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bewildering hair, that with every turn of her lovely head glittered in
the light with the sheen of burnished gold.
My lady indeed seemed unconscious of my scrutiny as she busied
herself with her task, but I fancied there was a half smile upon her
lips when she turned to me suddenly and said:
“But I have not yet acquainted you with the object of my intrusion. I
should be guilty of worse than ingratitude if I did not thank you, sir,
for the service you so timely rendered me yesterday. If I have
withheld my thanks until now, it is not that I underrate its value, nor
forget the peril that you risked on my behalf.” And she flashed a
glance at me that again set my heart beating rapidly.
“I beg that you will say no more, madam,” I cried hastily. “Your
words already far exceed any merit that you may consider attached
to my action.”
“I think that I am the best judge of that, sir,” she answered, smiling.
“The man was insulting you, madam,” I replied gravely. “In that I
chanced to be in the wood at the time I count myself fortunate. Yet
the meanest beggar maiden had claimed the like assistance at my
hands.”
“I thank you for the comparison, sir,” my lady answered in a slight
tone of pique.
“Your pardon, madam!” I replied humbly. “I fear that I put my
meaning but clumsily, and with the language of the camp rather
than of the Court. Yet, believe me—saving always my duty to the
uniform I wear—my sword is ever at your service.”
“And in these troublous times a good sword is more priceless than
rubies,” she said lightly. “Have a care, sir, that I do not take you at
your word.”
“I ask for no more, madam,” I replied earnestly. “Be assured that
you will not find it to fail you.”
To this she answered nothing in words, but again she raised her
lustrous eyes to mine. And by that glance I accounted myself amply
repaid both for the danger I had escaped and for incurring De Brito’s
enmity; for if she had seemed beautiful before, judge how
enchanting she now appeared, when all scorn and pride had
vanished from her face and left her a very woman. Seeing her in this
softer mood, I felt my courage rapidly returning.
“And I also have somewhat to say to you, my lady,” I commenced
after a moment’s pause.
“Indeed?” she answered inquiringly. “But I fear that I detain you,
sir? You were going out?”
“To the village, madam,” I replied, “but that can wait.”
And again I laid aside my cloak.
“Then you will not ask me to sit down, Mr. Cassilis?” she said archly.
“Madam,” I stammered in reply, crimsoning with confusion, “forgive
my lack of courtesy. If I had for a moment thought, that——” And I
hastily crossed the floor to where a large leather-covered chair stood
against the wall. I was in the act of lifting this when, happening to
raise my eyes to an oval mirror that hung above it on the oak-
panelled wall, I caught the reflection of my lady’s face behind me.
And it was so changed, so stamped with a look of scorn and
repulsion, that I dropped the chair I was raising and turned hastily
round. Yet there stood my lady beside the table, gazing smilingly at
me with sparkling eyes, so that I was fain to believe that my own
had deceived me, or that the mirror by some trick had played me
false. Without more ado, therefore, I raised the chair and returned
to her side.
“Will you place it here for me, Captain Cassilis!” she said, moving
with a click of her high heels near to one of the open windows. “Is
not the night too lovely to miss enjoying?”
Obediently I placed my burden on the spot she indicated, and she
seated herself, facing the open window. In truth it was a most lovely
night. From where she sat a glorious vista was obtained of the
broad, straight terrace, the sloping lawns, whitened by the moon,
with the dark shadow of the woods beyond. And, rising above these
latter, in the direction of the village, the massive, square tower of
the church.
A momentary silence fell upon us as we gazed—a silence which was
broken at length by my lady.
“And now that I am all attention, sir,” she said lightly, “what is it that
you wish to say to me?”
“Why, madam——” I began, and I hesitated awkwardly, all the fine
speeches I had prepared beforehand vanishing on the instant from
my memory, under the disconcerting gaze of her dark eyes. “What of
the horses?” I ended somewhat lamely.
She gave a low, musical laugh, that went rippling through the room.
“As to your horses, sir!” she replied, “I have not heard that any one
is missing.”
“No, madam,” I answered with what sternness I could muster. “True,
there are none missing, but I fail to see what object there was in
their abduction.”
“When you had matched your cleverness against mine, sir?” she said
quickly.
“I confess that I had not looked upon it in that light,” I replied. “So
to your ladyship I must ascribe their disappearance and for myself a
day’s toilsome search.”
“I did not say so!” she answered, smiling.
“But you implied it, madam,” I persisted. “I am as well assured that
the plan itself emanated from your ladyship as I am that your
servants carried it into execution.”
“You would not have me incriminate them, sir?” she said quickly.
“There is no need, my lady,” I answered grimly. “For you forget that
it requires but a word from me to arrest them on suspicion.”
“Then if I were you, sir,” she replied in a low voice, “I would be
generous. The lion can well afford to spare the mouse.”
“True, madam,” I answered; “but when the mouse happens to stand
six feet six, with a sword in due proportion, it behooves the lion to
look well to his own safety!”
Again she smiled, but on a sudden her face became grave.
“I would not have any one suffer for what was, perhaps, a foolish
trick,” she said. “I pray you, sir—if, indeed, you meditate retaliation
for the annoyance caused you—let the punishment fall upon me.”
For a moment I stared at her without replying. The idea of any man
punishing the lovely woman before me was well-nigh inconceivable.
“Reassure yourself, madam,” I said at length. “Your servants will take
no injury at my hands. Only there must be no recurrence of such a
trick. My troopers are rough, and for one at least of their number it
has proved but a sorry jest.”
“Alas, poor man!” she answered.
“How, madam!” I cried incredulously. “You pity him?”
“Why not?” she replied quickly.
“Well—because I do not understand you, madam,” I burst out.
“I am a woman, sir,” she answered. “Is not that reason logical
enough?”
“Yet a few days ago nothing would have been too bad to happen to
them,” I said bluntly.
“A few days ago, sir, I did not know many things that I do now,” she
rejoined, toying with a rope of pearls that hung from her shoulders.
“And in that I pity him, I do but make use of the prerogative of my
sex. ’Tis the divine right of woman to be inconsistent.”
