” says the lad, haughtily I
thought.

“Very charming of him,” I admitted. “There must be a deal of poetry
in his soul. But come, sir! there is not one second to be lost. Steal
upstairs and get your skirts off, while I find some guineas for you,
and letters to recommend you to the consideration of some southern
friends.”

This drew fierce looks from him, but he exchanged them when he spoke
for a haggard smile.

“Ah, madam,” he said, “you do not understand.”

“I understand only too well,” I sighed. “Tyburn Tree, my lad, and an
end to everything. But for the love of heaven, cease this babbling! Off
with you at once, or your chance is gone for ever.”

“But the Captain is fool enough to trust me, madam,” he repeated.

“Then you refuse to fly?” I demanded, trembling in my eagerness.

“I do,” says he.

“Then I hope you’ll hang,” I cried; “yes, simpleton that you are, I
hope you’ll hang.”

However, at the mention of his certain fate, I was no longer mistress
of myself, for I sat down suddenly in a very unreasonable fashion,
covered my eyes with my hands, and allowed my tears to break forth
in the most uncontrollable flood I’ve ever shed. When I desisted
somewhat from this, and next looked up, the prisoner was at my side,
and bending over me with a tenderness that added to my woe. Hardly a
minute had fled since last I had seen his face, yet in that little time
it appeared to have aged by twenty years. Great as my own pains were,
I knew them to be equalled by his own, for he was plainly suffering a
very bitter agony.

“Madam,” he said, with his native bluntness refined into a strange
sweetness by his grief, “would to God I had never known you! You make
the thought of death terrible hard to bear.”

“Oh!” I sobbed, with a ridiculous riot in my breast, “I thought I was
never in your style; I thought you never cared; I thought----”

“You are a wonderful, brave woman,” he says, in a whisper, “a wonderful
brave woman.”

One of his tears fell down upon my shoulder. Sore was I tempted to
indulge myself with weeping, too, but knowing well that the prisoner
had not a hope of life other than one that I might find him, I fought
against my weakness till in a measure it was overcome. But the face of
the prisoner was before me always, and again did my eyes grow dark and
heavy with their tears.

“Child, do not be afraid,” I said, trying for conscience sake to affix
on him the guilt that was my own. “Be brave; the matter is not so cruel
as it looks.”

He did not answer, but his smile was grim. And it seemed wonderful to
me that the faculties of his mind should remain so keen when Death’s
shadow was darkening his heart.

“Madam,” he said gently, after a miserable silence, “give me your hand
just once in parting, and I shall consider that the climax to a life
that never was unhappy. For your courage, madam, is the sweetest memory
I have; and I mean to bear it ever.”

“No, no,” I said, while my tears broke forth again, “do not afflict me
with farewells. They are more than I can suffer. Oh, my lad, I cannot
let you go like this! My life begins and ends with you.”

“But for you, my fair, sweet lady,” he replied, “I could receive death
easily. But I can rejoice that I’ve known you, and that you have
been my friend. And now it were better that I took my leave, for the
longer that we are together the sharper will the separation be.” I
heard a half-checked groan escape him. Afterwards he said: “Oh, what a
loveliness grief hath lent you! Never did you look so beautiful before
to-day.”

“Yes,” I sobbed, “you always said you liked ’em clinging.”

“Let us say good-bye,” he whispered. “At least, let us have done with
this.”

“Child, be brave,” I recommended him, with a depth in irony that it was
well he could not fathom.

“I blame you for my cowardice,” he said.

There was a quiver in his face that even he could not conceal. I felt
almost happy when I saw it, for it told me that at last even the
untameable was tamed.

“You do not want to die?” I asked him, softly.

“No,” he stammered, “I do not want to die.”

“And why do you not want to die?” I continued, without pity. “There was
a time, you know, when you were not so troubled with this scruple.”

“’Tis an unnecessary question,” he said, while a glance came from him
that sank into my heart.

“Is it that you have come to love me?” says I, in my monumental
innocence.

“I--a beggar?”

“Nay, sir,” says I, “not a beggar. You lack his first essential, his
humility. Suppose we say a sturdy rogue?”

“A sturdy rogue, then.”

“Well, an he loves me, I can pardon the presumption of a sturdy rogue.”

“You had better do so, then,” says he.

“That is, you love me, sir,” I demanded, sternly.

“By God I do!” he cries.

“Which is very well,” says I, “as, all things considered, sir--well,
all things considered, sir--that is, at least, I think it’s very
well. And as you love me, sir, I would have you steal out through the
window of this room, creep across the park into the wood, and I will
meet you there in half an hour with money, a disguise, and such like
necessaries.”

“And my promise to the Captain, madam?”

“The Captain is your enemy,” says I. “He seeks to kill you.”

He shook his head in defiance of my open anger.

Now here was a point that I never could distinguish. Why, in the first
place, the Captain should have dared to trust a desperate rebel upon
his simple word, was beyond my understanding; again, why, when his
enemy had been fool enough to do so, that rebel did not profit by this
credulity was even greater mystery. Of course I have heard soldiers
talk about their “honour,” and I had lately learnt to know that his
“honour” was the one flaw in the complete armour of that worldling,
my papa; but for my life I cannot see why a man should extend more
consideration to it than he would, as in this present case of young
Anthony, to death itself. And certainly I think that there is never a
woman of us all that, being put in his tight place, but would have
stretched her word a point. Bab Gossiter herself would have done so, I
can promise you.

