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 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 The Silent Workman. A Story. i6mo, 
 
 cloth 75 
 
 The Gallery of a Random Collector. 
 
 i6mo, cloth 8i 25 
 
 The Speculator. A Portrait of a Contem- 
 porary American. i6mo, cloth . 75 
 
 The Adventures of Three Worthies . 75 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, New York and London.
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF 
 THREE WORTHIES 
 
 /•^y-^fcc^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 BY 
 
 CLINTON ROSS 
 
 AUTHOR OF ** THE GALLERY OF A RANDOM COLLECTOR, 
 
 "the SILENT WORKMAN," " THE 
 
 SPECULATOR," ETC. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 27 West Twenty-third St. 27 King William St., Strand 
 
 Ube "fftnicfcerbocljcc B>rcs0 
 i8gi
 
 Copyright, 1891 
 
 BY 
 
 CLINTON ROSS
 
 To C. H. if. 
 
 1703627
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 "A Well Meaning Booke " . . ix 
 I. VicoMTE DE Saint-Dernier . i 
 
 II. A SlEUR DE BeRTRAND . . 83 
 
 III. The Lady at the Death. (An 
 Example of the Manner of Chance 
 Cited in the Memoirs of the Fifth 
 Lord Duesdale) . . . • 97 
 
 The Epilogue i6i
 
 "A WELL MEANING BOOKE." 
 
 (MONTAIGNE TO HIS READER THE FIRST OF 
 MARCH, 1580.) 
 
 NOW the adventures of these worthy 
 gentlemen, one of modern, and one 
 of old France, and the last of the England 
 of the Stuarts, were told when the air was 
 moist, and a pattering was on the roofs. 
 For 
 
 '' Whanne that April with his shoures sote, 
 The drought of March hath perced to the rote," 
 
 the pilgrims Canterbury-ward " shall tellen 
 tales tway." When roads were sodden the 
 witty Margaret of Navarre gave the seven 
 days of her recital. So, like Montaigne, say 
 I, "loe, here a well meaning Booke," of
 
 Vlll THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 a fancied past on a rainy day in a chateau of 
 Touraine by the Loire loved of Balzac. 
 Chateaux ett Espagtte are owned by all men. 
 For an hour did the Host — an evasive spirit 
 of Romance — grant a chdteau en Touraine 
 by the charming stream, a setting for the 
 tales. Adventure needs a frame, to fit its 
 telling ; must be as carefully put as ever a 
 canvas jealously hung at proper height, and 
 in the light displaying the coloring, the 
 drawing, or their sad lack. Of a race, 
 dating on the spot from ancient time, a 
 man of Paris, too, and the world, the Host 
 deplored the bad weather as if his guests' 
 discomforts brought him personal sadness. 
 Through scurrying mists showed the marble 
 figures of the Park, touched with a green 
 coating from the moisture of the fountains, 
 where these presided as calm classic deities, 
 wrought by an artist of the Renaissance. 
 Branches of scattered trees held here and 
 there reluctant foliage ; and dead leaves 
 floated on a stagnant moat. In-doors the
 
 "A WELL MEANING BOOKE." ix 
 
 dusk lay hesLvy, half absorbing the carvings 
 of the great fireplace, the mediaeval mail on 
 the oaken walls, the sleeping hounds by the 
 hearth, the three men, weary perhaps of 
 cigarettes and talk ; the sweet English face 
 of Madame ; the coquettish contour of a 
 woman of fashion ; the softer curves of an 
 
 Out of the mysterious recesses of the place 
 (dim as the retreats of the old, the forgotten 
 of Romance) thence outstepped Monsieur, 
 an English sentence on his lips : '* The past 
 has its uses, if it lessen the enmd of a rainy 
 afternoon." From his pocket somewhere he 
 dragged yellowed papers, old MSS., lain 
 away in forgotten crannies. One he said 
 was the confession of a connection of his 
 house long ago, who for his soul's sake had 
 taken holy orders. 
 
 The lady of fashion shivered. ** Must you 
 add seriousness to the rain ? " said she. 
 
 This intention the Host disavowed, turning 
 you may believe gallant phrase. Sorry was
 
 X THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 he that he could not offer the matter for a 
 Parisian novel, of love and intrigue. But he 
 had a simple tale of love, possibly pleasing 
 to the ingJnue, while likely dull to Madame. 
 "When the younger lady blushed, and the» 
 elder exclaimed, the urbane master of the 
 place turned to a newer MS., given him by 
 an American, an executor of the famous 
 Saint-Dernier. For the Saint-Demiers, 
 like the Bonapartes, are related across the 
 seas to those queer folk that swarm over 
 Paris in summer ; of whom De Tocqueville 
 wrote, and for whom an Orleans fought. 
 
 Such was the occasion in Touraine, by the 
 Loire, land of the Conte and Balzac, while 
 the rain pattered over the dead leaves in the 
 still moat, and the tales left our fancies in 
 the winding paths of Romance, where were 
 plotting rogues, and their foils, fine manly 
 fellows and fair ladies, — love, duty, revenge, 
 making, when mixed, adventure. 
 
 Certain good people who now-a-days try 
 to bind fiction to a local habitation and a
 
 "A WELL MEANING BOOKE. XI 
 
 name, by the stout rope, "realism," may 
 dislike these simple tales, dealing first with 
 a gentleman of modern France ; and then 
 one with the confession of a great personage 
 of long ago, turned priest, to be rid of a sad 
 world ; and the last with a love escapade of 
 an English boy, who grew old in the service 
 of the Stuarts in exile and at Whitehall. 
 These may ponder the words filched from 
 John Florio's version of the " good old Gallic 
 Gentleman " : — " a well meaning Booke doth 
 at the first entrance forewame" you, "that 
 in contriving the same I have proposed unto 
 myself no other than a familiar and private 
 end ; I have no respect, or consideration at 
 all, either to " your " service, or to my 
 glory."
 
 ' And he began with right a merye cheere 
 His tale anon, and seide as ye may heere.' 
 
 The Prolog%te, The Canterbury Tales, 
 
 XIU
 
 I. VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER ] 
 
 1
 
 L 
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER 
 
 " Our history will oblige us to relate some matters 
 of a more strange and surprising kind. . . . Some are, 
 with M. Dacier, ready to allow that the same thing 
 which is impossible may be yet probable." 
 
 " Henry Fielding in Book VIII. o/ Tom Jones.^'' 
 
 That day I had been rid- 
 ing hard on a message of the Prince. The 
 country was filled with danger to me, because 
 my message was not trivial. Close behind 
 was the orderly, Dumont, a tough-skinned, 
 short, wrinkled and tanned fellow. Char- 
 acter lies open only to the adept reader on 
 certain faces (and a fool may be boastful of 
 the skill !). If I had been expert enough, I 
 might have read volumes while the horses
 
 S THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 lagged on, and the man, whose past was only 
 a subject for my conjecture, was in some ret- 
 rospect. As it was, while the lines were 
 there, these might have been Persian, or any 
 unknown gibberish ; yet I knew something 
 of men even then. I had found him of a 
 January day shivering in the Court of the 
 Palais Royale. For all of the explanations 
 he had to offer, there were gaps plainly dis- 
 played by the furrows of the cheeks. I never 
 was sure of his nationality, though, after I 
 had known Constantinople, I suspected him 
 of being a Turk. When the Emperor sent 
 me as an attache to the Turkish Embassy, for 
 some reason of his own this valuable person — 
 he had come to know my wishes almost 
 intuitively — pleaded to remain in Paris. So 
 persistent was he in this that I even was 
 forced to accept his excuse. When, eight 
 months later (we had been as far as India 
 then), Chantillon and I came one July day 
 into the court before the hotel upon the 
 Avenue de I'Alma, we saw Gervaise Du-
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 3 
 
 mont smoking a pipe, as imperturbable as 
 any Sioux, while Monsieur Argand's grooms 
 stood, evidently regarding him with reveren- 
 tial awe. As we descended from \hejiacre I 
 pointed the fellow out to Chantillon. " Do 
 you see that short, dark-skinned man ?" I 
 questioned. " Surely, a Turk or an Arab," 
 declared my companion, lighting a cigarette, 
 while the concierge jingled his keys (for the 
 Hotel Saint-Dernier is the last of four build- 
 ings opening upon a court on the Avenue de 
 I'Alma, not a block from the Avenue 
 Champs-Elysees). " A rascal of a mongrel," 
 cried I. Then I told him how I had been 
 returning from a great ball one winter's 
 night five years before, and the wine was 
 singing in my veins, when, as the Rue Rivoli 
 opens toward i\iQ facade of the Palais Royale, 
 a dark figure rushed out wildly and tried to 
 throw itself beneath the horses, which Pierre, 
 the coacliman, drew high on to their haunches 
 in the nick of time. And, as I stood up, 
 gesticulating and crying out, I suppose, I
 
 4 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 saw this same dark-skinned Arab, whcjui the 
 flaring gas-jets showed. The fellow disap- 
 peared as if by magic, leaving the coachman 
 and me rubbing our eyes. "Doubtless in 
 the Morgue to-morrow," said Pierre, whip- 
 ping up his horses. That night — it might 
 have been the wine — I fell to dreaming ; and 
 in all of my dreams this dark, eager-faced 
 fellow figured, gliding in and out, like some 
 sad chorus. In the morning the cobwebs 
 were out of my brain, after a brisk canter on 
 my mare Cyrilla — the same which my cousin 
 entered in the Derby, you may remember ; — 
 but in the afternoon I chanced to be walking 
 in the Palais Royale, where I think I had 
 been after a diamond, when looking up I saw 
 suddenly the same face on which the gas-jets 
 had flared the night before. I am always 
 impulsive, and suddenly I had seized that 
 dark-skinned, wrinkled fellow (he must have 
 been over fifty) by the shoulder. " WTiy did 
 you try to throw yourself under my horses ?" 
 He looked at me strangely for a moment.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 5 
 
 " I have failed in everything, and I wished 
 to make an end of failure," said he, like 
 one repeating commonplaces. Then I re- 
 called Pierre, the coachman, pointing with 
 forefinger toward the dark river. " The 
 Seine ? " My Turk, or Arab, or mongrel, 
 whatever he might have been, smiled. " I 
 took it for an omen, that I was not trod 
 down by your horses. Monsieur, and I re- 
 solved to live another twenty-four hours. 
 
 To-night " and he pointed toward the 
 
 Louvre, and the river beyond the Quai. 
 " My man," said I, *' you have not eaten ?" 
 "Not in twenty-four hours." "Do you 
 know no one in Paris ? Have you no money ? " 
 " "Neither," said he. " Monsieur, I told you 
 truly ; my world is dead, or rather I am 
 dead to it. I have nothing for which to live. 
 Yet, if you will give me a post in your house- 
 hold — for I know your name — I should es- 
 teem the favor a new lease of the life of 
 which I am tired. If Monsieur will concede 
 so much, he shall not find me lacking. For
 
 6 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 I know some few languages, and I shall be 
 useful." 
 
 So he went on, noting my mood, and, clever 
 rascal that he was, profiting by it. This was 
 the man whom Chantillon saw in the court 
 off from the Avenue de I'Alma, who, as 
 orderly, rode with me on the message of the 
 Prince. Up to the time when we took our 
 way over the sodden roads, fearing arrest at 
 every turn, or a volley of bullets, I did not 
 know more of Gervaise Dumont's early career. 
 I found him invaluable, and, though at first 
 his wicked face was distasteful enough, I 
 found his ready wit and hand almost essen- 
 tials, particularly on the long journeys which 
 I was accustomed to take in those years. He 
 spoke many tongues as if every one had de- 
 scended by birthright. I know his English 
 was passable, while in the German, Italian, 
 Spanish, and a dozen minor dialects, his 
 performance was quite as wonderful as that 
 of the porter in a continental hotel. On the 
 message of the Prince, as a hundred times
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 7 
 
 before, I wondered about his enigmatical 
 face, while the heavy roadways made the 
 progress slow enough, giving us certainly 
 time for any reflection. 
 
 We then must have ridden twenty miles 
 through the country abandoned between the 
 two armies, and it was almost as if the very 
 birds had stopped their notes. Rarely did 
 we pass a human being ; some old woman 
 bearing fagots, like a figure anim?ted in a 
 picture of Millet. I suppose the men for the 
 most were in the armies. As the Hred horses 
 stepped on over the soggy ways, it seemed 
 to me that I never had known so melancholy 
 a landscape as this under the grayish sky. 
 Suddenly a line of bright light broke through 
 a rift in the heavy clouds. Then my man, 
 Dumont, turning in the saddle, pointed, his 
 face, too, lighting with his superstitious ear- 
 nestness, "An omen, surely." Something in 
 the voice led me to regard him closely for an 
 instant. At this point a hedge bordered the 
 road on the right, some scrub oaks covering
 
 8 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 the long slope beyond. At the left marshy 
 meadows, where the moisture gleamed back 
 to the ray of the sunshine, sloped away to 
 a little river, beyond which were low barren 
 hills, occasionally studded with buildings. 
 Beyond, and to our faces, were higher hills, 
 with dark defiles, rising to loftier elevation, 
 that, of a clear day, might be blue, but 
 now was a misty outline. Almost before we 
 saw battlemented towers, — probably surviv- 
 ing from the time when warriors arrayed 
 themselves like modern armored cruisers. 
 If I were right there remained fifteen miles 
 of the way before the French lines could be 
 expected, and every foot was through a coun- 
 try where a German army probably was. 1 
 could only conjecture, — as a chart lacks some- 
 thing of the slow bram of even a very stupid 
 peasant. I despised a German soldier that 
 day ; for I remembered French histor}', — my 
 own grandfather's adventures with Napoleon, 
 and I had belief in the star of the Emperor. 
 Soon I was to see a splendidly disciplined
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 9 
 
 army scattered ; too soon I was to know of 
 the presence of a Prussian king at Versailles. 
 But that afternoon I rode through a country 
 which I despised because it was essentially 
 German in temper. 
 
 The sun passed behind the black clouds. 
 Moving drearily through the heavy tracks, 
 Dumont's horse pricked its ears, when the 
 rider, putting a finger to his lip, motioned to 
 me, "Hist!" 
 
 And all at the instant I saw that something 
 stirred behind the hedge. I first thought of 
 the despatches in the leathern belt about my 
 waist. 
 
 "You had better surrender, Mein Herr," 
 cried the Bavarian leader in his language. 
 
 To put a wearied horse at a hedge is at 
 the best a hazardous experiment, and in 
 this case I did not know my animal. But it 
 was a question of time to be rid of the belt 
 of despatches. I turned the mare at the 
 hedge, and, at the second, the riders swept 
 down upon the place where we had stood.
 
 lO THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 carrying Dumont out of his seat. I saw 
 him in the second suspended between the 
 saddle and a puddle of muddy water. A 
 horse catches something of the human spirit, 
 and interprets quickly the mental tremor 
 reaching unconsciously to the fingers' tips : 
 as the riding-masters say often, no one may 
 be a rider till the heart may be as erect as 
 the head. Thinking neither of my bones 
 nor the poor hack under me, but of the 
 precious belt of despatches, and resolving 
 that my captors should be none the wiser for 
 the capture, I raised the horse with arm and 
 spur high into the air. Yet the leap was too 
 great for unaccustomed and now weary 
 muscles ; and while the animal's legs caught 
 in the hedge and pawed wildly at air, I flew 
 into space. Luckily I landed on a boggy 
 spot, which gave under my weight, and, 
 springing up, I ran for dear life. A bullet 
 whistled past, then many sharp reports, but 
 without the missiles being so unpleasantly 
 near. Running on regardless of direction.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERXIER. II 
 
 struggling with heavy boots over the uneven 
 soil, I heard the pursuit at my heels. Mak- 
 ing a despairing turn, I rushed into a thicket, 
 tearing the face and one gloveless hand. 
 ^Vith satisfaction I heard the rout taking 
 the false trail. Beyond the leafy barrier 
 was a glade. Turning into this refuge, the 
 scabbard of the sword catching in a branch 
 held me for an instant. As I detached the 
 scabbard, a voice in German called out that 
 I could not get away. Then I saw at my 
 face a young Bavarian officer holding a 
 levelled pistol. With death before, I dodged, 
 fell on my face, scrambled to my feet, raised 
 my sword in time to catch a blow irom this 
 unexpected assailant. Making several passes 
 with the broad blade, I caught the man 
 under his guard, yet, though I had passing 
 skill at the fence, the other found me un- 
 guarded, and as I dodged, seeing at the 
 moment my blade reach into his side, his 
 v.-as brought against my temple. Trees 
 and glade, and the Bavarian clutching at
 
 12 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 air, — all reeled the instant that my head 
 seemed bursting, and then that appeared 
 the space of a second, which was really of 
 several hours. I was aware of faint chirp- 
 ings, a burst of bird voices, the crackling of 
 twigs, the rustling of branches, and a warm 
 wind upon my face. These occupied a long 
 space of time before my eyes opened upon a 
 sky of fathomless view, framed by branches. 
 The sun, I thought, must be setting ; for 
 this rim of branches was fringed with yellow, 
 while a little space below the line of sharp 
 separation between light and shadow the 
 shade lay heavier. A bird swung for an 
 instant against the blue background in the 
 frame; perceptibly the yellow light lifted, 
 the line of shadow pursuing. I raised my- 
 self on an elbow, but the muscles so remon- 
 strated that I quickly fell again, to stare 
 around toward the blue with its circlet. 
 After a space, measured by the fading light, 
 I again raised myself on an elbow, while 
 the head began to throb ; and I remem-
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. I3 
 
 bered the stout blow which, in my passion, 
 I had not warded. Then I caught a gleam of 
 red vivid against the grass, which the long 
 rainfall had rendered of a clear green. I 
 must have stared at this bit of color for some 
 moments before, with sickening sense, I saw 
 that it was the red breeches of my assailant. 
 For I never had killed a man then, and 
 the motionless figure was fearful. Once I 
 had broken the Comte Vender's arm at Vin- 
 cennes ; but, though I might have killed him, 
 — and I had reason for my quarrel, — the Ba- 
 varian's red breeches seemed to declare me 
 a Cain. Again, the arm yielded, till, with 
 an acute nausea, I sank to the ground. You 
 may declare that this was mawkish of a man 
 who had had experience of arms at Saint-Cyr, 
 and afterward in active service, yet I think a 
 sense of the fearfulness of bloodshed need 
 not detract from bravery. Perhaps, too, I 
 had a presentiment. Bah ! I have indeed 
 two natures : one after Voltaire ; another af- 
 ter the fashion of a penitent in the Confes-
 
 14 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 sional. In the world I can be a scoffer, or 
 merely gay ; or, out of it, — the polite world, 
 — I may appreciate the fickleness and fro- 
 wardness of our human temper, and I can 
 feel as violent for a moral as ever Bossuet. 
 As I lay upon the ground, recovering from 
 the shock of the blow, the fact of my assail- 
 ant lying there, dead from my thrust, threw 
 me into the mood of consulting a priest, and 
 I longed, with the loathing of the fact, of a 
 weak nature, to have some one near to whom 
 I might unburden myself. I thought of the 
 mother (whom I shall never see !) who 
 brought me up in some sense as an Eng- 
 lish boy, and it was English which I knew 
 as a child. I saw her lying still and immov- 
 able to all of my cries in the implacable death 
 which knew nothing of me. Suddenly I rec- 
 ollected the despatches ; yet feeling for the 
 belt I found the papers safe. No one had 
 followed my assailant. The hunters had 
 abandoned their prey even when in the 
 net. In delight at this discovery I leaped
 
