THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 James J. McBride 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 Margaret McBride 

 
 MANTELL AS ROUBILLAC
 
 THE DAGGER AND 
 THE CROSS 
 
 E Romance 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH HATTON 
 
 Author of " Bv Order of the Czar," " An Exile's Daughter," Etc., E*c 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 R, F. FENNO & COMPANY 
 
 o and ii EAST i 6th STREET
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1897, by 
 
 Peter Fenelon Collier 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washingtoa 
 
 The Dagger and the Cross
 
 p 
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE 
 CROSS 
 
 -#-♦-*- 
 
 CHAPTER ONE 
 
 THE MUSIC OF THE SWORD 
 
 "Thou knowest, Pisani, I am no swords- 
 man, and if be kill me, then Francesca becomes 
 bis prey. The thougbt of it puts me on tbe 
 rack." 
 
 "Let it ratber nerve thy arm, good Signor 
 Roubillac, and I will teach thee bow to meet 
 thine enemy," replied the master, who had 
 brought from Toledo tbe art of Tubal Cain, 
 and not alone the craft to fashion a blade, but 
 bow to use it. 
 
 "'Tis said he has slain as many rival lovers as 
 he has achieved conquests over women. What 
 he is pleased to call his art of sculpture he uses 
 as opportunity for his amours. His passion of 
 adventure hath its chief excitement in the 
 duello." 
 
 "I have heard no less; but there is a trick of 
 play shall win thee rest from his persecution, if 
 thou wilt have as much patience to learn as 
 thou hast to achieve thine own greatness in 
 the arts of peace." 
 
 (3)
 
 4 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "I will be patient, good Pisani; and if It 
 please thee, we will begin our practice at once." 
 
 "What new offense hath he committed that 
 should approve such haste? Hadst thou been 
 ardent in clioler as thou art in good deeds, thou 
 shouldst have taken counsel with me long ere 
 this." 
 
 "I bow k) thy rebuke, 'tis well deserved; and 
 I will confess to thee, more than once, Pisani, it 
 has been in my heart to stab him while he has 
 been off his guard — the Mother of God forgive 
 me! Nay, and it was whispered in my ear, 
 methought, that such would be a righteous deed. " 
 
 "Love and jealousy need no counsel from the 
 devil, Signor Roubillac, but I would not have 
 thee stain thy soul with dishonor. If 'twere 
 within the compass of possibility that he should 
 give thee just cause to slay him where he stood, 
 unprepared, then no discredit might fall on thee; 
 but the Signora, thy wife, is of too rare a virtue 
 for such likelihood, and 'twere a wrong to her 
 and thee to have her name commingled with so 
 grave a scandal, even as an encounter in her 
 defense. I would advise some other course of 
 quarrel than that which afflicts thee." 
 
 "None knows better than thou, Pisani, how 
 beyond suspect hath ever been the woman who, 
 first giving me the opportunity to win an ever- 
 lasting fame in my Angel of the Ascension, gave 
 me the privilege to be her slave and her pro- 
 tector." 
 
 "Nay, that is to put the rights of a husband 
 below the dignity of marriage and thine own
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 5 
 
 merits, Signor Roubillac ; but all Venice, not to 
 mention Verona where she was born, can bear 
 witness to the mairy and supreme virtues of 
 Francesca Roubillac. And methinks 'twere the 
 wisest thing to let herself be her own defense; 
 Giovanni Ziletto is not the first gallant who has 
 envied thee.'' 
 
 "And so I had resolved, dear friend, and 
 would still continue in that purpose, but that he 
 has developed a strange power over her, which 
 has made his attentions not only an offense but 
 a terror. Whether 'tis the evil eye or whether 
 'tis by some strange magic, I know not, but to 
 name him even in her hearing seems to invoke 
 a strange power that brings her fearful to my 
 side." 
 
 "I once met the evil eye, as 'tis called, in 
 Florence," said the swordsman. "He was a 
 master whose blade was said to whisper and 
 shriek in the combat, with a devilish impulse; 
 but I closed his evil eye, Signor Roubillac. And 
 in Venice, here, in the little garden of the palace 
 of the Duke, and in his gracious presence, I met 
 .< t another, gifted 'twas avowed with weird 
 and unholy influences, possessed of a sword that 
 had been hammered into shape at Damascus, 
 and sharpened in an enchanter's cave, and I 
 know not what; but believe me — and thou 
 shouldst know — there is no magic road to ex- 
 cellence, no partnership of the devil, nor any 
 charm known to man that will make a painter 
 without genius and labor, any more than a 
 swordsman can be made without tutorship and
 
 6 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 a blade fit for his skill. My master was the 
 famous Swordsman of Seville. Why, thou art 
 half a Spaniard thyself; and so true is Nature, 
 it may be that the impulse of the dagger thou 
 speakest of is a heritage of thy mother's country 
 — for 'twas oftener the knife than the sword 
 they used when I studied in Seville, and an out- 
 raged lover did not always deem it necessary to 
 give his enemy an equal chance of life and death 
 when he summoned him to judgment. But we 
 of Venice have a nicer law of morals ; or we as- 
 sume it so, and that is enough for men of honor." 
 
 They were singularly opposite in character and 
 appearance, these two friends; the swordsman 
 alert, clean-cut of limb, his party-colored hose 
 and loose open shirt a picturesque note against 
 the more somber gown of the painter. 
 
 The power of the afternoon sun was modified 
 by outer shutters ; but the lapping of the water 
 without sent a dancing reflection upon the fres- 
 coed ceiling, and now and then caught the radi- 
 ance of Pisani's little armory that decorated the 
 walls of his popular school. Once in a way the 
 usual silence of this particular quarter of the city 
 was broken in upon by the blare of a warlike 
 trumpet above the music of some festal chorus, 
 for the Venetians were fitting out one of their 
 latest expeditions against the Turk, and the sun- 
 ny air was busy with pronunciamentos thereof. 
 But Pisani and Roubillac found in the happiness 
 of Francesca matter of far greater moment than 
 all the schemes of Doge and Council, and all 
 the messages of trumpets and banners. Pisani
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 7 
 
 had been her father's friend, and Roubillac was 
 her husband. 
 
 While the swordsman was recalling reminis- 
 cences of conquests over alleged supernatural 
 powers, that he might thereby strengthen Rou- 
 billac' s confidence in his advice and forecasts, he 
 was fondling a shining taper blade with a hilt 
 that seemed part of his strong yet pliant wrist. 
 He bent it as a bow, and flicked it forth again. 
 It was almost like a whip to whistle and sing as 
 he played with it. 
 
 "Yes, my friend, it sings to me many a glori- 
 ous song, ' ' said Pisani, with a smile that lighted 
 up his sharp features, "and it has memories. 
 Many a time it has spoken to me, as it did when 
 it parried the first thrust of the evil eye ; and it 
 has a grim and startling laugh. Nay, Signor 
 Roubillac, every man to his trade. Do not your 
 radiant colors sing to you on your palette? Are 
 there not notes of varying cadence as you range 
 them for your canvas? Methinks your brush 
 made music that was divine when it began the 
 creation of that angel which the people almost 
 worship above the altar of San Stefano, taking 
 her for our beloved Mary herself in some holy 
 masquerade of angelic shape." 
 
 He whipped the air with his blade and took no 
 heed of Roubillac's remark that to speak so of 
 his work was to speak profanely. The painter 
 crossed himself, at which Pisani turned an in- 
 quiring face to him. 
 
 "I did but protest against thy irreverence of 
 the Holy Mother," said Roubillac.
 
 8 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "No irreverence, my freind. Father Castelli 
 was wont to say the Mother of God doth often 
 walk on earth, doing acts of grace in humble 
 guise; but I cry you mercy, if I have — " 
 
 "Nay, good Pisani, no offense. I was think- 
 ing more of the unworthiness of my own handi- 
 work than what for the moment seemed to be an 
 irreverence on thy part; and I feel the blame of 
 it, when the name of Father Castelli rises to thy 
 lips for a defense of thy religious philosophy." 
 
 "Ah, Signor Roubillac, we miss our dear 
 friend and confessor, the pious Castelli, whose 
 knowledge of the world and man's natural in- 
 firmities made him ever kindly and forgiving. 
 I had the honor of a letter from him, come yes- 
 terday was a month." 
 
 "Say'st thou so? And yet he hath never 
 writ to me." 
 
 "'Twas brought me by the hand of a ship's 
 master, trading to the Levant, and had come 
 overland a great way to the English coast, he 
 said ; but there was little of note in it, though he 
 did make inquiries after thee and 'the Signora, 
 and bade me, if ever I had opportunity, to let 
 him know how it fared with Signor Roubillac." 
 
 "I thank his reverence; but was that all?" 
 
 "He did seem to imp 1 / that an agent was on 
 his way to Venice, or likely to be anon, with 
 commissions for craftsmen and artists to carry 
 their genius and their tools to England ; but if 
 that were so, we should have news in due time." 
 
 "And said he naught of his English home?" 
 
 "That 'twas lovely if it had but our Venetian
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 9 
 
 skies, gay if it had but our Venetian mirth and 
 music, holy if it had but our devotees ; a moun- 
 tain village they call Eyam, set on the side of a 
 hill, with rugged cliffs near by and vast stretches 
 of moorlands ; a primitive people ; his home, the 
 Old Hall, so-called, and his host and hostess of 
 liberal minds, and a lavish table ; and so he bore 
 his exile." 
 
 "Thou hast known Father Castelli long?" 
 "All my life that was not spent in Spain; and 
 'twas from him that I received such scholarship 
 as thou hast honored me with commending, 
 Signor, as something unlikely in a mere swords- 
 man, an artificer of blades, a teacher of the art 
 of attack and defense. But we waste time ; 'tis 
 ever so with thee, Signor Roubillac; once 
 another's interests and affairs break in upon 
 thine own 'tis like thee to depart and forget why 
 thou earnest abroad. Nay, off with thy gown 
 and vest, and it shall go ill with me, but I will 
 arm thee against the reprobate Ziletto." 
 
 And so it came to pass that Pisani, the swords- 
 man of Venice, began to teach Roubillac, the 
 painter, to meet Ziletto, the sculptor, who had 
 made his sword a passport to fame that he could 
 never hope to achieve with clay or marble, even 
 had lie so desired ; but he only affected to be 
 dilettante in the plastic art, of which he rather 
 assumed the position of the patron than the 
 sculptor. For he was nobly born, and, though 
 ho had squandered much of his fortune, a man 
 of wealth, who might vie with some of the rich- 
 est in the Republic. As for his art, followed
 
 10 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 \v i t li some show of liking and success — for there 
 often came modelers and sculptors of repute to 
 his studio in Florence, where he entertained 
 with lavish state — there were reckless and irre- 
 sponsible companions of his revels that vowed he 
 had a contempt for the graphic arts one and all, 
 and for any other but the arts of gallantry and 
 love; though that which they called gallantry 
 was a libel on manhood, and their love was a no 
 less selfish and degrading passion. 
 
 CHAPTER TWO 
 
 THE COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE OF ROUBILLAC, 
 THE PAINTER 
 
 Before Francesca came into his life, Ber- 
 nardo Roubillac was a dreamer, without ambi- 
 tion. His mind was filled with its own beautiful 
 images. Woman had hitherto appealed to him 
 only as a t3 T pe of the heavenly beauty that he 
 strove to realize on canvas. His career, if not 
 illustrious, was assured. He loved his art for 
 Art's sake, and his patron always told him that 
 fame would follow. 
 
 But history proves to us that no great work 
 was ever produced, no great deed ever accom- 
 plished, without the impulse of a great love, 
 whether it be of woman or country, or parents 
 or children; some strong human motive, that
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 11 
 
 gives the right direction to ambition and waits 
 upon the aspirations of genius. 
 
 It was Francesca that inspired the art of Rou- 
 billac; but Avith passion conies unrest, and with 
 happiness the trail of the serpent that sooner or 
 later shadows all that is beautiful in this incom 
 plete world. 
 
 There is, however, an undying consolation in 
 the knowledge that beauty can never be wholly 
 effaced. The influence of beauty is never lost. 
 A thing of beauty is lovely even in decay, and 
 before it is dead and gone and seen no more, it 
 has projected the lesson of its creation into the 
 ages for a moral, and happy are they who apply 
 it. Witness Venice herself. Her decay began 
 at the moment she was most powerful; her glory 
 began to fade when she was most beautiful ; but 
 to-day her story gives new life to her dead 
 palaces, and the poet has heralded her fame in 
 numbers that may live when the waters of the 
 Adriatic have returned to their natural land- 
 marks, and Venice is no more than the dream 
 she must often seem, even now, to those who, 
 having once visited her, think of her always as 
 an enchanting reminiscence. 
 
 It is no less strange how the story of heroic 
 deeds, the instance of a noble human action, will 
 sanctify some barren spot and give an ideal 
 charm to pr< » saie things; thinking of which takes 
 one far away from Venice to that mountain vil- 
 lage in England, which, compared with the City 
 of the Adriatic, is as a molehill to Mount Olym- 
 pus, and yet in the loves of Koubillac and Fran-
 
 12 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 cesca it looms up into the heaven of romance and 
 gives a comparable dignity in which Venice does 
 not carry off all the honors. 
 
 And so strange are the decrees of Fate that 
 the interview between Roubillacand Pisani starts 
 a link of undying interest between Venice and 
 the hamlet of Eyam that brings the Euganean 
 hills in sight of Froggatt's Edge, mingles the 
 destinies of Mary Talbot and Reuben Clegg with 
 those of the Italian lovers, and makes the music 
 of Ziletto's mandolin as familiar in the valley of 
 Middleton as it was on the moonlit lagoons of 
 Venice. 
 
 Bernardo Roubillac was a protege of the family 
 of the Valiero. They loved Art, and they loved 
 Venice. The head of the house, now an old 
 man, had a villa at Verona, and a palace at 
 Venice, near the Rialto. All that taste and 
 wealth could do to make these abodes beautiful 
 was lavished upon them. Not alone a mere 
 patron of the arts, this old man, Bertuccio Vali- 
 ero, was an enthusiast in promoting the rivalry 
 of the Venetian with other Italian republics. 
 With a splendid munificence he had established 
 in his palace an Academy of Fine Arts, where 
 such youth as desired might study free of charge 
 and with the aid of the best masters procurable. 
 
 Roubillac, having made sufficient mark to set 
 up a studio of his own, chose to be near the 
 palace, so that he might the more readily assist 
 in promoting the welfare of the aspirants who 
 availed themselves of the Academy and its 
 privileges.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 13 
 
 Now Francesca da Ponte was the daughter of 
 a painter at Verona. She was orphaned when 
 she was sixteen. The beauty of her person and 
 the graces of her mind had commended her to 
 the ladies of the Valiero family. She had also 
 evinced a talent for the art of her father. In a 
 design for tapestry she had won the high praise 
 of Morosini, and it was a kindly thought that 
 suggested to the Signora Valiero that Francesca 
 might have the privilege of the gallery at Ven- 
 ice ; and so it came to pass that one day, looking 
 from his window across the Canal, Roubillac saw 
 a gondola with two passengers, one a young girl 
 and the other an elderly woman, evidently an 
 attendant in her service ; no unusual sight ; but 
 Fate was busy with Roubillac' s future at that 
 particular moment, and his eye followed the 
 boat as it glided past the chief entrance to the 
 palace and paused by the private way beneath 
 his window. He opened his casement and looked 
 out. The gondolier, with an air of respectful 
 admiration, gave the younger of the passengers 
 his hand. She stepped upon the palace quay 
 and smiled her thanks, herself assisting her at- 
 tendant to alight. 
 
 The whole scene was little more than a mo- 
 mentary incident ; but in that flash of time the 
 image of the 'girl went straight to Roubillac's 
 heart; not, let it be said, to his artistic heart; 
 the touch was keener. It came of no mere desire 
 to paint the image that suddenly gave to the 
 world a new light, setting the waters of the 
 Canal dancing with fresh colors, and adding a
 
 14 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 deeper hue to the blue sky, that made the Canal 
 an azure sea, the palaces that fringed it, with 
 the dome of the Church of the Salutation white 
 against the sky, a fairy city, such as he had 
 dreamed might be seen on the plains of heaven. 
 
 "It is a revelation," he said to himself, "an 
 inspiration of living beauty;" and his pale in- 
 tellectual face repeated the thought in a new 
 expression. It was the love at first sight that 
 comes with a rush to some hearts and burns the 
 fiercer when the subject is past its youth and the 
 sensibilities are somewhat dry, as a spark will 
 ignite with a breath and bring into a glow the 
 most withered tinder. Not that Roubillac was 
 old, though he was twenty years her senior; she 
 some sixteen summers. He was not more than 
 thirty-six, though thought and an ascetic life 
 had given him the appearance of a more ad- 
 vanced age. 
 
 Presently she passed into the Gallery. It was 
 a rare thing for a woman to be seen there. On 
 a few occasions the wives and daughters of 
 artists had accompanied their friends who made 
 studies in the gallery outside the precincts of 
 the Academy proper. Roubillac had noticed 
 that the girl, whose coming had moved him so 
 deeply, carried a satchel common with students, 
 and her attendant a small panel. He laid aside 
 his work, and drawing his cloak about him, 
 passed into the gallery with something of an 
 acted preoccupation of manner. She was there, 
 sitting before a head of Apollo and making a 
 chalk study. There were other artists at work,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 15 
 
 one other lady among them, but the girl of the 
 gondola seemed to hold herself apart from the 
 rest. The sudden interest that he felt in her 
 was too intense for speech. He might have 
 spoken to her, had he so desired, and no offense ; 
 even have offered her professional counsel ; hut 
 he only ventured upon furtive glances at the 
 newcomer, fearful lest any act or word of his 
 should frighten the vision of beauty away. 
 
 And so, day after day, he came to the gallery, 
 found that he could never settle down to his 
 day's work without seeing her, and with a cer- 
 tain sting of pain there came also into his silent 
 worship of her the joy of a new power in his art. 
 It must be, he thought, that she had brought to 
 him the divine spark. His soul had broadened 
 out with a nobler feeling toward humanity. He 
 was a new man ; but how long would all this 
 last? How long before he dared speak with her, 
 and what would become of him the day she 
 should have finished her study of the head that 
 in its masculine beauty was almost a match with 
 her own? He watched and waited for her. She 
 came punctually, as the great clock of St. Mark's 
 struck the hour, and she went away as regularly, 
 her woman coming for her, the same gondolier 
 in attendance at the private stairs of the palace. 
 Roubillac found himself envying that gondolier, 
 and he would stand, with his Dantesque-like face 
 in his hands, watching the last sparkles that fol- 
 lowed the great blade of the boatman long after 
 the swanlike vessel had disappeared. 
 
 One day she did not come. It was a day of
 
 16 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 darkness and misery. The next saw her not. 
 It seemed as if the world was at an end for 
 Roubillac. He went forth in search of the 
 maiden and her attendant. He found their 
 abode. He entered with the boldness of despair. 
 She was ill. He brought her a physician, but 
 she had no need of adventitious aid. She was 
 well cared for. In the window of her chamber 
 there were fresh flowers, and in the distance 
 could be seen the blue waters of the Adriatic. 
 He called every day. She recovered ; and when 
 she had left her chamber and descended into the 
 little salon of the house, he was permitted to 
 see her. 
 
 Thereupon began a new life for Roubillac. It 
 was noticed by his few friends that the recluse 
 went more abroad than usual ; that he wore his 
 gown with a new air; that it was richer than of 
 yore, his vest somewhat more embroidered, and 
 he carried a staff of rare wood mounted with 
 gold. The gondolier and the serving maid of 
 Francesca knew what had wrought this change 
 in the painter; and he knew by what inspiration 
 he seemed to be traveling for the first time on 
 the road that led to Fame. 
 
 No lover could have had better excuse for an 
 absorbing passion than Roubillac might have 
 pleaded in the object of his devotion. Her 
 beauty was Oriental rather than Venetian ; black 
 glossy hair, a complexion of delicate olive, 
 suffused now and then by the blush of a sensitive 
 temperament, which became as the passing of 
 sunshine, leaving a shadow of retrospect behind.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 17 
 
 She had a soft voice, languishing eyes, and a 
 stately figure. The artist's consciousness de- 
 tected all the beauties of her form and color ; the 
 lover's rapture idealized them. 
 
 It was an act of more than ordinary courage 
 when Roubillac spoke to her in terms of love, 
 for from the first she had seemed to him some- 
 thing more than mortal. She was strangely 
 moved by a fine picture or a tender story ; and 
 when she came to his studio, accompanied by the 
 woman with whom the Valiero ladies had placed 
 her, she became engrossed in his work, in which 
 he now found a new happiness. 
 
 "When he confessed his love for her, and pressed 
 it with a view to immediate marriage, she re- 
 plied with more of gratitude than the deeper sen- 
 timent which he hoped he had inspired ; but she 
 allowed her hand to rest in his and suffered his 
 embrace. He was too bewilderingly happy to 
 note the absence of a loving response ; and it was 
 strange that when he looked for a reply in words 
 she spoke of his Ascension picture. He had 
 never dared to ask her to sit for his leading 
 figure, but it had been in his mind, many a time 
 and oft, to wonder if he might make so wild a 
 request; and all the time, whenever he had 
 sketched the subject, she had observed in the 
 principal figure a likeness to herself. So, when 
 he asked her to be his wife and she suffered his 
 embrace, she said she would sit to him for his 
 Ascension picture. It was an odd reply to the 
 suit of a lover; but Francesca knew that in this 
 she fulfilled half his desire, and she was anxious
 
 18 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 to give Mm pleasure. He had failed to stir the 
 secret impulse of her woman's heart in the way 
 of love. It came, however — or so she thought— 
 at a later day, when the altar-piece was finished 
 and the painter's fame was on every lip, and he 
 sat at her feet and gave all the praise to her, 
 not alone for the angelic grace of her face and 
 ligure, but the inspiration he had found in his 
 love for her; and so, ere they had known each 
 other a year, they were married, and were 
 happy, Roubillac beyond his wildest dreams, 
 Francesca in a mild contented fashion. 
 
 It was at the height of Roubillac 's happiness 
 that there appeared in Venice Giovanni Ziletto, 
 who came with the reputation of a sculptor, a 
 traveler, and a diplomat ; a man of extraordinary 
 gifts and striking presence, younger than Rou- 
 billac, possessing graces of person and manners 
 that tell with women and often beguile the good 
 opinion of men. He danced divinely, could turn 
 a quaint conceit of love in verse and sing it to 
 his mandolin as if he had been brought up to 
 naught but minstrelsy. He saw Francesca, and 
 conceived a passion for her. Received by the 
 Valieros and other eminent citizens, he obtained 
 easy access to the home and studio of Roubillac. 
 Francesca found in his manner a new charm. 
 Rarely had she seen so handsome a figure ; never 
 listened to the conversation of a man who had 
 seen so much of the great world, or who related 
 what he had seen with such facility of language. 
 Young as he was, he had visited most of the 
 Courts of Europe, and in the most delicate way
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 19 
 
 imaginable succeeded in conveying to Francesca 
 his opinion of the supremacy of her beauty in 
 comparison with the fairest of every clime. It 
 was not altogether the words he uttered that 
 meant this, but she seemed to hear it in the 
 strange music of his voice, and she made an 
 excuse to retire to her room, lest the emotion he 
 had aroused within her should be observed by 
 Roubillac; for Ziletto knew how certain natures 
 succumbed to his influence. Francesca had 
 never yet felt the genuine impulse of passion, 
 and she was afraid. 
 
 As the days wore on, Francesca began to look 
 for Ziletto's coming; and Ziletto took occasion to 
 seek for cause of quarrel with Roubillac, not 
 alone by his outward show of gallantry toward 
 the painter's lovely wife, but in such debates on 
 art, and even politics, as should aggravate Rou- 
 billac into a challenge. Hence Roubillac's in- 
 terview with Pisani. 
 
 All the while Francesca suffered the perplex- 
 ities of doubts and fears such as she had never 
 known. She felt that she had a secret, she 
 hardly knew what, from her husband; an un- 
 worthy secret that she could not define. She 
 struggled, as a dove might under the fascination 
 of a snake. She felt that she was captive to 
 Ziletto's whims, felt bound to listen to him. fie 
 stirred her heart as it had never been stirred, 
 gave new fancies to her imagination. He drew 
 her eyes toward him against her will, whether 
 they met upon the Square of St. Mark's or even 
 during the m;iss at St, M>iri;i <l('ll ; , Salute. She
 
 20 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 sought relief in silent prayer, and at last took 
 counsel with her confessor, the Monk Lorenzo, 
 a conventual brother of that Father Castelli, 
 sojourning in England, of whom we have heard. 
 And Roubillac continued to visit Pisani the 
 swordsman. 
 
 CHAPTER THREE 
 
 THE SERPENT AND THE DOVE 
 
 On the brink of what would have been Ziletto's 
 triumph and Francesca's destruction she flung 
 herself into Roubillac's arms in a passion of 
 tears, and confessed all. 
 
 "I am not myself," she said; "he has be- 
 witched me. Even now he has made me promise 
 to receive him in your absence. Forgive me! 
 Save me ! If I have not loved you as I should 
 have loved, I am j^our wife, and thou hast trans- 
 lated my most unworthy image in thy great 
 picture; and oh, Bernardo, I would be true to thy 
 loving ambition, grateful for thy gentle care, 
 worthy my father's name and thine!" 
 
 Roubillac soothed her with soft and gracious 
 words, and begged her to tell him all, that he 
 might be indeed her guardian and her deliverer; 
 and as he looked upon her glowing features and 
 parted lips, and felt her heart beat against his 
 own, if more in fear than love yet with the in- 
 stinct of purity, he knew how great a sacrifice a 
 young girl may make who marries one so much
 
 THE DAGGER AND TEE CROSS 21 
 
 her elder, whose spring of love has been clouded 
 by the world, and who has no response to the 
 first whisperings of passion. 
 
 "You will be sent for," she said, now calm 
 and firm in her words and manner; "an accident 
 to the altar-piece, a gondola ready for you from 
 the Governor, a carriage in waiting on the main- 
 land. You will go — and then he will come; and 
 I think I gave my consent. But I was under a 
 spell ! Forgive me ! If you go to Verona with- 
 out me I am lost ! And whether you go or not 
 hide me from this persecution. Oh, Bernardo, I 
 suffer from an enchantment!" 
 
 As she spoke there entered, hurriedly, Ziletto 
 himself. With the readiness of a keen and 
 nimble wit he guessed what had happened. 
 There was confession in the, woman's eyes as 
 she turned from him and clung to her husband. 
 
 "Well met, dear friends," he said, in his 
 blandest voice. "I had feared that you, Sign or 
 Roubillac, had gone to Verona, since there is 
 news of disaster to your Angel there, and I heard 
 that you had been sent for, and came with haste 
 to offer my poor services and comradeship per- 
 chance for the journey." 
 
 "You will accompany me?" said Roubillac. 
 
 "If it should so please you, my friend; if I do 
 not seek too much honor in so addressing you." 
 
 "Francesca, my child, I will call your woman. 
 You shall retire while I discuss this business 
 with our friend." 
 
 Both Ziletto and Francesco noted the emphasis 
 upon the sweet word "friend" that turned it into
 
 22 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 sourness; and she clung still closer to Roubil- 
 lac. 
 
 "Nay, I would prefer to stay," she said, with 
 white lips and arms trembling. 
 
 "Tisnot fitting," said Roubillac, conducting 
 her toward the door. 
 
 When the door was closed Roubillac drew a 
 bar across it. 
 
 Ziletto watched him with a cynical smile, his 
 hand upon his sword, his feet firmly planted to 
 receive the painter's attack. 
 
 Roubillac flung aside his gown, and drew upon 
 Ziletto with a gesture of abandon that gave a 
 new dignity to his wiry if ascetic figure. 
 
 "Liar! Reprobate!" he hissed between his 
 teeth. "Defend thyself!" 
 
 "I would prefer to have witnesses of your 
 death, Signor Jealousy," said Ziletto, calmly 
 drawing his weapon and standing on guard. 
 "And 'twere surely to sully your wife's fair 
 fame to fight about her so near her chamber 
 door!" 
 
 "Fiend!" exclaimed Roubillac, "that shall be 
 as Heaven wills it. Spare thy words and defend 
 thy life." 
 
 "As you will," Ziletto replied, awaiting Rou- 
 billac's attack. "You hold your weapon as if 
 'twere a mahl-stick." 
 
 "Then feel its point!" hissed the painter, 
 stung by the other's cool effrontery, and lunging 
 at him with a quick and sudden fury. 
 
 It was only by a rare dexterity that Ziletto 
 met his adversary's untrained and unusual at--
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 23 
 
 tack, Roubillac's point flashing before his eyes 
 and inflicting a slight facial wound before he 
 had almost whipped it out of Roubillac's grip 
 and sent the painter staggering. 
 
 "Pisani would have condemned such play, 
 Signor Roubillac, even had you killed your op- 
 ponent," said Ziletto, scornfully, conscious of 
 the slight warm trickle of blood that fell upon 
 his hand. 
 
 While the sight of this red token of first blood 
 maddened Roubillac almost with the rage of a 
 murderer, it only cooled the nerves of the duelist 
 and stimulated his finest play, which held Rou- 
 billac captive to his skill. He dallied with the 
 painter's weapon, parried every attack with a 
 scoffing laugh, and tortured him with the iron 
 strength of his wrist. Roubillac felt the ground 
 beneath him reel, and he knew that at any mo- 
 ment his life was in Ziletto's hand. At last, 
 with one desperate and final effort he flung him- 
 self upon his adversary as he had done at the 
 opening of the encounter, but only to find him- 
 self disarmed and with Ziletto's blade at his 
 throat. 
 
 "Fool!" said the practiced duelist, "I spare 
 thy life that Pisani may teach thee a new trick 
 of fence, and Francesca be spared the scandal of 
 a dotard's jealousy, to be turned into a ballad 
 or animate the canvas of some vile painter of 
 romance." 
 
 Sheathing his sword, Ziletto, drawing from his 
 breast a lace handkerchief, wiped the few spots 
 of blood from his face and turned upon his heel
 
 24 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 as the good Father Lorenzo, who had confessed 
 Francesca, entered the studio. 
 
 "Your blessing, holy father!" exclaimed Zi- 
 letto. "Nay, not for me, but for our friend, who 
 hath a secret to impart to } t ou only, for it is not 
 likely he shall blab it in the streets. I commend 
 him to your good advice." 
 
 "With which insolent remark, Ziletto, with a 
 profound obeisance, quitted the room. Koubil- 
 lac, as a man in a dream, rose from his knees, 
 where Ziletto had stood over him, and went to 
 the window, to watch the reprobate, in his 
 brocaded trappings and painted shoes, enter 
 his gondola. 
 
 When Ziletto's gondolier had pushed off his 
 boat and the sun was dancing gayly upon its 
 track, Roubillac flung himself down upon the 
 floor and sobbed. 
 
 It was long ere Pisani's pupil recovered him • 
 self sufficiently to listen to the message which 
 the priest had brought him. It came in a letter 
 from Father Castelli, and by the hands of an 
 agent lately arrived in Venice to engage artists 
 for the decoration of the Old Hall, in Derby- 
 shire, England. There was also an altar-piece 
 to be painted, and other work to be done for the 
 chapel which the lady of the Old Hall had built. 
 It had come into the mind of the confessor that 
 it would be a wise and happy release from press- 
 ing troubles if Koubillac would take charge of 
 this business, and ship himself and wife forth- 
 with for England, with such companions as he 
 should select for the work in hand, a work
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 25 
 
 that honored Art and the Church at the same 
 time. 
 
 "It is a voice from Heaven," Roubillac replied. 
 
 CHAPTER FOUR 
 
 MARY TALBOT 
 
 Think of all the pictures you have ever seen 
 of English village streets, with their invariable 
 complement of an artistic feminine figure in the 
 foreground, and you have already in your mem- 
 ory an impression of Mary Talbot and the village 
 of Eyam. 
 
 At this distance of time one still sees her, un- 
 consciously posed within its artistic focus, the 
 very figure for the familiar scene, with a flood 
 of autumn sunshine deepening the rich color of 
 the fallen leaves. 
 
 She curtsied to the new rector, and they stood 
 for a few minutes talking together on the village 
 green, with its ancient Cross since removed to 
 the churchyard, its new fountain, and its belt of 
 sycamores that screened the emerald and purple 
 distance, where stretches of forest and meadow 
 and patches of yellow stubble broke up the splen- 
 did monotony of the moorlands. 
 
 If, in the painter's language, she was comple- 
 mentary to the background and the warm coloi 
 of its accessories, the rector in his rusty black 
 cassock, was of still further value in emphasizing 
 the esthetic charm of the central figure.
 
 26 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 There was no more attractive personality 
 among all the beauties of the county than that 
 of Mary Talbot. She was typical of the class of 
 woman no man can pass, if he would, without a 
 secret or open tribute to her unaffected charms. 
 It was just as natural for Mary Talbot to be 
 fascinating as it was to be well dressed. She 
 became her clothes, whatever they were, and 
 she was beautiful, adorned or unadorned ; it was 
 her mission in life, she could not help it. Her 
 features were not perfect according to the canons 
 of art, nor her complexion an ideal study of 
 color; but from head to foot she was the expres- 
 sion of a generous and loving nature, which, 
 combined with a rare intelligence, distinguished 
 her beyond all comparison, whenever comparison 
 had come within range of local observation. 
 
 And she was content to be simply the belle 
 and the Lady Bountiful of the village of Eyam, 
 having no experience of any other place, beyond 
 that of an occasional excursion to one of the few 
 neighboring communities that were sparsely 
 scattered among the hills and dales of the most 
 lonely and least known districts of the North 
 Midland counties. 
 
 As yet she was heart-whole ; though she would 
 not have been a woman had she been uncon- 
 scious of the impression she had made upon more 
 than one distinguished guest at the local palace 
 of the Stafford-Bradshaws, simply known as the 
 Old Hall; and she acknowledged to herself a 
 certain sensation of pleasure in the consciousness 
 of the admiration of Reuben Clegg, who was
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 27 
 
 eating his heart out for love and burning to tell 
 her so, restrained only by fear that confession 
 might cut him off from his cherished visits to 
 the Manor House, where he had occasional busi- 
 ness with her proud old Tory father. 
 
 Reuben Clegg was the man most feared in the 
 village, alike by such intellect as it possessed as 
 by its trained athleticism. To have his manli- 
 ness and intellectuality doff its cap, as it were, 
 before her on all occasions, to have him listen to 
 her lightest word, to be at her beck and call, 
 were triumphs of femininity that Mary Talbot 
 valued more than the general admiration of the 
 village and the petty jealousies of the over- 
 dressed ladies of the Old Hall, who, during 
 their few months of residence there, treated the 
 village church on Sundays to a display of com- 
 plexions, patches, radiant curls, white bosoms, 
 and brocaded gowns. 
 
 "I was going your way, Miss Talbot," said 
 Clegg, overtaking her as she took leave of the 
 rector. "May I walk with you as far as the 
 Manor House?'' 
 
 ' k I see no reason why you may not," she an- 
 swered, giving him a coquettish glance that 
 turned him hot and cold. 
 
 She noted the color come into his weather- 
 tanned cheeks. He stroked his short brown beard 
 in a nervous way. His evident embarrassment 
 gave her more than a passing sensation of 
 pleasure. 
 
 Even the dullest woman is complimented by 
 the homage of brains. Clegg was looked upon
 
 28 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 as the wisest man in the village. He was in- 
 clined to be reticent. The reason was that he 
 held opinions upon many things which the vil- 
 lage did not understand ; and certain views 
 which they thought they did understand they 
 resented. They were proud of him in a negative 
 kind of way. He had the gift of divination in 
 the matter of hidden minerals and springs. Not 
 only to his hazel wand did they owe the neigh- 
 boring Winship Mine, but at his magic touch the 
 brightest water supply in the Hundred had 
 gushed from the rock as the water started forth 
 from the rock in Horeb at the bidding of Moses. 
 
 "Your father seemed to look on something I 
 said to the rector as an offense — " 
 
 "And you thought I agreed with him, I sup- 
 pose —as if folk cannot have different opinions 
 about the Trinitj^, or the Equator, or some other 
 fashion of things, without offense." 
 
 "I fear they cannot," said Clegg, softening 
 his strong voice, as he always did when he spoke 
 to Miss Talbot, and even trying to tone down 
 his dialect, though everybody, from Sir George 
 Talbot to the meanest hind, spoke in a similarly 
 uncultured manner and often in coarse terms. 
 
 "That is because you are so much in earnest." 
 
 "Ought a man not to be in earnest?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; but he should be considerate of 
 others who have strong prejudices and less edu- 
 cation." 
 
 "Rather a fine word, isn't it— education, Miss 
 Talbot? Reading and writing belong to church- 
 men and the like, and education's a mystery, full
 
 THE BAGGER AND THE CROSS 29 
 
 confession of which might get a man hanged for 
 treason or burned as a magician." 
 
 "Not in these days, Mr. Clegg," said Mary. 
 "It's no longer a crime for a man to say his 
 soul's his own." 
 
 Mary had listened too often to Clegg not to 
 know how he would have her talk to him. There 
 is nothing more lasting in the way of education 
 than intercourse with a master mind. Mary 
 Talbot appreciated Clegg's intellectuality. He 
 had often shaped her thoughts. She had been 
 guided by his discourse in many ways. Her 
 father enjoyed what he called a wrangle with 
 Clegg, though their friendly controversies occa- 
 sionally ended in a coolness that lasted for days. 
 But for the influence of Mary they would have 
 quarreled. Sir George patronized Clegg, who 
 was the last man to submit to any affectation of 
 superiority from any one ; though he would have 
 accepted a good deal of humiliation for Miss 
 Talbot's sake. While she desired to please Clegg 
 and keep him as a friendly ally, she had no in- 
 tention of ever giving him an opportunity to con- 
 fess his love for her. At the same time she 
 liked to know that he took no interest in any 
 other girl or woman in the village or else- 
 where. 
 
 "I am inconsiderate to people then?" 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 "It is a kind of arrogance of opinion?" 
 
 "Something in that way." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Talbot; you can be frank 
 and kind at the same time. Most folk when
 
 30 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 they are frank 'are rude, sometimes coarse; 1 
 suppose I am." 
 
 "I did not say that, Mr. Clegg," Mary replied, 
 looking up into his face with a sympathetic 
 smile; "but I think you lose friends by regard- 
 ing things too seriously. ' ' 
 
 "I haven't many friends," he replied, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Oh, yes, I think you have." 
 
 "No. I don't make friends. The Crown and 
 Anchor's the only meeting-ground one has, and 
 our Eyam folk only see what's under their noses 
 and only feel when they are pricked." 
 
 "There's the vestry meetings," she replied, 
 reflectively, adding briskly, "and the new rector 
 is accessible." 
 
 "I don't care much for rectors in a general 
 way, and the other man is more to my liking." 
 
 "Now that he has been displaced," she re- 
 plied again, with a friendly smile. "That's be- 
 cause you take sides naturally with the perse- 
 cuted." 
 
 "It's kind of you to say so. Your father 
 doesn't hold that opinion. I should be sorry to 
 lose your friendship, Miss Talbot." 
 
 "Or my father's, surely," she answered, look- 
 ing up into his anxious face, though her eyes 
 fell as they encountered his steadfast gaze. 
 
 "He is orthodox of the orthodox, and some- 
 times perhaps I do not sufficiently respect his 
 years or honorable position; that makes my 
 heart a bit sore when I reflect upon it and think 
 of him as your father. ' '
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 31 
 
 "On his side he does not make allowance for 
 the curious changes of our day, I fear ; first one 
 set of teachers and then another — Barebones 
 this day, Silk and Feathers the next; good men 
 — in office yesterday, rejected of the bishops on 
 the morrow. But I know what you think about 
 it all, Mr. Clegg." 
 
 "You are very good to> have my opinions in 
 your thoughts for a moment," said Clegg, a 
 flush of color pouring over his face. 
 
 "Oh, but I never hear any others worth re- 
 membering," she said with complimentary 
 promptitude, "alwaj'S, of course, excepting 
 what the rector says." 
 
 "Ah, Miss Talbot, if we had only a knowl- 
 edge of each other's hearts, what misery and 
 tribulation it might save us!" 
 
 "Nay, friend, I am not so sure of that; it is 
 the only virtue of some folk that they succeed in 
 hiding what's there," she answered, with a pre- 
 tended cynical pout of her rosy lips, adding, as 
 she noted the serious expression of Clegg's face, 
 "but I am at home, so good-afternoon, sir; my 
 father will be -expecting me." 
 
 Clegg, who had intended making a call upon 
 Sir George, mechanically lifted the latch of the 
 gate, and stood with his broad felt hat in his 
 hand until she had passed over the courtyard. 
 Giving him a little curtsey at the open door of 
 the Manor House, she disappeared, whereupon 
 to Clegg for the moment all the whole world 
 was a blank. 
 
 During their brief conversation he had experi'
 
 32 THE DA(i(ii;K AND THE CROSS 
 
 enced a flutter of secret satisfaction in the certain 
 belief that Miss Talbot had in a manner identified 
 her views with his own sentiments, and evidently 
 with the intention of giving him pleasure. 
 
 It did not occur to him that, apart from Mary- 
 Talbot's beauty, much of her popularity consisted 
 in desiring to make everybody happy. She was 
 considerate and condescending to the humblest. 
 Nevertheless, it was quite worthy of emphasis 
 that at the moment when Clegg felt himself 
 more or less in disgrace with the new rector (he 
 had long since outraged the highly-strung con- 
 science of his predecessor), Miss Talbot should 
 not only be tolerant of him, but sympathetic 
 toward certain of his opinions. 
 
 When she put an end to Clegg's moralizing at 
 her father's gates, he had become so unconscious 
 of everything and everybody besides himself and 
 his love that he was on the eve of blurting it 
 out and taking the consequences. It is quite 
 possible that she knew it, and it may not have 
 been the first time that, by some deft feminine 
 artifice, she had flung him off as she had done 
 upon this occasion. 
 
 Thus Clegg fell back again into his twilight 
 world of doubt and depression, wondering at the 
 very temerity of his passion, and more at the 
 sudden courage which had brought him to the 
 verge of telling the girl that he loved her. 
 
 But when his mother had lighted the one long 
 candle by which she read a chapter in the Bible 
 before going to bed (for Reuben never contro- 
 verted in their own house the reasonableness of
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 33 
 
 her long-tried faith), he confessed, almost with 
 tears, what had been passing in his mind; and 
 she said, "I knew it, Reuben, I knew it, and 
 have prayed that One Above might favor thee 
 in this, and turn her heart to thee and bless 
 thee." 
 
 "Ah, mother, if One Above happened to be 
 Sir George Talbot and thou hadst influence with 
 him, a prayer in that quarter might help me;" 
 for it soured him to hear, as he often did, of 
 people praying for things without receiving the 
 faintest show of a favorable answer. 
 
 "Reuben, my dear, it pains me to have thee 
 scoff at prayer. God has answered me many a 
 time when thou hast been in danger and in 
 trouble ; and not so long since, when one was 
 taken and the other was left in that accident at 
 the Mine, it was thou that God rescued." 
 
 "Forgive me, mother; it hurts me most when 
 I do aught to pain thee," Reuben replied, taking 
 her face between his two great hands and kissing 
 her. 
 
 "Why dost thou not confess to the girl her- 
 self, so free and familiar as thou art with her 
 father, a guest in his house, and the author of 
 his wealth, or most of it? For it was thou who 
 struck the lead of the Winship, and made him 
 master of the land when thou mightst have 
 bought it for thyself." 
 
 "Nay, mother; it was his in fee, and I've 
 reason to be content with my share of the 
 revenue." 
 
 "And I love thee the more, Reuben, that thou
 
 34 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 art liberal and free-handed. I would have thee 
 always so; and who knows but the maiden is 
 waiting for thee to be open with her, and looks 
 for thee one day to speak to her father?" 
 
 "I'm ten or twelve years her elder, mother, 
 and I look my years and twenty more," he 
 said, as he pushed a tall-backed armchair into 
 the doorway where he was wont to sit at even- 
 time watching the landscape, sometimes smoking 
 and listening to his mother's chat and gossip, at 
 others poring over the pages of a volume of 
 serious import — a journal of travel, a treatise on 
 science, a chapter of history, often a play by 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 "The better thou art fitted to be her protector," 
 said Mrs. Clegg, as Reuben seated himself and 
 sighed over the thought that he was in more 
 ways than this one of age hardly a desirable 
 suitor for the hand of Mary Talbot. "She can- 
 not always have Sir George with her any more 
 than thou canst have me, though I may be far 
 beyond Sir George's age; and if thou wert not 
 my own son, Reuben, I would tell thee to thy 
 face that if she be sweet and fair thou art strong 
 and lovable, and hast no match in all the broad 
 country either for thy — " 
 
 "Peace, mother," said Reuben, turning toward 
 her. "Thou art a witness of prejudice where 
 my character is concerned." 
 
 "But an thou dost not speak to her, Reuben, 
 wilt let me be thy messenger?" 
 
 "Thee, mother?" 
 
 "Ay, me. She has no mother, the more's the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 35 
 
 pit}-. Why should she not listen to thine? 
 "Who can know thee so well, who so fitted to 
 speak for thee?" 
 
 "Nay, mother," he replied, rising, "if I can- 
 not speak for myself I'll have no go-betweens, 
 not even thee, my love, not even thee," and he 
 took her into his great manly arms and pressed 
 her to his heart. 
 
 CHAPTER FIVE 
 
 HOW STRANGERS CAME TO EYAM 
 
 A little world in itself, the village of Eyam 
 might have been a lonely island of the sea, far 
 from the track of ships, so completely was it cut 
 off from the great centers of English life and 
 action. There were not wanting, however, in 
 its annals stories of love and intrigue, instances 
 of courage and self-denial, and other passages of 
 romance worthy of the historian and the poet. 
 
 The record of its heroism, which fills one of 
 the most impressive chapters in the annals of 
 England, began with a peaceful invasion, a brief 
 description of which will mark at once the period 
 of our narrative and suggest the atmosphere that 
 belongs to it. 
 
 To the student who had eyes and thoughts that 
 ranged far beyond the hills that shut in the vil- 
 lage of Eyam from the great world, the time 
 was full of high ambitions. Histories of th« 
 triumphs and adventures of the British pioneers
 
 MO THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 of the days of Elizabeth had become familial 
 among those who read, and strange incidents 
 of new dicoveries and warlike episodes gave a 
 poetic glamour to the narratives of soldiers and 
 sailors in cottage homes and tavern parlors. 
 The death of Cromwell had followed the execu- 
 tion of Charles, and the restoration of monarchy- 
 had given a fresh impetus to the national love of 
 romance. Eyam was, however, tucked away 
 from all this — a village retreat outside the 
 world, except for such influence as the Old Hall 
 brought to bear upon it once in a way, and the 
 occasional giving forth of Eeuben Clegg on 
 some subject that became controversial between 
 him and Sir George, or the rector; for he rarely 
 had patience to take the Crown and Anchor into 
 his intellectual confidence. Not that he was in 
 the least priggish or self-conscious by reason of 
 his superior knowledge, but the company at the 
 Crown and Anchor was wooden, prejudiced, and 
 largely under the control of the Constable of 
 Eyam, who was egotistical in his ignorance and 
 something of a jack in office. 
 
 One Saturday afternoon, when Reuben Clegg 
 was smoking his after-dinner pipe, he suddenly 
 rose from his chair, and first gazing down into 
 the glen, and then turning toward his mother, 
 who, having cleared the dinner things away, 
 was taking up her knitting, and preparing for a 
 chat, he said, "What's coming yonder, mother?" 
 
 "Nay, whither?" she asked, stepping into the 
 sunshine, and shading her eyes with her brown 
 right hand.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 37 
 
 ""Winding through the oaks at the foot of the 
 dale," Reuben replied, pointing toward Calver, 
 where his keener vision had detected the unac- 
 customed sight of a cavalcade entering the rocky 
 defile of Middleton Dale, and climbing toward 
 the plateau upon which straggled the picturesque 
 village of Eyam. 
 
 It was a calm, sunny day, one of those days 
 in the late autumn when it seems as if summer 
 has come back again— the earth dry, and little 
 moisture in the air, red berries on the hedges in 
 place of the fallen leaves, the sky far away, the 
 trees and the mountains clean-cut against the 
 horizon, like the work of a fine etching. 
 
 A radiant vision of the Orient could not have 
 been more startling or wonderful to Clegg and 
 his mother than the strange procession which 
 riveted their attention as it appeared and then 
 disappeared at intervals in the winding glen. 
 
 It came and went, in and out of sudden curves, 
 under the white limestone rocks that the centuries 
 had molded into fantastic shapes, such as palaces, 
 castles, loopholed fortresses and church steeples. 
 
 At first it looked like the vanguard of an 
 army. Clegg, for a moment, wondered if he 
 should arm himself and alarm the village. The 
 next moment, as he got a clearer view of it, he 
 rnnembered having heard of the carriage of 
 goods and the journeying of travelers on pack- 
 horses, of which the strange procession evidently 
 consisted, for now he could see the baskets on 
 each side of the horses, and the riders between 
 them. The latter, however, were attired in
 
 38 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 robes and headdresses, the like of which had 
 never previously come under his notice, except 
 in pictures illustrating an edition of Shakespeare 
 that he had bought when he journeyed into 
 Hallamshire on the business of the "Winship 
 Mine, and in a copy of the Scriptures which his 
 mother read night and morning — an heirloom of 
 her family, one of the few treasures she had 
 brought with her, as she often told her son, 
 when she married his father. She was a widow 
 now, and had worn her weeds ever since Reuben 
 was a lad. 
 
 The cavalcade, slowly approaching the bend 
 of the road that was immediately overlooked by 
 Clegg's cottage, had a strange and foreign ap- 
 pearance. It was a caravan, attended by out- 
 riders and guards, the latter exercising similar 
 duties to the escorts of the Arab merchants in 
 the desert. They were evidently Englishmen, 
 nevertheless. Their stout leathern jerkins, felt 
 hats, and untanned riding-boots of somber color 
 heightened the gay clothes and ribbons, and 
 other finery, of the men and women who rode 
 between the baskets of the pack-horses. 
 
 CHAPTER SIX 
 
 THE WOOING OF REUBEN CLEGG 
 
 The travelers were clearly foreigners; "bar- 
 barians," Mrs. Clegg suggested. "Might be
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 39 
 
 show-folk or gypsies, or the like, in such tags 
 and finery. ' ' 
 
 "Thou'rt right, mother; they might be folk 
 out of a mystery play, or a legend of Egypt; I've 
 never seen the like." 
 
 "Nay, Reuben, I'll be bound thou'lt mek 
 summat fanciful on it, the way thy head runs 
 on things that rightly belong to dreams," said 
 his mother, with a look at her son of mingled 
 admiration and trouble. 
 
 And yet, in his appearance, Clegg had little 
 that one associates with the appearance of a 
 romantic man. There was one in that proces • 
 sion coming up the glen who carried an air of 
 romance in every feature, and another of the 
 same nationality, destined to make a later ap- 
 pearance in Eyam, who might have posed as a 
 troubadour, with olive complexion, raven locks 
 and flashing eyes, and with a gift of minstrelsy ; 
 but Reuben Clegg was of the British yeoman 
 type, strongs matter-of-fact, somewhat angular, 
 with a determined, square chin, half-hidden by a 
 rough beard, a nose that was bony and firm in 
 outline, a forehead square and hard, with no 
 more of the retreating angle in it than there was 
 of retreat in the Clegg nature when the Clegg 
 nature was in battle array either against the 
 hard rock of the Winship Mine or in argument 
 with Sir George Talbot, the rector, or the fathers 
 of the village at the Crown and Anchor. 
 
 At the same time there was much that was 
 gentle in Clegg's disposition. He was tender 
 with children and humane to animals. Mary
 
 40 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Talbot could have linked him to her wrist with 
 a silken chain, as she did practically link him to 
 her service. His hair was closely cropped, and 
 in this respect suggested the Cromwellian soldier, 
 though Clegg had done no fighting either for the 
 Unicorn or the Crown. Nor was he reputed in 
 the village as a fighting man, either in sport or 
 earnest ; though in the village games, whenever 
 he had been induced to take a hand, he had in- 
 variably held his own. 
 
 The villagers called him "Old Thoughtful." 
 They had called him "Old Thoughtful" ever 
 since he was a lad. 
 
 Once upon a time he didn't care a farthing 
 what he was called. His mind was engrossed in 
 what was at that day a somewhat primitive 
 study — the revelations of geology. 
 
 Furthermore, he was learned in other direc- 
 tions. Contrasted, indeed, with what other peo- 
 ple about him knew, his knowledge was uncanny. 
 
 It was an ignorant and a sordid age. The 
 women were drudges ; the men lived coarse lives, 
 but cultivated the virtues of loyalty and hospital- 
 ity. The country was prosperous. Food was 
 plentiful. It was cooked and served in abun- 
 dance, and with rigid simplicity. Eyam, a model 
 village in its way, was primitive in its life and 
 habits, superstitious, doubtful of the good faith of 
 studious men, and uncompromisingly suspicious 
 of strangers. 
 
 The daughter of Sir George Fanshawe Talbot 
 (the chief personage in the village, its local 
 magistrate and general patron), Mary Talbot,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 41 
 
 as we have already understood, was far above 
 Clegg's station in life in an age when the differ- 
 ent classes of the people were emphatically dis- 
 tinguished one from the other. 
 
 Sir George and Clegg were, however, on in- 
 timate terms, not alone because Clegg interested 
 Sir George, and there was something to learn 
 from him, but for the reason that to all intents 
 and purposes he was Sir George's partner in the 
 lead mine that had done so much toward the 
 mending of his fortunes, not to say the making 
 of them. The lead deposits, their extent and 
 capability of being worked, had been entirely 
 Clegg's discovery. The mine was one of the 
 triumphs of the divining rod. 
 
 It must not be understood from the fact of 
 Clegg establishing a belief in the occult power 
 of the rod that he was a pretender to super- 
 natural powers, or in any respect a charlatan. 
 
 The Virgula Divinatoria, or divining rod, is 
 employed to this day in the Midland counties 
 and further North, where the character of the 
 districts is metalliferous. If at the end of the 
 nineteenth century this may be regarded only as 
 evidence of the tenacity of tradition and super- 
 stition, the rod, in the diviner's hands, was con- 
 templated with certain awe in the days of Reu- 
 ben Clegg. It was generally a forked twig of 
 the hazel tree or the white thorn. Held in a 
 peculiar way, at an angle of seventy degrees, it 
 was grasped strongly and steadily in the hand. 
 The operator walked over the ground, and when 
 he crossed a lode the twig bent. A similar
 
 42 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 course was adopted for the discovery of water , 
 and local newspapers of the present year of 
 1896 contain accounts of the finding of an un- 
 suspected and valuable spring by a Midland 
 counties diviner. 
 
 Clegg had a knowledge of the mysteries of 
 things, and had studied the geological formation 
 of the district of Eyam. In his hands the divin- 
 ing rod may have been thoughtfully directed, 
 though Clegg assuredly believed in the assist- 
 ance of its peculiar powers. Besides his other 
 gifts — and reading and writing were by some 
 regarded as gifts of Providence at that time — 
 Clegg was a man of parts, and a notable figure 
 in the villages that were dotted, here and there, 
 at long distances apart, among the hills of the 
 High Peak Hundred. 
 
 Sometimes Clegg wished that Mary Talbot, 
 besides being the prettiest girl in the village, 
 had been the poorest ; for then, perhaps, his abil- 
 ity to provide her with a more than ordinarily 
 furnished house might have had weight with 
 her. But she was not only his superior in re- 
 spect of the world's goods (she was her father's 
 only child, and heiress to property bequeathed 
 by her mother), but they were still further sepa- 
 rated by the barrier of descent. 
 
 The Talbots were an old and aristocratic 
 family. Reuben Clegg belonged to the yeo- 
 manry of the county, and held a few acres of 
 land that had come down to him through several 
 generations. He was, however, of no account 
 measured by the standard of the great landed
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 45 
 
 gentry, though for a time it had been consider- 
 ably lowered through the Revolution. That 
 was all over now, and under the Restoration 
 the old arrogance of blood was beginning to 
 make itself felt again; not in Eyam, perhaps, 
 for nothing had much altered the manners and 
 customs of Eyam — Monarchy, Democracy, Re- 
 publicanism, Imperialism, Papism, Presbyteri- 
 anisni — until a year or two previous to the be- 
 ginning of this present history, when Anne of 
 Stafford married Francis Bradshaw, bringing to 
 the Old Hall, near Eyam, more than a quarter 
 of a million sterling, together with a strong 
 leaning toward Roman Catholicism and much 
 fashionable ostentation. 
 
 The Old Hall was parlly new in those days, 
 being an extension of the magnificent house of 
 the Staffords. It was by reason of an ambitious 
 scheme for the beautifying and decoration of a 
 recently added new wing that, as if by magic, 
 the narrow road below Clegg's cottage was filled 
 with that strange procession. The travelers had 
 begun their pilgrimage in the sunny streets of 
 Florence and Verona, to take ship from the his- 
 toric quays of Venice and thence to the Thames, 
 meeting their guards and attendants in London, 
 and journeying day by day through the strange 
 land into the heart of the North Midland coun- 
 ties. 
 
 Reuben Clegg was a little over thirty, Mary 
 Talbot in her twenty-first year; both looked 
 older than their age, Clegg from exposure to the 
 weather and a hard life of physical labor and
 
 44 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 mental study, Mary by reason of her finely de- 
 veloped figure and perhaps a certain habit of 
 authority. Just as Reuben was beyond the 
 other natives of the village in cultivation and 
 knowledge, so was Mary Talbot beyond other 
 girls in her womanly manner, her commanding 
 figure and the maturity of her charms. It must 
 not be understood by this that she was a rural 
 Betty or a pastoral Dorothy, of ample bust and 
 ruddy features, a ripe peach of young woman- 
 hood, a village belle such as the old painters 
 depicted riding pillion with father or mother to 
 market ; she was quite another kind of person. 
 
 In the way of dress she occasionally took a 
 hint from the fashions of the ladies of the Old 
 Hall, but she had as much discretion in this 
 connection as she had exercised in checking 
 Clegg's expression of admiration. These, as we 
 have seen, had to be rather the language of the 
 eye than the tongue. 
 
 Clegg experienced passing fears that Mary 
 might be tempted to imitate the frivolous habits 
 as well as the showy gowns and low bodices of 
 the dames from the Old Hall, who gave Eyam 
 its only glimpses of Metropolitan manners, its 
 "bad and hateful manners" Clegg called them ; 
 but Mary had a way of adapting new fashions to 
 her own individuality with a resultant harmony 
 that left no discord or ragged ends. She was 
 not a perfect type of physical beauty by any 
 means. There was, in fact, a lady sitting on one 
 of those pack-horses that were toiling up the 
 glen to th© village street who was far more
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 45 
 
 lovely from a sculptor's or a painter's point of 
 view; but Mary had a peculiar charm of her 
 own that was irresistible; even women felt it, 
 and every man acknowledged it. She was of 
 an exceedingly fair complexion, in which she 
 might be regarded as typically English. Her 
 hair was a light brown. When the sun shone 
 into its tresses they were golden; though in no 
 respect to be compared with what we in these 
 degenerate days call golden — towy, d}~ed, life- 
 less locks with which women mock their natural 
 complexions. It was hair that possessed the 
 gloss of life and health, and when it was not 
 gathered up in a mass beneath a kerchief or 
 French hood it was looped negligently about her 
 head, and looked what a woman's hair was once 
 regarded — the chief glory of her person. She 
 carried herself with an easy, graceful manner, 
 was of a cheerful temper, and inclined to be 
 coquettish. 
 
 Clegg sometimes feared she laughed merely to 
 show her teeth, that were white and regular, 
 though dentistry in those days was neither an 
 art nor a profession.* You could hardly tell 
 what was the color of her eyes. Nor were her 
 eyebrows quite regularly arched, but they gave 
 character to the face, which was not ennobled 
 with the kind of nose that is said to indicate 
 aristocratic origin; it was nevertheless delicate, 
 the clean-cut nostrils, rather open, betokening 
 good temper and artistic feeling. Her mouth 
 was of a generous mold — too generous, perhaps 
 —according with her disposition, which induced
 
 46 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 what in cities would be regarded as undue trust- 
 fulness in overemphasized friendships, the weak- 
 ness of the unsophisticated. 
 
 A disposition of this kind, however, was quite 
 in keeping with the village life of Eyam, where 
 everybody knew each other, the community 
 being more or less one family, with its black 
 sheep it is true, its internal quarrels and troubles, 
 its joys and sorrows, but all open and above- 
 board ; no hole-and-corner conspiracies, no secret 
 distresses, no creeping into back garrets to die, 
 no robberies and murders, such as belong to the 
 dark side of cities ; a happy human village, with 
 one or two rich inhabitants, the rest more or less 
 on an equality of decent poverty, some living out 
 of their bit of land, a few by their looms, a hand- 
 ful of men working at the Winship Lead Mine. 
 These latter were regarded as skilled laborers — 
 they were of a different type from the miners of 
 the present day. 
 
 Around this interesting community stretches 
 a romantic country of hill and dale. Perched 
 upon a platform above the valley of the Derwent, 
 the long village street, sentineled by rugged oak 
 and elm, has Bradwell Edge running up against 
 the sky to the westward and below the romantic 
 dale of Middleton. It is connected with the lat- 
 ter by two precipitous openings called Eyam 
 Dale and the Delf, the one destined to a double 
 fame in these annals as the scene of a tragedy 
 and the other for its natural pulpit of a hero of 
 the Church — but not for that Church which had 
 for its more or less secret representative the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 47 
 
 hooded priest who was watching from the high- 
 est window of the Old Hall for the coming of 
 his countrymen, according to advices from 
 Father Lorenzo in Venice, and, more recently, 
 from Lady Stafford in London. 
 
 CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
 THE PAGEANT OF THE PACK-HORSES 
 
 The picturesque procession of pack-horses had 
 commenced the journey from the Mersey. Liv- 
 erpool had only been twenty years a free port, 
 having been hitherto subject to the authority of 
 Chester. 
 
 The vessel that had winged her way from the 
 Adriatic to the Irish Sea, and finally anchored at 
 the mouth of the Mersey, had landed her passen- 
 gers at the nearest point for Eyam instead of 
 making the port of London, whence it would 
 have been necessary to transport them by car- 
 riage to Derbyshire. 
 
 A carriage and six horses, with relays along 
 the route, was necessary for a journey from 
 London to the Peak. Nor would six horses have 
 been sufficient for the Old Hall's foreign guests, 
 considering the amount of luggage they carried. 
 Apart from their personal effects and wardrobes, 
 they brought the tools and appliances of their 
 arts, and these were both various and many. 
 
 Pack-horses traversed the country from Lon-
 
 48 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 don, but as a rule only with goods. The hum- 
 bler sort of persons journeyed between the laden 
 panniers, but at little more than a walking pace. 
 It was, however, no great distance from Liver 
 pool to Eyam, though not devoid of difficulties 
 and dangers. Arranging for intervals of rest, 
 the pack-horse had been deemed the best method 
 for conveying the strangers from the Mersey to 
 the valley of the Derwent. 
 
 History records the first daring innovation in 
 the way of transit as having been made at about 
 this time in the first "Flying Coach," which had 
 been constructed and horsed to perform the 
 journey between London and Oxford between 
 sunrise and sunset. 
 
 It was in the autumn of 1663, when the 
 pageant of the pack-horses was seen entering the 
 defile of Middleton Dale, watched, from their 
 cottage door, as we have seen, by Reuben Clegg 
 and his mother, and eagerly scanned from a 
 greater distance by Father Castelli. 
 
 Presently, a rare gleam of color among the 
 rocks and foliage of the valley, it mounted the 
 steep ascent and entered the village street. Its 
 incidents of blue and gold and flashes of burn- 
 ished harness met with a bright rivalry of varied 
 hues in the garden flowers that could be seen, 
 through the fences and over the garden walls of 
 nearly every dwelling place. 
 
 Early as the period was in the history of gar- 
 dening, Eyam made a rare horticultural show, 
 promoted and encouraged by her great festival 
 of the year, which has descended to her neigh-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 49 
 
 bors, and is still celebrated in the year of grace 
 1896, when spring came as usual to Tissington 
 with its fete of Ascension, a religious ceremonial 
 that links the festivals of ancient Italy with, the 
 Christian observances of the third and fourth 
 centuries, and thence onward to the present day, 
 though now r here else in England is Christ's As- 
 cension celebrated as it is in the valley of the 
 Derwent, and as it was in the early days of 
 Eyam. 
 