Still the prisoner was obdurate. And if he, of all persons, refused to
connive at his own escape, verily his case was dark. But there was one
other. Who knew but that after all he might relent a little under the
fire of my eyes? The Captain had flinched before their powers once;
perchance he might again.

“My lad,” I said, turning to the prisoner, “wait here till I return. I
wish to speak a few words with the Captain.”

“On my behalf?” says he.

“Oh, no,” says I, promptly; for did I not know his disposition was
peculiar? Even as I went, however, I could see that he did not set much
value on my word, and it was a nice question whether he had accepted it.

I found the Captain sitting before the library fire. The blaze playing
on his face showed it sombre and deeply overcast with thought. When I
entered alone a visible embarrassment took hold of him, and I believe
it was because he had noted the red and inflamed appearance of my eyes.

“I am come to plead, sir,” says I, plunging at once into my bitter task.

“My dear lady, I had feared it,” he said.

“He is very young,” I said, “very misguided probably, but a youthful
error is not to be punished with the scaffold.”

“It is the law,” says he, sadly.

“Humanity is more potent than the law, sir.” My tears broke forth again.

“And,” said the Captain, with great gentleness, “Lady Barbarity at
every season and in every circumstance is always humane.”

His voice made me shiver. There was a metallic harshness creeping out
from underneath the velvet tones. His face, too, had grown dark with
sneers and sardonic meaning. I struggled to be resolute, but the Fates
were against me. The shadow of death was lying on my heart, and steel
it as I might it could not forbear from trembling at the Captain’s
words, that were as cold as doom, and twice as cruel.

“My Lady Barbarity is ever humane,” the Captain said. “There would be
no pretext for her title else.”

“I will confess, sir,” says I, “that I never had any particular
compassion for fools. In my opinion, sir, it is no worse to trample on
a fool than it is to beat a dog.”

“Well, madam,” says the Captain, very like a judge, “that, I think, is
a matter for your conscience. But is it not rather a flaw in policy,
don’t you think, to come to a fool on whom you have trampled with a
plea for mercy?”

“Captain Grantley,” says I, warningly.

“You must forgive my bluntness, madam,” he continued, “but I, a fool,
have been compelled to suffer greatly at your hands. You may have
forgotten last year in London, and this very room but a week ago,
but I can assure you, madam, that I have not. I have passed through
a purgatory of hope and jealousy, and for what reason, madam? Simply
that, to serve your private ends, you have deigned to shoot a few
smiles out of your eyes. And under your pardon, madam, I will say those
eyes of yours are poisoned daggers that corrupt everything they strike.
At least, I know they have corrupted my very soul.”

He ended this strange speech with a groan. There was a still passion in
him that was alarming. If ever a man meant mischief, surely this was he.

“But, sir,” I said, “you must understand that I am not pleading for
myself.”

“No, only for the man you love,” says he.

I saw he was white to the lips.

“Sir,” says I, “if this were not so nonsensical, I should deem it an
impertinence.”

“It is only to saints that plain truths are inoffensive,” the Captain
answered.

Again and yet again I returned to the attack, only to discover that I
had to deal with a cold man kindled. Here was a person not to be fired
easily; a chance spark would not light him; but once ablaze and he
would not cease burning until the whole of him was ashes. I had only to
look at his face observantly to find proofs of the havoc I had caused.
His eyes were bright and hollow; his cheeks had fallen in. Hitherto I
had held these the signs of the mind’s anxiety at his long captivity
and his prisoner’s escape. But had I plumbed deeper to the sources
of his malady I should have found that they sprang from the bitter
sufferings of his heart. And whatever the shining qualities of this
gentleman, I knew from the beginning that magnanimity was not among
them. He had endured the pain that I had wantonly inflicted on him,
bravely and proudly, but he had also abided his time. Alas, that his
time was now!

Looking at his cold eyes, and the scorn of his lips, I knew that he
meant to punish me. There was not one relenting glance to give me
hope. I do not think that I am a greater coward than my sisters, but
somehow all at once I felt my courage go. This patient foe seemed too
powerful and wary; I was but as a reed in his hands; he could break me
now and cast me to the ground. I shall not describe my long, fervent
pleadings with him. I was made to command and not to pray; therefore,
I believe a creature of a humbler mind would have borne this matter
more effectively. For my every plea fell on a heart of stone. At last
I cried out from the depths of desperation: “Is there no price in the
world that would tempt you to spare him?”

His answer was startling.

“Yes, madam, one,” he said.

“Name it, sir!” I cried, springing to my feet in my excitement. “Name
it, sir, and please God it shall be paid!”

“Become my wife, madam. On that condition only do I release your lover.”

You have seen the actors in the playhouse strike their attitudes,
and deliver their high speeches with the most poignant effect. You
know that you are pierced, not by a natural emotion, but by art and a
studied utterance. I had this feeling in the most intensified degree
when my subtle enemy announced, with wonderful seeming candour, the
price I had to pay. Of a sudden, however, his gravity was exchanged for
a laughter equally insincere. At first I took it for the mere brutality
of mockery in the playhouse manner, but as again and again it returned
upon him, and rose to a horrible hysteria, it was presently borne
upon me that I was not so much the object of his hollow mirth, as the
agonised James Grantley.

Despite the magnitude of his demand, I was not slow to answer. Though
I had an instinct that this momentous circumstance demanded at least
a day and a night for ponderation, I felt quite incapable of coolly
considering it for twenty seconds. Conscious of nothing beyond the
blood droning in my brain, I replied to my enemy:

“Captain, I accept the conditions you have named.”