To this I found no reply, and again we fell silent.
Suddenly my lady leaned forwards.
“Mr. Cassilis,” she said winningly, “will you answer me a question?”
“If it is in my power to do so, certainly, madam,” I replied.
“Then will you as a soldier tell me candidly what chance of success
has James in Ireland?”
“My lady,” I answered, after a few moments’ pause, “you have asked
me for my candid opinion, and giving that, I dare not buoy you up
with false hopes. This only will I say, that the army which James has
got together is as inferior in arms and discipline to that of William as
the former leader’s ability as a general is surpassed by the latter’s
military genius. One issue alone is possible—the downfall of the
Stuart cause.”
She remained silent for a few moments, digesting, I suppose, my
words. On a sudden she looked up.
“You have seen much service abroad, sir?” she said inquiringly.
“Aye, madam,” I made answer. “My sword has been drawn in many
quarrels and has owned many masters.”
“But always in the cause of honour, sir,” she said quickly.
“Honour?” I rejoined. “Ah, madam, what have such as I to do with
honour? Honour—a chimera—the dream of fools! With me, that is
the cause of honour which puts most guineas in my purse, be the
right of the quarrel what it may.”
“Oh,” she said impulsively, “I could not live a life like that.”
“Nay, madam,” I answered quietly, “but you are a woman—a woman
sweet and beautiful and pure—thank God for it!”
“A woman with a woman’s wayward passions and sins,” she replied.
“Ah, my lady,” I answered, “sins?—you?”
She stopped me with a gesture of her hand. “How should you judge,
sir, of a woman’s responsibilities or errors?”
“True, madam,” I replied with a sigh, “for I have known so few.”
“But have you no relatives, Mr. Cassilis?” she said slowly. “Is there no
sister or one more dear to you that looks to you for protection?”
“None, my lady,” I answered sadly. “A sister, indeed I had, but——” I
stopped, overcome by old memories.
“She is dead?” my lady said gently.
“Aye, madam,” I replied. “She was murdered! Nay, nay, do not
mistake my meaning. But—well, she was beautiful, madam, and was
much courted on that account. Amongst the suitors for her hand
was one—a favourite of the late King Charles—a profligate—devoid
as much of all moral worth and honour as was his dissolute master.
Yet to this man, with a woman’s perversity, she gave the preference.
Madam,” I continued in a low voice, “You will readily guess the
sequel. They were married, contrary to all warning and advice. And
the result, which all had foreseen, speedily followed. Within two
months the libertine had wearied of his toy and of the restraints of
wedlock. In a year she was dead, killed as surely by the man’s brutal
neglect as if he had run his rapier through her gentle heart.”
I stopped, overcome by the emotion that my words had recalled to
me, and stood staring at my lady, whose head was slightly bent, and
whose long lashes swept her cheek.
Suddenly she gave a fleeting upward glance. “Forgive me,” she said
gently. “I did not know.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” I answered quietly. “Rather should I
crave your pardon, my lady, for intruding so sad a story upon you. It
is one ill suited for a lady’s ears. I know not why I have told you.”
And I turned from her and gazed out into the night with eyes that
saw not the moonlit gardens before me, but only the sorrowful,
girlish face of one who had loved me well. I started when my lady’s
next words brought me to earth again. For the moment I had
forgotten her presence in the room.
“And this man, sir,” she said slowly, “what of him?”
“I killed him, madam,” I answered quietly. “We met one early dawn
in Spring Gardens, and he there paid to the brother that which he
should have devoted to his wife. ’Twas that that drove me from the
country and set me wandering over Europe these fifteen years. But I
forget that this story can have but little interest for you, my lady.”
“Why should it not?” she replied. “Life is full of such sad stories.” She
leant her head on her hand, and for a moment or two we were
silent. “I, too, am troubled to-night for the safety of one I love,” she
continued.
“Yes, madam?” I murmured as she paused.
“I allude to my brother,” she said quickly. “Mr. Cassilis, you know well
that a battle is imminent. Alas! my brother is a true Ingram, in that
he is so rash. I tremble for his safety.”
“I trust for your ladyship’s sake that your fears are groundless,” I
replied, “and that you may welcome his return in happier times.”
She smiled sadly by way of answer. And instantly my mind recurred
to the bill of attainder passed against him. If, thought I, he is
possessed of the same indomitable will as his sister ’twill be long ere
he makes his peace with William. But I did not give expression to my
thought.
“And yet,” she said slowly, “I know not but that it is for the best that
he is absent. Were he to know,” she continued, with a swift, upward
glance at me, “that we were—shall I say—prisoners in our own
house, I know not of what extreme folly he might be guilty.”
“And who could wonder, madam?” I answered, “or who could find it
in their heart to blame him? What danger is there which a man
beloved by you would not freely dare, and count the peril his highest
privilege! What self-sacrifice for your sake too severe for one who
loved you!”
“Loved me?” she said, shrinking.
“Yes, yes; who loved you!”
In my earnestness I had drawn near and laid one hand upon the
back of her chair. She made no reply to my words, but I saw a slight
shiver pass through her frame.
“Ah, madam, forgive me,” I said hastily. “The window is open, and
you are cold.” And I made as though to close it.
“No, no, sir,” she cried hastily, rising to her feet in sudden agitation.
“Indeed you are mistaken. On the contrary,” she added, raising her
hand to her brow, “the room is very close, or I am not feeling quite
myself. And I have left my fan in the garden. Will you permit me to
fetch it, Mr. Cassilis?”
“Nay, madam, will you not rather permit me to perform this slight
service for you, the while you remain quietly here?”
“I think that it is upon the fountain in the Rose Garden,” she
murmured. Then as with a bow I turned away, she added: “But I
cannot so far trouble you, sir. I am overmuch in your debt already.”
I had reached the window, but I turned at her words.
“A debt which you are repaying me in full to-night, madam,” I said
with a smile.
“Ah!” she cried, gazing at me with increased perturbation.
“Why do you say that, Mr. Cassilis? Why do you speak like that?”