 It is strange that Roubillac, the painter, and 
 his dark-eyed companions should have" traveled 
 from the Adriatic Sea to find in one of the most 
 remote villages of England a survival of their 
 ancient festal tribute to Flora. 
 
 Eyam had gathered her first flowers of the 
 budding year and dressed her wells and sung its 
 Glorias over her fountains in the latter days of 
 May, 1663, had also held her annual wakes, and 
 had settled down to the storage of her oats and 
 w r heat, and her vegetables and fruits, for the 
 coming winter; for it was now autumn, with 
 brown and yellow leaves on the trees, a carpet 
 of the same on the roadways, and at night the 
 In niters' moon up in the blue heavens. 
 
 There was no smoke of coal to dim the silver 
 planet's radiance; and she had, one cannot help 
 believing, more light to reflect from her lord the 
 sun than is vouchsafed to her in these latter 
 days, if the poetry of the time may be trusted 
 as a guide to the character of the seasons. We 
 are apt to decorate the past with a sunshine that 
 obtains an added glow from the imagination.
 
 60 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 If a century is but a geological second, the 
 two hundred and sixty odd years upon which we 
 are looking back can hardly have had bluer skies 
 than are still vouchsafed to the pastoral stretches 
 of English country where the perfumes of peal 
 and wood fires still permeate the wholesome 
 atmosphere. 
 
 Every cottage in the village was alive with 
 spectators as the foreign procession began to file 
 along the village street with jingle of harness and 
 crack of whips and chatter of foreign tongues. 
 
 Most of the houses were built of stone quarried 
 in the neighborhood, and thickly thatched, the 
 roofs brown and yellow with lichen or green 
 with house-leek. As a rule they were detached 
 dwellings, though here and there two or three 
 were joined together. The doors were square, 
 with heavy stone joists, though archway en- 
 trances varied the primitive style in some in- 
 stances, with the addition of decorative window 
 jams. Small diamond panes, some of them with 
 bulbous centers — bottle-panes we call them now 
 ■ — were general; and the architectural line of 
 roofs and gables was agreeably broken, with a 
 picturesque effect of outline in stone and thatch, 
 and overhanging trees, in one heavy clump of 
 which a rookery had been suddenly awakened 
 into inquisitive cries and bustle. Their ragged 
 nests could be seen among the swajang leaves, 
 clusters of which, shaken by the unusual fluster 
 of the cawing lodgers, fluttered down into the 
 roadway. 
 
 Roubillac, the painter, noticed all this, and
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 51 
 
 drew the attention of his wife to the various in- 
 cidents that appealed to his artistic vision. 
 
 They had pulled up, with the rest, before the 
 unpretentious portals of the village inn, the 
 Crown and Anchor, the sign of which was 
 swinging from a curiously -wrought iron bracket, 
 riveted upon a flag-pole in the center of an open 
 space, the house being set back from the high- 
 way; and it had, near the entrance door, an 
 oaken bench, and a small fountain that made 
 rippling music in a drinking-trough for cattle. 
 
 Eyam was noted for its plentiful supply of 
 water, and not the least interesting point along 
 the street was the deep pool that reflected the 
 leafy surroundings and patches of blue sky near 
 the Manor House, the only important residence 
 in the village street. It was set back, like the 
 village inn, but with a stone-paved courtyard 
 and a walled-in garden and bowling-green. 
 
 At the tall iron gates of the Manor House, as 
 the procession had filed by, stood Sir George 
 Fanshawe Talbot, knight and baronet, and his 
 daughter, Mary Talbot, with a few servants at 
 their back, not in attendance, as it might have 
 seemed, but spectators, like their master and the 
 belle and beauty of Eyam, to whom, as they 
 passed, the Italians had doffed their caps. Each 
 of the travelers sat between two baskets or 
 panniers, that were filled with various kinds 
 of baggage. 
 
 At the Crown and Anchor the travelers dis- 
 mounted, with sighs and laughter, some of them 
 tin-d and weary, others too delighted with the
 
 52 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 prospect of the journey's ending to restrain their 
 expressions of joy. Signor Bernardo Roubillac 
 appeared to be the chief personage, and Signora 
 Roubillac his principal charge. She was much 
 younger than he, and, at a glance, while the 
 procession was passing the Manor House, Mary 
 Talbot felt that here was a rival beauty, dark 
 and gypsy-like though she might be. It inter- 
 ested her deeply to learn that she would bo likely 
 to be the guest of the Old Hall for some time. 
 Both she and her father found it difficult to quite 
 realize the importance of mere painters or artifi- 
 cers, but Sir George had been to court and had 
 learned in what estimation these Florentine 
 artists were held ; and he had reason to believe 
 that in securing the services of Roubillac and his 
 companions the Bradshaws had been honored by 
 the king's own advice and introduction. 
 
 Bernardo Roubillac had been commissioned to 
 decorate my lady's chamber in the Italian man- 
 ner, together with the chapel in the new wing 
 of the Old Hall that had been built in honor of 
 her marriage, and, it may as well be said, with 
 her own money; for she had not only brought 
 fashion and courtly manners to her Derbyshire 
 home, but wealth — a matter of importance to the 
 owner. Although he had escaped the general 
 plunder of the times, he had gambled away his 
 estate, not in the taverns of London, but at the 
 Wells that had suddenly become the resort of a 
 handful of the nobility, within a day's journey 
 of the little-known village of Eyam. 
 
 Mary Talbot's intuitive appreciation of the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 53 
 
 beauty of the foreign lady was fully justified by 
 the reality. Nor was Mary the only person to 
 be impressed by the new comer. The villagers 
 maintained a respectful distance while the trav- 
 elers alighted at the inn. A few, more actively 
 inquisitive than the rest, stood by the inn door, 
 several of the men lending a hand to the mule- 
 teer-like attendants in loosening the harness of 
 the horses and helping to water them. Other- 
 wise, most of the villagers contented themselves 
 by standing at their doors or looking out from 
 their windows ; and the majority were women, 
 the men being at work in the fields or at the 
 "Winship Mine. 
 
 Nor were the Italians altogether singular in 
 the artistic cut and color of their clothes. The 
 villagers were mostly in somber colors, but they 
 wore the hood with which ladies themselves 
 enveloped their heads when they wore no com- 
 mode; and when dressed in their best, as on 
 Sundays, they donned a hat with the brim 
 slightly turned up, a laced bodice, sleeves slightly 
 puffed and with cuffs and narrow frills; at the 
 waist a gay bunch of ribbon secured the apron, 
 and upon the high-heeled, sharp-pointed shoes 
 they also sported smart bows of ribbon. The 
 men attired themselves very much after the man- 
 ner of the pack-horse attendants, in buff jerkin 
 and hose of calves' leather, with round felt hat 
 of the Charles pattern, or of the more formal 
 cut of the Roundhead. There was a good deal 
 of variety in the men's clothes, since the severity 
 of the Puritan was onre more merging into the
 
 64 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 gay and negligent attire of the cavalier. Sir 
 George Fanshawe Talbot, for instance, wore bis 
 lace cloak and well-trimmed pointed beard and 
 rapier, like the old Tory that he was, though 
 he did not permit his daughter Mary to emulate 
 the ladies of the Old Hall, except with such 
 modest adaptation of curls and furbelows as 
 might become the virtuous maiden who, besides 
 maintaining the dignity of her position, should 
 set a fair example to her humble sisters of Eyam. 
 
 The Signora Francesca, wife of the painter 
 Roubillac, wore a gown of a rich material that 
 had never yet been seen in Eyam, even when the 
 ladies of the Old Hall had descended upon the 
 church at Easter, or had graced the festival of 
 the Springs with their presence. It was of a 
 deep blush red, a new color even in Italy, and 
 had a sheen that flashed in the sun and, by con- 
 trast, made the black silk and soft-lined cloak or 
 mantle that fell from her shoulders in a straight 
 line to her dainty heels black as her raven hair, 
 which rippled in masses from a small close-fit- 
 ting cap fastened to her tresses with silver pins. 
 It was hardly a traveling costume, and yet it 
 seemed quite regular and appropriate to the 
 wearer. 
 
 The signora looked round upon the scene with 
 soft dreamy eyes, violet in color, a marked con- 
 trast to her hair and her olive complexion. Her 
 face was oval, and her under lip had a dimple 
 in it, as if there was a hidden smile there that 
 Love had not yet lighted upon. Her beauty 
 was Oriental, foreign, luscious, and yet it sug-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 55 
 
 gested restraint, self-suppression, something of 
 introspection; altogether different from Rou- 
 billac, whose heart seemed to look out from his 
 eyes, now and then with an anxious kind of 
 happiness, now and then with a burning inspira- 
 tion. His was an ascetic face ; long, pale, closely 
 shaven, almost Dantesque. He also wore a long 
 cloak, not ample, as cloaks are made in these 
 days, but fitting almost close to the figure. He 
 also wore the bechetto or scarf, flung loosely 
 round his breast. "When his cloak was flung 
 back, showing its purple silk lining, the front 
 folds of the bechetto partly hid the closely but- 
 toned vest, with its linen collar, but altogether 
 unlike the cut of the bodice of the signora; and 
 they both wore a band round their necks — Rou- 
 billac, some Order of Honor terminating in a 
 burnished star, the lady, a rich necklet of beads 
 of many hues and shapes. 
 
 "When the steward rode down from the Old 
 Hall to conduct them thither, they had already 
 entered the village inn. The steward said it 
 was his master's wish that they should go 
 straightway to the Old Hall without resting at 
 the village, seeing that their destination was 
 only a mile hence, and every preparation had 
 been made for their reception. 
 
 Signor Roubillac, however, explained that the 
 signora had desired to rest a while before their 
 reception at the Old Hall. No further answer 
 was deemed necessary, for what the signora de- 
 sired was law to Roubillac and the rest, and they 
 all adored her; and none of them grudged her
 
 56 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the homage she exacted, for she was a generous 
 mistress, and had done much to glorify their art, 
 and was beloved of all in Venice. 
 
 They were a remarkable little company ; mo- 
 saic workers from Venice, wood-carvers from 
 Florence, and painters from Verona, with Rou- 
 billac at their head — the Roubillac who had re- 
 vealed his genius in the Church of San Stefano, 
 at Verona, in an altar-piece that had suddenly 
 given him a foremost place among the painters 
 of the great cities of the Art world of Italy. 
 
 It was to his wife, Fiancesca, that he owed 
 the inspiration for that great work, and the most 
 sublime achievement of the painter, in the cen- 
 tral figure of the group, was done from a study 
 of Francesca herself. It was no mere blonde 
 angel, with blue eyes and golden hair; but a 
 flesh and blood realization of beauty, with the 
 glow of heaven on its rich complexion, and the 
 divine light shining among its raven tresses — a 
 novel treatment, and full of startling contrasts 
 of form and color and idealized womanhood that 
 Tifted the sister angels into a rivalry of adora- 
 tion. 
 
 Several of the men (some of them mere arti- 
 ficers and assistants) had brought their wives. 
 Signora Roubillac was attended by her maid. 
 There were also several serving- women, for 
 Lady Stafford's agents and the good Father 
 Lorenzo at Venice had taken up her instructions 
 with no niggard hands. Her ladyship, moved 
 by an impulse of ambition, and the first stirrings 
 of English aspirations toward decorative art, had
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 57 
 
 resolved to have no other palace in the Peak 
 outvying the Old Hall, and there was no longer 
 any Bess of Hardwick to compete with. 
 
 Thus it was that Eyani rose up on an eventful 
 day to assist at a peaceful invasion of foreigners, 
 but for whose advent this romance of the moun- 
 tain village of the Peak would have had little 
 "raison d'etre," notwithstanding certain other 
 engrossing passages of an impressive history. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
 THE CONSTABLE WHO NEVER HEARD OF DOG- 
 BERRY 
 
 "A monstrous ungodly lot!" remarked Hum- 
 phrey Dakin, the constable of Eyam, looking 
 for approval toward Reuben Clegg, who saun- 
 tered up to the little crowd by the inn door as 
 the foreign procession with its muleteer-like at- 
 tendants resumed its march, making for the Old 
 Hall, which could be seen from the village street 
 among the half-stripped trees. 
 
 "Nay, everything seems ungodly to thee, 
 Dakin, that thou canst not understand," said 
 Clegg. 
 
 "That's one for t' constable," said John Rad- 
 ford, the master of the Crown and Anchor, 
 thrusting his big hands into the ample pockets 
 of his long broidered vest. 
 
 Radford was a burly fellow, with coarse feat-
 
 58 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 ures and a coarser laugh. He rolled in his gait 
 and gurgled in his speech. He forced his good 
 humor. It was his business to be mirthful — so 
 he thought, at least. 
 
 The bystanders laughed at his observation 
 from sheer goodwill. They didn't love Clegg 
 any more than they loved the constable; the 
 first was something of a mystery to them, and 
 the second was ostentatious in his office, an 
 exaggerated imitation of the magisterial man- 
 ner of Sir George Fanshawe Talbot. They re- 
 membered that the constable had once upon a 
 time been wont to call Clegg ungodly, which 
 Clegg had taken a subtle opportunity of resent- 
 ing without seeming to do so. There had been 
 a friendly wrestling match on the Green at the 
 Feast, and Clegg, in a bout with Dakin, had 
 flung him somewhat viciously, to the laming 
 of the constable for half a year. 
 
 "Well, come, Master Reuben," said the con- 
 stable, "if I say a thing's ungodly, it's in a 
 promiscuous way and moun't be taken as a mat- 
 ter of rebuke, though you do give forth opinions 
 out of the common when the Catechism is con- 
 sidered, and such." 
 
 "There's no need to go much out of what thou 
 calls the common to puzzle thee, old Dogberry," 
 Clegg replied. 
 
 "Why 'old Dogberry'?" said Dakin, pursing 
 his lips and puffing out his buttoned cloak. 
 
 "Because thou'rt such a Solon, Dakin; and 
 Dogberry was a wise constable who knew his 
 office and was as pretty a piece of flesh as any
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSR 59 
 
 in Messina, and comprehended the lav/, mark 
 you." 
 
 "I never heard of the fellow," Dakin replied, 
 "and I suspect thou'rt laughing at me in thy 
 sleeve; an' if thou art, beware if one day the 
 laugh doth not come to my turn, in the course of 
 Nature." 
 
 "I shall remember," Clegg replied; and the 
 bystanders winked knowingly one to the other 
 as much as to say, "There will be things worth 
 seeing when that comes about," little dreaming 
 how soon the constable's turn might come. 
 
 "The law's not to be ridiculed contumacious- 
 ly," said the constable, glaring upon the crowd. 
 "And a constable's a constable, mark you, 
 whether his name be Dakin or Dogberry — a 
 fellow that I say is unknown to me, and is of 
 no account in the Hundred of the Peak, where 
 there's no such place as Messina, and nothing 
 like it." 
 
 "Ho, ho! Ha, ha!" gasped Radford, who 
 felt that it was time to get a laugh into the con- 
 versation. His guffaw met with no response 
 from the crowd. 
 
 ' ' Whether they be ungodly or no, Master Con- 
 stable," said Clegg, "I cannot say, but I agree 
 with you in the remark that yonder strangers 
 are a queer lot." 
 
 Then turning to Jacob Cutts, the tailor, he 
 asked, "Marked you the woman with the shin- 
 ing robes, something after the Queen of Sheba?" 
 "Indeed and I did," replied Cutts, in mild 
 voice and with deferential manner. He was thin
 
 60 1HK DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 and under the medium height, his face cleanly 
 shaven, his hair oiled and curly, his costume a 
 modification of the Cromwellian and the Royal- 
 ist, a compromise to suit the tastes of his cus- 
 tomers. He was the only tailor for miles round, 
 and he had of late become a person of importance 
 in the village, for he had been employed by more 
 than one visitor to the Old Hall. Once in two 
 or three years he had been in the habit of receiv- 
 ing patterns and complete outfits all the way 
 from the capital ; recently he had given out that 
 this would be an annual custom. 
 
 "And the g}~psy took my attention also," said 
 the constable, comforted somewhat by Clegg's 
 indorsement of his opinion of the foreigners. 
 "And when you came up we were sayin' that 
 she might have been the Jezebel of Scripture 
 herself if she hadn't been so much like what they 
 call the Scarlet Lad}- of Rome." 
 
 "I see you desire to comprehend her," said 
 Clegg, with just the flicker of a cynical smile at 
 the corners of his sensitive lips. 
 
 "No, Master Clegg, I had no thought of it. 
 God forbid she should come into my hands ! An' 
 j f I had the locking of her up in the round-house 
 I'd expect her to vanish through the keyhole, for 
 I misdoubt me she's no better than a witch, with 
 hair as black as a crow, and eyes that are full of 
 the Evil One, and such!" 
 
 "Nonsense, Dakin; nonsense, neighbors," 
 Clegg replied, addressing all the bystanders. 
 "If I said the strangers seemed a queer lot, I 
 had no meaning of such rank disparagement as
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS til 
 
 the constable. Yonder woman, look you, comes 
 from a land where the sun always shines, and 
 the common people speak poetry better than the 
 songs of Jasper, the minstrel of Hallamshire ; 
 it's natural to them. And the village children 
 in their country play better music than Eyam, 
 with its psalters and its sackbuts and viols, 
 makes on Sundaj'S in the church. I've been 
 speaking with Sir George. They are Italians, 
 he tells me, come to paint the Old Hall and fill 
 it with pictures of what you call angels and what 
 poets call gods and goddesses; so that yonder 
 house of Chatsworth, in the valley, and all old 
 Bess of Hardwick's fanciful architecture and 
 decoration shall be eclipsed, as the sun eclipses 
 the moon, by the Staff ord-Bradshaws." 
 
 The constable, Radford, Cutts and the rest 
 looked at each other with bewildered and in- 
 quiring glances. 
 
 They knew nothing of gods and goddesses. 
 One God they knew, and no other. The rector 
 took care, so far as he was concerned, they 
 shouldn't forget Him; and his ejected contem- 
 porary, who still lived in the village, supple- 
 mented his worthy brother's endeavors. 
 
 Clegg's speech sounded to them Papistical; 
 but the master of the "Winship was known not 
 to favor any outward and visible sign of faith, 
 and he held strangely unorthodox, not to say 
 atheistical opinions of the future life. "Man 
 makes his own heaven and hell upon earth," 
 was one of his mottoes. Furthermore, he had 
 declared that neither the Presbyterians, the In-
 
 62 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 dependents, the Catholics, nor any other profes- 
 sional gospelers had any patent for saving souls. 
 They had all at one time or another heard him 
 say these things, and they felt that if there was 
 anything occult or unholy, schismatic or treason- 
 able going on at the Old Hall that was to be 
 exemplified in Pagan pictures or otherwise, it 
 was Lady Anne who would be to blame. 
 
 "What Master Bradshaw could have been 
 thinkin' about to espouse the woman, Anne 
 Stafford, is a marvel to me," said Joshua Long- 
 staff e, the cobbler-politician of the village, voic- 
 ing the thought that was passing through the 
 minds of most of the bystanders. 
 
 "You've found your tongue at last, eh, 
 Joshua?" said Clegg. 
 
 "I've been thinking, Reuben. I am not will- 
 ing, thou seest, to have thee carry off the name 
 of 'Old Thoughtful' without a contest." 
 
 ' ' No need to think much to understand yonder 
 marriage, and nobody does; but it's one thing 
 to think in Eyam, and another to say what you 
 think." 
 
 "It's cost many a better man than thou his 
 head, Reuben Clegg," said the constable, with- 
 out his usual circumlocutory flourish. 
 
 "The Lady Anne was possessed of a quarter 
 of a million sterling coin of the realm — " 
 
 ' ' And the devil to boot, ' ' remarked the cobbler. 
 
 " Which is enough to make even the devil him- 
 self welcome in some households," said Clegg; 
 "and Bradshaw's Presbyterianism wasn't strong 
 enough to resist what you call the other, and at
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 63 
 
 that price. Besides, and mark you this, if the 
 man loved the woman, what in the name of all 
 you folk hold sacred does it matter to him, 
 whether she believes the Mother of God a more 
 important partner in the heavenly partnership 
 than the Son—" 
 
 "Blasphemy!" exclaimed Longstaffe. 
 
 "No. Love!" retorted Clegg; "the love that 
 God, as you call Nature, has planted in the 
 human heart, that the world might be worth 
 man's living in." 
 
 "Profanation!" said Longstaffe. 
 
 "Friends, neighbors!" exclaimed Cutts, "all 
 this is beside the mark. What's it got to do 
 with what we was talking of, the travelers to 
 the Old Hall?" 
 
 "Ay, that's the point," said Radford. "A 
 queer lot, said you, Master Constable? I never 
 see aught like them out of a Morris dance, and 
 I'd be sorry to meet 'em beyond the gates on a 
 dark night." 
 
 "Hello!" squeaked the tailor, "Master Rad- 
 ford's serious." 
 
 "Damnation! A man can't be always burst- 
 ing of his sides with laughter," the landlord 
 replied, scowling at Cutts, who sidled up to the 
 constable. 
 
 ' ' Let Radford alone, ' ' said Clegg. " He is not 
 bo wise as he looks, but he's handsomer than the 
 Queen of Sheba yonder would think him." 
 
 The crowd sniggered at this, and the constable 
 said you never knew how to take Clegg.
 
 64 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 CHAPTER NINE 
 
 THE FORESHADOWING OF A COMING EVENT 
 
 "Ho, ho! Ha, ha! "When thou'st gotten to 
 take Clegg," shouted the landlord, interrupting 
 Dakin's remark humorously, "it'll puzzle thee, 
 Master Dakin, I warrant, more than it did to 
 hale Jasper the Minstrel before the justice." 
 
 "Most like," said the constable. "Most like; 
 but if it come in the way of my duty I'd tackle 
 it if the man's name was Goliath and he met me 
 with the sling of David." 
 
 "Or the tailor's yard of Cutts," said Clegg; 
 "an' they called him Touchstone, and he met 
 thee with a quip and a quiddity, tempered with 
 blows from a bladder, I doubt me not thou'dst 
 have at him all the same." 
 
 "That would I, Master Clegg, and I'd as lief 
 one as the other. ' ' 
 
 "Liefer, no doubt," said Clegg. "But as for 
 neighbor Radford not caring to meet the stran- 
 gers within our gates — " 
 
 "I said outside, Master Clegg," interrupted 
 the landlord. 
 
 ' ' So far as fearing to meet the strangers within 
 or without our gates, I warrant me they are 
 peaceful folk, and they might say the same of 
 us as you, Radford, say of them, if it should 
 have been our lot to travel into their country;
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 65 
 
 for I tell you that we are accounted no better 
 than cutthroats beyond seas, and I don't know 
 as we are much better, when it becomes our in- 
 terest to take a purse or a ship, a life or two 
 standing in our way." 
 
 "You scoff at me, Master Clegg, but I am 
 free to say, and I say it to thy face, that for an 
 Englishman thou'st gotten the most parlous 
 opinions; and as they favor the devil in one 
 thing, why not in another? That's my delivery, 
 and I stand by it." 
 
 The constable unbuttoned his coat as he spoke, 
 and breathed hard; he was angered. 
 
 "Thou'rt always so clear and straight in the 
 exposition of thy opinion, Dakin, that it's a 
 pleasure to listen to thee." 
 
 "I say thou speakest treason and heresy and 
 schism; and with moderate support, I'd hold it 
 righteous and within the law to make arrest of 
 thee." 
 
 Radford's loud laugh was nipped in the bud 
 by the crowd, among whom there were mur- 
 murs of encouragement of the constable, and at 
 the same time of sympathy with Clegg, whose 
 hostility to the law excited their admiration, but 
 whose known controversial disposition on the 
 Creeds and the Sacraments of the Church made 
 them fear; for Eyam, though it had been but 
 little disturbed by religious feuds, had traditions 
 of the stake and the gallows. She had been, 
 happily, free of both; but further away the 
 Hundred of the Peak had contributed victims to 
 the animosity of the avowed followers of Christ,
 
 66 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "An thou laid'st thy hand upon me, constable, 
 without warrant, I'd make thy bones rattle. 
 Thou'rt only an ass; it shames me to challenge 
 thee, mentally or physically; I'm but a fool to 
 do it. Get thee gone before I do thee a mischief, 
 with thy prate of treason and heresy. An thy 
 Master Charles is restored, thinkest thou free- 
 dom is under his heel, and that such as thou may 
 browbeat honest men? Out of my sight, I tell 
 thee!" 
 
 "Nay, but, Master Clegg," said Cutts, in his 
 mild voice, "we be all neighbors, and it befits 
 not that we wrangle here when Master Radford 
 has tapped last March brewing!" 
 
 "Ho, ho; ha, ha!' now shouted the landlord, 
 clapping his big hands upon the constable's 
 shoulders and pushing him into the house. 
 "Come along, friends; Mistress Radford and my 
 daughter Jane will serve you with bread and 
 beer, an you so desire, while I put the spigot 
 into as fine a barrel of liquor as ever was supped 
 in Eyam." 
 
 The constable made some show of resistance 
 ere his boots crunched the sanded floor of the 
 general room of the Crown and Anchor. 
 
 "Won't you come in, Master Clegg?" said 
 Longstaffe, the cobbler, pausing at the door, 
 where Clegg stood mentally upbraiding himself 
 for his exhibition of temper. 
 
 ' ' No, Master Longstaffe ; I've been fool enough 
 on the doorstep to be likely to improve my man- 
 ners over Radford's ale." 
 
 "What's gone wrong with thee, Clegg? It's
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 1 
 
 unlike thee to invite a brawl. I bate thy opin- 
 ions, nay, I lament them ; but I respect thy can- 
 dor and honor thy abilities. If thou didst not 
 blaspheme, I could love thee as a brother." 
 
 "That's mortal kind of thee, Master Long- 
 staff e," Clegg replied. 
 
 "Thou sayest so with denial in thy heart, 
 Master Clegg ; I feel the bite of thy ill-humor, 
 but I forgive thee. Won't come in?" 
 
 "Nay, I'U home," said Clegg. "I'm not 
 good company even for mj*self at times." 
 
 "Ah, my friend, if thou'dst let thy mind rest 
 a bit on the saving grace thy mother's found, 
 thou'dst be a happier man." 
 
 "Dost think so?" 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "And have yonder fools and asses, blether- 
 ing over Radford's March brewing, got saving 
 grace?" 
 
 "Marry, and I hope so, leastwise some." 
 
 "My mother has whatever is worth having in 
 this world in the way of peace and love and 
 sweetness, but that comes by Nature; she'd 
 have been the same had she been born in the 
 days when Rome worshiped Flora in the way 
 that Eyam worships Christ over the springs at 
 Ascension." 
 
 "Nay, and thou art to be counted among 
 the lost, I fear me, unless it be God's purpose to 
 make a shining example of thy great conversion, 
 or thy great punishment. I'm but a witless 
 creature, Master Clegg, peradventure, with not 
 a tithe of the talents the Master of the Vineyard
 
 68 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 hath intrusted to thee; but I would not be in 
 thy present shoes for all the wealth of the Staf- 
 ford-Bradshaws multiplied by the king's." 
 
 " Nay, and if thou art to be counted among the 
 prophets, Joshua, it behooves thee to remember 
 that it was thou who madest my shoes; and I 
 will say this for thy workmanship, that they 
 like me well." 
 
 The village cordwainer shook his head mourn- 
 fully, and disappeared within the portals of the 
 inn. 
 
 Clegg betook himself homeward. The wind 
 had risen. It was lifting the fallen leaves and 
 shaking others down from the trees. The rooks 
 protested in harsh cries. Attacked by the wind, 
 their plumage was as ragged as Clegg's reflec- 
 tions. He passed the Manor House without 
 locking at it. It seemed to him as if that strange 
 procession had blurred the image of Mary Talbot. 
 
 Was her fate, and his own, threatened in these 
 new arrivals? While Bernardo Roubillac had 
 come over the seas that his wife might fly from 
 the evil influence of a daring and unholy passion, 
 had she brought in her glittering train a danger 
 and a pestilence? Clegg had no divining-rod to 
 probe these secrets of the future ; but such love 
 as Clegg's is often blessed, or cursed, with 
 second sight. 
 
 Entering the garden-path of his cottage, and 
 looking toward the Dale where the foreign pro- 
 cession had first come into sight, a sudden fear 
 took possession of him. It was one of those mo- 
 ments when an imaginative man might feel as
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 69 
 
 if the shadow of a cruel fate had passed between 
 him and the sun. He leaned against the great 
 elm that embowered his house, and watched the 
 clouds, through which the evening sun was driv- 
 ing fitful lances, blood red. It appeared to him 
 as if the clouds were being hurried forward by a 
 might}- hand to cover the red reflection ; and the 
 wind went storming down the valley with wintry 
 messages. 
 
 With all Clegg's learning, one might better 
 say by reason of it, he was superstitious. If he 
 fought clear of what he called the superstition of 
 religion, there were a thousand puzzling things 
 in Nature to fire such an imagination as his, 
 softened as it was and brought into sympathy 
 with the pathos of life by his love for Mary Talbot, 
 the love of a reticent wooer, who kept his secret 
 in his own heart, a strong man who needed some 
 great opportunity to show his love by a heroic 
 sacrifice rather than disclose it and risk the dis- 
 covery that it was not returned. 
 
 "I am all unstrung," he said to himself, "like 
 a broken harp or a faulty hazel-wand. They ask 
 me what is the matter with me. Well, what is? 
 1 know not. Why did I pass her door and bend 
 my head? Why did I avert my eyes? What 
 has come over me? ... To the mystic art of 
 some, and the ardent love of others, the veil of 
 the future has been raised. Is my hand upon 
 the curtain now?"
 
 70 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 CHAPTER TEN 
 
 THE COMING OF ZILETTO 
 
 The advent of the Italians gave a new and 
 picturesque life to Eyam. 
 
 It was the policy of the Stafford-Bradshaws 
 that all possible hostility, political or religious, 
 should be avoided between the Old Hall and the 
 village. Father Castelli was diplomat as well 
 as priest. He had taken the very earliest op- 
 portunity to conciliate the local clergy. He was 
 genial and of a benevolent disposition. The late 
 rector, Mr. Stanley, had been inhibited from his 
 office under the Act of Uniformity, and the Rev. 
 William Mompesson advanced to his position. 
 So much bitterness of feeling had been excited 
 in the English Church itself by the expulsion of 
 the Presbyterian clergy and the confiscation of 
 their property and privileges that there was little 
 enthusiasm left on either side, at least in this 
 part of England, for active hostility against the 
 Roman Catholics. 
 
 Moreover, the land had been so torn about by 
 rival factions that everybody was anxious for 
 rest, and Father Castelli, as a temporary so- 
 journer, found his lot not altogether unpleasant 
 at the Old Hall. Lady Anne and her husband, 
 soon after the arrival of the Italians, had left for
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 71 
 
 the South, giving the Old Hall into the hands of 
 their steward, the architect, Father Castelli, and 
 the great painter Bernardo Roubillac. 
 
 Once a week at least the foreigners descended 
 upon the village, visiting the few local shops, 
 and doing their best to make acquaintance with 
 the natives. Roubillac, who had begun to learn 
 the language the very day of sailing from Ven- 
 ice, easily made himself understood. Father 
 Castelli spoke English with great facility, and 
 generally accompanied his countryfolk on their 
 wanderings in and about the village. 
 
 The foreigners on these occasions made a 
 brave show that in these present days of ugliness 
 in dress might find comparison in theatrical 
 scenes from "Romeo and Juliet" or "The Taming 
 of the Shrew." For though they had modified 
 somewhat to the colder climate their native cos- 
 tumes, both men and women wore the pictur- 
 esque dress of the Italian city, making the long 
 street of Eyam bright as a pageantry. The na- 
 tive English wore a combination of the costume 
 of the Puritan and the Royalist, that made no 
 poor show of its own. The Restoration was too 
 recent for the ordinary folk to have made much 
 change in their attire, and the more sober vil- 
 lagers who had adhered to Presbyterianism with 
 Mr. Stanley wore their long cloaks and girdles, 
 the Orthodox their buff jerkins and slouched hats, 
 some of them adding a slashed boot and in their 
 hats a stray feather. The miners wore plain 
 Leather boots in contradistinction to the few 
 weavers (whose looms could be heard clacking
 
 72 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 hero and there in the village street) in their 
 breeches, woolen hose, and buckled shoes; while 
 the women of the village mostly affected the 
 close hood and band and ample gown, varied in 
 some cases with the formal ruff ; but the 3 T ounger 
 wives and girls had caught something of the in 
 creased freedom of the suggestion of deshabille 
 that was observable in the ladies of the Hall, 
 with their glossy hair and ringlets and snowy 
 necks, unveiled by even transparent lawn or 
 collar. The Eyam maidens added the latter, 
 and Mary Talbot frequently donned a buffont or 
 neckerchief. In place of the somber gown gay 
 colors had come in of cloth or satins, which lat- 
 ter, however, were rarely seen except on Sun- 
 days ; and then only upon a few, for it was not 
 a rich community this village of Eyam, though 
 it had visitors from the outlying settlements and 
 lordly halls that at holiday and festival splashed 
 its street with the color of her finery. Other- 
 wise, but for its trees and gardens, it was a pro- 
 saic street; the houses were of stone and thatch, 
 though the Manor House was a fine example of 
 Tudor architecture, as is Eyam Hall to this 
 day, built on the old site, and in something of 
 thje old form. Then there was the church with 
 its surrounding foliage, and the green with its 
 fine cross. These features offered varied and 
 effective backgrounds for the picturesquely at- 
 tired populace, supplemented with the gayer 
 costumes of the strangers from the shores of the 
 Adriatic. 
 Francesca, the beauty of the Italian colony,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 73 
 
 excited the deepest interest among the villagers, 
 who associated her with the Queen of Sheba ever 
 since Clegg had spoken of her in that connection. 
 They had seen nothing so impressive as Fran- 
 cesca. It had not been their lot to witness a 
 play. No vagabond strollers had ever visited 
 Eyam. Some of the elders of the village had 
 seen wonderful pictures in the palaces of the 
 North, representing the Queen of Sheba and 
 King Solomon, the Holy Family, and Cleopatra 
 in her barge, and they discoursed eloquently to 
 the younger people of these wonders, apropos of 
 Francesca, who seemed to them a living realiza- 
 tion of the possibility of these, to them, hitherto 
 mythical beings. 
 
 And Francesca was happy in her new state. 
 The seas between her and Ziletto, his influence 
 had entirely passed away. He had made no im- 
 pression upon her heart. The influence he exer- 
 cised over her was occult, mesmeric, hypnotic. 
 She called it the evil eye, magic, the physical and 
 spiritual power of an evil genius. But from the 
 moment of the flight from Venice his name had 
 nev^er been mentioned. Roubillac, recovering 
 his natural ease of manner, was more solicitous 
 than ever for Francesca's peace of mind, and 
 their lives were as happy as it was possible in 
 what they both conceived to be an exile 
 
 Roubillac became absorbed in his new altar- 
 piece, which of course he could have painted at 
 home even better than here on the spot; but he 
 had other duties. The entire decorative work 
 of the Old Hall was under his direction.
 
 74 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Winter succeeded autumn, and the Italians 
 ceased, for a time, and only came down occa- 
 sionally into the village. The snow lay thick 
 upon the hills and deep in the valleys. Clegg's 
 fountain was frozen. All the land was desolate. 
 The Winship Mine was still worked, however, 
 and Clegg's heart nourished its ambitious love 
 of Mary Talbot. The village went to bed soon 
 after sunset. The few lights after dark to dot 
 the waste of snow and ice burned in the windows 
 of the Crown and Anchor, the Manor House, 
 and Clegg's cottage. Here Reuben consumed 
 the midnight oil after the work of the day, and 
 stored his mind with such miscellaneous knowl- 
 edge as the few books he had acquired could 
 afford, and kept, in a corner of his heart, the 
 light of his love for Mary Talbot trimmed with 
 hope and ambition. Mary continued to encour- 
 age him and keep him off, and he improved his 
 friendship with Sir George, who, though he was 
 a proud man, maintained a pleasant familiarity 
 with Reuben, reminding his daughter that Clegg 
 was really his partner, and therefore entitled to 
 special consideration. Sir George had volun- 
 tarily given Clegg a share of the Winship Mine, 
 in return for his discovery and capable manage- 
 ment of the enterprise. 
 
 When spring once more smiled upon the land 
 the Italians were again frequently seen in the 
 village. Several of them had attended the vil- 
 lage church on Sundays, interested more par- 
 ticularly in the rector's choir, which was chiefly 
 instrumental. Cutts, the tailor, was quite a
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 75 
 
 master of the violoncello; John Radford prayed 
 the double bass ; Longstaff e led the singing on 
 the violin; Mrs. Mompesson, by her training and 
 encouragement, had developed the few village 
 voices with a good deal of skill, and the effect 
 was altogether new to the foreigners, who had 
 also been greatly charmed at Christmas time by 
 the waits which had broken in upon their slum- 
 bers with a jubilant chorus and sent their mem- 
 ories back to their own land of song. 
 
 The people of the village treated the strangers 
 with respect, but with something of suspicion, 
 until, with the first spring notes of the thrush, 
 the earliest primroses and the bursting leaves of 
 the lilac, there arrived at Eyam that master of 
 manners, that prince of good fellowship, Gio- 
 vanni Ziletto, who spoke English with an accent 
 as musical as his voice, who drank with the men 
 at the Crown and Anchor, paid graceful court 
 to all the women, and one night, sitting on the 
 settle in the Crown and Anchor's timbered old 
 house-place, produced a mandolin, and charmed 
 every man there assembled with the fascinating 
 spell of a modern Apollo. His songs were in a 
 strange tongue, but they tuned men's hearts to 
 love and chivalry and new desires. The magic 
 of Ziletto's music seemed almost miraculous. It 
 stole out into the open, drifted along the quiet 
 street, and brought half the village to the door- 
 way and windows of the hostlery. It set the 
 women no longer young thinking of their girlish 
 days. It stirred the fancy of the maidens, as, 
 with new ribbons and holiday rambles, it fore-
 
 7G THE DAGGER AND THE CRO£S 
 
 casted the coming festival of the Wells, and car- 
 ried the imagination further down the year to 
 the Wakes, closing the summer with such revelry 
 as had never yet been seen. Mary Talbot, 
 going home from the rectory, where she had 
 been listening to the choir's practice for Sunday, 
 paused to listen, and the weirdly fascinating 
 music haunted her dreams. 
 
 Ziletto had entered the village in a traveling 
 carriage from London. The postilions told of 
 frequent relays of horses en route, of roads axle- 
 deep in ruts, of an adventure with robbers. 
 They had an escort, which entered the village 
 ahead of the princely traveler, and these horse- 
 men had been provided with stabling for them 
 selves and their beasts. Ziletto's valet was a 
 mysterious person, in an unfamiliar costume. 
 He smiled in an amused way at the wonder of 
 the natives as the traveler's baggage was un- 
 packed from the depths of the lumbering chariot. 
 
 The Crown and Anchor was not endowed with 
 much accommodation for guests. Its resources 
 had been augmented of late, by reason of the 
 improvements at the Old Hall bringing unex- 
 pected guests. Lady Anne herself had sug- 
 gested certain alterations of furniture and house- 
 keeping to Mrs. Radford that had somewhat 
 changed the domestic economy of the inn. Even 
 now, however, it only rejoiced in one best bed- 
 room, the primitive aspect of which had, under 
 the influence of the Old Hall, been considerably 
 modified of late years, more particularly from 
 rushes strewn for guests to a wa^ed floor with a
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 77 
 
 skin or two for the feet, as well as a brocaded 
 coverlet, the gift of Lady Anne, for the great 
 four-post bedstead. The sheets were of home- 
 spun linen, and smelled of lavender. The other 
 furniture consisted of a wide-spreading armchair, 
 a vast press for clothes or linen, a chest with old 
 wrought-iron hinges, and a row of pegs along 
 the wainscoted wall. The long, low bay win- 
 dow, its small square panes sparkling with the 
 evening light that streamed across the wild 
 country, was hung with white dimity curtains. 
 Everything cold as ice in winter— but a week 
 of spring sunshine, the window having a full 
 south aspect, had made the room not only habit- 
 able but pleasant. Ziletto declared the chamber 
 was princely ; and so it was in those days for a 
 village inn. His man unpacked his ponderous 
 trunks, and with a dainty bit of tapestry and 
 silken cushions here and there, and a couple of 
 mandolins hung upon the pegs, and a gilt-headed 
 walking-staff, and a couple of swords and pistols, 
 a long cross-hafted dagger in a leather sheath, 
 together with sundry picturesque boots and oddly 
 shapen shoes, the room soon took the style and 
 atmosphere of some guest-chamber at Haddon, 
 instead of the humble hostlery of Eyam. 
 
 "Yes, my love," said Sir George, over supper, 
 when Mary Talbot spoke of the music she had 
 heard while passing the Crown and Anchor, "it 
 is the new arrival. He came the day you went 
 to visit my sister Deborah. A remarkable per- 
 son, another Italian, traveling like a prince, 
 though be is only an artist, one who models
 
 78 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 figures, a sculptor, but more than that, a patron 
 of the arts. Brings letters from Lady Anne, hay 
 been received by the king, to whom he has given 
 some advice touching the decorations of Hampton 
 Court — at [ least, so he tells us — and he insists 
 upon taking up his quarters at the Crown and 
 Anchor, though he might, 'tis said, go further 
 afield and be the guest of the right knightly Sir 
 George Manners at Haddon." 
 
 "You doubt his credentials then?" said Mary, 
 who understood every tone of her father's voice, 
 and had noted his parenthetical remark of "so 
 he says." 
 
 "I do not know. I may have had a passing 
 doubt, because there is something in the fellow's 
 aspect that does not please me." 
 
 "Is he like the other Italians at the Old 
 Hall?" 
 
 "He is not like anything that I have ever seen 
 out of a pageant in France ; though 'tis said the 
 court of our great and good monarch, in these 
 early days of the Restoration, is extravagant in 
 plumes and feathers, and jeweled brocades, and 
 I know not what." 
 
 "All of which I thought you approved, dear 
 father. You wear your own doublet and hose 
 with an air — and you become them." 
 
 "I am said to be a proud man, Mary; and so 
 I am, in my love of thee, my rose of May." 
 
 "You spoil me," said Mary. 
 
 "I had like to have come and fetched thee 
 home," said Sir George. "I will never have 
 thee leave me for a whole week together again,"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 79 
 
 "I should have enjoyed seeing the stranger 
 arrive in his carriage and with his postilions, as 
 my own Margaret tells of, and with outriders; 
 and such a valet — more like an ape than a man, 
 she says — which sets off his master, who is the 
 most beautiful image ever seen out of a picture. 
 And she has seen the chamber at the Crown and 
 Anchor where he is lodged ; likewise Radford's 
 great press full of rich costumes, vests and 
 cloaks, and hats and silks, and on the walls 
 swords with jeweled hilts and pistols with orna- 
 ments of gold and precious stones." 
 
 "Something like the trappings of a mounte- 
 bank, Mary, and 'tis that I half suspect about 
 him. Nor is he well received by the Old Hall, I 
 hear ; but we shall see. Lady Anne Bradshaw 
 is making history for us; she may rival Chats- 
 worth with her paint and stone and marble balus- 
 trades, but Haddon will stand forever the gem 
 of the Peak — that is my prophecy, Mary." 
 
 "As for me, give me our dear Manor House, 
 father ; neither Chatsworth nor Haddon, nor the 
 Old Hall, has sweeter herbs or lovelier flowers, 
 nor cozier rooms, nor more happy memories!" 
 
 "My darling child," said Sir George, embrac- 
 ing her, "you say well and eloquently. But you 
 are crying; why, what is the matter?" 
 
 "Tears of joy, I think, dear father, to be back 
 again with you; I missed you so much." 
 
 "But 'tis unlike you to weep, Mary. You 
 are not well." 
 
 "Oil, yes, dear love, I am quite well." 
 
 And yet, seeking her chamber . for the night.
 
 80 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 she wondered why she wept. It was the strange 
 music that had made her weep; it had a painful 
 and pathetic message for her. 
 
 CHAPTER ELEVEN 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF LOVING 
 
 If one had not known that she had met Ziletto, 
 and he had made no impression upon her except 
 one of curiosity, Mary Talbot's emphatic answer 
 to Mrs. Clegg's appeal, as related in the follow- 
 ing chapter, might have been regarded as partly 
 the outcome of the Ziletto influence. But he had 
 passed her in the village street, and remarkable 
 a figure as he was, he had for the moment 
 aroused in her no more than an ordinary interest. 
 He was the new Italian, that was all, except 
 that she noted that he was much more pictur- 
 esque in his dress than the others, and that he 
 carried himself with an air of authority, as if he 
 conferred a favor upon the community by his 
 presence. His music had gone straight to her 
 heart, and had created a strange commotion 
 there on the previous night, but he had not smit- 
 ten her at sight, as he had smitten the dove of 
 Venice, Francesca Roubillac. 
 
 It was otherwise, however, with Ziletto. Mary 
 Talbot crossed his path, a vision of such beauty 
 as he had never 3-et encountered; so, at all 
 events, she seemed. Love and passion make 
 their own beauty; but as we have seen, there
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 81 
 
 was a fresh and peculiar charm about Sir 
 George's daughter. The belle and the pride of 
 Eyani might not be overlooked, even by the 
 most common of mortals. She carried with her 
 a cheerful atmosphere. People felt the better 
 for coming within its circle ; it radiated happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Now, Francesca we know was lovely too, and 
 her beauty had given Fame to the altar-piece of 
 San Stefano, but it was the beauty of sighs. It 
 was pathetic ; a beauty to wonder at and gaze 
 upon ; a something too fine for common uses ; a 
 figure for an Oriental throne, to be decorated 
 with gems; and yet Roubillac had caught all 
 that was spirituelle in it, and, giving the raven 
 hair a hue of bronzed gold, had got such con- 
 trast of radiant flesh as painter hitherto had 
 rarely won for a sacred canvas. 
 
 Ziletto, with this vision of the village beauty 
 in his mind, this first glimpse of Mary Talbot, 
 had a sudden consciousness of these comparisons, 
 and he turned to gaze after the English girl as 
 she swung along the village street, not only a 
 picture of health but a pattern of feminine 
 strength and grace. She carried herself with 
 the freedom of an Egyptian water-carrier. 
 
 "Ah, she turns!" he said. 
 
 He stood near by the church, watching her as 
 she made her way toward the Delf, upon the 
 edge of which stood Reuben Clegg's cottage. 
 
 "The insolent!" she said to herself. "He is 
 standing on the very spot where I passed him, 
 deliberately following me with his wicked eyes."
 
 82 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 And Ziletto smiled. She had turned to see if 
 he had noted her unusually. That was how he 
 interpreted her action. She had been prompted 
 to look back down the street, she knew not why; 
 but it annoyed her to find him watching her. 
 
 She left the main road and passed into a 
 sf retch of grass with a footpath that, winding 
 through a clump of pines, came to an end at 
 Clegg's garden. Entering the rough gateway ? 
 she found Mrs. Clegg knitting by the door of 
 the cottage, for though it was early in April the 
 day was warm and sunny. Spring was already 
 busy with the fruit trees and the gillyflowers. 
 The season was unusually early, and Mrs. Clegg 
 had plenty of time to knit and read her Bible, 
 because she rose betimes, and she and her one 
 stalwart servant made short work of the tidying 
 and sweeping and washing that the cottage 
 needed. This, and other domestic details, she 
 confided to Miss Talbot as she welcomed her 
 and gave her the great armchair in which 
 Reuben was wont to sit at nights and talk over 
 the affairs of the day. 
 
 "It is so long since I have seen you, Mrs. 
 Clegg, that I felt I must walk round to you this 
 morning." 
 
 "That's right; 'tis well said, indeed," the old 
 woman replied. "And will you taste my goose- 
 berry wine? No? Then the elder; nay, 'tis 
 good in a morning. Then let me fasten thi s 
 nosegay in thy bodice." 
 
 She plucked from a great bunch of gillyflow- 
 ers by the door a few choice sprigs and pinned
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 83 
 
 them in the bodice of Mary's gown, a rich bit of 
 color that emphasized the whiteness of the girl's 
 round throat. Mary thanked her, with a gra- 
 cious glance from her deep blue eyes. 
 
 "Nay, thou art a bonnie wench — pardon an 
 old woman's admiration — a true blossom of the 
 Peak, and as fresh as a pink, and as unfading as 
 the everlastings that Reuben has given me for 
 a book-mark." 
 
 "You are quite gay this morning," said Mary; 
 "I have rarely seen you in such good spirits." 
 
 "Thanks to you, my dear. You come so un- 
 expected, like the first sunshine of the spring. 
 And what a lovely time it is, so full of hope. 
 There will be plenty of flowers for the Well- 
 dressing; never such a promise of May that I 
 remember." 
 
 Then Mary smoothed her gown, and rested 
 her feet upon the stool which Mrs. Clegg placed 
 for her, and they began to talk of other things; 
 of Mary's visit to her aunt, of the Italians at 
 the Old Hall, the meeting of the Catholic priest 
 and the Rev. William Mompesson quite on civil 
 terms, and the news that Lady Anne contem- 
 plated a visit to the Old Hall earlier than had 
 been expected, so deeply interested was she in 
 the progress of the work there ; and presently 
 Mrs. Clegg told her how her son had made a 
 new discovery of ore, and had opened up a new 
 lead, and how the Duke of Devonshire had sent 
 a message to him concerning some lands by Hard- 
 wicke which he desired him to prospect ; and 
 once fairly engaged with Reuben's fortunes, she
 
 M THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 deemed the time opportune for the exploitation 
 of interests far deeper to him than all the ore in 
 Derbyshire and all the dukes tli.it might own it. 
 
 "Nay, I am right glad thou hast called," said 
 Mrs. Clegg. "I have had something I wanted 
 to say to thee these many months." 
 
 "Indeed!" Miss Talbot replied. "I have only 
 been away from Eyam a little more than a week 
 since Christmas, and am but yesterday come 
 inline from Aunt Deborah's at East Moor." 
 
 "That is quite true, my dear, quite true; but 
 it is only at this moment that I've made up my 
 mind to tell thee what has often been trembling 
 on my lips. Nay, don't look anxious, Miss 
 Talbot." 
 
 "You alarm me somewhat," said Mary. 
 
 "Nay, sit down. It is about my dear lad, 
 Reuben," Mrs. Clegg replied, placing a seat for 
 her visitor, where Mary could see Middleton 
 Dale winding away to the plain where Reuben 
 and his mother had watched the train of pack- 
 horses and the coming of the Italians who were 
 to exercise such tragical influence upon the 
 p ireful village. 
 
 Miss Talbot looked the picture of rosy health; 
 her lips and her complexion that indefinable blend 
 of pink and white that is characteristic of En- 
 glish rural beauty. She looked as if life was a 
 perpetual and unruffled delight to her; a contrast 
 to Mrs. Clegg, whose mild eyes and patient ex- 
 pression of suffering faith were the natural out 
 come of her Puritanism. She was a slightly- 
 made woman, singularly neat in her attire.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 85 
 
 QuaEer-like in her cap and gray gown with its 
 plain white apron. On the other hand, there was 
 a certain royalist profligacy of dress and manner 
 in her visitor; not that Mary was extravagantly 
 attired, but she was one of those handsome 
 young women upon whom an extra ribbon or an 
 additional display of head-dress told with almost 
 aggressive effect. 
 
 "Nay, thou art a bonny lass," repeated Mrs. 
 Clegg; "and I don't wonder that Reuben is 
 breaking his heart about thee." 
 
 "Mrs. Clegg!" said Mary, a quick blush 
 mantling her features. 
 
 "Ay, thou dost well to blush; it becomes thee, 
 and it is honorable to thy heart. If there had 
 been any rival to stand in the way, or if thou 
 hadst not been kind to him, and thy father 
 friendly disposed, I do verily believe he would 
 have suffered without so much as breathing a 
 word, even unto me." 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Mary. 
 
 "Don't you, my dear? Then I will explain 
 myself. My son has a heart of gold, and it is 
 set on thee." 
 
 Mary listened, but looked far away in the 
 distance. 
 
 "His one great delight for years — a}', for 
 years — has been to live in the same village with 
 thee, to breathe the same air, to talk with thee, 
 to sit now and then at thy father's table, and to 
 come home to me and tell me all thou hast said- 
 to worship thee as if thou hadst been a saint and 
 he one of those godless heathens who knoel and
 
 86 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 pray to images. Ay, and I have often warned 
 him that God would punish him, if God were 
 not over-merciful on account of his other virtues ; 
 for God is a jealous God, and it is a sin to love 
 overmuch the things of this life." 
 
 Here Mrs. Clegg paused, and looked into the 
 girl's face with a questioning glance. 
 
 "Yes, I am listening," said Mary, returning 
 the old woman's gaze for the first time; "I am 
 listening." 
 
 "Reuben loves thee, my dear Miss Talbot, and 
 would make thee his wife." 
 
 Mrs. Clegg rose as she made this declaration, 
 as if she would embrace her daughter that might 
 be ; but Mary Talbot made no response, and so 
 the old lady sat down again, her soft, patient 
 eyes, now unusually bright, fixed upon the ob- 
 ject of her son's affections. 
 
 "Why has not Mr. Clegg told me of this?" 
 "He was afraid." 
 "Afraid?" 
 
 "That he might lose the privilege of seeing 
 and speaking to thee afterward." 
 
 "If I had said, 'Mr. Clegg, I have never 
 thought of you as a lover, and you are old com- 
 pared with me,' could we then have been no 
 longer neighbors and friends?" 
 
 "I cannot tell. But so long as thou hast not 
 said this, so long as he has kept his secret, then 
 he may live and hope. He is not a poor man, 
 Miss Talbot, and one day he may be as rich as 
 thy honored father, if not still richer; and his 
 father was a yeoman, his grandfather a squire,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 87 
 
 here in the dale ; and we have never, in either of 
 out families, had to blush for an ill-deed or an 
 unneighborly act. My brother died for the king, 
 and my father was a soldier, too." 
 
 "I do not disparge your son nor his famil}", 
 nor yours, dear madam; and my father calls 
 Mr. Clegg friend and partner, as you know." 
 
 "And so he is Sir George's partner; but with 
 a right humble regard for Sir George's position, 
 except that he dares to love his daughter. Nay, 
 dear young lady, who could help loving thee, 
 that had a heart in his bosom and e3 r es in his 
 head? Ay, and don't tell me, dear Miss Talbot, 
 thou hast not seen his worship of thee in his face, 
 his manner, his voice, his humility ; for to every 
 other he is proud and willful, to thee meek and 
 gentle ; thou mightst tread upon him. Oh, my 
 dear child, be kind to him. He is a good and 
 true man, and never did an unworthy action in 
 all his days." 
 
 Overcome with her unusual emotions, Mrs. 
 Clegg drew her apron over her head and wept 
 bitterly. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Clegg — my dear neighbor," 
 said Mary, bending over her, "do not weep; 
 none of us are worthy of such bitter tears. I 
 have never known what it is to have a mother. ' ' 
 
 "Nay, God help thee, child," said Mrs. Clegg, 
 taking her into her arms. "I wish I might be 
 thy mother." 
 
 "Next to my own, I would not desire a more 
 sweet and gentle lady," said Mary; "but oh, 
 dear soul, it may not be, it may not be."
 
 SS THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "May not be?" exclaimed Mrs. Clegg, drying 
 her eyes and freeing herself from Mary's em- 
 brace, the fervency of which had led her, for 
 the moment, to believe that Reuben's cause was 
 won. "Thou hast a lover that we know not 
 of?" 
 
 "I esteem and respect you, Mrs. Clegg, but I 
 deny your right to question me upon such a 
 subject." 
 
 "You will deny my son, if he is bold enough 
 to ask for your love?" 
 
 "I do not understand such a love as that you 
 speak of. Such love, they say, comes without 
 our will, even without our knowledge, and can- 
 not be mistaken; it has not come to me." 
 
 "And yet, one time and another, thou hast 
 seen some of the noblest of our Northern youth." 
 
 "Have I? "One does not see much in that 
 way, Mrs. Clegg, living all one's days at E3 r am. 
 But I am content; I love my father, eveiybody 
 is kind to me, all the village loves me, there can 
 be no well-dressing without me, no wakes, no 
 Christmas revels; and believe me, it is one of 
 my pleasures to listen to Mr. Clegg talking of 
 wonderful things with my father, and even to 
 hear him wrangle with Mr. Mompesson and Mr. 
 Stanley, the rector that is and the rector that 
 was; but, my dear friend — I could almost call 
 you mother — I do not love your son, and if he 
 asks me if I do that must be my answer." 
 
 "O merciful Father!" exclaimed Mis. Clegg 
 with head bowed. "Help my son to be silent, 
 to suffer and be strong, to find his recompense
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 89 
 
 in gracious deeds and a loving worship of 
 Thee." 
 
 "Amen!" said Mary, with a sigh, more of 
 relief than reverence; glad to have had this 
 scene with Mrs. Clegg instead of the one which 
 had long been threatened with her son ; for Man- 
 liked Reuben, and his undeclared love for her 
 was not displeasing. He was the wisest man in 
 the village, more feared than loved, and Eyam 
 generally being captive to her whims, whatever 
 they might be, it would have been uncomfortable 
 to have had Reuben Clegg beyond her sphere of 
 influence. 
 
 "Thou wilt not tell him what I have said to 
 thee?" said the old woman, with a tender note 
 of appeal and disappointment in her voice. 
 
 "If you do not wish it." 
 
 ' ' It will make no difference to thy treatment 
 of him?" 
 
 "I will endeavor to forget it." 
 
 "Nay, don't forget it. Let it be our secret; 
 let it be a token between us — a tie of more than 
 neighborship, a something that may one day 
 bear fruit. I cannot bear to carry such a burden 
 all alone ; and who knows, one day thou mayst 
 come to me and say, 'Mrs. Clegg, dear friend, 
 be my mother in good sooth,' and the joy of it 
 would be a link back to this day." 
 
 "I have never yet had a secret to keep, dear 
 Mrs. Clegg. I hope it will not out one day!" 
 
 "If 'twould out in the right way, my child, 
 eh? If thou only knew his great heart, his 
 trueness, his — "
 
 90 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Oh, but I know how good he is, Mrs. Clegg", 
 and I don't regard myself worthy of so much 
 devotion." 
 
 "Then thou dost not deem thy family a bar 
 against him?" 
 
 "I think of him as an equal in that respect." 
 
 "Nay, that is a step toward love; for thy 
 father is proud of his descent and his 'scutcheon. ' ' 
 
 "And I am proud, too, Mrs. Clegg. But your 
 son is of the mettle that makes British heroes. 
 I think of him as one should think of the men 
 one reads of in books, who begin humbly, per- 
 haps as shepherds, and are selected for rulers of 
 the State. Nay, there, I can say no more, or 
 you will have me justifying my father's fre- 
 quent protest, that I am too romantic, that I 
 look upon life as a story-book. And last night, 
 as I was going home from the rectory, I heard 
 such music stealing out from the garden of the 
 inn that I could almost have believed the Crown 
 and Anchor was enchanted ground, and all the 
 village under a spell, for it seemed they were 
 mostly assembled there ; and my father tells me 
 it is a new-comer; an Italian who speaks our 
 tongue as well as his own, an artist interested in 
 the work at the Old Hall, but whom Sir George 
 suspects to be a spy in the land ; though what 
 can he want to spy about here?" 
 
 "The foreign folk at the Old Hall, belike, are 
 here for no good. 'Tis known they hold strange 
 worship in the new chapel that Lady Anne has 
 built; and the one they call Roubillac— he of the 
 sallow face and furtive look, the husband of the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 01 
 
 gypsy woman with the jeweled robes — 'tis said 
 he is painting an unseemly picture, which they 
 will worship when 'tis finished. And I fear 
 me, no good can come of all this, and 'twere bet- 
 ter the Old Hall had been pulled down than 
 harbor such things." 
 
 "But, dear Mrs. Clegg, the coming of the 
 strangers has been good for Eyam and all the 
 country side; employing our labor, distributing 
 good money among the poor, and, moreover, 
 even Mr. Mompesson is willing to admit that 
 they bring to us a beautiful art. Besides, Eyam 
 is to rival Chatsworth, at least the Old Hall is ; 
 and it is not because a thing is beautiful that it 
 is unholy." 
 
 "Nay, God forbid!" said Mrs. Clegg, taking 
 the girl's glowing face in her bony hands and 
 kissing her forehead. "God forbid; for thou 
 art beautiful!" 
 
 CHAPTER TWELVE 
 
 "the world is a masked ball" 
 
 When Ziletto, the Italian, set foot in Eyam, 
 the village may be said to have been almost an 
 earthly paradise. The feeling that had been 
 aroused by the expulsion of the Rev. George 
 Stanley from the rectorship and the appointment 
 of the Rev. William Mompesson had cooled 
 down. Mr. Mompesson was beginning to make 
 his way with his new flock. Mr. Stanley re-
 
 92 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 mained among his friends; he said he was too 
 old to seek new ones, too old to go forth into the 
 world. Moreover, he loved Eyam, and carried 
 the cross of his political martyrdom with a dig- 
 nified contentment. 
 
 The active feuds of Roundhead and Royalist, 
 which had made considerable stir in the High 
 Peak Hundred, had not excited Eyam very 
 much. Everybody was the happier that things 
 were settled. Presbyterians knew the worst, 
 and Conformists were not inclined to vaunt 
 themselves on their victory. The previous au- 
 tumn season had been bountiful, so far as the 
 few crops of the district were concerned, and the 
 winter store of cured beef and bacon unusually 
 abundant. 
 
 Upon this prosperity had come additional 
 employment of labor at the Old Hall, the advent 
 of the Italians, an increased output of lead at the 
 Winship Mine, and an unusually mild and early 
 spring. Mary Talbot was as happy as she was 
 beautiful. Reuben Clegg had not yet steeped 
 his mind in the pessimism of unbelief and be- 
 come more or less of a recluse, still nursing, how- 
 ever, his secret love for Mary. Bernardo Rou- 
 billac had found the Old Hall a blissful retreat 
 in which he could exercise his art and cultivate 
 the domestic virtues safe from the intrusion of 
 the only man in all the world who seemed to 
 have power to shadow his life. Prancesca had 
 entirely recovered from the morbid attitude she 
 had assumed toward the man Ziletto, and with 
 the spring sunshine, the pure, bracing air, the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 93 
 
 cheerful river that wound through the woods 
 and moorlands below her window, the new in- 
 terests that surrounded her, she was full of 
 healthful spirit, and looked forward to a better 
 acquaintance with the villagers and to the forth- 
 coming Ascension festival. All the little world 
 of the mountain village was sunny, in fact and 
 in fancy, when Ziletto came. 
 
 Every paradise must have its serpent, every 
 sunny beam its shadow. Heaven itself is not 
 free from the intrigues of Satan, and the splendor 
 of the revolting angel has inspired one of the 
 noblest poems in the language. 
 
 Ziletto was the serpent of our village paradise, 
 as he had been the reptile of Roubillac's Eden 
 at Venice. It seemed as if it might be specially 
 said of him that while he was made in God's 
 own image, he had the soul of a fiend. He 
 might have sat for an Apollo. His figure was a 
 superb example of masculine perfection. This 
 was better seen in the costume he affected in 
 Italy, though it was not altogether disguised 
 in his semi-English dress, which he carried with 
 the grace of Charles, the king, himself. His 
 eyes were dark as night, and sometimes as re- 
 poseful, while at others they were keenly alert 
 in their watchfulness. His manner toward 
 women was soft and deferential, as it was, on 
 occasions, scoffing and defiant toward men. At 
 the same time there was something in his smile, 
 something in his assumption of frankness and 
 bonhomie, that invited confidence and seemed 
 worthy of it. He knew how to assume a virtue
 
 94 Vhk DAGGER and Till*: CROSS 
 
 if he <li<1 not possess it, and he wore the mask oj 
 honesty with the ease of a practiced actor, only 
 Living it aside when he sat in council with Pedro, 
 his valet, or in open defiance of a foe or when 
 meeting an opponent on the field of honor. 
 