Perhaps the man was not prepared for this, for his face grew painful in
its pallor, while the fire burned deeper in his eyes.

“Madam,” says he, in a voice hardly to be endured. “I suppose you are
aware that this will ruin me?”

“And you, sir,” I said, politely, “that I shall be damned eternally?”

“Take a more cheerful view of it, dear lady,” he mockingly invited me.

“Captain,” says I, “do you know that you most remind me of an angry
wasp? You are prepared to destroy yourself to gratify the lust of your
revenge.”

Thus with these sweet speeches was our wooing done!

CHAPTER XVII.

MORE ALARUMS AND EXCURSIONS.

CONCLUDING our compact in the quickest fashion, I went back to the
prisoner with the news. I chose to tell him simply that he was a free
man, and at liberty to go. No more; a very exact discretion being
needed to keep the arbitrary rogue apart from his heroic foibles. I was
also careful to announce his freedom in a tone of bald matter-of-fact,
as though the circumstance was the most natural in the world. Yet my
art was by no means equal to the work before it, as at the first word
the provoking fellow turned a sceptic’s eye upon me, and employed his
lips on a long and sustained whistle of amused amazement.

“Zooks, madam!” says he, laughing, “you ought to succeed, you know. You
possess a very considerable invention. But my soul, what a front you’ve
got to bring me tales of this kind!”

“Cease this,” says I, with an imperious gesture, “But go to your
chamber at once and change your attire, whilst I indite letters
commending you to the attention of some of my friends. Off now, ere the
Captain repents his clemency.”

However, his incredulity was not to be overcome in this way, and point
blank he declined to budge. He was good enough to frankly repeat that
he did not believe me. And to my credit be it written, I retained my
temper tolerably well. My natural disposition had, I think, a severer
schooling in my early intercourse with this intractable youth than
in all the rest of its career. Not without benefit, perhaps, but I
marvelled at the time, and do so still that this irksome discipline
should have been so equally supported.

To my stern demands and repeated protests he had only one answer to
return, and that not a whit politer than the one already mentioned.

“However, I’ll see the Captain,” says he, at last.

“Then do so, and be hanged to you!” cries I, my temper failing.

But immediately the hasty speech was uttered, I strove to recall it.
Beyond all he must not hear of my compact with our subtle enemy, the
Captain, for I was certain that should he do so he would not permit it
to take effect. Yet I was unable to stay him in his impetuous course,
and therefore followed on his heels to the library with the best grace
I could summon. At critical moments I could at least forewarn the
Captain with my frowns.

When I appeared the prisoner was already there, and had opened a raking
fire.

“Captain,” he said, with what I took to be a mocking gleam at me, “her
ladyship asserts that you have promised her my freedom. Be good enough
to tell me, is that so?”

“Her ladyship is perfectly correct,” he answered, and the mocking gleam
in his eye I also took to be directed at me.

The prisoner paused at this and turned half round that he might
regard our guilty faces together. I can never say whether it was
that my colour changed ever so slightly, whether the faintest shade
of compunction crossed the Captain’s face, or whether the rebel was
supernaturally endowed with wit, but suddenly his eyes were kindled
with sparkles, and he turned almost savagely on me:

“Madam,” he demanded, “what is the price that you are paying for this
privilege?”

The sharp question pinned me helpless. And I was forced to recognise
that evasion, if still expedient, was no longer possible. There was
that power in him that tore the truth out of me, even as at an earlier
time it had torn it out of Mrs. Emblem.

“I am to marry my dear friend, Captain Grantley,” I told him, coolly.

He turned to that gentleman for a confirmation. It was promptly
conveyed to him by means of a nod and a laugh.

“And you, sir, a subject of your King and a servant of his cause?” says
the prisoner, tauntingly.

The Captain got up, smiling through his teeth.

“If, sir,” says he, “you propose to preach a sermon on morality, I
shall be glad to reach the Bible down.”

“Oh, pray don’t trouble,” said the rebel, suavely. “As your own
conduct, sir, happens to be my text, the Bible, of course, can
contribute little to the occasion. Besides, sir, my opinion of you as a
man can be delivered in about half a dozen words. You are, sir, in my
opinion, a pretty, full-blooded blackguard, and I think, sir, that for
persons of your kidney hanging is a luxury.”

The Captain bent his head a little under these carefully planted blows.
But he remained wonderfully self-possessed and passionless.

“Thank you, puppy,” he replied, making a scarcely noticeable step the
nearer to his foe, “but I think that your opinion, however valuable, is
not at all required. Therefore, puppy, I shall have to teach you that
there are occasions when it were wiser to restrain it.”

And having uttered this in an absurdly calm and listless fashion the
Captain shot his fist out quicker than the eye could follow it, and ere
one might guess what had occurred, a horrid, heavy fall made the room
quake and set the furniture a rattling. Young Anthony was prone upon
the carpet with a faint streak of blood beginning to issue from his
neck.

In an instant was I bending over him, and crying in my anguish:

“Oh, my dear lad, you are not hurt!”

At first he did not speak, being partly dazed with the concussion of
his fall, but before I could repeat the question, behold! he was on his
feet and springing at the Captain with the ardour of a lion. His enemy
was wary though, and prepared in every particular for this onslaught.
Armed with his crutch he received the charge full upon that weapon,
with farther disastrous consequences to the youth, who straightway
met the carpet for the second time. ’Twas then that I did intervene.
I ran between these combatants, and dared them on pain of unutterable
penalties to exchange another blow.