 VICOMTE DE SAIXT-DERXIER. 1 5 
 
 to my feet. But, standing, I found myself 
 tottering, and I caught at one of the trees. 
 Something bright lay in the grass. Leaning 
 forward I saw that it was a little flask of 
 spirits. Unscrewing the stopper I took a 
 long pull, and as the raw brandy went down' 
 the throat, like a draught of fire, I felt sud- 
 denly strength. I noted a monogram on 
 the flask — " F. Von H." And who was " F. 
 Von H."? Plainly the officer whose red 
 breeches had caught the eye when I wak- 
 ened. The glade between the trees now was 
 falling into deeper shadovr, and I almost 
 thought that the man's legs gave a convidsive 
 twitch. If I were mistaken, I at any rate 
 knew the need of getting away from the 
 place. Walking to a spot which seemed to 
 lift above the trees, I found that indeed I 
 must have had a shaking, and that I was 
 lame in every muscle. But the despatches 
 made me forgetful of self, as I neared the 
 slope and saw beyond, the towers and battle- 
 ments which Dumont and I had noted from
 
 l6 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 the road. Lights flickered from the place, 
 which, whether in the hands of the German 
 or the French, at least was the nearest goal, 
 where perhaps I might dare to ask assistance. 
 Stars pierced the darkening blue, and, shiv- 
 ering in the mists from the damp earth, I 
 found that the projecting towers were farther 
 than I had supposed. Every step showed 
 that I had lain in the open, unconscious, 
 longer than I had thought. Deer lifted their 
 heads ; a flock of sheep, scattered among the 
 brown trunks, blinked out of the gathering 
 shadows. For now it appeared that the dark- 
 ness could be seen to rise from the ground. 
 Picking a way carefully through the bushes, 
 and seeing no one, I almost stepped from the 
 edge of a precipice into a dark and broad 
 pool, from which there began, ominously, 
 the quick croaking of frogs. Will you be- 
 lieve me, an owl ** too-v/hitted," while bats 
 skimmed the surface of the water, as if every- 
 thing had been arranged by a narrator of the 
 actions of the black art. Nor am I sure that
 
 VICOMTE DE SAIXT-DERNIER. 1 7 
 
 there may not be a world of trath behind 
 the curtain of legendary symbolism. Dark 
 spots, like this point of the moat of the Cha- 
 teau Grand Mai, with twitting owls and flut- 
 tering bats, may be merely physical pictures of 
 metaphysical states and moral chaoses. That 
 night, when I leaned in the gloaming at the 
 edge of the moat of Grand Mai, I indeed was 
 not prone to gloomy abstraction. As to every 
 one seriousness is sooner or later, so it has 
 appeared to me, and I, whose most grave 
 thought was the fortune of the favorite at 
 Longchamps, or of the Derby, or Ascot, or 
 the frov.-n or smile of INIademoiselle of the 
 Varietes, or perhaps of the Odeon, now 
 have had occasion to think seriously. A wry 
 face often expresses simply a temper incom- 
 patible with circumstance — a distorted and 
 wry soul. But the Sieur de Montaigne has 
 reasoned on this topic more nimbly than I ; 
 so I will tell simply how I leaned on the edge 
 of the moat of Grand Mai, noting the thick 
 I fringe of bushes of the opposite slope, beyond
 
 1 8 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 which was the gray stone massive side of the 
 Chateau. I did not suspect that I was near 
 the place of which I had heard much the year 
 before. The investigation of the silent stag- 
 nant pool, with its flitting bats and crying 
 owls, could give no assurance of whether I 
 might dare to ask for hospitality. Yet it 
 was certainly in the interest of my mission 
 that I should have food and a horse, or at 
 least some knowledge of the way. I turned 
 from the bushes that fringed the precipice at 
 my feet, which I skirted in the opposite 
 direction. The sky now reddened into an 
 afterglow seeming to retard the swiftness 
 of rising darkness. Stepping cautiously, I 
 heard the quick clear stroke of a chapel bell, 
 borne on the damp air as from a distance. 
 Some one called in French a vigorous 
 "Hello!" A few rods farther, pushing 
 aside the bushes, I brought up on a gravel 
 path, bordering a road, which led beyond to 
 a bridge to the front of the Chateau ; and 
 there, before the flickering lights of the win-
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. Ig 
 
 do%v beyond, was a Prussian sentr}'. Hardly 
 had my eyes fallen on him before a troop 
 galloped past my hiding-place, and, as 1 
 drew farther into my recess, I saw that their 
 leader was in the uniform of a general, and 
 that, erect in the saddle, he showed youthful- 
 ness belying a gray beard. Now I stepped 
 back cautiously, for the thought of the mis- 
 sion and its importance to the Prince put me 
 on the alert to escape the trap, and I forgot 
 the muscles strained in the fall and stiffened 
 by exposure to the damp during my uncon- 
 sciousness. As I moved backward a heavy 
 hand fell on the shoulder. *' Mein Herr, 
 you are a prisoner." 
 
 The after-glow lit the grizzled face of this 
 Prussian sergeant, who appeared to have 
 sprung from the earth. I started to push 
 off the man, when two levelled bayonets 
 emphasized his claim to surrender. 
 
 ** Plainly, I am your prisoner," I said in 
 German, which I speak fairly well. 
 
 " Herr Saint-Dernier," he said, turning
 
 20 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 my name clumsily on his German tongue, 
 *' we have been looking for you. I suspect 
 that on your capture depend the plans of 
 General, the Graf Von Beyreuth." 
 
 For myself, I was in any rather than a 
 laughing mood, but I suddenly recollected 
 that weeping did not profit a relief even to 
 the feeling, while I still held the precious 
 despatches. Since resistance was useless, I 
 followed my captor through a paved court, 
 an outer hall, and into a smaller room, 
 where, on the fire-dogs, I noticed a strangely 
 familiar crest — that of a stag bearing an un- 
 sheathed blade in its jaws. The flaring log 
 displayed the same design on the wainscoting. 
 AVhile a tall grenadier stood by the door, I 
 began to question how I had fallen into the 
 trap plainly laid for me. (Yet the despatches 
 were untouched.) But by some means the 
 Bavarians, as well as these Prussians, had 
 had the intention of arresting the Prince's 
 messenger ; and here I was at their mercy. 
 Then the face (the evil lines on the face
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 21 
 
 rather) of the orderly, Dumont, seemed to 
 solve the problem. I longed to have the fel- 
 low within reach to deal out to him his desert. 
 Lame and mud-covered as I was, the thought 
 of the man threw me into violent passion. 
 
 A spurred boot clanked in the corridor. 
 The sentry threw back the door, admitting 
 first a tall servant, an Alsacian, I thought, 
 carrying a candle ; and behind strode another 
 whose upright and military bearing I had ad- 
 mired when he had passed, at the head of 
 the little troop of infantry, my hiding-place 
 in the thicket. The servant put the candle- 
 stick upon a small table of carved oak. The 
 General, Von Beyreuth — for it was he, — 
 bowed in the manner of a soldier who pre- 
 serves the evidences of gentle breeding, who 
 can be as urbane as on occasion he may be 
 severe. 
 
 " Monsieur Saint-Dernier, I regret this 
 detention, and that you are my prisoner," he 
 began, with an accent which would have 
 pleased a Parisian of the Boulevards.
 
 22 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** Not SO sincerely as I, Monsieur," said I, 
 thinking of the precious belt with which I 
 believed I was shortly to be asked to part. 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, it was the necessity of 
 war that we should get the despatches — which 
 we have read and acted upon." 
 
 Now it was my time to display consterna- 
 tion and dismay ; for certainly the belt was 
 tight about the waist. Could they have read 
 these while I was in my faint ? And have 
 returned them ? This idea suggested itself ; 
 again, Dumont's treachery ; and again, that 
 the orderly had made some clever substitu- 
 tion ; for I thought of Gervaise Dumont's 
 face, with its untranslatable expression, as it 
 had been some hours before while the horses 
 lagged on. Or was the Prussian playing 
 spider to my fly ? 
 
 "It is the part of conqueror, perhaps, to 
 indulge in sarcasm," I managed to mutter 
 between my teeth. 
 
 " Monsieur," he went on, with grave dis- 
 regard of my temper, " Mademoiselle Lou-
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 23 
 
 vois is my niece. Accident took me to 
 this, her house, as it brought about your 
 capture." 
 
 ^' Oh, Monsieur," I managed to say; for 
 Mademoiselle Louvois recalled certain win- 
 ter days on the Boulevard Saint-Germain, 
 my aunt, and one of the most charming 
 young girls. And I had stumbled upon this 
 friendly Chateau. I stared at the Graf Von 
 Beyreuth. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur," he went on gravely. 
 "You are a prisoner of war — and of your 
 friends. For I knew your father — a brave 
 man. Will you believe, then, that I regret 
 that the chance of war has necessitated me 
 depriving you of your papers ? " 
 
 If I were bewdldered — for the belt cer- 
 tainly, as I say, was about my waist — I trust 
 I did not show this in unmannerly fashion ; 
 though after a time I put the question : " You 
 doubtless caught my orderly ? " 
 
 "A detachment of the Bavarians did that. 
 He is an intcllic^ent fellow."
 
 24 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Dumont !" I gasped under my breath; 
 for now I believed only in the fellow's du- 
 plicity. There were many spies ; and this 
 man whom I had trusted ! Yet, how could 
 he have known ? It might have been some 
 person about the Prince. 
 
 Will you believe that first of all I thought 
 of my mission ; and then of Claire Louvois, 
 and the strange circumstance of being now in 
 her house, her uncle's prisoner? If this is 
 believed, much of what followed will be un- 
 derstood ; for it will be seen how dear I held 
 my mission. 
 
 But when I once thought of the young 
 lady I forgot all else. And I thanked the 
 Graf for his hospitality to a prisoner ; for I 
 was to dine v.-ith him and his niece. A care- 
 ful watch was kept, however, while I made 
 myself as presentable as possible for a weary 
 and travel-stained and lame man. I could 
 not forget for a moment that my detention 
 was regarded as important ; for the Graf had 
 said himself that a spoken word was as dan-
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 2$ 
 
 gerous as a written one. Yet shortly I was 
 in the elysium that very young men conjure 
 up in relation to some particular fair one. 
 The meeting was strange ; but strange in- 
 deed was the whole adventure. Nor for a 
 few days did I think so much of the message 
 of the Prince as I did of Mademoiselle Lou- 
 vois' eyes. I have noticed how the eyes 
 which have a particular personal interest 
 in a narrative may bore an outsider — and 
 while these eyes never have bored me, I 
 ought not to give them too prominent a place 
 in the story of an adventure quite distinct. I 
 saw, when the Graf's valet had made me 
 somewhat more presentable, a young lady 
 whom I had met last in Paris, and before, of 
 a March day, near Havre. 
 
 For a few days I forgot my mission, and I 
 am bound to say that the grizzled German 
 warrior did not recall it ; but proved him- 
 self, under trying circumstance, as great an 
 adept in courtesy as in military manoeuvre ; 
 the history cf the events of those years de-
 
 26 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 clare liis cleverness ; and in the days at 
 Grand Mai I came to understand certain 
 traits of the Fatherland upon which a mili- 
 tary culture has been put. 
 
 The second night, I think, when the 
 sentinel was conducting me to my room, — 
 the same man whose regular tread I heard 
 at night before the door, — the second even- 
 ing, I believe, — the sentinel and I met, 
 nearly opposite my door, a little fair woman, 
 hardly more than a girl, who seemed to trip 
 and fall almost uhder my feet ; I leaned 
 toward her, as did the sergeant. But this 
 blonde person was on her feet before either 
 of us could reach her. As t>he turned, her 
 sharp gray eyes showing her chagrin, two 
 words reached me, "Be watchful." Not- 
 ing her retreating figure, the tall sergeant 
 tittered, " A pretty little woman, Mein Herr, 
 — the housekeeper's daughter," and he threw 
 open the door of my chamber. This was a 
 small room panelled with mahogany. At 
 cue comer stood an old-time bedstead, and
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 27 
 
 between the windows was a carved oak dres- 
 sing-case. Two chairs completed the furni- 
 ture. The windows were barred by heavy 
 iron shutters, fastened by padlocks, a pre- 
 caution quite unnecessar}', I thought, when I 
 looked down a sheer descent of full fifty feet 
 into a moat, where the moon, now high above 
 the wooded horizon, lay reflected ; and fax 
 beyond was the dimmed outline of the 
 mountains. 
 
 Too tired as I was to think of even the 
 most important matters, yet the events of 
 the day passed before in all their confusion. 
 I still had the despatches, unless my treacher- 
 ous orderly, or some spy about the Prince, 
 had delivered their import to the enemy. I 
 knew how important was the delivery of 
 these despatches. So I sat there in the dark- 
 ness thinking of the strangeness of the ad- 
 venture, Claire Louvois' charming face, and 
 the meaning of the little maid's " Be watch- 
 ful." Yet to a man as weary as I that 
 night, love and adventure may not suffice to
 
 28 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 keep away sleep, till I thought I was on the 
 parade, when my eyes opened on a sunny 
 glare. Again came the sound, brisk and 
 martial, of clarionet and fife. Rushing to 
 the window, I noted first of all the wooded 
 hills displayed in clear green under the sun- 
 shine, which just had fallen over the heights, 
 and was reaching into the hollows. A dis- 
 solving mist masked the lowlands and the 
 line of the river. The highway, losing itself 
 beyond the slope, was crowded with march- 
 ing men. I indeed must have stood an hour 
 noting the soldiers who so soon were to hold 
 all France ; and the shouts of the men to 
 the horses tugging at the heavy artillery 
 were borne to me through the shutters. WTiat 
 did this movement signify ? And how was 
 the hindrance of my mission connected with 
 it? When my freedom might profit the 
 Prince, here was I caged ; and the informa- 
 tion, obtained I knew not how, probably 
 had been acted upon. 
 
 But later when I was again with Claire
 
 TICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 29 
 
 Louvois, the apprehension and despair of 
 the prisoner fled. In my life I never had an 
 experience quite as delightful as the one of 
 that day when I was a prisoner in the forest 
 fastness of Alsace. I afterwards thought, 
 when I was in a religious mood, that this 
 was given to encourage me at one time, 
 to madden me at another. For the scene 
 as I left her in the evening of the event- 
 tul day remained with me ahvays : the 
 young lady with her spirited face, the chan- 
 ging deep eyes, that now were light, again 
 dark, shewing their owner's charming, wo- 
 manly spirit ; Madame Fromant, her com- 
 panion, regarding the cards, — for it was after 
 bezique ; Monsieur Abbe Fontaine's non- 
 committal polite face, understanding us thor- 
 oughly, though of him I could not have told 
 you a word ; the tall Alsacian going mechani- 
 cally about our wants ; the black Italian 
 hound, with its long muzzle in Mademoiselle's 
 hand ; the carving of the wainscoting, lit by 
 the flickering candles ; the portraits on the
 
 30 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 walls, which in such a light appear to take 
 on life and expression. Passing from this 
 scene to a room forlornly chill and dark, for 
 an instant I indeed was heartsick. 
 
 Leaning against the iron shutters, and 
 looking into the black depth where the moat 
 lay, the wind wailing and whining about the 
 ancient stronghold, I had the illusion that I 
 heard voices, faint, gasping, and frightful, 
 the sinful past of the place. The events of 
 the few days ; my man, Gervaise Dumont ; 
 my detention ; Claire Louvois ; the girl 
 stumbling before me in the corridor ; — these 
 were all before me. Glancing about the 
 dismal place, I blew out the candle. Then 
 again I heard the man outside the door ; for, 
 as I say, I never was permitted to forget that 
 I was guarded closely. I raised myself on 
 elbow, trying to penetrate the darkness, 
 feeling to know if the belt of despatches 
 certainly were safe, and thinking of the 
 salon which I had left. 
 
 As after deep sleep, I seemed to have been
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 3! 
 
 unconscious only a moment when I was 
 shaken roughly, and strong arms held me 
 down, like one in nightmare. A face showed 
 vaguely in the grayish light reaching through 
 the iron shutters, and more familiarly as with 
 greater distinctness it bent farther toward 
 me ; and, still struggling with sleep and 
 striving to separate the real from the unreal, 
 I heard a voice : 
 
 " Hist, Monsieuj, not a word." 
 
 ** Gen'aise ! " 
 
 "It is I, Monsieur, — I, Dumont. Mon 
 Dieu; do not or}' out. The walls have ears" ; 
 while the pattering rain, taking up the whis- 
 per, absorbed it ; till awake, I struggled 
 with the arms, forcing them back, and 
 clutching the man by the shoulder, whose 
 dark face and gleaming eyes shone in the 
 gray light as once in the Palais Royale. 
 
 " You have not betrayed me then ? " 
 
 " Not I ; some spy about the Prince. 
 Hush, I beg of you." I twitched his shoulder, 
 muttering, " I will save the executioner."
 
 32 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** Indeed, I did not, Monsieur. Hush, I 
 beg of you. Believe that I persuaded them 
 that a decoy despatch was the true one. Do 
 not ask more. We have only a second — a 
 second." 
 
 ** You are intelligent "; for I was thinking 
 of the Graf's words. 
 
 " Do not even breathe." Again there was 
 the wind (which had been rising) between the 
 rain-drops. 
 
 " Come, Monsieur ! Carefully ! Here are 
 your clothes ! " 
 
 I was sitting up, by this time in possession 
 of the senses. In the dim morning, breaking 
 vaguely through the blackness of the storm, 
 I saw Gervaise Dumont, the orderly. His 
 dark, earnest, and evil countenance showed 
 the eagerness of his purpose. A draught of 
 cold air swept my face, and I saw, on seek- 
 ing the cause, that a piece of the wainscoting 
 was swung open at the place between the 
 windows where the dressing-case had stood. 
 I understood that Dumont in some way —
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 33 
 
 wi*h his peculiar cleverness — had happened 
 on this old passage, perhaps now forgotten, 
 dating from the time when secret exits were 
 important to the economy of Grand Mai. 
 Should I trust him again ? And was he 
 leading me to the fulfilment of my mission ? 
 Or to some cunning device to put me out of 
 the way of being troublous to him as a spy ? 
 
 ' ' It may be now that I do not care to avail 
 myself of the chance. Besides, Gervaise, it 
 is too late." 
 
 Standing there, like a Mephistopheles, he 
 hissed back, vv^hile the wind whistled out- 
 side : " Monsieur, believe me. My life is 
 not worth that," and he snapped a thumb 
 against a forefinger. ** Not worth that if 
 they catch me here. Have I ever proven 
 unfaithful ? Have I not been of service in 
 many ways, as indeed I ought ? Come. 
 Quick, or " 
 
 And then it was, while this unexpected 
 claimant of my duty talked, that I thought of 
 the yesterday ; and that he divined my thought.
 
 34 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Oh, I know, Monsieur ; a woman before 
 the message of the Prince." And I caught 
 him, as he stood there, shaking him, while 
 he, out of fear, uttered not a word. 
 