 No one could be charged with blindness who 
 failed to discern the face behind the mask, the 
 wolf beneath the sheep's clothing in Ziletto's 
 case. It was hard even for Father Castelli to 
 believe that so eminently fair an example of 
 manly grace could be linked to a nature so vile ; 
 but Father Castelli was a man of charity, and 
 he only believed one-half the evil things that 
 were laid to the account of Ziletto. Some of 
 them, he thought, might probably be due to the 
 human weakness of envy ; for Ziletto had many 
 accomplishments besides the attraction of his 
 appearance and his charm of manner to excite 
 both envy and jealousy. • 
 
 Mary Talbot did not gauge the stranger on 
 any of these lines. She did not think of him as 
 evil or good ; indeed, she thought of no one as 
 evil; she took the good in people for granted, 
 and her experience of the little world of the High 
 Peak Hundred was in favor of the angelic side 
 of humanity. The indifference she affected to 
 feel on first seeing Ziletto was an instinctive 
 resistance. That she had turned to look at him 
 had not escaped Ziletto. He was too well ac- 
 quainted with women not to understand the 
 glance of curiosity and interest that had passed 
 between them as he moved aside to let her go 
 by, near the wall that shut in the garden of the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 95 
 
 Manor House and joined the green hedge of 
 thorn and privet beyond. His natural egotism 
 was not necessary to interpret the surprise his 
 appearance must have excited in her mind, not- 
 withstanding the presence in the village of his 
 compatriots. His unaffected glance of admira- 
 tion remained with her. She could not shake it 
 off. His face had come into her mind even 
 while Mrs. Clegg was pleading the cause of her 
 son. The thought of it annoyed her; but this 
 was on account of her pride, which she had her- 
 self wounded by her own curiosity. It troubled 
 her to think how the stranger might regard her, 
 knowing that she had assuredly turned to see if 
 he had gone on his way, only to find him still 
 gazing after her. He might look upon it as a 
 challenge to further acquaintance. So, for her 
 own thoughtlessness or indiscretion, she was 
 angry with him, whoever he might be; and 
 surely he was a person of distinction — a for- 
 eigner certainly, an Italian no doubt, but how 
 utterly unlike the others! 
 
 That night she inquired of her woman, Dobbs, 
 who and what the man might be; and Dobbs 
 was primed with all kinds of news for her, for 
 Mr. Vicars, the tailor, was her cousin, and he 
 was quite wild in his admiration of the stranger's 
 costumes. He had seen them. Mrs. Radford 
 had opened the press for him, and shown his 
 best suits to him; and the stranger's valet, a 
 very dark-eyed, scowling kind of being, who 
 started up in all kinds of places when least you 
 expected him, had permitted Mr. Vicars to take
 
 96 THE DAGGER \N'I> THE CROSS 
 
 the pattern of a doublet and hose that was "B 
 wonder of style and embroidery. Nor was all 
 the work Italian. Most of the costumes had 
 been cut in London by the king's own tailor, 
 (hough others were Venetian ; and Dobbs was 
 of opinion that if any man who was not English, 
 and more especially Derbyshire, could be formed 
 to catch the eye of an honest woman, this stranger 
 with the Z in his name was that man ; a fine 
 figure, eyes that went all-over-you-like in a 
 pleasant way, and a manner — well, it might be 
 too much of the dancing-master who had given 
 Miss Talbot lessons, coming all the waj r from 
 Hallamshire once a month. For that, however, 
 he might be forgiven, being a foreigner; and as 
 for his singing, it was like nothing on earth or 
 heaven that she had ever heard — not that she 
 could speak of heaven, of course, but it had a 
 way of making you "feel as if you was dream- 
 ing." Twice, while Miss Talbot was at her 
 aunt's, she had sat in Mrs. Radford's brewhouse 
 and heard him; and what was extraordinary 
 was that he had condescended to play his fiddle, 
 or whatever it might be, and sing to it, for the 
 edification of the company; and some said he 
 was a prince in disguise on his travels — what 
 Vicars calls a troubadour. It was just wonder- 
 ful ; and that was the only word she could find 
 for it. 
 
 Mary had sat and listened to this remarkable 
 gossip while Dobbs was brushing her hair and 
 I >i 1 1 ding it up for the night. "Whenever Dobbs 
 paused, as if her story were at an end, Mary
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 97 
 
 plied her with some new question ; and in her 
 dreams she heard the music that had bewitched 
 the village and was conscious of the glance that 
 seemed to have bewitched her. Not that she 
 was a stranger to the admiration of the opposite 
 sex ; she was quite conscious of the furtive and 
 timid glances of the few young men of Eyam 
 who had the courage to look her in the face. 
 She knew that at church they were often con- 
 templating her over their books, and when, dur- 
 ing one or two visits of Lady Stafford, the com- 
 pany at church had included men not accustomed 
 to disguise their admiration of a pretty woman, 
 and they had cast significant looks at her, she 
 had been quite equal to the occasion, proud, 
 defiant, and conscious of the protection of a 
 proud old father, who would just as soon have 
 flung out upon them with his rapier as look at 
 them if any question of disrespect to his daugh- 
 ter had arisen. She was heart-whole, knew 
 that she was pretty, but knew it with an uncon- 
 scious sense of the dignity of her innocence. It 
 was as if she looked upon herself as representa- 
 tive of the credit and reputation of the Talbots, 
 the daughter of a mother who was beautiful — as 
 any one could see by the fine portrait that hung 
 in the Manor House dining-room — and the Lady 
 Bountiful of the village ; and yet she had blushed 
 hot when, turning in the road, she knew that 
 this stranger had been watching her. 
 
 On the next day, when she was walking along 
 the street in company with the rector's wife, and 
 the stranger had doffed his hat to Mrs. Mom-
 
 98 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 pesson, and in a deferential manner had included 
 her in his salutation, she felt her heart beat, and 
 she knew that she had become hot and cold all 
 in a minute, and feared that Mrs. Mompesson 
 must have noted her confusion. In this, how- 
 ever, she was mistaken. Mrs. Mompesson was 
 a woman of a delicate and sensitive nature, and 
 she had simply remarked that Eyam was becom- 
 ing quite a foreign village, and that this Signor 
 Ziletto was certainly the most interesting of all 
 their artistic visitors. Mr. Mompesson had said 
 the same, and expressed the belief that Miss 
 Talbot would find the newcomer interesting. 
 The rector having called upon him, being a 
 stranger, the signor had responded forthwith, 
 and they had found him quite a desirable ac- 
 quaintance. It was a tribute to his kindly nat- 
 ure that the children had taken to him wonder- 
 fully; a sure sign, the rector said, of a good 
 heart. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and when the 
 Crown and Anchor's distinguished guest, the 
 observed of all observers, entered the church, 
 Sir George Talbot, with the customary courtesy 
 of the chief man in the parish and Mr. Mompes- 
 son 's most influential parishioner, stepped from 
 his pew and politely motioned the signor to a 
 seat therein. 
 
 It was a new feather in Ziletto 's cap that he 
 understood the prayer book, making it quite 
 clear to all that the foreigner was a Protestant. 
 His compatriots had, on a special occasion, at- 
 tended a service at Christmas-time, but they
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 99 
 
 were quite strangers to the ceremonial and form 
 of worship, and had rather scandalized some of 
 the congregation by crossing themselves on enter- 
 ing and leaving the church. If the villagers 
 had not already been torn by factious contro- 
 versy, and put a little out of conceit with relig- 
 ion, as Radford and Vicars had admitted, it is 
 possible that the presence of members of the 
 Romish Church might have been resented ; even 
 though it was understood that they were but 
 sojourners in the village for the purposes of their 
 calling, and had the right to indulge their own 
 habits and customs, being there, as the constable 
 had said, not of their own accord, but by virtue 
 of invitation and trade, and attended by their 
 own clergyman, who did not attempt to prosely- 
 tize, and was, for a priest and son of Baal, not a 
 bad sort of a creature. 
 
 Conscious of her unusual blush and that un- 
 usual flutter of the heart which had troubled her 
 for the first time in her young life on seeing the 
 stranger, Mary Talbot made a strong demand 
 upon her native dignity, and comported herself 
 with so near an approach to her natural ease of 
 manner that she betrayed no self-consciousness 
 either to Ziletto or her father- And when she 
 laid her arm upon her father's and left the 
 church after the benediction, she carried herself 
 with unusual prescience, and never once deigned 
 to look toward the stranger, who, with a cour- 
 tier-like sweep of his feathered hat in the porch, 
 took the way to his inn. He had hesitated for 
 a moment, as if he expected Sir George to speak
 
 100 THE DACiiKR AND THE CROSS 
 
 to him; and probably Sir George would have 
 done so, but he felt a significant pressure on his 
 arm and wenl his way homeward, Mary's gown 
 making a rustle of silk and giving forth a sweet 
 perfume of lavender that, to her man}' furtive and 
 secret worshipers, was like an odor of sanctity 
 about the figure of a saint. And yet there was 
 not a man or woman in all Eyam who did not 
 bow or curtsey to her, and not a house in which, 
 at one time or another, she had not been a visitor 
 either in the way of charity or neighborliness. 
 If she had posed as a saint she would have been 
 the merriest and most cheerful of all the saints 
 that had ever been inscribed in the calendar; but 
 so bashful is the love that admires and rever- 
 ences, no youth or squire or yeoman's son, or 
 even the titled nobility that came into Eyam for 
 the village festivals, had ever dared to do more 
 than favor themselves and Mary with a sly, half- 
 averted, apologetic glance, "and no bones 
 broken," as the constable said, wondering why 
 the lads were all afraid of her ; and not alone the 
 lads, as he remarked to Mrs. Constable, but 
 that great hulking, over-masterful, censorious 
 Reuben Clegg, with his sneering ways and rabid 
 tongue— even he dared not whisper to himself 
 the awkward fact that he was head and heels 
 and boots and all in love with Sir George's 
 daughter.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 101 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 
 
 THE LOVE THAT LASTS 
 
 Which was all quite true, as we have seen. 
 Clegg was a strong man in all other things, but 
 Love was stronger than Clegg. He fought it . 
 with every weapon he knew. 
 
 In the daytime, among his miners, he labored 
 like the rest, hewing the ore or superintending 
 its tedious transit to the highway, that was not 
 a highway as we know the roads of to-day, but 
 a mere track that passed over moorland and 
 through woods in lanes of wagon ruts perilous 
 to axles and destructive of all human patience. 
 But nothing in the way of his work put Clegg 
 out, and he was used to battle with Nature. 
 
 It was only when he came into intellectual 
 contact with certain of the men of Eyam that 
 his temper got beyond control, as it had done, 
 indeed, in little wayside controversies with the 
 two clergymen of the parish, Messrs. Mompesson 
 and Stanley; but it was all through his love for 
 Mary Talbot. If this could have been satisfied, 
 there would have been no more meek and gentle 
 inhabitant of the whole great land of the Peak 
 than Reuben Clegg. Without the smallest pros- 
 pect of this, he nevertheless dedicated his life to 
 Sir George's daughter. It was for her sake that 
 he had helped to make her father rich; for her
 
 102 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 sake that he carried his divining-rod hither and 
 tliither; for her sake that he augmented the out- 
 put of the Winship Mine, that Sir George might 
 the better administer to her fancies and endow 
 her with fine clothes and gemmed necklaces; for 
 her sake that he pored over the lore of sages 
 whom he only half understood ; for her sake that 
 he sat o' nights watching the stars and studying 
 their mysteries ; for her sake that he was gentle 
 with his mother, never gave her a sorry word, 
 day or night — and was she not a woman, besides 
 being his mother? For the sake of one rustling 
 petticoat of the Manor House, and one sweet 
 voice, he was kind to all women, lovable to all 
 children, though churlish to some men; just, in 
 a measure, the counterpart in his virtue to Ziletto 
 in his vice. 
 
 Clegg found his chief happiness in communing 
 with Nature. If he did not carve her name on 
 trees, as Orlando did, he confided his love to 
 them, his hopes and joys. The great hulking 
 beggar, as the constable called him, would lay 
 him down in the grass or sit by the Derwent, or 
 stand with his face against some favorite tree, 
 and feel happy with Nature, that neither lied to 
 him, nor flattered him, nor feared him, but was 
 always the same frank companion, and had 
 yielded up many a secret to him, voluntarily and 
 perforce; never chary of response to his love, 
 nor even jealous of his passion for another. 
 
 He had great hands and feet, this man Clegg, 
 and an ungainly habit of manner, walking with 
 a swinging gait, and speaking with a dialect that
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 103 
 
 was thick as his boots; but he had great gray- 
 thoughtful eyes, and a mouth that was delicate 
 iu its lines, though suggestive of strength of will 
 and purpose, and he had a well-shaped nose and 
 compact forehead. He looked everybody straight 
 in the face — everybody except Mary Talbot. His 
 eyes fell before hers and his voice softened and 
 his gesture became humble. He was afraid of 
 Mary, and she knew it and was kind to him, and 
 now and then succeeded by her complaisance so 
 far as to get him to talk with something of un- 
 constraint ; but the moment the subject of their 
 discourse wavered in its point, the moment it 
 ceased to take him out of himself, he became 
 self-conscious. 
 
 What would he have said if he had known 
 what had transpired between Mary and his 
 mother? It is hard to say. Seriously as she 
 had pledged Mary to secrecy, Mrs. Clegg was 
 often tempted to say something of it to her son, 
 for she could not help but feel that if Reuben 
 really wooed the girl with courage, "put his best 
 leg foremost," to use her homely phrase, donned 
 his Sunday clothes continually, brushed his soft 
 brown beard with care, gave the brim of his hat 
 an extra droop and stuck a feather in it, he 
 might compete with the handsomest. She would 
 actually have decked him out thus, and brought 
 him into the common run of men, the dear old 
 dame, touched by the finery of Mary's ribbons 
 and wondering, if Reuben made himself smart 
 and polished, whether he would not the better 
 strike the girl's fancy.
 
 104 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 What Mrs. Clegg feared was that one of the 
 gay young squires or townsmen from some dis- 
 tant place in Hallamshire, or some visitor at the 
 Old Hall, would step in hetween Reuben and his 
 hopes, and capture the girl before she had had 
 a fair, honest opportunity of saying "Yes" or 
 "No" to her son; and this, she feared, might 
 break his heart — the idea of which would have 
 amused the strong men who knew Reuben, and 
 who had no idea of the capacity of a girl to upset 
 a man of his strength of mind and body. It was 
 known that Clegg had feathered his nest, and 
 could, if he had chosen, have bought a girl with 
 solid gold, just as they thought the men who 
 called themselves his betters did when they fan- 
 cied a man's daughter, and went to him with 
 the price of her in money or lands, in jewels and 
 gems and other finery, or winning her by his 
 persistency and his courage, as John Manners 
 had won Dorothy Vernon, in spito of her hector- 
 ing father, the King of the Peak. 
 
 But so it was. Reuben Clegg, in presence of 
 a certain petticoat, was the veriest coward that 
 ever posed unconsciously as an example of the 
 power of love. 
 
 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 IN THE DAYS OF HER INNOCENCE 
 
 Sir George had met Ziletto out riding, and 
 had come to the conclusion that any man who
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 105 
 
 could sit a horse as the Italian sat Radford's 
 awkward mare must be a gentleman. "Sat 
 her," as he told his fellow justice of the peace, 
 who lived some miles away, and was rarely seen 
 in Eyam, "by Jove! sir, as if she were the finest 
 blood in the county, and saluted me with the air 
 of a prince, by Jupiter ! And I could not help 
 reining up and complimenting him. Why, the 
 fellow must be a prince in disguise, as the con- 
 stable says." 
 
 And when Sir George came home, and Mary 
 insisted upon helping him off with his velvet 
 jerkin, while his man drew off his boots, he could 
 talk of no one but this Signor Ziletto. 
 
 "Rides like my old general, upright as a May- 
 pole, but all the same graceful as a willow. He 
 put that old hack of Radford's at the brook down 
 by the glen yonder, and carried her across by 
 main force, and the mare went as if the devil 
 was behind her. Never saw such a feat since 
 Mellisli took Lover's Leap — which I didn't see, 
 for that matter — and I've invited the fellow to 
 have dinner with us. Do you mind sweet- 
 heart? Have I done the right thing, little 
 housekeeper?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, father. You always do the right 
 thing." 
 
 "Do I, my bundle of good nature; do I?" 
 
 "You know you do, when it is your heart that 
 prompts you." 
 
 "Well, do you know, darling, my heart was 
 against the fellow at first. I felt as if I could 
 not endure the beggar when Mompesson intro-
 
 10«» THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 duced him to me. But there, you know I'm 
 prejudiced against foreigners. Mompesson is 
 taken with him ; but a snatch of learning, a bit 
 of travel, a phrase or two about the arts of 
 Greece and Rome, captures a mind like Mom- 
 pesson's; and he don't get much communion of 
 thought in that way in these hills, eh?" 
 
 "I suppose not," said Mary. 
 
 "If we are not to be envied for our learning 
 in the Peak, at least we have the gift of hos- 
 pitality." 
 
 "We have not shown much," said Mary, smil- 
 ing, "to the foreigners at the Old Hall." 
 
 "They have not courted it, Mary; and I don't 
 know that the severe-looking gentleman in the 
 queer cloak and with the long face is an inviting 
 subject ; though, by my halidame, as your aunt 
 hath it, madame, his wife, is a fine specimen of 
 Nature's handiwork, that is, if she did not favor 
 the gypsy so much. Moreover, neither Lady 
 Stafford nor the Bradshaws have intimated that 
 these people are more than skilled working folk ; 
 but this new comer, with his fine manners and 
 his royal plume, is of a high breeding, and hon- 
 ors the Hundred, finding it worthy of a long 
 visit, for they say he is making Radford's cart- 
 shed into a studio, and Mompesson tells me he 
 has asked permission to design the decoration for 
 the manor spring, and offers to complete it at 
 his own cost." 
 
 "He is a painter, then, similar to the others?" 
 
 "No, a sculptor; but it is not his vocation, 
 
 except by his own favor, as it were; he is rather
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 107 
 
 a patron than an artist, and when he works it is 
 for the love of it." 
 
 "You are well-informed in his history, father," 
 said Mary, attending to some trifling household 
 duties, as she listened and drew Sir George out 
 on the topic that became more and more of in- 
 terest to her. 
 
 "Nay, he talks to Mompesson, and I looked in 
 on Vicars, the tailor, to have a lace mended, and 
 he was brimming over with accounts of ..the 
 stranger's generosity, his marvelous knowledge, 
 and the fancy the foreigner hath taken to Eyam 
 and the country round about; praises the Dale 
 of Middleton, sees something we none of us have 
 seen in the aspect of Froggatt's Edge, and pro- 
 nounces the Derwent a stream in a thousand. 
 You approve of his coming to have dinner with 
 us?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I think it is most thoughtful of 
 you, and kind. Don't you think you might ask 
 Mr. Reuben Clegg also?" said Mary. "He is 
 the only neighbor, except Mr. Mompesson, who 
 is learned and has opinions." 
 
 "Ask Clegg," said Sir George, in his breeziest 
 manner; "why not?" 
 
 "I see no reason," said Mary; "he and Mr. 
 Mompesson don't always agree; it would make 
 quite a good company to ask Mr. Stanley also." 
 
 "Now you are in jest, Mary; though I don't 
 see why Stanley and Mompesson should not be 
 good friends." 
 
 "If religion were that true thing they preach 
 about, they would be," the girl replied.
 
 108 THE DAGGER AtfD THE CROSS 
 
 "Yon axe expressing the sentiments of Clegg," 
 said Sir George; "but yon often pay 'Old 
 Thoughtful' that kind of compliment." 
 
 " Do I ? You shouldn't call him ' Old Thought- 
 ful' ; it is a nickname." 
 
 "Tkon Twill only call him Mr. Clegg. But 
 what a Solomon he is, to be sure. He couldn't 
 have had a nickname more like his character. 
 They used to call Stanley 'Old Tub-thumper,' 
 you know ; and he did bang the desk sometimes 
 when he was preaching, did he not? Do you 
 know what they call Dakin the constable? 'Old 
 Wait-a-bit!' How he hates Clegg! It's worse 
 to be made fun of than to be smitten with a cud- 
 gel. Clegg makes Dakin squirm. While you 
 were at j-our aunt's there was a case of trespass 
 the constable brought before me; Clegg was a 
 witness ; and it was as good as Punch and Judy 
 at the Wakes to hear Reuben and the constable 
 arguing." 
 
 "You don't often hold your court, now, 
 father." 
 
 "No, my dear; we are a happy and law-abid- 
 ing community, and I am thankful for it ; though 
 I would not mind having such a case as the as- 
 sault and trespass no bones broken, as the con- 
 stable says, and no committal, to have the pleas- 
 ure of setting Clegg and Dakin at each other; 
 a couple of game cocks, with spurs that don't 
 draw blood, but rankle mightily, I am afraid. 
 I managed to soften Clegg to the other when it 
 was all over ; Clegg shook hands with the con- 
 stable, and everybody ooocenwcl W§»t to the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 109 
 
 Crown and Anchor afterward. And I do verily 
 believe I will invite Clegg to dinner with the 
 stranger, and Master and Mistress Mompesson. 
 Yon must ask Clegg to tell you all about Dakin's 
 ideas of rights of way and what constitutes an 
 assault and battery in the eyes of the law." 
 
 There was a certain sobriety of tone and cut 
 in Mary Talbot's dress that heightened her type 
 of beauty. Not that she adhered altogether to 
 the quiet fashion of the time; she modified its 
 plainness with a ribbon or a brooch, and the 
 mounting of her feather fan, and there was 
 above all the whiteness of her neck, the ruddy 
 healthfulness of her complexion, her wealth of 
 rich brown hair, and her gay and cheerful 
 manner. 
 
 "I cannot tell you how much I have missed 
 you, Mary, all this week," Sir George suddenly 
 exclaimed, taking her into his arms and kissing 
 her. "What should I do without you, if some 
 day you took it into your fantastic little head to 
 get married?" 
 
 "But I never shall, dear," she said. "Never, 
 never, never." 
 
 "I verily believe I should hate the fellow," 
 said Sir George, laughing. 
 
 "No, dear, you would not, if I loved him. 
 But why anticipate misfortune?" she replied, 
 laughing in her turn. "Aunt Deborah says one 
 had better be buried than married." 
 
 "Ah, she's no authority," answered Sir 
 George. "I don't recall that anybody ever 
 proposed to make Deborah bis partner in life.
 
 110 THE DAGGER AND THE CROS8 
 
 though a man might have gone further and 
 fared the worse." 
 
 "The dear old lady; what a shame!" said 
 Mary. "But 'nobody has axed me, sir, she said 
 — sir, she said!' " 
 
 "They've got to face me first, my dear," said 
 Sir George; "and they know I'd cudgel them. 
 I never told you that young Maynard had the 
 audacity to sound me on the subject, as he 
 called it." 
 
 "No; of a truth?" 
 
 "Ay, of a truth, Mary." 
 
 "And did you cudgel him?" 
 
 "With a frown and a 'devil-take-it, sir,' and I 
 know not what," said Sir George, breaking out 
 into a loud guffaw. "And you should have seen 
 the fellow." 
 
 "Was he so frightened?" 
 
 "That was he, indeed." 
 
 "Then he's not for me, Sir George," said 
 Mary, with a theatrical toss of her head. "The 
 man who marries me must brave the world for 
 me — father, friends, country." 
 
 "Tut ! tut ! thou hast been reading a romance, " 
 said Sir George, soberly. 
 
 "Yes, a romance; I did but jest, love." 
 
 "You would never defy your father, Mary?'> 
 
 "What? Like my Lady Manners of Haddon? 
 Steal from home and hide away in the dark, 
 and—" 
 
 "Having had the fellow lurking about in the 
 woods like a poaching outlaw, and with her con- 
 Bent, the hussy!" said Sir George, indignantly.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 111 
 
 "It was an act of shame, indeed," said Mary; 
 "though 'twas like a romance set forth in 
 cantos. ' ' 
 
 "A romance!" exclaimed Sir George. "An 
 abduction; a lawless outrage, Mary; and who 
 would have thought it, for she had hitherto been 
 a dutiful child, honored her father and her 
 mother, and — " 
 
 "I have heard you say that her father was 
 haughty ; overbearing ; a tyrant, indeed ; and to 
 none more so than his own flesh and blood." 
 
 "And so am I," said Sir George. "I am a 
 tyrant." 
 
 "A very honey-sweet tyrant," said Mary; 
 "and everybody knows it — strong of head and 
 soft of heart." 
 
 " 'Strong i' the arm an' weak i' the head,' 
 is the proverb," said Sir George; "and by the 
 mass, I sometimes think it's true." 
 
 "When don't you think it's true, sir?" Mary 
 asked. "When you think of those Italians, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Nay, confound them, I don't compare our 
 men with such, nor our women either. When 
 strength drifts into paint-pots and making pic- 
 tures, it's a poor business, after all. I suspect it 
 was Staffordshire or Yorkshire that made the 
 proverb about Derbyshire out of pique for a 
 beating we gave them some time or other, and 
 while they could not deny the strength of our 
 arm they flung at us the sneer about our head." 
 
 "Then you don't believe the proverb?" 
 'No, I don't. I think we are as good as our 
 
 a-
 
 1 I .' THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 neighbors and a little better; and if one was put 
 to it for evidence, I don't know that old Bess of 
 Hardwicke, among women, could be bettered as 
 to a Derbyshire head ; and to come to men in our 
 own daj', what do you say to Clegg?" 
 
 "A man in a thousand," said Mary. 
 
 "You think so?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mary. 
 
 "You do?" said Sir George, pulling her upon 
 his knee; "you do, in very truth?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, "in very truth." 
 
 "I sometimes think it is a pity Clegg is not a 
 gentleman," said Sir George, kissing his daugh- 
 ter's fair hand. 
 
 "But is he not a gentleman?" Mary asked, her 
 voice dropping a little anxiously, for it occurred 
 to her all in a moment that perhaps Mrs. Clegg 
 had been saying something to her father about 
 Reuben, or that Clegg himself might have 
 spoken to him on the delicate subject that his 
 mother had mentioned to her so keenly. 
 
 "Oh yes, at heart, but not by birth; if he had 
 been, who knows? — But there, that is a matter 
 that will keep. Do you know, my love, while I 
 think I should, as I have said, hate the man who 
 took you from me, I remember now and then, 
 as I ought, that I am getting on in years, and 
 that some day you will need another protector 
 and companion, and — " 
 
 "Very well, dear; when my John Maimers, 
 or the prince on the white horse, comes, we will 
 talk about it; but not now, dear, not now," said 
 Mary, taking the ruddy genial face of Sir George
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 113 
 
 between her dimpled generous hands and kissing 
 him on both cueeks. "When is our company to 
 come to dinner?" 
 
 ' ' When? To-morrow shall it be?' ' 
 
 "Yes. I will go and ask the Mompessons; 
 you shall call and engage Mr. Clegg and the 
 Italian — let me see, what is his name? — Ziletto?" 
 
 "Signor Giovanni Ziletto," said Sir George; 
 "and I will lay you a wager of what you will 
 that Clegg hates him." 
 
 Sir George swore "by the 'mass," and had 
 other harmless oaths. Even to this day, with- 
 out a thought of its origin, Derbyshire men swear 
 by the Virgin. They vow "by-mi-leddy " ; though 
 Sir George had reason for his habit, seeing that 
 his ancestors were Roman Catholics to a man. 
 "And are true Catholics now," he would say; 
 "it is the others that have gone astray." But 
 he was tolerant and broad minded, and Mar3 r 
 had unconsciously imbibed some of the ultra- 
 liberal sentiments of Clegg. She was not jesting 
 in the least when she named Mr. Stanley for a 
 guest. He had been the rector, and might have 
 been still, if he had chosen to take the oath of 
 Conformity; and though he was outside the 
 Orthodox pale, he still remained in the village 
 and ministered to many of his old former flock, 
 even to some of those who still went to church 
 and obeyed the authority of the State. 
 
 They were a very companionable couple, you 
 see, this father and daughter. There came a 
 time when the villagers said Mary had always 
 been too free with religion and too indifferent to
 
 114 THE DAOfJER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the common usages; but hitherto, no love or in- 
 terest or question of any kind had come between 
 Sir George and his daughter's confidence and 
 affection. No gallant, lover or otherwise, had 
 as yet disturbed her relations with home. Reu- 
 ben Clegg, in spite of himself, had secret desires 
 of sharing Mary's heart with her brave old 
 father, but it was only his doting mother that 
 kept his little lamp of love fairly alight. 
 
 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 
 
 VISIONS OF BEAUTY AND A SHADOW 
 
 While Sir George Talbot and his daughter 
 were discussing Ziletto at the Manor House in 
 the village, Father Castelli and Roubillac were 
 similarly engaged in the priest's room at the Old 
 Hall. 
 
 It was an odd quadrangular apartment which 
 the priest occupied, with an adjoining room not 
 much larger than the carved four-post bed on 
 which he slept, a grim-looking arrangement 
 compared with modern notions; it had heavy 
 hangings and a canopy, the complete arrange- 
 ment suggestive rather of a catafalque than a 
 bed for a living sleeper. The room that served 
 for his study and parlor was paneled in oak, 
 with a couple of heavy beams supporting the 
 ceiling, each decorated with a corbel, carved by 
 some humorist who had composed a quartet of
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 115 
 
 heads with facial expressions probably signifying 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, two of 
 them bursting with laughter at the others. 
 
 In front of a small altar there was a low 
 bench, constructed after the manner of the chair 
 we know as a prie-Dieu ; and the other furniture 
 consisted of a heavy square table, with a few 
 parchment- bound books and manuscripts theron, 
 an oak seat, that was also a chest for clothes, 
 and a couple of high-backed chairs. 
 
 On the walls hung a quaint-looking map of 
 Italy and a chart of England. The floor was 
 bare, with the exception of a rush mat by the 
 table, and the sun streamed in from a diamond- 
 paned window, let so deep into the wall that the 
 sill almost made a seat, though a high one, and 
 it was decorated with a great jar of blue iris. 
 
 The occupants of the room became it well. 
 Father Castelli, with his ascetic shaven face and 
 his monkish gown, looked little more the priest 
 than Roubillac in his customary robe, redeemed, 
 however, from its somber hue and dark fur by 
 the embroidered vest and chain of gold that he 
 wore about his neck. It was a noble face, 
 though lacking in what would be called strength ; 
 the face of a man of suppressed feeling ; the face 
 of a poet, with steadfast eyes that seemed pre- 
 occupied with some other subject than that he 
 was discussing, and yet his very heart and soul 
 were in the theme. 
 
 "He can only have one object in coming here," 
 he said, addressing the priest, his back against 
 the wainscot by the window, his figure in shadow
 
 110 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 except when, once in a way, he turned to gaze 
 upon the landscape, as if he sought something 
 there or that he was trying to collect his thoughts. 
 
 They spoke in their own melodious language, 
 their voices at one time seeming to make a coo- 
 ing music, and at another to rise into tones of 
 storm and threatening. 
 
 "He denies that he has any malicious or un- 
 holy feeling toward either of you ; declares that 
 he had long since made up his mind to travel in 
 England, even before you met in Venice. He 
 says it is his business in these regions to study 
 archaeology and the barbaric art of the feudal 
 halls and castles of the North of Britain. It 
 was while making his way to Haddon and Chats- 
 worth and PcveriPs Castle that he stumbled 
 upon Eyam by accident, and — " 
 
 "He lies, father — he lies!" exclaimed Rou- 
 billac. 
 
 "It may be so," the priest replied, "but he 
 lies with all the circumstance of truth. He came 
 hither from London, and brings letters from the 
 court: would be welcomed at the stately hall of 
 Haddon, but he finds new and strange attraction 
 in the village life of Eyam ; affects to be taken 
 with its restf ulness, and is transforming a shed 
 of the inn to the purposes of a studio." 
 
 "Then some unhappy woman has had the 
 misfortune to inspire his lust," said Roubillac, 
 scornfully. 
 
 "Nay, my son," replied the priest, "they love 
 their women, these northern islanders, and are 
 a proud race. It would go hard with Ziletto if
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 117 
 
 he should seek to amuse himself here, as he is 
 credited with doing in Venice— the profligate!" 
 
 "It should have gone hard with him in Venire 
 if the devil had not more power there than the 
 Church," said Roubillac, bitterly. 
 
 "Vengeance neither belongs to man nor the 
 Church," the priest answered. 
 
 "The Church has invoked the ax and the 
 brand on many a quivering subject, neverthe- 
 less," said Roubillac. 
 
 "Under God, and by His command," said the 
 priest. "Thou art profane, Roubillac, my son. 
 I forgive thee, because thou art in distress of 
 mind!" 
 
 "What is it that moves you so grievously, 
 father?" said the soft voice of a beautiful woman, 
 standing in the doorway. She had entered 
 upon the scene so silently that she might have 
 been a vision. 
 
 "You here, my love!" said Roubillac, advanc- 
 ing toward her and taking her hand. 
 
 "I was seeking you," said Francesca, her dark 
 eyes resting upon the face of Roubillac. "They 
 told me you had walked this way." 
 
 "We are right glad you have come," said the 
 priest, rising. "Nay, daughter, be seated. We 
 were just talking of you." 
 
 "What, in so sad a strain?" she said, smiling. 
 "And I felt so happy. The sun is so warm, yet 
 the air is crisp and sets one's spirits dancuig." 
 
 "It is indeed a rare day," said Roubillac, en- 
 deavoring to respond to the cheerfulness of his 
 wii
 
 118 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Then why were you sad?" 
 "I don't think we were sad," said the priest. 
 "Perhaps a little anxious, but the shadow has 
 passed with the sunshine of thy presence. Come, 
 sit, and make us feel at home." 
 
 Francesca, arranging her demi-toilet robe in 
 artistic folds, sat in the high-backed chair which 
 the priest indicated, and Roubillac placed for her 
 a rush hassock as a footstool. She sat as upon 
 a throne, and looked a queen. From beneath 
 her apple-green skirt of satin peeped forth two 
 pretty feet, in white morocco shoes with high 
 heels. 
 
 "Now, my son, where are thy easel, thy 
 palette, and thy brushes? Were it not a vanity 
 to say so, it is long since I saw so dainty a study 
 — nay, understand, I speak with the painter's 
 eye," said the priest, still anxious to turn the 
 woman's thoughts from the point of wondering 
 what they were discussing when she had sur- 
 prised them. 
 
 "Peace, dear father," replied the lady, raising 
 a fair white finger by way of protest. "I am 
 weary of posing." 
 
 "Then you shall set up your own easel and I 
 will pose for j 7 ou," said Roubillac, "as the tyrant 
 who enslaved the fairest maid of Venice." 
 
 "I did but jest, Bernardo. You spoil me. So 
 do you. Father Castelli, I am too happy!" 
 
 "You no longer despise your new home?" said 
 the priest. 
 
 "Did I despise it?" she said, with an apolo- 
 getic smile. -'Ah, it was so cold and bleak!"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 119 
 
 "Not more so, my daughter, than our own 
 dear Venice in December. ' ' 
 
 "I love Venice!" she said, with a languishing 
 glance at the window. 
 
 "Then we will go hence, dear heart, back to 
 our own home by the sea. It was in our thoughts 
 when you sought us." 
 
 "Nay, my son," said the priest. 
 
 "But it was, dear father, it was!" said Rou- 
 billac. 
 
 "I do not desire to go hence; and if I did, 
 'twould not be before the Feast of Ascension, 
 the decoration of the springs; and, moreover, 
 thou art to design the chief offering to Flora," 
 said Francesca, with animation, the color mount- 
 ing into her olive complexion. 
 
 A pang of jealous fear shot through Rou- 
 billac's brain as he noted the sudden light in her 
 eyes, which rarely betrayed the emotion of pleas- 
 ure except when Venice or Verona was in ques- 
 tion. Father Castelli had assured Roubillac that 
 Ziletto had not yet seen Francesca, either at the 
 Old Hall or in the village. "Watching the ani- 
 mation of his wife, Roubillac nevertheless be- 
 came suddenly the prey of doubt and fear. 
 
 "And this lovely season of the year," she 
 went on, "is only the beginning of the English 
 summer; and Venice has no gardens, nor any 
 flowers — " 
 
 "Francesca!" expostulated Roubillac. 
 "Not like unto these," she said, rising and 
 going to the window and opening the lattice, 
 "Look, Bernardo; look, father I"
 
 120 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 It was a scene of delightful contrast to Italy ; 
 a scene in which the freshness of English land- 
 scape in the springtime has a charm of its own; 
 a lightness in the air, a sprightliness in every- 
 thing — in the chatter of the hrook, the mirth of 
 the blackbird's song, the cheeriness of the lark — 
 a great hopefulness in all things. 
 
 Italy may have something of this in its May 
 days, but there is with it a certain languor, a 
 sense of heat, an unvarying blue sky, a drowsi- 
 ness of the air, the hum of insects rather than 
 the song of birds, for it is in the evening the 
 nightingale sings. 
 
 It is possible that Francesca felt the impulse 
 of joy that belongs more to the English spring 
 perhaps than to the April or May of other lands, 
 however much more gorgeous may be their suns 
 and skies, the deep blues of their waters, the 
 luxury of their vines and the burning radiance 
 of their flowers. 
 
 "Is it not beautiful!" the woman said, pointing 
 to a corner of the walled-in garden below them. 
 
 The picture might well challenge their admi- 
 ration ; not so familiar then as you will find it 
 nowadaj-s, for they have become great garden- 
 ers all over the Peak during the present century; 
 indeed, you shall travel the world over and see 
 no finer examples of the art than are to be found 
 in Derbyshire. But it is with the past that we 
 have to do, closely as it may be linked with the 
 present. 
 
 In that particular corner of the Old Hall gar- 
 den to which Francesca pointed, clusters of lilacs,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 121 
 
 laburnums, and geld er- roses, which some call 
 Whitsun bosses and others snowballs, were 
 radiant in alternating gold and purple and white 
 against a background of dusky pines. 
 
 Fringed with snowy pyramids of white lupins 
 and shadowy clusters of Canterbury bells, the 
 immediate foreground was ablaze with peonies. 
 The foreign trio could not see the wealth of wild 
 hyacinth that filled the air with perfume, wafted 
 by a gentle breeze that came through the adja- 
 cent woods, but they found the atmosphere 
 sweet, with varied scents of lilac, budding May 
 and full-blown bluebells. 
 
 This fragrant glimpse of cultured ground was 
 but an incident in a broad expanded prospect 
 that might rival the valley of the Adige itself ; 
 for the Adige, with its feathery poplars and its 
 fertile plain, was in the mind of Francesca, sur- 
 prised though she was with the beauty of thr? 
 British garden, backed with undulating moor- 
 land, scrub, and forest, variegated with flashing 
 streams. 
 
 The Derwent could be seen, marking its course 
 with green banks and foliage ; here and thero an 
 oak or an elm standing sentinel over bunches of 
 hawthorns freshly budded, and flanked by flower- 
 ing chestnuts, the moors and meadows beyond 
 rising gradually toward the sky, Masson, Axe- 
 edge, Mam Tor, Kinderscout and Stanage lost 
 among mountains of white clouds that in their 
 stillness beneath a vast stretch of blue sky might 
 have been the snowy Alps of Italy. Thus ran 
 their thoughts, the three spectators, as they
 
 122 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 gazed upon the sunny cumulus, Roubillac voicing 
 their reflections in the remark, "One can almost 
 feel the life in yonder clouds — the mountaineers, 
 the bleating of the goats, the echoes of the tor- 
 rents, the music of the shepherd's pipe." 
 
 " 'Who can number the clouds in wisdom?' " 
 said the priest, quoting his favorite prophet. 
 " 'Or who can stay the bottles of heaven, when 
 the dust groweth into hardness, and the clouds 
 cleave fast together?' " 
 
 "Our own Alps are not more beautiful," said 
 Roubillac, the shadow of doubt passing as he 
 looked into the face of his wife, that in its purity 
 of expression was complementary to the scene 
 itself. 
 
 Then all in a moment the calm reflective as- 
 pect of Francesca's face changed to one of 
 alarm. 
 
 "Bernardo!" she exclaimed, clinging to his 
 arm; "Bernardo!" 
 
 "Yes, love, yes; what is it?" responded Ber- 
 nardo, anxiously. 
 
 There was to the ear of the priest a certain 
 profanity in the answer that made him cross 
 himself. 
 
 "Be not afraid, it is I," said Ziletto, "I am 
 sorry to have disturbed you." 
 
 He lifted his broad hat with its plume (his 
 dress was after the fashion of the Court of 
 Charles) as he spoke, and, passing the window, 
 stood in the open doorway, where Francesca had 
 appeared, only a short time before, a vision of 
 grace and beauty.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 123 
 
 It was as if the devil in silk and velvet and 
 love-locks had taken her place, though the latter 
 figure could not have failed to please an esthetic 
 taste ; not that which in modern days the public 
 has been taught to esteem as esthetic, for this 
 was a full-blooded, masculine, aggressive figure. 
 There was nothing limp or long-necked, nothing 
 anaemic about Ziletto; he was a veritable man 
 of bone and muscle, and, unhappily, with no 
 conscience to mortify the flesh or cloud the eye 
 in which youth and audacity reigned triumphant. 
 
 ' ' I was informed that the reverend father was 
 alone," he continued, bowing with great for- 
 mality to Francesca and Roubillac; "otherwise 
 I would have sought another opportunity to do 
 myself the honor of — " 
 
 "You need not embarrass yourself or us with 
 further apology, Signor Ziletto," said Roubillac, 
 taking his wife by the hand; "we bid you good 
 da}-, signor." 
 
 "The same to you, signor and signora," said 
 Ziletto, with a gracious sweep of his hat, as he 
 stood aside and gave way for Roubillac and his 
 wife to pass out. 
 
 CHAPTER SIXTEEN" 
 
 GUESTS AT THE MANOR HOUSE 
 
 The midday meal at the Manor House, to 
 which the Mompessons, Clegg and Ziletto had
 
 124 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 been invited, had not, in the estimation of Sir 
 Georgo and Clegg, been altogether a satisfactory 
 meeting. 
 
 From the point of view of hospitality, it had 
 been everything that host and guests could have 
 desired. It included trout from the Derwent, a 
 chine of beef, a sacking pig, a gammon of bacon, 
 with gooseberry and rhubarb pies, and a remark- 
 able flat cake or pastry of preserve and cream 
 and dainty crust, not unlike what is called the 
 Bakewell pudding of the present day. 
 
 The chief topic of conversation was the 
 stranger's arrival at Eyam. Sir George and 
 his friends were all anxious about him and what 
 he had recently seen in the outer world. The 
 Mompessons and Mary Talbot were frank and 
 ingenuous in their treatment of Ziletto. Clegg 
 was unusually reticent, and there was in Sir 
 George's attitude a suggestion of suspicion. 
 
 "You were in London in January, Signor 
 Ziletto, so I gathered," said Mr. Mompesson. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Ziletto; "and glad to find 
 quarters at Hampton ; such is the name of the 
 palace of the king, on the river Thames." 
 
 Sir George looked at Clegg, as much as to say, 
 "Now we shall hear something; keep your ears 
 open; if he is all he professes to be, well; if not, 
 we are not altogether the ignorant barbarians he 
 may think us." 
 
 "I had not the honor of being a guest; no, but 
 I had the felicity to be presented to his Majesty. 
 He was very sad about the plague; Parliament, 
 you know, moved to Oxford on that account. It
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 125 
 
 was a melancholy sight, the metropolis. The 
 bells were tolling, all trade was suspended, there 
 were fearful looks on every face, though the 
 worst was past, they said ; and I had the honor 
 to acquaint the king with what I had seen at the 
 exchange. On the other hand, the court was 
 buoyant with your English victories over the 
 Dutch." 
 
 Ziletto paused, as if for comment or question. 
 He noted that Miss Talbot's eyes were directed 
 toward him with inquiring interest. 
 
 "The cold weather, it was said, had much 
 mitigated the plague, and some of the people 
 who had fled were already returning to their 
 homes. A noble palace, that of Hampton, built 
 by the great Cardinal Wolsey. His Majesty 
 himself showed me the banqueting hall and 
 some fine tapestries, and was gracious enough to 
 invite my opinion upon a question of decorative 
 art. The king has a rare taste ; he is himself a 
 study worthy of the finest painter. But I weary 
 you." 
 
 ' ' Not at all, signor, " said Sir George. ' ' Noth- 
 ing so interesting as the report of the messenger 
 who is fresh from the field." 
 
 "I had the extreme felicity to carry with me 
 to the English court letters from the Venetian 
 republic and from Florence; but what will be 
 of most account to you, Sir George Talbot, is 
 the king's mention of the hospitable lords of 
 Haddon, and the architectural beauties of the 
 Peak country, which he advised me to see, being 
 interested in architecture and the kindred arts.
 
 126 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 That is how I came to find my way to this beau- 
 teous English village and to this honorable com- 
 pany. The repose that I find here, face to face 
 with Nature, after so many years of sojourning 
 in great cities, in busy camps, and at gay and 
 imperial courts, is refreshment to the soul, and 
 for the weary body a welcome peace. ' ' 
 
 "He is gifted with a natural eloquence," said 
 Mrs. Mompesson, in an aside remark to her 
 husband. 
 
 After dinner Sir George placed his finest 
 Malmsey before his guests, and later they 
 smoked Virginian tobacco from long clay pipes; 
 and Sir George unbuckled his belt, and they all 
 sat at their ease. 
 
 It was a large handsome room, and in a 
 corner, by the furthest window that looked upon 
 the garden, there was a spinet, upon which first 
 Mrs. Mompesson played, and then Mary essayed 
 an old English melody simply arranged. Ziletto 
 watched for a favorable opportunity to sit down 
 and try the instrument, and it was strange how 
 different it sounded under his touch. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mompesson pulled their chairs 
 near the player, to listen, and Mary would have 
 done so, but Sir George beckoned her to a low 
 stool by his side, where she was often wont to 
 sit with her head upon his knee. Clegg looked 
 on with a passive expression, smoked his pipe 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Presently Mary drew her arm round Mrs. 
 Mompesson and led her into the garden. The 
 perfume of the gillyflowers, sweetbrier, lilac and
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 127 
 
 wild hyacinth was not overcome even by the 
 fumes of the golden weed of the New World. 
 And it was a lovely garden, with trim box-bor- 
 ders, and a high stone wall, against which lay 
 the white blossoms of the early fruit trees that 
 had been sheltered all the winter under heavy 
 mats of rushes. Outside the walls were belts of 
 forest trees, and between their fresh green and 
 young leaves could be seen the distant hills and 
 blue sky, that was banked with radiant clouds. 
 
 Mrs. Mompesson was of a much more delicate 
 frame and figure than Mary Talbot. She had 
 large, gray, wistful eyes, and a thoughtful man- 
 ner, in marked contrast with the healthful merry 
 face of her companion; though she was by no 
 means of a melancholy disposition. She looked 
 almost Quaker-like in her plain black gown with 
 its broad white collar. The latter was pinned 
 with a brooch shaped like a heart, that had been 
 her husband's wedding present. How true and 
 devoted a wife she was it needed not this history 
 to show, for already her name is inscribed on the 
 undying page of the annals of the mountain 
 village. 
 
 They stood for a little while upon the terrace, 
 overlooking a wide space of kitchen garden that 
 descended toward a dip in the landscape above 
 which My Lady's Bower nestled among the 
 clumps of foliage. 
 
 This outlying post of the Talbot estate has an 
 important bearing on events to come, and, by 
 the way, is not an unusual building; to this day 
 you may see the summer-house or arbor in which
 
 128 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Mary Queen of Scots spent many lonely hours in 
 Chatsworth Park; it was not intended for a 
 prison, any more than My Lady's Bower in the 
 little meadow beyond the Manor House gardens 
 was intended for aught but pleasure and sweet 
 repose. , 
 
 Mary produced a key, and, running ahead of 
 her guest, opened the quaint old sanctum that 
 at one time had been the gardener's cottage, but 
 which her mother had enlarged into an arbor, 
 where she spent much time over her tapestry 
 frame. 
 
 Sir George rarely entered the place, but Mary 
 had lavished such artistic taste as she possessed 
 upon it. She had no personal recollections of 
 her mother, though the arbor had a kind of 
 pleasant mystery for her, associated with the 
 portrait of the beautiful lady whose needle- 
 pictures helped to adorn it. 
 
 Mary showed Mrs. Mompesson some of the 
 treasures of the pretty retreat, which had for its 
 outlook one broad window with a seat beneath 
 it, whence you could see the white rocks of Mid- 
 dleton Dale, and beyond, glimpses of the Der- 
 went. 
 
 "When they were returning to the house along 
 the great path of the kitchen garden, that was 
 bordered with herbs and flowers that are now 
 considered old-fashioned, Mr. Mompesson joined 
 them to take his wife home, and Ziletto and 
 Clegg came to take their leave. 
 
 Ziletto kissed the hands of the ladies with much 
 formality, and Mary felt a little shiver run
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 129 
 
 through her veins when his lips touched her 
 fingers. She turned so pale that Mrs. Mom- 
 pesson noticed it, and came toward her ; but the 
 next moment Mary was rosy red, and the in- 
 cident passed. Mary gave her hand at parting 
 to Eeuben Clegg, who would not for all Eyam 
 have dared to emulate the stranger and touch it 
 with his lips — but different nations, different 
 manners. He pressed Mary's fingers, neverthe- 
 less, with more than usual warmth, and so bade 
 her good-day ; and thanked Sir George for his 
 hospitality. 
 
 There was, however, a certain anxiety in the 
 tone of Clegg's voice that compelled Sir George's 
 attention, and he walked with him into the court- 
 yard, where he also took leave of Ziletto and his 
 neighbors the Mompessons. 
 
 Clegg thrust his hands into the pockets of his 
 ample vest and strode out for home, full of an- 
 ger with himself and all the world, cowed in his 
 own estimation, never so mortifyingly sensible 
 of his ignorance. Every yard he walked he 
 thought of things he might have said, and ought 
 to have said. Facts and opinions of great au- 
 thorities upon subjects glibly dismissed by Ziletto 
 had occurred to him but hazily. He seemed 
 only to have remembered to forget everything 
 he ever knew, and only to remember that Mary 
 Talbot found her chief delight in listening to the 
 cheap knowledge and tawdry adventures of the 
 Italian. 
 
 At the same time he now felt that Mary Talbot 
 was beyond his mark. And yet he was con-
 
 130 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 scions that she had encouraged him to believe 
 that he might hope. He recalled more than one 
 occasion when she had looked at him in a way 
 that the least vain of men might have construed 
 into something more than a mere neighborly 
 friendship ; and yet, whenever he had made the 
 smallest step toward seeming to accept the chal- 
 lenge, she had gathered her skirts about her and 
 retreated. 
 
 "I'm a fool!" he said to himself, as he passed 
 into the shadow of the wood leading to his house. 
 "A fool! "What has an ungainly, uneducated, 
 untraveled, low-bred churl, such as 1, to do with 
 so much elegance and beauty?" 
 
 At about the time when Clegg was thus con- 
 fessing to himself the hopelessness of his love for 
 Mary Talbot, she had taken her favorite seat by 
 her father, and, after a few commonplaces, had 
 led him on to the subject she was most anxious 
 to have him talk about — what did he think of 
 Sign or Ziletto? 
 
 "I don't like the fellow," was Sir George's 
 verdict; "by my lady, I don't!" And he pursed 
 up his lips as he said so, and stretched his legs 
 defiantly. 
 
 "Oh, father! And wherefore?" asked Mary. 
 
 "Damme! He has the eye of an intriguing 
 reprobate! Why, even Mistress Mompesson re- 
 coiled before his bold glances." 
 
 "Nay! I did not observe it." 
 
 "It was the Malmsey that got into his head; 
 reminded him, he said, of his native land. That
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 131 
 
 was the time he told us of the merchant ships of 
 Venice and their cargoes of the juice of the wine- 
 presses of Greece and Italy. Nothing like a 
 glass of liquor to bring out all that is good and 
 all that is bad in a man. ' ' 
 
 Sir George himself had his tongue unduly 
 loosened. The effect of a neighborly bout after 
 dinner between Canary and Malmsey was to 
 stimulate Sir George's natural frankness; Mary 
 thought at times it made him censorious. 
 
 "Didst notice, as the bottle passed, how modest 
 and friendly our neighbor Clegg became?" 
 
 "Modest!" said Mary. 
 
 "Ay, modest; had naught to say when he 
 could have said so much." 
 
 "He seemed full of thought." 
 
 "As if he was cogitating, and yet, at the same 
 time striving to do honor to his host and thee. 
 I said friendly, my sweet wench, inasmuch as 
 he might have wrangled somewhat ; even laying 
 aside the opportunity to discuss what he calls the 
 only ethics, and so on ; mighty friendly, I call 
 that, and shows more breeding than comes by 
 nature." 
 
 "You forget that I was not present during all 
 your conversation, dear father. After the music, 
 I and Mistress Mompesson betook ourselves, by 
 your leave, to walk in the garden," said Mary, 
 unwilling to be drawn into anything like com- 
 ment of Reuben's conduct. 
 
 "The music!" said Sir George, with increased 
 animation. "I never heard the like to be called 
 music. ' '
 
 132 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 'Why, T have heard you admire Mistiv 
 Mompesson'a skill on the spinet." 
 
 "And thine own, too, my love — thine own skill 
 and taste ahove all others. But what did you 
 make of that outlandish stuff; neither melody 
 nor harmony, but only a sort of tuning up and 
 beginning o' things, neither marches nor hymns 
 nor song-tunes nor madrigals, but a jumble of 
 pretenses? Call that music? The Lord preserve 
 me from such strumming!" 
 
 "It was, of a truth, strange music," said 
 Mary. 
 
 "And you'd had enough, I'll warrant me; and 
 so 3 r ou and Mistress Mompesson went to walk, 
 and very shrewd it was. Why, 'All in a Gar- 
 den Green,' and 'Stand to it, Pikemen,' that 
 Mistress Mompesson played to us, was heavenly 
 music compared with such fiddle-faddle; and I 
 wish I had urged her more than I did to sing, 
 for she hath a voice like the dropping of the 
 waters at the Holy Well, and I will not be gain- 
 said when next she doth favor us with her com- 
 pany. 'Tis a right, gentle, well-bred lady, 
 worthy of a better match than a mere clerk in 
 orders." 
 
 "Oh, but she is very happj T , father; and he is 
 something more than a mere clerk in orders. 
 'Tis no small distinction to be rector of Eyam, 
 and a man of infinite learning." 
 
 "Very well, my love, very well," said Sir 
 George. "Thou knowest I have only the best 
 opinion of the rector and his amiable lady. It 
 is the stranger who has put me out, belike; for
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 133 
 
 never did good wine less agree with me, or fine 
 tobacco so little soothe my spirits." 
 
 'Nay, I am sorry," said Mary, "but Mistress 
 Mompesson considered that our guest was a 
 scholar, and had the gift of tongues ; she noted 
 naught in his conversation but what was of true 
 respect. It is the way with men of his nation, 
 they say, to be enthusiastic, warm in their admi- 
 ration ; they call Italy the land of poetry and 
 song." 
 
 "Then, damme, I am glad to belong to a land 
 of commonsense ; and land of men— not mon- 
 keys. Why, foregad, he chattered like a mag- 
 pie." 
 
 The truth is there was a certain impulse of 
 jealousy in Sir George's feelings against Ziletto. 
 The Italian had proved himself the best man at 
 the table. He not only drank his wine with the 
 air of one accustomed to the best, but with a 
 capacity that even Sir George envied. At the 
 same time his guest had talked better than any 
 one, and to the undisguised delight of his daugh- 
 ter and Mrs. Mompesson. He had outshone both 
 Clegg and the clergyman. He was posted in 
 '•very subject they mentioned. Neither Sir 
 George nor Mr. Clegg could mount one of their 
 hobbies, not a single one. Sir George felt that 
 if he h;id dared to bestride his easiest one, the 
 stranger would have unhorsed him. "He is the 
 very devil," Sir George had grumbled to him- 
 self as he passed the bottle. And Mompesson 
 had encouraged "the beggar." That annoyed 
 Sir George, and also troubled Clegg. Mom-
 
 134 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 pesson had said that travelers were the only- 
 scholars, travel the only knowledge; and Ziletto 
 had done his best to justify the clergyman's 
 opinion. Moreover, Ziletto had no sooner sat 
 down than he felt by instinct that he had a rival 
 in Mr. Reuben Clegg, the village solon, the 
 clown, the man whom he would make it his 
 business, if opportunity should occur, to place in 
 a ridiculous position. Nobody knew better than 
 Ziletto how poor a creature a man looked in a 
 woman's eyes if he should appear ridiculous. 
 Clegg was wary, as well as depressed ; his was 
 the waiting game. But there are men who wait 
 too long on fortune and let her favors slip ; lovers 
 too modest for the winning of women's favors; 
 it is the bold wooer who succeeds. Once or 
 twice during the dinner-talk Ziletto had caught 
 Mary's eye in close observation of him and with 
 an undisguised admiration that had prompted a 
 significant response. There may be a world of 
 meaning in a look. For Mary there was a 
 strange mysterious charm in the glance of the 
 Italian at the moment when she had been most 
 absorbed in his conversation. It was a story of 
 adventure with banditti in Spain which had 
 most interested Mary, and at the point when the 
 hero was most in peril she uttered an uncon- 
 scious sigh of alarm, which was a confession of 
 both admiration and pity. Then it was that 
 Ziletto had glanced at her, and she had blushed ; 
 and it was that look and that blush that had fired 
 Sir George. Both had also been observed by 
 Reuben Clegg, and while the passing incident
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 135 
 
 had set Sir George talking and for the first time 
 contesting Ziletto's conclusions, and had fired 
 him into relating an experience of his own, their 
 effect upon Clegg was to silence him almost to 
 the verge of moroseness. 
 
 It was at that moment that the full ripe seed 
 of hatred of the Italian fell plump into Clegg' s 
 receptive heart. He did not know at what exact 
 moment it had found its way there ; but it was 
 sown in the glance Ziletto gave to Mary Talbot 
 in response to her strangely sympathetic exclama- 
 tion, a glance that seemed to have a message in 
 it, and a message that she accepted. 
 
 And so the seed of a deadly hate fell into the 
 soul of Reuben Clegg; and not as a consequence 
 thereof, but by way of fulfillment of the proverb 
 that misfortunes never come singly, there began 
 to gather clouds that eventually overshadowed 
 the mountain paradise of Eyam. 
 
 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 
 "woman's at best a contradiction still" 
 
 At an unusually early hour next day Mary 
 Talbot, looking a little less rosy than usual, called 
 upon Mrs. Mompesson. 
 
 The rectory was a pleasant house. It was of 
 the Tudor order, built of stone and neatly 
 thatched. Mary passed in at the open door, 
 along a whitened passage, a great oak dower
 
 136 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 chest standing between the entrances to the din- 
 ing-room and parlor on one side of the hall. 
 Facing these apartments was the rector's study; 
 and at the back, through the way to the kitchen, 
 you caught a glimpse of the garden and gen- 
 erally heard the sound of children's voices. 
 
 Mrs. Mompesson was very proud of her two 
 little ones ; so proud that old Dame Fearset, who 
 hourl} r looked forward to her heavenly reward 
 with the saints, hoped the rector's lady might 
 not be called to a judgment for loving them un- 
 duly. The children romped into the house to 
 greet Mary, who brought some harmless sweet- 
 meats in her reticule for them, and they kissed 
 her heartily. They loved Mary, as did every- 
 body in the village, not to mention every dog 
 and cat. 
 
 Mrs. Mompesson, with a large white apron 
 enfolding her neat figure, was busy with her 
 household duties, and Mary, laying aside her 
 hat, if she did not take a share in her friend's 
 domestic labors, walked about the house and 
 chatted while the work was progressing. After 
 a little while the conversation became concen- 
 trated upon the chief guest of the previous day 
 at the Manor House. Mary was anxious to 
 know what the final impression of the Mom- 
 pessons might be concerning Ziletto. She hoped 
 it might neutralize that of her father, and at the 
 same time support her own. 
 
 "I think he is a fine gentleman," said Mis. 
 Mompesson, "handsome, and of an infinite va- 
 riety of knowledge."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 137 
 
 "I am glad you do not think him a mounte- 
 bank, or a monkey, or worse," said Mary, with 
 a smile; "but you know how Sir George is apt 
 to overstep his meaning when he desires to be 
 emphatic." 
 
 "Poor dear Sir George !" said Mrs. Mompesson 
 "He does not like foreigners, and perhaps he 
 thought my husband was too well pleased with 
 Signor Ziletto." 
 
 "Mr. Mompesson approved of him?" said 
 Mary, with an assumption of carelessness. 
 
 "I think he is quite attached to him; bat 
 William has found Eyam rather bigoted — 1 am 
 sorr}- to say so — and proportionately ignorant; 
 and the Stanley faction and the relaxation ol 
 church discipline have lowered his mental ac- 
 tivity. This stranger has seemed to him lik6 
 a messenger from afar, with news of the great 
 world ; and one great thing he finds to commend 
 in the Italian is that he is tolerant ; though evi- 
 dently at heart a Papist, he does not regard the 
 future of any other Church as hopeless. He 
 evaded theological controversy as much as pos- 
 sible, and he was certainly enchanting as a mere 
 conversationalist. There appears to be no finality 
 to his accomplishments. ' ' 
 
 And then Mary changed the subject, fearing 
 that she might say more than was discreet. . . . 
 For now she knew that she had two great secrets 
 to guard; the knowledge of Reuben Clegg's love 
 for her, and her own love for this stranger, of 
 whom she knew nothing, and who had succeeded 
 in exciting the hostility of her father. It was
 
 13S THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 all so sudden, too; first, the shock of Mrs. Clegg's 
 appeal, second, the confession of her own heart 
 — a secret that as yet she hardly understood. If 
 it was love, as indeed she believed it to be, it 
 was a curious self-consciousness, a shrinking 
 from the object of her unexplainable adoration, 
 and at the same time a desire to see the stranger 
 continually and to talk of him. She had never 
 hitherto been fastidious about her dress; but her 
 toilet had now become a matter of supreme im- 
 portance. 
 
 Margaret Dobbs, who had been her nurse and 
 maid, her companion and housekeeper, and in 
 many ways a mother to her, noted the change 
 that had come over her, and in a day or two 
 half-suspected the cause; but Mary, as soon as 
 she had herself discovered her own secret, set 
 about protecting it and watching over it. Had 
 her father taken to the stranger, she might in 
 time have confessed the deep interest she felt in 
 him ; but Sir George had an instinctive feeling 
 that Ziletto had made a powerful impression 
 upon his daughter, and he took every opportu- 
 nity to disparage him and to wonder when the 
 village would be free of him; and so Mary 
 affected to no longer find any special interest 
 in him, either as scholar or musician. 
 
 But Ziletto knew where she walked and when, 
 and Mary took pains to go out only when her 
 father went riding or had business with Clegg, 
 or would, as he did occasionally, find that duty 
 or friendship called him away to Calver or Bake- 
 well, or to Chatsworth ; and Ziletto was contin
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 139 
 
 ually on the watch for the girl, who would some- 
 times go forth ostentatiously on a pretended visit 
 to the rectory or to see Mrs. Clegg, so as to con- 
 tent her woman Dobbs. At other times she 
 would steal out without a word, and she invari- 
 ably met the stranger. 
 
 If the stranger could so arrange it, he brought 
 about the meeting where they could be least ob- 
 served. At first he only walked a little way 
 with her, and, being encountered by any of the 
 villagers, would doff his hat and continue his 
 course in an opposite direction from that of 
 Mar} T , taking his leave in a ceremonious fashion, 
 and, if possible, entering into conversation with 
 the villagers who had interrupted their tete-a- 
 tete. 
 
 After a time he and Mary met in some by- 
 way outside the village. There were many con- 
 venient lanes and meadow footpaths, and in 
 Middleton Dale there were romantic retreats, 
 and nooks and corners, that could be reached 
 from opposite directions. Mary, in the most 
 accidental way, found her steps wandering in 
 these paths, and encouraged herself to be sur- 
 prised; agreeably surprised, nevertheless, when 
 she met Giovanni Ziletto. She was, further- 
 more, encouraged to indulge in these stolen in- 
 terviews by the most respectful propriety with 
 which the Italian treated her. He said nothing 
 of love, if he looked it the more. He talked of 
 Italy and his house in Florence, of the beauties 
 of the City of the Sea, the pageantry on the 
 Grand Canal, and the delights of travel.
 