“Because,” I answered, returning her glance firmly, “by your
kindness and trust in me to-night you more than reward me for that
which I have suffered at your hands. And I—I seek but to serve your
ladyship, however humbly!” And I turned upon my heel and left her
standing there.
 CHAPTER X
OF HOW MY LADY PLAYED DELILAH—
CONTINUED

As I crossed the broad terrace, looking neither to the right nor left,
the moon flung my dark shadow upon the gravel path and the soft
night wind stole through the silent gardens and fanned my face. But
my eyes were blind to the beauties of the silvery landscape, light as
day itself, and of the starry heavens above me; for it was my lady!
my lady! ever my lady! that was my one recurring thought—the sum
total of my reflections.
For the time being I was as one distraught, bewitched, indeed, by
the spell her beauty had cast upon me. Wild, fleeting visions of the
future rose before my eyes. With the fall of the Stuart the old order
had changed; who knew what might occur under the new? A good
sword coupled with brains might carry a man far upon the road to
success in these unsettled times. He who was poor to-day might yet
aspire to climb the ladder which led to fame, providing that he was
prepared to grasp the means of rising or had wit enough to rightly
use his opportunities. Many a man, indeed, dated the foundation of
his fortunes to the Revolution, and received a title in reward for his
services. Then why not I? The former requisite for success I knew
that I already had. I believed that I possessed the brains, or the
experience of years of wandering had been in vain. And afterwards
——? I had no settled purpose in my brain; all was a chaos, through
which my lady’s face alone shone, beckoning me upward.
That William would be successful in the coming struggle I had not
the slightest doubt. I knew the man well, for I had fought under him
in Flanders; and though, in the light of future history, he may not be
considered as a great soldier in the same sense as were his
contemporaries, Turenne and Luxembourg, yet he possessed a
genius for snatching victory out of defeat. As for James, with the
infatuated imbecility that characterised him throughout every great
crisis of his career, he had taken no pains to keep up the discipline of
his troops during the past winter, wasting his time with his so-called
Court at Dublin whilst his army spread over the surrounding country,
committing every species of rapine and plunder. One thing above all
was plain to me: Ireland at the present time was the field that
offered scope for a man’s ambition. There, when blows would shortly
be exchanged notice was to be won and promotion achieved. Little
did I guess that the battle of the Boyne had already been lost and
won, and that even now the mean-spirited James was in full flight
for France, after reproaching his army with the cowardice which his
own folly had principally engendered.
’Twas in meditating thus that I came at length to the entrance of the
rose garden and halted beneath the arch of yew. Before me the
fountain gleamed white in the moonlight that flooded all the open
space surrounding and flung fantastic shadows of the closely-
cropped trees upon the grass. In the distance came faintly to my
ears the murmur of the sea, and the gardens around me were full of
the voices of the night.
I crossed quickly to the fountain, and even before I reached it I saw
the object of my errand lying upon the marble basin. It was in all
respects a dainty fan—a thing of painted silk and ivory, with the
perfume of violets yet clinging to it, and with my lady’s monogram in
gold upon the handle. I lingered for a few moments, holding it in my
hand, recalling again the face of its beautiful owner, and pondering
upon our late conversation.
Then with a settled purpose in my mind, I retraced my steps by way
of the terraces, and so to the house. I found my lady seated in the
same room where I had left her. She looked up quickly when I
entered and thanked me prettily in a few low-spoken words. The
colour had deepened in her cheeks, and I noticed that the hand
which she held out for her fan was slightly trembling. But I would
have none of her thanks.
“Do not thank me, madam, for so slight a service,” I said quickly. “I
would do far more to pleasure your ladyship, a proof of which I am
about to give you.” I drew from my breast the folded paper, which I
had placed there before leaving the inn. “This paper,” I began slowly,
gazing straight at my lady, who had risen in sudden agitation, “of
which I took possession in this very hall, under certain circumstances
that I doubt not are still fresh in your ladyship’s memory, and that
bore a dangerous resemblance to conspiracy, is folded as you see it
was folded when it came into my hands.”
She did not seem to comprehend the full significance of my words or
to grasp my meaning. I paused for a moment, and continued more
slowly: “Am I wrong in supposing this paper to contain the names of
a few gallant but misguided gentlemen who favour the cause of
James?”
“You should best know, sir,” she replied in a low voice.
“No, my lady,” I answered quietly; “that is where you are wrong. I
do not know the contents of this paper, because I have not opened
it.”
Still she gazed at me as if she did not understand. On a sudden she
drew a step nearer, and I saw the colour fade from her face.
Doubtless until this moment she had thought that I had already
made use of it—had placed it in the hands of the authorities.
“You—you have not opened it?” she said in a troubled voice.
“No, madam,” I answered. “Scarcely can I expect you to believe me,
yet on my honour as a gentleman it is the truth.”
“Then—then—you mean——” she faltered, resting both hands upon
the table and leaning forward, probing my eyes as if she would read
my soul.
I met her gaze unflinchingly.
“The names that this paper contains are known to you, madam?” I
replied quietly.
“Yes,” she whispered; and I saw that she was trembling.
“Then, my lady,” I answered firmly, stepping to the table and holding
the paper in the flame of the nearest candle until only a little
feathery ash remained, “I give the lives of these gentlemen to you.
Your secret is your own.”
“You give them to me, sir?” she cried passionately. “You do this for
me? Ah, Mr. Cassilis, why do you shame me so?”
“How, madam?” I said, totally at a loss to understand her words.
“Shame you?”
“Yes, yes—shame me,” she continued in the same passionate tone,
“by this that you have done for me; by the forbearance that you
have shown towards me—towards one who is unworthy——”
“My lady,” I cried, “unworthy?”
“Oh,” she continued, “if you would not believe in me; if you knew all
—if you knew!” She broke off and laughed a trifle wildly. “Ah, forget
my foolish words!”