 " Fellow ; rascal ! " And then, gasping, he 
 said, his words like blows physically forcible : 
 
 " I am striving with you against yourself. 
 Shall it be said that a woman's eyes made 
 Monsieur Saint-Dernier weak, forgetful of 
 duty ? " 
 
 And then my hands fell nervelessly from 
 their grasp. 
 
 "You are not on parole ; and what indeed 
 would a parole be to the importance of such 
 a matter?" 
 
 " Does it indeed matter now to him ? — to 
 the Prince ? " 
 
 He moved forward with the motion of a 
 cat, his hissing voice close to my ear. 
 
 ** That indeed it does. Have I not told 
 you that the false despatch was on the wrong 
 track? Monsieur, our escape is of import- 
 ance. I beg of you not to delay."
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DEP.NIER. 35 
 
 Now indeed I understood. Here perhaps 
 was the chance to carry out my mission. I 
 could only conjecture upon the means adopt- 
 ed by Dumont, who seemed in that darkish 
 dawn like some evil spirit. If this were only 
 a chance, must I not embrace it ? Yes, T 
 must make the most of my chances ; and 
 duty transcends love. If the clever rascal 
 were leading me into some trap ? 
 
 " I will kill you." 
 
 "Ah, you may, Monsieur," he answered, 
 moving now indeed like a cat toward the 
 opening in the wainscoting. A black spot 
 against this dark aperture, he motioned to 
 me to follow. The whole matter had not 
 taken many minutes, and now, with duty 
 beckoning, — a devil's shadow, I fancied, 
 calling from happiness, — I was in my 
 clothes. 
 
 " Hist, Monsieur." Again the step sounded 
 in the corridor. Listening, and as quietly as 
 I could, I followed Gervaise to the opening. 
 A chair moved in the corridor^ or so I thought.
 
 36 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 *' Your guard is wakening ! No time. 
 Monsieur ! " 
 
 With the word he pulled me through the 
 opening, and down a step ; and then, reach- 
 ing forward, he caught at something which 
 drew the wainscoting together with a sharp 
 metallic click. A match was struck, and, 
 lighting the candle, Gervaise showed me 
 that we were at the summit of narrow stone 
 steps ; and at the instant the fellow's intelli- 
 gent, wicked face was declared in that dark 
 passage. 
 
 " How did you contrive this?" 
 
 He laughed softly. " Through the vanity 
 of a young woman ^ iSIadame Bourgot's, the 
 housekeeper's daughter. I can twist a wo- 
 man. But come ! " 
 
 Yet, turning as we descended, he whis- 
 pered again : " Indeed all is contrived, — 
 even horses are waiting. Do I not know how 
 to deal with women ? " 
 
 The steps, worn, and of irregular length, 
 showing their great antiquity, went down
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 37 
 
 much below the level of the moat; and, I 
 thought probably through the thick body of 
 the ancient wall. Nearing the bottom, water 
 ran in places across the stone, moss and 
 slime hung against the sides, and I shivered 
 with the damp. At the lowest step a wall 
 stopped the way. Gervaise turned abruptly 
 to the right, leaning forward through the 
 low opening at the farther passage. 
 
 " It will be higher directly," he said, while, 
 as he turned, the candle lit his face gro- 
 tesquely. My foot struck a soft object ; and, 
 as its eyes glared, a little snake wriggled 
 away. Directly the passage was higher. 
 Water dripped and oozed through the irregu- 
 lar ceiling. With an irresistible tendency to 
 chattering teeth, I drew the coat closer. 
 
 " We are under the moat," said Gervaise 
 again ; and I easily believed him. Wherever 
 he was leading, I was following duty. 
 
 "A step. Monsieur!" Now Gervaise's 
 figure was above and beyond. Suddenly it 
 paused, and bent forward with ear against
 
 33 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 the wall. A low, quick knock reached 
 me. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Louise ! " Again, " Made- 
 moiselle Louise ! " A woman's voice, the 
 inflection that once had warned me with 
 " Be v/atchful," answered : 
 
 *' It is safe, Monsieur Gervaise." 
 
 Instantly a door seemed to open ; the 
 little fair woman who had stumbled before 
 me in the corridor at Grand Mai stood in the 
 centre of what appeared to be a cellar piled 
 with rubbish. A wooden ladder led to a 
 trap, which was opened a crack. 
 
 ' ' The horses are ready ; — you know the 
 place?" 
 
 An uncertain voice reached us from 
 above. 
 
 " There are people all about in the park. 
 Tell them to be careful, Louise ! " 
 
 For answer Gervaise Dumont ascended 
 the ladder. 
 
 "Wait, Monsieur," he whispered, blowing 
 out the candle. As the trap closed behind.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 39 
 
 only a thread of white light entered, vaguely 
 showing me Louise Bourgot. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur, it was a fearful risk — a 
 fearful risk. How did I dare ? " 
 
 " You tried to let me know ? " 
 
 " I tried to let you know that he would 
 come, — to prepare you. Oh, Monsieur, I love 
 him ; and, when the war shall be over, he will 
 come to marry me. I am risking everything." 
 
 The men's steps sounded overhead. 
 
 " It is old Alphonse, the forester," she 
 said. " You are in his cellar. You see his 
 son, Philippe, is in love with me. Philippe, 
 who is a soldier — Alphonse is too old for 
 that,^-shovv-ed me the passage when we 
 were children. The stupid Prussians did 
 not suspect it once." 
 
 I heard her low sobs. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 ** Monsieur, Alphonse loves his son, as I 
 — as I do your gallant. I went to him and 
 told him, as Gervaise told me, — that I should 
 marry Gervaise Dumont unless be should aid
 
 40 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 me in getting him away. Then old Alphonse 
 was in a rage, 
 
 " * You 're a hussy ! ' said he. 
 
 '* 'And a Frenchwoman ! ' said I. 
 
 ** * Is it for France ? ' said he. 
 
 " 'Alphonse,' said I, ' for Philippe's sake, 
 and for France, we must help Monsieur to 
 escape. If not * 
 
 "'If not?' 
 
 *" I shall marry that ' 
 
 " ' That ugly-faced rascal,' said he, mean- 
 ing Gervaise. ' Yet I care not for that. 
 Mademoiselle. That would be better for 
 Philippe. There are enough girls ' 
 
 " ' So there may be,' said I. 
 
 " 'Ah, you pretty doll, and dollish fool,' 
 said he (I could take so much from a 
 dotard, Monsieur) ; ' I care not for you ; 
 but if I am too old to fight for France, I 
 certainly may do this much.' " 
 
 Her chatter had a strain of hysteria, which, 
 though subdued, occasionally escaped her 
 restraint.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 4I 
 
 "Oh, I cannot let him go — I cannot, 
 Monsieur." 
 
 And, as she muttered, the trap opened. 
 
 " You may come above," said Gervaise's 
 voice. 
 
 We climbed to a small, bare room, like 
 those in peasant cottages of the better class 
 in that province. Glancing through the 
 small-paned windows, I saw in the mist and 
 the scurrying rain the trees bending, and 
 the outline of the northern tower of Grand 
 Mai. I thought that we were in the 
 park, at the side from which I had ap- 
 proached the Chateau. Gervaise was lean- 
 ing out of the window on this side. By 
 the single door of the room was an old 
 man in a frayed shooting-coat. Once he 
 must have been powerful ; and now, bent 
 and shrivelled as he was, his head almost 
 touched the ceiling of the little room. 
 He doffed his hat as I stepped from the 
 ladder. 
 
 *' My lord, every part of the forest seems
 
 42 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 to be filled with soldiers and people. How 
 is it, Monsieur Dumont ? " 
 
 Dumont turned his head, until I saw his 
 face more distinctly than before. Again its 
 keen craftiness startled me. 
 
 " We will wait a few minutes, a " and 
 
 he closed the shutter. Louise Bourgot was 
 facing the others ; and I saw her comely 
 face showing traces of tears in a redness of 
 the eyelids. 
 
 '* You will come back, as you promised?" 
 I heard her say. 
 
 "It may be, Mademoiselle Louise; it 
 may be." He ended with a low whistle. 
 
 She drew toward him, like a hound which 
 fawns under a master's blows. 
 
 " It must be," she said ; " after all I have 
 risked for you. Yes, it must be." 
 
 Gervaisc shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "What must be, must be ! Pestc, Made- 
 moiselle, I must get away, or my head is in 
 a noose ! " 
 
 "Or a musket-ball is in your heart, if I
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 43 
 
 should wish. It might be ; — yes, it might 
 be." 
 
 "■ Mon Dieu ! " said Gervaise, '* of course 
 I will keep my part of the contract. But 
 this bores Monsieur." 
 
 The old man, in the meanwhile, had been 
 watching the two. He smiled grotesquely, 
 and again trembled, for his nervousness and 
 irresolution were displayed in every line of 
 the figure. 
 
 " I — we, Louise there, — are risking a great 
 deal for you and for France." 
 
 " I certainly will remember, my friend." 
 
 " If I only could see Philippe returning 
 from the war — from Berlin perhaps, I should 
 not care," he muttered, rubbing his wrinkled, 
 bony hands together. 
 
 * ' You do not all together risk as much as 
 I, who have been posing as a spy ; cold 
 lead for me," said Gervaise, striding like 
 some wild creature. Then, with the tender- 
 ness of her sex toward a loved one, the little, 
 fair woman, hardly more than a girl, moaned :
 
 44 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 "You must escape — you must. Oh, for- 
 give me, Monsieur Gervaise ! " 
 
 Not regarding her, his hand suddenly was 
 on my shoulder. 
 
 ** Monsieur, the risk must be taken ; we 
 will go out of the window." 
 
 Louise Bourgot threw her arms about Ger- 
 vaise's neck with a wild cry: "They are 
 here, oh, Monsieur Gervaise ! " 
 
 I saw him fling her away from him, as sud- 
 denly a head projected through the open 
 trap ; then another ; and the door was thrown 
 back, and against the green was the red of 
 the Prussian infantry uniform, while at the 
 instant two heads reached up from the open 
 trap. I saw the Alsacian girl shrinking in 
 the corner ; the forester's startled face ; Ger- 
 vaise edging towards the farther window ; 
 the gray-bearded and weather-colored face of 
 the Graf ; the bare walls of the room. The 
 scene in that second was fixed as on a camera 
 through the drop of an instantaneous shutter. 
 Then a new figure was projected od. the
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 45 
 
 plate, and in my ears was the wind and the 
 galloping of a horse, and at the Graf's 
 shoulder was Claire Louvois, a flushed face 
 displaying her excitement. 
 
 "The message of the Prince," muttered 
 Dumont. 
 
 And, speaking, his arm raised under my 
 shoulder ; a flash ; the Graf tottering over ; a 
 report ; and Mademoiselle's scream as she 
 leaned toward her uncle. 
 
 " The message. Monsieur," and he pulled 
 me with him. I was like a man in a fright- 
 ful trance ; the scene with the attitudes of 
 figures changed about shone on my mind, 
 like one of those tableaux with which the 
 acts may end in melodramas. It was a mat- 
 ter of a second from the first interruption to 
 the catastrophe. In that second I saw the 
 two pictures : the startled attitudes and expres- 
 sions of all in the room ; the soldiers spring- 
 ing forward, some toward us, others toward 
 the Graf ; but chiefly it was Claire's agon- 
 ized face. Even in the trance I was horror-
 
 46 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 Struck. How that horror oppressed me in 
 the long hours and days that were to follow ! 
 Yet for all the horror, taking advantage of 
 the confusion, with Gervaise's muttered 
 "The Prince" in my ears, I leaped with 
 him through the window, the memory of 
 that scene following. As we went wildly 
 over the uneven ground, shots and wild hello 
 pursuing, Gervaise leading, the storm beat- 
 ing about, I felt the sickness of heart and 
 will which almost is the worst. During the 
 whole morning I had been like some au- 
 tomaton, nor yet had I wakened. 
 
 The events following the leap from the 
 window of the forester's cottage are a 
 confused blur : the violent wind and 
 scurrying rain ; rapid voices and shots ; of 
 a sudden detour to the right and then to 
 the left at the heels of my quondam orderly ; 
 of Claire Louvois' face ; and then we had 
 plunged into a thicket, beyond which the 
 pursuit bore. As it lessened in the distance, 
 beating the bushes, but, by some miracle.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 47 
 
 overlooking our hiding-place, Gervaise per- 
 formed a manoeuvre worthy a general. 
 
 "Is it still, Monsieur?" he whispered, as 
 if not trusting his own senses. 
 
 "We must risk it," he whispered again. 
 "We never can get away without hiding. It 
 is a great risk, but a greater one to keep on." 
 
 As I followed cautiously toward the for- 
 ester's house, through the bushes and under- 
 growth, now into a grassy glade between the 
 high trees, where at any instant we might be 
 observed, he turned to me again over his 
 shoulder. " It will be a miracle if we are 
 not caught." 
 
 "A devil's miracle," cried I. 
 
 " Not so loud. Hist!" For he had been 
 turning back to the house on the theory that 
 the place would be abandoned and that this 
 would be the last spot where we should be 
 sought ; and indeed the sequel sustained the 
 daring theory. The bushes ran almost up to 
 a little back window. Trying this, Gervaise 
 turned about.
 
 48 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** Alon Dieii, it is closed," he said. " Who 
 may be in there?" 
 
 As he spoke came the sound of wheels. 
 It was I, who leaping back from the window 
 threw myself on my face in the long weeds, 
 and he followed this time. 
 
 " Lie close," I said ; and our position 
 having now changed quite, he nodded. From 
 my place in the tall grass I could see a turn 
 in the road, about which an ambulance 
 drew ; as it passed, the fearful possibility 
 sickened me ; and there followed a rage at 
 Gerv'aise, whose shoulder I twisted. 
 
 " Look you, fool, you devil's fool ! " 
 
 " Monsieur, you will crush the flesh," he 
 whispered with shrill distinctness. But I 
 only held him tighter, and I felt my own 
 panting gasps. 
 
 " You understand the meaning of that, 
 you understand." My hands held his throat, 
 and we rolled over together, now he under, 
 again I above. In that silent WTCStle, 
 though he was a wiry man, I soon had
 
 YICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 49 
 
 the better. His face was black from my 
 grasp. 
 
 "I will kill you, kill you, you wretch! " 
 
 The evil lines of his face were marked dis- 
 tinctly, and I saw into a craven soul, though 
 he never was physically a coward. I do not 
 know what had possessed me at first, but 
 suddenly I thought that I was soiling myself 
 with this method of punishment. For an 
 instant he gasped ; .the natural color returned 
 to his black face. 
 
 " You will kill me?" 
 
 " I might have committed a crime because 
 of yours," I said, disregarding him. " But 
 now you shall live. If we escape you shall 
 have the price, the glory, of it. But I shall 
 wash my hands of you. 
 
 Suddenly, his black evil eyes gleaming, his 
 face wet with rain and stained with mud, he 
 raised himself. 
 
 "What a risk?" 
 
 And I answered, leaping up boldly, "At 
 least now that you have done so much for it, 
 4
 
 50 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 I will do the utmost to carry out the plan. 
 I have lost all through you ; but now certain- 
 ly the message shall be delivered if our 
 efforts count." 
 
 Accepting his manoeuvre, and noting now, 
 with senses alert, that our strange wrestle 
 while fleeing for our lives had not been 
 observed — to all appearances at least, — I 
 stole toward the open window through which 
 we had leaped a half hour since. The storm 
 still was at its height ; not a living creature 
 seemed to be stiring, and looking through 
 the opened window there appeared to be 
 nobody within. Leaping in, Gervaise after, 
 I pulled the shutters together. 
 
 ** The cellar is the place to wait until the 
 darkness," I said, moving toward the trap. 
 
 "What was that?" questioned Gervaise 
 on tiptoe. The noise of cantering horses 
 answered the question. 
 
 " If " he began, trembling, for his 
 
 hand was pushed against my shoulder. But 
 the horses bore away.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 5 1 
 
 *' del" he cried again, as he stumbled 
 over something near the opened trap. I, 
 too, was startled, for a mass of something — 
 a woman — sprang up almost from under 
 Gervaise's feet. 
 
 " You are not ghosts ? You are alive ? " 
 
 I heard her kisses on Gervaise's face. 
 
 " Heaven has kept you here for us, Made- 
 moiselle Louise," he said. 
 
 " Oh, Monsieur Gervaise, Monsieur Ger- 
 vaise ! But quick, into the cellar ! " 
 
 \Ve three crept down the ladder into the 
 cellar below. 
 
 " I am glad that you are here," began 
 Louise, with trembling voice, "if no one 
 has seen you ! Oh, why did I ever undertake 
 it?" 
 
 " Would that you never had," I muttered. 
 
 " But I did it for him, Monsieur, for your 
 Gervaise Dumont. Yet, — I ought to have 
 died. I longed to be dead when I saw it 
 happen, when Monsieur the General fell, 
 and you escaped, and they all rushed about,
 
 52 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 and our dear lady lay there still, only for her 
 weeping. It was awful ! " she moaned. 
 
 "But the General?" I asked, while 
 my question echoed hollowly throughout my 
 whole being. 
 
 " God forgive us! " she answered, dropping 
 her eyes. 
 
 " God indeed pity me," I muttered, for it 
 was of Claire Louvois I thought. 
 
 * ' When they took him away, they carried 
 old Alphonse a prisoner. They had no time 
 to think of me then ; and I was left here 
 alone, thinking that you might be dead, that 
 all of the sorrow had beerl made for nothing. 
 Yet you are here." 
 
 " Don't be foolish, girl," I heard Gervaise 
 say. 
 
 " Foolish, foolish? After all I have done? 
 Oh, what is left now ? I will pray to the 
 Virgin." 
 
 "Yes, I meant foolish, exactly. Oh, do 
 not take on," continued Gervaise Dumont. 
 " You surely do not wish us to be caught.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERXIER. 53 
 
 Get us a horse and a guide to start after 
 nightfall — the same plan, only postponed. 
 Yet I do not know what we may do for a 
 guide ? " 
 
 " And you are going ? What may I have 
 left? What, — but you must be saved," she 
 ended with sudden, almost savage, energy. 
 " My little brother Claude (I can do any- 
 thing M'ith him, Monsieur Gervaise) can steal 
 the horses. I will see him ; only do you stay 
 still." 
 
 I lost her voice here, for she whispered 
 low to Dumont. Then, mounting the lad- 
 der, she closed the trap softly. We heard 
 her moving above, and again the trap 
 opened. 
 
 " Monsieur Gervaise ? " 
 
 "Yes, little one." 
 
 " Here is bread and wine from Alphonse's 
 larder. You must not starve." 
 
 Gervaise took the things from her at the 
 top of the ladder. As he turned to descend, 
 she leaned toward him.
 
 54 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 *' Monsieur Gervaise ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I have risked much for you." 
 
 "Thank you, little one." 
 
 "Only that, — only thanks! I will " 
 
 But she paused. " Yet I will save your life 
 if you will swear that, the war over, you will 
 come again to Grand Mai." 
 
 " Of course, I swear it." 
 