 140 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Once, when Sir George was out, Ziletto had 
 boldly walked up to the Manor House gates with 
 Mary, and meeting there Mrs. Margaret Dobbs, 
 that dear old slave of the family had taken upon 
 herself to invite the stranger in to see the gar- 
 den, since she had heard him say he was fond 
 of flowers, and, in an impulsive moment, Mary 
 had introduced him to the secret of M}^ Lady's 
 Bower. Ever afterward it had been a leading 
 motive of his intrigue to make that retreat the 
 scene of at least an occasional rendezvous with 
 the girl. There was a private and rarely used 
 gateway from the meadow and orchard beyond 
 the kitchen garden that could be used for this 
 purpose ; it gave upon a footpath into a by-way 
 of Middleton Dale. 
 
 One day, Reuben Clegg, walking home from 
 the Winship Mine to think out some new problem 
 of his work, had come upon Mary and Giovanni 
 Ziletto, at a bend of the highway where it gave 
 upon a secluded lane. Ziletto had caught a 
 glimpse of the villager, and before Mary under- 
 stood his meaning had said, "And now, Miss 
 Talbot, I have the honor to take my leave. ' ' 
 
 But the next moment she saw Mr. Clegg, and 
 understood. Ziletto turned the way Reuben was 
 coming, gave him a formal bow, and passed on, 
 Reuben stiffly acknowledging the salute. 
 
 "I wish you a good-day, Miss Talbot," said 
 Reuben, a little awkwardly, to Mary; "hope you 
 find yourself in good health." 
 
 "Yes, thank you, Mr. Clegg," she replied. 
 
 "X ought to apologize for my appearance."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 141 
 
 "And wherefore?" Mary replied, with a little 
 flush of confusion. She had mistaken Clegg's 
 meaning. 
 
 "My mining doublet, my muddy boots," said 
 Clegg. ' ' I am not used to walk home ; generally 
 ride; but I find I can think best afoot." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Mary. 
 
 ' ' I detain you, ' ' said Clegg. ' ' You were going 
 toward Cucklett; it is a pretty walk." 
 
 "No, I was returning home," she said; her 
 conscience smiting her for an unnecessary lie. 
 She had never lied nor blushed nor temporized 
 with truth, in thought or word, before Ziletto 
 came to Eyam. 
 
 ' ' I dare not offer to walk by you ; I should 
 shame you," said Reuben, rubbing some of the 
 mud from his boots among the weeds and nettles 
 that bordered the edge of the roadway. 
 
 "You shame yourself with so poor an excuse," 
 said Mary ; and the two walked along the road 
 together. 
 
 Reuben, chafing at sight of the Italian in 
 Mary's company, and believing that Ziletto had 
 intended to walk with her along the lane to 
 Cucklett, was more constrained in his conversa- 
 tion than usual, though he would have thawed 
 with encouragement. But Mary was afraid of 
 him now. She did not know at what moment 
 he might break out into a declaration of his love 
 for her. So she drew herself together, tightened 
 her lips, and walked with an almost feverish 
 rapidity. Reuben made commonplace remarks, 
 and she replied.
 
 142 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Between the stray sentences Clegg devoured 
 her with his eyes, and wondered why he had not 
 the courage to speak to her of what he felt. 
 Then, the next moment, he knew why he had 
 not the courage; he was not bravo enough to 
 face her confession that she had no love to offer 
 in return for his own. 
 
 Just as the road dropped toward the village, 
 Reuben saw Ziletto waiting at a secluded path 
 which was the nearest way to the Manor House. 
 Remarking that she was now in sight of home, 
 he bade Miss Talbot good afternoon, thanked her 
 for the honor of her company, and struck out in 
 the direction of his own cottage and with a sud- 
 den determination in his mind. He would see 
 Sir George and enter straightway into competi- 
 tion with this wretched foreigner for the hand of 
 his daughter. It might not have occurred to Sir 
 George or to any other person that Ziletto was in 
 pursuit of his daughter, honorably or dishonor- 
 ably ; the idea that it was possible for the stran- 
 ger to win even a smile from her except in the 
 way of honorable love did not dwell with Clegg 
 for a moment ; yet it flashed through his mind 
 that with this kind of runagate, this beplumed, 
 dandified mandolinist, this braggart of his prow- 
 ess, this fable maker, this mountebank modeler, 
 sculptor, courtier, student, or whatever the devil 
 he might call himself — that in the constitution of 
 such a creature reverence for woman, respect 
 for innocence and beauty would have no place. 
 At the same time Clegg recalled that there had 
 been such a sacrifice as a pure and high-minded
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 143 
 
 English girl giving herself away to a foreigner 
 of distinction so-called ; and he reflected that this 
 man brought with him a certain glamour of royal 
 association — true or false, who was to say? — 
 moreover he had the kind of tongue and the 
 puny grace of crooking an elbow according to 
 rule when he lifted his hat, and Iiad a manner of 
 bowing ceremoniously, that might take the fancy 
 of a feather-brain stay-at-home girl ; but surely 
 not a young woman of commonsense like Mary 
 Talbot, proud of her birth, devoted to her father, 
 the ideal of all that was good and sweet and 
 bright in woman ! He would ask her father's 
 permission to pay court to her, to win her before 
 he laid bare his heart to her; he would enter 
 the lists against this decked-out foreigner, and 
 drift no further into settled misery and disap- 
 pointment without giving Fate the chance to be 
 good to him or to desert him quite. 
 
 Meanwhile, Ziletto had himself half resolved 
 to beard Sir George, for he had seen enough of 
 the English girl to know that all his arts could 
 make no light-o'-love of Mary Talbot. What 
 she called her love was only to be secured by 
 marriage, and already he had a scheme to over- 
 come her scruples in case he asked her hand from 
 Sir George to be refused, or in case he did not 
 deem it wise to take the risk of such a step. 
 
 It was not Ziletto 's game to marry, nor ever 
 had been ; though his infatuation for Mary Tal- 
 bot, whose beauty was so unusual in his eyes, 
 whose voice and figure and unsophisticated ways 
 were so fascinating, was such that he would have
 
 144: THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 been willing to undergo any sacrifice to win her. 
 It would have been all the same to Ziletto, mar- 
 riage or otherwise, when the day of satiety came, 
 or his fancy should be attracted elsewhere. 
 
 He had left Roubillac and Francesca in peace. 
 Francesca, relieved of his presence — his magnet- 
 ism, or whatever it was — her mind and body 
 stimulated by the fine mountain air of these 
 Northern uplands, had, she thanked Heaven, 
 grown out of the check of what she conceived 
 to be his magic, his evil eye, his unholy 
 charm. 
 
 With a boldness that had at first amazed Rou- 
 billac, and had then captured his confidence, Zi- 
 letto had forced himself upon the painter's atten- 
 tion. He had expressed his regret for what had 
 transpired in the past, and had vowed never again 
 to use his arts, whatever they might be, to dis- 
 turb either Francesca or himself; assured him 
 that his presence there was accidental, and ap- 
 pealed to Roubillac as an Italian to maintain at 
 least an appearance of friendship before the En- 
 glish people ; if they had misunderstandings or 
 affronts to avenge, to let them wait a fitting op- 
 portunity when they should all return to their 
 own country. 
 
 "As for your wife, comrade," he said, "it was 
 your Angel of the Ascension at Verona that 
 tempted me; and, after all, I did but frighten 
 her, as some ogre might. Nay, believe me ; and 
 in the future it shall be my chiefest aim to have 
 her hate me." 
 
 Roubillac had listened patiently, repressing the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 145 
 
 anger with which he contemplated the airiness 
 oi* the gallant who did not fail to suggest, with 
 all his proffered friendship, that if it were his 
 will to do so he could still captivate the woman 
 who was not only Roubillac's wife, but, of all 
 things in the world, the one he most loved, to 
 lose whom would be to fill his soul with everlast- 
 ing darkness. Roubillac, in his heart, hated Zi- 
 letto for this, although he affected to feel, and 
 to some extent did feel, that it was kind of this 
 man, to whom Nature had been so bountiful of 
 physical and mental gifts, to swear at least a 
 truce as regarded his pursuit of Francesca. It 
 was a strange situation, and, viewed by a dis- 
 passionate looker-on, one of keen humiliation so 
 far as Roubillac was concerned, and a doubting 
 of his wife that might make her appear unworthy 
 of his love. But one must take into account the 
 supernatural kind of power. with which she had, 
 by her confession, invested Ziletto. 
 
 A poet in sentiment and fancy, a dreamer, and 
 one who had been trained from his youth in all 
 the superstitions of his church, Roubillac easily 
 fell a victim to this belief in Ziletto's mysterious 
 gifts, and he was supported in his credulity by 
 Father Castelli, who believed that in what he 
 called these latter days, before the second com- 
 ing of Christ, the devil was unusually active and 
 had many agencies. The priest found justifica- 
 tion for his opinion in our Saviour's own words 
 touching false prophets and evil spirits. It was 
 no new thing to see the arch-fiend in a lovely 
 and charming shape ; and Father Castelli knew
 
 140 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 that he had no hold upon Ziletto, that the Italian 
 reprobate laughed at his mission, even derided 
 the Pope, and was so variously and strangely- 
 gifted in knowledge and accomplishments, and 
 so defiant in his sins, that the priest could only 
 account for his prosperity therein on the ground 
 of Satanic influence. When it was borne in upon 
 him one day, in a conversation he had with Zi- 
 letto, that Miss Talbot, the young and beautiful 
 daughter of the village, was under his spell, he 
 took counsel with himself as to his duty of warn- 
 ing the girl and her father; but it had been the 
 strict policy of himself and his superior not to 
 interfere with the villagers or their ways, and 
 seeing that Sir George himself had made Ziletto 
 his guest, and that Ziletto was outside the pale 
 of the working community of the Italians at the 
 Old Hall, he had let the matter pass. It was, 
 however, with deep regret that he heard the 
 committee of the Well-dressings, or celebration 
 of Ascension, had accepted Ziletto's services as 
 the designer of one of their chief decorations; 
 the more so, as Roubillac had been granted a 
 similar privilege, which would set up a fresh 
 rivalry between the two, and at the same time 
 bring Ziletto into what might be called official 
 relationship with Miss Talbot, who was one of 
 the principal persons engaged in the organization 
 of the celebration. Eyam had previously been 
 in the habit of seeking outside assistance on these 
 occasions, the artistic work of the festival being 
 regarded as a thing apart from whatever relig- 
 ious significance the occasion might have in the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 147 
 
 estimation of the more serious of the villagers 
 and the few scholars of the High Peak Hundred. 
 
 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 
 
 MARY TALBOT'S MESSAGE TO REUBEN CLEGG 
 
 ' ' I will ply her with such questions that she 
 shall open her heart to me without seeming to do 
 so," said Sir George, addressing Reuben Clegg, 
 who, with his beard trimmed, his doublet unus- 
 ually neat, and his high boots pulled up over his 
 well-formed legs, had presented himself before 
 Sir George almost in holiday fashion. "She has 
 much altered of late, and is less communicative ; 
 but thou knowest the Well-dressing is occupying 
 her. There never have been such fine things as 
 we are to see this year, Reuben." 
 
 "I have surprised you in what I have said," 
 remarked Reuben, his hat in his hand, his atti- 
 tude, cross-legged upon one of Sir George's li- 
 brary chairs, not altogether elegant. 
 
 "I will not say that I was quite prepared for 
 it," Sir George replied, seated at his large square 
 table, as if he had been holding what he called 
 his Court as a Justice of the Peace. Reuben, 
 however, looked anything but a culprit, for now 
 that he had made his declaration he was his own 
 defiant self again. 
 
 "I know it is an act of presumption, Sir 
 George ; and yet I draw my pedigree from an
 
 H8 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 honorable ancestry of yeomen and squires of 
 note among these hills and valleys." 
 
 "My dear Clegg, I would hold it honorable to 
 have you for a son-in-law ; and on that there is 
 no more to be said." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir George, I am content; I want 
 to hear no more, except that I have your consent 
 to offer my han 1 to your daughter; and with it, 
 so help me Heaven, I would be willing to give 
 her my life, just as I would deem it blessed to 
 be her slave." 
 
 ' ' Nay ; damme, Clegg, that is not what I would 
 have — thee or any man. Have a wife and rule 
 a wife is my motto ; he is a poor husband who is 
 not master of his house, and I would not have 
 Mary mated to a milk-sop." 
 
 "I trust," said Reuben, rising, "I should know 
 how to win your daughter's respect; at the same 
 time, Sir George, I should be at heart her slave, 
 as I know you are, Sir George. Nay, when a man 
 loves a woman, be it his daughter, his mother, or 
 his wife, she is first in his thoughts; her wishes 
 are his commands. I love 3-our daughter Mary, 
 Sir George, and I have only one object in life, 
 whether she bids me hope or whether she leaves 
 me to despair, and that is her happiness. ' ' 
 
 "It is well said, Reuben Clegg; and thou art 
 rigirc after all — a man is a mere appendage to 
 some woman's petticoat all his life, and I sus- 
 pect my daughter would have a rival in thy 
 mother." The genial knight laughed pleasantly 
 as he took Clegg's hand, saying further, "I shall 
 speak to my daughter at once, Clegg — at once—
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 149 
 
 and let tliee know whether thou wilt be wise to 
 go on with this thing." 
 
 "My mother would be her mother, heart and 
 soul, and also in her service, her woman, an it 
 so pleased her, her help, her housekeeper, as she 
 is mine ; and in all things her devoted friend, 
 loving her with a mother's devotion. And, Sir 
 George, I would say furthermore, since worldly 
 affairs have to be considered when one asks so 
 great a boon as the right of companionship with 
 so loved an object, that I am rich, as Eyam and 
 the Hundred goes; that besides the sum I derive 
 from our association — ' ' 
 
 "Our partnership, Clegg," said Sir George, 
 "for thou art part owner of the Winship Mine." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir George," Clegg replied. "But, 
 as I was saying, besides that, I have other means, 
 and, moreover, within the last few months have 
 made fresh discoveries of ore that cannot fail to 
 yield both honor and gold." 
 
 "Thine own heart is gold enough for me, Clegg, 
 if my daughter consents." 
 
 "Nay, you are most generous," said Clegg, 
 "and I feel the honor of it. Come what come 
 may, Sir George, I am glad I have made you 
 my confidant. At one time I thought I should 
 carry my wild ambition to my grave unconfessed. 
 I think I came to you now despairing ; but I shall 
 forever treasure your friendly words." 
 
 "Reuben," said the knight, "you and I will 
 always be good friends. Come to me in an hour, 
 and I will advise you on the course you should 
 take with regard to my daughter."
 
 150 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 In an hour Reuben returned. He found Sir 
 George in the library, sitting in the same chair, 
 and ready to receive him once more, as if the 
 question at issue was one of magisterial juris- 
 diction. 
 
 When one speaks of a library of those days, it 
 is to recall a room adapted rather to the stor- 
 ing of a few well-bound books than to their pres- 
 ence in large numbers. There was a single book- 
 case against the wall by Sir George's chair. The 
 shelves were not filled. The entire collection con- 
 sisted of some twenty or thirty volumes. Upon 
 his large oak table, which was covered with a 
 purple cloth embroidered down the sides and fast- 
 ened at the corners with bands of braid, there 
 was a large inkstand of carved wood, a pounce- 
 box, and an open volume of legal practice by the 
 side of a calf-bound Bible. The walls were pan- 
 eled to the ceiling, which carried an oaken design 
 of geometric character. There were a few carved 
 oak chairs, with leather seats, and one or two 
 wolf -skins upon a rough oak floor. The bay win- 
 dows, with small square panes and lattices, looked 
 out upon the courtyard. 
 
 "Be seated, Reuben, my friend," said Sir 
 George, in an almost judicial manner. 
 
 Reuben preferred to stand. There was some- 
 thing in Sir George's voice and manner that told 
 him he was in for an adverse verdict, and he 
 preferred to hear it on his feet. 
 
 "I have not told my daughter what you have 
 said, but I have rather expressed my own wishes. " 
 
 "Yes, Sir George,"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 151 
 
 "My own wishes," went on the knight, nib- 
 bing a pen as he spoke and looking down upon a 
 blank sheet of paper. ' ' I have said that nothing 
 could give nie greater satisfaction than to know 
 that if I were called away she would have a 
 friend and protector in a true nian with the 
 rights of a husband." 
 
 "Yes, Sir George." 
 
 "I told her I had reason to believe I knew such 
 a man : that of a surety I knew him to be honor- 
 able, of a reputable ancestry, a man of means 
 sufficient without her own patrimony to main- 
 tain her in good state; and, above all, a man 
 who loved her and was devoted to her best in- 
 terests. ' ' 
 
 "Yes, Sir George; it was most kind to say so. 
 I am mightily beholden to you, Sir George, ' ' said 
 Reuben, his face flushed with excitement. 
 
 "She asked me if she knew him, and I replied, 
 of course she did : and then I beat about the bush 
 no further, but told her out straight that you 
 were the man, and that you had my full per- 
 mission to speak to her and my best wishes for 
 your success." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir George. And she said?" 
 
 "Ah, now comes the trouble, Reuben. She 
 would say neither one thing nor the other — not 
 a Yes nor a No: but only, 'Does Mr. Clegg wish 
 to be my friend?' 'Why, of course he does,' I 
 said, 'and the best of all friends; the man to 
 stand by your side through life and prove it 
 against all comers.' " 
 
 "Yes, Sir George?" said Reuben, with a great
 
 152 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 note of interrogation in his voice, his heart beat- 
 ing fearfully, for he almost knew what was com- 
 ing. 
 
 " 'Then tell him,' she said, 'never to speak of 
 this to me ; never to ask me to be his wife, never 
 to discourse of love to me, but to let me be his 
 friend, as I have been ever since I could discern 
 the meaning of friendship— and oh,' she said, 
 'tell him this in such a way that it shall not seem 
 as if I had refused him, which, indeed,' she said, 
 'I do not in words: but let him not think of me 
 in that way, but only as his friend — as our friend. ' 
 And, by gad, Reuben, she talked like a woman ; 
 no longer the little girl I had thought her, no 
 longer our belle of the village, our dimpled maiden 
 of the fetes, our madcap, or merry companion, 
 but a woman, mark you — a woman with convic- 
 tions and knowledge! And there we are, my 
 friend ; not exactly at the end of the lane, but 
 far from any sight of its turning." 
 
 "Which means," said Reuben, straightening 
 himself up, his face no longer flushed, his man- 
 ner no longer excitable, but with a resigned air, 
 "which means that she rejects me." 
 
 "Nay; but, Reuben—" said Sir George. 
 
 "Pardon me, Sir George; in my heart I ex- 
 pected nothing else; but when you have followed 
 a false lead it is well to be satisfied, to dig out 
 the last bit of the shale and know the worst. 
 And it is like Miss Talbot to make it easy for 
 me, sparing me the unhappy word from her own 
 lips, and the mortification of it. Well, so be it ; 
 it cannot be said at some future day that I did
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 153 
 
 not brave my fate, that I did not meet it half- 
 way and challenge it ; and it shall not be said 
 that I did not bear it like a man. Good-by, Sir 
 George, and thank you. We will still make the 
 Winship Mine a very noble inheritance." 
 
 CHAPTER NINETEEN 
 
 RIVALS, AND THE DAGGER 
 
 And so it came to pass that Reuben Clegg, 
 the man who loved her with all his great manly 
 heart, drew more apart from the village, and 
 became more of a skeptic than ever touching re- 
 vealed religion, and something of a misanthrope. 
 It was not alone disappointed love that gave an 
 added emphasis to his unbelief, but he was a 
 thinker and lived much with Nature, which 
 Mompesson, and even Stanley, agreed should 
 have brought him well within the fold — and 
 with such a pure-minded and religious mother. 
 But Reuben had a logical mind, and an intellect- 
 ual capacity of introspection. In giving his mind 
 perfect freedom, he found that it threw off the 
 trammels of doctrine and Biblical tradition, and 
 that the range of his appreciation of the Giver of 
 all gifts, the first great cause, the spirit of crea- 
 tion, was thus made infinite. What was, how- 
 ever, far more a motive power of late in this dis- 
 covery, was the preference which Mary Talbot 
 showed for the society of Giovanni Ziletto, who,
 
 154 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 despite all the diplomatic arts of Sir George Tal- 
 bot, was gradually becoming the chief personage 
 in the village — the man most considered by all, 
 and the man who, Reuben felt, was unworthy of 
 the friendship of the very humblest in the com- 
 munity. This was jealousy, of course ; but Reu- 
 ben respected Mary Talbot too much to mention 
 his doubts and fears in this direction to Sir George, 
 and he took all possible opportunity to avoid the 
 Italian. 
 
 One evening, however, meeting Giovanni in 
 the narrow path that led from Middleton Dale 
 into the further end of the village street, the devil 
 in Reuben's nature tempted him to take that side 
 of the path which the Italian had evidently se- 
 lected. 
 
 Giovanni was fresh from a stolen interview 
 with Mary, and there was, if not in his face and 
 manner, a sense of exultation tingling in his blood 
 as he came upon his rival. 
 
 Reuben strode on and kept that side of the 
 path which Ziletto had held, and, without even 
 the compromise of a "By your leave" or "I beg 
 your pardon," jostled the Italian aside. It was 
 not a blow, but to all intents and purposes no less 
 insulting. 
 
 The Italian turned with an angry exclamation, 
 and, drawing his dagger, rushed upon Reuben, 
 who stepped back a pace, and, bending his body 
 so that the Italian reaching him would lose force, 
 caught his assailant by both wrists, his face close 
 to Ziletto's. The next moment the Italian's grip 
 of the dagger relaxed, and, as Reuben tripped
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 155 
 
 him neatly with his right foot, it fell upon the 
 ground, and the Italian went sprawling into the 
 hedge on the other side of the pathway. 
 
 Reuben picked up the dagger, a long, vicious, 
 shining blade, with a jeweled handle, and the 
 Italian scrambled to his feet. 
 
 "Coward!" said the Englishman. "And is 
 this the weapon you use without word of warn- 
 ing? Well, take it," and he flung it at him, the 
 Italian catching it deftly. ' ' I have a knife, too, ' ' 
 tapping the sheath of a stiff, powerful kind of 
 blade, of a kind that nearly ever}? - man carried, 
 but more for utility than offense — a pruning knife, 
 a bread cutter, a forester's and farmer's compan- 
 ion, "and I'll meet thee where thou shalt appoint, 
 and make shift to take a lesson in so mean a 
 fence, and better the instruction, may be; an' if 
 I fail, why, then the score shall count to thee, 
 thou intriguing mountebank!" 
 
 Ziletto turned pale with rage beneath his olive 
 skin, and without a word of response to Reuben's 
 challenge again flew at his throat with a deadly 
 rush, but as he flung out his arm with murder- 
 ous intent, Reuben caught him a clip across the 
 shins (a trick one of his Lancashire miners had 
 taught him) that brought the Italian down upon 
 his knees, as if in a sudden act of supplication. 
 
 "I would have rather met thee fair and square, 
 my lad," said Reuben, "knife to knife, if 'tis the 
 manner of thy nation, or at single-stick, or even 
 a bit of sword-play ; but the devil take thy venge- 
 ful ways and thy ready knife ! Say thy prayers, 
 and get thee back to the inn and play on thy
 
 156 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 cursed fiddle, and toll "Radford and the constable 
 thou'st had a bout wi' Reuben Clegg!" 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY 
 
 "from thistles grapes and from lilies 
 
 thorns" 
 
 The last days of Easter had come. Eyam 
 was preparing for celebrating the Ascension. 
 Added to the calendar by the Council of Orleans, 
 as far back as the year 511, the festival is still a 
 living event in the valley of the Derwent and on 
 the banks of her sister river, the Wye. 
 
 Tissington, made famous by the Howitts and 
 the Jewitts, carries the palm in our time, vainly 
 competed for by rival villages in the Hundreds 
 of Scarsdale and the Peak, since Eyam, more 
 than two hundred years ago, drew her widowed 
 weeds about her and retired within herself, a 
 pathetic mourner ; but in the days of Mary Tal- 
 bot and the strangers at the Old Hall, Eyam 
 was queen of the flowering wells. 
 
 Then, as now, the village was blessed with an 
 abundant supply of fresh clear water. No house- 
 wife had to go far to fill her pails, and the music 
 of the crystal flow was everywhere, mingled in 
 summer with the song of birds and always with 
 the happy voices of children. 
 
 The glorification of God's fountains as proper 
 to the celebration of the Ascension seems almost
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 157 
 
 peculiar to Derbyshire. The method of decora- 
 tion is chiefty Italian in its character. It is 
 probably a tradition of Old Rome, a relic of the 
 Pagan tribute to Flora, coming down to us 
 through the ages. To the Pagan in due course 
 succeeded the Christian formula. This is com- 
 mon enough in religious festivals, Pagan, He- 
 braic, Christian (Catholic and Protestant), each 
 adapting what was best in the other's ceremo- 
 nials; and to-day the towns and villages on the 
 Derwent, the ISToe, and the Wye dress their wells 
 and springs with flowers, assemble their clergy 
 and their choirs, and serve God with prayer and 
 with anthem, filling the air with gladness and 
 with joy. 
 
 The village well-dressing of Derbyshire is no 
 mere matter of hanging garlands around the 
 springs or carpeting the way thereto. Each 
 well is the subject of a special design, an artistic 
 effort that takes architectural form, becomes a 
 floral temple, or a classic vestibule to the gushing 
 waters. 
 
 On one of these festival days, not alone in 
 regard to the beauty of the designs and their 
 superb combinations of color, but on account of 
 the climate itself, you might fancy yourself in 
 the South of Europe; for in this many-sided 
 country of ours you may occasionally come upon 
 such sunshine and scents of flowers, such soft 
 hills of foliage and verdant valleys that might 
 well be Italian. 
 
 What is not a little notable in this midland 
 festival of the Ascension is the beauty of the
 
 15S THE DAGGER AND THE CROS-1 
 
 decorative work of the peasantry. Art is a 
 native impulse. If the savages of the Congo 
 can charm the European eye with both the color 
 and form of many of their native ornaments, 
 there should be no room for surprise that, catch- 
 ing the tradition of Rome in the dressing of the 
 wells, the native English should have found suffi- 
 cient imagination for artistic expression in the 
 forms around them, and in the varied colors of 
 the garden, the meadows, the forest and the 
 moorlands, when the time comes round to sweep 
 up their villages, whitewash their houses, put up 
 their clean blinds, and make their paths sweet 
 and straight for their annual celebration. 
 
 Just as it was in the early days of the Well- 
 dressing, so it is even now. Less than thirty 
 years ago, Mrs. Howitt "Watts came upon a scene 
 at Tissington that might have been a reminis- 
 cence of the neighboring Eyam of our history 
 some hundred and fifty years before. She found 
 there a young artist at work on one of the decora- 
 tive emblems, "whose singularly Italian type of 
 face, his dark eyes and brown complexion were 
 such as you might have expected rather to have 
 encountered in Italy than in a village of Central 
 England." He may well have been descended 
 from one of those same Italian artists of the days 
 of this present history, for it rarely happened 
 that foreigners were brought over to England 
 for the practice of special arts and industries, but 
 some of them remained to leaven the native stock 
 of stubborn strength with a strain of gentleness 
 and ingenuity.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 159 
 
 And there never was a time when the English, 
 despite their prejudices, did not draw, from all 
 sources, available aids to national, light and lead- 
 ing, occasionally, perhaps, to the unworthy ex- 
 clusion of native skill. We have always been 
 liberal in our welcome of foreign art, and de- 
 preciative of our own. When Tom Killigrew 
 talked to Samuel Pepys about a new playhouse, 
 to be built in Moorfields, London, where opera 
 was to be a feature of the year's entertainment, 
 he "did send for voices, and painters and other 
 persons from Italy." But in a general way, the 
 original Well-decorators of Derbyshire were vil- 
 lagers, who, with the same instinct that one sees 
 in even the most primitive peoples, contrived 
 pieces of ornamental design of singular grace, 
 and with the impulse of worship. There was a 
 hearty rivalry among the village artists in their 
 schemes of decoration, but they all had a similar 
 method. In the first place, a wooden frame of 
 the shrine to be erected was made ; it was con- 
 structed in parts, so that it was portable and 
 easy of treatment. Each section was covered 
 with clay, mixed with salt to preserve its moist- 
 ure. Upon the clay the native artist drew the 
 pattern he intended to fill, and this he embroid- 
 ered with flowers. The buds and blossoms, 
 twigs, leaves and grasses were pressed into the 
 design and manipulated with a tool, the result 
 being a kind of mosaic, as rich as tapestry. 
 Sometimes the designs were realizations of an 
 existing work of art, but they were mostly fan- 
 tastic efforts at ornamentation, embodying a text
 
 160 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 or a symbol, the effect being often both beautiful 
 and impressive. 
 
 There had, however, never been such a Well- 
 dressing as in the j^ear of grace that saw the 
 artists of Florence and the "Bride of the Adri- 
 atic" at work in friendly rivalry with the vil- 
 lagers of Eyam. Moreover, an added impulse 
 had been given to the success of the festival by 
 the unproclaimed rivalry of Ziletto and Rou- 
 billac. As a curious fate would have it, Roubil- 
 lac had obtained permission to decorate "Clegg's 
 Well," and Ziletto that known as the "Manor 
 House Spring." 
 
 Roubillac had drawn a design which, as an 
 example of the Italian or Cinque-Cento style of 
 decorative art, was, no doubt, a masterpiece. 
 To be in order, as far as possible, it needed the 
 three secondary colors in its flowers — orange, 
 green and purple It was a happy time for 
 carrying this esthetic feeling to a sensitive per- 
 fection that, in the leading form of the period, 
 the acanthus scroll or foliated spiral, a complete 
 iris was almost a necessity. Roubillac had in- 
 terpreted himself in the dignity of his arabesque, 
 and in that perfection of the ideal which the cul- 
 tured Italian found in the true revival of the 
 ancient art of Greece and Rome, achieved during 
 the sixteenth century of the natural style of 
 Cinque-Cento. The intricate tracery and deli- 
 cate scroll-work of leaf and flowers, which was 
 characteristic of the Renaissance, admirably 
 fitted the purpose of the Well-dressing, and ap- 
 pealed to the Roubillac imagination ; it combined
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 161 
 
 a certain severity of treatment, a discipline of 
 method, with poetic departures and new beauties 
 of curves and dainty foliations. 
 
 As for color, there was the gorgeous iris ready 
 to his hand — or to Francesca's rather, for it was 
 she who collected most of the material he required 
 when the last day came for completing the adorn 
 ment of the model, which was a shrine that was 
 especially Christian in its symbolism. For 
 orange or gold, there was the gorse of the com- 
 mon, the marshgold or May-blob, the golden 
 tresses of the laburnum; and for the purple, the 
 quaint columbine and the garden petunia. 
 
 Roubillac saw in this festival of the "Wells 
 that solemn anniversary recognized by St. 
 Chrysostom as one of the principal holy days of 
 the Crucifixion, the Passion, the Resurrection, 
 and "the Pentecostal out-pouring of the Holy 
 Spirit." He and Father Castelli discovered, in 
 the subject, matter for much research and learned 
 debate, and the priest was able to quote both St. 
 Chrysos'.om and St. Augustiiie on the festival 
 of the Ascension, which this Well-dressing of 
 Derbyshire had become and still remains, "the 
 illustrious and refulgent day of the Assumption 
 of the Crucified," and, according to St. Augus- 
 tine, "the day on which we celebrate the Ascen- 
 sion of our Lord to heaven." 
 
 Eyam did not, however, confine its celebration 
 to the mere religious aspect of the holiday. 
 After its sober procession, the blessing of the 
 Wells and a service in the church, the day was 
 concluded with feasting and merry-making', and.
 
 162 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the weather permitting, with a dance upon the 
 Green; thus retaining something of an echo, 
 however slight, of the ancient festival of Pagan 
 Rome, happily dominated with the grave and 
 pure celebrations of the Church, the form of 
 the service, from Roman Catholicism to simple 
 Protestantism, making little or no difference in 
 the character of the general ceremonial, which 
 was denuded only of some extra color in the 
 matter of ecclesiastical vestments, though the 
 long cloak, the white bands, the black hose and 
 buckled shoes did not militate against the bright 
 colors of the gay ribbons of the women, the silks 
 and velvets of the men, and, here and there, the 
 Royalist hat and feathers. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that it was not 
 the Christian side of the festival that appealed to 
 the licentious nature of Giovanni Ziletto. He 
 saw in it only a survival of the Floralia, the 
 shameless Games of Flora, at Rome. His fervid 
 imagination went back to the revels of those 
 classical and mythical days, the real and im- 
 aginary life of which, steeped in lust and licen- 
 tiousness, is deemed most fitting for the study 
 of English youth, to be pored over in a dead 
 language and translated into our native tongue. 
 Be sure Giovanni Ziletto had made the classic 
 pages of Greece and Rome his careful study. 
 Be sure there was no Feast of Bacchus, no 
 Olympian games, no celebration of Flora, at 
 which, in imagination, he had not assisted. Be 
 sure that such art as he had mastered to give 
 expression to this lurid past would find inspira-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 163 
 
 tion in its coarsest aspqct. His Flora, had he 
 given rein to his fancy, would have been the 
 common courtesan, who endowed the Romans 
 with such spoil of her mates that they instituted 
 the infamous feast ; from which, however, both 
 Judaism and Christianity managed to pluck the 
 flower of purity, as if to show that nothing can 
 be all bad in this world, and that the story of the 
 Magdalen might be quoted to justify the un- 
 quenchable nobility of the perfect essence of life 
 and the Christian symbolism of being born again. 
 
 It is in this wise that the Christian succession 
 to the celebration of Flora may be said to have 
 blotted out the original sin of it, transforming 
 the very name into a term of beauty for Nature's 
 vegetable kingdom. 
 
 Ziletto was too subtle an epicurean, too skilled 
 a diplomatist in the art of conciliation, to show 
 Eyam his black imagination in the decoration of 
 the Manor House spring. Nevertheless, it was 
 a clay model of Flora, with a cornucopia in her 
 arms and a crown of flowers upon her head ; no 
 mere nude study in the daring pose she occupied 
 in his mind, but a chaste piece worthy of Rou- 
 billac himself. She was of heroic size, leaning 
 upon an archway over the natural spring that 
 flowed from a rocky bank and made for itself a 
 deep, glassy pool; and it was with a view to an 
 effect of artistic reflection therein that Ziletto 
 had made his plans. 
 
 But, alas, this mere design of clay was only 
 part of Ziletto's intrigue against Mary Talbot 
 and the general peace of the village ; and it was
 
 164 rHE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 on the eve of the festival that he obtained an all} 
 in the execution of his villainy whose selfish 
 credulity and lapse from honor is only another 
 of the thousand and one inexplicable perversities 
 and mysteries of the human heart. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 
 
 BY DEVIOUS WAYS 
 
 Not yet summer, but all the world full of its 
 coming. More beautiful than summer for the 
 joy of its approach. Sweeter than summer for 
 the very freshness of things — the greenness of 
 the leaves, the tender tints, and the luscious 
 gums of bursting buds. May is marching on to 
 June. The air is pulsating with new life, and 
 every bird that sings welcomes the morning. 
 
 On the village green, the horse-chestnut is 
 putting forth its waxy flowers. In the woods and 
 along the village street and around the square 
 church tower the oak and the elm are in com- 
 petition, branch for branch. In the Manor 
 House garden, and in the meadows beyond, the 
 mountain ash, the guelder rose, the laburnum, 
 and the last of the lilacs are full of strange 
 whispers. The breath of the hawthorn and the 
 jubilant welcome of the thrush saluted Mary 
 Talbot as she opened her casement and looked 
 out upon the new-born day, ere yet the sun had 
 risen above the mountain tops. It was with
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 105 
 
 wistful eyes that she gazed upon the familiar 
 scene, which seemed to have new and strange 
 messages for her. As her eyes fell upon her 
 own fair hand that held the casement open she 
 noted upon her finger the first ring she had ever 
 worn — no plain gold band, but a loop of jeweled 
 gold. She bent forward and kissed it, and there 
 came, in response to the pressure of her dewy 
 lips, a thousand rays of splendor. Then she 
 sighed and smiled between her tears. Rival 
 songsters caroled forth in answer to the thrush ; 
 and, brushing away her tears of shadowed bliss, 
 she wrapped her morning-gown about her fair 
 young limbs and stole into the adjoining room, 
 where Margaret Dobbs sat up in bed, her old 
 eyes brightening at sight of her pretty mistress. 
 
 "Ah, my dear sweet one, I've done naught 
 but dream o' thee all the night, to waken with 
 tears and sighs and ill omens. What time didst 
 come to bed? I heard thee not. Like the un- 
 faithful sentinel, I slept on my watch. God 
 forgive me all my sins!" 
 
 "My own dear Margaret," said Mary, lying 
 down by the side of the old woman; "my dear!" 
 "Ah, if I only loved thee less, sweetheart — 
 if I only loved thee less!" 
 
 "Why? Wouldst thou have betrayed me, 
 then?" 
 
 "I think I would, dear one, I think I would,'' 
 the old woman replied, stroking the girl's fair 
 hair. "I fear me, dear mistress, oh, I fear me 
 'twin ^,o f . Tcme vu good." 
 
 'I know not, dear, but I think it will. It is
 
 166 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 only that we have a secret that shall out one day 
 in joy, for, if thou lovest me so to smooth the 
 way, what shall my father say when I ask his 
 forgiveness?" 
 
 ' ' Nay, I know not, my love ; but my heart is 
 sore, and naught will cure it, I fear me. And 
 yet 'tis but nature; 'tis but the story of a'most 
 every love ; and the sweetest morsels are stolen, 
 the sweetest kisses; and I'd die to make thee 
 happy, Mary — ay, my lass, a thousand deaths; 
 but we are poor weak mortals, we that are 
 women, we that love, be it child, or lover, or 
 mistress, and thou hast ever been my love, and 
 'tis in the nature of things to spoil that which 
 one loveth, sweetheart!" 
 
 The old woman took the girl into her arms, 
 and there she lay in silence, as she had lain many 
 a long hour as infant, child, and maiden; and 
 all Margaret's heart beat toward her as a 
 mother's, but without that acute instinct of honor 
 that the true mother feels for the child she has 
 brought to life and nurtured. 
 
 "And I prayed that thy father would take to 
 him, oh, so often," crooned the old woman. 
 "And why should he not, since thou lovest him? 
 Was it not enough that thou foundest him 
 worthy, that all the world should not give him 
 a character? And so gentle was he, so soft- 
 spoken, so generous! 'Twas not his fault that 
 he was born under another sun ; love makes all 
 the world kin, and even the king has a foreigner 
 for wife, they say, and she be a Papist to boot. 
 But 'tis ever the way, that love must run in
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 167 
 
 torrents and burst its bounds and dash over rocks 
 and bowlders like a mountain torrent. Methinks 
 'twas Master Clegg that held thy father back 
 from taking to him; and yet we might have 
 waited, chuck, just a little longer ! But what is 
 the good to say so now? Nay, sweetheart, cheer 
 thee, it shall all be well; it cannot be thy father 
 shall not listen to me when the time is ripe and 
 thou hast him in a holiday humor, on a birthday 
 — thy mother's, perchance — or even after the 
 dancing at the dressing of the Wells." 
 
 Mary said nothing, but lay with her head on 
 the old woman's arm until, a clock striking, she 
 rose, and, kissing the dame's wrinkled face, said, 
 "It is time I was out. Come, Margaret, my 
 dear one, my second mother — " 
 
 "God bless thee for that sweet word!" said 
 the old woman, interrupting her. 
 
 "Come and help me to dress. I have to take 
 some flowers to Giovanni's studio at the back of 
 the inn ; he must finish his great design to-day !" 
 "Yes, yes," said the old woman, beginning to 
 make her simple toilet, while Mary stole back 
 to her own room and went to her casement once 
 more and looked out, her mind as full of new 
 sensations as the earliest promptings of spring to 
 Dame Nature herself ; dreamy longings, a strange 
 fullness of knowledge ; and then, a sudden flut- 
 tering of the heart and a vague fear, and a 
 sigh for lost innocence, that would not have 
 seemed like a strange sophisticism if her father 
 had blessed her and given her away with his 
 ©wn hand. "Ah, why had she not waited?" her
 
 IBS THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 still, small voice whispered ; but the reply came 
 as quickly, ' ' I loved him , he wanted me for his 
 wife, I desired him for my husband. 'Whom 
 God hath joined, let no man put asunder!' " 
 
 The dew was on every leaf and blade of grass 
 when Mary brushed aside the flowers and foliage 
 of the Manor House garden, plucking at random 
 the rarest blooms and the poorest. Elias With- 
 ers, the gardener, met her half-way down the 
 lower walks, by My Lady's Bower, and gave her 
 a hearty "Good-morning," and offered to carry 
 her store of dripping treasures. 
 
 "They be a* wet wi' dew, mistress," he said, 
 "and 'tis pity to taint thy gown, so pink and 
 white and fresh it is!" 
 
 "Thank you, Withers, thank you," Mary re- 
 plied; "I don't mind my gown; only get me a 
 few guelder-roses, a peony or so, a bunch of 
 yonder blue and white lupins and a few sprays 
 of monkshood, and I shall make shift to carry 
 them. I am taking them to Signor Ziletto, for 
 his great design of the Manor House Spring." 
 
 "A mortal fine thing it be, they say, the few 
 as have seen 'im; like a hangel or suramat; but 
 I hoape as Eyam'll come out fust, after all," 
 said the gardener, plucking the flowers she asked 
 for, and making a bouquet of them. "Chris- 
 topher Newbold, farmer Newbold's son, he that 
 made the temple for Clegg's Well last Ascen- 
 sion, he's thriving wi' his piece, they tell me, 
 and is nigh finished; wi' such blue and crimson 
 and twigs of pine and May-blobs, the like has 
 never been seen for cullur and shapeliness."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 169 
 
 "But it is kind of Signor Ziletto to help us, 
 Elias," said Mary. 
 
 "Ay, I s'pose it be; but, dang it, mistress, I 
 doan't know as it's foreigner's business; we'n 
 managed to make a show of our own." 
 
 "Oh! but we have always welcomed outside 
 aid," said Mary. 
 
 "I'm one as doan't care for strangers much, 
 mistress; but I ax pardon, if I be agen your 
 opinion, 'cause there's nowt as I wouldna' gi'e 
 in to, if 'twas you as liked it! And I'm hanged 
 if I 'ud say that o' anj T body else!" 
 
 "Thank you, Withers," Mary replied, a little 
 flushed. "I am in favor of the foreigners; very 
 much in favor of Signor Giovanni Ziletto ; and I 
 want you to be so, Elias, and all the village." 
 
 "Very well, then, I'n gotten no more to say. 
 If you favor him, why, of course, whul' village'll 
 do so; it isna' much we can do to make return 
 for kindness you've shown to all on us, young 
 and old, and to the poor and sufferin' ; so reckon 
 me on th' side o' the foreigners, though, daug 
 me, it wellnigh busts me to say so!" 
 
 ' ' You are very good, Elias. If Sir George should 
 come into the garden and ask for me, tell him I 
 am on the business of the decorating committee." 
 
 "Yes, mistress, yes; and thank you kindly," 
 said Elias, watching her as she tripped through 
 the further gate and into the glen. 
 
 "She's fond o' goin' back way to village! 'Tis 
 prettiest, they all do say; but gi'e me th' easiest 
 — just straight down the street, and no rocks and 
 stiles to clam' ovver."
 
 170 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Mary had had her choice of the two ways of 
 life; she had chosen the rocky one — the devious 
 path with stiles to climb and nettles to push 
 through, and thorns for the feet and broken 
 rocks, and darkness when she prayed for light. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 
 
 "THESE FLOWERS ARE LIKE THE PLEASURES OP 
 THE WORLD" 
 
 It was a remarkable piece of work, Ziletto's 
 Flora, the foundation constructed of wicker and 
 wood, deftly manipulated by the local carpenter, 
 who had never yet worked upon so elaborate a 
 design. He had been amazed to see the figure 
 grow upon his trestle and scantlings, and assume 
 graceful shape and pose. Notwithstanding hos- 
 tile criticism in Florence, Ziletto was no inferior 
 artist. Flora was a subject he had worked at 
 long ago, though in a bolder and less chaste 
 model than the one he had created for the Eyam 
 festival, inspired by rivalry of Roubillac, as well 
 as a desire to shine in the eyes of Mary Talbot 
 and win him credit with the villagers and the 
 people at the Old Hall. It was a semi-nude 
 figure, draped with a flowing robe of white 
 daisies, fringed with a Greek border of golden 
 buds, that half a score of women and girls had 
 helped to embroider. The cornucopia was filled 
 with flowers and imitation fruits, the face and
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 171 
 
 bust of the goddess of simple clay with a slight 
 tint of flesh dexterously suggested. In the rough 
 braided hair, a gem of flowers, brooch-like, was 
 conspicuous, and a trail of daisies, with their 
 yellow centers, in the tresses that fell in thick 
 masses about the shoulders; a very clever and 
 effective bit of rough modeling, bold and striking. 
 The archway was a mass of radiant color and an 
 emblazoning of the arms of the Talbot family, 
 with which Sir George had confessed himself 
 mightily pleased; Mary, after much persuasion, 
 having induced her father to visit the studio, 
 and at a time when Ziletto was in the midst of 
 his assistant villagers and the local carpenter. 
 It might not have been intended, but this enabled 
 Mary the easier, when she had been detained 
 from home longer than was usual with her, to 
 say boldly that she had been assisting the artist 
 who had charge of the Manor House Spring. 
 
 "While Mary was brushing away the dew in 
 her father's garden, and appealing to Elias 
 "Withers for his favorable consideration of Zi- 
 letto, the Italian was impatient for the coming 
 of Mary. He had dressed himself more like a 
 bridegroom than a modeler of clay or a mosaic- 
 worker in flowers. He was arrayed in a silken 
 doublet and hose, a dainty gold chain about his 
 neck suspending a sparkling gem — some foreign 
 order or an imitation thereof — a velvet cap and 
 feather upon his head, his black hair hanging 
 about his ears. His mandolin was lying upon 
 a bank of flowers, many withered and torn, some 
 fresh and lovely, all simple material for the deco-
 
 172 THE DAGGER AND THE CROPS 
 
 ration of the trophy that stood, nearly completed, 
 tilling up the ends of the barn with its high- 
 pitched open-timbered roof, but so skillfully put 
 together that it was the next day carried out in 
 a few sections and erected triumphantly. 
 
 The gateway of the barn was ajar, as Ziletto 
 had. told Mary she would find it ; and presently, 
 when she pushed it open with her arms full of 
 flowers, Ziletto sprang forward and had closed 
 and barred it against all comers, ere he took her 
 to his arms, flowers and all, with a passionate 
 embrace. 
 
 "My darling, you have come!" he said, with 
 that soft musical accent that had fascinated the 
 English girl the first time he had spoken to her. 
 
 She withdrew from his arms for a moment, to 
 lay aside her floral burden, her cheeks aglow with 
 blushes, and then flung herself back into them 
 with the abandon of a Southern beauty, though, 
 to all appearance, she was, as we have seen, a 
 typical product of the colder North. 
 
 "My wife !" he exclaimed, and pressed her fair 
 cheek against his own, peach and olive in color; 
 she florid in her healthy loveliness, he dark and 
 sinister to critical eyes, framed to captivate and 
 to deceive. 
 
 The air was faint with the luscious perfume of 
 heaped-up flowers and dewy foliage, and all the 
 world a dream; yet one burning thought now 
 dominated Mary's mind. Could they not tell 
 her father? Of course they could, he said; but 
 not yet. Why not keep their holy secret until 
 thev were sure their litilr fault would be con-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 173 
 
 doned? Did it not give a new and romantic joy 
 to their happiness? He could say nothing that 
 she did not acquiesce in ; every word was music 
 to her soul, but a music that had a delirious sense 
 of pain in its keenest joy. 
 
 The half -clad figure of Flora looked down upon 
 them, with her cornucopia and her trailing daisy 
 garment. Pandora's box would have been more 
 appropriate, taking the future into account; a 
 future that already made a faint sound of dis- 
 cordant music in Mary's heart, but too faint for 
 observation, too faint to be heard against the 
 deep, rich, overwhelming and complicated har- 
 monies of het happiness. 
 
 Presently, while she half-reclined upon a bank 
 of flowers by the staging of his classic trophy for 
 the Manor House Spring, Ziletto touched the 
 strings of his mandolin and sang to her in a 
 low soft voice one of those Italian lullaby songs, 
 with hushed whispers of love in it and reminis- 
 cent murmurings of summer flowers; and the 
 transformed barn became a temple of the gods, 
 a Temple of Love and peace and heavenly for- 
 getfulness. 
 
 Thus the time passed on with sunny footsteps ; 
 and presently, the villagers, who assisted in the 
 work of adorning the trophy, came tapping at 
 the door. Then Ziletto, taking Mary by the 
 hand, led her to a nook behind the Flora, and 
 bade them return anon, when Miss Talbot should 
 come. As soon as they disappeared, he opened 
 the doorways wide, and Mary camo forth and 
 took np hor station by I ho .staging, and Ziletto
 
 174 THE DAGGER ANI» THE CROSS 
 
 laughed and kissed her, and made merry over 
 the defeat of his other collaborators; but the 
 subterfuge was a blow to Mary's conscience; a 
 very little blow, perhaps, but she suffered a pass- 
 ing pang of bruised pride and wounded sci!'-rc 
 spect. The shadow vanished, however, almost 
 as quickly as it had come; and when the bash- 
 ful maidens returned, with Vicars the tailor, 
 who brought some special buds and blossoms 
 from a Baslow garden, Mary turned to greet 
 them, and Ziletto welcomed them with more 
 than usual formality. 
 
 Vicars, with a professional eye, stood still to 
 gaze upon the Italian's new costume — one of his 
 London purchases — short doublet, open in front, 
 without any under- waistcoat, and displaying a 
 rich silken shirt that bulged out from over the 
 waistband of a pair of loose breeches, character- 
 istic of the early days of Charles II., which, as 
 well as the large full sleeve, were counted ex- 
 ceedingly picturesque, with points and ruffles; 
 but Ziletto had discarded the effeminate ruffles 
 below the knee, having in its place a ribbon tied 
 in a true-lover's knot, his shoes similarly adorned 
 and with high red heels. 
 
 "Ah, Sign or Vicars, you are struck with my 
 new clothes. You have the impulse of the 
 artist." 
 
 "I ask your pardon, sir, for admiring them," 
 said Vicars. "I only wish I might have the cut 
 of them." 
 
 "And so you shall, with all my heart," said 
 Ziletto. "You are thinking they ill become the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 175 
 
 workman, the sculptor in his atelier ; but this is 
 a great day, my friend — it is the day on which 
 we complete our labors, and I dressed myself for 
 the great occasion." 
 
 "But to-morrow, signor, is the great occasion, 
 I am thinking," said Vicars. 
 
 "Not for me, sir, not for me," said Ziletto; 
 "yesterday and to-day are the golden days in my 
 calendar," and he glanced at Mary Talbot, who 
 turned aside to hide her blushes. 
 
 "You have different customs in your country, 
 signor," said Vicars. 
 
 "In some things, yes," the Italian replied. 
 "The day of consummation is our great day. 
 to-morrow we celebrate; to-day we call upon 
 the gods to seal our work." 
 
 He pointed to the Flora, and chuckled inwardly 
 at his ready fiction ; and Vicars said " To be sure, 
 there was sense in that, only they had no gods in 
 in Eyam, only One, and it was on Ascension Day 
 they asked His acceptance of their handiwork." 
 
 "Yes, as you say, good Signor Vicars," Ziletto 
 answered, "different nations have different cus- 
 toms. When I return to my own land it will 
 greatly interest the Florentines and Venetians to 
 hear of the manners and habits of your wonder- 
 ful England." 
 
 "When you return!" said Vicars. "Ah, we 
 had never thought of that." 
 
 "You pay me a great compliment, Signor 
 Vicars," said Ziletto. 
 
 "We had come to think of you as one who 
 might fix his permanent abode among us."
 
 170 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "It is very good of you to honor a stranger so 
 highly. Then, you would have me build a villa, 
 and make my home here? Alas! it may not be." 
 
 Neither he nor Vicars saw how eagerly Mary 
 Talbot was listening to this dialogue as she leaned 
 against the scaffolding of the Flora, half hidden 
 by the group of girls and women awaiting the 
 artist's directions to resume their work upon the 
 trophy. 
 
 "But you are happy, signor, among us? We 
 should be very unhappy, I assure you, if you were 
 to leave us. You see, we have got used to you. 
 At first we did not much care to have foreigners 
 here ; but we acknowledge that we were wrong, 
 and we would be willing to have you teach us 
 your arts, and — well, there, I beg pardon, I 
 don't know that I can express myself without 
 seeming too familiar. It is, shortly, that we folk 
 of the Peak have a liking for you and admire you 
 — and it has been somewhat against our will. I 
 know I'm not putting the thing just as I ought; 
 but you will understand our friendly feeling, and 
 all the rest of it." 
 
 "Yes, yes, signor," said several women, step- 
 ping forward to emphasize what Vicars had said 
 so bunglingly ; and Mary Talbot looked on. 
 
 "I quite understand," said Ziletto, "and I wish 
 it might be as you are good enough to desire." 
 
 "But at least you will not leave us before the 
 feast we mostly call the Wake?" 
 
 "And when is the feast that you mostly call 
 the Wake?" asked Ziletto, with an amused smile 
 „of patronizing encouragement.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 177 
 
 "In August," said Vicars; "only some three 
 months from now." 
 
 "August!" said Ziletto thoughtfully; "alas! 
 I must be far away from Eyam long before 
 August." 
 
 There was a stifled hysterical cry, and Mary 
 Talbot fell into the arms of her nearest neighbor. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 
 
 COUNTERS AND PUPPETS, AND MYLADY'S BOWER 
 
 It was only a brief moment of unconscious 
 ness that had overcome the village beauty. She 
 rallied before Susan Dakin, the constable's daugh- 
 ter, had pressed a cup of water to her lips. 
 
 The general consensus of opinion was that the 
 scent of the zeringa had proved too much for her. 
 Susan Dakin said it was more powerful than lilies 
 or bluebells or gardenia in a close room; but 
 Mary knew they libeled the beautiful flowers 
 when they blamed their perfume for her swoon- 
 ing ; and Ziletto knew ; and later, when an op- 
 portunity arose to whisper in her ear a few re- 
 assuring words, she recovered and was her happy 
 self again. 
 
 When the dinner hour was over and Mary had 
 returned, a little while before the rest, Ziletto said : 
 
 "And didst think I would go without thee,- 
 sweet?" 
 
 "I did not think; but suddenly my heart 
 stopped beating," she answered.
 
 178 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "You would love my beautiful Florence, cara 
 mia; and Florence would love you, my wife." 
 he said, encircling her with his arm. 
 
 "But my father?" she said. 
 
 "Would take ship with us, and visit your new 
 country. ' ' 
 
 "Do you think he would?" 
 
 "I do not doubt it." 
 
 "And should we live in Florence, always?" 
 
 "You would not like to leave these native hills 
 and dales, eh?" 
 
 "Not for always; but wherever you desired to 
 live, I am your wife to honor and obey," she 
 said with loving devotion. 
 
 "We have fetes in Florence, and there are 
 pageants in Venice that would make you think 
 'twas heaven indeed." 
 
 "It would always be heaven with you, Gio- 
 vanni," said the lovesick girl. 
 
 "You are too sweet to me— too gracious," 
 Ziletto answered. 
 
 "Oh, if we might tell our father now, and 
 take counsel with him," she answered, with sud- 
 den eagerness. "A great darkness all in a mo- 
 ment fell upon my spirits when you talked of 
 leaving Eyam." 
 
 "Ah, sweet, I am sorry; but I cannot always 
 stay in Eyam. Even now, I have affairs await- 
 ing me ; I have sent my man already to London 
 to delay them until I may arrange to travel." 
 
 The frank, open face of the girl, rosy with 
 health a moment before, paled almost to sickli- 
 ness as he spoke again of traveling.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 1?9 
 
 Hitherto she had walked as in a dream, mostly 
 upon flowers, no thought of the morrow except 
 how soon it should bring her to his arms; and 
 now, in the first hours of their secret honeymoon, 
 when he talked of a future that she had never 
 contemplated, ill-omened fancies clouded her 
 brain, and a vague fear oppressed her. 
 
 "You would not ask me to go away with you 
 privately — to follow you, perhaps, without my 
 father's knowledge?" she said, with sudden 
 eagerness. 
 
 "And if I did, my own, if I did?" 
 
 "Oh, Giovanni, don't ask it! For the dear 
 love I bear you, for the honor of my name and 
 yours, for the love and duty I owe to Sir George, 
 my father, don't do that, dear. ' ' 
 
 "Then I will not," he answered, just a trifle 
 bored with her scruples, and remembering as a 
 point against her how patient he had been with 
 her coyness, until he had overcome it with a 
 formal ceremony in the chapel of the Old Hall, 
 the revelation of which belongs to the future of 
 this history. 
 
 "My dear husband !" she said, her arms around 
 him, her kisses upon his lips, all at once thawing 
 the ice that was beginning to form upon the dark 
 pool of his passion. 
 
 "You are adorable!" he exclaimed, pressing 
 her to his breast. "Do with me what you will!" 
 
 But when she tried to do with him what she 
 would she failed. 
 
 It was impossible that his passion for the Em 
 g] ish beauty could have cooled so soon ; and yet,
 
 180 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 notwithstanding a solemn and awful compact 
 with Roubillac, it had entered his mind that 
 at the dancing, after the Ascension services, he 
 would solicit the honor of Francesca's hand in 
 the very first measure of the evening. 
 
 Vanity, as well as passion, was a factor in this 
 villainy. He would play off one beauty against 
 the other. Francesca's eyes should follow him 
 in the dance when he took the hand of Mary 
 Talbot, and she should look jealously upon him 
 when he danced with her rival of Italy. 
 
 There was a certain subtle refinement of self- 
 ishness in Ziletto's amours. They were the busi- 
 ness of his life. He might have been the hero 
 of one of those old erotic poems that amused the 
 leisure of certain of our wicked forefathers. To 
 Ziletto life was a game, and women the counters 
 and the puppets. 
 
 For the time being, however, he humored his 
 village beauty. He swore that life without her 
 would be a desert; that he would risk all and 
 kneel at her father's feet; that nothing should 
 part them. At the moment he half believed 
 what he said ; but he had never known so fair 
 and novel a beauty as the village belle of Eyam. 
 Nor was she all unconscious of her charms. She 
 had woman's native gift of coquetry, yet only 
 one humble ambition, and that was to please the 
 man she loved. She had soon forgotten the pro- 
 testing shrug of his shoulders when first she spoke 
 of her father. Every shred of doubt that had 
 torn her soul at his callous talk of leaving Eyam 
 had vanished with bis embraces, Tt should rath* i
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 181 
 
 have been the fiend that looked down upon them 
 from Ziletto's leafy archway, with its daisy- 
 draped figure of Flora, than the image of beauty ; 
 though it was suggestive enough to the Italian's 
 inner consciousness that she represented to him 
 only the goddess of the Floralia. 
 
 And yet no fire from heaven smote him while 
 he la}' in the arms of one who might have emu- 
 lated the chastity of Diana but for his discovery 
 of her woman's weakness. 
 
 It was long after those days that Balzac said, 
 in love a woman is like a lyre, that surrenders 
 her secrets only to the hand that knows how to 
 touch its strings ; and De Musset crystalized a 
 common thought into the aphorism that ' ' Happi- 
 ness may have but one night, as glory but one 
 day." But Inst is a classic impulse, and the first 
 woman gave her confidence to the devil. He 
 must have come to her in some such shape as 
 Giovanni Ziletto came to Mary Talbot. 
 
 Meanwhile the hours sped on, and long before 
 the early supper-time of those days the decora- 
 tion for the Manor House Spring w T as finished. 
 
 Ziletto, in the presence of his assistants, made 
 the figure a low bow, and wished it good fort- 
 une, and apologized in a mock-merry w T ay to the 
 goddess for taking her to pieces. That had to 
 be done, and it was wonderful to see how cleverly 
 Joe Higgins, the carpenter, did the work. It 
 was not the first Well-dressing he had seen, nor 
 was it likely to be the last, he said. 
 
 The several parts of the trophy being laid ready 
 removal by 'hivbivuk, the working company
 
 182 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 retired, the girls with arms about each other's 
 waists, as is the habit of girls, Higgins and his 
 apprentices to the Crown and Anchor, Ziletto 
 staying behind to lock the barn, and Mary, by a 
 roundabout way, proceeding homeward. 
 
 Ziletto presently overtook her, and when Mary 
 mounted the steps to the meadow that led to My 
 Lady's Bower and the Manor House Garden, he 
 bade her "Good-by until the welcome night," 
 and disappeared down the glen, avoiding the 
 narrow path, that was hateful to him now, be- 
 cause of his encounter with Clegg. He had said 
 nothing of this incident to Mary, nor to any other ; 
 except to the one person who alone had his full 
 confidence, and that was himself. He had held 
 much discourse with himself about it, and had 
 vowed a deep revenge. 
 
 It could not be, he thought, that he and Clegg 
 would not meet again on the more equal terms 
 of the sword ; it had not suited his convenience 
 to accept the challenge Clegg had given him, 
 nor did he desire to have his present amusements 
 shadowed by a possible mishap. It was unlike 
 him to refuse a meeting ; unlike him not to seize 
 upon such exercise at once ; but Clegg had some- 
 what shaken his nerve with a sense of unusual 
 physical power; and, moreover, touching the 
 question of revenge, he asked himself what 
 keener revenge could he be enjoying than his 
 triumph over the girl whom Clegg, he could see, 
 would give away his soul to possess. "Or the 
 thing he calls his soul," he said, as he doffed his 
 doublet, and, putting on a simple jerkin, betook
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 183 
 
 himself toward the Old Hall, walking along the 
 road and taking a cross-cut by the moorland. 
 
 As he passed out of the long street he met 
 many pedestrians, horsemen, and people in carts, 
 carriages and wagons entering the village. 
 
 Visitors had been coming all day long from 
 various neighboring places, and would go on 
 through the twilight and far into the night. 
 
 Almost every house had its guests, and great 
 preparations had been made for their entertain- 
 ment. If the fare was coarse it was plentiful, 
 and beer flowed like water. It was only in a 
 few houses that foreign liquors were to be had. 
 There were venison pasty, in and out of season, 
 chines of beef, bacon in abundance ; and, though 
 the wines of France and Italy were almost un- 
 known among the commonalty, there was hardly 
 a house that had not its gooseberry and its elder- 
 berry, not to mention the wine of the cowslip and 
 sparkling herb beers that were deemed nectar by 
 the gentler sex and the young. 
 
 The absence of the Bradshaws was much la- 
 mented. In the previous year the lady of the 
 Old Hall, then a new-comer with a reputation 
 to make among her neighbors and the people of 
 Eyam, had given much distinction to the festi- 
 val, bringing with her many guests from Lon- 
 don, whose fashions had been the study and won- 
 der of the village ever since; and it was during 
 a conversation with Ziletto concerning certain 
 articles of finery and frippery that the Italian, 
 taking a hint of things Maiy had spoken of with 
 admiration, had mentioned them as special pur-
 
 184 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 chases to be made by his man in London, and 
 brought post-haste, at any cost, in time for the 
 Ascension. 
 
 Pedro had been gone a month, but had not yet 
 been heard from. When commanded on his 
 journey he had urged the many difficulties in 
 the way. These had been smoothed at once 
 with an ample purse. 
 
 "But the Plague!" Pedro had said, as a last 
 appeal ; for he, too, had his love affair in the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 "Is at an end," Ziletto had replied, "and thou 
 knowest it. The citizens were returning to their 
 shops, the rich merchants and private people to 
 their houses, even when we passed through Lon- 
 don." 
 
 And Pedro, who rarely ventured word of doubt 
 of his master's orders or of resistance thereto, had 
 left Eyam, but with a sinking heart and a fore- 
 boding of ill. It had seemed to him, as he rode 
 away and looked back upon the mountain vil- 
 lage, as if his master's radiant star was more 
 likely to rind its eclipse there than to win an 
 added brightness; but Pedro was a good deal of 
 a pessimist, and he had found Emily Radford 
 of the Crown and Anchor inclined to be very 
 amiable. 
 