“Say, rather, that it will be my happiness to remember them,
madam,” I replied gravely; though I confess that I was puzzled at
her marked agitation, for which, so far as I could see, there was no
adequate reason. “And do not think that I blame you for your
devotion to the cause of James. Were there many among his
adherents as courageous as yourself, we should speedily see the
Stuart back at Whitehall. Though in the accomplishment of this
object you have not my sympathy, yet the very boldness of the
scheme by which you hoped to effect a rising in this county cannot
but command my admiration. The very hopelessness of imagining
that you could succeed in the face of William’s settled government
would appeal to any soldier.”
“And you who wear his uniform—you to whom these men were
enemies—can yet find it in your heart to spare them?” she said in a
low voice.
I took two steps towards her.
“Nay, do not credit me with a generosity which a nature such as
mine is incapable of forming. A month ago I would have sent these
men to death and recked little of the doing, save, indeed, to count it
to my credit. Shall I tell your ladyship why I have not done so?”
She made a faint gesture of protest, but I took no heed and
continued: “Because I knew that your name headed the list,
madam.” And I stopped, overcome by my own temerity.
She had moved to the window while I was speaking, and her face
was turned from me. I could not guess what thoughts were passing
through her brain, but I fancied that I saw her shoulders heave. Yet
she made no reply, though I waited almost trembling for the words
that did not come.
“I can feel but little sympathy for men who required a woman’s
name to stimulate them to action,” I said at length. “On your part it
was a brave deed to do, though a foolish one. Yet had I been in your
place, doubtless I, too, should have considered that the end justified
the means.”
“Ah,” she cried, turning swiftly to face me, “say those words again!
Do you think that, Mr. Cassilis? Do you indeed believe that?”
“What, madam?” I answered, smiling.
“That—that the end justifies the means?” she said almost fiercely.
“Surely that is true, is it not?”
“Providing always that the means employed be honourable, madam,”
I replied.
“And if not?” she cried quickly. “What if—if I—had given my word—
had pledged myself to a certain course—then——”
“I think that the thing is too monstrous for supposition,” I replied
firmly. “That aught dishonourable and you could have anything in
common is beyond conception.”
Again she turned away to the window, and stood looking over the
park. In the silence that followed it was not without a certain guilty
surprise that I heard the church clock strike ten. Suddenly I
remembered my promise to the sergeant.
“I regret that I must take leave of you, madam,” I said hastily. “I
was unaware that the hour had grown so late.”
“You must leave me so soon, Mr. Cassilis?” she said, with a
reproachful glance. “I was hoping that you would tell me somewhat
of your life abroad.”
“And believe me sincere when I say that it is not from any choice of
mine that I cannot stay to gratify your curiosity, madam,” I replied.
“To-morrow, should you be of the same mind, I shall count myself
fortunate in relating the experiences of a life that has been mostly
spent in roving the cities of the Continent. To-night it is impossible,
for a soldier’s first obedience is to duty.”
“Do not let me detain you, sir,” she answered somewhat coldly,
turning slowly from the window and moving towards the stair.
“I trust, madam,” I said humbly, anxious not to lose her good
opinion, “that you are not offended by my abrupt departure?”
“How should that be, Mr. Cassilis?” she replied graciously. “Are we
not friends?”
I bowed low to conceal the exultation her words caused me, and
then, taking my hat and cloak, I advanced to the table for my
pistols. On a sudden I was startled by a low cry of pain from behind
me. I turned swiftly at the sound. My lady had stumbled upon the
lowest step and had fallen forward upon her hands. She recovered
her feet almost immediately, but only to lean with half-closed eyes
against the carved oak balustrade.
“Are you ill, madam?” I cried anxiously, crossing quickly to her side.
“No, no, it is nothing, sir,” she gasped. “Only my foot slipped, and my
wrist—I am afraid that it is sprained.” And again a piteous little moan
that was almost a sob escaped her lips.
“Let me summon assistance, madam,” I said hastily, stepping to the
door.
“No, no,” she cried again, “I beg that you will not, sir. Indeed, it is
nothing, and I would not alarm my—my sister.”
“Yet I fear that you are in pain, my lady,” I said, pausing irresolutely,
my hand upon the handle.
“It will pass, sir,” she answered bravely. “It is foolish of me, and you
will think me a great coward, Mr. Cassilis, but I would not cause
unnecessary alarm; and if—if I may rest here for a moment, until
this faintness is passed——”
As she spoke she moved somewhat unsteadily across the floor and
sank again into the chair with a long-drawn, shuddering sigh she
strove in vain to suppress.
I stood gazing at her, torn by conflicting emotions. It was growing
late and I had already broken my word to the sergeant; yet, almost
as if she divined my thoughts, she raised her head.
“Are you still there, sir?” she said in a low voice, with a quiver as of
pain in it. “Ah, let me beg of you to leave me!” And she leaned her
head upon her hand so that I could no longer see her face—to hide
her tears, I fancied.
I flung my cloak and hat from me and returned slowly to her side.
She was a woman and in pain. I could do no less.
“Since that you do not desire me to call your women, madam,” I said
hesitatingly, “if you would permit me to look at your wrist myself. I
am possessed of some slight knowledge of surgery,” I continued,
growing bolder at her silence—“a knowledge acquired by many
years’ familiarity with wounds and sickness in foreign lands.”
She did not make any reply to this, nor even a gesture of dissent. I
waited for a few moments in silence.
“May I, madam?” I said at length, in a voice I strove to render
steady.
“If you would be so good, sir,” she murmured.
With my heart beating furiously, I sank upon one knee beside her
and gently took her white hand in both my own strong brown ones.
Gently as I raised it, however, at my touch I saw a tremor of pain
pass through her.
It was with momentary surprise that as she turned her face swiftly
towards me I noted there were no traces of tears upon her cheeks,
but that her eyes were hard and glittering. Yet I was in no condition
to remark upon this at the time, for the warm touch of her hand
rendered me scarcely less agitated than she was for some reason
herself. As I gazed at the soft, white wrist and jewelled fingers
resting quietly in mine, in the silence of the room I could hear the
loud beating of my own heart, and I know that my hands were
trembling.