 " Yet what does that mean ?" I saw her 
 sad face ; very different from what it had 
 been when she had stumbled before me in 
 the corridor of the Chateau ; it was as if the 
 wrinkles of the future were hastening to 
 force a claim to a fresh complexion. 
 
 " I do not believe your oaths ; yet I will 
 save you," she said. 
 
 The trap closed again, and we heard her 
 no more. 
 
 " Oaths are easy, Monsieur," said Gervaise, 
 munching the bread. 
 
 " It only becomes a devil to speak so of a 
 woman who risks everything."
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 55 
 
 "It may become Monsieur to belittle a 
 faithful service." 
 
 " Do not talk to me. You are unendura- 
 ble enough. Remember that I have not 
 killed you." 
 
 " jSIonsieur, I remember a certain morning 
 in the Palais Royale when you saved me from 
 despair, — and, — and, oh, — I am still your 
 servant." 
 
 ' * ^\'^lat despair can possess a soul like 
 yours ? " 
 
 "Ah, you do not know human nature," 
 he cried bitterly. "You do not know how 
 one is forced from good to evil, till the evil 
 rules. I am talking like a priest." 
 
 "Gervaise," I said in answer, " I do not 
 know of the struggles which have made you 
 what you are ; but I know now that you are 
 a wicked, despicable scoundrel." 
 
 But as he did not answer, silence again 
 possessed the place. At one side I noted the 
 dark opening of the passage through which 
 we had come.
 
 56 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " How did it happen that you had the de- 
 coy despatch?" I questioned suddenly. 
 
 " Because I anticipated that we might be 
 captured ; because " 
 
 "And the paper and the seal of the 
 Prince ? " 
 
 " There are spies, Monsieur, that you do 
 not dream of." 
 
 ' ' And you are one ? " 
 
 "I was one," he assented gravely. "I 
 do not hesitate to tell, because this service 
 may pardon me. " 
 
 "Rascal, I have again a mind to shoot 
 you. Why did you let me be betrayed ? " 
 
 " That I could not avoid." After a pause 
 he began again : " Monsieur, I like you as 
 I like no man. Will you believe that I have 
 served you like a dog? May that pardon 
 me? My profession, before I knew you 
 even, was that of the secret service. Mon- 
 sieur, may I be pardoned ? " 
 
 I was walking up and down the uneven 
 floor.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 57 
 
 "It shall be judged whether your service 
 
 merits that. But " I saw suddenly 
 
 how important it was to keep his good- 
 nature for the delivery of the message of the 
 Prince. " Gervaise," I ended, "you may 
 have risked much for me and my message. 
 Your zeal has cost me my happiness proba- 
 bly — has indeed made me accessory to a 
 crime. Yet I cannot forget how much you 
 have risked." 
 
 " Monsieur," he said, seeing an advan- 
 tage, "I never have known you to violate 
 your word." 
 
 As we waited in that dismal cellar, he 
 seemed to me like some baleful spirit of 
 which I longed to be rid, yet could not. 
 For he was necessary to the fulfilment of the 
 duty for which I had given so much. 
 I think we said no more ; but his presence, 
 hateful, dreadful, was louder than words. 
 Once we heard some one enter the house, 
 walk about ; and then again only the patter- 
 ing rain, which, too, stopped. So hour after
 
 58 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 hour passed. If the damp of the place 
 chilled, the man haunted me like a personi- 
 fication of remorse. At last the trap opened, 
 and Louise Bourgot, of whose reappearance 
 I had despaired, called : 
 
 " Come up, if you are there." 
 
 The room upon which the trap opened 
 now was quite as dark as the cellar below. 
 I saw through the window a star, and the 
 wind had gone with the storm. 
 
 " It has been hard to do it. But Claude 
 now is waiting with the horses. It may be, 
 indeed, that I am watched." She moved 
 before, out of the cottage into the stillness of 
 the park. First we struck the muddy ruts 
 of the road, and thence a narrow lane. 
 
 "Claude?" 
 
 "Yes, Louise." 
 
 We saw some one standing by two horses. 
 
 " My Lord," he said, coming toward me, 
 a little jaunty, servitor Style of boy, '* my 
 Lord, I am willing to guide you ; but in 
 return I must ask a reward of you."
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 59 
 
 "Money, or anything." 
 
 '* I only wish your word," he said,- " that 
 you will take me into your service, — an easy 
 matter certainly. I may not dare to return to 
 Grand Mai again,whatever the result may be." 
 
 "A lad brave enough to guide two fugi- 
 tives over the dangerous roads need not ask 
 a second time," I declared, for I liked some- 
 thing of daring in his tone. 
 
 *' Farewell, farewell," I heard Louise 
 Bourgot's sad voice. 
 
 ** Ah, only an revoir, Mademoiselle," said 
 Ger\'aise. 
 
 "But where is your horse, my boy?" 
 I asked the little fellow. 
 
 He laughed and courtesied. " I shall run 
 easily by your side," he said. 
 
 *' Claude," said the girl, and her voice was 
 stifled with sobs, " you are going too ? " 
 
 " Into the great world, Louise, with My 
 Lord Vicomte, — the great world" ; and I 
 almost felt the warmth of the peasant's 
 enthusiasm.
 
 6o THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** Monsieur Gervaise, I have done a great 
 deal for you — for you. " 
 
 But it was I who took her hand. 
 
 " I, at least, shall not forget your service." 
 
 "Hurry, my Lord, — Monsieur Gervaise! 
 Careful, Claude ! " 
 
 We left her in the narrow lane up which 
 the boy led. 
 
 " This is the most dangerous of the way ; 
 but I know the by-paths." 
 
 "What is the time?" 
 
 "About eleven." 
 
 After plodding up a long hill, he stopped, 
 pointing toward a lighting horizon. 
 
 " The moon, and the Chateau," he said. 
 
 There against the sky were the towers 
 of Grand Mai, which had seen so much 
 happen in the past, and so much, too, in 
 my life. 
 
 "Farewell to Grand Mai," muttered the 
 boy, " and welcome to the world." 
 
 " It is a sad enough place," I muttered. 
 
 " But I want it, sadness and all, " he cried.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERMER. 6 1 
 
 Following those sodden paths, Gervaise 
 said little ; nor indeed did I care to hear 
 from him, and shrank from him, who, evilly, 
 had induced me to follow duty at the cost of 
 self-respect and love. As our horses v.-ent 
 on heavily, I was not sure that it would not 
 have been better to have surrendered, to 
 have shown at least innocence of the intent 
 of the crime. The clouds now hid the 
 moon ; again it was swimming in a bluish 
 abyss, with the blackness all about. Yet 
 I kept repeating to strengthen myself ; — be- 
 cause one has fallen into fault, is this reason 
 for the commission of another? Certainly 
 the message of the Prince should be fulfilled. 
 
 Occasionally a distant light glimmered ; 
 then we might pass a solitary wayfarer ; but 
 for a long time we followed the way in 
 comparative silence. 
 
 The boy's hand pressed my arm, for he 
 had caught the sound of wheels moving 
 heavily ; and a lantern gleamed about a 
 turn. A man went before swinging the
 
 62 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 light ; a boy urged the laboring horses. 
 Without a single curious glance toward us, 
 these were gone. Finally the darkness be- 
 gan to lift, and to be lost in grayness ; the 
 moon was fading ; presently the hills flushed 
 in outline, clearing against the sky. We 
 were by a river, whence a fog was rising. 
 A lark's cry, carried over the slopes, im- 
 pressing me wearily ; time passing, so intense 
 was my preoccupation, with extraordinary 
 swiftness. Presently the day was declared ; 
 the low vineyard-clad hills ; a stirring of 
 women and old men, for others were in the 
 armies ; and over that scene the sunrise lay. 
 The mists appeared to reach upward from 
 the lowlands, as if drawn by the sun, and 
 presently we were in thick, almost impene- 
 trable fog. 
 
 " You are nearly there," said the boy, still 
 plodding on, as if his muscles were of iron. 
 " We have wonderful luck." 
 
 Ger\-aise yawned. " del, it is damp," he 
 muttered.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAIXT-DERNIER. 63 
 
 I, on my part, was wondering what lay 
 behind that thick veil. A sudden challenge 
 rang out. It was in French, and I knew 
 that we were at our mission's end ; and that, 
 whatever may have happened within the last 
 three days, I again was within French lines, 
 — that my message had been fulfilled. 
 
 " Monsieur Saint-Dernier must see the 
 General at this early hour ? " 
 
 *' Yes, it is necessary." 
 
 A few moments later I was in the General's 
 quarters. My man, Dumont, I left outside. 
 
 Carefully I went over with the Prince's 
 plan, detail by detail, as I knew it. Some- 
 thing on the old man's face appalled me. 
 
 "Yes, it is a stroke of genius ! But it is 
 too late — too late. Ah, Monsieur, you are 
 ill — you are ashen pale. It has been a hard 
 ride ; you deserve the greatest praise." 
 
 *' Not I," I said, pushing back the door. 
 "It is this fellow who should gain the 
 reward." And I pointed to my orderly, 
 Gervaise Dumont.
 
 64 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 And then the room swam ; for the second 
 time in that week I yielded to a faintness, 
 and, the message fulfilled, lost consciousness. 
 
 The fever, they said, must have been in 
 the system for months ; but I knew that the 
 single day had been the provoking cause, or 
 Herr Von Hohenstein's blow in the forest 
 near Grand I\Ial may have had physical 
 after-effect. 
 
 So my imprisonment at Grand Mai ended. 
 Excepting for the once, when 1 followed 
 Gervaise Dumont, I do not know that I have 
 been lacking in the will to act for myself, 
 and now I think, the body being close with 
 the brain (and I have believed it sometimes 
 to be the all), that the fever had the mind 
 subjugating and controlling. We never are 
 twice alike, they tell us ; no two moods are 
 perfect counterparts ; surely I never was nor 
 have been as on the day of the escape from 
 Grand Mai. This was not peculiar, because
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 65 
 
 of my wish to carry out the message of the 
 Prince ; yet now I know, while I never 
 would have yielded any reasonable chance 
 of carrying my mission to fulfilment, I again 
 would not risk happiness. When I lay toss- 
 ing with the fever, when the message had 
 been delivered, and after I had found that 
 this privation, like so much else, was vain, I 
 saw cleariy only the one course : to return to 
 Grand Mai and to see Mademoiselle Lou- 
 vois — of little avail though this might be, — 
 that she might know that at least I was not 
 unfeeling ; then indeed I should have done 
 all one may do after a mistaken act. This 
 purpose had been before me during the ride 
 from Grand Mai ; but that night, with de- 
 lirious images trooping through the disorder 
 of the brain, it took the shape of resolve, 
 which I put into form. In the delirium, I 
 think this purpose alone was like sanity. 
 I fancied Dumont, with a human mask 
 which, with a leer, he doffed, showing the 
 countenance of Mephistopheles, a tempter 
 5
 
 66 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 with whom we go arm and arm, not once 
 suspecting our comrade to be Sin till some 
 crime, when the evil of the face penetrates 
 the mask ; and again, this was Mademoiselle 
 Louvois, sweet, reproachful, on an inacces- 
 sible peak, toward which I toiled, slipping, 
 with every step lost the length of the one 
 taken ; or it might be the Graf, turning an 
 imploring face to mine, while I relentlessly 
 thrust a knife into his bosom, or shot him 
 down. At last I fell into feverish, disturbed 
 slumber ; or I was awake, with the resolution 
 to throw aside this disorder of brain, this 
 feverishness of the blood, and to act ; or it 
 might be — the conceit carried on — I was in 
 camp, or the skirmish, with active flitting 
 figures surrounding, — the scent of powder, 
 the roar of cannon. 
 
 Finally, the phantasmagoria and the fever 
 passed ; after many days, during which were 
 skirmishes and battles, Gravelotte and Sedan, 
 and the inevitableness of the Prussian triumph. 
 Long before I was myself again, the Prince,
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 67 
 
 unaided, had been forced to surrender ; and 
 the cleverness and knowledge which, acted 
 upon, might have proven not without im- 
 portant, valuable result, unsustained, could 
 act no longer for France. I myself, in that 
 improvised hospital at the inn of the village, 
 where I was, passed from the possession of 
 French to that of the Prussians, and again to 
 the French. Those with me when I had 
 succumbed to the illness (which had been 
 advancing upon me probably for weeks) 
 were scattered ; my little escort, the sturdy 
 lad from Grand Mai, had been killed in the 
 skirmishes, they told me ; nor did I see 
 or find trace of the man, Gervaise Dumont. 
 Once again, by the strangest coincidence, 
 was I to have recalled the face which haunted 
 me as if it were that of some demon — a dis- 
 turbed image on a fevered brain. When I 
 was strong enough, the Sister of the Red 
 Cross, whose kindly, patient face had be- 
 come as familiar as the figures of the paper 
 on the walls, the square panes of the win-
 
 68 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 dows, brought pen and ink, and then, with 
 clear brain, I wrote to the woman I loved, 
 and whom I had lost. 
 
 Long after, with the army of the Loire, 
 Felix Latoon (Captain Latoon, of the Hus- 
 sars) was riding with me, as I remember, when 
 the answer was brought. I trembled in my 
 stirrups when I saw the hand, and, while the 
 bullets whizzed about, I broke the seal. 
 Very formally the little note ran : 
 
 **I do not know the justification of your 
 shot at my uncle. But I am happy to tell 
 you that it was not a serious wound ; and 
 yesterday I had a letter from him at Ver- 
 sailles, where he has been with the Emperor 
 Wilhelm. I do not " 
 
 I caught my breath in thick gasps. 
 
 "What is the matter, man?" cried the 
 gay little Felix Latoon. 
 
 " The best news in the world — the very 
 best indeed." The whizzing bullets sud- 
 denly stopped, for the skirmish was bearing 
 away.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERXIER. 6q 
 
 ** To read a letter at such a time, I should 
 say so," said the Comte de Latoon. "A 
 woman probably, a " 
 
 But he was galloping. A half hour later 
 I was studying the letter where I had 
 stopped. 
 
 "I do not doubt," it ran further, "all 
 that you say — to doubt would indeed be 
 cruel. But I think I understand you ; the 
 things we said at Grand !Mal together were 
 ill-timed, and without consideration. Nor 
 do I think. Monsieur Saint-Dernier, that 
 any occasion can call for further letters or 
 communication." 
 
 So it ended, leaving me, since the Graf 
 von Beyreuth was not dead, with a lighter 
 heart ; and I thought that Mademoiselle 
 Louvois* condemnation was only just. 
 
 Then we were about the Loire, and I was 
 proving myself not unworthy altogether of 
 the military reputation which my family had 
 gained. For my cousin, the Bishop of Mo- 
 naco, took occasion to congratulate me on
 
 •JO THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 being more Frenchman than Bonapartist. 
 Others have censured me for this very thing ; 
 they are those who would have a man a par- 
 tisan, however he may hold his opinion. I 
 think differently — that in politics, as in ordi- 
 nary matters, one should follow his own 
 judgment, rather than an inefficient or opin- 
 ionated or knavish leader to error. As you 
 know, I have no endurance of this republic 
 and its gods ; but I do not lose my patriotism 
 nor loyalty to France on that account. And 
 the Prince Imperial has perished in Zulu- 
 land ! Antoine, my cousin, the Bishop of 
 Monaco, knows the world, and he was right 
 — that a course of action, dictated by the 
 best and most honest judgment one may 
 possess, is a finer light than any other. 
 
 Shortly, that night, Felix Latoon and I 
 were again together. 
 
 '* You were right," I said, as he rolled 
 a cigarette, " the letter was from a woman." 
 
 "Ah, I knew it," he began. 
 
 " Stop," I said, " that is over."
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 71 
 
 And we heard the chatter of some sutlers 
 not far away. The message of the Prince 
 had been of no avail, had ruined my happi- 
 ness. No, I was wrong. It was Gervaise 
 Dumont ; and again the fellow's keen, eager 
 face was before me. 
 
 " Moji Dieti^ this tobacco ! " said Captain 
 Latoon, throwing aside an ineffectual ciga- 
 rette. 
 
 So the matter paused ; yet with conse- 
 quences. When the affair of '70 came to be 
 in retrospect, somebody told of the idea of 
 the Prince, and all saw the clear head and 
 fair judgment. Of course, then, was dispute, 
 and particulars. At a dinner in Florence 
 the Prince himself told the story ; and he 
 mentioned the officer of his staff who had 
 volunteered to carry the message of particu- 
 lars. So one day I came to Paris, where 
 now some sort of a government had followed 
 the disorder, to find myself rather of a 
 celebrity, apart from any connection which 
 I had had later with the army of the Loire.
 
 72 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 I hate nothing more than the tongue of gos- 
 sip, — nor indeed does anything more distort 
 the truth than a certain publicity ; yet in 
 this I found, as you shall see, a recompense ; 
 and indeed whatever the Prince, one of the 
 noblest of his time, ever may have done for 
 me, has rebounded in the end to my profit. 
 
 Now, it chanced one afternoon I had 
 stopped at the Cafe Americain, where I saw 
 the same Chantillon who had been my com- 
 rade in many of the escapades of earlier 
 youth ; sitting there we went over with our 
 acquaintances, one by one ; and he it was 
 who told me between puffs of smoke that 
 de Montban was to marr}'. 
 
 Then a dapper fellow questioned ; I, not 
 thinking that this mattered greatly to me, till 
 Chantillon said: 
 
 " To Mademoiselle Louvois." 
 
 And instantly I was strangely agitated. 
 Leaving the place, I walked into the crowd, 
 where, calling a fiacre, I went to the Hotel 
 Saint-Dernier. Yet, argue as I would, this
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 73 
 
 indeed only was a just desert for that which 
 I had done. 
 
 Now, shortly after, I was on the terrace at 
 Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where I was wait- 
 ing for the train ; and beneath was the 
 prospect of village and plain, and, farther, 
 the smoke above Paris. Suddenly I saw a 
 lady walking by the railing, while, a short 
 distance beyond, a groom led two horses. 
 Two years had passed since I had seen her ; 
 but, rising clumsily, I bowed to Mademoi- 
 selle Claire Louvois. There was a faint touch 
 of color on her fair skin as she recognized 
 me. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," I said, bowing as best I 
 could, and thinking in how sad a plight I 
 had left her, — " a poor servant of yours." 
 
 "Is it indeed you, Monsieur Saint-Der- 
 nier ? " said she, half turning away ; and, 
 with the sweet consideration which always 
 had been hers, she extended a hand gravely. 
 
 " I indeed am glad to see you." And 
 then she drew her hand from me, and called
 
 74 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 to the groom. But I quickly had myself 
 under control, and, turning, I asked whether 
 I might not have a chance of seeing her again. 
 
 " I value your opinion, even if you scorn 
 me. If I lose it, as I have lost its grace, 
 indeed nothing is left." 
 
 Again she turned, her frank eyes scruti- 
 nizing. 
 
 ** It is I who have wronged you. It is I, 
 — who must ask forgiveness, Monsieur Saint- 
 Dernier. I have heard your distinction as it 
 was put in the journals ; and I understood 
 what was written there. I understand now 
 that, — that time at Grand-Mai ! " 
 
 And I, noting how beautiful she was, only 
 could say, bowing again : 
 
 " Ah, I thank you ! " 
 
 Now the color was gone from her face ; 
 but she extended her hand gravely again. 
 