 Sir George Talbot had invited several of his 
 country friends and neighbors to the Manor 
 Fouse. The Old Hall being extended and beau- 
 tified prevented Lady Bradshaw from coming 
 to Eyam for this present festival, but she had 
 promised to make up for her absence at the Well-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 185 
 
 dressing by a special visit for the Wakes in Au- 
 gust. Sir George was therefore doing all he 
 could to supply the place of the qualit}* from the 
 Old Hall. The Manor House counted quite a 
 dozen guests, gentlemen and their ladies, and 
 they kept him very busy. He had made ample 
 excuses for Mary. She was the prime mover, 
 as they knew, in the organization of the "Well- 
 dressing, and the work this year had been more 
 than usual on account of the allied efforts of the 
 Italians to make the celebration a famous success. 
 Nevertheless, Mary had managed to sit at the 
 head of Sir George's hospitable table, both at din- 
 ner and supper, and had taken part in the even- 
 ing's amusements until bedtime. They had all 
 retired early, on account of the heavy business 
 of the next day's duties and pleasures. But 
 when the house was asleep, there stole out into 
 the night a cloaked figure watched and guarded 
 to the garden doorway by Mrs. Margaret Dobbs, 
 who on this night was lying with her mistress, 
 giving up her own bed to the servants of the 
 guests, which made it all the easier for Mary 
 (who, in whispers, called herself Signora Ziletto) 
 to steal away to her lover in My Lady's Bower. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 
 
 WHERE THE PAST AND THE PRESENT MEET 
 
 The next day came to Eyam radiant with sun- 
 shine. The genial warmth of it got into the peo-
 
 186 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 pie's hearts. They greeted each other with an 
 unusual neighborly cordiality. 
 
 There was about the village an aspect of great 
 prosperity. Every window had its pots of flow- 
 ers, every door was wide open, every step had 
 been newly washed, every hearthstone was white 
 as snow, and in many a grate bunches of flowers 
 or branches of hawthorn had ousted the wood 
 that had been laid for lighting, for cooking or 
 for warmth, as the need might be, should the 
 chill nights not yet be over. There had been 
 snow on summer days in Eyam ; but in the Spring 
 and Summer of this history, Nature had been 
 bountiful of sunshine and the fruitful warmth of 
 genial showers. 
 
 During the night, and at the earliest dawn, 
 visitors had been arriving. Soon after sunrise 
 several stalls had been erected upon the Green, 
 quaint arrangements under canvas, all mysteri- 
 ously closed, and not to be opened until the relig- 
 ious ceremonies of the day should be concluded. 
 
 Ziletto and his assistants had erected his trophy 
 over the Manor House Spring, that was situated 
 at a green bend of the road, near the entrance to 
 Middleton Dale. It marked a new departure in 
 the Well-dressing, no previous artist having ever 
 attempted the presentation of a figure. From the 
 earliest hour of its appearance a crowd of villagers 
 had gathered about it, noting its reflection in the 
 pool that lay silent outside the spring, that dis- 
 persed its surplus waters by a runnel apart from 
 the pool, which the little stream seemed mysteri- 
 ously to avoid. The waters of the Peak do strange
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 187 
 
 things; making sudden and unexplained appear- 
 ances here and there, sometimes bursting forth in 
 a night, to disappear just as strangely. 
 
 Roubillac's adornment of Clegg's Well, as we 
 have seen, was more in keeping with local usage 
 than that of Ziletto. It had almost been at the 
 last moment that Ziletto had remembered the 
 necessity of some appropriate motto to complete 
 his design. Mary Talbot suggested the words, 
 "God is Love," to which Ziletto, with a subtle 
 irony that he alone understood, added, "And He 
 created Flora." Of course, Mr. Mompesson only 
 saw in this the Italian's comprehension of the 
 kingdom of flowers, and thought it a very happy 
 inspiration of the stranger. 
 
 Roubillac had woven into the facade of his 
 shrine the crest of the Bradshaws, a stag at 
 gaze, under a vine tree — fructed proper; and in 
 a foliated arabesque, that enfolded a Cross, were 
 the words of our Saviour, as recorded by St. 
 John, "If any man thirst, let him come to Me 
 and drink." 
 
 It was altogether a design remarkable for its 
 dignity of form and treatment. Reuben Clegg 
 went out early to see what the foreigner should 
 make of the well he had helped to give to Eyam, 
 and he was pleased with it. There was a har- 
 monious blend of color and a nobilit}- of design 
 that appealed to the nature of the man Clegg. 
 It stood firmly upon its pillars, it was even use- 
 ful: it covered the gushing waters as with a 
 canopy, it supplied a step, and it bordered Nat- 
 ure's fountain with a circle of Nature's flowers.
 
 188 TI1K DAGGER AND TllW ClfcOSS 
 
 so disposed as if they had grown there, while 
 every t hing else in the design made for solidity 
 and permanence of color; The flowers had been 
 treated as material for mosaic-work; Clegg's 
 Well looked like some heavenly shrine on the 
 plains of an imaginary heaven. The sight had 
 soothed Clegg. He carefully avoided Ziletto's 
 work ; his heart Was too much against him. If 
 the Italian mountebank had only been engaged 
 upon some other of the natural fountains of 
 Eyain, if they must be desecrated by such a 
 hand, he would have been better content. 
 
 It also gave Clegg great satisfaction, as it did 
 likewise Elias Withers, Sir George's gardener, 
 to see with what force of character young New- 
 bold and his assistant had come out. They had 
 erected over the Ever- water one of the most am- 
 bitious architectural designs that had as yet been 
 seen in Eyam. It had even impressed Roubillac 
 and his art comrades; and Sir George Talbot had 
 dispensed straightaway, the moment he saw it, 
 two gold pieces, to be divided between Newbold 
 and his fellows, and spent in a right merry bowl 
 at the Crown and Anchor when the day should 
 be well over. It was modeled from a Gothic 
 temple — a favorite subject in the modern well- 
 dressings of neighboring villages that still keep 
 the festival of the Ascension. But it had not 
 the remarkable solidity of Roubillac's work, that 
 might in reality have been a fine study in mosaics. 
 Not only had he caught the effect of the Floren- 
 tine, but he had been able to convey the idea of 
 hardness. His dainty spoils of stamen, pistil
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 189 
 
 •.ml calyx, became semi-precious stones under 
 his manipulation. He bad used a varnish here 
 and there, that might indeed be said, in this 
 case, to have adorned the lily, holding the flow- 
 er-de-luce with a force stronger than clay, and 
 making it shine with the radiance of enamel. 
 
 Now, on the other hand, the Newbold trophy 
 was a design in tapestry. It was a picture cut 
 out —a profile in velvet, a mass of stiffened em- 
 broidery, a lovely thing that had been unfolded, 
 and might, the day being over, be packed away 
 and preserved for some other occasion. Every 
 color was represented by heads of flowers pressed 
 into the soft clay, and producing a combination 
 of tints and colors that had the richness of em- 
 bossed velvet. " O let the Earth bless the Lord ! ' ' 
 was the legend of the design, carried out in 
 marsh-marigold, that had the effect of beaten 
 gold, reminding one of a section of the front of 
 St. Mark's in Venice. 
 
 The decorations of the Holy Well and Ham's 
 Pool, minor springs, were also commendable 
 works of native art; and it was remarked in 
 after years that this was the first time the vil- 
 lagers had gone so far afield as the North Well 
 or the North Brook, to honor the same with floral 
 tribute that is now more famous than all the 
 others; some of which, indeed, have disappeared 
 or become wholly neglected, while this rivulet or 
 well, half a mile from the village green, and al- 
 most out of sight of the old church tower, has 
 become famous for all time and under a name 
 not then at all celebrated, but which has become
 
 190 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 not only historic on paper, but in fact. The 
 Manor House Spring has been absorbed in other 
 underground streams, but Mompesson's Well, or 
 Mompesson's Rivulet, is one of the sights of 
 Eyam. Little did the rector or his flock dream 
 of the destiny of the well they went out to dec- 
 orate for the first time in those days of the 
 Talbots and the Bradshaws. and the strangers 
 within their gates.
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 
 
 (Continued) 
 
 Undisturbed by the whistle of the locomotive, 
 away from the highroad of travel, Eyam is still, 
 in this year of grace 1896, a secluded hamlet of 
 the hills ; and the chief landmarks of this history 
 are as fresh and real to-day as they were in 1665. 
 Not the faintest echo of the railway ever reaches 
 Eyam. The cottages in which Dakin and Vic- 
 ars, and the rest lived, are still existing. If the 
 Manor House has been rebuilt and called Eyam 
 Hall, it has, nevertheless, all the characteristics 
 of the original, and makes a claim upon the imagi- 
 nation to which the dullest intellect must respond. 
 The church tower continues to be a notable land- 
 mark of the wooded hillside, and My Lady's 
 Bower has left its landmarks. The Old Hall 
 has not wholly perished. A portion of the East- 
 ern end, that was built by Lady Bradshaw, is 
 still standing. What is left contains a noble fire- 
 place, the mantels recessed and enriched with 
 deeply indented molding. To-day it is used as 
 a barn, and is mentioned to the casual tourist as 
 a modern appendage of the Old Hall ; it had been
 
 192 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 intended to hang it with tapestiy. Within the 
 recollection of a villager still living, and with 
 whom the present historian has had mam talks, 
 the tapestry la}- in a heap in certain corners of 
 the old building, where it rotted away. 
 
 So real in its age and simplicity is this hamlet 
 of the High Peak Hundred, with its ancient 
 Cross, its walled-in gardens, its umbrageous tim- 
 ber, its running waters, its Tudor Manor House, 
 its treasured relics of the martyrdom of its vil- 
 lage heroes, the whole surrounded by the ever- 
 lasting hills, that it requires no great strength 
 of fancy to conjure up the gay procession of 
 the Ascension Day that is chronicled in these 
 pages, and to hear the music of the three or four 
 chiming bells, the bass of which was destined 
 later to an unusual and solemn activity. Indeed 
 so sensibly does the past and the present meet 
 here, that yesterday seems to mingle with to- 
 day. Eyam has stood still, as its neighbor, Tis- 
 sington, has; both strangers to the prosaic sounds 
 of the railway whistle, each hugging its past, 
 Eyam in a gloomy attitude of pride; and you 
 shall find its old men as ready to talk of its long- 
 past tribulation as if these records were a matter 
 of last week. So powerfully stirred is the imagi- 
 nation when in constant association with death- 
 less scenes, that a certain inhabitant of the slum- 
 berous old place, a chance acquaintance of the 
 writer, thinks he almost remembers the occur- 
 rence of certain incidents of this history, though 
 they belong to a period nearly two hundred years 
 before he was born- When -he is reminded of
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 193 
 
 this inconsistency, his wrinkled face lights up 
 with a knowing smile, and he poses you by point- 
 ing to the houses where the people of those da} r s 
 lived, the house where the clothes were unpacked 
 that brought the trouble, as he calls it ; and when 
 I tell him what he has not yet heard of the story 
 of Clegg and the Italians, he puckers up his eyes 
 and reflects upon it, sitting on his doorstep in the 
 sunshine, and says it may be all true enough, 
 he'd always had a sort of glimmering of it, and, 
 furthermore, that "the heavens declare the glory 
 of God and the firmament showeth His handi- 
 work. ' ' 
 
 Old age shall tremble in its wits, and the eyes 
 shall see vaguely as through a cloud, and faint 
 tokens of the past shall be veiled in a half -remem- 
 bered perfume; but great deeds outlive tomb- 
 stones, and romance is a flower that springs with 
 perennial freshness, though its environment be 
 a ruin, its roots familiar with a corpse. 
 
 "Time, Time, his withering hand hath laid 
 On battlement and tower, 
 And where rich banners were displayed 
 Now only waves a flower." 
 
 Seek not to dig it up and set it in your own 
 narrow garden ; be content to tell its story. The 
 iinderne's tiny blossoms were brought from the 
 Holy Lund by the Derbyshire crusader, Sir 
 Geoffrey. For three hundred years after he 
 ami his very mansion had become as nothing, 
 there grew the finderne's flower until a selfish 
 hand uprooted it and replanted it in a private
 
 194 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 garden, and fenced it round about from the 
 great world, and so it withered and died ; but 
 its memory lives in story and in song, by reason 
 whereof we also know the name of Sir Geoffrey, 
 who was a remote ancestor of Sir George Talbot 
 in this romance. 
 
 By the same token shall E yam be remembered ; 
 the more, perchance, for these new flowers of 
 romance that are herein planted round about the 
 gray-leaved rosemary of a bitter remembrance. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 
 
 HOLY THURSDAY AND THE DRESSING OF THE 
 
 WELLS 
 
 And the people of Eyam, and for miles round 
 about, gathered together, and it was a great day 
 in the mountain village. 
 
 The visitors trooped in from Curbar, Calver, 
 Foolow, Stony Middleton, and even from Dron- 
 field, Baslow and Bakewell, and still further 
 afield; for the Well-dressing of Eyam was of 
 a widespread celebrity throughout the northern 
 part of Derb} r shire, and the advent of the Italian 
 artists had given a new interest to the festival. 
 
 Early in the forenoon a motley and picturesque 
 crowd, such as has rarely been seen in English 
 town or village, promenaded the streets, and made 
 critical and admiring view of the flowering wells. 
 The dresses of both men and women were a mixt.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 195 
 
 ure of the Puritan and the Royalist. Many of 
 them had taken little heed of the changes from 
 one reign to the other, living outside the world, 
 as they had done for many a long year, they and 
 their fathers before them. The higher nobility 
 of the Hundred, who were represented in the 
 throng, though sparsely, had donned their short 
 cloaks and doublets, their silk stockings, and felt 
 hats and feathers. 
 
 There were others who indulged in a discreet 
 compromise between the Puritan soldier and the 
 Royalist cavalier; and others who wore their 
 simple civilian gowns and Geneva bands. Sir 
 George Talbot made a gallant show, and the 
 constable carried his staff of office. One old 
 lady, attended by a servant-man no less oddly 
 attired, came in her great fardingale of the days 
 of Elizabeth and James, and was an object of 
 respectful wonder. There were the ordinary 
 commonalty of women in their simple gowns 
 and hoods, adorned, now and then, with extra 
 ribbons, some with ruffs, and some with simple 
 collars; but all rosy and of modest mien. 
 
 Mary Talbot, leaning upon the arm of her 
 father, was a fascinating picture of young wo- 
 manhood. She was somewhat fantastically at- 
 tired, her rich brown hair escaping in curls from 
 a dainty miniver cap fastened with a pearl-headed 
 gold pin. The fan at her girdle hung like a jewel 
 upon her satin gown, and her gauntleted gloves 
 were finely embroidered, as was also her bodice. 
 It was instinctive with Mary Talbot that she 
 considered her figure in her toilet, her small well-
 
 19G THE DAGGER AND THE CRO 
 
 poised head, her delicate if well-rounded bust, 
 her shapely figure rather full at the hips, giv- 
 ing an idea of strength and generous proportions. 
 She was what in all times would he called a fine 
 woman ; but with a certain dignity of refinement 
 that comes of an ancestry of rare breeding. 
 
 She and her father had pleasant words for 
 everybody. They examined the Well-dressing 
 together. Only Clegg noticed in the expression 
 of Mary's usually happy countenance an un- 
 wonted pensiveness. He thought her smile was 
 forced. She did not look people so steadfastly 
 in the eye as heretofore. Clegg only noticed this 
 in a furtive way, for he did his best to avoid her, 
 but wherever she might be, within sight or hear- 
 ing, he felt her presence; it stirred his emotions 
 as the wind upon an ^Eolian harp, and it softened 
 him. 
 
 Poor Mary carried her secret with fear and 
 hope. She played her part with all the natural 
 skill of her sex, but she felt that she did not play 
 it well ; she longed to take her father aside, away 
 from the crowd, and fling herself upon his neck 
 and weep, all the time watchful for the coming 
 of Ziletto and his Italian compatriots. He had 
 told her how they would appear in procession 
 together; how he had obtained the good Father's 
 permission to be one of them. She knew that he 
 and Signor Roubillac were not on intimate terms, 
 and that he only maintained a show of comrade- 
 ship with the rest; but she had every reason to 
 believe that he and Father Castelli were the best 
 of friends
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 197 
 
 Clegg was a striking figure in the throng. 
 l 'He's a fine-looking fellow," was Sir George's 
 comment; but he had to repeat it before Mary- 
 nodded her indorsement of the remark. Just at 
 the moment Mrs. Clegg appeared. She had evi- 
 dently come into the village alone, and was look- 
 ing for her son. Always neatly and becomingly 
 dressed, on this morning of the Ascension Mrs. 
 Clegg had given, with her neighbors, special at- 
 tention to her toilet. She wore a tall hat of a 
 grayish felt, a silk gown of similar tone, frilled 
 cuffs matching with her white full ruff, and her 
 brown untanned shoes were adorned with silver 
 buckles ; these latter being an heirloom, as was 
 C] egg's sword. In the technical slang of mod- 
 ern art, she might have been called a study ing ray. 
 
 Mrs Clegg presented herself to Sir George and 
 Miss Talbot with a modest curtsey, and in her 
 soft, clear voice exchanged with them the com- 
 mon courtesy of passing comments on the weather, 
 that are in our own time artful aids to conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 Mary Talbot made a point of shaking hands 
 with Reuben's mother, and asking if she were 
 not expecting to meet her son, and pointing out 
 where he stood, at some distance, talking to Vic- 
 ars the tailor. 
 
 The dear old lady thanked her, and made for 
 the spot where her son towered above the group 
 of villagers and guests, not so much by his height^ 
 though he was more than ordinarily tall, but by 
 reason of his striking personality. He wore a 
 suit of black cloth, trimmed with velvet, trunk
 
 108 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 hose, a scarf about his waist, long hoots and a 
 brown ha1 with a silver clasp, in which, by way 
 of tribute to Royalist fashion, he had stuck an 
 eagle's feather. But that he was a far finer fig- 
 ure, he might have been the late Protector him- 
 self in the fashion of his clothes, and he wore 
 • lose to his side a sword, the first time it had 
 been seen there ; it was the weapon his father 
 had carried and used with conspicuous effect in 
 defense of the Crown. Besides his feather, the 
 trim and cut of his light brown beard was an- 
 other concession to the new reign, pointed at the 
 chin, though eschewing the mustache. 
 
 The contrast between Sir George in his Royal- 
 ist clothes and Reuben Clegg in his more somber 
 suit was very notable, and helped to give pict- 
 uresque form and color to the village throng. 
 His doublet was of blue satin, fitting rather 
 closely to the figure, in shape not unlike the 
 fatigue jacket of a modern artilleryman. He 
 had eschewed the usually loose sleeve for a mod- 
 erately cut straight one, with ruffles at the wrist, 
 and he carried his gloves in his right hand. Nei- 
 ther did he a ffect the short cloak which was sported 
 by one or two of the neighboring gentr} r in great 
 style. He wore a lace collar, silk breeches to 
 match his doublet, and a pair of soft high boots, 
 his rapier swinging from a plain baldrick. His 
 headgear was a Flemish beaver with a drooping 
 feather, almost the color of his bushy gray hair. 
 His mustache was newly barbered, and had the 
 cavalier curl, his small gray beard the imperial 
 point.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 199 
 
 There was in Sir George's manner something 
 of the gayety and spirit usually associated with 
 the Royalist dress — the hearty laugh, the dash 
 and go of the king's reckless followers ; though 
 Sir George toned down these characteristics, that 
 were the outcome of his natural bonhomie, in 
 deference to his magisterial capacity. He car- 
 ried a tall walking-stick, in its way almost as 
 imposing as the constable's staff of office. 
 
 The working population of Eyam consisted of 
 Clegg's miners and a few weavers; besides, of 
 course, the ordinary traders, farmers and tailors, 
 the latter some dozen, most employed by Vicars, 
 who was honored by orders from many of the 
 dignitaries of the Hundred. Once or twice a 
 year he had parcels of patterns, of textiles and 
 of ready-made garments of the latest fashions, 
 from London. The toilers of the district were in 
 their Sunday clothes; the miners chiefly distin- 
 guished by their leather jerkins, the weavers and 
 others in simple cloths, nearly all with belts or 
 girdles that carried a knife, or, as in the case of 
 tradesmen, often a memorandum book. 
 
 In and out of the throng children and young 
 people passed to and fro dressed very much after 
 the fancy and means of their parents ; everybod}*, 
 male and female, young and old, from the stand- 
 point of our own times, looking more or less the- 
 atrical, which, by the way, is too often used as a 
 term of reproach. 
 
 But the scene was not complete until the Ital- 
 ians entered the village in a glittering procession 
 of many colors, the good father at their head in
 
 200 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the simplest of robes, but with his great gold and 
 ivory Cross about his neck. Ziletto in purple 
 velvet and silken hose, with a jeweled-hafted 
 Spanish sword hanging from a magnificent 
 sword-belt, worn sashwise over the right shoul- 
 der after the manner of Sir George's baldrick, 
 but so embroidered and enriched with gems that 
 it was the one conspicuous thing in his costume. 
 He walked by the side of the priest, his swarthy 
 complexion shining in the sun, his eyes under the 
 dark lashes bright as the jewel at his neck — a re- 
 markable figure, lithe of limb and alert of man- 
 ner. We, who know of that encounter between 
 him and Clegg, can only wonder that, backed 
 with such dexterous knowledge and skill of 
 fence, he should not have overcome his enemy. 
 
 As Ziletto leisurely marched into the village 
 with his compatriots, Clegg stood apart on a lit- 
 tle rising ground and watched him with cold, 
 not to say malevolent, eyes. He did not see 
 Mary, who, with her father, stood within the 
 low sweeping branches of a darkening beech; 
 nor did Sir George note the beating of her heart, 
 though she clung closer to his arm, as, in the dis- 
 tance, could be heard the music of the approach- 
 ing instrumentalists making their way from Cal- 
 ver by the glen. 
 
 The Italian procession pressed on to the Green 
 and there broke up, each member, man and wo- 
 man, making for the Wells, to criticise the rival 
 decorations, Francesca, with a drooping veil, 
 something like a corona that might have been 
 worn by a princess of the blood, walking by the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 201 
 
 side of Roubillac, her hand in his, the rich gold 
 brocade of her trailing gown a wonder of textile 
 perfection. Roubillac held his head high and 
 carried himself with an acted repose of mind, for 
 his soul was even more troubled than that of 
 Mary Talbot, not only by reason of the gnawing 
 pangs of jealousy and hatred of Ziletto, but on 
 account of the unholy compact and conspiracy 
 that his mad unreasoning love had induced him 
 to enter into, a sacrifice of more than honor and 
 an act of selfish folly beyond all palliation. 
 
 Roubillac and Francesca were viewing New- 
 bold's Gothic design, when Ziletto took occa- 
 sion to address them with great show of def- 
 erence and to compliment Roubillac upon his 
 ornamentation of Clegg's Well. All the time 
 his dark eyes were upon the angelic face of 
 Francesca, who observed a demure demeanor, 
 while Roubillac felt the hot blood rush through 
 his veins, and the old murderous thought he had 
 confessed to Pisani, the swordsman, once more 
 leaped into his mind. 
 
 "We thank you, Signor Ziletto," said Roubil- 
 lac, with all the patience he could command, "and 
 would prefer to be left to our own society and to 
 our own thoughts." 
 
 Francesca heard the words without seeming to 
 do so, and Ziletto, with a bow, replied: 
 
 "Signor Comrade. I had hoped we were friends, 
 if not in very truth at least in outward show ; be- 
 hold, these boorish English are watching us, a 
 staring open mouthed group of them, and be- 
 neath yonder tree, also looking this way, are Sir
 
 202 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 George Talbot and the lady herself whom they 
 call the beauty of Eyam." 
 
 Ziletto gabbled on to prevent Roubillac burst- 
 ing out with the reply of repudiated friendship 
 that was on his lips, and at the mention of Mary 
 Talbot, Francesca came down from the skies, 
 and turned her face in the direction of the spot 
 where Sir George and Mary were standing. Sir 
 George, noting the movement, said, "Come, 
 Mary, we must go and speak to these people," 
 and Mary, her heart beating wildly, suffered 
 herself to be led into the open. The Italians 
 faced them, Sir George doffing his plumed hat, 
 the Italians gracefully acknowledging the saluta- 
 tion, the two ladies curtseying to each other with 
 great formality, Roubillac formally presenting 
 his wife to Miss Talbot, Sir George as formally 
 presenting Mary. The others had met before. 
 Ziletto responded to Sir George's congratulations 
 upon his work no less gravely than Roubillac on 
 similar grounds, for Sir George was eloquent in 
 praise of both Clegg's Well and the Manor House 
 Spring. 
 
 The two women examined each other with 
 undisguised curiosity. They both took each 
 other into their critical consciousness before they 
 spoke a word. Francesca was impressed on 
 Mary Talbot's mind as a strangely wild and 
 beautiful personality, that was only heightened 
 by close perusal of her dark face, though Mary 
 found it difficult to keep her eyes away from her 
 splendid gold brocade and a trinket studded with 
 various gems pendent from a delicately woven
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 203 
 
 gold chain about her neck. Francesca, notwith- 
 standing the impulse of jealousy that Ziletto had 
 purposely aroused in her, found the fair face of 
 the English girl full of a simple, frank, healthful 
 beauty that invited confidence and did not sug- 
 gest rivalry. The two women liked each other 
 at sight; their hearts went out one to the other, 
 and Mary began to talk with a freedom that 
 brought a happy but questioning smile to the 
 ruddy lips of the woman of Verona. She could, 
 however, only speak a few words in English, 
 but to her aid came Roubillac, ostentatiously 
 taking the words of interpretation out of the 
 mouth of Ziletto, whose bitter glance of annoy- 
 ance was promptly changed to a politic smile. 
 He turned to Sir George, with the remark that 
 his friend and compatriot, Signor Roubillac, had 
 learned English of the famous tutor of the Va- 
 lieros at Venice, "and speaks it admirably, do 
 you not think so?" 
 
 "I wish 1 could speak Italian half as well," 
 said Sir George, at the same time, with a glance 
 toward the church, remarking: "The rector is 
 assembling his parishioners; the procession is 
 about to be formed ; the band of the Hundred is 
 taking its place; we must take our places too, 
 ladies; but let us consider this present meeting 
 only adjourned." 
 
 Then the Italians bowed to the English knight 
 and his daughter; they responded, and Mar} r , 
 with a i tailing glance of love at Ziletto (who 
 was occupied in trying to catch the eye of Fran- 
 cesca), walked away to join the crowd that was
 
 204 THE DAGGER AND TIFF, CROSS 
 
 now being marshaled by the constable and the 
 committee of churchmen and villagers. 
 
 The rector was in his surplice, and not far 
 away, in the midst of a small group of cloaked 
 and very soberly-dressed supporters, the ejected 
 minister, the late rector, George Stanley, was 
 seen in his dark vestments of the Puritan order, 
 over which he wore, in honor of Calvin and to 
 assist the decorative character of the procession, 
 a Geneva cloak. 
 
 Mr. Stanley was an old man, his hair long 
 and thick, a grizzled graj', and his beard was 
 untrimmed. He wore a skullcap, and carried a 
 Bible in his hand. The Orthodox party thought 
 Mr. Stanley would have been wise to have taken 
 his part in the procession without any ecclesias- 
 tical display, seeing that he had been inhibited 
 from his holy office, and that it was a crime for 
 him and his followers to meet together for public 
 or even private worship; but Eyam, as we have 
 seen, was tolerant of these things. Moreover, 
 Mr. Stanley was held in great esteem; he had 
 borne adversity with humility and resignation; 
 and, moreover, even Papistry was not as yet 
 hung and drawn and quartered as in later days 
 in the Hundred of the High Peak, though the 
 time came when it paid dearly for its own perse- 
 cutions in the Peak. These tragedies, however, 
 do not belong to these present records; and the 
 band is already filling the sonorous air with .the 
 strains of a processional march.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 205 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 
 
 Looking back upon that remarkable proces- 
 sion and the crowd of spectators, the village life 
 of our own day is singularly prosaic by com- 
 parison. 
 
 Derbyshire folk are strange people even now; 
 have oddly characteristic ways; speak not only 
 a curious dialect, but in antiquated idioms; and 
 in districts outside railways, often adhere to the 
 habits and dress of a remote past. Smock- 
 frocks, clogs, pattens, swallow-tailed coats, short 
 capes in the daytime, are still common; and 
 Wellington boots, high stocks, and leggings in 
 all weathers, are not deemed unfashionable where 
 fashion is unknown. 
 
 What wonder then, if, two hundred years 
 ago, the people of the Peak were in many cases 
 behindhand with the tailoring and millinery of 
 Charles and his queen? 
 
 It was an unconventional procession as regards 
 marching order. The people and local digni 
 taries fell in how they pleased, after the con- 
 stable had taken the lead followed by the band. 
 
 The latter were attired in ordinary civilian 
 dress, with the exception of a uniform hat and 
 feather. The drummer, it is true, wore his 
 military uniform. He had beaten the charge in 
 more than one Royalist victory. 
 
 Among the processionists were a few dis- 
 banded soldiers. They wore their breastplates,
 
 206 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 that flashed back the rays of the sun. There 
 was a royal standard bearer. The gold of his 
 flag shone out regally. Around his banner 
 floated a dozen smaller flags carried by Eyam- 
 ites, whose ranks were varied by village maid- 
 ens, dressed in their best and each carrying a 
 bouquet. 
 
 Sir George Talbot attended by his clerk, and 
 the rector in his surplice and attended by his 
 clerk (the "Amen man," as they called him), 
 were in the procession; as were also Clegg's 
 miners and the few weavers, tailors and trades- 
 men of the village, each company with its tiny 
 banner, suggesting in a small way the dignity 
 of a trade guild. It was, indeed, all in a small 
 way, compared with the pageantry of a great 
 city; but it was singularly picturesque. The 
 tail end of the parade was brought up by the 
 visitors, or any other persons who chose to fol- 
 low. Among those who thus fell in were many 
 locally notable persons, several of them men and 
 women in the costume of the Tudors; the men 
 in their slashed doublets, open at the breast to 
 show their lawn shirts, the women attired after 
 the manner of the old lady already mentioned, 
 in fardingales and tall head-dresses. 
 
 Outside the pageant, but unconsciously form- 
 ing a feature of it for historical note, stood the 
 Italians in their gay attire, and the solemn little 
 group of Presbyterians surrounding their ejected 
 pastor, Mr. Stanley. These, however, were on 
 fairly good terms with the Mompesson people, 
 and exchanged greetings as the procession passed
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 20? 
 
 by. - They formed an effective background for 
 the dresses and sallow faces of the Italians, who 
 presently walked at a little distance from the 
 procession, and paused at the Wells to listen to 
 the blessing offered up by the Rev. George 
 Mompesson. They stood bareheaded, with rev- 
 erential respect. Ziletto, his cap in his hand, had 
 stationed himself by the side of the priest, and 
 commented upon the simplicity of the scene. 
 What would Florence, what would Venice have 
 made of such a festival? And he pictured the 
 city fathers in their gorgeous robes, the soldiers 
 and sailors in theirs, maidens scattering flowers, 
 banners of brilliant hues, Father Castelli fore- 
 most in the pageant, the banners of the Cross 
 preceding the great dignitaries of the Church, 
 their holy regalia vying in grandeur with that 
 of the Civic Guilds of Italy, the vestments of 
 her great dignitaries outshining the rarest tro- 
 phies of the noblest gardens. Nevertheless, the 
 esthetic emotions of their compatriots were 
 stirred by the simple beauty of the English 
 scene ; and the hearts of the natives were deeply 
 moved in the service that followed beneath the 
 roof of the parish church, that was ancient even 
 then. They listened, with something of a new- 
 found understanding, to the simple eloquence of 
 the new pastor, who brought down to them, 
 through the ascended Christ, a heaven upon 
 earth, dwelling upon the impression the earth 
 had made upon Christ Himself, how He loved 
 it, His delight in gardens, how He prayed among 
 the flowers, His Sabbath day rambles at harvest,
 
 208 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 His tribute to the beauty of the lily of the field, 
 His humanity, how He feasted with humble 
 dignity among the poor, His love of children. 
 
 It was a strange sermon, the people said, be- 
 cause it wanted no learning to understand it; 
 and it made out that folk need not be miserable 
 if they were religious; that God did not give 
 them beautiful flowers, the mountain and the 
 moor, the river and the spring, the music of 
 pure waters and the blessings thereof, to be 
 wretched about. He gave them for their good 
 enjoyment and each other; He made them neigh- 
 bors for comfortable society, and the seasons for 
 variety of beauty and use ; and it was a happy 
 and beautiful coincidence that brought about 
 the celebration of the Ascension at this time of 
 flowers and full springs. Christ had told them 
 to take no thought for the morrow, which He 
 interpreted as a message of Faith in the Mercy 
 and Justice and Love of the Father; and with the 
 parable of the lilies that are arrayed more beauti- 
 fully than Solomon in all his glory, he moved 
 them to think of the certainty that, however 
 dark the night, the sun would shine on the mor- 
 row, however sterile the winter, spring would 
 surely follow — spring and summer, and autumn 
 with her fruits and corn and all her store of 
 wealth for the winter barns and threshing-floors. 
 And then he encouraged them to a full justifica- 
 tion of dance and song, and such jo.yous exercise 
 as belonged to honest festival, with the Scriptural 
 declaration that there is a time for all things; 
 and this was their time to rejoice and be glad.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 209 
 
 And there had not, in the remembrance of the 
 oldest inhabitant, been such gayety after service 
 on Ascension Day as upon this memorable occa- 
 sion. 
 
 After church the villagers returned to their 
 homes, and there they feasted their guests, with 
 right honest food and drink; and all the after- 
 noon the men sat in the doorways or under the 
 trees, and smoked their pipes, and the women 
 gossiped and compared notes on the gowns they 
 most admired. 
 
 Mary Talbot sat at the head of her father's 
 table. Ziletto joined in the feast at the Crown 
 and Anchor, to which he had contributed its 
 rarest feature, sundry bottles of white wine. 
 
 Mr. Stanley and his flock broke bread together 
 in the humble abode of the Widow Steadfast, 
 and lamented the extravagance of the times and 
 the ungodliness thereof. 
 
 Reuben Clegg and his mother entertained 
 several guests with generous hospitality. 
 
 The Italians returned to the Old Hall, and 
 made merry in the refectory thereof. 
 
 On the village green the stalls and booths 
 were open to the wondering gaze of the young 
 people. 
 
 Sir George Talbot feasted the bandsmen and 
 many others in the great barn of the Crown and 
 Anchor, sending for that purpose two mighty 
 venison pasties from his own kitchen and several 
 barrels of old ale. 
 
 Mr. Clegg provided dinner for his miners in 
 the garden of his headman's cottage; and by
 
 210 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 noontide, Eyam was one scene of feasting and 
 good comradeship. 
 
 Above the joyousness of the time, and while 
 the sunshine was most divine, the air filled with 
 the perfume of the flowers and exclamation of a 
 proper mirth, the shadow of a tragedy hovered 
 over the village; and it overcast the dancing. 
 No one saw it, or dreamed of it, except one man ; 
 though beneath an outward show of joy two 
 hearts beat sadly to the measure of their own 
 pathetic music. 
 
 None were more envied or admired that day, 
 for their beauty and their fine clothes, than 
 Francesca Roubillac and Mary Talbot; none 
 were so unhappy. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 
 
 THE DANCING, AND AFTERWARD 
 
 It was the devil in Ziletto's nature that in- 
 spired him to incite these two women to an un- 
 natural jealousy, the devil whose poison was 
 vanity and lust. 
 
 The dancing began shortly before sunset, and 
 was continued into the twilight, the green hav- 
 ing been mown and swept and rolled for the 
 purpose every day for a month prior to the fes- 
 tival. The booths and stalls on the ed^e of the 
 turf were cut off with a fence of ropes. 
 
 A rough kind of wooden inclosure was erected 
 close by the village cross for light refreshment*,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 211 
 
 and the musicians were elevated upon a platform 
 of timber. The measures were simple, some of 
 them quite formal, others a merry kind of barn- 
 romp, with quaint figures; and now and then a 
 solo or a duet was contrived in order to show off 
 the step-dancing of local experts. 
 
 While Ziletto appeared to be in full attendance 
 upon Miss Talbot, when the dancing began he 
 suddenly took the opportunity to withdraw from 
 her in favor of one of the most distinguished of 
 the visitors, and made straightway to Francesca, 
 whose hand he solicited for the first measure, 
 which was a country dance, not unlike what a 
 country dance is to this day. Signora Roubillac 
 had observed with what homage Ziletto had pre- 
 sented himself to Miss Talbot, how he seemed to 
 humble himself to her father, and how Mary's 
 eyes had lighted up with undisguised pleasure 
 the moment Ziletto had appeared upon the Green. 
 
 Roubillac had stepped aside to speak to Sir ' 
 George Talbot, and turning to conduct his wife 
 forward, in response to Sir George's expressed 
 desire to make her his partner in the inaugural 
 dance of the festival, had the mortification to see 
 her moving to her place escorted by Ziletto. 
 Reubillac thereupon invited the wife of one of 
 his compatriots to be his vis-a-vis, and her hus- 
 band, with the grace of his nation, swept the 
 ground with his hat as he bowed to Miss Talbot, 
 and was accepted by the English belle, whose 
 eyes, however, followed Ziletto. 
 
 Gradually the two lines of dancers were filled, 
 the males on one side, the females on the other.
 
 212 [E DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Mr. Mompesson and his wife were present. His 
 presence was a good influence, though it sup- 
 pressed nothing of the honest mirth of the time. 
 There was the usual laughter over mistakes and 
 the contretemps that invariably occur in a round 
 dance where many are engaged. Mrs. Clegg 
 had induced Reuben to take part witli the rest. 
 It was under her influence that Clegg had 
 dressed himself so impressively. But he insisted 
 upon having his mother for his partner. It was 
 a pleasant sight to see the tall, serious-looking, 
 manly fellow taking the Quaker-like old dame 
 with faultless steps through the measure, leading 
 her backward and forward, and up and down, 
 now to part and unite again. More than once 
 his hand and Mary's touched; and the contact 
 thrilled him. Then Mary found her hand in 
 Ziletto's, and her face flushed, to pale again as 
 she saw with what ardor he carried off Francesca 
 in the whirling maze. 
 
 "Nay, if he kill me, I cannot but love thee," 
 Ziletto had whispered in Francesca's ear; and 
 she in return had responded with a gentle taunt 
 of his evident passion for the English beauty. 
 He had whispered with a scornful smile that a 
 stranger in this barren spot must have amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 Francesca found herself forgetting all the world 
 except her partner. Though she did not look at 
 him she felt that his eyes were riveted upon 
 her; that the} r searched her very soul; her feet 
 seemed to move mechanically in the dance, but 
 with a strange lightness.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 213 
 
 Once or twice she saw the face of Mary Talbot 
 flit by; and though there was only a pathetic 
 expression in Mary's countenance, Francesca 
 saw it as one of defiance and triumph. 
 
 The old time came back to her, when first she 
 saw Ziletto in Venice and had felt what it was 
 to love. For good* or ill, Ziletto had been the 
 first to stir Francesca's maiden heart. She had 
 met him thrice, once by accident, twice by ap- 
 pointment, before it came into her mind to 
 resist him, bafore she confessed to Father Lo- 
 renzo, and then to her husband; and now, all in 
 a moment, Ziletto had revived that first dizzy 
 sense of love or passion, whichever it may be 
 called, that had come to her after she had mar- 
 ried Roubillac, which she had done out of pity 
 or complaisance or gratitude, or for the reason 
 that she admired Roubillac's art and he had 
 begged so hard. Before the dance was finished, 
 Ziletto had won from her a promise to meet him 
 the next day ; and, though one must do her the 
 justice to say that before the night was over she 
 repented and resolved not to meet him, all the 
 mischief was done. 
 
 Roubillac, conducting his little Italian country- 
 woman through the dance, had appeared to be 
 absorbed in the music ; but he had kept a careful 
 watch on Ziletto, and had overheard the result 
 of his rival's proposal. 
 
 Meanwhile swinging througn the dance, Sir 
 George Talbot and his partner were conspicuous 
 for their agility, as were Mr. Mompesson and 
 his wife for their formality. Sir George had
 
 214 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 honored Miss Dakin, the constable's daughter, 
 by taking her as his partner; and his guests 
 had found no difficulty in finding comely and 
 desirable companions. 
 
 It was a right joyful dance. The ball once 
 open, the fun waxed hot and the air was full of 
 laughter. The rector withdrew after a while, 
 and so likewise did the more sedate of the vil- 
 lagers and friends; but Ziletto and Miss Talbot 
 continued among the party until it became a 
 moonlight dance, strange shadows seeming to 
 take part in it, the shadows of the elms and the 
 poplars, bats now and then gyrating in a weird 
 flight overhead. Reuben Clegg had, however, 
 taken his mother home. Sir George had left his 
 daughter in charge of a squire of Baslow. 
 
 At the first opportunity, as the twilight faded 
 into the moonlit night, Roubillac had withdrawn 
 his wife, without a word spoken on either side. 
 He took her hand with a grip that was strong 
 and imperative, and she knew he had divined 
 what had passed. It was her misfortune only 
 to be strong and frank and dutiful when she 
 was by his side. She felt safe and happy with 
 him; happy in a subdued, childish way. He 
 was her protector. There was nothing he would 
 not do for her, nothing he could not do, except 
 to free her from the power of Ziletto, the mo- 
 ment that master of hearts chose to put out his 
 strange, unholy power. More than once during 
 the dancing she had felt a desire to rush to her 
 husband for protection; but Ziletto's eyes held 
 her, his touch was a fetter that had magic in it
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 215 
 
 a something she could not resist. There was a 
 music in his voice that had the power to charm 
 away all the world but himself ; it was as if she 
 dreamed a dream of music and flowers, and 
 angel voices and peace. 
 
 "I could not help it, Bernardo — I am sorry, 
 and do repent me," she said, as they passed 
 under the trees into the roadway, where one of 
 Lady Bradshaw's quaint vehicles, which they 
 called chariots at Eyam, was in waiting. It had 
 brought Francesca to the dancing, and Eou- 
 billac had given the postilion a gold piece to 
 keep his horses in the shafts and wait until the 
 signora should be ready to return. Roubillac 
 would not have her fatigued, or run the risk 
 of walking through the dewy night across the 
 meadow and moorland path, which the others 
 found so lovely on this still, sweet night of the 
 early summer. 
 
 "What did happen, Francesca?" 
 
 "Nay, thou knowest," she replied; "and it 
 grieves me to the heart." 
 
 She leaned her head upon his shoulder. 
 
 "Again, dearest, I ask what did happen?" 
 
 "I saw your dear pained face as the words 
 fell from my lips; I know that you heard them. 
 I am a most unhappy woman. Why does God 
 make that which is beautiful to be a snare to 
 our feet?" 
 
 "We will leave this place, Francesca." 
 
 "I care not," she said. 
 
 "Will you go?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, anywhere; what matters where?"
 
 216 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Do you mean that wherever you go you love 
 that man?" 
 
 Roubillac spoke with a pitying accent, ae if 
 he addressed a child — a daughter rather than a 
 wife. 
 
 "Oar Blessed Mary forgive me! I do not 
 know what it is; but, oh, until this night I 
 swear he had gone out of my thoughts. Oh, 
 Bernardo, how you must hate me!" 
 
 "Hate you? My love, my blessing, there is 
 nothing in the world you could do that would 
 make me hate you! My God! I believe if yon- 
 der ruffian were an honest man, kindly, worthy, 
 with a heart and some shred of conscience, and 
 you said it was for your happiness, 1 could give 
 you up to him — if I killed myself afterward. 
 But he is a fiend, a wretch; 'twere to dishonor 
 the beasts of the field to liken him unto one of 
 them. Oh, but I am rightly served, miserable 
 sinner that I am!" 
 
 "How rightly served? How a miserable sin- 
 ner?" said Francesca. "Thou art the noblest 
 and truest man I have ever known, not forget- 
 ting my own father, God rest his soul!'' 
 
 "Come to thy chamber," said Roubillac, when 
 they had reached the Old Hall. "Where is thy 
 woman?" 
 
 "Here, worthy signor," said the devoted ser- 
 vant, who had followed them up the stairway. 
 
 "Be careful of thy mistress; she is fatigued," 
 said Roubillac, addressing the woman. "I will 
 return to the village, and see to the well-being 
 of our compatriots."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 217 
 
 By the time he reached the village, the danc- 
 ing was at an end. The last strains of the music 
 had died away. The booths and stalls were 
 closed. The bats and night owls had the Green 
 all to themselves. A lamp was burning before 
 Roubillac's trophy at Clegg's well. The water 
 was running into the great basin with a soothing 
 sound. The dim light gave to the dressing of 
 the spring the effect of a holy shrine. Roubillac 
 paused for a moment, as if only to sigh. Lights 
 gleamed in many of the cottage windows. Rou- 
 billac found that most of his people had wan- 
 dered homeward. He stood for a while outside 
 the Crown and Anchor, where a group of vil- 
 lagers had congregated. Ziletto had been in- 
 duced to favor a few of the more influential 
 persons of the village with a song. They sat, 
 open-mouthed, like beings in a dream. Orpheus, 
 with his lute, might have been exercising his 
 magic upon them. 
 
 "A godless, impenitent miserable! 1 ' said 
 Father Castelli, coming out of the shadow of 
 the trees close by, and taking Roubillac's arm. 
 "Nay, I know thou art thinking so!" 
 
 "You here, my father!" said Roubillac, as the 
 priest led him away. 
 
 "I came with thine own purpose, my son — to 
 see if all our friends had gone home to their beds, 
 and they have, like the good creatures they are. 
 A more gentle, lovable flock no unworthy priest 
 was ever blest withal." 
 
 "It is a night for meditation," said Roubillac. 
 
 "Come, then, and let us commune with each
 
 218 THE DAGGER AND THE GROSS 
 
 other," replied the priest, "so shall we finish 
 this interesting day worthily. Ah, my son, if 
 these people were only within the pale!" 
 
 It was indeed a night, it would seem, for cogi- 
 tation. Reuben Clegg stood aside, by the old 
 cress, that lie might not be noted by Roubillac 
 and the priest. Clegg had been invited to sup 
 with Sir George, but had declined the proffered 
 hospitality. 
 
 When his mother had said her prayers and 
 retired to rest, Reuben had sallied forth and 
 walked back to the village. He had paused by 
 the Manor House. There were lights in almost 
 every window. He had avoided, as much as 
 possible, being seen by any one; though the 
 constable had noted him on the other side of 
 the road, watching the Crown and Anchor and 
 listening to the singing of the Italian. 
 
 Clegg walked past the church and the Green 
 and back again, as if uncertain of purpose. 
 
 By degrees the village lights disappeared ; and 
 it was evident that at the Manor House they 
 were going to bed. The gardener had, indeed, 
 been requisitioned to lend Sir George's man a 
 hand in assisting the guests to bed. The ladies 
 had retired soon after supper, which had been 
 served at an unusually late hour. The men had 
 sat over their cups until nearly eleven o'clock, 
 and more than one of them was literally under 
 the table. 
 
 It would be at about the time that the last 
 man had staggered to his couch, when Ziletto 
 cautiously opening his chamber window, looked
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 219 
 
 out into the night. A few clouds had beaten up 
 from the west, now and then obscuring the 
 moon. Beneath the window of the Crown and 
 Anchor's best and indeed only guest chamber, 
 was the fringe of a flower garden that straggled 
 into vegetables and ended in a ragged orchard. 
 It was a comparatively short drop from the win- 
 dow to the ground. Any one making use of the 
 window instead of a door was not impeded by an 
 overhanging sill. There was a deep ledge inside. 
 The window was heavily recessed in the wall. 
 Ziletto climbed into the recess; then, dropping 
 his cloak, quietly followed it with an easy facility 
 that betokened practice of the feat. He came to 
 the ground rather heavily, but without any real 
 inconvenience. On retiring to rest, which he 
 had done before all the inn's guests had smoked 
 their last pipes, he had ostentatiously warned 
 them to make no noise, for he was fatigued and 
 hoped for a good night's sleep. They had all 
 wished him pleasant dreams and taken the hint 
 to go home. Mrs. Radford had soon afterward 
 heard Ziletto fasten his door and retire, she and 
 the rest of the house soon following the Italian's 
 example. 
 
 As he stood beneath the window, gathering 
 up his cloak, he smiled to think how tamely the 
 natives had behaved. On such a night as this 
 in Venice, and with the lilt of the dance still in 
 their heels and the sound of the music in their 
 ears, they would have braved the daylight ere 
 they had ceased their revels. 
 
 Ziletto paused for a moment, as if he waited
 
 220 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 fur the moon to show herself and light him on 
 his way. Suddenly Night's Lamp appeared in 
 a wide patch of blue sky, and the Italian, 
 humming one of hi* favorite love songs, passed 
 through the orchard, climbed the low fence, and 
 took the shortest path toward My Lady's Bower. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF "MY LADY'S BOWER" 
 
 As Giovanni Ziletto entered the path that led 
 to Sir George Talbot's little estate, with its gar- 
 dens and meadow, Reuben Clegg passed that 
 way. They were not near enough to recognize 
 each other, but each suspected who the other 
 was. Ziletto sheltered himself beneath an over- 
 hanging rock, that was white in the moonlight 
 but black in shadow. Clegg stood in the middle 
 of the path, some hundred yards away, to see 
 who should emerge into the light. He waited 
 for some few minutes without any result, and then 
 went on his wa} r . Ziletto came forth cautiously 
 from his hiding-place, and climbed the steps that 
 led through the meadow to My Lady's Bower. 
 He stooped low as he came to the gate. That it 
 was only on the latch was the signal of the coast 
 being clear. He passed into the lower garden, 
 looked about him cautiously, and tapped three 
 times at the door. It was immediately opened 
 and he disappeared within the portals, as the 
 moon shone out full on the figure of Clegg, who
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 221 
 
 was walking toward Eyam by the path where 
 he had seen, as he believed, the figure of Ziletto. 
 
 An hour later Mary Talbot drew the casement 
 of My Lady's Bower. She and Ziletto sat for 
 some time, silently looking out upon the night. 
 There was no fear of the lovers being disturbed 
 or seen from that quarter. 
 
 The arbor was not only secluded, but it could 
 not be approached except through the gate that 
 Ziletto locked as he passed into the Talbot do- 
 main. 
 
 Mary's woman, Mrs. Dobbs, kept watch and 
 ward at the house, should Sir George by any 
 chance be stirring. Not that he w T as likely to 
 approach the arbor at any time ; it was Mary's 
 private retreat. Nor did he know that she often 
 went there; and certainly he had no reason to 
 think of her at night except as being in her bed. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mary had taken every precau- 
 tion of secrecj T , and Mrs. Dobbs was entirely 
 devoted to her; so the infatuated girl and her 
 lover — her husband, as she believed him to be, 
 and not without serious reason — had spent many 
 happy hours in this pleasant retreat ; though it 
 must be said that on this night Ziletto had found 
 Mary a good deal disturbed by reason of his 
 marked attentions to Francesca. 
 
 "But, my love," he said, in his caressing 
 manner, "you would not have me wanting in 
 courtesy to my countrywoman?" 
 
 "No, Giovanni, nor to any one else, dear," 
 Mary answered, her head resting upon his shoul- 
 der, his arms about her.
 
 222 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 t< 
 
 ; And I knew her in our beautiful Venice; 
 and they are but boors, as you call them, her 
 husband's comrades at the Old Hall, and Ron 
 billac himself is a sour-faced, jealous, uncom- 
 panionable recluse." 
 
 "And you took pity on her — that is what you 
 would say, Giovanni ; but, dearest, you must take 
 pity upon no one but me. I am easily jealous, 
 and I might hate as well as I love. ' ' 
 
 "Hate!" exclaimed the Italian, and he put her 
 from him to look inquiringly into her eyes, "it 
 is not possible that there is any of the fiery pas- 
 sion of the South in your Northern veins. Ah, 
 it makes me love you the more." And yet he 
 knew all the while that he meant to quit Eyam as 
 soon as he had completed arrangements at that 
 moment afoot, and without a word of farewell. 
 
 "Nay, then I am glad, Giovanni, if 'tis pos- 
 sible I could hate as well as love, since it pleases 
 you; but I could never hate you, Giovanni, 
 whatever might betide, nor could you give me 
 cause, you whose heart is so tender, whose love 
 is so generous; for what have you not given up 
 for me — your own sunny skies and all the life 
 and gayety and luxury that belong to your own 
 beautiful home! And yet, dear, if you would 
 only now let me confess to my father it might 
 be that he would give his consent that I should 
 accompany you thither, and he, too, might jour- 
 ney with lis, who knows? for he is fond of 
 travel." 
 
 "But he is not fond of me, Mary," said the 
 Italian.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 223 
 
 "Oh, but he would be if he knew that I had 
 given you my heart and soul; ay, my heart and 
 soul and body and everything I have to give, 
 and my life if you ask it," said the Northern 
 beauty, with all the passion of that passionate 
 South Giovanni had told her of. 
 
 "Then it shall be so, dearest. We will con- 
 fess ; we will kneel at his feet, we will be the 
 penitents," he said. 
 
 "My own dear husband!" answered the infat- 
 uated girl ; and while he embraced her he was 
 thinking of his tryst with Francesca for the next 
 day, having succeeded in renewing his spell, as 
 he thought, upon Francesca, who had, however, 
 once again confessed her fears to Roubillac, and 
 was at that moment praj-ing for strength of 
 resistance. 
 
 "It will give me, you know not how much 
 happiness, Giovanni," said Mary, "to tell my 
 father all. I find my eyes shrinking from his 
 fond gaze. Sometimes I think he half suspects 
 me. You know what it is to love a father? -No. 
 But a mother?" 
 
 "My mother died when I was born," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "And mine soon after. But for loving care 
 and devotion I have had in her place my old 
 nurse, who has been a mother to me — mother 
 and friend and confidante — trusted, too, by my 
 father; and you have reason to like her, dear, 
 have you not?" 
 
 "She has been good to me," said Ziletto, "and 
 I shall reward her."
 
 224 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "She is rewarded in my happiness," said Mary. 
 "But when shall we tell my father? When shall 
 I once more have the right to take his embrace 
 without trembling?" 
 
 "Before the week is ended, Mary," he an- 
 swered. "And now let us talk of that no more, 
 cara mia, light of my life!" 
 
 Nor did they. Mary was not only content with 
 his reply, but grateful for it; and Ziletto encour- 
 aged her loving embrace with fresh stories of 
 Venice and Florence, where she would be a queen 
 among queens of beauty. 
 
 Presently they were surprised by a gentle tap 
 at the door, the signal agreed upon to denote 
 Mrs. Dobbs, who was at once admitted. 
 
 ' ' ' Tis time you came into the house, my sweet, ' ' 
 said the devoted old woman. "Your father is 
 restless. I don't think he has been abed, for a 
 little while agone there was a light in his cham- 
 ber, and I heard him talking. 'Tis the anniver- 
 sary of your mother's death. Supposing he took 
 it into his head to come hither?" 
 
 "My dear Margaret! Has he ever done so 
 before?" Mary asked. 
 
 "Not for many a long year; but it came to my 
 mind, and I'm full of forebodings to-night. More- 
 over, 'tis best you came in. Oh, sir, be advised, 
 and let her father, the good Sir George, be ac- 
 quainted wi' your secret. 'Tis not good to nurse 
 it; be assured 'tis not." 
 
 "My dear kind dame, he shall know of it ere 
 the week is done. Does that content you?" 
 
 "Ay, sir, it do; and thank you kindly. Ah'
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 225 
 
 if you only knew what a great noble heart my 
 master hath, you'd never fear to trust him." 
 
 "It shall be as you say, dear madame," said 
 Ziletto; and Mary, in token of this concession, 
 looked up into his face and courted an embrace. 
 
 "Hist! hist!" said Mrs. Dobbs. "Close the 
 lattice. I heard a footstep on the gravel." 
 
 Mary closed the casement ; and they stood still 
 to listen. 
 
 " 'Tis nothing," said the old woman, after a 
 while. "Forgive me, I am full of fears to-night. 
 I seem to be a girl again, with Sir George acom- 
 in' and courtin' his wife that was, God rest her ! 
 My wits are wool-gathering." 
 
 "Let us say good-night, dear," said Mary to 
 Ziletto. ' ' Go you before, Margaret, to the house, 
 while I take leave of my husband and lock the 
 lower gate." 
 
 Mrs. Dobbs opened the door cautiously. All 
 was still. The moon was riding high among 
 banks of clouds, giving her light at fitful inter- 
 vals. 
 
 The lovers sat for some little time talking in 
 whispers sweet and low. At last they began to 
 say good-night. Mary opened the door; then 
 closed and locked it, replacing the key in her 
 bosom. It was tied with a piece of ribbon, thai; 
 carried the talisman of her love, a jeweled ring 
 that Ziletto had placed upon her finger during 
 the ceremony which was a cherished secret. On 
 these nights of happy intercourse she had taken 
 it from the ribbon and worn it; not the plain loop 
 of homely Eyam, but the embossed ring of the
 
 226 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Italian artificer, sot with jewels ; the kind of ring, 
 Ziletto told her, with which the fanciful marriage 
 of the Doge of Venice and the Adriatic was con- 
 firmed, an annual ceremony that he promised her 
 she should see ere long with her own eyes in her 
 own state barge. 
 
 "How beautiful the night is!" she said, as she 
 stood, with Ziletto's arms about her, at the gate, 
 where they always paused a few minutes to kiss 
 and say a last good-night. 
 
 "The clouds have withdrawn for a moment 
 that the moon may behold you, cara mia," said 
 Ziletto, as the lamp of night appeared for a mo- 
 ment in a blue rift of the darkness. "The moon 
 looks down upon many happy lovers, but upon 
 none so blessed as I — upon no lady so lovely as 
 thou!" 
 
 "Nay, you are too fond, Giovanni. But you 
 shall not make me vain — except of the love you 
 bear me." 
 
 * ' S-s-sh ! Did you hear nothing? A footstep? ' ' 
 
 "No, dear," she answered, clinging to his arm. 
 "Which way?" 
 
 "Behind us, on the meadow path, I think — 
 coming from the garden." 
 
 "Margaret, perhaps," said Mary. 
 
 As Ziletto spoke, he drew Mary from the gate, 
 which he closed, and hurried along the path, to 
 reach shelter among the various recesses in the 
 glen upon which the meadow abutted. But they 
 had only proceeded a short distance when they 
 were arrested by Clegg, with the demand, ' ' Wb^ 
 goes there?"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 227 
 
 Neither Ziletto nor Mary spoke. 
 
 "N"ay, then, I guess who you be. Surely 'tis 
 for no good you are here this time o' night. Is 
 one of you named Ziletto?" 
 
 It was a false and fickle moon, after all ; on 
 the instant it shone out bright and clear, and 
 Ziletto and Mary Talbot stood revealed. 
 
 "Forgive me, Miss Talbot, but for the moment 
 I will consider that I stand in the place of your 
 father. Command me!" 
 
 "How dare you speak to me in such words?" 
 said Mary. 
 
 " Who commissioned you, sir, to play the spy?" 
 began Ziletto angrily, but was interrupted by 
 Mary, who clung to his arm. 
 
 "For heaven's sake, dearest, be calm. Let 
 there be no quarrel!" 
 
 Then, turning to Clegg, she said, "This can be 
 explained, Mr. Clegg. You do not understand 
 —you—" 
 
 "By my soul!" said Clegg, "but I fear I un- 
 derstand too well." 
 
 Ziletto struggled to get free from Mary, and 
 felt for his dagger. 
 
 "It can all be explained, " said Mary; "though 
 we deny your right to question us." 
 
 "And I assert it, as your father's friend, and 
 as one who respects you, and is jealous of the 
 honor of Eyam. You have an explanation. 
 Whfit is it? An elopement?" 
 
 "Curse you, sir!" exclaimed Ziletto. "Be- 
 gone! You insult the lady." 
 
 "If there is an insult in the case, 'tis not I
 
 228 THE DAGGER AND THE PROSS 
 
 who have offered it. Miss Talbot knows I am 
 not the man to insult her father's daughter. At 
 the same time T am the man to protect her father's 
 honor, if nc 1 be. I venture to ask Miss T.ilbot 
 to permit me to escort her home; and I advise 
 her to explain with speed what this meeting here 
 may mean, at a time of night when her father's 
 house is closed and all his guests are abed ; and, 
 if she need any poor service of mine that shall 
 help her therein, I am at her orders and disposal. " 
 
 "You are a villain!" exclaimed Ziletto, sud- 
 denly freeing himself from Mary, his Italian 
 blood all afire, discretion thrown to the winds. 
 
 A curse upon his lips, he rushed at Clegg, 
 who, warily watching for such a contingency, 
 caught him by his dagger arm and held him, 
 while he addressed him. 
 
 "Be careful, you fool! Yon have compro- 
 mised Sir George Talbot's daughter. Curse you, 
 think of her and her reputation ! Give me your 
 knife, you mountebank!" With which appeal 
 he closed to disarm him. 
 
 It was as if the moon took a malicious part in 
 the business of this unhappy night. 
 
 At the moment of the encounter between Clegg 
 and Ziletto, a gleam of moonlight fell for a sec- 
 ond upon a cloaked figure that glided down the 
 path from the direction of the arbor. Ziletto had 
 not been wrong when he thought he heard foot- 
 steps in the direction of the garden. 
 
 Clegg had possessed himself of Ziletto's dag- 
 ger as the shadowy figure was absorbed by the 
 night. The moon left the entire group in dark-
 
 The dagger and the cross 22& 
 
 ness but for the briefest space of time. As it 
 shone out again Ziletto was about to renew the 
 struggle with Clegg, though held back by Mary- 
 Talbot and discouraged by a warning word or 
 two from the Englishman. 
 
 "For God's sake, listen to me!" said Clegg. 
 "I am Miss Talbot's friend. I—" 
 
 Clegg's last appeal to the manhood of his rival 
 was stopped by a paral} T zing intrusion. A hand 
 seemed to reach out of the darkness and clutch 
 the throat of Ziletto. He uttered an agonizing 
 cry of alarm. Then a third person seemed sud- 
 denly to have joined them. A thudding blow 
 fell upon the Italian ; and then another, the very 
 wind of which chilled Clegg's flaming cheek. A 
 muffled voice uttered some words in a strange 
 tongue. They sounded like an imprecation. 
 Thereupon Ziletto was flung to the earth all of 
 a heap, and the third person, that might have 
 been a materialized shadow for all either Mary 
 or Clegg saw of it, disappeared into the darkness. 
 
 CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 
 "a hand reached out of the darkness" 
 
 And there between them lay the body of Ziletto. 
 
 The moon shone out, in one of its fitful mo- 
 ments, and showed it to them. Mary Talbot 
 flung herself down by it and moaned. Clegg 
 stooped and felt at that part of the still anatomy 
 where the heart should have beaten. There was
 
 230 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 no pulse. He turned the body over, face up 
 ward. The ej~es, glassy, stared stonily up into 
 the night, and the moon went in again behind a 
 bank of clouds. The Italian was dead. Clegg's 
 hands were wet with his blood, though the vic- 
 tim of the vengeful dagger bled inwardly more 
 than outwardly. 
 
 "You had better get up, Miss Talbot," he said. 
 
 She only moaned, in a pitiful way. 
 
 "The poor fellow is dead. Let me carry him 
 away. ' ' 
 
 Mary stole her arms about Ziletto's neck, as if 
 to protest against his removal. 
 
 "It is an awful business, but if there is a spark 
 of life left it were best to carry him to the vil- 
 lage," said Clegg. 
 
 At this, she started and looked at him. Not 
 that he caught any more than a glimpse of her 
 face, for the night was still black, except when 
 the moon shone out at brief intervals, and at 
 this moment it was almost hidden. 
 
 "You said he was dead," she answered, in a 
 voice unbroken by emotion or sob, but in a tone 
 of despair. 
 
 "I think he is," said Clegg, once more stoop- 
 ing to listen for any sign of life. "Yes, he will 
 trouble the world no more; he is dead." 
 
 "It was a cruel thing to kill him," she said, 
 almost in a matter-of-fact way . ' ' I did not know 
 you hated him so." 
 
 "I did not kill him. God forbid!" said Clegg. 
 
 "You said he was a villain! Oh, my God, 
 what has happened? AVhere am I?"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 231 
 
 She rose to her feet. The moon came out. 
 She turned a face to Clegg that was paler than 
 the moon's — a white, stricken face. 
 
 ' ' Calm yourself, Miss Talbot, ' ' said Clegg. ' ' I 
 will carry him to the inn." 
 