“Confound you, Bab!” exclaimed the bleeding and breathless rebel.
“Confound you for a Spoilsport! Why don’t you let me pound your gentle
husband to a jelly!”

“What, pound my gentle husband?” says I, “a pretty wife I’d be, I’m
thinking.”

For an instant this way of looking at the matter administered a check
to his impetuosity, and by its aid I took occasion to beseech:

“My lad, if you care for your life at all, go while the door is open
to you. Another blow will close it; aye, perhaps another word. Go, I
implore you.”

“No,” says he, doggedly, “for the finest woman in all England I will
not go. Things have gone too far. Would you have me leave you at the
mercy of this nice gentleman? Let me kill him first, and then we will
talk about it.”

He was quite cool now, and in full possession of the arrogant decision
that seemed such an embellishment to his character. Therefore he
stepped to the windows at the far end of the apartment, pulled
aside the curtains, and looked into the night. Immediately the white
moonlight fell upon the deeper pallor of his face.

“See,” says he, turning to his enemy, “there’s light enough outside to
settle our little controversy. Swords or pistols, sir?”

“Boots,” says the Captain, amiably; “I don’t fight with boys; I usually
kick them.”

“Well, sir,” says the lad, “my situation is peculiar. I am your
prisoner, and at liberty on parole, but I ask you as a gentleman
whether it is likely that I shall swallow the insults of a private
person! What is your opinion, madam?”

This was intended for diplomacy. It was plain that he wished me to
induce the Captain to fight, but the risks of that course appeared too
terrible by far for me to seize the opportunity.

“Save your neck first,” was my answer, “then settle your private
quarrels.”

“And you, madam, are you prepared to purchase my liberty with your
own?” says he.

“I believe so,” says I, with an air of high indifference. “You foolish
boy, do you think it matters one farthing to a woman whom she marries,
so long as she is but able to marry someone? Now be a good lad, doff
those petticoats, wipe the blood from your neck where the Captain’s
ring hath scratched you, and start for the south without another word.”

“No,” says he, “for that is the very last course I propose to take.
You shall never sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Sacrifice!” cries I; “La! the complimentary creature. ’Twill be a
pleasure, I can promise you. Why, Captain, dear, we are to have a right
merry time together, are we not?”

“Yes, a right merry time,” says the Captain, grimly.

“Oh, indeed,” says Mr. Anthony. “Ah, well, I am glad to hear you
say so. For I’ll confess that I’ve had my doubts about it. Only I’m
thinking that when his Majesty grows cognisant of this he may seek to
mar the happiness of one of you at least.”

“Depend upon it, sir,” I retorted, stoutly, “that he will not hear of
it.”

I continued to be so insistent on his immediate flight, and at the same
time my determined attitude was so well served by the grim passiveness
of the Captain, that in the end compliance seemed to be the young
rebel’s only and inevitable course. And, to my great relief, this was
the one he ultimately took.

“Well,” he exclaimed at last, “it’s plain that argument cannot avail.”

“Not a little bit, sir,” I cheerily agreed.

“Then,” says he, “I’ll go and change these clothes, while you write
those letters to your friends.”

“You will find your masculine attire,” I said, with a sly twinkle for
the Captain, “up the chimney in your chamber, tied up in a cloth. When
the search was done we took them there from the wardrobe of my lord.”

“I am hoping that the soot has not penetrated ’em,” says he, making the
most comic mouth.

“Amen to that!” says I; “and now be off, sir.”

With that dismissal he left the library for his sleeping chamber,
whilst I, craving the due permission of the Captain, sat down at the
writing table before pen and paper, and set about my part of the
transaction.

The best portion of an hour passed in the scratching of the quill with
intervals of perilous desultory talk. I was in the most hateful frame
of mind. Its alternate flutterings of hope and fear were very irksome.
The lad seemed to be playing fair, and yet I knew that nothing was more
unreasonable to expect, of a character like his, than that he should be
content to leave me in the lurch, when that very night he had had so
clear an indication of my feelings. And yet, I reflected, the shadow of
the scaffold is powerful indeed. Poor wretch, torn betwixt the vigorous
animal’s love of life, and instincts of a higher kind! I weighed the
matter with such a singular mingling of emotions, that I felt I should
detest young Anthony if he left me to my fate, and yet should curse him
for his folly if he refused his proffered freedom. During that hour of
suspense the devil enjoyed himself, I think. Ten times I dismissed the
matter by an energetic usage of the quill, yet ten times did it return
upon me, with now and then a quiet jibe of my smiling enemy’s thrown
in to bear it company.

After dashing off several letters in this savage manner, I looked
up to consult the timepiece. It was five minutes short of three
o’clock of the morning, and I began to grow impatient for the
fugitive’s departure. The dawn would be here all too soon, and with
it many perils. Each instant of delay was begrudged him by my mind’s
inquietude. Soon, however, I heard footsteps in the hall, but the first
feelings of relief that these occasioned were changed immediately
into those of profound dismay. For there was a sound of voices too.
A second later the door was opened, and thereupon the sight that met
my eyes nearly made me swoon. Two persons entered. The first was the
prisoner, in his masculine attire; the second, sparsely clad in a
shirt, breeches, and stockings, hurriedly put on, was of all persons
Corporal Flickers. I can never forget the rage and horror I endured,
while the Corporal, who appeared by no means wholly awake, crammed his
knuckles into his eyes to rub out the remains of his sleep, and protect
them against the lamp glare. At first the two soldiers were too amazed
to say a word; I was too afflicted; and the prisoner alone seemed able
to break the oppressive silence.