 "Good-bye, IMonsieur Saint-Dernier." 
 
 I attempted to say something further, but 
 she was gone, a lithe figure against the sky. 
 Nor did I try to follow.
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 75 
 
 How long I sat there, I know not ; nor do 
 I remember how I came to the Hotel Saint- 
 Dernier on the Avenue de I'Alma. Sud- 
 denly, with the longing to see her again, I 
 called to me Pierre, who once was coach- 
 man, but who now was my factotum. 
 
 " Do you know the Hotel Louvois on the 
 Boulevard Saint-Germain ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do, Monsieur." 
 
 ** Inquire if there may be a Mademoiselle 
 Louvois there ? " 
 
 Shortly he came and told me that she 
 would be there on the morrow with Madame 
 de Bernard, her aunt. For, while chance 
 had done its part toward bringing about the 
 meeting, now the part of action was with 
 me. Waiting I saw all the details of Ma- 
 dame de Bernard's salon on the Boulevard 
 Saint-Germain. The distant corners were in 
 the shadow, out of which Mademoiselle 
 Louvois came, as if this had been the salon 
 at Grand-Zvlal. 
 
 Now that which was said and done then,
 
 76 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 I cannot tell you at all. I only remember that 
 she saicV that she had thought I cared more 
 for my message than for her. Of this, as you 
 may believe, I soon dissuaded her. 
 
 Partly I owed the great good-fortune to 
 the dinner at Florence, when the Prince told 
 how an officer of his staff acted as best he 
 could to deliver the message. Madame de 
 Bernard understood us ; but of the Graf I 
 despaired ; and to this day, though I, at 
 least recently, never have done anything 
 savoring of dishonor, I believe that he re- 
 gards me with suspicion ; or he may condone 
 the fault by stating that I am a Parisian. 
 But the episode seems to prove to me at 
 least that the end one wishes for devoutly, — 
 if he brings all of his faculties to bear on the 
 vnsh, — he may attain at last. At least this 
 is the version that Antoine, my cousin the 
 Bishop, puts upon the matter, 
 
 ** There be good and evil forces at work, — 
 and the Devil is mighty," he said, when I 
 told him of Gervaise Dumont : and he
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 77 
 
 crossed himself as one who would exorcise 
 a demon. 
 
 Very curiously this was recalled to me ; 
 and, lately, I have begun to believe my 
 cousin. While religion is a matter of feel- 
 ing more than of reason, I believe in a 
 higher reason than that which may be for- 
 mulated in strict demonstration ; nor did 
 Claire Louvois and I arrive at our under- 
 standing because we reasoned about it. 
 
 Shall I say that I felt as if the good princi- 
 ple had triumphed ; and Gervaise Dumont 
 leading on to the fulfilment of the message 
 of the Prince, by whatever means, seemed to 
 signify the blackness of despair ; for the ad- 
 venture with Dumont had darkened my life. 
 Nor was it without a shudder that I heard 
 Pierre Renne's curious story long after. 
 
 Now, Pierre Renne is a Parisian of his 
 peculiar class ; a lover of pleasure, the 
 boulevards, the Cafe Chantant, despising 
 the country, and adoring la belle Paris. 
 He has been for me always a source of sur-
 
 78 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 prise, as he rolls his eyes over an unexpected 
 piece of news. One of his peculiarities is 
 that of letting his tongue run apace, and 
 oftener faster than his thoughts. My house- 
 hold always are laughing at him, and yet I 
 like the fellow. The day in question, I 
 noticed his uncommon pallor, and the un- 
 certainty declared by his eyes. 
 
 "Well, what is it? the grooms? news 
 from the country ? the dogs ? " 
 
 " Neither one nor the other, Monsieur. I 
 have seen a ghost." 
 
 " A ghost, man? We all see ghosts sooner 
 or later — our past, our follies." 
 
 ** Spare the j'ezi (T esprit. Monsieur. I have 
 
 seen " and his voice sank to a whisper, 
 
 **Gervaise Dumont." 
 
 I believe I turned on him. "Gervaise 
 Dumont ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have seen him, — at his end, his 
 horrible end. Do you hear. Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Go on. I am listening." 
 
 ** I had been, Monsieur, to see my brother
 
 VICOMTE DE SAINT-DERNIER. 70 
 
 in the Quartier Latin, and. as I came along 
 the Cite, I thought suddenly to look in at the 
 Morgue. (I have stopped there often, Mon- 
 sieur, noting the poor devils, who, indeed, 
 are probably now devils of the bottomless 
 pit.) So it was not strange that I should 
 push my way through the crowd — that is al- 
 ways there, Monsieur, — and there — I swear 
 it — I saw Gervaise Dumont's dead face, 
 smaller, and discolored. Monsieur, it made 
 me feel faint, like a child at sight of 
 blood. For if it were not he, it was his 
 double." 
 
 "When I chided him, he only repeated him- 
 self, pale and chattering, as if it had been 
 winter instead of summer, till I ordered him 
 avv'ay, tr}ang to order away with him the 
 picture conjured by a drunken fancy, or by 
 his experience — I cannot tell. 
 
 Fifteen years may make their differences, 
 for no longer to the man of affairs may the
 
 80 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 future be promiseful of castles in Spain, and 
 the muscles have stiffened. Now, when the 
 day may be over, and the creature comforts 
 tend to content, I am apt to tell my story, 
 possibly in the manner of approaching gar- 
 rulity.
 
 II. A SIEUR DE BERTRAND 
 
 8l
 
 II. 
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND. 
 
 " A RE you he — Michel Bertrand?" 
 
 i\ If at first I did not answer, this 
 was because all that which I had thought to 
 do was before, demanding action, till con- 
 straint slipped away like a coat which has 
 fitted clumsily. Again he asked, more 
 faintly, his uncertain eyes scrutinizing and 
 shrinking from the gathering fierceness of my 
 glance. 
 
 "Are you he in truth — Michel Bertrand ?" 
 His voice faintly declaring his knowledge of 
 the answer without help from any word of 
 mine. Yet I answered in tones escaping my 
 intention of gentleness. 
 
 83
 
 84 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ' ' Once indeed I was he, Michel Bertrand, 
 but now " 
 
 For as I hesitated the whole past paraded ; 
 first calling for revenge as I had suffered 
 bitterly, and as the affront v/hich he had put 
 upon me had been grievous. With this 
 mingled the consideration which had grown 
 upon me, inasmuch as now my nature had 
 changed, since my friend had shown the guise 
 of enemy. 
 
 For there had been the sorry struggle of 
 the Good and the Bad — betwixt the part be- 
 longing to God, and the other swayed by 
 Satan — of the dreary hours teaching the 
 Grace of the Good. Then, in the stillness of 
 the night in the forest and the noisiness of 
 my soul, the Evil sometimes had the better, 
 till I curst God, and the Creation, and my 
 birth. Yet, when the branches, bending in 
 the little wind, alone answered, as if Heaven 
 disdained my curses, I seemed to see my 
 wretchedness like some outside observer ; 
 and I beheld a man, left without saving 
 
 I
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND, 85 
 
 grace, in the lone comradeship of his own 
 fiendish thought. Such in truth is the sul- 
 phurous flames of the Book ; and the tor- 
 turing fiends are thoughts, wrought out 
 without hindrance, to their own desolating 
 End. Thus, since I was not in that drear 
 Eternit)', was I suffered to see the End which 
 I was working for myself, the saving Grace 
 opening the Future as it has to the saints 
 heretofore ; and when Chance (by which 
 often only the Will of God is signified) had 
 delivered into my hand, as wickedly I had 
 prayed it might, my enemy, the black pur- 
 pose forsook me ; and I fell onto my knees, 
 cr)''ing, struggling ; whence I rose, and, lean- 
 ing toward him, T said softly, as the trial had 
 taken from me my voice : 
 
 "Yes, 't is I5 Michel Bertrand ; but fear 
 not, O Jean de Prer, for the Grace of Jesu 
 has chastened my spirit." 
 
 Yet, as he gazed with question, again the 
 Earth of me rebelled against the domination 
 of the Spirit, and all that had gone before to
 
 86 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 my ill showed forebodingly. My lips framed 
 the effort of the Spiritual, and, lo, Peace 
 descended. 
 
 " Yea, I am he ; and I have forgiven, as 
 may I be forgiven." 
 
 Thus was the marvel wrought, that I no 
 longer sought his injury, and I gained the 
 greatest victory of this life, even that over 
 self ; not all at once, as I have said, but by 
 degrees, in the blessed Solitude, which may 
 soothe and righten the Spirit. (Yet, as verily, 
 there be natures whom the lack of man's 
 comradeship may distort ; the physician must 
 adapt his methods to his patient.) Thus, the 
 wish to crush him who had deprived me of 
 Hope was granted in a manner of which I 
 had not dreamt. 
 
 Before he had been my enemy, he was my 
 good friend, — a thing rendering his perfidy 
 the more malicious, I had deemed, when the 
 sore hurted keenly, — beyond any ground for 
 pardon. For much I had done for him, my
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND. 87 
 
 friend. Strong and fine was he, deft at 
 many things, either after the hounds, or in 
 the battle, or turning the nimble phrase of 
 wit ; a man to win a woman or to deserve a 
 friend. Yet, while to him had been granted 
 a clear fair face and agile limbs, and to me 
 only insignificance, I was to the world 
 mightier than he — the heir de Bertrand, and 
 the most powerful Seigneur in Touraine, 
 Undersized and mean, no man fancied me a 
 Seigneur till he had been told, when, as our 
 nature is, he might be all courtesies. This I 
 knew ; yet I deemed that' one at least saw 
 that I could be gentle and faithful ; he was the 
 right arm, strong where I was weak, a man 
 to strive and serve for my friendship, not for 
 gold. Do I not remember, even now in the 
 wigwam of the Huron, how our comradeship 
 ran? 
 
 It chanced first that my father and I, in 
 his train, were returning from Tours, when 
 the storm forced us to seek lodging at a place
 
 88 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 where we had seen the red roofs reaching 
 upward through the leafy green of waving 
 trees. For this my father knew as the house 
 of a certain follower of his in the Italian 
 wars, the Touranian captain, de Prer. While 
 host and guest discussed the wine, I was left 
 to wander at my will, lonely and sad as I was 
 then always. To the bookish man, my 
 tutor, alone was I of consideration, for my 
 Latin ; and I was not lacking in theology 
 and metaphysics. But my father hated the 
 weak, misshapen heir of the Bertrands. 
 
 Thus walking and musing in the house of 
 the Touranian, de Prer, I became aware of 
 a tall well-made fellow, who, striding to me, 
 brought his hand down upon my shoulder, 
 so that I reeled against the wainscoting. 
 
 " I will fight you, little weakling," said he. 
 Yet, as I was, I flashed to anger, saying w^th 
 a sword I could mock his fists. When he, 
 jeering, gave me my humor, he cast my foil 
 clattering, till, in anger at my weakness, I 
 burst into tears. But when he pitied, I swore
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND. Sg 
 
 that I wept not at him, rather since I could 
 not tear him into pieces. Then his face 
 softened in admiration of the raging heart, 
 and we made the friendship which lasted till 
 his perfidy. 
 
 For the name's sake my father plotted. 
 Inasmuch as I seemed little likely to make 
 the Bertrands mightier with my arms he de- 
 signed a marriage, choosing the heiress of 
 the great Comte de la Foix. 
 
 On a May day, at the Louvre, I first saw 
 Mademoiselle. For there at Court, my father, 
 taking me to a tall young lady, dark-haired, 
 and of olive skin, — her mother being a Mil- 
 anese — said, " This is he. Mademoiselle." 
 She turned her eyes scornfully, till I blushed 
 in shame ; yet I bent the head not without 
 certain grace. "Your humble servitor, 
 Michel Bertrand." 
 
 But she laughed her mockery: "Ah, 
 Monsieur," she ended more gently, because
 
 90 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 pitying my chagrin, "if our families may 
 have thought to bring us together, should we 
 for their sake be fools ? " 
 
 And she looked over and beyond with a 
 sob in her voice. 
 
 Ah, fool was I indeed to dream that I 
 could gain her heart. If they made our 
 estates one, she and her beauty could not be 
 mine. 
 
 For, though the World bowed the head, it 
 saw only the empty show, — the gleam of 
 light, not once suspecting the jewel's flaw. 
 
 And then was the dreariness. One morn- 
 ing, in wind and rain, I was chasing with 
 horse and armed men him who had been 
 the friend, and the other, who scorned and 
 hated. And my heart was bitter ; and I 
 swore to slay them both after having given 
 them to the torture. 
 
 But God cries halt to the wills of men ;
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND. 9I 
 
 an'd, pursuing, a frightful disease befell me ; 
 and they escaped. Then was I despondent 
 over Life itself ; and I seenaed to have no 
 Future ; and I noted my nurse, who leaned 
 toward me when I muttered : 
 " Life is folly, — nothing is left." 
 " The service of God, Seigneur de Ber- 
 trand." 
 
 " How matters that to me ?" 
 " To you as to many a world-weary soul." 
 " But where may I find that service ? " 
 "Does not the Society of Jesus offer to 
 the weary Duty .and forgetful Labor ? " 
 
 And the words were soothing. I thought 
 more that I had failed in aU than of Re- 
 venge ; and the gloomy World seemed 
 Despair. Thus in garb and name the last 
 Bertrand became Priest ; yet not in Soul. 
 
 For when I strove to put Holiness in the 
 Thought, Revenge crowded mightily. I 
 wrestled with wickedness ; yet was I weak ; 
 — till I longed for service in a far land, to
 
 92 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 silence there my murmuring heart. Then a 
 duty was granted ; and I came to New 
 France, and among the Iroquois. 
 
 In the stilly forest they laid before me the 
 dying Captain ; and, looking at him, I 
 deemed I knew him, — at first with fierce 
 delight. For, lo, this was Jean de Prer ; 
 and my struggle went on within me, till 
 Heaven descended ; and I said, this time 
 firmly : 
 
 " My prayer is granted. I have seen you. 
 But now I only would forgive, as may I be 
 forgiven." 
 
 And he, turning, uneasily for the musket 
 v/ound, and for the more fearful one of his 
 spirit, cried : 
 
 "Truly are you revenged. For great 
 Heart, I love you — yea have loved you 
 always, even in my perfidy, — since you made 
 conquest of me with your bravery at my 
 churlishness." 
 
 But I bent my eyes upon the crucifix, and,
 
 A SIEUR DE BERTRAND. 93 
 
 methought, the Divine Figure there moved 
 the lips. I saw, without once glancing 
 toward hina, a dark warrior peering at us 
 twain ; and the Iroquois, dropping the can- 
 vas door, stole away. The Angelus rose, in 
 that wilderness, from savage voices, as if it 
 were distant Touraine. 
 
 *' And she, — she? " I questioned. 
 
 " She is in the care of God, — whither I go. 
 But you have forgiven ? " 
 
 " I indeed have forgiven." 
 
 For, marvellously, their human natures 
 had taken up my wrong, and punished them 
 without my agency. For thus is the way of 
 Heaven, as was granted me to know even in 
 the far wilderness of New France. 
 
 Thence, when he was dead, a soldier of 
 New France, I went farther into the wilder- 
 ness among the barbarians, through the 
 inland seas ; and there has been given 
 me this work of Grace that the Soul 
 might not destroy itself of its own dark
 
 94 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 memories. Nor longer may the Devil tempt. 
 Yet do I not know, that in the moments of 
 Pride the Bulwarks should be most strong. 
 '* Father, forgive us our sins." 
 
 And, lo, the tops of the forest shine with 
 the dawning Sun.
 
 III. THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 
 
 (an example of the manner of 
 chance cited in the memoirs of 
 the fifth lord duesdale.)
 
 ITI. 
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 
 
 (AN EXAMPLE OF THE MANNER OF CHANCE, | 
 
 CITED IN THE MEMOIRS OF THE FIFTH LORD | 
 
 DUKSDALE.) ' 
 
 1WAS conversing not long since with a 
 learned man who has dealt, both in 
 France and Italy, with the intricacies of the 
 mind ; and in the disputation there entered 
 the consideration of Chance, which the an- 
 cients personified as a goddess, Fortuna ; 
 and I said that they did well in this, while 
 my doctor maintained that man's will is 
 mightier than any fortuitous circumstance. 
 But I, on my part, held to my view, and 
 cited many instances of things which, hap- 
 
 7 97
 
 98 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 pening to me without any forethought of 
 mine, had changed my life and influenced 
 my character ; both in England, during the 
 life of the late king, and under the new 
 order, as well as when I was in France, and 
 of certain experiences of mine in the Colo- 
 nies. But, chiefly, I mentioned how the 
 events of certain hours of a single day 
 changed me from youth to man, and decided 
 my life. 
 
 Now, having been led through these con- 
 siderations, of the manner of Chance to this 
 particular circumstance, I have thought to 
 put the account to paper, both as a proof, 
 and as, too, the matter, which took place 
 long ago, is yet without explanation to many 
 who consider it ; so that, aside from an ar- 
 gument in a disputation, a written word from 
 me can be no more than is proper ; while I, 
 who was concerned, can tell perhaps more 
 fittingly than another (at least for my chil- 
 dren's ears) how I gained much, and the 
 strange manner thereof.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 99 
 
 I have heard men drag out the preambles 
 of their subjects so long that you care not for 
 the account before it has once been touched 
 upon. Lest I fall into so grievous an error, 
 I will begin without parleying, or pream- 
 bling further, where the matter began for 
 me, with the hunt of my Lord Falcon, 
 whose hounds were then as celebrated as any 
 in Surrey. Even now, these keep their 
 fame ; for, only the other noon, I saw my 
 little lad, who, too, bears the name Sylves- 
 ter, playing with a pup in the park at Saint 
 Croix ; and when I asked him where he had 
 gotten the brute, he answered that Launt 
 Fairweather had sent it him from Duesdale, 
 and that it was out of my Lord Falcon's 
 kennel. Do you wonder that I should tell 
 this incident ? But God forefend the time 
 when old age shall have taken from me my 
 liking for a dog or a horse ; then surely my 
 senses shall be outworn, and I shall be more 
 dolt than man. The fate that attends the 
 increase of years is a drying up of the blood,
 
 100 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 and, through this, of the spirit ; and a yellow, 
 wrinkled, parchment skin signifies, it is too 
 like, a soul as withered. 
 
 But, if I am now approaching such an end 
 very speedily, it was otherwise on the morn- 
 ing when I rode after my Lord Falcon's 
 hounds. 
 