 "He was my husband!" she exclaimed. "And 
 you have killed him! Oh, great heaven, what 
 had I done to be so punished? S-s-sh ! I think 
 I must be mad. "Who are you?" 
 
 "Calm yourself," said Clegg again. "S-s-sh! 
 Don't cry. Yes, weep; perhaps it will be good 
 for you." 
 
 She had now burst into a passion of tears. Sob 
 after sob shook her like a palsy, and with it she 
 uttered wild ejaculations. She staggered, as if 
 she would fall. Clegg caught her in his arms. 
 He did not speak, but simply held her so that 
 she should not fall, and her head drooped upon 
 his breast. It seemed as if she had become in- 
 sensible. She had ceased to sob, and a glint of 
 moonlight now showed him her face all wet with 
 tears, but in a deathly repose. 
 
 "My God! what shall I do?" he said to him- 
 self. "Carry her home? Yes." 
 
 She was no light burden even for a strong and 
 powerful man such as Clegg; but what a loving 
 burden, under other circumstances! Even now 
 his heart thrilled as he lifted her into his arms 
 and began to stride out into the footpath. 
 
 The moon shone full upon the way as he climbed 
 the steps that led to My Lady's Bovver. The 
 gate was fastened. He fancied he saw a light 
 between the chinks of the shutters.
 
 232 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Perhaps Margaret Dobbs was up and waiting 
 for her mistress. The thought came to him in" 
 stinctively. He leaned against the gate and kicked 
 at it with his boot. No answer. He kicked again, 
 and listened. No reply. 
 
 "I must go back and round by the road," he 
 said to himself, "and through the forecourt. 
 Dear heart, look up! I begin to fear she is 
 dead!" 
 
 Then he kicked at the gate with a will, and 
 cried out, "Open! For God's sake, open!" 
 
 Thereupon a voice answered, "Who be it?" 
 
 "Your mistress; she has fainted. For God's 
 sake, open at once!" 
 
 Margaret Dobbs, the faithful nurse and confi- 
 dante, unlocked the door. 
 
 "Oh, what be it?" she exclaimed. "What's 
 the matter?" 
 
 ' ' Your mistress is the matter. Have you water 
 within?" 
 
 He forced himself past the old woman, toward 
 the doorway of My Lady's Bower. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said the woman. "Lord help us! 
 What is wrong?" 
 
 By this time he had entered the room and laid 
 his burden down upon a wide couch, among a 
 little world of cushions; and Margaret Dobbs 
 approached her with a beaker of water. 
 
 ' ' Lord in heaven, have mercy upon us ! What 
 is the matter?" she said, looking at Clegg, but 
 all the time sprinkling the white face of her mis- 
 tress with one hand, while she began to undo her 
 bodice with the other.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 233 
 
 "Don't ask me. Wet her lips, wet her lips; 
 nay, give nae the water." 
 
 Clegg took the beaker from the old woman, 
 and dashed the contents into Mary's face. She 
 did not move. 
 
 "Oh, my love, my sweet!" exclaimed Mar- 
 garet Bobbs, pushing back the hair from the 
 white face. Clegg, at the same moment, with 
 what seemed to Margaret a rough indelicate 
 hand, tore open the slackened bodice, breaking 
 its laces and exposing the fair bosom. Then 
 scooping up another supply of water from the 
 great basin that was filled by a trickling foun- 
 tain at the doorway, he dipped his handkerchief 
 into it, and began to beat Mary's neck and face 
 with the wet bandage. 
 
 If it had been necessary to her life that he 
 should be cruel to her, he would have been cruel. 
 Under the smart of the wet whip, the color pres- 
 ently came back to Mary's cheeks, and with a 
 deep sigh her lips parted. 
 
 "Thank God!" Clegg exclaimed ; "she lives!" 
 
 Considering the misery, to which this night 
 was the bitter prologue, it might have been bet- 
 ter had Mary Talbot died ; but Heaven has its 
 own mysterious and beneficent ways. 
 
 How beautiful she was, the village belle, as 
 she gradually came back to life, her hair in 
 golden brown masses about her face, her white 
 bosom rivaling the models and the fancies of all 
 the painters that ever strove to idealize the physi- 
 cal graces of God's masterpiece. 
 
 Clegg, with a trembling hand, placed the
 
 234 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 beaker of water to her lips. She drank, and 
 opened her eyes. 
 
 "Put her to bed!" said Clegg to the old wo- 
 man; "put her to bed. If she thinks she has 
 had a bad dream, let her dream on ; but put her 
 to bed; encourage her to sleep, give her some 
 draught you may know of to help her If she 
 will speak, go on telling her that she only 
 dreams. Good-night! God help us!" 
 
 Mrs. Dobbs had not noticed the blood upon 
 Clegg's hands. It was dry, and might well have 
 been the shadow of the lamp upon them. He 
 turned to take a farewell look at Mary Talbot, 
 as she seemed about to speak, and left the place, 
 retracing his steps through the gate, and, oddly 
 enough, noting the perfume of the white syringa 
 that clustered among the foliage by the arbor ; it 
 was deadly — reminded him of the scent in his 
 father's room, where he lay dead when Reuben 
 was a mere lad. 
 
 The moon went in once more, and left him in 
 comparative darkness. He listened. It might 
 be that some one was stirring. Not a sound. 
 Not a soul was abroad. Not a light could be 
 seen in the distant village. Down the steps from 
 the Bower, and into the stony footpath, and into 
 the little sub-glen of the great defile of Stony 
 Middleton, where he and his mother had watched 
 that strange procession, and once more he was 
 standing by the dead body of Giovanni Ziletto. 
 Then he began to think; and presently, in a 
 strong reflective mood, he sat down by the road- 
 way, a short distance from the fatal spot.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 235 
 
 She had said this man was her husband. He 
 only remembered this among other things now, 
 as if it was a distant memory of some long-dis- 
 tant time. Her husband ! "What did she mean? 
 Did she mean her husband in the sight of God? 
 
 Or had they been secretly married? And who 
 was it that had dealt the fatal blow? She said it 
 was he, Reuben Clegg. At this he rose to his 
 feet, with an exclamation. No, she could not 
 have meant that! She did not know what she 
 said. Nevertheless, who was the man? It must 
 have been a man. The blows were struck with 
 power. Of course it was no woman's hand. As 
 for ghosts, well, there were no such things as 
 ghosts, and spirits did not strike strong blows 
 with a knife and kill a man ! No supernatural 
 agency would have invoked so physically power- 
 ful an ally. Clegg had talked to Mrs. Dobbs of 
 dreaming; had begged her to encourage Mary 
 Talbot in the belief that she had been dreaming. 
 And now it seemed to him as if he might be still 
 lying abed at home and seeing this tragedy in 
 his sleep and the image of Mary with her white 
 bosom and her wondering eyes, fresh-opened like 
 the opaline light of the morning sky. 
 
 As his thoughts ran on in this direction, the 
 day began to dawn. There was a faint line of 
 dim light among the trees, high up on the rocky 
 ridge above him. He watched it with a won- 
 dering gaze. Then there was a twitter of birds. 
 At first he thought the light was the moon ; but 
 it was the first token that the sun was on its way 
 up the Eastern sky. He sat and watched it.
 
 236 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Never once did his eyes seek the body that was 
 lying close by. It was as if some pitiful trick of 
 memory had interposed to give him rest for a 
 space, that his energies might be braced for the 
 trials he had to undergo. Presently, his head 
 drooped against the white rock, and he slept. 
 
 It was only for a few minutes that he had be- 
 come unconscious. He awoke with a start. The 
 light in the trees above was broadening. A 
 blackbird began to sing. It was a cheerful, soul- 
 stirring note, with something of the gush and 
 gurgle of the nightingale, but with none of its 
 sadness. There must have been nightingales in 
 that remote valley at some time, for the black- 
 bird to have learned the trick of its note. 
 
 All at once it seemed as if the bird's song had 
 brought Clegg back to the reality of the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 "No, great God!" he said to himself, starting 
 to his feet, "it is no dream; it is an awful 
 reality!" 
 
 There was the body, lying stiffly in the foot- 
 path. Up above, the morning was breaking. 
 A thrush began to answer the challenge of the 
 blackbird. 
 
 Clegg stooped to pick up the dead Italian. 
 The body was stiffening, but the arms were still 
 limp. Clegg had heard of the difficulties of 
 carrying a dead body. Men who had fought in 
 the wars loved to talk of the grim side of battles. 
 First, he lifted the body in his arms. It was 
 impossible to carry it in that position. Mary 
 Talbot had oeen a much lighter load. She wars
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 237 
 
 limp, and his love for her had made the burden 
 a featherweight. But this Italian, whom he had 
 hated, was no mean weight; so he laid the bod} r 
 down again, and tried other ways of carrying it. 
 At last his grim efforts were successful. He 
 hauled the body over his shoulders, and set out 
 for the village. 
 
 It was daylight when he entered the long 
 street; and strange to say, Dakin, the constable, 
 met him. Dakin had a tooth for mushrooms. 
 He had risen early to gather that dainty fungus, 
 which his wife cooked to perfection. 
 
 "Holy Mother! as them pertinacious Papists 
 have it, what's this!" he exclaimed. "Reuben 
 Clegg! And the Italian. And one of them 
 dead, by all the saints! There'll be no mush- 
 rooms for breakfast this morning, Mrs. Dakin! 
 The Lord save us! Clegg's killed him!" 
 
 He stood in the middle of the road, as if to 
 intercept the man with the body over his shoul- 
 ders. Clegg saw him. 
 
 "Out of the way," said Clegg, gasping with 
 the pressure of his load. 
 
 "Out o' the way," repeated the constable. "I 
 think not." 
 
 "Then lend a hand," said Clegg, "for I'm 
 about done!" And he laid the body on a bank 
 by the road, close to the Everwater, with its 
 flaunting decorations. 
 
 "Who's done this?" said the constable. 
 
 "Gk> you to the Crown and Anchor and get 
 them up, if they be not up already," said Clegg, 
 "and let them prepare his room to receive him."
 
 238 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Na, my lad, I'll not lose sight o' yo', or the 
 mortal body o' the stranger, Giovanni Ziletto." 
 He rolled the Christian name and surname of 
 the Italian upon his Northern tongue, as if he 
 was already giving evidence of the crime and 
 his discovery thereof before the chief magistrate 
 of the district. 
 
 'Then lay hold on him, and help me to the 
 inn," said Clegg. 
 
 "I'll do nowt o' the sort," said the constable; 
 "but it will be my duty to lay hold on yo' for 
 an account o' the manner in which this Gio- 
 vanni Ziletto came by his death." 
 
 "By you'll never lay hold on another if 
 
 you lay a hand on me," said Reuben. "And 
 now lay hold on the body; d'ye hear, lay 
 hold." 
 
 Thus menaced, the constable, setting down the 
 basket that he had intended to fill with mush- 
 rooms, humbly laid hold of the dead man's legs, 
 Reuben lifting his head and shoulders; and so 
 they carried their awful load to the Crown and 
 Anchor. Radford was just opening the door. 
 
 "Why, in the devil's name, what's this!" he 
 sxclaimed. 
 
 "Lead the way to the man's room," said 
 Clegg. 
 
 Radford did so, at the same time calling, 
 "Missus! Here! Wakken, everybody! Wak- 
 ken! There's murder been done ; murder!" 
 
 Radford was quite beside himself at sight of 
 the dead body of Ziletto, and the house was soon 
 alive with servants and guests; for, like every
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 239 
 
 other place in the village, the inn was filled with 
 visitors, who slept anywhere, and most of whom 
 had gone to bed late, carrying thither enough 
 liquor to give them dreams almost as grewsome 
 as the reality of Clegg's experiences. 
 
 When the body had been comfortably laid 
 upon the bed, and Mrs. Radford had begun to 
 discuss the question of laying it out, the con- 
 stable demanded that it should not be disturbed, 
 until the coroner and his jury had seen it ; but 
 in the meantime he called upon Reuben Clegg 
 to give himself up to his custody. They were in 
 the great house-place of the inn when the con- 
 stable addressed Reuben, in presence of the com- 
 pany there assembled ; all of them greatly ex- 
 cited, some in a dazed state of headache, some 
 rubbing their eyes, the women all alert and full 
 of inquiry. 
 
 "I am going home," said Reuben. "I will 
 meet you, Mr. Constable, before the coroner, or 
 where you will, within the hour, if it so please 
 you : but until then I am for home. My mother 
 will be alarmed at my long absence." 
 
 ' ' Nay, my lad, yo're none going home. I make 
 yo' my prisoner. I shanna' wait for the coroner, 
 by the token that he's away on a journey; I 
 shall take thee before Sir George Talbot, soon as 
 he's out o' bed, and charge thee!" 
 
 ' ' Charge me!" said Clegg. ' ' With what?" 
 
 "The murder o' Giovanni Ziletto. Thou wert 
 the last man, I reckon, seen in his company, and 
 I met thee carrying his body." 
 
 "And does that imply that I murdered him?"
 
 240 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "It implies that thou'st gotten to account for 
 his death. ' ' 
 
 "Aye, aye!" said several voices. 
 
 "I will account for it, as far as I know, to 
 the magistrate," said Reuben; "but as he's still 
 abed, I'll go home, until 'tis fitting he be wak- 
 ened to receive me." 
 
 "Nay, thou 'It none go home," said the con- 
 stable, only too ready, like a weak creature, to 
 pay off his little grudges against Clegg, and bold 
 to make arrest of him while men stood by upon 
 whom he could call for assistance if need be. 
 
 "I did not kill the man; I was by when he 
 fell ; and all this and the rest I will relate to Sir 
 George Talbot in due time. But now I am go- 
 ing home." 
 
 "Reuben Clegg, I arrest you in the name of 
 the law!" said the constable, advancing upon 
 him. 
 
 "You lie!" said Clegg. "You do nowt of the 
 sort;" and he swept the constable aside, so that 
 Dakin staggered into the arms of Radford, while 
 Reuben Clegg strode out into the village street 
 without further check or hinderance. 
 
 "Stop him! I charge you, every one, stop 
 him!" gasped the constable. 
 
 Now, although Reuben was not what might 
 be called popular in the village, by reason of his 
 masterful ways and his greater knowledge of 
 things than the best of them in the Hundred, the 
 people respected him ; and at this moment they 
 admired the courage of the man, his willfulness, 
 his power. Not a soul moved to stay him. Sev-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 241 
 
 eral, indeed, laughed at the constable. The vil- 
 lage carpenter said, at the top of his voice, "Well 
 done, Master Clegg; I'n stand by yo' if yo' 
 want any man's help." 
 
 "Stop him, I say, in the name of the law; he 
 is my prisoner!" exclaimed the constable, gather- 
 ing himself together and making for the door. 
 
 "Nay, it isna' our business," said Radford; 
 "and, besides, we know him. He'll none run 
 away ; he'll keep his word; he'll none be missing 
 when yo' want him." 
 
 "Oh, that's how yo' take it!" said the con- 
 stable, freeing himself from the friendly arms 
 that had broken his fall. "We'll see about it. 
 As for yo', John Radford, yo'r license shall be 
 revoked; we'll see about it!" 
 
 "See about it and be hanged!" said Radford, 
 roused by the pompous attitude of the constable. 
 
 "Oh, I may be hanged, may I?" said Dakin, 
 purple with rage, as he turned to leave the house. 
 
 "That's what I said, and I don't go agen my 
 word. Revoke my license, yo' meddlin' fool? 
 My father and his fathers before him have held 
 the Crown and Anchor before your mushroom 
 crew ever entered the High Peak Hundred. 
 Talk to me of my license! I'll break my staff 
 about your wooden skull, yo' penny jack-a- 
 dandy." 
 
 "What is it, John?" exclaimed a feminine 
 voice, as Mrs. Radford appeared on the scene, 
 pushing her way through such of the servants 
 and guests as were not peeping in at the chamber 
 of death above.
 
 242 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "What is it? It's Dakin, the cowardly cur 
 mudgeon; talks to me as if I were nowt in 
 Eyam, as if I hadna' served the king; as if we 
 lived by his leave and 'lowance. By my soul, 
 I'll pound his carcass to a jelly if he were twenty 
 times constable an' he talks to me like that 
 agen!" 
 
 "Here, father, have a mug of ale," said Jenny 
 Radford, coming to the rescue of her mother. 
 "Don't give such folk a thought." 
 
 Radford took the mug, emptied it, gave a 
 great sigh, and, looking round, said, "Jenny 
 knows how to get over her fayther. Jenny, my 
 lass, draw for our friends. ' ' 
 
 Jenny disappeared. 
 
 "And now, lads and lasses, come, bustle! 
 Donnat stand gaping ; get to work. It mun be 
 a'most breakfast time." Then, seeing Jenny, 
 with a mug of ale and a cluster of horn cups, he 
 said, "I'm hot i' the temper, bein' roused; but 
 it's soon ovver. Try the Crown and Anchor's 
 tap, my friends; and you'll find plenty to do to 
 tell everybody what's happened by time break- 
 fast's ready." 
 
 Jenny handed round the ale. Radford went 
 to the door. 
 
 "By gum ! Village's all astir. They'n gotten 
 summat to talk about now, besides Well-dress- 
 ing."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 243 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY 
 
 MOTHER AND SON 
 
 The sun and a quaint old lamp were illuminat- 
 ing Clegg's cottage as he climbed the path that 
 led to the garden gate. His mother had put the 
 light in the window for a beacon. Not that she 
 had ever done so before. It struck Reuben, 
 however, in this way. He remembered that his 
 mother had not wished him to go out again after 
 he had taken her home. She had a restless fore- 
 boding of ill, she said. Superstitious himself 
 about some things, and indeed with his divining- 
 rod the embodiment of a certain gift that ap- 
 peared to many more than human, Reuben was 
 skeptical of other people's omens. He put down 
 his mother's to over-solicitude for him, arising 
 out of her undue affection. 
 
 "You're too fond, mother," he had answered 
 her. "I will be back by time you've said your 
 prayers." 
 
 But the loving mother had said her usual 
 prayer, and many another, before Reuben re 
 turned. "When she heard his footsteps upon the 
 limestone flags that paved the footway along the 
 garden, she knew that "something" had hap- 
 pened, whatever the something might be that 
 she had feared. A woman's instinct is delicate 
 as it is strong; it has strange mental feelers that 
 reach far ; some one has likened them to the an-
 
 244 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 tennse of the butterfly ; but the love of a mother 
 is gifted with a second sight; it has eyes that 
 look into the future. 
 
 "What has happened, Reuben?" she asked, 
 mooting him in the doorway. 
 
 Her face was gray as her hair. She looked up 
 at him with keen eyes. He took her into his 
 great arms, and pressed her convulsively to his 
 heart. Then he led her to his own chair, and 
 took her upon his knee. He spoke no word ; nor, 
 for the time, did she ask another question. She 
 knew that he had suffered some serious hurt in 
 his heart; for his body, she felt, lacked none of 
 its strength. "What she had feared when she 
 asked him not to go out again she knew not ; 
 now she felt a little flutter of gladness that he 
 was at home, whole and strong; and yet she 
 knew that he was suffering. 
 
 "Mother," he said, presently, placing her in 
 her chair, and himself standing by the door and 
 looking out at the risen sun, "I wish I had lis- 
 tened to thee and stayed at home." 
 
 Then he turned and saw the dull blinking of 
 the lamp in the sunshine ; and he strode to the 
 old sideboard and put out the light. 
 
 "Did'st thou put it i' the window for me?" 
 
 "Ay," she said. "Seemed to me it might re- 
 mind thee to come. ' ' 
 
 "I wish I'd seen it," he said. 
 
 When he talked to his mother it was in the 
 local vernacular, the peculiarities of which it is 
 not necessary to do more than suggest in these 
 pages.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS '24 5 
 
 "What's happ'd, Reuben?" 
 
 "Nay, something awful, mother. It's a cruel 
 thing to drive th' sleep from thy gradely eyes wi' 
 such a tale as I've gotten to tell. Sit thee down, 
 mother, and howd my hand; and I'll tell thee." 
 
 He sat down by her side, and she laid her 
 hand in his. 
 
 "I was thinkin' about what had gone on dur- 
 ing th' day, ahout the Italians, and th' Well- 
 dressings that had taken place before they come 
 to Eyam, and Mary Talbot come into my mind, 
 and yonder Ziletto, the fiddlin' and singin' chap, 
 when, somehow, late in the night I found my- 
 self near by the meadow that leads to Talbot's 
 gardens and My Lady's Bower; and lo and be- 
 hold, who should come forth but the Italian and 
 Talbot's daughter, Mary." 
 
 "Lord! Lord!" said Mrs. Clegg. 
 
 "It was a wavering kind of moon, fitful-like, 
 but it shone out upon them; and, by heaven, 
 you might have smitten me dazed with my thin- 
 nest willow-sprig!" 
 
 "Alas! alas!" said Mrs. Clegg. 
 
 "I challenged them. Miss Talbot rebuked 
 me, with scorn. The Italian cur asked who had 
 commissioned me to play the spy. Then, it was 
 as if we both made for each other; not before 
 other words passed, which I needna' repeat. We 
 came to blows, or would have done, but in the 
 thick of it a hand reached out of the darkness 
 and stabbed him to death!" 
 
 "A hand reached out of the darkness," said 
 llegg, E 'an<3 stubbed him to death?"
 
 246 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Yes; that is the long and short of it. I've 
 not told yon all that was said ; but that's what 
 it come to. He drow his knife on me; it was 
 going to be a fight; then, all of a sudden, it 
 seemed as if a third party had joined us; but I 
 only saw a strange hand for a moment, and all 
 was over; the Italian fell dead between me and 
 Mary Talbot." 
 
 "Lord have mere}* on us!" said Mrs. Clegg. 
 "It was not for nowt that my heart was sad all 
 day, my prayers welling up in tears. Oh, my 
 son! My dear Reuben." 
 
 "Mother, don't take on too much about it. Be 
 brave. There's no blame to me — except that I 
 did not love thee enough to listen to thee, when 
 thou saidst 'Reuben, donnat go out again to- 
 night!' " 
 
 "Donnat fear that I'll not be brave, Reu- 
 ben." 
 
 "I mun tell thee all! Mary Talbot fell into 
 a faint. I carried her to th' Lad3^'s Bower; old 
 Mother Dobbs was there, waiting for her. And 
 I forgot to tell thee, Miss Talbot said the dead 
 man was her husband." 
 
 "Her husband !" said Mrs. Clegg. "Her hus- 
 band! And what dost thou think o' that?" 
 
 "Nay, mother, I donnat know what to think. 
 When I'd seen her safe home I carried th' body 
 to th' Crown and Anchor!" 
 
 "Nay, did'st thou? Well, it was th' right 
 thing, I make no doubt; it's more than I could 
 ha' done if I'd been strong enough. He was 
 a cursed thing in thy path, yonder Italian; a
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 247 
 
 snake, a serpent, an unholy life. Maybe 'tis the 
 Lord has struck hirn down!" 
 
 The old woman drew herself up as she spoke 
 and her eyes flashed angrily. She had no ex- 
 pression of sorrow for the murdered man. She 
 hated him. He had come between Reuben and 
 his love; between her and her dearest ambition; 
 it must have been God who had removed him. 
 
 "I donnat think it was a Divine hand that in- 
 terposed in our contest," said Reuben; "nor does 
 old Dakin, the constable." 
 
 "What does that dunderhead think?" asked 
 Mrs. Clegg. 
 
 "I donnat know what he thinks; I only know 
 what he says." 
 
 "And what does he say, Reuben? What does 
 he say?" 
 
 "That I am his prisoner, mother. Nay, I'd 
 have thee face the thing straight; for when I 
 think of it, I've known men get into trouble with 
 far less cause of suspicion against them." 
 
 "What dost thou mean, Reuben? Nay, tell 
 me, lad ; keep nothing back, even if thou killed 
 him thysen!" 
 
 "Mother, what art thou saying? Seems to me 
 you've unknowingly struck me in the very spot 
 where the constable wounded me." 
 
 "Wounded thee!" 
 
 "Not bodily, but mentally — spiritually. Nay, 
 but you have alarmed me, mother!" 
 
 "Reuben, my love, my own, donnat say that! 
 What is it I have said?" 
 
 "Thou saidst,'even if I had killed him myself. ' "
 
 248 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "l 
 
 'I only meant that I could bear the very 
 worst, and that 'twas best to tell me all and 
 have no fear." 
 
 "The constable said I was last in company of 
 th' dead man and must account for his death ; 
 as good as hinted that I should be charged with 
 his murder; and even laid his hand upon me, 
 and said I was his prisoner." 
 
 "And thou?" 
 
 "I said he lied, and came home to thee, 
 mother. ' ' 
 
 "And thou didst right, Reuben. Come and 
 wash thysen, and go to bed, lad, and rest. 
 Eyam will take thy word ; the whole High Peak 
 Hundred will; and thou art Sir George Talbot's 
 partner." 
 
 "I towd them I should be found when I was 
 wanted; and it's my intention, soon as Sir 
 George is up, to go and let him know all that 
 passed — though it troubles me sore to know what 
 I shall say about his daughter." 
 
 "Say, Reuben? Why, the truth; the whole 
 truth, and nowt else. And now come, lad, to 
 thy room, and wash thee and put on a change — 
 when thou gets up, after a rest." 
 
 She had noted the blood upon his hands and 
 the stains upon his jerkin. When he had 
 washed, she poured the water away ; and when 
 he was asleep, she tried to take the stains out of 
 his jerkin. Failing this, she buried it in the 
 garden, and laid another ready to his hand when 
 l>e should awaken.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 249 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 
 
 HOW THE MORNING CAME TO MARY TALBOT 
 
 " Where do you think she be, you meddlin' 
 good-for-nowt?" replied Margaret Dobbs to Da 
 kin's inquiry after Miss Talbot. 
 
 "In bed, I shouldn't wonder; but not at her 
 Aunt Deborah's." 
 
 ""Well, who said she was?" the testy old wo- 
 man answered. 
 
 "They do say that lights ha' been seen i' My 
 Lady's Bower, off and on, o' nights this week or 
 two; and late, mark you." 
 
 "Pity there's no light i' tlry head, Dakin," said 
 Margaret ; ' 'it 'ud be all the better for a ha'p'orth 
 o' sense." 
 
 "You wouldna' be so spiteful if yo' hadna' 
 s um m at to keep i' the dark. But it makes no 
 matter, I'n gotten to do my duty; you seem to 
 be th' only body that's up, and I'll thank yo' to 
 tell Sir George Talbot that th' constable 'ud like 
 to see him." 
 
 "Consarning what, may I ask?" 
 
 "A murder, Mrs. Dobbs." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "Maybe yo'n heard of it?" 
 
 "Icanna' say that I hev; what's it all about?" 
 
 "I'm afear'd it's about your young mistress — 
 God save her!" 
 
 "About my young mistress. What do you 
 mean?"
 
 250 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Jealousy, I should say." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "TV man was killed close by th' Lady's 
 Bower." 
 
 "Whatman?" 
 
 "Ziletto, th' Italian." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 "I don't want to do no hurt to Miss Talbot; if 
 she was at her Aunt Deborah's, it mightna' be 
 a bad thing for her; there's all sorts o' things 
 said ; the wonder to me is who finds things out ; 
 I'd no idea that Ziletto was courtin' Miss Talbot, 
 not th' least, though ivverybody was well aware 
 that Mester Clegg affected th' young lady." 
 
 "Affected! What do you mean?" 
 
 "I mean was drawn to her, and had got her in 
 his thoughts — a stuck-up, proud, owd know-all!" 
 
 "You donnat like Mester Clegg." 
 
 "And nobody else does that I knows on; he's 
 got such a way o' bestin' folks wi' his books and 
 his opinions and th' like; but I'm thinkin' he's 
 done for hissen this time. However, none of us 
 but would do Miss Talbot a good turn; none of 
 us that doesna' worship her father, some of us 
 more than we worships at Church; so I'd like 
 you to tell Miss Talbot what's goin' on." 
 
 ' ' You're a good deal of a fool, Humphrey Da- 
 kin, but yo'n not gotten such a bad heart. It's 
 an awful bad business, this!" 
 
 "Ay, 'tis," said the constable. 
 
 "I'll tell th' young mistress what you say." 
 
 "They mek out i' th' village that she was there 
 at th' time ; how they mek it out I canna' tell,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 251 
 
 except tliafc there was a bunch o' ribbins and a 
 brooch found on th' spot by that ovver-pert 
 daughter o' Radford's — th' one wi' reddish hair, 
 Jane, they ca' her; seems while th' body was be- 
 in' put to bed and the like some o' th' folk started 
 off to see where th' deed was done, and they fol- 
 lowed traces o' blood to th' bit o' glen off Mid • 
 dleton Dale and close by steps leadin' from gate as 
 goes to My Lady's Bower, and there they found 
 ribbins and brooch, which Jane Radford swears 
 belongs to Miss Talbot. She's a minx, that Jane 
 Radford; was ovver fond o' th' Italian hersen', 
 they do say ; but what wi' one thing and another 
 I havena' had time to go to th' spot, and I reckon 
 it was my duty, but I was so stalled wi' Clegg 
 defjin' my authority, and, furthermore, I says 
 to mysen', I'd better speak wi' Mrs. Dobbs if I 
 can, and give her chance to let Miss Talbot be 
 warned that I'm goin' to ask Sir George for a 
 warrant to arrest Reuben Clegg." 
 
 "Very well," said Mrs. Dobbs, who had been 
 doing her best to repress all signs of anxiety or 
 emotion. ' ' I think Sir G eorge be stirring by this ; 
 servants is gettin' up, I can hear them, so I'll just 
 oppen lib'ry shutters and you can wait for Sir 
 George — and thank 3 t o' for what yo'n towd me." 
 
 She led the way to the library, where Dakin, 
 taking upon his knee the great calf-bound law 
 book that Sir George often consulted, proceeded 
 to fumble over the section that was devoted to 
 criminal procedure. 
 
 Mrs. Dobbs went back to Mary's room. The 
 girl was wide awake.
 
 252 THE DAGGER and rttfi ckosS 
 
 "Well, Margaret," she said, "what have you 
 heard?" 
 
 Mrs. Dobbs told her what had passed between 
 her and the constable. 
 
 "I think I will go to my father before he sees 
 Dakin." 
 
 "I'm too dazed to give you advice, my love," 
 said the old woman, the tears starting into her 
 eyes; "better let thy heart speak." 
 
 "Yes, Dobbs, yes," said the girl, rising from 
 her bed, half-dressed. "I will go to him." 
 
 "My dear unhappy one, God be with you. I 
 think it's best." 
 
 "Go, then, dear Dobbs, and tell my father that 
 before he sees the constable I wish to speak with 
 him." 
 
 Then, laying aside the gown she had worn, and 
 stripping off the petticoat in which she had lain 
 down, she began to make a careful toilet. She 
 was very pale, and there were dark rims about 
 her eyes. 
 
 'What did he say?" 
 'Tell her to come to my room, Dobbs,' he 
 said. 'I'll see her before I go down, and my 
 love to her. Some business of the Wells, 
 eh?' " 
 
 "And how did you reply?" 
 
 "Nay, I said nowt; I nigh choked wi' grief, 
 he was that cheerful ; looked so well, and was so 
 sprightly." 
 
 "Yes, dear, it is very sad," said Mary, with 
 a strange calmness. 
 
 "I'm glad you're dressin' up a bit," said the 
 
 ii (I
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 253 
 
 old woman. "I was afeared you might be goin' 
 to him just as you was. Nowt like straightenin' 
 up, it steadies one. I've always felt that i' time 
 o' trouble and death a good wash and puttin' 
 one's things straight and the like — eh, but, my 
 sweetheart, you look the image of your mother. 
 Sir George canna' be angiy with thee, lass, he 
 canna'. He loved yonder mother o' thine be- 
 yond all imagining, I can tell you, and half his 
 lore for thee, my dear, comes from you being 
 your mother's child. God rest her!" 
 
 "You said they carried him to his own room 
 at the Crown and Anchor?" said Mary, busy 
 with her own thoughts and making a supreme 
 effort to realize the promise she had made to 
 herself in her prayers, to bear her burden with 
 patience. 
 
 "Yes, my love, yes." 
 
 "Who were they?" 
 
 "It was the constable that met him, but not 
 till he was nearly there." 
 
 "You mean Reuben Clegg?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "He carried me home?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And then my dead husband! Oh, to think 
 of it ! And all this misery in one short night, 
 with the moon shining and the sun rising as if 
 nothing had happened. Oh, Margaret, is it all 
 true?" 
 
 "Alas, every word of it!" 
 
 "Have I been asleep?" 
 
 "No; but thou hast not been thyself."
 
 254 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "He sleeps, Margaret, but oh, bow sudden! 
 Dost think it might be a trance?" 
 
 "I've made thee a posset that might incline 
 thee to sleep a while; wilt take it? You can go 
 to your father after he's had his breakfast." 
 
 "Ay," she said, with a child-like smile, and 
 sipped her old nurse's decoction ; but it would 
 have needed a much more powerful narcotic than 
 any Dobbs dared prepare to close Mary's eyes to 
 the scenes that haunted her, and would haunt 
 her for many a month to come, sleeping or wak- 
 ing. 
 
 "I must go and see my husband," she said; 
 "a sad sight, Margaret, a sad sight! We will 
 gather all the whitest and sweetest-smelling 
 flowers we have, to lay by his side. He loved 
 flowers and music, and everything that was beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 "He loved thee," said the old woman, as if in 
 confirmation of the girl's eulogium of his taste. 
 
 "And for me, Dobbs dear, weeds, weeds, for 
 evermore : rue, hemlock, the deadly nightshade, 
 poppies, all the saddest things!" 
 
 She brushed her hair and tied it in a knot at 
 the back of her head, drew round her shoulders 
 a scarf or sash, and contemplated herself in her 
 mirror. 
 
 "Poor Mary!" said Dobbs. " I pity thee from 
 my heart; married and widowed so soon, and so 
 secretly — no wedding-bells, no passing-bell, and 
 I've been listening for it all the morning. Won't 
 they let him have a passing-bell, poor Giovanni? 
 — S-s-sh, there it is!"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 255 
 
 And, sure enough, as she spoke the passing- 
 bell was tolling for the dead Ziletto. 
 
 "And now I will go to my father," said the 
 girl, kissing her woman tenderly, her face pal 
 as death, her eyes expressionless. 
 
 "Ah, my poor child!" said the woman. 
 
 "I hope it won't break his heart," the girl re- 
 plied. "Mine is dead with Ziletto. How long 
 may one live without a heart?" 
 
 "Nay, thou art young, lovey; thy heart will 
 mend. Time is a wonderful mender of broken 
 hearts." 
 
 And so she went forth to tell her story to her 
 father. Margaret Dobbs followed her through 
 the doorway, and heard the loud and hearty 
 greeting Sir George gave his daughter ; and then 
 she stole away, awestruck. 
 
 "God save them both!" she prayed, "and grant 
 she may not lose her wits!" 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 
 
 "SUMMON THE JURY, CALL FORTH YOUR WIT- 
 NESSES" 
 
 Humphrey Dakin, as we have seen, was not 
 a man of any remarkable sensibility, but he was 
 shocked when Sir George Talbot entered the li- 
 brary. On the previous day a hale, ruddy, alert, 
 cheerful gentleman, apparently as young at heart 
 as the striplings who greeted him at the Wells and 
 cast furtive glances at his beautiful daughter;
 
 256 tup: dagger and the cross 
 
 and now an old man, his eyes red with care, his 
 body bent, the figure of one whose hair might 
 have turned white in a night, a wreck of his 
 former self. 
 
 "Your pardon, Sir George, you are sick?" said 
 the constable, stepping forward and offering the 
 magistrate the assistance of his arm, which Sir 
 George politely declined. 
 
 "Not sick unto death, Dakin ; but sick, as thou 
 sayest. My daughter has told me all. ' ' 
 
 "I will not pain your graciousness by asking 
 what 'tis you mean when you say all; though 
 'tis not much I know myself, yet 'tis too much." 
 
 "It shall be set forth in evidence, Dakin : the 
 truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth." 
 
 "If it doth in anywise compromise Miss Tal- 
 bot, Sir George, let us take counsel, Sir George. 
 I be but the humble constable ; thou art the f oun • 
 tain of justice, representing the king, as 'twere." 
 
 "We must do our duty, wherever it lead us, 
 Dakin," said Sir George, speaking with a judi- 
 cial calmness that chilled the constable. 
 
 "I'd rather my tongue was blistered with a 
 stroke than say a word against Miss Talbot, or 
 your honor; nor hath it come within my prov- 
 ince, for all I did but guess was that there might 
 ha' been some jealousy between the two men, 
 and it's as sure as death that Clegg had a mortal 
 hatred of the Italian ; and, begging your honor's 
 pardon for trespassing on you, it was his high- 
 and-mighty-ness with me and my office that im- 
 pulsed me to arrest him,"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 257 
 
 "And is he under arrest?" 
 
 "Not de facto, but in law, may it please your 
 honor ; for I did charge him, and he would not 
 surrender, but threatened me that to lay a hand 
 on him would be to be incapacitated from laying 
 a hand on any other as long as I should live ; 
 which in itself, Sir George, was nothing short of 
 an assault and battery, and a resistance — " 
 
 "Be calm, Master Constable, and patient, and 
 keep thy voice under control." 
 
 "An it please you, and I crave your pardon for 
 a loud-spoken knave that I am, little dreaming 
 that your honor has taken on twenty years of 
 age and infirmity since yesterday; pardon me 
 for saying so, but there's not a man in Eyam, or 
 all the Hundred, that does not love your honor; 
 but as for Clegg, he is a pestiferous knave, and — " 
 
 "It ill becomes thee to say so. What charge 
 dost bring against him?" 
 
 "I charge him, that he, being last in company 
 of Giovanni Ziletto, and seen in flagranti de- 
 licto—" 
 
 "Keep to thy English, Dakin." 
 
 "An it please you, so I will. Taken red- 
 handed, as I may say, the body in his posses- 
 sion, known to be at feud with him, and other- 
 wise of a malicious tendency toward him, he is 
 guilty of his murder, and so I charge him!" 
 
 "In the which, Dakin, I fear thou art guilty 
 of importing prejudice into the exercise of thy 
 office; for 'tis well known that there is a quarel 
 between thee and Clegg, and that thou hast 
 threatened him with the payment of old scores
 
 258 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 in thy capacity of constable — a thing that is most 
 reprehensible, Dakin." 
 
 "You are the fountain of justice here in Eyam. 
 I might say the well uu defiled — " 
 
 "Abridge tlry metaphors, Dakin." 
 
 "An it so please you, Sir George, I — " 
 
 "Surely thy duty was plain. A body being 
 discovered under suspicious circumstances, or 
 come of a violent death, without implicating 
 any one in an act of carelessness or revenge or 
 otherwise, thy duty was to notify the coroner 
 and summon a jury — " 
 
 "Your honor knows the coroner is absent, and 
 it seemed to me there was evidence against Clegg 
 sufficient to have him brought before your honor 
 in your magisterial capacity, and the only magis- 
 trate or knight of the shire, the coroner being 
 away, privileged to take evidence on oath in this 
 investigation." 
 
 "But there is the coroner's deputy." 
 
 ' ' Nay ; I have received no intimation of the 
 deputy." 
 
 "I am he," said Sir George; "I undertook the 
 office for my absent friend." 
 
 "All the same," said Dakin, "it would appear 
 to my best reasoning of the matter that I should 
 have a warrant of arrest, and bring Reuben Clegg 
 before your honor forthwith." 
 
 ' ' That may not be, Master Constable. Go thou 
 and summon the jury for the crowner's quest, 
 and let the court be held at the Crown and An- 
 chor." 
 
 "If so please you, Sir George."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 259 
 
 "And summon what witnesses thou mayest 
 deem necessary ; and among them Reuben Clegg 
 and Father Castelli at the Old Hall; and I will 
 bring my daughter to the court." 
 
 "There is neither man, nor woman, nor child 
 in Eyam or the Hundred that — " 
 
 "Nay; I know what thou wouldst say. Get 
 thee gone, Dakin; summon the jury, call thy 
 witnesses, and I will open the inquest at noon." 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 
 "one that loved not wisely, but too well" 
 
 And the decorated Wells were deserted, the 
 Village Green was empty. There was no more 
 feasting. The people were all in the long street, 
 or gathered together around the Crown and An- 
 chor. Symbols of mourning had already taken 
 the place of gay attire, and the royal standard 
 fluttering from the church tower was half-mast 
 high. The visitors who had come to hear the 
 "Word of God given joyfully and the bands play 
 cheerful music, and those who also had looked 
 forward more particularly to the dancing on the 
 Green and the merry-making to follow the high 
 festival of Ascension, found themselves taking 
 part as spectators, some as witnesses, in the 
 tragedy of Ziletto. 
 
 The sun made no recognition of the shadow 
 that had fallen upon the village. It went on 
 glorifying the florally-dressed Wells as if noth-
 
 260 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 ing had happened to mar the occasion. Bui . 
 awoke no response of indifference in the hearts 
 of the people. Even the stranger within the 
 gates shared in the general gloom, since it in- 
 volved the chief inhabitants of the village, Sir 
 George Talbot and his daughter, and snllied the 
 reputation, as it was thought, of Reuben Clegg, 
 whose name was famous not alone in Eyam, but 
 in distant parts of the Hundred, as a man of curi- 
 ous knowledge and a master of divination as it 
 applied to water and minerals. 
 
 Furthermore, the young Italian who lay dead 
 in the Crown and Anchor's best room had given 
 to Eyam one of its finest designs in the Well- 
 dressing, and had been noted by many for his 
 remarkable and fine appearance. 
 
 The calm happiness of the previous morning, 
 the religious mood of the crowd listening to the 
 Reverend George Mompesson's inspired words, 
 both at the "Wells and in the Church, and the 
 joyousness of the night with its dance and song, 
 made the gloom of this next day all the more 
 impressive. 
 
 Mr. Constable Dakin had brought his jurymen 
 together. Sir George Talbot, in his capacity of 
 deputy-coroner, had formally opened the inquest 
 in the general room of the Crown and Anchor. 
 No lawyer watched the case for any of the parties 
 concerned. Witnesses and spectators, seated and 
 standing, filled the room. The windows were 
 open upon what might be called the forecourt of 
 the inn — the space in which it stood back from 
 the road. Those who could not squeeze into the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 261 
 
 room assembled about the windows and door of 
 the inn, or occupied the passageways and thronged 
 the garden at the back, beneath the window 
 whence Ziletto had been in the habit of letting 
 himself out on his visits to My Lady's Bower. 
 
 The jmymen sat around a long table, at the 
 head of which Sir George had been provided with 
 his own chair, brought down from the Manor 
 House library by the constable, who stood near 
 at hand. Sir George's clerk, who acted for him 
 in magisterial cases, sat on his left hand. On 
 his right was his daughter Mary. Sir George's 
 right hand was laid affectionately upon her left, 
 and every heart was touched at the sadness of 
 the picture. They all noticed the worn look in 
 Sir George's face, the wrinkles that seemed to 
 have come in a night, the humble bend of the 
 head, so marked now in one of his pride and 
 authority. 
 
 Mary Talbot, her hat hung by a ribbon upon 
 the arm of her father's chair, her hair partly 
 bound to her head and partly falling in a heavy 
 tress of golden brown, her white neck half-con- 
 cealed by a silken scarf, her face almost more 
 beautiful for its pallor that gave refinement of 
 color to its youthfulness, might have been sitting 
 in an empty room for all the consciousness she 
 betraj-ed of the general presence of the village. 
 
 Reuben Clegg and his mother had been pro- 
 vided with seats near the further end of the 
 table. Mrs. Clegg, in her Quaker-like gown 
 and hood of gray, looked upon the assembly with 
 a firm sense of her son's innocence and safety.
 
 262 THE DAGGER AND THE 0ROS3 
 
 She glanced at him now and then, and from him 
 to the crowd, as if in dumb appeal to her neigh- 
 bors to say whether any man so favored by Nat- 
 ure, so upright and fearless of countenance, could 
 be guilty of the meanness of stabbing a man in 
 the dark ; for it was generally known that the 
 constable had openly charged him with the mur- 
 der of the Italian. Clegg looked on with an air 
 of unconcern, except when his eyes strayed to- 
 ward Mary Talbot, and then, those who watched 
 him could not fail to observe that he was deeply 
 moved, and only with much effort could repress 
 his emotion. 
 
 Great curiosity was excited by the presence 
 of the Papist priest, Father Castelli, the Signor 
 Roubillac, and other Italians from the Old Hall, 
 sitting in close proximity with the Reverend 
 George Mompesson and Mrs. Mompesson, the 
 inhibited clergyman, Mr. Stanley, and the Sig- 
 norina Fraucesca Roubillac, who had overruled 
 her husband's desire that she should not be pres- 
 ent. She came in a gown and hood of rich pur- 
 ple, her face half concealed at first, but during 
 the inquiry wholly uncovered. Rarely did her 
 dark eyes wonder from the face of the woman 
 whom Ziletto had endeavored to make her look 
 upon as a rival. 
 
 The preliminary formalities of the quest hav- 
 ing been fully observed, Sir George presently 
 opened the proceedings with a few remarks of 
 deep pain and regret that the Festival of the 
 Wells should have so melancholy an ending as 
 that which had brought them together, neigh-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 263 
 
 bors, friends and guests, to inquire into the death 
 of Giovanni Ziletto, who, from coming among 
 them an entire stranger, had won the respect of 
 the village and the Hundred, and had so ingrati- 
 ated himself with the young lady by his side as 
 to win her for his wife, her love for him over com- 
 ing her duty to her father, by a private marriage 
 in an alien Church ; which bad ended, as most 
 trespasses on parental authority ended, in sadness 
 and sorrow. He said he had thought it wise to 
 mention these matters at the outset, in order that 
 this inquiry might be free and open and without 
 restraint ; their one object being to discover, if 
 possible, the truth in respect of the death of the 
 deceased, whose mortal remains they had viewed, 
 and who had come to an untimely and violent end. 
 Mary Talbot, whom they all knew and, he believed, 
 respected, had come there voluntarily, of her 
 own accord, to give her evidence ; and although, in 
 the ordinary course, he would think it his duty 
 to warn her, and also Reuben Clegg, that, as 
 being present at the time of the death of the de- 
 ceased, they should remember that grave respon- 
 sibility rested upon those last seen or heard of in 
 the company of one about whose violent taking- 
 off there was a question, he had resolved to let 
 this inquiry, as the law intended in such cases, 
 be enlarged to its fullest extent, informal as to 
 the discipline of evidence in a criminal trial, and 
 therefore permitting every witness, summoned 
 or otherwise, to remain and take part in the in- 
 vestigation, which was to discover how and by 
 what means Giovanni Ziletto came by his death.
 
 264 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 At the same time, it should be remembered, as 
 the constable had desired to impress upon him, 
 that, in case the jury should find that in their 
 unanimous opinion the guilt of the man's death 
 should lie at the door of any known person or 
 persons, they had the power to commit the said 
 person or persons to take their trials for the same 
 at the Assizes next ensuing, with or without 
 further investigation before the magistracy. 
 
 Sir George's words fell on eager ears, and his 
 references to his daughter brought the tears to 
 many eyes. Francesca Roubillac little under- 
 stood their purport, but she wept with the rest ; 
 and it was with consternation that the villagers 
 listened to the Deputy-Coroner's closing words, 
 that were briefly repeated by those nearest the 
 window to those without, and went buzzing 
 through the crowded street. Father Castelli 
 whispered to Roubillac at the reference to Mary 
 Talbot's secret marriage, a piece of information 
 that came as a startling surprise to everybody. 
 Something like a smile of satisfaction for a mo- 
 ment illuminated the ascetic face of Mrs. Mom- 
 pesson, who, in an interview with Mrs. Dobbs at 
 the Manor House, had heard somewhat vaguely 
 of the relationship between Mary and Ziletto, 
 Mr. Mompesson having brought her information 
 of lights having been seen at late hours beneath 
 the shutters of My Lady's Bower. Mrs. Mom- 
 pesson found her faith in Mary at least partially 
 indorsed by this reference to a secret marriage. 
 Roubillac spoke occasionally to his wife, who 
 turned to him now and then to ask a question ;
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 265 
 
 always, however, with reference to Mary, whom 
 she observed throughout with an air of solicitude 
 and affection. Roubillac was, perhaps, the most 
 self-possessed person in the room. He moved 
 without the smallest appearance of restraint, 
 spoke unaffectedly to his wife, watched the pro- 
 ceedings with deep interest, but with the affected 
 interest of a mere looker-on. 
 
 The constable was the first witness called. 
 He told the jury how he met Clegg carrying the 
 dead bodj^ of Ziletto, and the manner in which 
 Clegg had treated him ; how he had assisted to 
 carry the body into the Crown and Anchor, with 
 the aid of Radford. Vicars, who had been elected 
 foreman of the jury, asked the constable if he had 
 knowledge of any quarrel between the deceased 
 and Reuben Clegg ; and the constable proceeded 
 to relate various circumstances that had come 
 under his notice, tending to show that there was 
 animosity toward Ziletto on the part of Clegg. 
 
 "Sir George," said Reuben Clegg, slowly ris- 
 ing to his feet, "I would like to say a word; it 
 will save time, and perhaps some tying to boot." 
 
 "I would advise that there should be no inter- 
 ruption of the ordinary course of evidence, Mas- 
 ter Clegg," Sir George replied. "Your oppor- 
 tunity will come in due course." 
 
 "Very well," said Clegg, sitting down again 
 by his mother, who laid her arm upon his as he 
 resumed his seat. 
 
 The incident started a hum of conversation for 
 a moment, and the news that Clegg had called 
 the constable a liar went forth to the outer crowd,
 
 2fi6 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 and was elaborated, as it sped, into something- 
 like a quarrel in the court. During the after- 
 noon the village that was outside the Crown and 
 Anchor obtained still more curiously perverted 
 accounts of the investigation ; the close of which, 
 however, came upon them with all the force of a 
 calamity. 
 
 Other witnesses having been examined in con- 
 nection with the discovery of the body of Ziletto, 
 the undoubted cause of death, the finding of a 
 brooch and bunch of ribbons by Jane Radford at 
 the scene of the murder, Sir George Talbot, the 
 deputy coroner, rose, and once more stating that 
 his daughter came there of her own desire, took 
 the Testament from his clerk, and tendered to 
 her the oath himself, while every heart in the 
 assembly almost stood still — that she, Mary Tal- 
 bot, "would speak the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth, touching the death of Gio- 
 vanni Ziletto, so help her God!" 
 
 She had risen, and faced her father as he 
 spoke. Taking the book into her hands, she 
 bent her head over the sacred volume and 
 kissed it. 
 
 "Tell the jury and the court what you know 
 of the man, Giovanni Ziletto, and, so far as jowr 
 knowledge goes, how he came by his death," 
 said Sir George, in a voice that lacked the firm 
 judicial tones he desired and the judicial calm 
 he hoped to assume. 
 
 Mompesson, who knew him well, could detect 
 the suppressed emotion of the agonized father 
 struggling between love and duty, and letting
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 267 
 
 duty, according to his severe lights, get the bet- 
 ter of him. 
 
 Mary Talbot told the story as we know it. She 
 spoke as if her evidence related to the experiences 
 of some dear and suffering friend, pitying her- 
 self with, now and then, the tribute of tears. 
 When she related how she had consented to a 
 secret marriage, it was plain to the simplest that 
 she was careful to take all the blame upon her- 
 self, and no one could for a moment doubt the 
 truth of her account of the ceremony in the little 
 chapel of the Old Hall. 
 
 "Will 3'ou stand up, Father Castelli, if it so 
 please you?" said Sir George, his daughter paus- 
 ing for a moment as if to collect her faculties. 
 
 The reverend father rose, and bowed to Sir 
 George. 
 
 "Is that the reverend father who married you 
 in the chapel of the Old Hall to Giovanni 
 Ziletto?" 
 
 "If he is Father Castelli, yes," she replied. 
 
 "May I ask her a question, Sir George? It is 
 painful, but belongs to the investigation of the 
 truth." 
 
 "Ask her what you wish, sir," said Sir 
 George. 
 
 "It was twilight in the chapel, j T ou said, Miss 
 Talbot ; did you see the face of the priest who 
 married you?" 
 
 "But dimly, reverend sir," she replied. 
 
 "I do not ask you to pledge an oath to God, 
 but are you quite sure it was I who laid hands 
 upon you and blessed you?'"
 
 268 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Giovanni told me so." 
 
 "I will not press you further, my poor child. 
 You thought it was I, and he told you so — he, 
 Ziletto?" 
 
 "Yes," she said, and leaned for a moment 
 against her father's chair, as the priest sat down 
 and began to speak in whispers to Roubillac and 
 other Italians sitting near. 
 
 "Have courage, my child," said Sir George; 
 the girl sighed so, as she looked round the court 
 and seemed for the first time to realize her 
 position. 
 
 Then, with such delicate reservation as the 
 pure soul of the woman prompted, she related 
 how they had walked through the meadows and 
 over the moors and across the Dale to My Lady's 
 Bower, where Margaret Dobhs, her dear faithful 
 woman, had received them; and how on other 
 nights she had stolen thither to meet her hus- 
 band, who had soon intended to acquaint her 
 father with their true position, and, if he should 
 forgive them, as she was sure he would, they 
 could be publicly married in her own church and 
 by her own clergyman; and how bitterly she had 
 repented of her disobedience to her father, but 
 how hopefully she had looked forward to his for- 
 giveness for being married secretly and accord- 
 ing to the Romish faith; but never once did she 
 blame Ziletto, never once did she refer to the 
 scene in which he Had heartlessly mentioned 
 his speedy return to Italy, nor had she even 
 hinted at any reason for jealousy of him. It 
 was the statement of a self-sacrificing woman,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 269 
 
 who is paralleled in our own day by the com- 
 monest type of the East End of London, who 
 comes into court bruised and battered, and vows 
 her man was not to blame, and that when he is 
 sober he is the kindest and best of husbands. 
 Mary Talbot loved Ziletto as only women can 
 love ; but she did not deceive the women present, 
 nor man}' of the men, who saw in Ziletto, even 
 under the protection of a secret marriage, noth- 
 ing less than a vile seducer. 
 
 This, however, did not shut their eyes to what 
 they considered duty. He had been ruthlessly 
 murdered, and it was to the honor and credit of 
 Eyam that the crime should be cleared up, and 
 the criminal, whoever he might be, punished 
 according to law. There have, surely, been 
 known instances of this virtuous regard for 
 duty leading the best-intentioned astray in their 
 judgment; and Reuben Clegg stood within 
 this danger. 
 
 The hush in court was painful, the silence only 
 disturbed b}' the breathing of the crowd, as 
 Mary Talbot narrated the incidents of the mur- 
 der, prefaced, as her story was, by another ref 
 erence to Ziletto's intention to proclaim their 
 marriage. She had said "Good-night" to her 
 "lord," as she every now and then called him, 
 and he would have her go a few steps forward 
 to see the beauty of the moonlight. It was a 
 moon that disappeared frequently. They were 
 surprised by the sudden challenge of Reuben 
 Clegg. She recalled all that transpired with 
 great vividness; how she rebuked Clegg; how
 
 270 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Ziletto rushed forward to resent the insult Clegg 
 seemed to offer him; how she thought Clegg 
 seized Ziletto, who had drawn his knife upon 
 him ; and how, as she stepped forward to inter- 
 pose, a hand came between them — a hand, as it 
 seemed to her, out of the darkness, and struck 
 Ziletto. At the same moment it seemed as if a 
 voice spoke in a deep whisper; and then Ziletto 
 fell with a groan, and she and Clegg were alone 
 with the dead. 
 
 The woman appeared to see the scene as she 
 described it, and when she spoke of being alone 
 with the dead, she covered her face with her 
 hands and leaned against her father's chair. 
 And Francesca Roubillac, with a sudden im- 
 pulse, rose, pushed her way to her side, took her 
 into her arms, and, her eyes full of tears, said in 
 Italian: "Dear love, my heart bleeds for you; 
 let me be your sister." 
 
 Strong men sobbed, in sympathy with the two 
 women and with Sir George. Reuben Clegg 
 turned his head away, and spoke to his mother ; 
 and Roubillac sat motionless, watching his wife. 
 
 Presently Sir George rose, and said he believed 
 that was the conclusion of Miss Talbot's evidence, 
 unless any one desired to question her. There 
 was no response ; but the Italian woman turned 
 to Sir George and addressed him in Italian. 
 
 Sir George looked toward Roubillac for an 
 explanation. 
 
 "My wife, sir," the Italian said, with perfect 
 calmness, "desires that she may be permitted to 
 have the honor and comfortable satisfaction to
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS .271 
 
 accompany the signora to her home, and attend 
 upon her as a sister." 
 
 "What think you, may we now dispense with 
 Mary Talbot's further attendance?" said Sir 
 George, addressing the jury; who, in one voice, 
 as it were, said, "Yes, Sir George; and God be 
 with her!" 
 
 "Mary, my love," said Sir George, "would 
 you like this lady to go home with you?" 
 
 "Yes, dear," the girl replied. 
 
 Francesca, without interpretation, understood 
 both question and answer; and at once placing 
 her arm round the girl, proceeded to lead her 
 forth, the crowd making way for them with 
 many expressions of sympathy. 
 
 Thus one of the most touching scenes of the 
 inquest was brought to an end. 
 
 So soon as the court had settled down again, 
 and the constable called "Silence!" the Rev. 
 Father Castelli rose to say that he had been sum- 
 moned by the constable, he hardly knew why, 
 except as a countryman of the deceased; but 
 after the evidence of the beautiful and unhappy 
 daughter of their much-respected chief, Sir 
 George Talbot, he had come to the conclusion 
 that it was to speak to the question of the secret 
 marriage ; and it behooved him to declare, in the 
 interest of truth, and the good repute of his 
 Church among them — for they had been most 
 tolerant and kind in their regard for what had 
 been called an alien faith, of which he was a 
 humble servant — it became him as a priest, and 
 he might say for the time being a citizen, to
 
 272 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 proclaim that he had not married this young 
 lad}* to the man, Ziletto; nor, indeed, had he cel- 
 ebrated any sacrament, except in the course of 
 duty among his own flock, and not once among 
 them the ceremony of marriage. 
 
 Sir George and the jury were considerably 
 taken aback at this declaration; as was also 
 Reuben Clegg, for the secret marriage had been 
 a comfort to him. He had hated himself above 
 all things for doubting the honor of Mary Talbot. 
 
 "Are you the only priest at the Old Hall?" 
 asked Sir George. 
 
 "Yes, Sir George, there is no other." 
 
 ' ' Would it be possible that one of your fellow 
 countrymen could have taken upon himself your 
 holy office, and performed the ceremony?" 
 
 "It would be sacrilege, Sir George." 
 
 "Yes; but it might occur?" 
 
 "It would be most improbable, with all due 
 respect, Sir George." 
 
 "Improbable, but possible?" persisted Sir 
 George. 
 
 "I should say, knowing my people, not pos- 
 sible, Sir George." 
 
 "But, reverend sir, I would have sworn on my 
 life that it would not have been possible for any 
 one to have persuaded my daughter to step aside 
 from the path in which she knew I would desire 
 her to walk— and is there a man among your 
 Italians who is under stronger duty of love and 
 obedience than a daughter to a devoted father?" 
 
 "You touch my heart, Sir George," said the 
 priest, "but there is a Higher Power and a
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 273 
 
 greater influence than the earthly love of a 
 father." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose there is: I had not thought of 
 it. Then, it comes to this conclusion, Father 
 Castelli; it would be possible for one of your 
 flock to masquerade as a priest to the undoing of 
 a virtuous and loving girl, but in so doing he 
 would be running his soul into damnation?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir George, most assuredly he would." 
 
 "Then, Sir Priest," said Sir George, rising to 
 his full height, "may the soul of the coward 
 who did this thing be damned to all eternity!" 
 
 "Amen — ten thousand times, Amen!" said 
 Reuben Clegg; and every one rose to his feet, 
 and there was a great commotion. 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 
 
 THE CONDEMNATION OF REUBEN CLEGG 
 
 Silence having been once more restored, the 
 inquiry was continued. Though the constable 
 was an ignorant man, hatred of Clegg had con- 
 siderably sharpened his wit. He had sufficient 
 legal acumen to know that, given a strong dis- 
 closure of "malice prepense" against Clegg, the 
 chances were strongly in favor of his committal. 
 So Dakin, in marshaling the evidence before the 
 court, managed to emphasize those incidents that 
 proved Clegg to be an open enemy of Ziletto. 
 Moreover, he endeavored to set up a prejudice 
 against Clegg as a skeptic in religion and a foe
 
 274 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 to law and order, posing, himself, as the repre^ 
 sentative of the latter by virtue of his office. 
 
 Clegg writhed under this covert attack, which 
 was too insidious for full appreciation by the 
 villagers. Sir George, however, noted it, and 
 Clegg observed how frequently the deputy-cor- 
 oner strove to give a better complexion to cir- 
 cumstances that seemed to tell against Clegg 
 than the constable contrived to get down upon 
 the depositions which Sir George's clerk was 
 carefully putting into black and white. 
 
 "You'n heard the prisoner," began Dakin, 
 taking an opportunity to put a cross-examining 
 question to Radford. 
 
 4 ' Prisoner ! ' ' said Sir George. ' ' What do you 
 mean, Dakin? What prisoner? Of whom are 
 you speaking?" 
 
 "I humbly ask your pardon," said the con- 
 stable. "I should have said the witness. It was 
 but a slip o' the tongue." 
 
 "That's nothing new i' the constable," said 
 Clegg. "If every slip b' the tongue he made 
 shot his heels into the air, he'd 'a' broken his 
 back ere this!" 
 
 Jury and spectators laughed heartily at Clegg's 
 sally, but the clerk looking up from his papers, 
 responded with "Silence, silence!" 
 
 "If thou slips through the hangman's noose 
 before th's done, it'll be a rare piece o' luck for 
 thee, I'm thinkin'," said the constable, purple 
 with anger. 
 
 "Dakin! Dakin! how dare you offer such a 
 remark!" exclaimed Sir George.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 275 
 
 <<■ 
 
 'I humbly ask your pardon, Sir George; I 
 was provoked, ' ' Dakin replied, at once realizing 
 the mistake he had made, not so much as con- 
 cerned the dignity of his office as the bias he had 
 exhibited against Clegg. 
 
 "It's true I have heard Clegg say 'Curse the 
 Italians!' and it's true I'n heard him jeer at con- 
 stable; but he isna' the only man i' Eyam that's 
 jeered at owd '"Wait-a-bait,' " said Radford. 
 
 "That will do, Radford," answered the con- 
 stable, looking at him with a superior air, amid 
 a general titter. 
 
 "Nay, it winna do; nowt o't sort," said Rad- 
 ford. "You ax me a question, I'n a right to 
 reply ; and if I die for it I will say thou'rt a 
 meddlesome curmudgeon." 
 
 "Stand down, Radford," said Sir George. "I 
 am most willing that every man shall have his 
 due license in cross-examination by the constable ; 
 but such remarks as your's can only end in a 
 brawl, and an injustice to the peaceful reputation 
 of Eyam." 
 
 "I thank you, Sir George. It seems to me 
 that there's a sort of dead-set against Master 
 Clegg; and in your fairness, Sir George, as he's 
 your friend, as one may say, you donnat do him 
 justice." 
 
 "Stand down, Radford!" 
 
 "Yes, Sir George," said Radford, resuming 
 his seat, amid a murmur of applause. 
 
 "Nay," said Clegg, rising, "I want no more 
 than is fair and square, so far as I'm concerned; 
 and if the constable has his knife into me, it's
 
 276 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 only natural, I suppose, seeing that I've had 
 him often on the hip." 
 
 "I wish to observe," said the constable, inter 
 rupting Clegg, "that I never said a word about 
 any knife." 
 
 "Nor has Clegg," said Sir George, "except in 
 the way of metaphor." 
 
 "I humbly thank you, Sir George. I donnat 
 know what fine meaning he may give to this" 
 (flinging down a heavy weapon upon the table), 
 "but in Eyam we call it a knife, and I found it 
 an hour or two back at Clegg's cottage; and, 
 moreover, buried i' the garden, this jerkin. ' ' (He 
 dragged from beneath the table the jerkin Mrs. 
 Clegg had hidden on her impulse of fear the night 
 before.) "It's a good deal saturated wi' blood." 
 