“Bab,” says he, “you must forgive me for this, but you would persevere
in your headlong folly, and I had to thwart you somehow. I could never
have allowed you to pay the grievous price you had intended.”

“What do you mean?” I cried. “Do not tell me that you have delivered
yourself voluntarily into the hands of your enemies!”

He hung his head in silence before the indignation of my glance.

“Ingrate,” I cried, “thus to thwart and to betray me.”

“The price was too great,” he said, doggedly, but the fear in his eyes
was unmistakable. Meantime, Corporal Flickers had found his tongue, and
was now engaged in giving the peculiar history of the capture to his
commander.

“It’s God’s truth, sir, that that’s the rebel,” he began, in a tone
that implied that he was trying hard to set all his own doubts at rest
upon that point. Rubbing his eyes with renewed vigour, he repeated:
“Yes, sir, that’s ’im, I’ll take my solemn oath. But it’s passing funny
how I took ’im. I was asleep in my room and a-dreamin’ of my Mary, when
I feels a hand quite sudding like upon my arm. At that I cocks up my
eyes, and sees a light afore me, and a man’s figger a-bending across my
bed. Like blue blazes, sir, I leaps to my feet, for I sees it is the
rebel, and I takes ’im by ’is throat. But he was the most accommodatin’
rebel that you ever saw, for he stood quiet as a mouse, and says that
I had done exactly what he had wakened me to do, for he was tired of
being hunted for his life, and would I bring him straight to you, sir.
I told ’im I would an’ all, and I done it lively, as you can see, sir,
for I only stayed to put my breeches and my shirt on. But atween you
an’ me, sir, though we’re all assembled here, sir, and a-talking as
natural as ninepence as it were, it won’t surprise me much, sir, if I
wakes up in the matter of half an hour and finds that I’m asleep, for
everything seems that outrageous like that the more I think on it the
less I can understand it. For what I asks is this: Is that the rebel
that I see afore me or is it ’is counterfeit presentiment? And anyhow,
sir, since that business o’ the woods I can’t be sure of ’im at all,
sir, for in my opinion he’s a bit of a soopernatural as it were.”

“You are quite right, Corporal,” I interposed. “He’s a supernatural
fool.”

All this time the chieftest actor in this play, the Captain, had not
said a word beyond a little hollow praise of the Corporal’s sagacity
and promptitude. Seen under the lamp his face presented the most
ghastly and piteous appearance. False to his cause, false to himself,
the dupe of his own passion, the slave of his own weakness, I began
to conceive a great compassion for him, and a horror of my own
callousness. As for the rebel, now that his headstrong folly had robbed
him of his last chance of escape, all hope became abandoned. It was as
much as ever I could do to prevent my anger and sorrow mastering my
spirit and giving way to a flood of passionate tears. All our strivings
to end miserably thus! It was only the severest discipline that
could allow me to endure it defiantly. And yet though his own wilful
act was to drag him to an ignominious death, I could but reverence
his character the more deeply for its natural courage. The wretched
fellow’s audacious strength had forged yet another bond about my heart.

Presently the Captain dismissed the Corporal, and thereby held himself
responsible for his prisoner’s safe keeping.

“I can also bid you good-night, madam, or, rather, good-morning,” the
Captain says. “The day has been most arduous for you, and I am sure you
need some recuperation.”

“You are very kind,” says I.

Knowing that all was hopeless now, and that neither prayers nor tears
could prevail against the prisoner’s scruples, I decided to retire.

“You will not be gone for some hours yet,” I said as I opened the door.

“One of us may,” the Captain said.

Had I been in a brighter frame of mind I should have perhaps heeded
this mysterious speech more closely, and found in it a prophecy of
that which followed. But I went dismally to bed without thinking of
its import. Despite the extremity of the hour, I found Emblem the
picture of woe, sitting beside the fire in my chamber. Her customary
smiling prettiness was faded with weeping; she hung her head, and rose
on my entrance with a peculiar frightened air. Clasping her hands, she
whispered:

“They’ve ta’en him, my lady.”

“And a very right thing, too,” says I.

“But will they not carry him to London to be hanged?” she asked,
seeking for hope where hope was not.

“I am trusting so,” says I, so cheerfully that my tears began to flow.

I soon came to the conclusion that my mood forbade repose, and
therefore, instead of undressing and attempting to obtain a
much-to-be-desired sleep, I dismissed poor Emblem, cast a cloak round
my shoulders, took a chair by the hearth, and settled there for the
remainder of the night, to doze, to think, and to repine.

However, this plan did not answer. It only induced a sickening course
of meditation that was less endurable than the foulest nightmare. No
matter what my posture, my agonies of mind grew unsupportable, and
at last I cast the cloak off wearily, got up, and began to pace the
chamber. It was while I was thus wrestling with my pains that I heard
the far silence of the house disturbed by the closing of doors below.
By the weight of the sounds and the jangling of the chains I presumed
them to be those of the great hall, and as my window commanded the
whole frontage of lawn and gravel sweep, I promptly pulled aside the
curtains. Lanterns were twinkling immediately below, and by their aid
and that of the clear-shining moon I was able to read the identity
of two persons issuing from the house. They were the Captain and his
prisoner, walking side by side across the lawn in a south-westerly
direction. They were heading for the open meadows, and appeared
perfectly amicable and to be talking in low tones; but the briskness
of their pace and their air of strung activity proclaimed that they
had some definite end in view. For the moment I had not the remotest
notion what this end could be, but while I stood at gaze and musing to
discover it, a horrible idea crept into my brain. Surely nothing could
be more unnatural than two sworn enemies working harmoniously together
towards a common end, if that end was peace? But was it peace? In a
convulsion of alarm I recalled the incidents of that hateful night,
and amongst them was the calculated blow which surely the prisoner was
the last man in the world to take with meekness. I then remembered the
Captain’s prophetic “One of us may,” and at once attached to it a most
sinister significance. Having reached this dark conclusion, my first
desire was to defeat their wicked purposes. I cloaked myself at once
for another night excursion, and having done so stole down the stairs
as formerly, opened the great hall door with wondrous care, then peered
ahead to discern the course of the receding lanterns.