 This was a morning all clear and fair, 
 when horses tossed the head and crunched 
 the bit, wheeling about as if the air and the 
 anticipation of the canter were like some 
 fine, old, well corked wine. There was a 
 blowing of horns, a huntsman's coat bright 
 against the green, the muttering of hounds. 
 From all the roads centring at Falcon's 
 Wood came the gentry of the county. Yet, 
 if I thought then that there could not have 
 been a more goodly day or a finer company, 
 I know now that the tumultuous blood of 
 youth had much to do with the rosy coloring 
 and the whole jocund event. With me were 
 Bretherton, — whom I saw die before the 
 Spaniards ; — and Symington, who now car-
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. lOI 
 
 ries much flesh and a nose red from smelling 
 the cups. Then there was the host, the 
 great Lord Falcon of strange nature. His- 
 tory has told what my Lord Falcon was like ; 
 but I would wish to describe him as he im- 
 pressed me then : a fat, little, rosy-cheeked 
 man, who sat astride of his horse, till you 
 would have thought he must be bow-legged ; 
 and still you wondered how a man, such as 
 he, could ride so fearlessly. You might be 
 laughing, till suddenly he turned his head, 
 and it seemed as if his piercing, cunning, 
 black eyes burned out of their sockets into 
 your brain. I do not know whether Lord 
 Falcon intended this ; but he seemed to ob- 
 serve and to understand everything, till he, 
 whom he noted, might be in alarm ; then all 
 at once my Lord's eyes would be turned 
 away, and you wondered what troubled you. 
 My Lord Falcon had been in favor both 
 with Royalist and with Roundhead ; and 
 now, through some sly trick, he was well 
 liked of the king ; though he, by covert and
 
 102 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 villainous act, might make himself hated, he 
 always was feared ; so my Father, teaching 
 me the arts of the Court, while swearing my 
 Lord Falcon to be of malicious mind, yet 
 cautioned me that in the world it was needful 
 to be of suave presence, even to those we hate. 
 
 The keepers were crying at the hounds, 
 that, sniffing the fresh air, tugged at their 
 leashes. I stood a little apart from the 
 rest, by my mare Dolly and my man, 
 Launt Fairweather, who was tightening the 
 girth. Then Mistress Burlington, pulling 
 on her glove, cried to me : 
 
 "How comes it, Master Sylvester, that 
 young gentlemen who have no time for cour- 
 tesy toward their neighbors, can be after the 
 fox?" 
 
 "Ah, Madam, one cannot always do the 
 pleasant duties." 
 
 When Mistress Burlington, laughing, won- 
 drously pretty I deemed then (I know now 
 that the judgments of twenty of a pleasant 
 day, are apt to be untrustworthy), called after
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. IO3 
 
 me, that I was learning aptly my Father's 
 grace, and that she was glad I had not be- 
 come too bookish (meaning, I suppose, not 
 too disregardful of gallant things) — while 
 she was speaking thus, I became aware of a 
 lady, who was young, and of neat figure, 
 and of the complexion of one who loves more 
 than routs, or gallants, God's out-of-doors, 
 and a horse, and the chase of the fox. Her 
 black tossed his head viciously, while she 
 talked to a gorgeous gallant, who grimaced, 
 and leaned first on one toe, then upon an- 
 other, as if, like Narcissus in the tale, he 
 thought deeply of his own reflection. Yet, 
 I knew that he could not see himself in this 
 lady's clear gray eyes ; inasmuch she was 
 thinking of the hunt, and of the moment 
 when hounds, and horses, with the riders, 
 should be chasing the fox ; and her counte- 
 nance was a-flushingon this account, not for 
 the phrases or love looks of Sir Narcissus. 
 So intently did I regard her, as she rendered 
 the other women irJerior, that at first I
 
 104 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 noted not the words of my man, Launt Fair- 
 weather, till he, becoming impatient, burst 
 out : 
 
 "The girth is well tightened, and from 
 the manner she sniffs, it may be a high hedge 
 she '11 refuse." 
 
 " Of that am I certain," quoth I, thinking 
 of the lady before whom the gorgeous gallant 
 was tiptoeing. 
 
 "Ah, master, she is pining for the run," 
 said good Launt, thinking I spoke of Dolly, 
 the mare, upon which, with silly tingling, I 
 recollected. 
 
 " Who may that lady be ? " said I. 
 
 " Indeed, I know not that I have seen 
 her before. But the gallant " 
 
 "Yes, the gallant?" 
 
 " To whom she talks, is a Sir Rodney 
 Benham, of Suffolk, I am told." 
 
 Then was the whistling and crying to the 
 dogs ; and all were mounting. Pulling my 
 Dolly about, I was by Mistress Burlington's 
 side.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. IO5 
 
 " Who may that young lady be ?" 
 
 "Ah, Master Syl.," she cried. *' There 
 is a young lady of spirit, who hesitates not at 
 a horse, nor stops at a ditch ; and who cares 
 more for a fox than for a gallant. " 
 
 But as she did not speak the name, I asked 
 it again, while we swung into a canter. 
 
 " Mistress Elizabeth Throckmorton," said 
 she. 
 
 But the hunt was in swing. First a hallo- 
 ing ; and we were on a brisk canter, till I 
 found my Dolly flying over ditch and hedge, 
 and the blood tingling through my veins ; 
 and the joy of it rendered everything else, 
 whether of sorrow or of pleasure, of small 
 account. Presently I saw that I was draw- 
 ing away from the crowd ; some were 
 scattering ; many fell behind ; and I saw 
 Bretherton's bay catching his front feet in 
 the top of a hedge, and sending Bretherton 
 sprawling ; then, instead of him, I beheld 
 only the rim of wooded knolls to the left as 
 I bore ; and the cries of the hunt died away
 
 I06 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 with increasing faintness, till I heard neither 
 man nor hound. But, deeming that I knew 
 the manner of the fox, I guided my Dolly 
 up a gentle slope, at the top of which the 
 mare, being, like her sex, given to unex- 
 pected things, suddenly careened ; and, as it 
 was, though my knees clung tightly to her 
 sides, I lost the stirrups, and like a boy, or 
 a bookish and clumsy fellow, I grasped her 
 mane. Yet, catching my toes, more like a 
 horseman, I found the stirrups, till I brought 
 her down on to her four feet, biting the bit 
 and kicking, as she was. Then I saw that 
 she had turned at the edge of a broad crev- 
 ice, cut by a little stream in a clay embank- 
 ment. Beyond lay a glade, between great 
 oaks, where, in the shade from the sun, 
 brilliant above, the hounds were baying over 
 the dead fox ; while at a little distance, her 
 hand on the bridle of her panting horse, was 
 Mistress Throckmorton ; and I saw how 
 fine was her contour against the setting of 
 the oaks. When I had a voice, I called to 
 her, making a courtesy :
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. IO7 
 
 "Indeed am I conquered by this sight, 
 — Diana, indeed." 
 
 She turned toward me, with shrug of the 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Compliment not me, but my good horse, 
 that knew the way. You might have been 
 before, Sir, if it had not been for the ditch." 
 
 Again I bowed to her, — truly a Diana. 
 
 "Not in the ditch, so much as in your 
 riding, is the cause, as you may see." 
 
 As I spoke I was measuring the ditch, 
 which indeed was broader than any I had 
 tried up to that day ; while I knew not 
 whether the mare could carry so far without 
 wings. Yet she was of good breeding, and 
 her muscles could be stretched to the tension 
 of flying. I drew her back a pace or more, 
 doubting much whether I should not incur a 
 sorry failure in my Diana's eyes. Then, 
 scouting the idea, and declaring, like a fol- 
 lower of Mahomet, *' Let what shall be, be," 
 I dug the spurs into the mare, putting her to 
 the ditch. For a second it seemed as if she 
 might refuse ; but something of my resolu-
 
 I08 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 tion mastered her, till she pushed strongly 
 into the space. For an instant the mare and 
 I hung above the ditch ; — I could see Mis- 
 tress Throckmorton regarding me with flush- 
 ing cheeks ; and then the mare caught at the 
 bank, stumbling, I think, and nearly unseat- 
 ing me ; yet, recovering, she dragged her 
 weary self into the glade ; and straightway I 
 dismounted by the young lady's side. 
 
 " You may perceive it was not the ditch," 
 said I, with bravado. 
 
 " Sir, your leaping was not bad. I wish I 
 owned your mare." 
 
 ** Indeed," said I, bowing again, and 
 thinking how much better a goddess was 
 she than ever Diana of the Grecians, "the 
 mare belongs to her who was at the death." 
 
 At which she laughed in gentle mockery, 
 while the dogs sniffed and bayed with joy, 
 and the horses panted. 
 
 "Sir, I was not asking for your mare; 
 only admiring her." And her eyes were 
 bent on my Dolly, not on me, while I mut-
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. lOQ 
 
 tered something that was phrased clumsily 
 and unbecomingly ; and thus the hunt burst 
 upon us, and in itcame the gorgeous gallant, 
 at whom I wondered, inasmuch as he pre- 
 served his clothes so unmussed from the exer- 
 cise ; and straightway he was tiptoeing as 
 before ; and she no longer noted even my 
 Dolly ; till, like some solitary in an incon- 
 gruous crowd, I was for mounting, and 
 riding away, when Mistress Burlington, dis- 
 cerning me, beckoned ; and when I had ap- 
 proached, said she to the lady who had been 
 at the death of the fox, and whom all were 
 complimenting : 
 
 " This is Master Sylvester, of Duesdale." 
 Then the lady said, acknowledging me 
 even before the gorgeous gallant, ' ' And he 
 too was at the death." 
 
 Yet, when I would answer fittingly, my 
 tongue caught in my throat, and I could say 
 nothing ; till again I was a solitary ; and, 
 mounting my mare, I rode away like some 
 awkward boy ; and I thought of my life, and
 
 no THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 of things I had done, and of my experience 
 with women. For then I was twenty, and 
 had followed my Lord of Duesdale, my 
 Father ; and had acquaintance even with 
 ladies of the court, which rendered the stran- 
 ger my clumsiness on that day before the 
 lady at the death. And having been thus 
 put out of countenance, — I knew not why, — 
 I thought of a lady I had known at Court, 
 and whom like a boy I had deemed I loved. 
 But she, casting languishing glances at me, 
 in the meantime told me I was only a lad, 
 and she flew higher ; on another day that she 
 was sorry for me, but she cared not for mar- 
 riage. Thus I left my Father and went back 
 to the university, with a heart that I fancied 
 to be aching. Now, one day on the high- 
 way near York, where I had been to visit my 
 aunt, I saw this lady borne by in a carriage, 
 behind which were many postilions. Beside 
 her sat a comely fellow. When she bowed 
 sweetly, I doffed my hat with beating heart, 
 till the gentleman with whom I rode said
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. Ill 
 
 that the comely fellow was her husband. In 
 despair I spurred my horse down the high- 
 way, till my man, Launt Fairweather, over- 
 took me, now walking and breathing hard. 
 
 "Why, Master?" questioned he. I turned 
 about in my stirrups as disconsolately as the 
 hero in the tragedy, if he had ridden. 
 
 " I loved that lady, and she told me that 
 she would not marry." 
 
 And good Launt laughed. '* It is easy to 
 see that you are at your books," said he. 
 ' ' Do you not know that a gallant never can 
 make love to a lady of the Court till she be 
 married ? Often I have heard your Father 
 say so much." 
 
 Then I put spurs to my horse. " I am a 
 whimpering youngster," I cried. " But pres- 
 ently I '11 be older ; I '11 be older." Ah, 
 vain youth that I was ! Presently I was in 
 love again ; only, when I found that she 
 would love me, I saw that I liked her for the 
 pursuit of her. When my Father would have 
 me interested in Lady de Long, because she
 
 112 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 was a great heiress, and a beauty, indeed, I 
 liked her ; yet, when I had seen her a dozen 
 times, I saw that she would lead her husband 
 a dance, and that Kate, who was barmaid of 
 the Mitre Inn, would have been as fine a 
 lady, and no coarser, if Fortune had put her 
 among the great. 
 
 Of these matters I reflected at the age of 
 twenty, as I rode away from the hunt, being 
 in discomfiture at my clumsiness before the 
 lady at the death. Then, presently, I was 
 aware of Bretherton, who was limping at his 
 horse's side. 
 
 " I have had a fall," said he, looking about 
 as a man may who finds himself observed 
 when in sorry plight ; and he seemed so 
 much as I felt that I even laughed ; when he 
 was enraged and said he would fight me, I 
 sobered, and said I : 
 
 " I was laughing only because in you I 
 saw my own reflection." 
 
 ** Laugh on, laugh on," said he, bitterly. 
 But directly I knew he would forget his
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. II3 
 
 anger and his plight, and would be capering, 
 even while the fiddlers were a-tuning. But 
 my plight was worse ; and I cared to be 
 alone ; and thus, calling Launt Fainveathcr 
 to me, I told him we should go back to Dues- 
 dale. And he came to me in bad humor, 
 since he deemed that he might lose his ale 
 and his cakes, and a dance with some buxom 
 lass. 
 
 *' Your humor is bad, Launt," said I. 
 
 " Even so, Master," said he. 
 
 "But mine is worse," said I, "and you 
 cannot expect to be pleasanter than your 
 master." 
 
 " Nor do I ; nor do I ; but we lose a 
 jolly time — a jolly time." 
 
 "What difference makes it, — if your lass 
 should dance with a comelier fellow ? " 
 quoth I. 
 
 " That she would n't," answered he, as if 
 I had gone mad. And, again, I laughed, 
 and was glum in turn. And Launt followed 
 like a sad chorus, as he was deprived of his
 
 114 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 pleasure. But me he would have followed, 
 though he might grumble, even to the can- 
 non's mouth, since v/e had been brought up 
 together, and had been play-fellows ; till he 
 v/as older, when he was my body-servant ; 
 nor a more quick and ready-witted knave I 
 know not, as I could prove ; just as I can 
 prove from my own life that Chance often- 
 times is mightier than Will of Man. 
 
 Now, thus far, there has been naught out 
 of the common in this account ; but directly 
 I will show you how Chance pursued me 
 fleeing it ; as the chance of Love or Death, 
 however we may avoid, pursues us all. (I 
 have heard philosophers say that the pursuer 
 is only the Predestination of Heaven.) 
 
 Yet, that day I was not unlike my Father, 
 who fled rather than tried to achieve things 
 at which he was clumsy. Because I was not 
 graceful, as the gorgeous gallant, I left the 
 company at the hunt, and the lady at the 
 death before whom I should have seemed un- 
 manly. But my Father never was in a grace-
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. II5 
 
 less plight ; since there never lived a more 
 adroit and fine gentleman. At fifty his 
 spirit longed for pleasure, and was as unsated 
 as at twenty-five. Chiefly he was afraid of 
 the dire Certainty ; and I have seen him, all 
 a trembling at the grisly End, crossing him- 
 self, and bending before Father de Rand, the 
 Chaplain. Yet he who so feared Death 
 would face it on the field, or in a duel, for a 
 woman's smile. This splendid gentleman 
 was always my ideal, whose reproof I feared, 
 and whose kind word Avas the pleasantest in 
 the world. I tried to walk, to bow, to turn 
 a phrase as he. Only when his wig was off 
 did he appear like a common mortal ; but 
 when his valet had dressed him, and there 
 wer^ no straying gray locks, no god could 
 have been more noble, thought I. 
 
 Now that night at Duesdale when I was 
 down-spirited and gloomy, I took Master 
 Shakespeare's book, and tried to render my- 
 self of a humor as agreeably sad as Prince 
 Hamlet's. Lost in my melancholia, I gave
 
 Il6 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 small attention to Father de Rand, — whom 
 I did not know to be at Duesdale ; till he 
 passed through the library, not giving me 
 word or glance ; as his habit was to come 
 and go without warning. The two principal 
 inhabitants of Duesdale, — since my Father 
 was not often there, — we accepted each 
 other's presence without word of question. 
 He was to me, as I to him, like a fixture in 
 the place, an accustomed chair, a servant's 
 familiar face. Tall, wasted, like a student, 
 and with restless little brown eyes, he yet^ 
 had a manner singularly unformed for a 
 Jesuit ; not a kindly, nor a frank, but a 
 keenly observant face ; a persuasive tongue, 
 and, yet, a manner often repellant. On cer- 
 tain subjects of the Church he could gain an 
 eloquence at once persuasive and command- 
 ing. I have seen him turn from my Father, 
 declaring that he was a sinful man ; and 
 when my Father cried out in despair, or was 
 fierce by turns, he yielded not a point, but 
 maintaining the same repellant mannes.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. II7 
 
 seemed to deny the sinner the entrance to 
 Heaven, till, to remove the denial, my Father 
 was ready to yield, or promise aught. I 
 saw easily that Father de Rand had other 
 duties, more pressing than that of attendance 
 upon the Deusdale parishioners. For this, 
 as I say, his long absences implied ; and 
 when he came and went no more attention 
 was given him than on this evening, when 
 my old hound, Ajax, disdained to raise 
 his lashes at the accustomed step. The 
 crackling of the logs seemed to be an ac- 
 companiment to the playwriter's verse, till 
 I fell to dozing. When languidly I might 
 start up, the opened eyes could but note the 
 portraits of the Duesdales, whose lives had 
 been filled with passion, and cruelty, and 
 trouble, — though now their names only might 
 fill a page of fine historical writing. Among 
 these I fell to studpng the likeness of my 
 grandfather by the great Van Dyck — (who 
 painted men wisely, not so much as they 
 appeared as their characters were ; as it has
 
 Il8 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 seemed to me whenever I have seen in the 
 Louvre that portrait, " Charles I., D'Angle- 
 terre," whose descendant is still my King, 
 though now in England loyalty may be a 
 forgotten accomplishment). 
 
 Thus I sat that particular evening in the 
 library of Duesdale, melancholily perusing 
 Master Shakespeare's melancholy play, when 
 I heard a creaking of the ancient draw- 
 bridge. For, at that time, this was still in 
 use at Duesdale, though it was a poor 
 enough defence, as my grandfather had 
 found when a cannon and Cromwell's troop- 
 ers brought him out of his refuge. 
 
 Listening, I made certain that the bridge 
 was moving ; when I went out into the 
 court, where, in the scuiTying rain, some 
 score of fellows were gathered about a 
 chariot, while a gentleman, or he seemed 
 such, talked with Father de Rand. Since 
 Father de Rand acted in most things for my 
 Father, I first hesitated, shadowed by the 
 door from tlie flickering torchlight. But the
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. II9 
 
 Jesuit, seeing me, turned, saying that he to 
 whom he spoke was Master Richard Burton ; 
 and, then, the other doffed his hat, display- 
 ing the face becoming a handsome figure. 
 Seemingly, an elderly man, he was of win- 
 ning address ; and he said that he had 
 stopped on his way to London, whither he 
 was taking his ward. Now we three had 
 entered the hall, and I saw that Master 
 Richard Burton was an old man, marvel- 
 lously well preserved ; for the candlelight 
 displayed lines of emotion and action, a sus- 
 picion of wrinkles. And there followed a 
 lady, accompanied by an old dame ; and 
 turning about, with my feeling of clumsiness 
 still controlling, as well as in great astonish- 
 ment, I saw that she was the lady whom I 
 had seen at the death. Yet, different was 
 she from what she had appeared before ; for 
 then her face was joyful in the sport ; now 
 it was shadov/ed by trouble. Without not- 
 ing either me or the priest, she regarded 
 Master Burton.
 
 120 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " I do not understand you at all, Master 
 Burton." 
 
 "Indeed, am I mightily sorry," he de- 
 clared. " Appearances are against me ; but 
 you will see later that I care only to get you 
 from my Lord Falcon," 
 
 Hereupon she burst into tears. 
 
 "Oh, that I should be so treated, and 
 tumbled about from guardian to guardian !" 
 
 Then, with the suddenness of woman's 
 changing temper, she was regarding him 
 through dry, flashing eyes. 
 