 If the constable had timed the moment for 
 producing these incriminating, if dumb, wit- 
 nesses, he could not have created a more pro- 
 found sensation. Sir George leaned back in his 
 chair and wiped the perspiration from his face. 
 The only man in court who was not greatly 
 moved was Clegg himself. 
 
 "Sir George," he said, "it is true these things 
 belong to me, but — " 
 
 "I would advise you to wait, Clegg, until the 
 constable has finished. His action is most ir- 
 regular at this point of the proceedings, but he 
 has possibly been moved to it by our own inter- 
 ruptions." (Then turning to his clerk.) "Per- 
 haps it had been better that we had observed a 
 more strict regard to the form and ceremony of 
 the quest."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 277 
 
 "I have taken down sworn testimony, Sir 
 George." 
 
 "Very well. If you think it wise to explain, 
 Master Clegg, or justify these exhibits against 
 you, I will hear you — " 
 
 "Pardon me," said Vicars, the foreman; "Mrs. 
 Clegg appears to be taken sick." 
 
 Clegg turned at once to his mother, who had 
 fallen forward in her chair. He raised her up. 
 
 "What is it, mother?" 
 
 "Take me into the air, Reuben." 
 
 An opening was at once made by the crowd, 
 and Reuben, lifting his mother into his arms, 
 carried her out. As she lay with her head upon 
 his shoulder she whispered, "God forgive me, 
 Reuben, I was afeared, and I buried thy blood- 
 stained jerkin; I didna' remember thou hadst 
 carried the man all wet to the inn." 
 
 "Dear mother, it's no matter; thou didst it 
 for the best." 
 
 "Reuben, God has forsaken us," she replied. 
 "Thou'rt lost, lad, thou'rt lost! Speed thee 
 away, now. There's a horse yonder, i' Rad- 
 ford's stables. Speed thee away, lad ! God has 
 turned from us. He no longer hears thy moth- 
 er's prayers. I'n lost all faith, this minute. 
 Get thee gone, lad ; fly ! I know thou'rt inno- 
 cent; but how often have they led the lamb to 
 the slaughter — fly, I tell thee, fly!" 
 
 "Nay, mother, that may not be," said Reuben; 
 ''it would look like guilt. Come back into th' 
 court, and if the truth doesna' prevail there's no 
 more to be said. Perhaps thy God is only
 
 278 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 trying thy faith: nay, I wouklna' give Him 
 up." 
 
 "Oh, Reuben, Reuben, I have not deserved to 
 be deserted of God! I canna' tax mysen' wi' 
 an ungrateful thing, wi' a sinful wish; but when 
 I saw the blood upon thy jerkin I never thowt 
 me o' the innocence of it, seeing as thou carried 
 him to the inn." 
 
 "Never thee mind, mother; come back into 
 the court, and we'll see it out together. There's 
 not a man or woman there who does not honor 
 thee." 
 
 At the doorway and in the passage to the 
 court-room a clear way was made to Mrs. 
 Clegg's place at the table. Every one moved 
 aside in silence and in awe ; for it had become 
 known, while Reuben was talking to his mother, 
 that the constable had made a formal objection 
 to Clegg leaving the place. In spite of Sir 
 George's disapproval, Dakin had asserted that 
 he considered Clegg his prisoner, whatever might 
 be the verdict of the jury. 
 
 "Before we proceed further," said Sir George, 
 addressing Clegg with undisguised emotion, "I 
 must inform you that you are formally charged 
 with the murder of the man Ziletto. Under- 
 stand, it is not the charge of this court, which is 
 a court of inqui^ — not a judicial bench, but a 
 crowner's quest. The constable, as I have ex- 
 plained to him, has taken a most unusual course, 
 and one that cannot fail to prejudice his position 
 and discount his evidence." 
 
 "My blood be upon my own head," said the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 270 
 
 constable, in a curious and desperate way; "but 
 duty is duty." 
 
 "And discretion is discretion; and discipline 
 of temper is not a qualification to be despised in 
 a public officer," said Sir George. 
 "Who is my accuser?" asked Clegg. 
 
 "Constable Dakin conceives it to be his duty 
 to let this court of investigation into the cause of 
 the death of Giovanni Ziletto understand that he 
 charges you with the man's murder; he is justi- 
 fied, he says, by information in his possession 
 and by these silent witnesses — the jerkin that he 
 swears you wore last night, and the knife with 
 bloodstains upon it, the jerkin buried in your 
 garden, the knife hidden away in a cupboard. I 
 am bound to tell you, under the circumstances, 
 that the constable is within his right to consider 
 you under arrest ; but at the same time you are 
 not to understand that you are necessarily on 
 your trial before this jury. Your position is, to 
 all of us, I feel sure, one which commands our 
 sympathy and regret ; to me it is one of great 
 pain." 
 
 A murmur of sympathy stirred the court, fol- 
 lowed by a dead silence. 
 
 Clegg, holding his mother's trembling hand, 
 said: "I am as innocent of the death of the 
 Italian, Ziletto, as any man present can be. The 
 evidence given by Miss Talbot was true, every 
 word of it. Have you gotten it down in your 
 book, Master Clerk?" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said the clerk. 
 
 "Then I'll be content to say it is true, and
 
 280 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 that is my account of the affair. As to my bating 
 the Italian, I acknowledge it." 
 
 "Master Clegg— friend, let me say," inter- 
 rupted Sir George, "I have to warn you that 
 everything you say may be used against 3 T ou on 
 your trial, should it be your misfortune to be 
 committed by the jury now assembled or by- a 
 magisterial court." 
 
 "Thank you, Sir George; then I will speak 
 more slowly, that the clerk may not miss any- 
 thing I have to say — but say it I will. So I will 
 ask you to offer me no more warnings, and at 
 the same time I will request this man you call 
 constable to stop glaring at me, lest I smite him 
 where he stands." 
 
 A loud shout of applause greeted this threat. 
 Clegg was not the only one who had observed 
 the ferocious aspect of the constable, who, from 
 a harmless kind of officious fool, had suddenly 
 become a venomous overmastering official, a vil 
 lage inquisitor, who would glory in pinioning his 
 enemy and casting him into the condemned cell. 
 
 "Constable," said Sir George, "take your place 
 by the clerk, and neither provoke the witness by 
 word nor look, at the risk of the court's severe 
 admonition." 
 
 "I humbly thank you, Sir George," said the 
 constable, his otherwise rubicund face all puck- 
 ered up, his mouth twitching, his eyes half hid- 
 den in a scowl that to many seemed to give him 
 a new countenance, several persons remarking, 
 when all was over, that he was so changed all in a 
 minute that they would hardly have known him
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 281 
 
 4 'The jerkin which the constable has produced 
 is mine. It is true that I wore it last night. M3- 
 mother, not considering that a man could not 
 carry a bleeding corpse half a mile or more, 
 without taking upon his jerkin some of the red 
 evidence of death, feared for her son and buried 
 the thing; so she has just told me." 
 
 The constable smiled in a ghastly way at the 
 clerk. Most of the jurymen relieved the tension 
 of their minds with a sigh, whether of satisfac- 
 tion or doubt it was not possible to say. The 
 further silence was only broken by the breathing 
 of the lookers-on. Mrs. Clegg appeared to be 
 unconscious, but she was praying God to forgive 
 her the doubt of His goodness, and appealing for 
 His interposition in favor of her son. 
 
 "The knife, too, is mine," went on Reuben, 
 "but I have not worn it for many months, and 
 the stains upon it are not stains of blood. I don't 
 question the honesty of the witnesses who have 
 been called, but in most cases the truth has been 
 distorted so as to make it seem a lie. The con- 
 stable has done all in his power to make white 
 seem black, and, as Master Radford found it so 
 have I, that the deputy-coroner himself, with 
 an idea of being impartial, has permitted Dakin 
 to give a bias to evidence that had no right to 
 be brought forward. Nay, Sir George, I am on 
 my defense, as it seems, and it is meet I avow 
 what is in my mind. My own and your daugh- 
 ter's account of the death of the man Ziletto 
 shows no flaw of any kind. Before God and 
 man she was his wife, and I shall ask you to call
 
 282 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Signer Roubillac on the question of who it was 
 that married them." 
 
 Bernardo Roubillac, who was sitting in the 
 body of the extemporized court-room, looked up 
 with a frank smile of approval, and nodded to 
 Vicars, the foreman of the jury, intimating his 
 willingness to make a deposition. 
 
 "As for the dead Italian, I own that I hated 
 him," continued Clegg. "It is true that he and 
 I had words some time back, words and blows; 
 that he drew a knife upon me ; equally true that 
 I spared him when I might have broken his back, 
 as he deserved, a scheming, evil-minded seducer 
 and fiend in human shape." 
 
 "Reuben!" said Mrs. Clegg, aroused from her 
 silent prayers. ' ' Reuben ! ' ' 
 
 "And I donnat deny that I have a great and 
 an abiding contempt for the man Dakin — a med- 
 dlesome busybody, weighted with the petty au- 
 thority of the constable's office and abusing it to 
 the common danger and unrest. ' ' 
 
 "Reuben!" whispered Mrs. Clegg, clutching 
 at his sleeve, "donnat fly i' the face of the mag- 
 istrate ; Dakin is his officer, and — ' ' 
 
 "Nay, bide thee still, mother," said Reuben, 
 turning aside for a moment from his general and 
 fearless survey of the jury and the crowd, "truth's 
 often hid deep and is as difficult to come at as the 
 richest mineral treasure buried i' the bowels of 
 the earth; but it's there all the same, and on 
 that I build my trust. ' ' 
 
 "God knows thee, my lad," his mother an- 
 swered, more by way of speaking to herself than
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS '/J83 
 
 to the court, "knows thee for thy honest soul; 
 but one should not always defy the schemes of 
 the wicked." 
 
 "Because I dislike the constable, because I 
 hated the dastardly foreigner, is that any reason 
 that I should lower my manhood and disgrace 
 my nationality by murder? I, Reuben Clegg, 
 with a record in the Hundred of the Peak, the 
 friend and partner of its noblest son, Sir George 
 Talbot; a willful man, perhaps, outspoken when 
 it might have been better to be reserved, but never 
 underhand, never a waster, never a plotter, and 
 one who always respected women. And that is 
 all I have to say at present, except that I would 
 rather die a thousand deaths than stand i' the 
 shoes of the mock priest who gave Mary Talbot 
 into the hands of the villain who is lying dead in 
 the room upstairs; and as for being in any way 
 the cause of bringing a slur on the fair fame of 
 the house of Talbot, and the honor of that young 
 woman who stood before you and told her story 
 of betrayal, and in so doing did honor to her 
 name and race and evidenced a penitent duty to 
 her generous father, I would rather have courted 
 the assassin's knife or any other death. After 
 all, life is not worth having without honor and 
 respect. Sir George said something about my 
 committal for trial; well, I'm willing. It will 
 be a sore grief to this dear old woman by my 
 side, but she will find consolation, I make no 
 doubt, and I fervently hope so, in that religious 
 faith that has not spared her son from this dark, 
 unhappy, and unjust hour; though I have suffi-
 
 284 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 cient faith in the natural righting of things to 
 believe that this mystery will be unraveled, and 
 that yonder constable will not be overlooked in 
 L lie ultimate reckoning." 
 
 Sir George sat watching Clegg with a calm 
 expression of sympathy and pity, and when his 
 friend and neighbor sat down he still kept his 
 eyes fixed upon him, not heeding the expressions 
 of approval and pitying sobs that broke out from 
 all parts of the room ; for there were many wo- 
 men present. The deputy-coroner was, however, 
 presently aroused by the voice of Roubillac, who, 
 in broken, but understandable English, expressed 
 his readiness to give evidence, and was duly 
 sworn upon his oath to tell "the truth, the whole 
 truth, and nothing but the truth." He spoke 
 with a natural air of honesty and good-will that 
 captivated his hearers, most of whom suddenly 
 found themselves recalling the fact that he made 
 the most beautiful and Christian design of all the 
 Well-dressings, and the women looked upon him 
 with interest as the husband of the strangely 
 beautiful woman who had taken Mary Talbot to 
 her arms and had begged to go home with her, an 
 incident that had moved every heart in the court. 
 
 "On the unhappy night of the death of my 
 confrere — my comrade — it is most true that I 
 saw Signor Clegg standing in what you call a 
 pose of suspicion, making watch of Ziletto; but 
 what more natural? They were in rivalry for the 
 hand of Signorina Talbot, the beautiful daugh- 
 ter of Sir George. I make bold to say this, since 
 it accounts for what others have said in what I
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 285 
 
 believe to be an unrighteous condemnation. You 
 tell me I must not offer opinions, but state what 
 I saw. It is perhaps because I am foreign to 
 3*our customs that I find this difficult, but I 
 would say that the signorina, loving Ziletto, 
 would not be likely to make shield of the man, 
 Clegg, if he had done this deed." 
 
 Roubillac looked round the court for approval 
 of this suggestion, and was met with cries of 
 "The Italian's right," "That's true," and so on. 
 
 ' ' What I want you to ask the witness, Mr. 
 Foreman Vicars, or you, Sir George," said Clegg, 
 "is concerning the secret marriage of Ziletto and 
 your daughter." 
 
 Sir George thereupon intimated that not only 
 as a Court of Inquiry, but as a community, they 
 would like to know his views on the subject just 
 mentioned by Reuben Clegg; the clerk would 
 only take such note of his reply as might be 
 evidence; he might speak fearlessly, as he, Sir 
 George, hoped and believed he would truthfully. 
 
 "Then it is thus, Sir George Talbot, and you, 
 citizens of this great country. I believe there 
 was a ceremony; I do verily believe that in her 
 own esteem, and even before the Throne of the 
 Almighty, your daughter is the widow of Gio- 
 vanni Ziletto; but I do not think any ordained 
 priest performed the ceremony she has avouched. " 
 
 The people had breathed an inarticulate ' ' Thank 
 God !" at the expression of Roubillac's opinion as 
 to the widowhood of the village beauty, which, 
 however, was instantly checked by the assertion 
 that the marriage was not a valid one.
 
 £86 THE DANCER AND THE CROSS 
 
 <f 
 
 Why do you think so?" asked Clegg, quietly, 
 
 "For the reason already given by the only au- 
 thorized clergyman of our Faith now resident 
 among us," said Roubillac. 
 
 "Since we have. become a kind of village coun- 
 cil on this most unhappy matter, rather than an 
 official jury, will you please state what theory 
 you have formed, if any, touching the ceremony 
 my daughter has described?" 
 
 ' ' What has become of the person who officiated 
 as the valet or secretary of the dead Ziletto?" 
 asked Roubillac, by way of answer. 
 
 "When you ask that question, do you imply 
 that 'twas he who usurped the office of priest, 
 and so deceived Miss Talbot, otherwise Signora 
 Ziletto?" asked Clegg. 
 
 "It does not become me to impugn the honesty 
 of an absent man, even though he was not my 
 compatriot," said Roubillac, "but a Frenchman." 
 
 " I do not see the force of that qualification, ' ' 
 said Sir George. "We are no respecters of per- 
 sons, Signor Roubillac." (Turning now to the 
 constable.) "Is anything known of the man in 
 question?" 
 
 " It is some time since he left the village, bound 
 for London, for what purpose I am unable to 
 say; but the papers of the deceased Giovanni Zi- 
 letto may inform you on examination, Sir George, 
 with all humble submission." 
 
 "Very well," said Sir George. Turning once 
 more to Roubillac, "Is that all you have to say, 
 having regard to the ceremony that was per- 
 formed in the Catholic chapel of the Old Hall?"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 287 
 
 "Yes, signer," said Roubillac. 
 
 "You were a friend of the dead man?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "A great friend?" 
 
 "He was my compatriot, and an artist." 
 
 "Did you at any time have any altercation with 
 him?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, but not here; in Venice. But we 
 were reconciled." 
 
 ' ' Where were you when this assassination took 
 place?" 
 
 "At the Old Hall, with the reverend father 
 and others at supper." 
 
 "Had this Ziletto any enemy among your 
 people?" 
 
 "Not to my knowledge." 
 
 It was remembered in after years that Father 
 Castelli withdrew from the court-room before 
 this cross-examination was finished. 
 
 Roubillac, in conclusion, expressed the deep 
 concern of his countrymen that through their 
 presence any scandal should have fallen upon 
 Eyam ; but they desired to say that Ziletto was 
 really not of their party : he had come to Eyam 
 of his own will, and had been received with favor 
 by the reverend the clergy of the Protestant 
 church, and also by the magistrate himself. 
 Any one of his compatriots would have made 
 great sacrifices to have spared the people who 
 had received them so kindly from any sorrow or 
 perplexity ; and they would render every assist- 
 ance in their power to unravel the mystery that 
 surrounded Ziletto 's death, and to prove the in-
 
 288 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 nocence of Master Clegg, in which they all most 
 fervently believed. 
 
 And Signer Roubillac was evidently much 
 moved, as were many of the lookers-on, eer- 
 l iiri of his fellow-countrymen more particu- 
 larly. 
 
 It was night before the last witness was ex- 
 amined. The court was adjourned for a few 
 minutes, while the candles were lighted. Sir 
 George had time to go round to the Manor House 
 and see how it fared with his daughter. He 
 found her sitting silently in her own room, her 
 head upon the bosom of the Italian woman, who 
 looked up at him with a tender smile on her pale 
 face. Mrs. Dobbs was also in attendance ; her 
 heart all too f nil for words. Sir George stooped 
 to kiss Mary and press her hand. He did not 
 speak, but presently beckoned Mrs. Dobbs from 
 the room, to learn that neither Francesca nor his 
 daughter had said a word. Mary seemed to cling 
 to the foreign woman, Mrs. Dobbs said, and she 
 had not disturbed them; it was better, she 
 thought, to let such grief have its quiet way. 
 And so Sir George went back to the great house- 
 place of the inn where he was holding his quest. 
 It was now illuminated with bunches of candles 
 in sconces about the room, and one or two tall 
 attenuated dips upon the table, where the jury 
 had resumed their places. The blinds were not 
 drawn, and the moon, which had risen as it ap- 
 peared to Sir George with a strange speed, was 
 filtering a broad beam of soft light through the 
 diamond panes of the window over the heads
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 289 
 
 of the little crowd that still thronged the front 
 of the inn. 
 
 Sir George had forgotten that he had lingered 
 on his way from his house; first by the Manor 
 House Well and then in the roadway, without 
 any object that was apparent for delaying his 
 return. He might have been trying to regard 
 the entire bad business as a dream, an effort that 
 had been made over and over again by his daugh- 
 ter. Then suddenly, having laid aside his sor- 
 row, he picked it up again and carried it into the 
 court-room, way being made for him through 
 the village throng with respect ami sympathy. 
 
 The moon shone out full and clear before Sir 
 t^eorge rose to sum up the evidence. Mrs. Clegg 
 watched him with fascinated interest. It seemed 
 to her that Reuben's life depended upon the dep- 
 uty-coroner's words. There was hope in this. 
 From the first she had experienced a fateful fear 
 that Reuben was meshed in a net from which he 
 could not escape ; the more innocent he was, the 
 more she feared his condemnation. It was as if 
 Fate had conspired against him, and Divine Prov- 
 idence had deserted him. Father Castelli had re- 
 turned to the court. Roubillac had never left it. 
 The constable had kept his eye steadily upon 
 Clegg, who had sat through the adjournment, 
 his mother's hand in his. Vicars, the foreman 
 of the jury had been outside to stretch his legs 
 and air his importance among his fellow-vil- 
 lagers. Radford had kept his seat at the back 
 of the room, taking no note of anybody or any- 
 thing, for he feared the constable had entangled
 
 290 THE DAGGiEK AND THE CROSS 
 
 the feet of his prisoner, so as to make escape a 
 difficult problem. Mrs. Radford and their daugh- 
 ter had sought to rouse him from his lethargy ; 
 but Radford only said, "Let me a-be." 
 
 Sir George reviewed the evidence with an al- 
 most strained impartiality. He was so anxious 
 to fulfill his duties correctly that he laid more 
 emphasis than was really necessary upon the 
 points that appeared to tell against Clegg, more 
 particularly those which might be regarded as 
 suggesting premeditation to meet Ziletto, pre- 
 meditation to kill him. He did not even pass 
 over the question of rivalry for his daughter's 
 hand, nor the unexplained presence of Clegg 
 near My Lady's Bower at an unseemly hour, 
 an hour which under the circumstances was not 
 strange in the case of the deceased, who was his 
 daughter's husband. It was true that the clergy- 
 man known as Father Castelli, by whom she be- 
 lieved herself to have been married to Ziletto, in- 
 timated that some one had impersonated him ; but 
 to all intents and purposes, in view of all the con- 
 ditions of the case, his daughter was the widow 
 of the dead man. A sympathetic murmur of ap- 
 proval went up on all hands, and Clegg was glad 
 that Sir George took this view with his daugh- 
 ter, who would thus find some small relief touch- 
 ing her injured innocence and dignity and the 
 violence she had done to her father's feelings in 
 making a secret union with Ziletto. Sir George, 
 after relating to the jury the sad story, and com- 
 menting on its legal and moral features, his heart 
 torn with misery the while, pointed out to them
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 291 
 
 the several courses that were open for them to 
 pursue, and then left them to consider their ver- 
 dict. 
 
 The constable asked if they would like to re- 
 tire to another room, or have this one cleared 
 while they deliberated ; to which they said ' ' No, ' ' 
 and at once proceeded to take counsel with each 
 other in subdued tones, occasionally pausing to 
 ask Sir George or his clerk a question. Presently 
 they came to a decision, which, being formulated 
 by the clerk, was to the effect that to the best of 
 their judgment, according to the evidence that 
 had been sworn before them, Giovanni Ziletto 
 had come by his death violently, and they found 
 a verdict of "Willful murder against some per- 
 son or persons unknown." 
 
 So far, therefore, as they were concerned, they 
 acquitted Reuben Clegg of any complicity in the 
 crime. The verdict was received with applause. 
 The constable stepped forward, nevertheless, and 
 claimed Reuben Clegg as his prisoner, on the 
 charge of being privy to Ziletto's death. But 
 for the interposition of Sir George, he would 
 have been assaulted by the villagers, who saw 
 in Dakin's action nothing short of a malicious 
 and vengeful persecution. 
 
 "Come what may," said Clegg, "I will not 
 surrender to Humphrey Dakin. " 
 
 "But you will surrender to me," said a power- 
 ful-looking man, who had just pushed his way 
 into the court, his horse, in a white lather, being 
 tied to the stoop by the outer porch. 
 
 "Master Summers Wood," said Sir George,
 
 292 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "you make a timely, if regrettable appear- 
 ance." 
 
 "I am here by order of Sir Walter Cantrill, 
 your follow Justice of the Peace; and I bog that 
 Master Reuben Clegg will make a peaceful sur- 
 render to the warrant I hold for his arrest." 
 
 The new-comer handed a document to Sir 
 George, who pronounced it to be in order. 
 
 "Master Clegg, I conceive, has no other course 
 but to make submission," said Sir George; "and 
 I may observe that before my neighbor, Sir Wal- 
 ter, a magistrate of known honorable impartial- 
 ity and high moral repute, he will have the op- 
 portunity to complete his proper defense, calling 
 evidence and making plain all the circumstances 
 in his favor, which, to my thinking, he has neg- 
 lected in this inquiry." 
 
 "I thank you, Sir George. If a man's inno- 
 cence is to be put into the scale against innuendo, 
 malice, fateful coincidence and the like, it seems 
 to me it may need more than truth to make it 
 apparent ; but I leave myself in the hands of my 
 countrymen and the Law." 
 
 Dakin, it will be seen, had lost no time in an- 
 ticipating the possible verdict of the crowner's 
 quest ; though its finding made no legal differ- 
 ence to the position he had taken up. His mes- 
 senger to another magistrate had, however, so 
 well explained the prejudice in favor of Clegg 
 and the difficulty of Dakin's position, the violence 
 of the man, his physical strength, his known 
 threats, and his notorious atheism (Sir Walter 
 Cantrill was a strict Presbyterian), that imme-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 293 
 
 diate action had been taken to bring Clegg be- 
 fore an impartial Justice, who would have no 
 difficulty in sending the case for trial at the 
 forthcoming jail delivery for the county. 
 
 And so it came to pass that, at the next As- 
 size, Reuben Clegg was arraigned, found guilty, 
 and sentenced to be hanged. 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 
 
 BAR, BENCH, AND PRISONER 
 
 Reuben Clegg was the victim of a deftly 
 handled case of circumstantial evidence. More- 
 over, the accused made a bad impression upon 
 the jury. His manner was both arrogant and 
 defiant. He more than once interrupted the evi- 
 dence, in spite of rebukes from the judge. The 
 prosecuting lawyer had taken a special pride in 
 presenting the case to counsel with every detail 
 of apparent "malice aforethought" on the part 
 of the prisoner. 
 
 There was an element of romance in the case 
 that lifted it out of the common ruck of trials. 
 Master Summers Wood, in his collection of evi- 
 dence, had taken into his inner consciousness 
 something of the tone of Sir Walter Can trill's 
 prejudice against Clegg, whose independence of 
 thought and expression in regard to religion he 
 resented with the intensity of a bigot and the 
 partiality of an inferior intellect. Clegg' s avowed
 
 204 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 hostility to the Italian, his acknowledged encoun- 
 ter with him, and his challenge to meet him with 
 whatever weapon he might choose, their rivalry 
 for the hand of Miss Talbot, Clegg's shadowing 
 of the Italian on the night of the murder, his 
 quarrel with him in Miss Talbot's presence, and 
 the almost immediate stabbing of the deceased, 
 were set forth to the jury by counsel with close 
 fidelity to the known facts and a subtle interpre- 
 tation of doubtful points. The burial of Clegg's 
 blood-stained jerkin, the finding of a knife, which 
 Clegg denied to be blood-stained, but which was 
 proved to be thus indelibly marked, though in 
 reality of no proper moment in the story, carried 
 weight with the jury; and the things had an 
 ugly appearance as they lay before the court by 
 the side of other legal exhibits. 
 
 Counsel regarded the statement of Miss Talbot 
 about the hand that reached out of the darkness, 
 and the shadowy figure that came between Clegg 
 and Ziletto, as a charitable effort on the part of 
 the witness to shield her rejected lover and the 
 friend of her father that was not to be taken seri- 
 ously — not the smallest tittle of evidence having 
 been forthcoming to show that any other person 
 had been seen in the immediate neighborhood at 
 the time, or that any other person besides Clegg 
 had any cause of quarrel with Ziletto, or had ex- 
 pressed any animosity toward him. Indeed, the 
 presence elsewhere of nearly every person in the 
 village at the time of the murder could be ac- 
 counted for. The mystery of the strange and 
 not unromantic union of Ziletto with Mary Tal-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 295 
 
 bot by some unordained person, confederate with 
 Ziletto as it seemed, was no doubt explained by 
 the suggestion of Signor Bernardo Roubillac, 
 who, at the inquest held by the deputy-coroner 
 at Eyam, had asked what had become of the 
 mysterious individual who had acted as Ziletto's 
 body-servant, and who had disappeared without 
 leaving the slightest clew to his whereabout. 
 
 For the defense, counsel had argued that if 
 this was the man who had usurped Father Cas- 
 telli's sacred place in the chapel of the Old Hall, 
 he might also be the fourth person in the melan- 
 choly incident that had led to the arraignment 
 of Reuben Clegg, about whose innocence, he con- 
 tended, no unprejudiced mind could have any 
 doubt whatever. The learned advocate dwelt 
 upon the manful character of the prisoner, his 
 honest, open life, his fearlessness — the fearless- 
 ness of innocence — and the prejudice that had 
 been imported into the case on account of his re- 
 ligious belief, or, as his learned friend had sug- 
 gested, his lack of religious belief — his denial of 
 all evidence of Divine interposition in human 
 affairs, his Atheism in short, which the prisoner 
 repudiated, holding, as he no doubt did, a rever- 
 ent belief in that first great originating cause of 
 all things which they called God, and which the 
 prisoner called Nature. He maintained that it 
 was an outrage upon the fair and impartial ad- 
 ministration of justice to permit questions of doc- 
 trine to give a bias to the minds of the jury in 
 the interpretation of evidence. He deeply re- 
 gretted to see that the prosecution had permitted,
 
 296 THE DAGGER AM) THE CROSS 
 
 and, indeed, had encouraged this bias against 
 Hie prisoner, who, in ever} 7 " relation of life, had 
 proved himself to be an honorable and worthy 
 citizen. 
 
 If the prosecution had left no stone unturned 
 that might bring about the prisoner's condemna- 
 tion, the defense was conducted with no less skill ; 
 but all to no purpose. The jury were strangers 
 to Clegg ; they had not lived in Eyam to know 
 and judge of his character as the jury of the 
 crowner's quest had; they had not seen him 
 build up his career of honesty and independence ; 
 they had no knowledge of the friendship of Sir 
 George Talbot for the prisoner; had never seen 
 the prisoner's mother until that day of the trial; 
 and counsel for the prosecution had urged them 
 not to let it be said that they were indifferent to 
 the assassination of a stranger who had trusted 
 to the hospitality and honor of the country, who 
 in a spirit of good feeling had taken part in the 
 local celebration of the Wells, and whose only 
 crime was that he had fallen in love with the 
 belle of the village, whom he would have mar- 
 ried openly if he had believed he could have 
 obtained the consent of her father. 
 
 It was on this point that counsel for the defense 
 had found his opportunity to demolish what he 
 stigmatized as the maudlin sentimentality, not 
 to say indecent condonement, of the prosecution's 
 treatment of the union of Ziletto and Mary Tal- 
 bot, "a union that was characterized b} r mean- 
 ness and fraud, a union that was the grossest act 
 of deceit that a man could put upon a woman, a
 
 THE DAOGER AND THE CROSS 297 
 
 fraud that was sacrilegious, and worse than 
 a common seduction." 
 
 A buzz of reawakened interest moved the 
 crowded court at these words; Mary Talbot 
 clung closer to her father's side, the prisoner 
 iiushed for a moment with a passing sense of 
 the glory of free speech, the jury were moved 
 with a new impulse of interest in the case, and 
 counsel, with the dignity of a judge pronounc- 
 ing judgment, continued his denunciation of the 
 deceased. 
 
 "I am grieved, my lord and gentlemen of the 
 jur} T , to be compelled to put this feature of the 
 case in its proper light. M3 7 learned friend, 
 counsel for the prosecution, forces me to do so. 
 He has, with a dexterity that is to be deplored 
 rather than admired, endeavored to disi3arage 
 the prisoner by the importation of an element 
 of meretricious sentiment into the relationship of 
 Mary Talbot and Giovanni Ziletto that might be 
 well calculated to excite, in the minds of the un- 
 reflecting, a feeling of pity for the man who is 
 dead, thus importing an added prejudice against 
 the prisoner. But in the estimation of every 
 thoughtful Englishman who does not forget the 
 respect due to his mother, this scoundrel Ziletto, 
 this betra} T er of a pure and lovely woman, this 
 ruffian who had outraged the hospitality of an 
 English village to betray the sweet and innocent 
 daughter of its chief and most respected inhabit- 
 ant, was as hateful in his life as he must be de- 
 spised in his death. Considering the nature of 
 his offense, it might well be that the hand of
 
 298 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Heaven was active in his removal from a world 
 in which he was not fit to live." 
 
 From a murmur of approval there arose at the 
 back of the court, among a group of Eyamites, 
 a shout of applause, which prompted the judge to 
 administer more than a mild rebuke to counsel 
 for what he conceived to be an extraordinary 
 trespass on the privileges of the bar, the dignity 
 of the court, and the decent observance of the 
 motto, "Mortuis non conviciandum" ; but the 
 advocate's blood was up, and as if inspired by 
 the courage and innocence of the prisoner, and 
 in sympathy with the beautiful girl who had 
 been so shamefully betrayed, he faced the judge, 
 and with an impatient gesture continued his de- 
 nunciation of Ziletto. 
 
 "My lord, I bow to your rebuke, with such re- 
 spectful submission as the discipline of the bar 
 and your high authority may command, but I 
 am not to be stayed in what I conceive to be 
 the performance of my duty by the questionable 
 wit of a fusty proverb. Judas is dead. Do we 
 speak well of him? Tarquin is no more. Did 
 the ancients, who made that proverb, speak well 
 of him? Shall I acquit Giovanni Ziletto, who 
 was the worst of the three, because he has been 
 slain at the very height of his villainy? No, my 
 lord ; nor, furthermore, will I hesitate to say that 
 the earth is well rid of one whose existence was 
 a reproach to his Maker. 'Twere hard that any 
 man should suffer for his death, even if he were 
 guilty of it; but if the 'manes' of such a creature 
 are to have a sacrifice, let it not be the innocent
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 299 
 
 man who has borne the ignominy of standing in 
 the dock for a crime of which all his antecedents 
 show him to be utterly incapable, and whose con- 
 duct before the court during these proceedings 
 has been that of an upright and honorable man. " 
 
 Nevertheless, the jury returned a verdict of 
 "Guilty," and the judge, without holding out 
 the smallest hope of reprieve, sentenced the 
 prisoner to death — a fiat that seemed at once 
 to have slain Clegg's mother, who was carried 
 out of court. Mary Talbot was hardly less over- 
 come ; and Clegg himself stood gazing vacantly 
 on the scene, as if he had not realized what had 
 happened, until a warder touched him upon the 
 shoulder and he submitted to be removed. 
 
 That same night, Roubillac and his wife left 
 for Italy. He claimed that, so far as his work 
 was concerned, it was completed. He had made 
 all the necessary designs. These would now be 
 carried out by the workmen whom he left behind. 
 Moreover, his wife's health was suffering, and 
 he feared to subject her to the severity of an- 
 other winter in the Peak. Father Castelli knew 
 that Roubillac had only come to Eyam to escape 
 Ziletto. He and his wife had contemplated an 
 excuse for returning to Italy as soon as Ziletto 
 had appeared in the North. Now that he was 
 dead, their plans of life need no longer be other 
 than those which had only been disarranged by 
 Ziletto's conspiracy against their happiness. 

 
 300 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 
 
 CLEGG ESCAPES FROM PRISON 
 
 Prison-breaking in those days was not an 
 infrequent occurrence; and yet the escape of 
 Reuben Clegg, within a week of his condemna- 
 tion and during the signing of a petition in his 
 favor headed by the leading men of the North, 
 created a profound sensation. 
 
 It was thought that one or more officers of the 
 prison had been bribed to facilitate the prisoner's 
 flight, for not only had he been able to remove 
 the bars of his cell and to scale the walls of the 
 prison-yard, but, beyond the debris that littered 
 his track within the jail, no trace of him was to 
 be found on the outside of the stronghold. 
 
 A magisterial inquiry discovered a breach of 
 regulations that, without assistance, could alone 
 have enabled the prisoner to escape. After con- 
 demnation it was understood that a prisoner was 
 under surveillance night and day ; but this pre- 
 caution had fallen into abeyance. Capital pun- 
 ishment was not limited, as in our day, to cases 
 of willful murder. They hanged a man for horse- 
 stealing, forgery, house-breaking, highway rob- 
 bery, and for many minor offenses. It may well 
 have come to pass, therefore, that the regulation 
 which gave the condemned criminal a continual 
 companion in a watchful warder should fall into 
 disuse.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 30 i 
 
 Escapes from constables and the round-houses 
 or lock-ups of villages and towns were common 
 enough, and recaptures were unusual. The Jack 
 Sheppards and Spring-heel Jacks of the following 
 century had their predecessors in the ages before 
 them. "What surprises one most, in reading 
 up the criminal history of the seventeenth and 
 eighteenth centuries, is the easy way in which 
 criminals, detected in one district, simply re- 
 moved to another and renewed their depreda- 
 tions, and thus continued careers of crime year 
 after year without arrest; and in the event of 
 arrest and escape, how little and how futile were 
 the efforts at recapture. 
 
 The tragedy at Eyam and the romance of 
 Reuben Clegg, his defiant attitude before the 
 jury, the bold defense of counsel, the scene be- 
 tween the Bench and the Bar, the curious ro- 
 mance of the story and the unexpected con- 
 demnation of Clegg, had lifted the case out of 
 the ordinary catalogue of the current Assize, 
 at which some dozen malefactors had been sen- 
 tenced to be hanged. An ordinary prisoner 
 escaping, the general public would probably 
 have heard nothing of it; but the escape of 
 Clegg at once became notorious, to lapse, how- 
 ever, into the usual nine davs' wonder and soon 
 become forgotten, except in that little mountain 
 village of the Peak, where it was an incident of 
 daily note and comment. 
 
 The annual Wake of Eyam was an institution 
 of such local importance that even the execution 
 of Clegg would not have put it aside, any more
 
 302 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 than harvest or Christmas; but everybody ad 
 mitted that the event was relieved of a great 
 shadow by the knowledge that Reuben Clegg 
 was at liberty; for, apart from the sympathy 
 that was felt for his mother and the Talbots, 
 nobody, except the constable, believed in his 
 guilt, and in Dakin's conviction there was un- 
 doubtedly the impulse of malice. 
 
 Ever since it had become an assured fact that 
 Clegg was at large, Dakin had slept with a 
 loaded pistol by his side, and many a night he 
 had started up in his dreams to use it against the 
 attack of Clegg. It had been borne in upon the 
 constable's troubled mind that it was his fate to 
 be murdered in the night. Nowhere in the vil- 
 lage was he received with even a shadow of 
 cordiality. Sir George Talbot observed his 
 humble salute with the barest recognition; the 
 Rev. George Mompesson had almost created a 
 scandal in the village by refusing to administer 
 the Holy Sacrament to him on the Sundays set 
 apart for that solemn celebration; Radford did 
 not check his hostility to the constable; and 
 Vicars, with all his suavity, found it difficult 
 to be civil to him. 
 
 Mary Talbot went about the village, as was 
 her former habit, visiting the poor, helping the 
 sick, and taking her share in the management 
 of local affairs. The Mompesson children wel- 
 comed her with delight, as they had always 
 done when she visited the rectory, but their 
 greetings were no longer boisterous; the} T had, 
 with the adults of the village, come under the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 303 
 
 influence of a certain wistful expression in her 
 eyes and a sedateness of manner that touched 
 their hearts and brought from them a sympa- 
 thetic response of feeling. She now and then 
 walked to Mrs. Clegg's cottage and sat with her, 
 and talked of Reuben, and wondered with her 
 where he was, and encouraged her to hope for 
 his speedy return ; for the petition for his pardon 
 was still being signed. Sir George had employed 
 agents in every part of the county to increase 
 its length and importance, and was continually 
 engaged in correspondence with the authorities 
 in London. 
 
 Mrs. Clegg had found comfort in prayer. She 
 regarded her son's escape as a Divine interposi- 
 tion. His angel had unlocked the prison gates, 
 as one day He would unlock his heart to the 
 comforting messages of Jesus Christ and a grate- 
 ful belief in the saving grace of the Cross. 
 
 Several of the Italians, following the example 
 of Roubillac, had returned to their native land. 
 Those who remained rarely came into the vil- 
 lage. Father Castelli had, however, continued 
 to cultivate the friendship of Sir George and the 
 Mompessons, and responded promptly to any 
 inquiries touching the painful incident of the 
 impersonation of himself in the union of Mary 
 Talbot and his countryman, Ziletto. It was on 
 the suggestion of Mr. Mompesson that the kindly 
 priest had opened up a correspondence with his 
 brother of Venice, Father Lorenzo, in view of 
 an application to the Pope to confirm the mar- 
 riage of Mary and Ziletto, so that, in truth and
 
 304 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 according to the Catholic Church, she might be 
 what she claimed to be, the legal widow of 
 Giovanni Ziletto. The priest did not apprise 
 them of the almost impossible character of their 
 plea; but he nevertheless reported it to Lorenzo, 
 and they discussed it by letter. Mr. Mompesson 
 argued that, their Church accepting the infalli- 
 bility of the Pope, his holiness could do this 
 thing ; and if not, he was not sure in his own 
 mind that it could not be achieved in England 
 by an Act of Parliament. Nothing seemed im- 
 possible to Mompesson in such a case, where the 
 union had been solemnized in the words of the 
 Catholic Church and before its altar ; but the 
 rector of Eyam was an enthusiast for the right, 
 and he loved Mary Talbot as devotedly as if she 
 had been his own daughter, and his wife re- 
 garded her as a sister. 
 
 Furthermore, with adversity there had come 
 to Mary Talbot a dignity of speech and an eleva- 
 tion of manner that appeared to give her some- 
 thing of the attribute of saintship. And yet 
 there was nothing austere in the change; if it 
 was saint-like, it was sweet and gracious, but 
 uplifted, and it was characteristic of the cheer- 
 fulness of a heavenly martyrdom. In former 
 days, when the most daring lads of the Hundred 
 hardly ventured upon a smiling glance at her as 
 she took her father's arm on the Sabbath, and 
 left the church while the choir sang its voluntary 
 as the congregation left the sacred house, there 
 were still, now and then, youngsters from a dis- 
 tance, visiting at the Old Hall or passing through
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE (ROSS 305 
 
 the Peak, who challenged her attention with ad- 
 miring glances; but now, the humblest looked at 
 her without fear and with undisguised meaning : 
 that they were hers, body and soul, her cham- 
 pions, her fellow-villagers, sworn believers in 
 her word, every one of them, never once forget- 
 ting to call her Madam or Signora Ziletto, or the 
 good widow Ziletto, or the good Sir George's 
 widowed daughter. 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 
 
 ZILETTO' S FATAL GIFT 
 
 And so time passed, and the village Wake 
 came on. It was originally the parochial feast 
 of the dedication of the church. At the time of 
 this history it had already become what it re- 
 mains to-day throughout the Midlands, the prin- 
 cipal village holiday of the year, and it lasted 
 then, as it does at the present day, for a whole 
 week. In the spring Eyam had its Well-dress- 
 ing, and in the autumn its Wake; the latter a 
 festival of holiday and mirth, a re-union of 
 friends, a renewal of clothes, a cleaning of 
 houses, and a feast of meat and drink. The 
 village Green was filled with stalls and booths, 
 itinerant shows, and amusements of all kinds. 
 There were mountebanks and quack doctors, 
 hawkers as voluble as Autolycus, and with as 
 varied a pack, tumblers, rope-walkers, dancing
 
 306 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 bears, and every kind of novelt} r to entertain the 
 villagers and their guests, and win from them 
 large contributions from their savings of the 
 year. Visitors came for miles round, relations, 
 friends, and others, merely on pleasure bent. 
 There was open house right through the village ; 
 and it was remarked that there had never been 
 so gay a feast. It is not improbable that, in- 
 stead of the incident of the murder of Ziletto 
 keeping people away, many came to Eyam for 
 the first time, attracted by a morbid curiosity to 
 see the place where the Italian had been killed 
 outside My Lady's Bower, and to catch a 
 glimpse, perhaps, of Mary Talbot, who called 
 herself his widow, and of others who had figured 
 in the trial of Reuben Clegg, whose escape from 
 the prison stronghold was not the least remark • 
 able chapter in this romance of the mountain 
 village. 
 
 Except that Sir George and his daughter, 
 while they did not quit the village during the 
 "Wake, took no part in the festival, the event 
 was not shorn of a particle of its gayety by the 
 tragedy of the "Well-dressing. Moreover, Lady 
 Staff ord-Bradshaw and her husband (with a 
 score of guests in their train) had returned from 
 foreign parts to take up their permanent abode 
 at the Old Hall. 
 
 The weather was lovely. There had been an 
 abundant harvest. And hardly a single guest 
 left the village until the end of the week, which 
 was made more than ever notable by the Staf- 
 ford- Bradshaws opening the Old Hall grounds
 
 THE DAGGER AXD THE CROSS 307 
 
 to all comers, first having, in an adjacent mead- 
 ow, an ox roasted whole and tables and benches 
 set out, with bread and beer enough to feast as 
 many as cared to partake of the rough but hon- 
 est fare. In the twilight, lamps and lanterns 
 were lighted on the lawn, and there was dancing 
 until ten o'clock, Lady Stafford herself and all 
 her guests joining in the festivity, which is 
 recorded to this day as the last time that the 
 music of song and dance was heard within the 
 precincts of the Old Hall grounds; and the 
 tramps and mountebanks, the showmen and 
 peddlers, had barely cleared out of the village on 
 the Monday, and the miners in the Winship, the 
 weavers in the village, the housekeepers and 
 farmers once more returned to their ordinary 
 labors, looking forward to their next merry- 
 making, ere the cloud of a new calamity over- 
 shadowed the tragedy of My Lady's Bower, as 
 Froggatt's Edge might, by comparison, blot out 
 a mole-hill; so dire was it, so overwhelming, 
 and yet so full of heroic inspiration, that imagi- 
 nation stands confounded at its unparalleled 
 martyrdom. 
 
 It was on the last day of the Wake that Vicars 
 received a parcel of costumes and finery from 
 London that delighted his heart. It would have 
 given him a keener pleasure if the treasures had 
 not come through the medium of the murdered 
 Italian. Ziletto, as we know, had promised the 
 artistic village tailor samples of the highest Lon- 
 don fashions; and, although it was more es- 
 pecially to present Mary Talbot with certain
 
 308 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 articles of dress and personal decoration that he 
 had sent his man to London, with special in- 
 structions and provided with ample funds for 
 this purpose, Pedro was to have returned in time 
 for the Well-dressing in May ; but this was only 
 known to master and man, and while the first 
 was dead before the springs of Eyam had been 
 denuded of their brave tributes of art, the second 
 was still absent, though it was now late August, 
 and the feast the people had talked so much 
 about to Ziletto had come, with its fun and 
 frolic, its merry-making, its happy meetings of 
 old friends, and its joyous renewals of family ties 
 and old associations. 
 
 The valet's absence had been accounted for — 
 in most minds— by the man's sacrilegious imper- 
 sonation of the priest, Castelli, in the union of 
 the hands of Mary Talbot and Giovanni Ziletto; 
 and the authorities had endeavored to discover 
 the hiding-place of the absconding ally of the 
 dead man. So far as their investigations were 
 concerned, it seemed as if from the moment 
 Pedro had disappeared over the white road lead- 
 ing southward, he had become invisible; but it 
 was not easy to follow the comings and goings 
 of men in those days, much less to bring to book 
 delinquents who had fled from the scenes of their 
 villainies, and the mysterious attendant of Ziletto 
 was almost forgotten, when Vicars received from 
 him a letter written in bad English, accompany- 
 ing a packing case of clothing, in which there 
 was a box directed to Miss Mary Talbot. 
 
 The letter signified that the writer's master
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 309 
 
 Signor Giovanni Ziletto, had advised him that 
 in case of delay in procuring the articles for 
 which he had been ordered post-haste to town, 
 he should send them direct to Signor Vicars, 
 who would deliver unto Signorina Talbot the 
 box therein inclosed. It was his orders that in 
 the event of these goods not being sent to Eyam 
 in time for the dressing of the Wells, it might be 
 that his good master, Signor Ziletto, might have 
 left Eyam, as it was his intention to do soon 
 after the dressing of the Wells, and in that case 
 he could not have the pleasure to present those 
 mementos himself to Signor Vicars and Signor- 
 ina Talbot ; they should, therefore, be dispatched 
 in this wise. And whereas he (Pedro Bellini, 
 the signor's devoted servant), having been sick 
 by the way and meeting with other delays, the 
 brocades and ribbons, the stomacher and gloves, 
 desired for Signorina Talbot, had been most 
 difficult to purchase, whereby the goods had 
 been dispatched at this late period ; on account 
 of which he had deemed this explanation and 
 apology fitting to the unfortunate occasion of so 
 great a postponement, and which he hoped 
 would be duly accounted in the signorina's re- 
 gard for the word of his most generous master 
 and good friend. The letter was written in a 
 fair and flowing hand, and signed "Pedro Bel- 
 lini." 
 
 Vicars unpacked the costumes with an avidity 
 that was not checked by recollection of the 
 tragedy with which the} 7 were associated. It 
 was in no mprcpnary spirit that lie gloated over
 
 310 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the braided jerkins, the silken hose and breeches, 
 the lace ruffles, the gorgeous waistcoats and bro- 
 caded baldricks and other articles of superb tail- 
 oring, but it was the artist within him that was 
 stirred ; all through the Hundred there was not 
 another costumer so eminent in his art as Vicars. 
 
 He was a widower, and had for lodgers one 
 James Cooper, a miner, and his wife ; his house 
 hold being managed by a servant named Eliza 
 Booth, who had nursed his wife in her last ill- 
 ness. Cooper was enjoying the closing festivi- 
 ties of the Wake; but Mrs. Cooper and Eliza 
 Booth responded to the call of Vicars, and were 
 intrusted with the care of the fine bale of goods 
 and the box addressed to Miss Talbot until his 
 return. He was going to the Manor House, he 
 said, and he begged that they would keep the 
 shop locked until his return. He was anxious 
 that no one should see the wonderful things until 
 he could arrange them in order and exhibit them, 
 first to his most important patrons. Mrs. Cooper 
 found some of the clothes rather damp, and sug- 
 gested that Eliza Booth should put fresh logs 
 upon the fire and place some of the articles upon 
 a clothes-horse in the firelight, to which Vicars 
 made no objection, as he made haste to the 
 Manor House to show Sir George the letter he 
 had received, and to consult him touching the 
 box that was addressed to his daughter. 
 
 "I'd have thee destroy the box and its con* 
 tents, whatever they may be," said Sir George. 
 "This letter is but a further proof of the man's 
 infamy. It was, thou seest, bis intention to
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 311 
 
 .eave Eyam immediately after the "Well-dressing. 
 My daughter, in her innocence, would no doubt 
 have us believe that she would have accompanied 
 him to his home in Italy ; but between you and 
 me, Master Vicars, he meant to abscond." 
 
 "And yet," said Vicars, "this letter goes far 
 to relieve his man of the suspicion that he was 
 the knave who donned the priestly robes and 
 assumed the character of Father Castelli." 
 
 "'Tis so, indeed; for in that event he would 
 hardly have had the audacity to send a letter to 
 thee and give an address. But what is this? 
 Here is an attachment to the rogue's screed;" 
 and Sir George unfolded what seemed like a 
 postscript, but written in another hand and fast- 
 ened within the folding of the letter (a bulky 
 document fastened with a ribbon and sealed with 
 a heavy seal) which Vicars had read to Sir 
 George and then handed to him. 
 
 "Great heavens!" said Sir George, perusing 
 the brief note, "the man is dead!" 
 
 "Dead!" said Vicars. 
 
 " 'This is to certify,' " continued Sir George, 
 reading the document, " 'that he who hath writ 
 the letter of advice and explanation within to 
 Master Jacob Vicars, of Eyam, in the county of 
 Derby, namely, Pedro Bellini, a foreigner, died 
 of the prevailing epidemic on the 29th day of 
 June, in the parish of Cripplegate; and we, 
 being his agents for the dispatch of the said 
 goodes (having examined his affaires, to the best 
 of our poore opportunities), have forwarded the 
 same, with the letter aforenamed, and beg to
 
 312 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 endorse the deceased Pedro Bellini's explanation, 
 of delay; and, with our deep regrets and con- 
 dolences, beg to remain, your obedient servantes, 
 — John Ha} T ward Brothers and Company, Easte 
 Cheape.' 
 
 "Pedro Bellini — half Spanish, half Italian," 
 said Sir George, refolding the letter; "and 
 Signor Roubillac said the fellow was a French- 
 man!" 
 
 "Poor man!" said Vicars. ""Whatever his 
 nation, he soon followed his master. 'Twas a 
 faithful servant; we must surely acquit him of 
 the crime of vile impersonation." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Sir George, as if not thinking 
 of Vicars' remark or his own reply. "The pre- 
 vailing sickness; that means the plague, Vicars. 
 I thought the scourge had come to an end ; the 
 man Ziletto spoke of it as so far diminished when 
 he arrived in Eyam, I recall, that he said the 
 people were returning to their homes and houses 
 of business, and furthermore, that the court was 
 about to remove from Hampton to London. 
 Lady Stafford and the Bradshaws lived abroad 
 during the pestilence. Pray God there be no 
 contamination in thy goods, Vicars!" 
 
 "Contamination!" said Vicars. "They be 
 new, fresh from the loom and the needle. Con- 
 tamination ! Nay, Sir George, that were impos- 
 sible; and if they had even been clothes the dead 
 had worn, surely such a journey, by road and 
 water, would purify them." 
 
 "Maybe, maybe," said Sir George; "but I 
 would advise thee to take counsel with Mistress
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 313 
 
 Dobbs, and subject thy treasures, as thou callest 
 them, to such disinfection as may give assurance 
 of their sweetness. There are such unguents and 
 spices, herbs and other antidotes, that, being 
 burned and the smoke thereof penetrating tapes- 
 tries and fabrics, linens and clothes of all kinds, 
 will destro}" any lurking poison of the air that 
 might be contamination if neglected. 'Tis a 
 terrible scourge, the plague, Master Vicars. In 
 the bills of mortality that same parish of Cripple - 
 gate hath been seriously afflicted." 
 
 "But these goods do come from East Cheap, 
 Sir George ; and as I have said, they are new ; 
 they shine with gilt and silver braidings; they 
 are silks and satins richly brocaded; new, Sir 
 George; never been worn; fit for a prince's 
 fancy, and as sweet as the smell of a hayfield." 
 
 When Vicars returned to his house and un- 
 locked his little shop, his servant and Mrs. 
 Cooper told him that two of the jerkins were as 
 damp as the new-mown grass. They heaped up 
 the logs on a brisk fire, and Vicars burned brim- 
 stone and some curious essences that Mrs. Dobbs 
 had given him, though he was actuated more by 
 a desire to dry the clothing than to purify it, so 
 completely did he set aside what he regarded as 
 Sir George's old-womanish notions of the pos- 
 sible need of purification. 
 
 Yet, even as he swung the kind of censer Mrs. 
 Dobbs had given him for distributing about the 
 room the vapor of her decoction of herbs, he was 
 seized with a sudden sickness, as also was Eliza 
 Booth; and before the night was over Mrs.
 
 314 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Cooper had also been carried to bed. There was 
 no regular practitioner of medicine in Eyani. 
 The bail) •■ was an adept at blood-letting. There 
 was many local remedies for the various ills of 
 1 be parish, and the rector and his wife were gen- 
 i rally looked to for material and medical assist- 
 ance. There was the customary bone-setter, too; 
 and from time immemorial the village had not 
 appeared to need any other assistance, except 
 the midwife, who brought them into the world, 
 and the grave-digger, who put them into their 
 everlasting beds. The Equality" of the district 
 occasionally obtained advice from the faculty in 
 the nearest large town, and the ducal and lordly 
 owners of the palaces of the Peak mostly kept a 
 doctor among their retainers. The only resource 
 of Vicars and his fellow sufferers lay in the 
 remedies of Mrs. Mompesson, the prayers of her 
 husband, and the varied advice of the village at 
 large ; but within three days there appeared upon 
 the breast of their first patient a round purple 
 mark, and he died. He was scarcely buried 
 when the fatal sign appeared upon the person of 
 Eliza Booth. She died the same day; followed, 
 almost immediately, by the death of Mrs. Cooper. 
 All unconscious of any evil against the village, 
 his selfish passion only contemplating the fall of 
 Mary Talbot, Giovanni Ziletto even in the grave 
 had smitten Eyam with death in its most hateful 
 form. The virus had come from London in his 
 lavish gifts of finery, and his messenger had 
 started it on its way with his dying hands. It 
 was the plague.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 315 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 
 
 A GRIM FIRESIDE 
 
 One night, when a whispering group of vil- 
 lagers were sitting before the fire in the house- 
 place of the Crown and Anchor, trying by com- 
 panionship to give each other courage, there 
 suddenly appeared in their midst the form and 
 figure of Reuben Clegg. It was as if he had 
 come through the wall. No one had heard him 
 come through the door, no one had seen him en- 
 ter the room. They were too much engaged 
 when he lifted the latch to take note of anything 
 beyond their own fears. Their ranks were being 
 gradually thinned by an enemy there was no 
 grappling with. 
 
 The rector had failed to persuade his wife to 
 seek shelter among friends beyond the grim pale 
 of infection. She was delicate, and the least at- 
 tack might easily break her down. She would 
 not leave her husband ; but submitted to the chil- 
 dren being sent away to friends in Yorkshire. 
 Mompesson himself worked from morning till 
 night, day by day, among the sick. He was 
 seconded by his colleague, the inhibited Stanley. 
 They gave the people both medicinal and spirit- 
 ual relief. Sir George Talbot was foremost in 
 providing necessaries for all whom he had time 
 to visit. Mary Talbot went about with the bur-
 
 316 TUT DAGGER A.ND rHE CROSS 
 
 den of maternity. Vicars and the chief carpen- 
 ter of the village were both dead. The constable 
 had lost his daughter. Mrs. Clegg seemed to 
 live a charmed life, facing every danger with the 
 faith of pure religion and the patience of a saint. 
 God had saved her son, though she had never 
 seen him since the day when the law condemned 
 him to a cruel death, and He would preserve her 
 as long as He had work for her to do. 
 
 It was late in November. The trees were bare. 
 A few ragged rooks were calling to each other in 
 protest against the rain. Mompesson had prayed 
 for the purifying, driving wind of heaven. In- 
 stead, there hung over the doomed village a pall- 
 like cloud. Reuben Clegg, gaunt of limb, with 
 eyes sunk deep and beard unkempt, had made 
 his way from his last hiding-place conscious of 
 some disaster happening to those he loved, though 
 ignorant of the nature of the trouble. It might 
 well be that he would have no news of it, living, 
 as he had done, from hand to mouth, avoiding 
 towns and villages except at night time. Con- 
 tinually in expectation of arrest he was deter- 
 mined never to be taken alive. Outcast of God 
 and man, in revolt against his Maker, defiant of 
 heaven and earth, a victim, as he felt, of both, 
 there was still the love of a son burning in his 
 heart for that dear gray little woman in her cot- 
 tage above the glen where that mysterious hand 
 had reached out of the darkness to slay Ziletto. 
 He also continued to nurture an undying affec- 
 tion for the woman who had chosen the man that 
 betrayed her rather than himself, who would
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 317 
 
 have been her willing slave and /aid down his 
 life freely to save her an aching finger. 
 
 They were counting up the dead, this little 
 group of men sitting over the November fire, 
 and it was one Marshall Howe who named them, 
 for he had buried most of them, the regular grave- 
 digger having succumbed to the disease; and 
 they shuddered as he enumerated them: Jacob 
 Vicars, Edward Cooper, Thomas Thorpe, Sarah 
 Sydall, Mary Thorpe, Matthew Bands, Elizabeth 
 Thorpe, Margaret Bands, Mary Thorpe, Margaret 
 Bands, Elizabeth Thorpe, Richard Sydall, Wil- 
 liam Torre, Sythe Torre, Alice Torre, William 
 Torre, John Sydall, Ellen Sydall, Martha Bands, 
 Jonathan Ragge, Thomas Thorpe, Alice Sydall, 
 John Stubbs, Hugh Stubbs, Ann Stubbs, Jona- 
 than Cooper, Humphrey Hawksworth, and so 
 on, the pathos of the list l} T ing in the repetition 
 of names, that indicated the sweeping away of 
 entire families. 
 
 "Fill your glasses, men," said Marshall Howe, 
 folding up his list of the dead; " 'tis being down- 
 hearted makes you sweat with fear; 'tis best to 
 sweat with drink. Come, Radford, hi there! 
 'Tis my turn. Let us have another gallon of 
 thy posset, man, and cheer thee!" 
 
 With all his well-acted geniality, Marshall 
 Howe was hardly the man to cheer the com- 
 pany. He smelled of death. It might well have 
 seemed that he carried the plague about in his 
 clothes, for he buried folk straightaway in their 
 own, himself acting as undertaker and sexton. 
 It was thought that a man recovering from an
 
 318 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 at tuck of the epidemic had immunity from further 
 danger. Marshall Howe had fought the enemy 
 and conquered, and he feared it no more. 
 
 "Get thee about thy business, Marshall," said 
 Radford; "we do not like thy office; take tlry 
 whack of drink, and get thee gone. Thou art 
 too noisy for us ; and 'tis like blood -money, the 
 fees thou art taking, to say nowt about the clothes 
 and goods of what thou calles* thy clients." 
 
 "Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Marshall, a giant of 
 a man, with great hands and a broad dumpy 
 face, thick heavy lips and limbs like unto a de- 
 formed Hercules. "Come on, then. Gi'e me 
 my mug, and fill it to the brim ; as hot as blazes !" 
 
 And every man thought he alone saw Reuben 
 Clegg standing by all the time, for they reck- 
 oned he was a ghost ; but when Marshall Howe 
 had scorched his capacious throat with the burn- 
 ing liquor and had passed out into the muggy 
 night, Reuben said : 
 
 "Neighbors, old friends, give me a drink — not 
 out of his mug — I am starving; and tell me what 
 has happened in the village." 
 
 It was Longstaffe who rose up and took the 
 speaker's hand, but Radford who spoke, saying, 
 "Dammit, Reuben lad, I'm blamed if I didna' 
 think it was thy ghost! "Welcome, lad, wel- 
 come!" And he filled him a mug of ale posset, 
 with a dried apple on the top, and called to his 
 wife to bring the chine of beef and put it on the 
 table ; for Radford, from the first, had argued 
 that the best antidote to the plague was beef and 
 beer; and when Mrs. Radford entered the room,
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 319 
 
 she too shook hands with Clegg, and said he had 
 come to the City of Destruction, but life was a 
 poor business at best, and 'twould be better to 
 die among friends than perish of hunger flying 
 from an unjust law. 
 
 "Amen! Amen!" said the half dozen vil- 
 lagers, in the loudest tones they had spoken 
 for days, "Amen!" 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Radford," said Reuben, 
 sitting down to his meat and eating ravenously. 
 When he had somewhat appeased his appetite, 
 he asked again what had come over the village. 
 
 They answered that it was the plague ; and 
 they spoke it as if it was a cry, and the very 
 walls seemed to echo it. "The plague! the 
 plague!" 
 
 Reuben shuddered, for he had read of the 
 scourge in his books of Eastern travel, and he 
 knew that there was no fighting this enemy with 
 swords and pistols, nor combating it with prayer ; 
 for the latter remedy had ever been tried unavail- 
 ingly — at least, so he reckoned. 
 
 "The plague!" he said, his face blanching in 
 spite of the warmth of his beaker of hot ale. 
 "The plague! And was it a list of the dead 
 that yonder giant, who has just left, was count- 
 ing up?" 
 
 "Ay, more's the pity," said Radford. 
 
 "And my mother?" 
 
 "Thy mother," said Mrs. Radford, "is God's 
 angel; she walks in the pestilence unscathed." 
 
 "The dear old soul!" he exclaimed. "And 
 the widow Ziletto— Sir George's daughter?"
 
 320 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 "Turn thy steps toward the Manor House, and 
 thou shalt hear her bairn cry and moan that 'tis 
 born into such a pitiful world," said Mrs. Rad- 
 ford. " 'Tis a day old, come eight o' the clock." 
 
 Reuben did not reply to this, but asked for to- 
 bacco and sat him down with the rest, and said 
 never a word until Longstaffe rose to say good- 
 night; and even then not a man ventured to ask 
 Clegg how he had come there, and if he were not 
 afeared of thus exposing himself to discovery, 
 when in walked one of the most dejected figures to 
 be seen in all the village, Constable Dakin. 
 
 Mrs. Radford had lighted no candles, and the 
 villagers preferred to sit in the ingle-nook, lighted 
 only by the burning logs. It was a rare thing in 
 the cottages to have any other light, except for 
 the reading of a chapter in the Bible last thing. 
 
 "I've come to say good-by, neighbors," said 
 the constable, in a sepulchral voice. 
 
 "Nay, you'n said that too often, Dakin; we'n 
 tired of it." 
 
 "It's the last time, friend Longstaffe. I'm 
 mortal sick this night, I tell thee — mortal sick; 
 took as my daughter was. — God rest her! — I 
 shall be a subject for Marshall Howe i' the morn- 
 ing, mek no doubt of it; and so I come to say 
 Good-night. " Then there rose up in the firelight 
 the gaunt figure of Reuben Clegg. The men in 
 the ingle-nook made way for him, that he might 
 face his enemy, and the constable stepped back a 
 pace or two, not knowing what manner of man 
 this might be who seemed to rise out of the shadow 
 and dominate the room.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 321 
 
 "Thou wert always a liar, Humphrey Dakin, 
 but this time, it may be, thou speakest the truth 
 —so Good-night to thee and Good-by. Trust me, 
 I will lend a hand at thy burial!" 
 