For now that I was in such near proximity to her, I fell beneath the
spell of her wondrous beauty, as many a better man, I ween, had
done before me. So close, indeed, was I, that a fold of her rich gown
swept my knee—so close that I could mark every heave of her white
bosom as it rose and fell stormily; and the perfume of her presence
was in my nostrils.
In that moment, with the lovely, flower-like face in its frame of gold
so close to mine, I forgot my promise to the sergeant—the lateness
of the hour—the difference of rank—my duty—all!
Kneeling there at her feet, I would have given up honour, life—nay,
my very hope of heaven itself, to do her pleasure. Madness, you will
say. Aye, such madness as moved the first unhappy parent of our
race—madness which women will inspire till time shall be no more.
Something of what was passing in my mind must have appeared in
my face, for my lady shrank back a little and made as if to withdraw
her hand; and at that I bent my head to hide my tell-tale eyes and
made a brief examination of her wrist. There was no sign of bruise
upon the white, rounded arm—such an arm as Venus herself might
have envied, where the blue veins meandered beneath a skin as soft
as velvet.
“I do not think that the injury sustained is serious, madam,” I said
after a few moments. “Nevertheless, it were well to avoid using your
hand as much as possible until it has been seen by your own
physician.”
As I was speaking, I took the silken scarf that I wore at my throat
and deftly bound it round her wrist, in the manner that I had
watched a little French surgeon do the like for me, when an unlucky
fall from my horse had once kept my sword within its sheath for
well-nigh a month.
“There, madam,” I said in a low voice, tying the ends of the scarf
into a bow, “I think that for the present, at least, that bandage will
serve, for fault of a better one.” And, moved by a sudden
uncontrollable impulse, I raised her hand to my lips.
Again a quick shudder passed through her, and with a low, startled
cry she snatched away her hand almost roughly and rose quickly to
her feet.
And I rose, too, and our eyes met.
“Ah, forgive me, madam!” I said humbly. “I fear that my roughness
has hurt you. Yet God knows how willingly I would bear your pain.”
“Yes, yes,” she cried passionately, “I am in pain, but not as you
think, sir. It is your solicitude for me, your generous care for me,
that hurts me—that brands me to-night with shame. And yet—and
yet—” she muttered, passing her hand across her brow, “you have
said that the end justifies the means. They were your own words,
sir.”
“With a qualification, madam,” I said quietly.
She raised her hand with a gesture of entreaty.
“Spare me!” she cried, with increased agitation. “Do not add by your
words to the sense of infamy I feel. Perhaps even yet it is not too
late—perhaps—ah!——” She broke off with a sudden gasp and I saw
the colour had forsaken her face.
Thinking nothing but that the faintness had returned to her, I took a
step hurriedly towards her. But in a moment I realised that she was
not looking at me, but that her gaze was rivetted upon something
behind my back.
I turned swiftly to glance at the open window. And there a sight met
my eyes that caused me to pause in genuine astonishment.
I have already said that above the trees of the park rose the square
Norman tower of the church; and now upon the summit of the tower
a bright light suddenly flashed, that grew momentarily in volume,
until a broad sheet of flame ascended into the sky. Some one had
kindled a fire upon the church tower—for what? One object, and one
alone, was possible. It was a signal. And even as I gazed, upon the
still night air came the sound of two shots fired in quick succession—
aye, and following hard upon them a dozen straggling reports—and
then silence. But with those reports the instincts of the soldier
returned to me. There was danger, then—danger at the village—and
I was not there to share!
I stood for a moment summing up all the possibilities of the
situation; and in that moment a dozen or more lanterns broke from
the woodland path that led to the village, and a little crowd of dark
figures, with here and there the moonlight giving back the flash of
steel, made straight for the terrace. At that my brain cleared with
lightning rapidity, and turning swiftly, I snatched my pistols from the
table.
Was it force of habit merely, or some dim suspicion of the truth that
caused me to bend closer to look at them in the light of the candles?
A single glance was sufficient. The flints had been removed—the
weapons were useless! I stood staring at them in dull perplexity;
and then I raised my eyes and they fell upon my lady.
She was standing upon the hearth, erect and motionless, both hands
pressed against her bosom, gazing at me with a strange expression,
half fearful, half defiant, as if some secret struggle were raging in
her breast. She did not speak; there was no need for words. In her
face, her attitude, I received the full confirmation of my suspicions—
read the truth in all its naked hideousness.
Now I remembered all too late that I had left my spare flints in my
holsters. Now I understood only too well for what purpose my lady
had left her fan in the garden, who it was that had tampered with
the weapons in my hands. With a sickening feeling of despair I
realised that all this time she had been but playing a part, had been
the lure to keep me from the village while they worked their will
upon the men whom I commanded. Her graciousness, her altered
demeanour towards me, had been but assumed—part of the snare
into which, despite my boasted knowledge of the world, I had fallen
as easily as any rustic Corydon.
On a sudden, still with her eyes on mine, my lady slowly raised her
injured arm. Slowly, slowly, she raised it, then with a quick,
passionate gesture she tore the bandage from her wrist and flung it
into the empty grate behind her. That broke the spell.
With a long-drawn, shivering breath I recovered my composure.
“God forgive you, madam,” I said quietly; “for I believe that you
have sent me to my death.” And without further word or glance at
her, I threw my useless pistols upon the floor at her feet, and,
drawing my sword, stepped through the open window. But as I set
foot upon the terrace I realised to the full my danger; for upon
turning to the left, intending, if possible, to reach the stables, I saw
the steward and the youth Martin advancing from their direction,
and the moonlight shone upon the barrels of the muskets in their
hands. They raised a shout at my sudden appearance, but they
dared not fire, for I was between them and their friends advancing
from the opposite end of the terrace, who now, indeed, were within
a hundred feet of me. And before me was the moat, which even if I
could by any means clear (and my heavy riding boots rendered the
chance more than doubtful), to cross the open lawns exposed to
their shot was but to court certain death.
Moreover, small desire of escape was there in my heart; for so stung
was I by the knowledge of my lady’s treachery and of my own
disgrace, that I was minded to die rather, and so to hide my shame.