 " A young girl, Sir, is not a piece of bag- 
 gage, as you may find. Oh, I am poorer in 
 my freedom than the poorest girl in Eng- 
 .^and ! " 
 
 There had followed the lady out of the 
 court an old wrinkled dame ; and to her 
 Master Burton called, picking from a table a 
 candlestick, and directing her to accompany 
 Mistress Throckmorton to her chamber. 
 Whereupon the lady laughed outright. 
 
 ** You have me guarded now, and in your
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 121 
 
 power. But if I can thwart you, — if I can, 
 neither you nor my Lord Falcon shall profit 
 from my estate." 
 
 Here her eyes wandering uncertainly, 
 rested upon me, I thought with appeal ; but 
 I, in the hall, stood there in momentary 
 silence, like a clown ; yet, I had reason ; for 
 I knew not but that Father de Rand, who 
 certainly appeared to have a clear under- 
 standing with Master Burton, might not be 
 acting for my Father in the matter. From 
 outside entered the shouts of Master Bur- 
 ton's men, who already were eating and 
 quafi&ng ale, as if they at least doubted not 
 the freedom of the house. And I was an- 
 gered at not having been consulted at all, 
 while the lady, whom I had met so lately at 
 the death of the fox, seemed wondrous fair. 
 As she turned to follow the old dame, her 
 companion, I stepped fonvard now, more as 
 a man than a simpleton, and, bowing, I 
 asked if she remembered me. And she 
 looked about uncertainly.
 
 122 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** You are indeed he who took the ditch ? 
 — And his friend ? " 
 
 She pointed in question to Master Burton. 
 
 " He and you are my Father's guests for 
 the night, Mistress. But before this I never 
 have seen him." 
 
 When I answered her, trying in eagerness 
 to free myself from the imputation, the calm 
 voice of the Jesuit interrupted. 
 
 ' ' I may explain that Mistress Throck- 
 morton has been adjudged the ward of 
 Master Burton over Lord Falcon by the 
 King. And these guests stop for the night 
 on the road to London." 
 
 She had turned about, facing us, while the 
 dame stood with the candle still raised 
 partly, as if waiting for further word from 
 Master Burton. A smile gathered, of dis- 
 dain of both the Priest and of him he had de- 
 clared her guardian. But, when she spoke, 
 it was not impatiently, so much as sadly. 
 
 •* I, Master Sylvester, of Duesdale, am in 
 dispute betv.-een these two, Master Burton,
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 1 23 
 
 and my Lord Falcon ; because my estate is 
 great, and I have no relative on God's 
 earth. I am impatient at some of the pro- 
 ceedings of these guardians, — this is all." 
 Thereupon, I was constrained to say : 
 " I would offer my poor service, Mistress." 
 But Master Burton interrupted with 
 splendid disdain. 
 
 " Pardon, Master Sylvester of Duesdale, I 
 must ask you, since I have Lord Duesdale's 
 sanction, not to interfere in my affairs with 
 my ward. 
 
 Now I, seeing in her face which seemed to 
 say, "Believe me, before him," answered 
 quite as splendidly, that even if he might be 
 her guardian, not on that account did it be- 
 come me to forget my manners as a gentle- 
 man ; and I was noting her tine face, that 
 now was rosy, and anon paled, as she passed 
 from one to another emotion. Master Burton 
 paced the room up and down, his hands 
 stuck in his doublet, nor was it hard to see 
 that he was beside himself with rage.
 
 124 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ** I even have a score of armed men 
 making your Father's courtesy imperative 
 upon you, Master Sylvester," said he. 
 
 The Priest, too, laid his hand upon my 
 shoulder, as he might reason with a child. 
 "Suffer not your anger to forget your 
 manners ; nor do you make yourself a fool, I 
 pray you." 
 
 Now Master Burton was speaking with 
 calm precision to his ward. 
 
 " I must ask you again to go to your room, 
 Mistress." 
 
 And she looked at him, defiantly, it ap- 
 peared to me, yet saying : 
 
 " I will obey., Sir, since I must." 
 
 I saw her turn about, while the dame, lift- 
 ing a candle with one hand, threw back the 
 door with the other ; and the lady, pausing 
 for a single instant, glanced back to me. 
 
 ** To-day, Sir, I thought you brave as you 
 leapt your mare " ; as if she even implied 
 the opposite ; for an instant I saw her, and 
 the old dame, and Dame Fairweather waiting
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 12$ 
 
 in the hall beyond, and then they had gone 
 behind the closing door. 
 
 "She has much spirit," quoth Master 
 Burton, nodding to the Priest, and again 
 walking to and fro before the fire, which lit 
 his face fitfully. "Such a lass may turn a 
 man's resolution, and I can pardon. Master 
 Sylvester, your forgetfulness of the courtesy 
 fitting your Father's guest." 
 
 Already I had been thinking of the Avords 
 I might have uttered, and that would have 
 sounded becomingly, but such as had not 
 come to my tongue ; as is often our poor 
 human way after graceless action. And 
 when my Father's guest had ended speaking, 
 I was in high rage, which burst out beyond 
 control. 
 
 " If this. Sir, were not my own house, I 
 would force your pardon down your throat." 
 
 While he paused, with jaw dropped in 
 amaze, and the Priest's face, too, on me, I 
 turned my back upon them; and the room, 
 lest I might say that which should be even
 
 126 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 more unbecoming, considering that he was 
 the guest of Duesdale. Now at the door I 
 stumbled over the old hound, Ajax, that, 
 rising, fawned upon me. 
 
 "Ah," I said in chagrin, "you at least 
 see me at my best." And the hound fol- 
 lowed with noiseless sympathy to my room, 
 where I sat in reflection that was bitter and 
 self- reproachful. 
 
 Again I saw her in the glade against the 
 background of the old oaks ; and, now, so 
 strangely in the hall of my own house, dis- 
 puting with him who claimed the right of 
 guardian ; but whose face, though finely 
 formed, and possessing, moreover, the mask 
 of worldly wisdom and craft, yet I trusted 
 not, and I understood that Master Burton 
 and the Church wished for the control of 
 Mistress Throckmorton's estate, and that my 
 Father abetted the plan, which had, too, the 
 King's support. Lord Falcon was a Protes- 
 tant, and unscrupulous enough. But that 
 which troubled most, was that she herself
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 127 
 
 was not pleased with Master Burton's course, 
 nor at his manner of taking her from my 
 Lord Falcon's charge ; and I thought of her 
 last taunting remark, as she had left me. 
 
 She was, then, of more than ordinary 
 attraction ; — since, I have kno\\'n many ac- 
 knowledging her beauty ; and this ma-y ex- 
 plain why I thought so deeply upon the 
 matter, and why I was chagrined over the 
 clumsy manner in which I had left her in 
 the hunt, and over my boyish action in my 
 own house. And at last, in the darkness, 
 with the hound as comrade, I came to the 
 resolution to see her again that night, and to 
 offer her my service for whatever she might 
 wish. I may wonder at this now that I am 
 old ; and at the small cause provoking me to 
 prove to her that I was no idle tool of Master 
 Burton, nor of any man, even of Lord Dues- 
 dale himself ; and that I would do aught she 
 might wish. The resolve, indeed, as you 
 may say, was not of Chance ; yet the circum- 
 stances leading thereto were certainly chance
 
 128 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 ones, as the keenest logician needs must 
 acknowledge. And my chamber became 
 unbearable, and I must act, to find her. 
 
 Now my man Launt Fairweather's room, 
 was not far removed ; and I stole through 
 the sleeping house to the place. The door 
 being unlatched, I heard his hard breathing ; 
 while through the window was the faint 
 pattering of the storm as if it were near 
 clearing. 
 
 " Launt, Launt." 
 
 Instantly he had me by the arm, with a 
 cry that I thought must have shaken the 
 dead. 
 
 ** Be still, — 't is nobody." 
 
 •* Master Sylvester?" 
 
 "Yes, L" 
 
 By this he was in his senses, and I told 
 him to find from his mother. Dame Fair- 
 weather, or by his own observation, where 
 Mistress Throckmorton was, and then to 
 return very quickly to me. Speedily, without 
 any question, he was up and dressed, as he
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I29 
 
 always has been, the most ready knave in 
 the world. He left me waiting in the place ; 
 for I should have liked better to have him 
 caught than that I myself should be in the 
 plight. I thought of many things as I waited, 
 yet, having once decided on an undertaking, 
 it was my manner, when a youth, to carry 
 this through at whatever cost to prudence. 
 
 Presently Launt declared himself, closing 
 the door softly, 
 
 ' * I found fellows drinking ale in the 
 kitchen. So I went round about to the 
 North Tower, and there " 
 
 " And there ?" 
 
 ** And there, through a crack of the door, I 
 saw the lady writing at the table, while the 
 old dame sat near, stitching. Then I turned 
 about, and as I turned, I heard steps. 
 Quickly, as you have seen me Master, I 
 tiptoed the other way, dropping behind a 
 chest ; and, as he passed, I, trembling, saw 
 that it was Father de Rand. He went to 
 the Mistress' door and back."
 
 I30 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 "And you are here? I understand," said 
 I, meaning more that I had my plan defi- 
 nitely thought out than that I comprehended 
 his proceedings afterward. And I told him 
 to go to the stables as stilly as he could, and 
 to saddle my Dolly, and a horse of high 
 spirit, which I doubted not that a lady who 
 had been at the death might manage. Then 
 Launt was to wait for me, till I signalled ; and 
 if any one of Master Burton's men bothered, 
 he was to silence him, if possible by a 
 wrestling trick I had taught him, and which 
 I had learned at Christ Church, from a 
 Spaniard, a servant of Sir Daniel Milo, 
 whose mother came from Andalusia, as you 
 know. By this, catching a man from behind 
 and grasping his Adam's apple, you can 
 silence and gag him with the free hand. Or, 
 if this should be impossible I directed Launt, 
 by such means as he might devise, to gain 
 me a road for escape, such as I should need. 
 
 Yet, I knew not what she might wish ; and 
 the plan must have seemed whimsical in truth
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 1 51 
 
 to another. Launt but nodded, taking my 
 word, which he went to fulfil. When v/e should 
 be in the court, — if she should wish to avail 
 herself of my service, and if I were not crazy, 
 after a notion, — the greatest danger would 
 be the lowering of the creaking draw ; thr.t 
 certainly would waken all. Then, I decided, 
 as I went softly through the halls, like a 
 thief in my own house, we must dash our 
 horses on ; and I swore we should not be 
 taken. 
 
 If she should wish my service ! Like a 
 sorry fool I paused, feeling the folly of the 
 plan. Presently I saw on the floor a bar of 
 light from the crack between the wainscoting 
 and the door. The house was still, save for 
 the wind, and, standing there with my inten- 
 tion I heard the scratching of a pen. Then 
 I knocked lightly ; and, throwing back the 
 door, I stepped in, closing it, and timid over 
 my own daring. First, strange as it may 
 be deemed, I noted the old dame, her sew- 
 ing dropped into her lap, a thimble between
 
 132 THREE WORTHIES, 
 
 her long fingers, and her face in startled 
 fright ; but Mistress Throckmorton had 
 turned half about towards me, her hair stray- 
 ing over her face, which, too, looked aston- 
 ished question. 
 
 " Mistress," I said, gaining my voice, " I 
 knew that you were dissatisfied with being 
 detained here, through that which you said 
 when I stood listening like a clown. Now I 
 would show that I am not what I appeared ; 
 but can act, perhaps rudely, yet as you may 
 wish. If you may be tired with following 
 Master Burton I will take you wherever you 
 may direct." 
 
 And now, my own words lending me cour- 
 age, I bowed before her, as a knight, I 
 thought then, offering service to a lady. 
 For I was but twenty and she was a fair 
 woman. 
 
 Both she and the old dame had not 
 found tongue for astonishment, till I ended 
 the words, which sound in the memory as 
 these I put to paper.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 1 33 
 
 *' Are you mad, Sir? " 
 
 ** Mad and rude," said the old dame. But 
 now indeed I was decided to bear out the 
 adventure becomingly. 
 
 " One I may be," said I, " perhaps even 
 the other. If Mistress Throckmorton wishes 
 to make an outcry, she even may. But as 
 for you, good woman of Master Burton, you 
 must not speak nor utter a sound, or I swear I 
 'vill gag you, and carry Mistress Throckmor- 
 /on away, — if she so may wish ? " 
 
 " If I may wish?" 
 
 Now the old dame slunk away into a cor- 
 ner as if the violence of my entrance left 
 small doubt of my persistence, even in gag- 
 ging her, and she was trembling. With one 
 eye upon this keeper, I yet watched the lady, 
 who had risen facing me ; and her counte- 
 nance drove me almost into despair at my 
 poor, foolish methods. 
 
 "Yes, if you would, Mistress Throckmor- 
 ton, I will help you to escape. I can do 
 nothing more than this. Can you forgive
 
 134 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 me ? My rudeness ? My violence ? This 
 entrance, beyond pardon, it seems ? Yet in 
 my own home Master Burton's score of fel- 
 lows render me so powerless that I had no 
 other method of communicating with you 
 save this rude one. Ah, Mistress, I only 
 would do your bidding, to show that I was 
 not unmoved. If you may wish to be out of 
 this self-styled guardian's power, I will take 
 you from him, or I will di^ for your whim ! " 
 
 "Indeed, Sir," said she, while the old 
 dame chattered from the corner, " I never 
 knew a man such as you. I understand you 
 not. You come — " 
 
 " Or go, if you so bid." 
 " — to take me away." 
 
 ' ' To atone for my powerlessness to play 
 the host] worthily when my Father's house is 
 taken from my control." 
 
 Then suddenly she was laughing, though 
 for an instant I thought the laughter was 
 tears. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Sir ; never was I
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I35 
 
 served like this. Surely you outstrip the 
 gallants all. You are — " 
 
 " Mistress Throckmorton, your servant, if 
 you will accept my service." 
 
 But suddenly out of her alarm and confu- 
 sion appeared a resolution such as was to be 
 expected of one who rode so daringly after 
 the fox. 
 
 "Your idea? Your manner? Yet I like 
 your face." 
 
 " Mistress," reasoned the old dame. But 
 I looked at her with fierceness till she trem- 
 bled and said no more. In a still, soft voice 
 Mistress Throckmorton questioned : 
 
 "You come to take me away? — to free 
 me?" 
 
 And I bowed as gracefully as I could. 
 Now indeed she was as she had looked in 
 the hunt. 
 
 " Sir, your entrance has been strange, and 
 my decision will appear stranger. I even 
 will go." 
 
 Then was I glad that T had dared.
 
 136 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Now at once, where you will." 
 
 ** But what may happen to you." 
 
 " It matters not for me. I am strong for 
 my own matters ; you are a woman, treated 
 as you do not like," 
 
 " To save me ? to free me ! I thank you. 
 Sir." 
 
 Gently she put her hand in mine, and I, 
 like the worshipful youth I was, raised it to 
 the lips. 
 
 As I waited she came back softly. 
 
 •' I wronged you ; I taunted you. Can 
 you forgive ? " 
 
 " Can I thank you enough for this chance 
 of showing that I am not a clown ? " 
 
 " Rather are you a friend to a helpless 
 girl," said she. 
 
 So gathering boldness with success, I told 
 her that it was needful to be away without 
 delay. 
 
 Then, when Mistress Throckmorton was 
 ready, I turned toward the dame, warning 
 her not to make outcry. Yet from the North
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I37 
 
 Tower I knew that her cries were not likely 
 to carry ; and I turned the lock. 
 
 *' Now, stilly, Mistress," I whispered. I 
 only heard her quick breathing, as we turned 
 out of the corridor, down the narrow steps. 
 Suddenly, some one came toward us. Though 
 I could not see in that dark place, I drew 
 her against the wall. And she understood, 
 though I felt her hand tremble against my 
 shoulder. The step was nearer ; yet nearer ; 
 and I thought our breathing was louder than 
 the roll of cannon. Slowly the sound passed 
 like the steps of an old or wear)' man ; and, 
 without suspecting once, he had gone toward 
 the North Tower. 
 
 But we went down the corridor, and to the 
 little door that opens on the court. The 
 bolt seemed to clang out upon the stillness, 
 till we were in the court, with the rain upon 
 our faces. 
 
 "Master Sylvester; Master Sylvester," 
 came Launt's voice; and directly we were by 
 the horses. I bent forward, and lightly, as
 
 138 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 one who knows a horse, and whose muscles 
 are supple, she was in the saddle. 
 
 Launt faded into darkness, while we 
 waited for the creaking of the draw, and the 
 dash beyond into darkness. 
 
 " You are a brave man." 
 
 "There is much yet." Her hand fell upon 
 my shoulder. An unsteady voice, wording 
 some ale-house song, preceded uncertain 
 steps ; and then he had gone beyond, 
 though, if he had had his senses, he must 
 have heard. A cry, as if from the tower we 
 had left, followed, and I thought of the old 
 dame, on whom I had turned lock and key. 
 
 " Will he ever lower it ? " 
 
 "You shall get away; I have sworn it» 
 Mistress Throckmorton." 
 
 " I am not now afraid ; but Oh, Sir, 
 
 now you may wonder at my poor spirit." 
 
 "Oh, Mistress Throckmorton, do you 
 trust to me," 
 
 Then very simply said she, "If I had 
 doubted should I have followed?"
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 139 
 
 " Believe me ; and may I serve you wor- 
 thily ! " 
 
 Suddenly the draw creaked. 
 
 " Now," I whispered, for silence could no 
 longer be our part. Shortly Master Burton 
 would be after ; and we dashed across the 
 ancient moat of Duesdale into the pitchy 
 darkness. For an instant I thought of Launt 
 certain of discovery, perhaps of punishment. 
 But he had good wit ; and with me lay the 
 more important adventure. 
 
 *' At least we have a good start." 
 
 "Was there ever a girl like me? " she cried. 
 
 ** None so brave a rider." 
 
 " None, Sir, so imprudent." 
 
 " Ah, you doubt me?" said I, with foolish 
 repetition. 
 
 "Can you ask, INIaster Duesdale?" an- 
 swered she, as if I had not before been 
 assured. 
 
 But here, partly since I felt foolish, I 
 pulled back my Dolly, calling to my com- 
 rade to rein her horse.
 
 X40 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 *' I know a little lane that may lead tTietn 
 astray." 
 
 Then dismounting, I raised the latch of 
 the gate, which opens on a lane — years since 
 this was closed — that led then for miles 
 through the fields of Duesdale to Far Dues- 
 dale and the Windsor Road. No noise of 
 pursuit came as yet from Duesdale ; only our 
 own horses, and the dripping from the trees ; 
 for the rain was stopping. 
 
 " In there?" she questioned. 
 
 When she v/^as beyond, I led in Dolly, 
 latching the gate. 
 
 '* We will walk the horses," said I, mount- 
 ing. "A rainy night is fitted to such an 
 enterprise ; since many sounds may absorb 
 our horses' steps." 
 
 As the horses walked, Mistress Throck- 
 morton in silence and I embarrassed, know- 
 ing not what to say, the .andscape grew 
 grayish out of blackness, and presently I saw 
 we should have the moon. 
 
 '* Shall it be to my Lord Falcon's ?"
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I4I 
 
 "Not there. Have I not fled these gen- 
 tlemen who dispute over my estate ! " 
 
 Silently we rode till again I asked. . 
 