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN WHICH THE CAPTAIN’S COMEDY IS PLAYED.

I COULD see them clearly. They were now some distance to the left,
apparently in the middle of the first home meadow. Thither I bent my
course across wet turf in the piercing night, but with heed for nought
save those baleful lanterns. For now I was never more convinced of
anything than that these foes had come abroad to settle once for all
their long account. By the rapidity with which I drew nearer to the
lights, I concluded that their bearers had halted, probably to choose
their battleground. Instinctively feeling this to be the case, I broke
into a run. Clearing the lawn, leaping pell-mell across the grotto at
its margin, and skirting the artificial lake, I emerged into the open
field. It was so well lit by the bright moon, riding through white
cloud, that I could see enough to confirm my coldest fears.

The lanterns were now reposing on the grass, while each man stood
beside his own, perhaps at a distance of a dozen paces. They seemed to
be fearlessly erect, and absolutely resolute, and this in itself was
enough to prove that only death was likely to end their duel. Ere I
had time to cry out, or even to overcome the first paralysis of the
fear that held me, one of them, who by his breadth of figure I knew to
be the Captain, raised his right hand slowly. At that, although the
actual time of the whole affair could not have exceeded half a minute,
such tricks can terror play upon us that the entire strength appeared
to ooze slowly from my body, as though a surgeon had opened one of my
vital arteries and was bleeding me to death by slow degrees. And the
instant the Captain’s hand went up, I stopped through arrant horror
and that dreadful sense of sheer incompetence that afflicts one in a
nightmare. I made one attempt to scream out to them, but my throat
seemed useless, and my voice resembled the feeble croakings of a frog.
Before I could make another, there came a sound like a mastiff’s bay,
and in the most cold, convulsive terror I put my hands before my eyes.
They must have been still there, I think, and my eyes have turned to
stone, for to this day I swear that I never saw the second and the
fatal shot, and, still stranger, actually did not hear it. But when my
vision cleared I thought I saw one man prone beside his lantern, and
the other bending over him.

The die cast, and the deed accomplished, my limbs resumed their proper
office and I was able to proceed. Fate had intervened already, the
worst had happened, the tragedy was consummated. The actual fact is
ever easier to support than the suspense of it. While I ran to the
scene of the murder, with my heart grown too big for my body, and
apparently bursting through my side, so complete was the illusion
played by terror upon my several senses, that I was absolutely sure
that it was the prisoner who was hit, that I had lost a lover, and that
the world had lost a hero.

When I arrived breathless upon the battleground, the survivor was
kneeling still beside his fallen foe, and appeared to be feeling at his
breast. But death ever wears an aspect that is wholly unmistakable, and
the lad fully extended on his face, hands straight by his side, and his
form prone beneath the ghastly moon, told me all too surely that the
life had gone out of him for ever. Without a word I also fell upon my
knees beside the corpse, and took one of the dead man’s hands within my
own. The murderer, still kneeling the other side of the body, appeared
to raise his face and look at me, and then he cried in a voice of
hoarse astonishment:

“You?”

I did not answer, but still nursed the dead man’s hand, almost without
knowing that I did so, such strange things does passion do.

“Lady Barbara,” he said, in a voice quite unendurable to my ears.

“Do not speak,” I whispered, “I cannot bear to hear you speak.”

“Lady Barbara,” he said again.

“God curse you!” I muttered through shut teeth.

“He was my enemy,” he croaked in a voice I could not recognise.

“Oh, that I should have loved him!” I cried out wildly. “Why did you
not put a bullet through this heart of mine?”

And then without further heed of him I continued to embrace the dead
man’s hand, and knelt there with it in my desperate grasp, oblivious of
everything but the dreadful still passionate agony of sorrow that held
me. I was conscious of nothing, not even of the slow passing of the
hours, not even of the cruel biting of the cold--nay, not even that the
murderer had slunk from me away into the night, that friend of murder,
and that I and my lover were alone.

How long I was the victim of this impotence I cannot tell, but at
last I grew aware that the dawn had touched my eyes, and that with it
light and sanity had returned. Truly day is the source of reason. Had
the pitch of night continued for ever, for ever I must have stayed
by the couch of my cold lover. But broad day was too bright and bold
and fearless to countenance for an instant the madness of grief my
bereaved heart was craving to wreak upon itself. Therefore I rose,
stiff and numb with my perishing wintry vigil, and turned my face
towards the house. But with daylight to incite it, it was most strange
how instantly my sleeping blood woke, and how soon my mind was restored
to its fullest faculty. Once more could I think--yea act; whilst
presently my eyes forgot the moonlight and the dead man’s form, and
grew sensitive to detail. There were the pistols covered with hoar, and
the burnt-out lanterns cold beside them. Scarce three paces from me was
the murderer’s crutch, and yet more strangely his gold-laced hat with
the king’s cockade upon it. Verily this was mystery. How he could have
made off with his damaged knee unsupported required to be explained,
while his discarded hat was not the less to be remarked. It is probable
that my reawakened senses, rejoicing in their new activity, discovered
a latent fascination in the scene. For, certain it is, that I turned
back out of the purest curiosity to observe the enlightened aspect of
the corpse.