How after this could I face my comrades, with the knowledge that I
had betrayed the trust reposed in me, and, despite my age and
experience, had been tricked, cozened, cheated by a woman, like
the veriest country clown.
A little to my right two buttresses projecting from the wall offered
security from all save a frontal attack. Between these I ensconced
myself and awaited my enemies with the desperate determination of
selling my life as dearly as possible. In a moment they were around
me—a score or more of the hardier rogues from the village, armed
for the most part with pitchforks and scythe blades lashed to poles,
and led by Sir Rupert Courtenay, my lady’s cousin.
Seeing me standing there, stern and motionless, they came to a
sudden halt, and the shouts with which they had before greeted my
appearance died away to silence.
“Give up your sword, sir,” said the young baronet sharply. “Your
troopers are in our hands and resistance is futile.”
At that I put aside the thrust of a scythe blade from the man who
was nearest to me, at the same time slashing him across the wrist,
and as the knaves drew back a little, not relishing their reception, I
condescended to give him an answer.
“On guard, sir,” I said through my set teeth. “Unless, indeed, you
prefer to stand by and let your followers murder me. Undoubtedly it
is your safest course.”
For a moment he hesitated, thinking, I make no doubt, of the fair
girl who awaited him within the house, or perhaps he knew my
reputation with the sword, that had made older men pause ere
provoking me; but the sneering laugh with which I accompanied my
last words caused him to flush with shame, as I had so intended.
“By heaven, no!” he burst out. “If you are bent on being killed,
captain, I will oblige you. And you others, stand back. I have already
an account to settle with this gentleman.”
And as, obedient to his command, they drew back a little on either
side, leaving us a clearer space to wield our weapons, he sprang
impetuously forward, and our blades clashed together. Yet scarcely
had we exchanged a dozen passes ere my lady’s voice rang high
above the music of our swords.
“Do not kill him! do not kill him!” she cried.
Whether it was that her sudden appearance within the circle, or that
the events of the night had unstrung my nerves and robbed my
hand of its cunning, I do not know. But on a sudden my sword
wavered, and in that brief instant my opponent’s blade slipped within
my guard and his point pierced my left breast. Yet still for a moment
I did not fall. I staggered, indeed, against the wall, but my brain was
so clear that the whole scene was printed indelibly upon my
memory. The moonlight falling upon the ring of encircling faces, the
young baronet staring stupidly at his encrimsoned blade, scarce
crediting his victory, and, lastly, my lady’s white, stricken face, as,
wide-eyed, she gazed at the fast reddening circle on my breast.
Suddenly the silence was broken by the sharp click of her fan as it
fell upon the gravel walk.
“Madam,” I said huskily, taking two steps toward her, with earth and
sky rocking in one red mist before my eyes, “you have dropped your
fan; permit me to restore it to you.” And I fell heavily at her feet.
 CHAPTER XI
OF WHAT BEFELL ON THE TERRACE

It was dark when my senses deserted me; it was still dark when
they returned amidst the accompanying roar of the battlefield. I was
stretched at full length upon the ground, pressed down by some
heavy weight that rendered me powerless of moving hand or foot.
Dimly through the black pall of smoke that enveloped me I thought
that I recognised the outline of my old charger Gustavus, who had
borne me in safety through the perils of many a stricken field, to
meet his death at last amidst the rout of Teneffe. So it was Teneffe
then! And yonder, where the fire flashed redly, that was the village
itself, fired by the Dutch in that last charge in which a spent cannon-
ball had struck me down. Aye, I could see them now—a dense mass
of men, fighting, struggling, swaying to and fro amidst the blazing
ruins of the hamlet. More, I could see Conde’s veterans—victors of
Naerden, Rhimberg and the Rhine, recoiling before the berghers and
traders of the Netherlands. Nearer to me, upon an eminence some
five hundred paces distant, a battery of French artillery added their
iron tongues to the increasing roar of the field. Faintly, whenever the
smoke drifted, I could see the gunners working madly at their
pieces; but as the retreat of their comrades before William’s stolid
infantry developed rapidly into a rout, the guns ceased firing one by
one, and limbering up, they advanced at a gallop upon the spot
where—totally incapable of movement—I lay full in their path.
I struggled vainly to rise—a mountain seemed to press me down. I
strove to cry out, but no sound came from my parched lips. Nearer
and nearer, swifter and swifter, they swept down upon me, in one
fierce tempest of maddened horses and shouting men, with the
great guns swaying behind them. Now, so close were they, that I
could see the wild, straining eyes of the horses and the blackened
faces of the gunners, who lashed their teams to frenzy. Now with a
trembling of the ground beneath me—a nightmare of blood-red
beasts and giant riders—they were upon me, over me. With a
despairing cry I flung out my arm and awoke to a full consciousness
of my surroundings.
I drew a deep breath and lay for a time gazing up at the ceiling
overhead, until the noises in my head gradually subsided, and I
became conscious of a fierce throbbing in my left shoulder, that most
effectually brought back the events of the previous day to my
memory. Glancing downwards, I saw that my arm was supported in
a sling upon my breast. At that I rose with an effort upon my right
elbow and, despite the feeling of faintness that oppressed me, took
a rapid survey of my surroundings. Clad only in my shirt and
breeches, I lay upon a bed of rugs in a room that I had never
previously seen. In what part of the manor it was situated I could
not form a guess, but from its appearance I judged that it was used
for little else than a lumber room. Beside my couch my eyes lighted
upon a tray, whereon was set a flask of spirits, put ready there, I
opined, ’gainst my awaking. I reached for the flask and drank deeply
of its contents. It was cognac—in quality the best—and with the
generous spirit I felt my strength return to me and the life blood
course swifter through my veins. Presently I staggered to my feet
and moved somewhat unsteadily in the direction of the window. It
was guarded by three massive iron bars let into the solid masonry,
and of such a thickness as to effectually preclude all possibility of
escape in that direction. My prison was in the left wing of the house,
for below me was the stable yard, with the stables themselves
directly facing me. No one was about, so that taking this fact,
together with the coolness of the morning air into consideration, I
judged that the hour was yet early. Ah, but it was good to breathe
the fresh sea breeze into one’s lungs, to watch the sunlight dancing
in the courtyard, and the white, fleecy clouds chasing each other
overhead.