 " But where, Mistress ? " 
 
 " As you may like, Sir." 
 
 Presently her A'oice began. 
 
 '* If they should overtake ? " 
 
 " We have the start ; they shall not take 
 us, unless you may v.ish it ?" 
 
 ' ' I wish it ? — When I have followed ? But 
 am I not a foolish maid ? I hated Master 
 Burton. I dreamed of my freedom. Yet, 
 when I have it I know not how to use it." 
 
 I knew not how to answer ; and, again, 
 was timid before her, as I had been v/hen I 
 had left her at the hunt. 
 
 " Ah," I cried in despair, " I would that I 
 had a smooth tongue to tell you that which 
 is nimble in my thought, but clumsy upon 
 the tongue. I would I were a gallant, such 
 as he whom I saw with you at my Lord 
 Falcon's ! " 
 
 Thereupon she laughed merrily.
 
 142 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Do you think, Sir, that he would have 
 acted for me as you ? Indeed I would not 
 have such as he. And what a risk are you 
 taking for me ; disgrace from your father ; I 
 know not all." 
 
 " I care not, — if you are free to act as you 
 will ! " 
 
 " You care not ? " 
 
 " Yes, I care for the adventure only as it 
 may result happily," 
 
 And she said softly : "I know not a man 
 who cares not more for the world than any 
 woman, however he may forswear himself. 
 I saw, behind their protestations, their na- 
 tures, even when the he was that Benham 
 whom just now you were envying. As for 
 the other, the suitor of Master Burton's 
 choice, I have not given him a fancy." 
 
 Yet I said nothing, like some foolish boy. 
 
 " But, Sir, I will suffer no man to choose 
 my suitors ; nor will I go back to Master 
 Burton ; nor to my Lord Falcon ; nor to any 
 one who holds me less than my estate. Sir,
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I43 
 
 I am free, on a rainy night, with a cavalier 
 strong and daring to bear me to safety." 
 
 Her shy laughter gave me heart. 
 
 "Are you not wet through? But it is 
 clearing? " 
 
 ' ' Perhaps ; I have not noted. Do you not 
 deem that your entrance to me and the dame 
 was rude ? " she asked, in the queer humor of 
 women. 
 
 " Yes, rude ; yet how could I have done 
 otherwise?" 
 
 " No one in the world would have done as 
 you. Master Duesdale." 
 
 " Ah, I know it — I was foolish ; no, not 
 foolish, since now I am riding with you." 
 For I began in some clumsy manner to 
 remember the phrase of a gallant. 
 
 Even if there had been pursuit, I deem I 
 should not have noted it while she talked, 
 till, in forgetfulness, I found a voice for my 
 thought, forgetful of gallantry in truthfulness. 
 
 " And are you not brave and womanly — to 
 read that I am trustful ? I saw you in the
 
 144 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 glade between the oaks, while the hounds 
 were about the fox, and I said, There at least 
 is a woman whom it would be sweet to 
 know." And I believed I meant as I spoke. 
 
 *' Ah, you do not know women. Are you, 
 too, a silly gallant ? " 
 
 " Have I played his silly part? " 
 
 " No, I think not — altogether." 
 
 *' Oh, Mistress Throckmorton, I even mean 
 all I tell you, though at the hunt, as well as 
 at Duesdale, I acted like a very boy." 
 
 " I thought that — once," said she, de- 
 murely. 
 
 " And now," I cried, " I have met you 
 only to lose you. There be a few miles, and 
 the companionship shall be ended." 
 
 Yet, when I had spoken, I fell to trem- 
 bling ; and in the moonlight, through the 
 breaking clouds, I saw her turn her face, at 
 which I wondered. 
 
 ** I did not think you unfair — not once, — 
 so to take advantage." 
 
 Straightway to myself I was ofifender.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I45 
 
 and, against the heart, I rebelled upon her 
 reproof. 
 
 " I have lost my sense ; pray forgive." 
 
 "And I " 
 
 As she paused, T questioned. 
 
 " And you?" 
 
 *' It matters not, Sir," said she. 
 
 Thus we rode in silence, passing no one on 
 that lonely lane, nor hearing whether they 
 followed, nor did Mistress Throckmorton 
 speak more ; and I was pityful for her, and 
 in anger at myself. And, at last, so that we 
 knew it not, on account of our intent thought, 
 the morning light came over the hills and 
 dimmed the moon, till we were riding by the 
 day through the fields, while, on occasion, 
 some rural fellow might stare at us, or a 
 maid, or a dame, or a colt, or a cow, or a 
 little lad driving swine ; and some bowed to 
 me, but mostly they knew me not — only 
 looked the query in stupid astonishment ; yet 
 on that way, which was not public, as I have 
 written, we were the only wayfarers. 
 
 10
 
 146 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Whither do we go?" she asked ; and I 
 saw that her face was tired and paled, and 
 again I was pityful of her. 
 
 "First to the village, Far Duesdale, and 
 then to London — and then where you will." 
 
 " But I have no will." 
 
 "Ah, Mistress, I know not what to do ; 
 nor do I know aught in this foolish adven- 
 ture, save that I swear to take you where 
 you may wish." 
 
 And she spoke softly, her face no longer 
 seemed pale, while her eyes wandered about 
 the landscape : 
 
 *' Nor do I know more than you." 
 
 Shortly she asked, strangely indeed, for 
 she had not seemed froward : 
 
 * * Did you ever know one so froward ? " 
 
 And I spoke my thought in a tone of 
 jest : 
 
 ' * Nor a braver, nor a finer lady, who can 
 manage a horse and not turn pale over dan- 
 ger ; and whose heart is sweet and a good 
 woman's, though not over-prudish. She
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I47 
 
 shall be my goddess ; and her, if I ever mar- 
 ry, I shall marry." 
 
 "Do you know this Her, Sir Prattle?" 
 asked she softly. 
 
 " Yes, Mistress, — even you." 
 
 " Ah, you prattle indeed. How may you? 
 Directly you will be repenting all these fine 
 speeches to her you never had seen two days 
 gone." 
 
 " Do you think me dull and fickle ? " cried 
 I, foolish prattler of twenty. 
 
 "You are too brave for so sad a character. 
 Yet, they say brave men forswear themselves 
 with women ; and you are impulsive. " 
 
 And I — but it matters not, — that which I 
 said. (I deem such speeches sickish to those 
 who may not be in love ; and silly to those 
 who may have common-sense, or who hold a 
 woman a caprice ; and I had better say no 
 more of this, lest I be deemed a fool ; but 
 instead, I will carry the adventure to an end. 
 And I know that you, whoever you may be, 
 that read this account, will see clearly that
 
 148 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 Chance, rather than any Will of our own, 
 counts for most in this Life ; and indeed, as I 
 have said, I can bring bearing on the argu- 
 ment, many things which have happened to 
 me.) 
 
 In the village of Far Duesdale the living 
 was held at this time by a certain Vicar, John 
 Nicholas, who stood much in awe of my 
 father, and who liked me, inasmuch as his 
 sons had been my play-fellows. One of these 
 I secured lately a clerkship in Lord De La- 
 Ware's plantation, over the seas. It v/as to 
 this vicarage that I destined to take Mistress 
 Throckmorton. But talking over the matter, 
 I considered that it would be more prudent 
 to go beyond Far Duesdale, to Mistress Bur- 
 lington's place. As we reined our horses, the 
 Vicar stared mightily hard, and questioned 
 whence we came, and Avho the lady might 
 be ; but standing there and Mistress Throck- 
 morton having alighted, I said : "I would 
 have you get for us a chariot." 
 
 And he objected much, saying that he did
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 1 49 
 
 not comprehend, till I was angered at his 
 obstinacy, and drawing my sword, I swore 
 that I should run him through if he did not 
 do my bidding. But Bess (for it seems more 
 natural that she should be made Bess than 
 Mistress Throckmorton) berated me here, 
 saying I was too peevish. Then I declared 
 that I was only froward that, if caught, we 
 might defy her guardians, and leave them to 
 tear themselves in pieces like mauling cats ; 
 for we should be out of reach of their power 
 to hurt. And anon, I grew fierce, as Master 
 Nicholas, the Vicar, tried to steal away ; till 
 out of very fear he was constrained to obey, 
 though saying : ** I know not what trouble 
 this may bring me to." 
 
 " Talk not, — but act !" cried I, " f or I am 
 her guardian." 
 
 Then Bess declared slyly, " That you in- 
 deed are not." 
 
 " I am now your guardian, at least before 
 God, who regards not Papist more than Protes- 
 tant." And I told the worthy Nicholas to tell
 
 I50 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 my Lord Falcon, or my father, or any who 
 censured, that I, Sylvester Duesdale, not he, 
 was blameworthy, if any blame might be 
 given. And she, my Bess, stood there with- 
 out a word ; and I saw that she was tired 
 from the excitement which might have tired 
 a strong man. 
 
 Shortly the Vicar came again : " 'T is 
 strange. Master Sylvester, — indeed I fear to. 
 How are you changed ? " 
 
 " Leave the matter to me, you dolt," said 
 I in anger. " Only find a cart or chariot for 
 my lady." 
 
 " Oh, am I tired," said she, breathing hard. 
 But I whispered: "An half hour more, 
 brave heart." Then we should be at Mis- 
 tress Burlington's who was a whimsical, just 
 lady, such as would be likely to aid Bess ; 
 thence, I said, I should go on to Court to lay 
 the matter before the King ; since its sudden- 
 ness, which is almost beyond belief, might 
 be taken up against us, and I, like a man, 
 must face the gossip and accusation.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 15! 
 
 " But I cannot see you go ! Who can tell 
 what may happen ? " cried she, when I told 
 her that we had dared much, and that more 
 it behooved us to do to carry the adventure 
 to a becoming end. Thus we rode to INIis- 
 tress Burlington's place, leaving the swains 
 of Far Duesdale, their gossip, and Father 
 de Rand, and Master Burton our trail, if 
 they might think to follow. For we were 
 drunken with boldness, and I felt able, weary 
 as I might be, to handle singly twoscore 
 fellows. Yet first, as 1 say, I considered her 
 who was a-tired through the strangeness of 
 that night, and its flight, and on account of 
 the hunt of the yesterday. 
 
 Thus, discussing many things, we came to 
 Mistress Burlington's, daring for the future 
 to be passed together. I deem that no one 
 was more in wonder than Mistress Burling- 
 ton of that morning ; she called us mad, then 
 silly, and anon, strange ; she trembled over 
 that which Lord Falcon might do, and the 
 King, and my father ; but, like a woman.
 
 152 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 she ended by siding with us, while she de- 
 clared that she knew not how a country gal- 
 lant, such as I, could dare to run away with 
 a lady wooed by courtiers and the great. But 
 my Bess said, that none had my wit. Then 
 Mistress Burlington declared that we both 
 must rest, and that we were silly children. 
 And when Bess had gone Mistress Burlington 
 queried : 
 
 " Do you know that there is no greater 
 heiress in the kingdom ? " 
 
 ** Nor care I," said I. 
 
 "Ah, you are a child," said she. In 
 laughter she declared that never had she 
 read in Romance, or indeed anywhere, of 
 such an escapade ; and she wondered about 
 its end, and what the King's pleasure would 
 be, and the consequence to herself in abet- 
 ting us. But first, said she, I should rest, 
 and then we could consider the matter. 
 Thus she left me to my weariness, — good 
 heart that she was. 
 
 Now, I was awakened by a noise, as of a
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 1 53 
 
 knocking below. In a daze I thought first 
 that all had been a dream ; and, again, that 
 as I slept Bess had been taken from me. 
 As I lay there in such uncertainty, while the 
 sunlight streamed into the room, came a 
 lackey of Mistress Burlington, saying that 
 she craved to see me, and that there were 
 two below with her. Then, hastily, I went 
 down, and I saw the pale Jesuit, seeming as 
 if he had slept not a wink, and Master 
 Burton who had forgotten his urbanity, as a 
 man may a false face which has hidden him 
 in the masquerade. My hand slipped to my 
 sword when I saw the pair, — not knowing 
 what to expect ; yet, with certain assurance, 
 which had come to me during that night, I 
 tried to don Master Burton's mask ; at 
 which he became the angryer, while Father 
 de Rand observed me slyly. 
 
 ' ' You have fooled with daring ; and I 
 swear you shall suffer," said Master Burton. 
 
 And I bowed my head, since indeed I might 
 not have seemed well to another in the affair.
 
 154 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 *' I have no word of explanation ; yet if 
 your grievance demands, I am not afraid to 
 meet you." 
 
 His hand was on his sword as if then and 
 there he would have taken my word. But 
 Father de Rand stepped forward, laying his 
 hand upon Master Burton's shoulder. 
 
 Now, the lady whom I had aided — whom 
 yesterday at the death of the fox I first had 
 seen — had entered to us disputing, and her 
 hand rested on my shoulder. 
 
 "You and my Lord Falcon, Master 
 Burton, were in dispute over my person and 
 estate. With you, the King sided ; but I, 
 Sir, have acted for myself, and chosen to ap- 
 peal from your guardianship." 
 
 Master Burton's words seemed to catch in 
 his throat, while it was Father de Rand who 
 spoke, calmly, yet I knew well the passion 
 hidden in the masterful voice. 
 
 ' ' I know not the change in Sylvester 
 Duesdale. Surely he, and you it seems, 
 must be mad."
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. 155 
 
 Then Mistress Burlington, who had stood 
 aside till now, answered with firmness, and 
 the obstinacy of woman, 
 
 ** These children came to me a short hour 
 ago. As I understand, — you, Master Burton, 
 and my Lord Falcon, are in dispute over the 
 guardianship of her person, and of the estates 
 which her father left her in England and 
 Virginia? " 
 
 " Yes, Madam ; and the King has decided 
 for me," said Master Burton. 
 
 " But now, this matter has taken a new 
 face from the foolish flight away from Dues- 
 dale. While I will not dispute your claim to 
 the young lady, I deem that I should only 
 incur trouble to myself, if I did not keep her 
 till I shall hear how the law and the King 
 may will." 
 
 My Bess was sobbing on our friend's 
 shoulder, as if her heart would break ; and 
 I believe if Mistress Burlington had not 
 decided even as she did, I then and there 
 should have slain Master Burton.
 
 156 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 " Madam," said the Priest, " do you know 
 that thus you bring yourself into the matter, 
 becoming an abettor of Master Burton's 
 grievance?" 
 
 '* I care not," said Mistress Burlington. 
 " I will deliver the young lady to him the 
 judges may decree. Till then shall I keep 
 her ; nor do I deem that after the circum- 
 stance, I should be right in doing otherwise." 
 
 Thus they disputed over Bess, while I 
 tried to soothe her sobs. But Master Burton 
 and the Priest were unable to do aught, inso- 
 much as Mistress Burlington was in her own 
 house, surrounded by her servants, and, more- 
 over, was powerful through her relatives at 
 the Court. Sullenly they went away, threat- 
 ening many things ; when we, fearing that 
 they might come again with justice's writ, 
 Mistress Burlington had out her chariot ; 
 and we hastened to Whitehall. 
 
 But now the account has gone far enough 
 I deem, to show how the manner of Chance 
 was in the matter ; and I will on to the end.
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I57 
 
 since the further circumstances bear not 
 directly upon the argument. I need but say 
 what the world knows, that the acquaintance, 
 begun so strangely, ended in our becoming 
 — after trials and patience — man and wife ; 
 when all who would have rejoiced at our 
 failure, equally were glad at our success, — 
 such being the Nature of the Human Temper. 
 My Father, though at first he had been in 
 rage, at the end was not averse to the circum- 
 stance, bringing a great estate to Duesdale. 
 For Mistress Burlington had pleaded well 
 our cause, and when all was heard by those 
 in Power, I was summoned to the King, 
 who, at first, was stem, and then, falling into 
 laughter, cried that I was after his heart. 
 And I, bending the knee, swore that I would 
 serve the house of Stuart, even to the last. 
 Again he laughed, saying : ** I should have 
 done even the same with so fair a lady." 
 
 "And I, Sire, will serve you always," I 
 cried again, nor have I forgotten the word 
 thus given, and now, though William of
 
 158 THREE WORTHIES. 
 
 Orange may be in England, I, an exile like 
 my King, in France, will not rest till a Stuart 
 shall have his own again. And she, my Bess, 
 has the same will to teach our children ; for 
 I cannot bear a man who changes his poli- 
 tics ; for, say I, next he will be for changing 
 his religion, or his wife, like the fickle fool 
 he is. 
 
 Inasmuch as it is permitted to no one to 
 do aught of moment in this world without 
 incurring enmity, by the adventure I gained 
 the ill-will not alone of Master Burton, but 
 of the other, the great Lord Falcon, since 
 these villains were enraged that so rich an 
 estate had escaped them ; and as they both 
 maliciously regarded their own evil prosper- 
 ity of greater moment than to protect the 
 orphan, their ward. Yet by this time, hav- 
 ing my father and the King as my abettors, 
 I feared not ; and I told those villainous 
 gentlemen that I would fight them if they 
 thought themselves aggrieved ; but they 
 both liked better craven arts than the open
 
 THE LADY AT THE DEATH. I59 
 
 duel. Nor do I deem that their enmity has 
 redounded to my injury ; while through in- 
 'curringit, I won the greatest Prize, a wife 
 after my own mind, whom, I trust, Heaven 
 has not suffered to be sorry for her choice, 
 since I, on my part, never have had regret 
 for the wooing which begun so suddenly, 
 and, now that I am old, it seems impru- 
 dently. But Twenty esteems Prudence of 
 different quality than Seventy. 
 
 Thus, as I say, did Chance, which the an- 
 cients made a Goddess, bring about a matter 
 of great moment for me ; and many cir- 
 cumstances in my life might be cited in the 
 Disputation, proving, to the satisfaction of 
 learned Doctors, that Fortuitous Circum- 
 stance often is mightier in our careers than 
 our own Wills.
 
 THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 AT the end, when the play has been played, 
 and while the stage carpenters some- 
 where are putting away the painted furniture, 
 the epilogue is spoken ; seriously, for the play 
 is done, and naught may blot its errors ; — and 
 yet spoken with a certain note of self-praise, 
 since human nature must flaunt its work a 
 little, lest no other soul be found to do that 
 act of courtesy. Thus deprecatingly, yet 
 boastfully, the owner of the Chateau by the 
 Loire bore out the part of Epilogue to the tales 
 now told ; while the listeners were upstirring, 
 like folk drowning the last, perhaps finest, 
 lines of the play in their shuffling haste to be 
 l6l
 
 l62 THE EPILOGUE. 
 
 gone; some muttering criticism, as "melo- 
 dramatic," "false to life," "violating the 
 laws of fiction." 
 
 " Perhaps, — even likely," nodded he who 
 posed the Epilogue, " the adventures of these 
 dead gentlemen were of an old fashion now 
 derided, of a story for a story's sake. Far 
 be its defence from me ! Rather will I ask 
 favor of those liking simple cheer, and old 
 
 books, old friends, old wine " The 
 
 words not ended still hummed confusedly 
 without -sensible sound ; for the sun had 
 burst the bonds of the clouds, till matter-of- 
 fact lay in glaring yellow across the age- 
 darkened oak of the floor.
 
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