It had the uniform, the shape, the entire semblance of Captain
Grantley! A fit of very violent trembling seized me at that sight,
and for the first time in my life, I think, I lost the almost joyous
self-confidence that was wont to make me the equal of the most
infinite occasion. But after the first spasm of terror and surprise,
bald daylight, and the assurance of my natural disposition, asserted
themselves determinedly. Whatever the stress and agony of the night,
whatever the morbid hysteria that had so long corrupted me, and the
awful pangs I had undergone, I was certain that now I was absolute
mistress of my mind. It was impossible that my vision could be
distorted now; I was compelled to believe the evidence of my eyes.

Captain Grantley was lying on his face, presumably with a bullet
through his heart, for there was a blotch of black upon his bright
military coat, to indicate the manner of his death. I could see little
of his countenance, yet quite enough of it to identify him plainly.
Despite the slight distortion his features had undergone in the throes
of death, there was no ground for doubt that it was the Captain’s body
that lay stone cold in the grass. There was his figure, his uniform,
his powdered hair, his large, fat nose, and the heavy bandages around
one knee to convince me that I had been a most pitiable fool. What a
passionate grief had I lavished on a foe! And yet, poor wretch--poor
wretch! We forgive all things to the dead.

It was now that my feelings underwent a very wonderful revulsion.
The knowledge that, after all, it was our declared enemy who was
dead, and that the man, my lover, whom he had hunted so long and so
remorselessly, was alive and at large, reinspired me with energy and
hope. A vision of freedom for the fugitive and a consummation of that
which I so ardently desired, took me to the house with the swiftness of
the wind. If young Anthony had had the folly not to seize his chance of
escape already, it remained for me to make him do so.

When I arrived the household was astir. Two of the Captain’s men
stood talking on the lawn with faces of much gravity. It was plain
that the absence of their leader was already known, but judging by
their demeanour I thought it scarcely likely that they had heard the
tidings of his end. As I entered the hall, my thoughts were wholly
for the prisoner. Had he escaped? Or was he retaken? Unhappily these
questions were not unanswered long. Repairing straightway to the
library, I discovered the rebel in the custody of Corporal Flickers
and two men. He was seated at a table in the Captain’s chair with all
the nonchalance so peculiar to him, teasing his captors, and sipping
cherry brandy in gentle quantities to reanimate his blood. There seemed
a touch of the sublime in the calm manner in which he bowed to fate.

“Perhaps her ladyship can tell us,” says the Corporal, regarding my
appearance with great eagerness. “What’s happened to the Capting,
ma’am? Is it right that this ere slip o’ hell’s a-corpsed ’im.”

“My dear man,” says I, with the most flattering suavity, and a pretty
considerable cunning also, “if you will just step into the home meadow,
you will discover for yourself your commander’s desperate disposition.”

“Ha, ladyship!” the Corporal answered, with a grin, “I’m a rather
oldish bird, you see. I’ve met your sort afore, my lady. You’ll take
care o’ the prisoner, won’t you, while we goes and has a look?”

“Certainly,” says I, a thought sardonically perhaps, “I shall be only
too happy to take care of him.”

“Then you won’t,” says Mr. Corporal, with a leer, “and that’s a moral.
Don’t you think so, William?”

William thought it was.

From this it will be seen that though the Corporal might be furnished
with slightly less intelligence than his dead commander, he was not the
less determined foe.

All this time the prisoner had not received me with a single word.
This was hardly to be unlooked for in the light of late events. But
my brain was still in such a flutter of bewilderment regarding the
awful passages in the meadow, that at first it found no reason for his
taciturnity, and was inclined to resent it deeply. Having broken a
lance with Mr. Flickers, I devoted my attentions to the lad.

“Well,” I bitterly began, “you have made another pretty hash of things.
You are able to defeat a gold-laced captain, and one whom I believe to
be as skilled an officer as any in the service of his Majesty, and yet
permit a twopenny Corporal to take you.”

“Did you not call on God to curse me?” he said in a dreadful voice.

In a flash I saw in what light he had viewed my egregious behaviour.
Surely it was not to be supposed that he had divined that I was the
victim of the bitterest delusion! That being the case it was only
possible for him to put one interpretation on my attitude, and that
the most blighting to his dignity and his happiness. I saw that the
mischief must be immediately repaired.

“Corporal,” says I, “I must ask you and your men to withdraw to the
other side the door. I have something of great privacy to communicate
to Mr. Dare.”

But the Corporal seemed disinclined to move. I understood his muttered
reply to be to the effect that he knew his business thoroughly, and
further, that he had encountered my kind before. However, I put such
majesty in my look, and opened him the door with such an air, that he
did my behests against the counsels of his judgment, for soldiers, of
all men, cannot prevail against those accustomed to command.

In a few words, then, I calmed the riot in young Anthony. And when he
saw what had been my error, and what had been his own, his eyes began
to sparkle, and the sunshine came into his face.

“On my soul!” he cried, “I thought you could not be quite the she-devil
that you seemed.” And then with a tender gravity at the remembrance of
his impending doom: “Bab, I wish I could live and love you. I should be
a model of a husband, and we’d make a pretty handsome pair.”