I next turned my attention to the wound upon my shoulder, striving
in so far as I was able to ascertain the exact extent of injury
inflicted. To my surprise and gratification, upon slipping my arm from
the sling which supported it, I found that I could move it with
tolerable freedom, and with no very great addition to the pain that I
already endured.
Presently I made the discovery that the sling itself belonged to me—
was, in fact, no other than the very scarf which I had bound around
my lady’s wrist. Up till that moment I had been so absorbed in
examining my prison, that I had lost all recollection of the means
which had deprived me for the time being of my liberty. But now at
the sight of this scarf, bringing back in a flood of memory all my
lady’s treachery and my own humiliation, I fell into so fierce a rage
as surely never woman roused in man before.
In a sudden access of unreasoning passion I tore the silken sling
from around my neck and ground it savagely beneath my heel. Oh,
for one hour of liberty! One hour of revenge upon this woman who
had beguiled me to my undoing! One hour to break that haughty
spirit—to bend, to crush, to bring her grovelling upon her knees for
pity! Pity? If that the time should ever come that I could repay her
for the present shame I felt by striking her through those she loved,
then let her not look for any pity at the hands of the man whom she
had wronged, for by all I held most sacred I would not spare her!
After awhile, oppressed by a feeling that I could not breathe, I
moved again to the window, that the cool sea breeze might play
upon my burning forehead.
“Good-day to you, general,” said a mocking voice. “Will your lordship
be pleased to require your horse this morning?” I glanced swiftly
down.
Below me in the courtyard was the youth Martin, and behind him the
grinning faces of the other two stable hands. All three carried old-
fashioned muskets in their hands, with more or less rusty swords
strapped to their waists. Evidently my prison was well guarded.
I stepped hastily back from the casement, yet not so quickly but that
I caught the jeering laugh with which the words were accompanied.
It was this laugh more than the insolence of the words themselves
that stung me once more to sudden rage; and I fell to pacing the
floor in a frenzy of impotent passion.
Doubtless my lady had taken a pleasure in relating to all within the
house the manner in which the poor dupe had fallen into her snare
—aye, and had laughed—laughed with them over my discomfiture!
The latter thought was maddening.
I stopped in my walk, and in order to seek any distraction rather
than to dwell further upon my shame, I set to work in feverish haste
to examine the lumber that the room contained, in the hope that I
might discover some weapon with which to arm myself. Though to
what purpose, seeing that I had no strength to use it, even if I had
stumbled upon that which I sought, I did not stop to reason. But
there was no weapon of any description to be found. Books there
were in plenty, old tapestry and pictures, china and odd-looking
furniture, in shape such as I had never previously seen, and all
bearing the same mark of extreme age.
Presently I desisted from my search and again peered cautiously out
of the window. The two louts still lingered in the doorway of the
stable opposite, but the youth Martin had disappeared. Even as I
stood watching the men before me somewhere within the house a
door banged too loudly, and there came the sound of footsteps
nearing the room in which I was confined. At that I reseated myself
upon the chest and strove to regain my ordinary composure, for I
was determined that my gaolers should not be witnesses of how
deeply I felt the shame of my present position. The footsteps ceased
in the passage without, a key was thrust into the lock, and a
moment later the heavy door swung open, disclosing the figure of
the steward.
“You are to follow me,” he growled, with a sour smile.
“Whither?” I asked curtly.
“That you will soon know,” he replied, with all his old hatred of me
looking out of his eyes. “Come—no more words.”
“I will know now, or I do not stir from this room,” I said stubbornly.
“Hark you, Master Steward, I have asked you a civil question and I
await your answer.”
“What if I refuse?” he growled. “I have it in my power to compel
you.”
“You may use force if it so please you,” I answered boldly, snatching
up the stool upon which I had been sitting.
“But in that case I warn you there will be more than one head
broken ere I am removed.”
For a few moments we faced each other in silence, and he half
turned, as though he was about to summon assistance, but
apparently he thought better of it, or my resolute attitude daunted
him, for again he hesitated.
“Very well, if you must know,” he said with a grim smile, “to my lady,
then.”
“Ah!” was all I answered, though I felt my heart quicken.
“And now I hope you are satisfied,” he continued, his former insolent
manner returning. “So come, let us have no further waste of time.”
“What, as I am?” I cried quickly, remembering on a sudden the
scantiness of my attire. Even the shirt I wore had been partly cut
away to enable them to dress my wound. “Where is my uniform, you
rascal?”
“Burnt!” he answered sneeringly. “And I have no orders to play the
part of tailor.”
“To the devil with your orders!” I cried in a rage. “Get me some
clothes, fool! Would you have me appear before ladies in this guise?”
Still for a moment he hesitated, then, “Wait,” he said briefly. And he
went out, locking the heavy door behind him. When the last sound
of his footsteps had died away, I commenced to pace the floor in
some agitation. So I was to see my lady then? In good sooth I had
need of all my composure to face the coming interview. Not for the
world would I have her see that any words of hers had power to
move me. Not for the world would I give her cause to triumph at my
humiliation. Rapidly I shaped out in my own mind a course of
conduct to pursue and had reduced my face to a state of
impassiveness ere, after the lapse of some ten minutes, the
steward’s returning footsteps again became audible.
This time he carried a bundle in his hand, which he flung as
carelessly at my feet as one might fling a bone to some stray cur.
I turned it over with my foot. It was a coat of coarse brown cloth
such as any groom might wear, and reeked indeed most vilely of the
stable.
“Pah!” I said in disgust. “Is this the best you can find me, man?”
“Best?” he cried impatiently. “Aye, and too good at that, since it
comes from the back of an honest man. But make your choice and
quickly! Either you come of your own accord or we will drag you
there. Time presses. Which is it to be?”