“Well,” says I, fascinated with the bravery of his countenance, “I’ve
the very greatest mind to make a husband of you. You are the most
wonderfully handsome lad, and headstrong too, and that’s why I so
encourage you.”

“I wish there was no Tyburn Tree,” says he, with wistfulness.

Thereupon I gathered all my inches up.

“Tree or no Tree,” says I, “I am going to make a declaration of my
policy. Day or night I will not cease in my endeavours. Only keep a
stout, cheerful heart, child, and I will show you what devotion is.
I’ll bully or persuade, intrigue or ruffle it, but what I’ll save you.
I will browbeat the King, my lad, and pass a special law in Parliament,
but what you shall escape the Tree. Now here’s my hand on that, and
mind you do not quiver until the rope is interfering with your breath.”

This was braggadocio indeed, and designed maybe to brace my poor spirit
up to the high fortitude that was his own. And yet, God knows, my
ultimatum was sincere, and the hapless captive took it so to be.

Having thus decided on our future course, the lad suddenly fell again
to gravity.

“I suppose you do not know,” says he, “that your friend the Captain met
his end by murder?”

“Impossible,” says I, “it was a duel fought according to the laws;
and that I’ll swear to, because I witnessed it. And furthermore, the
Captain had first shot, and therefore the greater opportunity.”

“It was none the less a murder, as I have subsequently learnt,” he
says, “and I can give you the murderer’s name.”

“His name is not Anthony Dare, I know,” I answered stoutly.

“No, her name is my Lady Barbara Gossiter.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded with an anger that his brutal plainness
had provoked.

“Do you see this little bullet on my palm?” says he.

“Well, what have I to do with that?” I asked, “and what has that to do
with murder?”

“Alas! too much,” says he. “On returning from the fight I had the
misfortune to discover this bullet on this very library carpet, and
I wish I could misread its meaning, madam, but that I cannot do; and
I’ll show you why I cannot. We settled all the details in this room
ere we started for the field. You know, of course, that the fight was
forced upon me by the intolerable conduct of the man; but you do not
know that he insisted on us firing at twelve paces to make the aim more
positive. Nor do you know that he tried by all means in his power to
concede the first shot to me, and that when I refused to do other than
allow the falling of the coin to dictate it, he looked to the contents
of his loaded weapon. Certainly I never guessed that I was to shoot an
undefended adversary, but had the thought but come into my mind I could
certainly have found some premonitions. Seeing me a trifle pale, he
begged me to be quite at my ease, as he knew, he said, that he should
be the only one to fall. And further, he wrote this hasty note, and
made me promise that when he perished, according to his prophecy, I
would deliver this immaculately into your hands. And now have I done
so.”

Forthwith he concluded his singular but solemn statement, which had
evidently wrought upon his mind to a grave degree, by submitting a
sealed missive to my care. With trembling fingers I tore it open, and
feverishly read its contents. It said:

  “My Dear Madam,--Looking at my sad case with what eyes I may, I find
  that I cannot be allowed to exist another day as an honourable man.
  I am a traitor to my king, and in so being have committed a crime
  against my own soul. Whatever his Majesty in his clemency may think
  fit to do, this is a fault I cannot pardon in myself. My dear madam,
  I must beg you to believe that I do not advertise this to you that
  I may wound your delicacies or give you one solitary pang; but in
  the interests of my weak brethren I implore you, as an old friend,
  not to employ those marvellous advantages Nature has given you for
  the advancement of your private purposes. It is not just, nor is it
  worthy of the innate humanity of your character. But I will do you at
  least the kindness to admit that even in this melancholy case of mine
  my death this morning will add yet another lustre to your terrible,
  triumphant name. And now, my dear madam, permit me to give you a
  simple but cordial farewell; my comedy is played.

                                                  J. G.
  “_Post Scriptum._--This paper is delivered into the care of your
  lover, who, by the way, is so proper a youth that I pray you to deal
  gently with him.

                                                  J. G.”

I read this subtly-phrased epistle with a burning face, and then read
it for the second time, perhaps to discover some mitigation in the
severity of the harsh indictment. But no; his death was at my door, and
something of a cold fear crept into my soul.

Presently I gave the paper to my lover, and told him to acquaint
himself therewith.

“My lad,” says I, “I believe that I have slain a very admirable man.”

Having read the dead man’s words, he tossed the paper from him, and
eyed me fiercely with the most indignant face.

“Bab,” he said, “I hate you for this! His blood is most surely on your
head; and it would be but common justice if his corpse still haunts you
o’ nights when you are a fear-ridden hag of a hundred winters.”

I made no answer to his blame, for remorse was poisoning my heart.

“Yes,” says he, “this was a very proper man. But cheer up, Bab, for
when all is claimed, I think that you are a very proper woman too,
and I am going to forgive you for your wickedness.” Thereupon he rose
briskly from his chair, came to my side, and kissed me right properly,
with never a sign of ceremonial. I was in no condition to reprove his
impudent assumption, and perhaps had I been, I might have found it
scarcely possible to do so, for his behaviour was the most wonderful
proof, I thought, of his magnanimity.

“Now cheer up, Bab,” he said; “but I wish that you damned women would
keep your claws more regularly trimmed. You are just like soft, tame,
pretty pussycats, that go a-hunting the dear harmless birds. You will
not keep your paws down; you love to flesh ’em; and, well, if you slay
the dear harmless creature, the dear harmless creature’s slain, and
there’s an end on’t. You are sure that you did not mean to do it, and