I saw that the knave would keep his word, and now that I knew my
destination I was in no mind to appear before my lady in so
undignified a fashion. I bade him sharply then to hold his peace and
to assist me in donning the coat—of which a closer inspection lent
but an increase to the repugnance I felt in wearing. This, indeed,
seeing that it was impossible owing to my wound that I could
accomplish of myself, he presently did, though with much muttering
the while, of which I took no heed.
Even then I was forced to again resume my sling and to fasten the
one empty sleeve upon my breast, for I found that I could not yet
force my arm within it, owing to the latter’s stiffness. This done, I
turned to the steward.
“I am ready,” I said curtly. “Lead on, my friend.”
He looked at me with a cunning smile. “Not so fast,” he answered,
stepping quickly into the passage and drawing a pistol from his
breast. “You will go first, if you please; and play me no tricks, for I
am armed, as you see, and I have a good memory.”
In truth, I saw that the knave would only be too glad to revenge
himself upon me, so I shrugged my shoulders indifferently and
turned along the passage in the direction he indicated.
In this order we proceeded, then, until we reached the entrance hall.
Yet still the lout behind me pointed forward, and we passed out of
the main door, and so into the open air.
But it was only when I was descending the steps that I fully realised
the scene, and the meaning of the shouts that I had heard became
plain to me. For on my right, at the end of the terrace, where three
broad steps led down on to the grassland bordering the main
avenue, was a little group of some half dozen persons, among whom
my eyes lighted almost immediately upon the tall figure of my lady.
Below them, upon the grass, the whole of the villagers, men, women
and children, seemed to have gathered; and a clamour of derisive
shouts greeted my appearance.
Beyond bestowing one look of contempt upon them I took no heed,
but calling all my fortitude to my aid, with head erect and with a firm
step I passed along the terrace to where my lady awaited me.
As I approached nearer I scanned the persons before me more
closely. With some at least I was already acquainted. There was
Mistress Grace, who eyed me, I thought, with a glance that bespoke
more of pity for my forlorn condition than of triumph at the
successful issue of their enterprise. Near to her was my late
adversary, the young Sir Rupert Courtenay, and three or four of the
neighbouring gentry, all of whom I knew to be of the Jacobite
persuasion; while at the head of the steps, with a grim smile upon
his face, stood the stalwart figure of Sampson Dare. But it was with
more curiosity that I gazed upon the two men with whom my lady
herself was conversing. They were seated at a small table, a bottle
and glasses before them, and a more villainous pair of rogues it has
seldom been my lot to set eyes upon. He who seemed to be the
spokesman was dressed in a voluminous skirted coat of blue,
adorned here and there with tarnished bold braid. Beneath this was
a faded silken vest, and I caught a glimpse of a brace of pistols
garnishing the broad belt at his waist. His legs, like those of his
companion, were encased in high sea-boots that reached all but to
his thigh, and upon his head was an old-fashioned three-cornered
hat. In years he might have been anything from forty to sixty, but
his brown mahogany face was so scarred and wrinkled that it gave
no clear indication as to his age. That he was a seaman I saw at a
glance, and my mind instantly reverted to the vessel I had seen in
the bay. His companion was a tall, gaunt man, dressed in a coarse
blue jerkin and with a red cotton cap upon his head. For the rest,
both these worthies wore heavy gold earrings and carried long
swords at their sides. Master and mate I took them to be, and as it
subsequently proved, my surmise was correct.
At length I came to a halt, I caught the words which he of the blue
coat was addressing to my lady. “No, no,” he was saying in a harsh
voice that was well in keeping with his whole appearance, “have no
fear on that score, mistress. They shall be treated like gentlemen.
Curse me! like gentlemen. No more humane a man than I am ever
set sail from Bristol port, as Silas Ball here will tell you.”
Here he looked across at the mate, who grinned broadly, as at some
excellent jest—a jest which at the time I failed to comprehend,
though afterwards I came to experience more of the former
gentleman’s humanity.
“Given a fair wind, in two days’ time they will be—— Is this the
man?” he added abruptly, setting down his half-emptied glass and
bending his brows upon me.
Up till now my lady had been standing with her back to me, but at
these words she turned, and we were face to face. For it may be
twenty seconds we stood thus, my lady proud and cold, I with a
tumult of conflicting emotions in my breast, in which a rapidly rising
rage against her treachery was the more predominant. At once the
clamour around us was stilled into the silence of a great expectancy.
“This is the man, Captain Barclay,” my lady said quietly. Then, with
her eyes still upon mine, she added: “I trust, sir, that your wound is
on a fair way towards recovery?”
“Madam,” I answered bitterly, striving to control the passion in my
voice, “awhile ago you accused me of hypocrisy in that I pitied you. I
think that the accusation might well be reversed. You have openly
rebelled against the government, you have defied the royal
authority, and, for all that I am aware, have slain the troopers under
my command, and, lastly, you have deprived me, a king’s officer, of
my liberty by such base trickery as only the heart of a woman could
conceive. You should have been an actress, madam, had fate not
willed you to be born a lady. I congratulate you. Satan himself might
take lessons from you in deceit!” For a moment she did not speak,
and I saw the colour deepen in her face.
“I fought you with a woman’s weapons,” she answered coldly—“your
manly wit against my woman’s beauty. If I succeeded, you have but
yourself to blame.”
“You say true, madam,” I cried hotly. “For falsehood, flattery and
guile—those are, indeed, a woman’s weapons—not a gentleman’s!”
“Then by your own words, sir,” she replied icily, “you do but prove
the truth of my assertion.”
“As to the sequel of your scheme, madam,” I continued, “the shame
of it rests rather in success than failure. To your own conscience I
leave it to justify your conduct. But I have little doubt that long
practice has rendered your ladyship proficient in the art of deception
to which I fell a victim.”
She threw back her proud head and gazed at me with flashing eyes.
“And do you imagine, sir, even for a moment, that the part I
degraded myself into playing was an easy one!” she replied
scornfully. “To expose myself to the shame of your approval?”
“No, madam,” I answered sternly. “There you are wrong. For a man’s
honest admiration, however humble his station in life, carries no