 "Reuben Clegg!" gasped Dakin, clutchingthe 
 arm of the settle, where the other men had risen 
 from their seats. "I've dreamt o' thee ivvery 
 night since they took thee out to hang thee. Is 
 it thee, i' the flesh?" 
 
 " A} T , I'm Reuben Clegg, thin and spare enough 
 to be Reuben Clegg's shadow; but I'm the man 
 thou lied almost into his grave, thou blister of 
 humanity-, thou — " 
 
 "Nay," said the constable, feebly stretching 
 out a protesting hand, "nay, donnat curse me. 
 Let me a-be. I shanna' trouble thee long, and, 
 warrant or no warrant, I lay no more hands on 
 thee. It was my hatred o' thee, fear likewise, 
 that made me want thee out o' the road. Canst 
 forgive me?" 
 
 "Forgive thee! No, not if it would ease thee 
 o' the torments of the hell thou believ'st in, wi' 
 all its burning brimstone, thou perjured villain! 
 Get thee forth, and die!" 
 
 The constable fell prone before his enemy, as 
 if he had been struck a murderous blow. Sev- 
 eral hands went to his assistance, and lifted him 
 into the corner seat of the settle, and Longstaffe 
 rebuked Clegg roundly. 
 
 " 'Twas thy overbearing temper and thy pride 
 that was thy ruin, Reuben Clegg. It was fairly 
 said on the part o' the constable; he as good as 
 confessed his wrong to thee, and asked thy for-
 
 322 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 giveness humbly — 'twas only a Christian thing 
 to have said him nay civilly, without curses and 
 words bitter as gall and murderous as a knife. 
 Think better of it, Reuben." 
 
 "You talk of civility that have never felt the 
 rack; you talk of forgiveness that have never 
 felt the sting of the brand of Cain, conscious all 
 the time of your own innocence. Think that 
 over, Master Longstaffe ; there is a lesson in it. 
 I bear thee no malice, lad, nor Radford, nor any 
 of you: I've often remembered you kindly; but 
 none of you have suffered as I have." And he 
 strode forth to the door, and no one stayed him. 
 
 As he lifted the latch he turned, and, direct- 
 ing his voice to the corner where Dakin was re- 
 viving from the shock of his attack, he said : 
 
 "Good-night, owd 'Wait a bit'; donnat wait 
 any longer; keep thy word for once. — Good- 
 night, Judas!" 
 
 CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 
 
 "A TALE OF SORROWS INDESCRIBABLE" 
 
 And the next day the constable gave up the 
 ghost, and was buried in his clothes. There was 
 no longer any man to make coffins. 
 
 Reuben Clegg went home to his mother, and 
 no one attempted to take him ; neither did any 
 one think of giving him up. It was known 
 through the Hundred, and beyond, that Eyam 
 was smitten with the plague, and it might well 
 be considered a place where the king's warrant?
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 323 
 
 no longer ran. Moreover, Sir George held out 
 hopes of pardon to him. The petition in his favor 
 was signed by the best men and women in the 
 county, and the confession of the constable, as 
 reported by Longstaffe and Radford and sworn 
 to already, would go far to influence the king's 
 advisers. 
 
 Before the end of the month of November, 
 Mary Talbot, otherwise Signora Ziletto, was seen 
 sitting at the Manor House window, with her 
 baby on her knee, like a picture, some said, of 
 the Madonna and Child; and she said she was 
 glad that Reuben Clegg had given himself up 
 to nursing the sick and burying the dead. 
 
 It was wonderful how persistently Clegg 
 worked. He never seemed to take an hour's 
 rest. Mr. Stanley, at first, was inclined to re- 
 pudiate his co-operation; and Mr. Mompesson 
 felt it incumbent upon him to warn Clegg not 
 to influence the religious faith of the sufferers 
 with whom he came in contact. 
 
 "I'll not interfere with their hopes of a future 
 life, rector," said Clegg, "nor saj aught against 
 prayer ; but what think you, yourself, about the 
 efficacy of prayer? You've done enough in that 
 way to save the whole parish, every man jack ; 
 but the purple sign of death comes out upon their 
 poor flesh all the same : they die, and are buried. ' ' 
 
 "I cannot argue with you, Clegg; 'tis impi- 
 ous," said Mompesson; but the rector redoubled 
 his exertions for the physical welfare of his peo- 
 ple, and Clegg, by his energy and his cheerful 
 encouragement, snatched many a victim from
 
 324 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 the grave, and comforted many another witli bis 
 possets, his hot spices, and his pleasant words. 
 No one thought of him for a moment as an 
 escaped felon. His mother saw in his escape 
 the Divine interposition, and tried to bring Reu- 
 ben to this way of thinking. He would listen 
 to her patiently, nor reply when she asked him 
 who but God had saved her in the midst of the 
 pestilence to welcome him back to their cottage, 
 w r ho but God had brought him through the in- 
 famous bars that had holden him, who but God 
 had protected him in the wilderness and brought 
 him home? 
 
 Only once had Reuben ventured to ask who 
 had allowed him to be falsely accused, who had 
 permitted his good name to be sullied, who had 
 suffered his life to be blighted, and given the 
 lamb a prey to the wolf? His mother had re- 
 plied with texts, and wise sayings regarding 
 God's righteous punishments and the mystery 
 of His divine ways. And Reuben marveled 
 at his mother's happiness and her exemption 
 from the infection of the plague ; for she went 
 among the people with never an ache or fear, 
 untiring, closing the eyes of the dying with 
 such cheerful promises of a heavenly paradise 
 beyond the grave that robbed Death of half 
 his terrors, and lighted for many a heart a lamp 
 of Hope that showed them the sunny stairway 
 to the white streets of the New Jerusalem. 
 
 With winter, the villagers hoped the pestilence 
 would cease. It had been so, hitherto, in the 
 history of the plague in other lands; but Eyam
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 325 
 
 was doomed. The grim Angel of Death never 
 stayed his hand. On Christmas Day, the blinds 
 were pulled down at the Manor House. Reuben 
 Clegg's heart stopped beating for a moment, as 
 he walked up to the familiar door and asked for 
 Mrs. Dobbs. Death had been there; but not in 
 the shape of the plague. Signora Ziletto's baby 
 had died in the night. The mother was bearing 
 her trouble bravely, Mrs. Dobbs said. They had 
 never expected to rear the child, and 'twas to 
 her thinking a happy release. Reuben turned 
 away, and bent his steps to the rectory, where 
 he found Mrs. Mompesson busy in her husband's 
 study, which was now something like an apothe- 
 cary's shop. She was mixing decoctions that 
 had been found of service, though she looked far 
 more in need of physic and broth than any of 
 the pining villagers. 
 
 Mompesson and Stanley gave themselves no 
 rest ; they worked together like brothers, pray- 
 ing with the dying, reading the last words of the 
 Prayer Book over the dead, and encouraging the 
 living. If Mompesson could only have induced 
 his wife to join the children, at their friend's in 
 Yorkshire, his heart would have been lightened ; 
 but she would not leave him. 
 
 With the New Year, the rector's wife had a 
 companion in her labors. Mary Talbot, other- 
 wise Signora Ziletto, freed from the nursing of 
 her child, flung herself into the work of tending 
 the sick and administering to the dying. Neither 
 her mental nor her physical suffering had im- 
 paired her beauty. The robust figure, the rosy
 
 326 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 complexion, the elastic step, were no longer 
 (here; but in their place a refinement of form, 
 a tender grace of manner, a delicate pallor that 
 gave an almost ascetic character to her beauty, 
 such as painters strive to achieve in their pict- 
 ures of angelic figures and virgins that have 
 become angels of God. 
 
 As the spring began to pass into summer, the 
 plague became general throughout the village. 
 It raged. There was death in every breath of 
 air. The birds sang, the flowers bloomed, the 
 blossom appeared on the trees, the hay-fields 
 grew ready for the reaper, but the only mower 
 was Death, and he cut down the living with a 
 steady sweep of his scythe. All business else was 
 stopped. Nobody worked. The cows remained 
 unmilked, the sheep unshepherded ; the Winship 
 Mine was closed, the looms ceased to make music 
 in the cottages, the dead were buried ere the 
 stricken limbs were cold. Graves were dug anj T - 
 where. In a house, a little way beyond the vil- 
 lage, one solitary woman had, herself, buried 
 every member of her family with her own hands; 
 while a neighbor had made his own grave, and, 
 strewing the bed of it with straw, had lain him 
 down and died in it. 
 
 It was the last day of May, and out of a popu- 
 lation of three hundred and fifty souls seventy- 
 seven had perished. Of these were whole fami- 
 lies, and scarce a soul that had not been visited 
 by Clegg, though such was the terrible nature of 
 the disease that in the last moments it was too 
 loathsome for even children to tolerate their par-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 327 
 
 ents, or for parents to embrace their dying inno- 
 cents. June found the village in the highest 
 state of panic, the living, as if by a general im- 
 pulse, resolving to fly from the place. It was at 
 this juncture that the heroism of Mompesson and 
 Stanley fired the fainting hearts of their flocks. 
 At a special service of the Church, in which the 
 two ministers called the whole village together, 
 of every creed and opinion, the rector remon- 
 strated with the people against the idea of flight. 
 Already many of them were infected, if not in 
 their persons, in their clothes; moreover, they 
 owed a duty to their fellow-creatures beyond the 
 borders of the village. To carry the disease out 
 into the world at large would be a crime. If 
 they were to die, let them stand by each other 
 and die together ; not poison the breath of the 
 healthful and the happy, who would fall curs 
 ing them as the authors of their misery. Should 
 they consent to remain with him and his brother 
 Stanle}^, his wife and Sir George Talbot and his 
 daughter, and the rest of their hopeful and God- 
 fearing neighbors, he would ask the Duke of 
 Devonshire and other residents beyond the vil- 
 lage, to send them relief of food and raiment, of 
 medicines and every possible physical aid; and 
 he was assured of the result of his appeal. They 
 would thereupon draw a cordon around the vil- 
 lage, and there should be sentinels at fixed and 
 convenient points, so that no one should pass out 
 or in; and there should be selected spots where 
 all that was needful should be passed within the 
 cordon, and sanitary methods formed for disburs-
 
 328 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 ing such money as might be needed for payment. 
 They would thus save the other villages of the 
 Hundred, and the great world beyond, from in- 
 fection, and snatch from premature death thou- 
 sands of their fellow-countrymen. And their 
 reward should be great on earth, as in heaven. 
 Their names should go down to posterity on an 
 everlasting scroll of fame, and when their time 
 should come, their souls, ascending to heaven, 
 should be welcomed with angelic songs, and 
 Christ, sitting on the right hand of the Father, 
 should say unto each man and woman, and every 
 child, "Well done, thou good and faithful ser- 
 vant; enter thou into the kingdom of God." 
 
 And all the people said, "Amen!" and many 
 fell into each others' arms and wept. 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY 
 
 "IF HE SLAY ME, YET WILL I TRUST HIM" 
 
 The first time Reuben Clegg met Mary Talbot 
 face to face after his return was at the height of 
 the terror that was devastating the village. It 
 was in the twilight of a lovely June evening. 
 Clegg had walked from his mother's cottage, on 
 his way to visit Radford and his wife, both of 
 whom were sick. The long village street was 
 still as the grave. Not a door was open. The 
 roadway was green with weeds and grasses. 
 Wild flowers decorated the footpaths by the 
 roadside hedge and the walled-in gardens. It
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 329 
 
 might have been a village of the dead. If on 
 any day the people were stirring, they moved 
 about like ghosts, or they were bringing out their 
 dead. No grim signs of black flags or outward 
 marks on door-posts signaled the infected houses. 
 It was as if the entire street was sicklied o'er with 
 some fatal legend of death. On this summer 
 evening not a soul was abroad. Nor was there, 
 anywhere, the cheerful or solemn augury of a 
 light in any window. 
 
 Away on the side of the distant hill, where the 
 Old Hall had been wont to show its illuminated 
 windows, only the shadowy outlines of the place 
 could be seen. The Staff ord-Bradshaws had left 
 the village in the very first week of the distemper. 
 They and their friends, and their servants, and 
 the stranger within their gates, had fled before 
 the pestilence, never to return; and while the 
 humble cottage of Vicars, where they unpacked 
 Ziletto's fatal gift, still stands, to bear historic 
 witness of the truth of the Martyrdom of Eyam, 
 with other relics that need no monuments to keep 
 the story living, the Old Hall is a heap of ruin 
 and forgetfulness. 
 
 The village forge no longer blazed upon the 
 hillock, and even the birds were silent. Noth- 
 ing lived, as it seemed to Clegg, by any token 
 that appeared, except a few weird bats that 
 mocked the flight of the absent swallows; for 
 those guests of summer had, strange to say, de- 
 serted their favorite haunts in the village, as if 
 the air no longer commended itself, nor "smelled 
 wooingly," as it was accustomed, where Banquo
 
 830 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 noted its characteristics to Duncan as they en- 
 tered Macbeth' s castle. There was not a single 
 sign of health or mirth, or even peace, for the 
 very silence was threatening. If a whisper 
 stirred, it might have been the passing of some 
 immortal soul to its long account. And when 
 Clegg observed a figure coming toward him from 
 the direction of the rectory, he was conscious of 
 a strange sense of amazement. It was a hooded 
 figure, and it came down the road as if it glided 
 over the grass, and brushed the wayside flowers 
 with its trailing garments. Coming to where 
 Clegg had paused, it pushed back its hood, and 
 lo, it was Mary Talbot! She crossed his path 
 where the village street branches off to the glen 
 whence he had carried her home on that fatal 
 night by My Lady's Bower. 
 
 "I am glad to see you again, Master Clegg,'' 
 she said, putting out her hand, "if one may say 
 one is glad at anything in these untoward days." 
 
 He took her hand with a trembling grasp, and 
 held it for a little while, as he answered with 
 suppressed emotion. 
 
 "Thank you, madam." 
 
 He would have said Madam Ziletto, but the 
 name of the dead man stuck in his throat; and 
 despite the deadly atmosphere of the village and 
 all its woes, his heart beat fast with the emotion 
 of the bygone days when his love for the woman 
 was beyond words. 
 
 "You have often been in my thoughts, and it 
 nigh broke my heart when they condemned 3 7 ou. 
 God and I knew that j-ou were innocent."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 331 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Talbot," he said, for the old 
 days came back to him, before the shadow of Zilet- 
 to fell upon Eyam. ' ' I hope your father is well. ' ' 
 
 It was a very commonplace remark, but he 
 thought of nothing else to say. 
 
 "Yes; he does not complain. He would like 
 to see you at the Manor House; will you not 
 come, dear friend?" 
 
 "Nay; I fear it would be wrong to enter a 
 non-infected house. ' ' 
 
 "We believe in the Divine Mercy, and that, 
 for some wise purpose, God has made a sign 
 upon the lintel of our doorway; perad venture, 
 that we are chosen to be useful to the stricken, 
 we seem to have been miraculously spared." 
 
 "I will come," said Reuben; "it will be a 
 comfort to meet folk who do not think me a 
 murderer." 
 
 "It will help my father, and give us all fresh 
 courage, to see you once more beneath our roof," 
 she answered. 
 
 He made no reply, but only looked at her 
 wonderingly and tried to keep back his tears, 
 the first he had shed so long as he could remem- 
 ber. And she passed on her way, leaving him 
 standing in the road. 
 
 They met again on the next day, at the rec- 
 tory, in consultation with Mr. and Mrs. Mom- 
 pesson, Mr. Stanley, and Sir George Talbot; 
 Mary Talbot, not the least self-possessed of any 
 of them, accepting the humblest and most trying 
 work that could bo allotted to her, Sir George 
 permitting her to run any and every risk that
 
 332 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 she courted. Inspired by the example and pre 
 cepts of Mompesson, Sir George had no fear. 
 He opposed the plague with the sword of duty. 
 He felt that he was the chief of the village, and 
 that no harm could come to the captain, any 
 more than Mompesson or Stanley could bo smit- 
 ten while they were engaged in the absolutely 
 necessary work of their profession. He surprised 
 Clegg with his faith, and Mary Talbot awed 
 him with her strange angelic beauty. 
 
 The "cordon sanitaire" had been religiously 
 maintained. At the place where in ancient days 
 there had been an outer gate of the village, men 
 and women took their turn to stand sentry ovei 
 the valley; and food was brought to certain 
 points of the imaginary wall, that had for land- 
 marks certain crags and rocks and water-ways. 
 
 It was now resolved to close the church and 
 hold the services in the open air. Reuben Clegg 
 commended this precaution; however much they 
 prayed, whatever their faith, it was well to avoid 
 bringing the people together in a confined atmos- 
 phere. Both Mr. Mompesson and Mr. Stanley 
 noted without comment the overt cynicism of 
 Clegg's remark ; but Mary Talbot looked at him 
 with beseeching eyes, and when he went home 
 that day he talked a long while with his mother 
 about her faith. She told him the story of 
 Peter's imprisonment and release, and how, 
 when he appeared at the house of Mary, the 
 mother of John, they thought it was his angel ; 
 and how Longstaffe had told her that when 
 he, Reuben, entered Radford's house, each man
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 333 
 
 thought it was his ghost ; and how she was not 
 surprised, and knew him for himself when he 
 walked through the meadow and up the little 
 garden-path and took her into his arms. It was 
 wonderful how quietly Reuben sat and listened 
 to her. He could not deny that his escape had 
 been little less than miraculous, considering that 
 he had literally passed through the prison yard 
 in presence of the sentries, who thought he was 
 one of the officials or visitors. And was it not 
 the hand of God, she asked, that, still holding 
 him from arrest, had made him His agent among 
 the stricken of the village? And did he not owe 
 it to God to humble himself before His throne 
 with a grateful heart? 
 
 That night Clegg knelt beside his mother in 
 prayer, and said Amen to her simple petition; 
 but deep down in his heart the motive of this 
 complaisance was his love for Mary Talbot, and 
 a desire to come nearer unto her in thought; for 
 it seemed to him that she suffered for his hard- 
 ness toward the Faith. Her look of appeal 
 haunted him. It surely expressed more than a 
 common interest in him. She had looked into 
 his eyes with a meaning that was not a rebuke 
 but an appeal, and an appeal that was sympa- 
 thetic, almost tender. He could see her face in 
 his mind as he walked homeward, and he found 
 himself speaking aloud as he wandered out of 
 his right path and climbed the higher edge of 
 the table-land above his cottage. "Oh, God," 
 he said, "if it might be!" and for the first time 
 for years his heart was in the cry. It was no
 
 334 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 mere exclamation ; it was a prayer; but the next 
 moment lie shuddered at it, as it' he had outraged 
 the poor suffering souls in the village at his feet; 
 as if his thoughts of love, the faintest dream of 
 happiness, were an infamy, while on every hand 
 his fellow villagers were passing into the Valley 
 of the Shadow of Death. 
 
 Nevertheless, such is the overwhelming 
 strength of human love, that he could not re- 
 sist a tremor of hope, that gave him in the 
 future the companionship of the only woman 
 who had ever stirred his heart, and who, what- 
 ever she might do, would have an everlasting 
 abiding-place there. Again, he repeated his 
 supplication, "Oh, God, if it might be!" 
 
 As his voice pierced the still air, a star came 
 out over Froggatt's Edge, and away as far as 
 the eye could trace an outline of hills another 
 lamp of God, another and another, appeared. 
 Then it came into his mind to ask himself what 
 he could do to be worthy of such an answer to 
 his cry, as his saintly mother would ask for him, 
 knowing his nature and his only ambition in life. 
 And now a darkness fell upon his soul, and the 
 stars, as he thought, disappeared. He was con- 
 scious that, if there was a God, he was trying to 
 make a bargain with Him ; this did not appear 
 in his spoken words, but in his thoughts. If he 
 could be assured of the realization of his desire, 
 he would believe anything, be anything, accept 
 any creed. It was as if Satan tempted him to 
 a profanity that was devilish. He suddenly 
 knew that his mother, at that moment, was
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 835 
 
 praying for him; and her sudden influence 
 seemed to inspire his exclamations: "Get thee 
 behind me, Satan!" and "Lord, forgive me, and 
 count it to my ignorance that I am what I am!" 
 
 Presently the stars came out again, and he 
 descended the hill and made his way to the cot- 
 tage where the lamp of love and hope shone out 
 against the whispering elms; and as it came in 
 sight, he mingled with his desire to do some- 
 thing that might win Mary Talbot's approval a 
 longing to be reconciled with Mompesson and 
 Stanley, and to come within the pale of his 
 mother's faith, and be as worthy of his nar- 
 row escape from an infamous death as he was 
 innocent of the crime for which he had been 
 condemned. 
 
 And as the days passed he gradually found a 
 strange new comfort in his mother's example of 
 fortitude, and in her perfect immunity from sick- 
 ness. She vowed she had never been so strong 
 in her life. He no longer wondered at her faith ; 
 he found it beautiful. 
 
 Whether it was, as Mrs. Clegg believed, that 
 her son's conscious heart had been mercifully 
 touched by the Holy Ghost, or whether it was 
 the gentle influence of Mary Talbot and his 
 yearning to be acceptable in her sight, it is hard 
 to say ; but from day to day he became more 
 and more tolerant of prayer and supplication. 
 He no longer debated with the two clergymen, 
 and he had secretly found solace in prayer. He 
 did not ask anything of God, but he volunteered 
 vows of manliness, of humility, pledges of peni-
 
 33G THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 tence for faults of word or deed, and tendered, 
 with humility, his gratitude that he had been 
 permitted to live through his trouble and to come 
 back home when he could be of use to his neigh- 
 bors and by way of an answer to his mother's 
 prayers. Then, for the first time he began to 
 fear that he might be taken; and he spoke of 
 his peril to Sir George. Strange as it may 
 seem, the chief authorities knew nothing of 
 Clegg's return to Eyam. The mountain village 
 was entirely cut off from the world. It was a 
 community apart. Lepers, on some remote 
 island of the sea, could not have been more 
 alone. 
 
 Death had not yet become so familiar, though 
 it was present in almost every house, that the 
 passing of the rector's wife, in her twenty-sev- 
 enth year, did not send a thrill of anguish 
 through many a breast. As his servants led 
 the widowed husband away from the couch of 
 death, he turned and sobbed, "Farewell! fare- 
 well! all happy days!" And William and Mary 
 Howitt say there is nothing more pathetic in 
 literature than the rector's letters to his chil- 
 dren, George and Elizabeth, announcing to 
 them the doleful news of the dear mother's 
 death, which are to be found in Mr. William 
 Wood's brief but most impressive "History of 
 Eyam and the Great Plague." 
 
 With the death of Mrs. Mompesson all hope 
 went out of the heart of the mountain village. 
 Despair made itself heard. Hitherto the people 
 had suffered in silence, now they cried to God
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 337 
 
 for mercy. Their voices were heard in the 
 streets. The sufferers no longer endured their 
 pain with courage, their moans were manifest 
 in every house upon which Death had put his 
 silent seal. 
 
 The messengers, who went out to the signal 
 points for food, returned with sullen dejected 
 faces. The persons of the outer world, whose 
 duty it was to deposit the village rations, hur- 
 ried away from the spot, scared and fearful. 
 Everybody now looked for death. It was the 
 month of August, 1666. The days of the an- 
 nual Wake had returned. People remembered 
 now how gay a time it had been the year pre- 
 viously; and there were those who saw in the 
 plague a punishment for that past gayety. But 
 Mompesson and Stanley both presented the ter- 
 ror from an entirely different view, finding in 
 it still reason for patience, opening heaven to 
 the dead, and bidding the living to be of good 
 courage. 
 
 On Sunday the service was now held in a 
 shaded glen, where Nature had provided a 
 pulpit as if hewn from the rock, and which to 
 this day is called Cucklet Church. Thither 
 crept the attenuated flock, each man, woman 
 and child standing and praying apart from the 
 other; a gaunt, weird company, with Reuben 
 Clegg and his mother among the rest, Mary 
 Talbot and her father conspicuous for the fear- 
 less way in which they went among the people, 
 and Mompesson preaching as one not only hav- 
 ing authority, but the gift of divine eloquence.
 
 338 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 But the plague marched on with relentless 
 tread ; and all day long the leaves of autumn 
 fell upon fresh-made graves. 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 
 
 THE PASSING OF FRANCESCA 
 
 Francesca Roubillac was dying in Venice. 
 She was once more at home in her husband's 
 house by the Valiero Palace. Her faith bade 
 her look for a happier home beyond; but her 
 heart clung to the memory of the days when 
 first she had learned to love the man who had 
 won her by his great devotion. 
 
 It was at the setting of the sun. Her window 
 was open to the sky. She could hear the songs 
 of minstrels as they passed beneath, on their 
 way to some great function of state or pleasure. 
 She had confessed her sins and obtained absolu- 
 tion. They were sins easily forgiven by Heaven, 
 though earthly judges might be more exacting. 
 We judge too much from the wickedness of our 
 own hearts in this world. 
 
 If Francesca Roubillac had sinned in thought, 
 she had sinned in no other way. Tempted by 
 Ziletto, she had struggled free from his strange 
 hypnotic influence, and sought protection by the 
 side of her husband. Whatever faults the Ital- 
 ian woman had, we have seen them. Many a 
 saint lives in the calendar who was less deserv-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 339 
 
 ing. She loved dress, it is true; that was less 
 of a vanity in her days than ours, and in Italy 
 it was the inspiration of art and beauty. 
 
 As Roubillac sat by her on this last evening 
 of her sojourn on earth, he recalled that it was 
 from the open window near which she was lying 
 that he first saw her land from her gondola, one 
 of the few girl students of the Valiero art school. 
 He sat by her now with her white thin hand in 
 his, and she was making a pathetic appeal to 
 him. 
 
 "Nay, dearest, I am assured of myself; it is 
 not alone our dear Father Lorenzo who promises 
 me safe and quick passage through that half- 
 way house where the soul is purified for its im- 
 mortal inheritance, but I have seen the Mother 
 of God in a vision, and I know I am redeemed.. 
 Oh, my dear Bernardo, let us not be parted when 
 your time shall come. I love you, Bernardo, 
 though there is blood upon your hands. Naj T , 
 do not turn your face from me ; it was for love 
 of me you fell ; it was an earthly love, it defied 
 God and the angels ; as it has not parted us here 
 below, let it not part us beyond the grave. Con- 
 fess, Bernardo; confess, and live!" 
 
 He bent his head over her hand that he held 
 in his, and hid his face from her. 
 
 "Bernardo," she continued, raising herself 
 upon her pillow to place her disengaged hand 
 upon his head, "I know how much you suffer; 
 God knows it was all for love of me. The 
 Blessed Virgin knows, and she is kind to men 
 who stake tVjr ali. in this world and the 'i«\t.
 
 340 "'THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 for the love of a woman, as j'ou have done, 
 Bernardo — as you have done!" 
 
 "Nay; peace!" he replied, not daring to look 
 up. "I know not what you mean." 
 
 "Ah, yes, you do," said the sweet voice of the 
 woman. "And I know. But confess it not to 
 me, Bernardo; not to me, but to the good Father 
 Lorenzo; he will intercede for you, and I shall 
 have gone before to prepare the way. Promise 
 me that when I am called you will relieve your 
 soul of its load of sin." 
 
 "But I will not have you gone," he said, lift- 
 ing his dry eyes toward her, his face drawn with 
 agony, his lips quivering. "I will not have you 
 gone!" 
 
 Then, turning to the Calvary that hung upon 
 the wall, he looked toward it, exclaiming, "O 
 merciful God, spare her to me ! Spare her to the 
 world, that hath need of her! Spare her to Art, 
 to Love! Our lives are so short, spare her one 
 year more only, if it be Thy will ; but take her 
 not from me ! I will atone, in the dedication of 
 the remainder of my days to the glorification 
 of Thy church, to the adornment of Thy holy 
 altars!" 
 
 "Nay, wilt thou not first confess, Bernar- 
 do?" 
 
 "Burden not thy thoughts with my poor soul, 
 Francesca. Let us talk of our happiness, and 
 pray to the Virgin to extend thy sojourn here. 
 Dost thou remember when first thou didst con- 
 fess thy love to me?" 
 
 "God is merciful, and will forgive thee thy
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 341 
 
 sins though they were black as the tablets of 
 thine enemy," she said, not heeding his reminis- 
 cence of their happiness. 
 
 '"Tis not merciful to take thee from me, Fran- 
 cesca; it were merciful to let thee stay, now that 
 the fiend is no longer permitted to darken our 
 path. Oh, Francesca, lift up thy prayer to this 
 end!" 
 
 "I would have thee atone, Bernardo," she 
 went on, as if she had not heard him; "but first 
 cometh confession and dedication of work." 
 
 "Francesca," he said, looking up into her 
 saintly face, "thou art not listening to me." 
 
 "Heaven shall listen, dear; the Mother of God 
 is listening to thee even now, and I will kneel at 
 her feet and never rise until I win her dear inter- 
 cession for thee. When thou shalt dedicate thy- 
 self afresh to her service and to God Himself, 
 the work thou hast already done will not be for- 
 gotten. ' ' 
 
 And now she was bending her face toward 
 him, and pausing for his reply. He was kneel- 
 ing by her side. She had risen upon her pillows, 
 angelic-like in her pose, her pallid face lighted 
 with the evening sunshine and radiant by reason 
 of the glory that was in her eyes. It might 
 have been the angel of the Ascension, as he had 
 painted her on the altar in the church of San Ste- 
 fano; and yet he struggled with himself against 
 the certainty that she was about to leave him. 
 
 "All the good that I have done, all that my 
 poor weak soul was capable of, I owe to thy 
 sweet and holy inspiration! And yet they in-
 
 342 THE DAGGER AND THE CROS8 
 
 vite thee hence, when, O my God, I most need 
 thee ; when my soul yearns to do the thing thou 
 wouldst have me do, and it will lack the impulse 
 of thy guiding hand." 
 
 "If to me thou owest the good thou hast done, 
 Bernardo, 'tis to me also thou owest thy ill. In 
 forgiving me, in granting absolution to my soul, 
 shall it not be taken into account for thee? Nay, 
 Bernardo, be patient, be submissive; unburden 
 thy soul, repent, do penance, prepare thyself to 
 meet thy heavenly Judge, and make it possible 
 that we may be united in that better world, to 
 which thine art has pointed in many a radiant 
 figure. Love is everlasting, Bernardo; our 
 hearts shall find each other, whatever be our 
 immortal fate; 'tis for thee, dear love, to cast 
 the weight from thy feet and the burden from 
 thy soul, that I may stretch out my hand to thee 
 across the gulf, and we may kneel together 
 before the throne of mercj 7 ' and of grace." 
 
 Roubillac rose from his knees and sat by her 
 on the bed. She laid her head upon his arm, 
 her eyes riveted upon the sky, where the sun 
 was dropping into the sea. 
 
 "Behold, I am called!" she said, and pointed 
 with her outstretched arm. Roubillac turned 
 his face to the open window. Beyond the wide 
 lagoon he caught the glimmer of the purple 
 Adriatic. Francesca saw further. It was a 
 company of angels that beckoned her. 
 
 "Farewell, dear heart!" she said; "kiss me! 
 Shall I not carry thy message of confession and 
 repentance with me?"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 343 
 
 He kissed her pale lips. A smile moved them ; 
 a bright light shone in her eyes. 
 
 "You promise me?" she whispered, turning 
 to him for the last time. 
 
 "I promise," he replied, and a few minutes 
 later he was kneeling by the bed of death. He 
 thought he heard a strain of heavenly music in 
 the air ; but it was eventime, and Venice is full 
 of music when spring walks with rosy feet upon 
 her rippling waters. 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 
 
 THE CONFESSION OF ROUBILLAC 
 
 "To see her was to love her," said Roubillac 
 to the priest, his friend and father confessor. 
 "And I loved her with all my soul." 
 
 "To the sinful exclusion of thy God," said the 
 priest. "But He is our Father, and hath sworn 
 to forgive the truly penitent that shall confess 
 and make atonement. Have no fear, my son; 
 unburden thy soul, lay bare thy heart; 'twas 
 her last dying request of thee." 
 
 "But let me recall those happy days, my 
 father; they are fitting to thine ear; as thou 
 knowest, 'tis a comfort to remember them. 
 Even the fallen angels may have happy mo- 
 ments, recalling the heaven they have lost." 
 
 Lorenzo and Roubillac had been boys together. 
 They were friends in their youth; and when 
 Lorenzo became a priest and Roubillac a painter
 
 344 THE DAOGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 they still were wont to talk of worldly things 
 and great ambitions. Lorenzo knew of Rou- 
 billac's love for Francesca, and took part in the 
 ceremony of their marriage. It was natural, 
 therefore, that Roubillac should be familiar 
 with his friend, though he wore the frock of the 
 priesthood and spoke with more than an earthly 
 authority. 
 
 "Proceed, Bernardo. I listen to thee as both 
 friend and priest; I have a mortal man's sym- 
 pathy for thee, for are we not all born in sin and 
 shapen in iniquity?" 
 
 "I was not made to inspire a young girl's 
 heart with the poetry of passion," continued the 
 penitent, little heeding the priest's manful words 
 of encouragement, only intent upon the prompt- 
 ings of his own impulse of revelation. He was 
 happy in an egotistical fashion, recounting the 
 triumphs of his love and the bliss of those early 
 days of his courtship and marriage. "I was a 
 gaunt, sad-eyed man, engrossed in an art I failed 
 to master, lacking the inspiration that comes of 
 love and its ennobling desires, its romance, its 
 truth, its self-denial that springs from out its 
 selfishness ; for 'tis a selfish passion at the out- 
 set, but God sanctifies it, Ithuriel touches it with 
 his spear. I found many ways to strew her path 
 with tokens of my admiration. And one day, 
 as thou knowest, I beguiled her to sit for my 
 Angel of the Ascension. Thou knowest the 
 altar well, that stands in the church of San 
 Stefano, in "Verona?" 
 
 "A most worthy work," said the priest-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 345 
 
 "May it not count for a good deed in my rec- 
 ord before Heaven?" 
 
 "Inasmuch as it had holy inspiration, so it 
 will," said the priest. "So spiritual a work is 
 a faithful use of one of the talents intrusted to 
 thee." 
 
 "It was she who inspired it," said Roubillac, 
 rising from the seat where he had been half- 
 kneeling, half-sitting, before Father Lorenzo, 
 who now and then laid an affectionate hand upon 
 his lay friend's arm. 
 
 "Here is the face, the celestial upraised eyes 
 that pierce the gloom," he continued, his own 
 eyes fixed in imagination upon the picture. 
 "She lived for me, an angel upon the earth; 
 and now, dear God, she has unfolded her wings 
 and taken flight. ' ' 
 
 "To intercede, it may be," said the priest, "to 
 help lift thy soul to His recognition, to make thy 
 passage sure through such purgatorial prelude 
 as may haply purge thy soul." 
 
 "And so at last we were wed," said Roubillac, 
 as if he had not heard the priest's remark, and 
 once more sitting humbly on the low seat by the 
 priest. "Yes, we were wed, she and I. And 
 oh, the bliss of her companionship ! She was tbe 
 model in my art, the worshiped of my soul'—" 
 
 "To the neglect of Holy Church, alas!" 
 
 "Nay, I devoted her and myself to Holy 
 Church. Thou knowest I did ; and whereof the 
 church's altars, her chapels, her sanctuaries bear 
 witness. It was friendship at first, pity per- 
 chance ; but at last she loved me for my devotion
 
 346 THE DAGGER AND THE ( RO 
 
 to her. There was not a wish of hers I did not 
 gratify before it was half confessed. Nay, nay ; 
 'twas not vanity nor selfishness, 'twas more 
 fatherly than the lover; 'twas such as might 
 become our Father which is in Heaven, since 
 thou say est He is love itself and giveth what is 
 asked of Him." 
 
 "Attune thy thoughts, my son, with more of 
 reverence," said the priest; but Roubillac was 
 once more wholly occupied with the reminis- 
 cences of his short life — for he had never lived, 
 he averred, until he had seen Francesca. "But, 
 alas the day!" he went on, "one who called 
 himself a student of our art, a traveler, a poet, 
 a citizen of Florence, came to Venice; a very 
 prince, they said who professed to know him, 
 endowed with wealth of intellect and gold; his 
 name, Giovanni Ziletto." 
 
 "I knew the man; 'tis in regard to him thou 
 wouldst confess," said the priest; "and 'twas of 
 him I promised thy saintly wife I would remind 
 thee, not alone as thy friend and fellow-citizen, 
 but as became mine office." 
 
 " 'Tis well," said Roubillac, "I thank thee. 
 She hath my promise to confess unto thee all 
 that she believed was a burden to my soul, so 
 heavy that it might be a barrier against our 
 meeting again in heaven." 
 
 "And his name was Ziletto?" said the priest, 
 anxious to keep the penitent close to his text. 
 
 "A pagan god, a thing of beauty without a 
 heart, but with the devilish passion of a 
 fiend!"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 347 
 
 "Judge thou not!" said the priest. "God 
 fashioned him." 
 
 "And if He did, why, then, 'twas in mockery 
 of His saints, in mockery of His own dear Son; 
 for He gave him a form and features that might 
 have matched the noblest and sweetest. Picture 
 the Angel Gabriel, and thou mightest have been 
 content to see Ziletto in thy imagination. The 
 ancients would have raised him aloft as Apollo. 
 We Christian painters would have given him a 
 Divine afflatus; and yet, great Heaven, he was 
 a devil — an evil spirit, a man with everything 
 but a heart. The blood of all my veins rushes 
 to my own and stops its beating when I think of 
 him." 
 
 Roubillac flung himself upon his knees, and 
 buried his face in his hands and groaned. There 
 was a long pause. 
 
 Presently the priest, kneeling by the side of 
 the penitent, said, "Think of Christ's patience 
 and His agony. All thy sufferings are as a 
 summer breeze to the simoom compared with His ; 
 He shed tears of blood. Be calm, my son ; dear 
 friend, be calm." 
 
 "Thou hast said ere now, thou friend of my 
 youth, Lorenzo, thou pastor and confessor of my 
 age, 'Let thy soul be free, fling down thy thoughts 
 before God, lay bare thy heart, quit thee of thy 
 burden'; and so I will — and so I will!" 
 
 "The Mother of God help thee !" said the priest. 
 "Our Heavenly Father, through the intermediary 
 of His Gracious Son, be with thee!" 
 
 'This man, this fiend in human shape," con- 
 
 (ii
 
 ?A& THE DAGGEK AND THE CROSS 
 
 tinued Roubillac, now rising to his feet, "this 
 man, that might have vied for beauty with the 
 Angel Gabriel, this Satan smiled upon my wife ; 
 there was music in his voice, as there was on the 
 forked tongue of the Serpent in Paradise; he told 
 her of the glories of other lands, of courts, of 
 pageants, and of such-like things. Only they can 
 play upon a woman's heart who know the strings. 
 Thou rememberest how I sought thy counsel?" 
 
 ' ' Right well, my son ; right well. ' ' 
 
 "She was a bird fluttering toward the piping 
 of the decoy among the twigs of the limed roses 
 and polyanders ; but I rescued her. Thy friend 
 of the English palace, Father Castelli, brought 
 to thy knowledge the embassadorial messenger; 
 it seemed like God's providence that I was at 
 hand." 
 
 "It was the answer to mj^ prayer. Sometimes 
 God answers when we are peremptory, when we 
 strive against Him; then we have our waj T , in- 
 stead of urging 'Thy will be done.' And so He 
 sent thee and thy wife to England." 
 
 "He sent us to an earthly paradise; but He 
 sent the serpent also. A weary journej^ to a 
 peaceful home; the color came back to her 
 cheeks, but not till many days were spent. And 
 then, as it had been in Venice, so 'twas in Eyam ; 
 when most we thought we were happy there fell 
 upon our path the shadow of Ziletto, and he 
 announced himself with unblushing front, and 
 almost in Christ's own words, 'It is I, be not 
 afraid!' " 
 
 The priest crossed himself. Roubillac leaned
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 349 
 
 against the frescoed wall of the priest's room, 
 and the reflection of the back-waters of the great 
 canal made a dancing glory on the ceiling. It 
 was a humble dwelling place; yet it lacked none 
 of the atmosphere of Art that filled the City in 
 the Sea within and without her human abodes. 
 Lorenzo would not have been the loving friend 
 of Roubillac without showing a comrade's devo- 
 tion ; this had been manifested in the decoration 
 of his rooms, in a corner by the Church of San 
 Martino, and it was made further manifest by 
 his taking the painter to his own home after the 
 burial of Francesca. Roubillac had been literally 
 led by the hand to the priest's house. Lorenzo 
 had bid him come and stay until such time as he 
 should be sufficiently recovered to take up his 
 work again, and live for the adornment of the 
 church where Francesca and her father had wor- 
 shiped when she was a girl. 
 
 "But first confession," Roubillac had repeated; 
 "first confession, then atonement. And I prom- 
 ised; it is registered in heaven." And when 
 the priest encouraged him to this end Roubillac 
 said surely the record was known in all its black 
 detail, and why should he scorch the heart of his 
 friend, why burn his story into another heart, to 
 condemn the handiwork of God Himself? But 
 these sa3 T ings were only tokens of remorse and 
 promptings of the devil, so Lorenzo said, and 
 confession was the only key to forgiveness; and a 
 promise to the dead, was it not sacred? So it 
 had come to pass that Roubillac knelt at the feet 
 of the priest and made confession; but Lorenzo
 
 350 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 had not in his pure soul, burdened though it was 
 with many guilty secrets of human depravity, 
 dreamed of anything so black as the guilt of his 
 friend, Bernardo Roubillac. 
 
 "Rest thee, thou art faint," said the priest, as 
 Roubillac staggered toward the couch that was 
 the priest's bed, sheltered in an alcove of the 
 room, and with a Cross of gold at the head that 
 had been beaten out of some tawdry ornament 
 of a mosque, from the East, where Venetian 
 troops had flung down the Crescent, and brought 
 rich spoil to the Adriatic, as witness to this day 
 the relics of the valor of her youth. 
 
 "It wrings my heart to tell thee all; 'twill 
 wring thine own. But perchance God knows 
 what is best for the puppets of His hand, the 
 creatures of His hate and love — " 
 
 "Nay, desist. Thou dost profane His holy 
 name," said the priest. 
 
 "It had been well thou hadst not prayed for 
 us, or, perad venture, with less of thy heart and 
 soul in the appeal; then, perchance, had we 
 never left Venice — " 
 
 "We know not, when we suffer, that 'tis for 
 our good," the priest replied. He knelt by the 
 side of his blaspheming friend, who had flung 
 himself upon the couch and lay there, prone 
 upon his face. "And every journey comes to 
 an end at last, and every sin the human mind 
 can think or the human hand commit may be 
 forgiven to the truly penitent. Have courage, 
 friend; there is joy in heaven over the repentant 
 sinner, and to thy credit already the score stands
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 351 
 
 well; blot it not out. God so loved the world 
 that he gave His only begotten Son for us, an 
 atonement for our sins, that we might have ever- 
 lasting life. Oh, Bernardo, what can I say to 
 thee, dear friend of my youth, to lift thee out 
 of the pit into which thy thoughts are fall- 
 ing? Arise, take up thy cross, and follow the 
 Master." 
 
 "Thou art very good to me, Lorenzo; but why 
 describe to thee the scorching of the plowshare 
 over which I passed for weary days and nights 
 a watch upon my wife, an eavesdropper, a spy? 
 One day he came to me. 'Thou art jealous,' he 
 said j 'and thou wrongest me; I am in love, but 
 not where thou thinkest. Dost know the dainty 
 morsel they call Mary Talbot in the village yon- 
 der? 'Tis she I love; and if you will aid me, I 
 swear that if there be so much as a fancy, ever 
 so slight, on thy wife's part in the way of love 
 or friendship for me, I will make Francesca hate 
 me.' I had nearly slain him where he stood; 
 but it seemed that he had a sudden power over 
 me, a power that was more than mortal, and I 
 stood open-mouthed and listened to him. 'I will 
 leave thee undisturbed, in thy Art and in thy 
 love,' he said. It was a bargain with the devil, 
 such as Faust might have made with Mephis- 
 topheles in the legend. I knew it ; and could 
 not choose but listen to him. 'What is it I may 
 do to prove thee?' I asked. ' She is coy, this En- 
 glish maiden, and dare not acknowledge my 
 love; the village would kill her; they hate us, 
 who are foreigners.' I knew this was false; for
 
 352 THE DAGGER AND TUB CROSS 
 
 the people had been kind to us, and Sir George 
 Talbot had even played the host to Ziletto; he 
 had broken bread with him. And yet it sounded 
 true; I had heard of a certain antagonism among 
 the English to foreigners, and it was to me, as 
 he spoke, a fact of my own experience. I was 
 ln-witched; it cannot be otherwise; he was a 
 magician, a fiend, and I came to think he was 
 my friend, that he desired to remove what he 
 declared to be his unconscious spell from Fran- 
 cesca; and again I said, 'What is't I may do to 
 prove thee?' 'I have sounded Father Castelli on 
 a secret marriage,' he replied, 'to which she is 
 not averse, but he will none of it ; his position is 
 delicate and difficult; they hate the True Faith 
 now in England; any day he might be arrested; 
 the Stafford- Bradshaws, who protect him in his 
 office, run the risk of attainder. Bradshaw is a 
 Presbyterian ; it is his wife, Lady Stafford, who 
 is Catholic and of the True Faith; and you, 
 Roubillac, are engaged in work that is more or 
 less public. Father Castelli is employed on a 
 secret and dangerous service; and so I may not 
 espouse the maid, either in public or in private — 
 it is against Father Castelli's policy.' 'Well?' I 
 answered, 'then what wouldst thou with me?' 
 'It is for thee to take his place. She and I must 
 kneel at an altar ; she is at heart a Catholic. To 
 me it matters not, only that she be mated to me, 
 in very truth or otherwise; but it must be to 
 Mary Talbot a reality.' At first I did not com- 
 prehend the drift of what he said, and I an- 
 swered, 'Let her and thou kneel at the altar of
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 353 
 
 her own Faith; take her to her father's Church.' 
 'That may not be,' he said. 'Listen! I have 
 need of thee, thou of me ; thou knowest what it 
 is to love, so likewise do I. Thou knowest what 
 it is to wait and doubt, to love and hope and 
 fear, to have thy brain on fire, so likewise do I. 
 Thou knowest what it is to possess that thou 
 lovest; I would likewise, for, till now, I never 
 knew what love is, never felt ready to barter my 
 life for a woman's smile. And there is no other 
 way; 'tis only for thee to assume the priest, to 
 say a few words at the small altar in the Old 
 Hall chapel where thou art at work, and she is 
 mine, to stay or go, to remain in Eyam until I 
 have won over her father, or to depart with me 
 to Italy, the delights of which, the beauty and 
 the music, she longeth for. But these English 
 women are cold and coy, and want the touch of 
 a Church to thaw their souls; and when thou 
 hast done this slight service, thou and thine will 
 be free of me forever ; I swear it, nay, wilt thou 
 not aid me for love of thine own, and — ' Why 
 dost thou not speak, Father Lorenzo? Friend, 
 thou seest that I fell ; that is why thou leavest 
 me to plod over the burning share." 
 
 "I am listening to thee, my son; proceed." 
 " 'I do but remain in Eyam until the dressing 
 of the Wells,' continued the tempter; 'I have 
 undertaken to decorate Clegg's Spring at the 
 Feast of the Wells, the celebration of Ascension 
 they call it, the festival of Flora is its rightful 
 name; for this I stay, and 'tis for thee to make 
 my happiness complete, and thine own I' "
 
 354: THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 Hero Roubillac pushed back his gray hair from 
 bis ample forehead, and fixed bis eyes upon the 
 priest. Then, with a wild cry that was like a 
 sob, he said, "I did it!" 
 
 "Sacrilege!" exclaimed the priest. 
 
 "I stood in Father Castelli's shoes; I spoke 
 the blessed words of the sacrament of marriage 
 — I laid my hands upon her head — I blessed her !" 
 
 "Thou art lost!" said the priest. 
 
 "Nay, then listen," said Roubillac, with a 
 mocking laugh. "I am doubly damned, for this 
 is but the beginning of my sin, but the prologue 
 to my crime." 
 
 "Canst thou be Roubillac, the Bernardo Rou- 
 billac I knew here in Venice from boyhood?" 
 said the priest. 
 
 "Thy prayer was impious!" exclaimed Rou- 
 billac, beating his breast. " 'Tis not for mortals 
 such as thou to dictate to God. 'Twas thou who 
 sent us across the sea to our awful fate ! Thou, 
 priest; thou!" 
 
 "Lord have mercy upon him; he knows not 
 what he says!" 
 
 "Nay, comfort not thyself in such hope; I 
 know too well. Listen, priest. I will tell thee 
 aU -listen!" 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 
 
 THE FURTHER CONFESSION OF ROUBILLAC 
 
 "Yes, Lorenzo, I did it, that nameless deed 
 of profanity, of sacrilege; and more. Listen]"
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 355 
 
 continued the penitent, beads of perspiration 
 breaking out upon his forehead. "Not alone 
 the impiety of it to the Church, to God the 
 Father, but to her, that innocent girl of the En- 
 glish village, daughter of the chief citizen, the 
 magistrate, the titled courtier, the knight, hon- 
 ored by his king no doubt for some deed of valor, 
 I, Bernardo Roubillac, painter of the altars of 
 God, mate of that pure soul Francesca — I, the 
 friend of thy youth — I did this thing." 
 
 And such is human nature, such the pride of 
 country, that Lorenzo remembered at the mo- 
 ment that Roubillac was of Spanish origin. 
 
 "Nay, dear friend, there needs no purgatory 
 after this life, no fiery passage to the hell that 
 is prepared for the impious outcast. There are 
 
 fiercer fires than the material flame I 
 
 stood before the altar, I joined their hands, I 
 pronounced the benediction. She thought the 
 voice was Castelli's. 'Twas the voice of the 
 fiend. The hand that trembled on her bended 
 head was mine. But he had possession of me 
 — Ziletto, the evil one, the tempter, the serpent 
 who had beguiled the woman. She was the 
 Gretchen of the German legend, but there was 
 no Faust; the devil himself was her paramour, 
 for I had no companionship in it; and yet it 
 seemed that I did it for love, a selfish unreason- 
 ing love. . . . And so I did this woful thing; 
 I, a layman, arrogating to myself the priestly 
 office. In Castelli's reverend name, I, a pre- 
 tender to God's ordinances, I dared to bless 
 them She looked up into Ziletto's face
 
 366 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 
 
 and passed out into the night, leaning with happy 
 
 faith and love upon his arm And I — 
 
 'tis almost black enough for fiends to laugh at 
 — I went to Francesca's chamber. Finding her 
 upon her knees, I sought to kneel by her side, 
 
 but fell senseless at her feet It was 
 
 kindness in Him without whose permission not 
 even a sparrow falls, to steep my soul in obliv- 
 ion, until it should achieve its balance once more. 
 The good Father Castelli, who had just returned 
 from a journey, pitied me, and, with Francesca, 
 ministered unto me. They ascribed my malady 
 to overwork ; for I had been much engrossed in 
 the decoration of one of Eyam's holy wells in 
 honor of the Ascension! . . . Didst ever con- 
 fess so vile a hypocrite, Lorenzo?" 
 
 Once more he flung himself upon the couch 
 face downward, and groaned in agony of spirit- 
 
 "I pity thee!" said the priest; "I pity thee!" 
 
 "Nay, pity me not," said Roubillac, standing 
 up afresh and pushing back his gray hair; " 'tis 
 early to pity me. Were it not that my poor weak 
 soul longs to meet her once again, in the sacred 
 halls whither she has fled, and had I not prom- 
 ised her that I would confess to thee, perchance 
 I would have asked naught better than to follow 
 Ziletto to hell and meet him there, face to face, 
 and stab him again to the death, if it might be 
 so, and spit upon him!" 
 
 "Thou art mad, my son. I'll hear no more 
 until thou hast calmed thy spirit with prayer. 
 Thou speakest in a tangle, without sequence of 
 fact or circumstance."
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS 35? 
 
 "Nay, thou shalt hear me to the end! I told 
 thee he went forth into the night ; she, trusting, 
 and in good faith, leaning upon his arm. He 
 had his will of that sweet innocent; for, with 
 words of holy import and masquerading in the 
 character of Castelli, I had given him the rights 
 of a husband — I, Roubillac, the just man, who 
 had been permitted to paint an angel of the 
 Ascension that dominates the famous altar of 
 San Stefano! . . . But oh, I was rightly pun- 
 ished ; for within one short week he had returned 
 to that baser passion from which Francesca and 
 I had fled, and I had reason to believe that he 
 had achieved the ruin of my wife, blasted her 
 happiness and mine, broken the hideous bond of 
 truce he swore to me, preyed upon her pure soul, 
 bedabbled her immortal wings with mud — " 
 
 "Thou wrongedst her!" said the priest. 
 
 ' ' God help me, I know it now ! I did not know 
 it then, for the demon Jealousy had me by the 
 throat. Yet I forgave her, and in my heart dis- 
 believed the damning thing that he put into my 
 thoughts ; for, thou seest, from vanity or hatred 
 of my happiness, he boasted of his victory, not 
 in words, but with subtle suggestion that filled 
 me with misery ; and thenceforward he renewed 
 his visits to the Old Hall, professing that he 
 came to see Father Castelli. Francesca grew 
 unhappy, and pined for home, and there was the 
 old look of appeal and fear in her eyes. . . One 
 day I missed her for many hours, and knew not 
 whither she had strayed. Ziletto brought her 
 home. She had missed her way, he said, in the
 
 358 THE DAGGEK AND THE CROSS. 
 
 mazes of the Old Hall gardens, and as he said so 
 there was the devil in his cruel eye. . . I made 
 no vow, but I knew that I should murder him ; 
 I knew it as by an instinct ; and I, too, smiled 
 with the red thought burning into my life, when 
 Ziletto's false lips curled as if with some mirth- 
 ful scofiing at the mock he had made of me. But 
 I took her by the hand, my wife that had fallen, 
 as, God forgive me, I thought — and of all the 
 sins of my soul and body, the greatest of all is 
 that I doubted her, but only as one would say of 
 some poor victim, that the fiend had bewitched 
 her, that she knew not what she did. And yet I 
 should have known then, as I know now, that she 
 was as far beyond his power as the Virgin's Son 
 Himself when the devil took Him into a high 
 mountain and showed Him the kingdoms of the 
 earth. But I knew it not; I had no talismanic 
 touch in my shriveled nature equal to such divina- 
 tion of her pure soul, though, God knows, I tried 
 to be worthy of her." 
 
 The chanting of a distant choir came in through 
 the half-open window, and Eoubillac, drawing his 
 robe about his spare figure, paced the room with 
 head low bent, and eyes, for the first time in all 
 that solemn time, dimmed with tears. The priest 
 stood beside him and laid his hand upon his arm, 
 and paced the room with sympathetic tread. He 
 was not all priest, Lorenzo, and his heart was 
 very human. 
 
 " Didst thou not question her ?" he presently 
 asked.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 359 
 
 " It seemed to me there was confession in 
 her eyes, as there was triumph in his. I loved 
 her too deeply for aught but pity for her plight. 
 I knew that Ja.e worked by spells. Did she not 
 fly from him in Venice, and discover his plot 
 unto both of us, thee and me ? It came into my 
 mind to remember that even then his influence 
 had wellnigh prevailed. And we met, he and I ; 
 but neither the craft of Pisani the swordsman 
 nor the justice of my cause could overthrow him. 
 What questioning needs the dove touching the 
 deadly fascination of the serpent? Who con- 
 troverts the strength of the wolf against the 
 lamb?" 
 
 " Nay, our Heavenly Father be thanked that 
 thou spared her the humiliation of such question- 
 ing. How much thou wrongedst her in thought 
 I may not say, lest I become as unworthy a priest 
 as thou, poor mocker of the living and the dead !" 
 " Thou art very good to me," said Eoubillac, 
 his voice softening. " 'Twas not of his own im- 
 pulse that he spared her ; if there is miraculous 
 interposition, only thus could the dove escape the 
 serpent. There was, nevertheless, the boast of 
 the deed in his looks and in his voice, that mocked 
 me with the same intensity of hatred that blazed 
 in his baleful countenance when we parted at 
 Venice, he triumphant, I groveling at his feet, 
 disarmed, disgraced. . . Ah, dear friend, 'twas 
 hard to bear and live ; but I bore it with patience 
 — did I not so? I became an exile that I might 
 be free from his persecution, and Francesca un~
 
 360 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 trameled by his devilish designs. Nay, I do not 
 seek to justify myself. . . I slew him, without 
 quarter, without remorse ; and lest he might not 
 know the hand that struck him, I whispered in 
 his car, ' Devil ! 'Tis I, Roubillac. Get thee 
 back to hell, thou fiend incarnate ; 'tis Roubillac 
 that speeds thee thither !' " 
 
 Then once more Eoubillac gave way to the 
 frenzy of passion and remorse ; not remorse for 
 the death of Ziletto, but that he should have har- 
 bored an unkind thought of Francesca. In his 
 imagination he saw her, still alive and happy but 
 for that fateful spell, the evil eye of the Floren- 
 tine devil. Waving Lorenzo aside, he flung him- 
 self upon the floor and gnashed his teeth ; then 
 rose to his feet and reviled his Maker, and deliv- 
 ered himself of such impious things that the priest 
 covered his face with his hood and groaned aloud 
 with pitying horror. 
 
 " Peace, in the name of Our Holy Mother, and 
 in God's name !" he exclaimed, when at last Rou- 
 billac gave momentary pause and wiped the sweat 
 from his pale yet burning face. " Oh, Bernardo, 
 for her sake, for thine own!" 
 
 " Nay, 'tis useless, priest !" Roubillac exclaimed, 
 confronting Lorenzo with defiant action and 
 flaming eyes ; " thou canst not stay me ! Damn 
 him ! Ten thousand curses shrivel him where he 
 lies howling in the pit ! ... . I should have 
 dragged him to the scene of his riot and tortured 
 him, his flesh torn with pincers ! I was too gen- 
 tle. 'Twas the vengeance of a poltroon, a pal-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 361 
 
 teringwith opportunity ; I did but cut the thread 
 of his vile life, as one might still the beating of 
 some sad heart for pity !" 
 
 As if the word pity had found an echo in some 
 tender corner of his nature, he flung up his arms 
 in deprecation of his rage, and turning his drawn 
 face, wrinkled with his passion, toward the priest, 
 he said, " Forgive me, dear friend ; have patience. 
 
 I am mad But the coward in his black 
 
 heart cried aloud nevertheless; the listening 
 night heard his shriek, and my soul responded 
 
 with delight as I fled through the darkness 
 
 'Twas thus, Lorenzo! I knew his rendezvous. 
 They called it 'My Lady's Bower.' I had 
 smoothed his way thither on that night when I 
 played the part of Father Castelli — I, the good 
 and honest Eoubillac, the famous Venetian, mark 
 you, the noble blood of Spanish dons and Italian 
 
 virtue in his unworthy veins But I was 
 
 not alone in this fatal secret, as it seemed. There 
 is no subterfuge that can blind the true lover, the 
 devoted heart. There was a native suitor for the 
 hand of Mary Talbot, one Reuben Clegg, a man 
 of sober mien and earnest purpose, a student, a 
 man of science, though, mayhap, groping in the 
 dark ; but a man of heart and brain. Until Zi- 
 letto came he was happy in his hopes, for this 
 woman, Mary Talbot, was beautiful and of a rare 
 
 nature It was moonlight ; a moon that 
 
 seemed to have secrets of her own ; a moon that 
 shut out the world from My Lady's Bower at 
 intervals, as if to protect the English belle from
 
 362 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 herself, then shone out again, with inspiring, if 
 wavering beams. . . . All Nature might have 
 been interested in the tragedy of that far-away 
 corner in the world beyond the seas. There were 
 strange stiirrngs in the trees, weird cries of night 
 birds, and the fox crossed my path more than 
 oncers I crept through the woods and the bracken 
 to the cover by the glen where I knew he must 
 pass. And behold they came forth, down the 
 slope from Sir George Talbot's garden, Ziletto 
 and the woman I had fraudulently given over to 
 him with the mock blessings of the Church." 
 
 " 'Tis infamous !" groaned the priest. " What 
 penance can atone for such profane revolt !" 
 
 "And as I stood apart, my dagger strongly 
 gripped, vengeance in my soul," continued the 
 penitent, his sunken eyes flashing, his lips apart, 
 his bony hand clutching an imaginary knife," 
 " there came upon the scene that same native, the 
 man Clegg, and with brief parley of words he 
 seized Ziletto by the throat; and all in a moment 
 it came into my thoughts that he would rob me 
 of my revenge, beguile me of the bliss I had prom- 
 ised myself. I stepped between them from out 
 my hiding-place, a shadowy minister of justice, 
 and, as the moon hid herself, I stabbed him thrice, 
 and whispered in his ear the message I told thee 
 of, ' Devil ! 'Tis I, Eoubillac. Get thee back to 
 hell, thou fiend incarnate; 'tis Roubillac that 
 speeds thee thither !' 1 hastened back again to 
 the Old Hall and sat me down upon a seat out- 
 side the refectory, where Father Castelli sought
 
 THE DAGGEE AND THE CE0SS. 363 
 
 me. It had been the festival of the Springs, and 
 we went in to supper; and lo and behold, the 
 clock struck, and I noted the time, so that it 
 might be given evidence that I was sitting there 
 with friends and comrades at about the hour 
 when the murder of Ziletto might have been com- 
 mitted ; for I had become cunning too, as w T ell as 
 vengeful. When one falls in sin, one falls easily 
 after the first descent. It might well be that ere 
 the deed was well disclosed to the man Clegg and 
 the mock wife, I was well on my way to the Old 
 Hall. It seemed as if wings were added to my 
 feet, and I laughed, with a fiendish joy that I 
 might have robbed from the dead Ziletto himself. 
 I had killed him, stabbed him to death ; yet I 
 supped with Father Castelli and some guests at 
 the Old Hall, and talked over the happy events 
 of the day, the glory of the time, the beauty of 
 its emblems, the blessed ascent of the Master, and 
 the beauty of religion." 
 
 The penitent now paused to laugh at the abject 
 attitude of the priest. 
 
 " It was a right merry night ; even Castelli un- 
 bent and joined in the toast of Eyam ; and pres- 
 ently I retired to Francesca's chamber, and we 
 talked of Italy until morning. I said we would 
 go hence, if she so willed it; and she rejoiced in 
 the happy prospect I drew for her. And I would 
 have had her prepare at once; but on the next 
 day the officer of the crown, or whatsoe'er they 
 call the constable of the district, summoned me 
 to appear before the crowner; he was to open a
 
 3G4 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 court, to inquire into the death of Giovanni Zi 
 letto, who had been murdered at .a lonely spot bv 
 the vale of Middleton. I went thither with the 
 rest, Father Castelli, and several of my compa- 
 triots ; and I gave my declaration, how he and I 
 had parted at such a time after the dancing on 
 the Green, how he had promised to come to the 
 Old Hall and sup, how he and I had not been on 
 the best terms of good camaraderie, but how we 
 had renewed and healed our differences on this 
 day of our art competition and the festival of 
 Ascension— all lies, my father, politic lies, for I 
 had no desire to play the martyr for him. And 
 I told them how, as the clock struck about the 
 time of his death, I was talking of the success 
 of the festival with Father Castelli. And the 
 crowner, or king's officer, asked me if any one 
 entertained an ill-feeling against Ziletto, any one 
 of his countrymen ; and I said No, we Mere a 
 happy family, and I thereupon paid tribute to his 
 art, to his skill as a musician, to his manliness 
 and nobility of character, and broke down with 
 emotion, speaking there about his death." 
 
 u Hypocrite !" said the priest. 
 
 "Ay, and worse — possessed ; for the devil re- 
 leased from Ziletto had entered into me ! . . . . 
 And there sat in the court — 'twas the room of the 
 inn where Ziletto had been wont to charm the 
 natives with his songs — Keuben Clegg, a witness, 
 like unto myself, as J had thought ; but 'twas not 
 so — he was a prisoner, charged with the murder 
 of Ziletto- charged, and on the most fatal evi-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 365 
 
 dence. They had fought, not long before, he and 
 Ziletto, so the prisoner had acknowledged, and 
 Clegg was the aggressor; he said so in open 
 court, and would not be denied. He confessed 
 that he hated him, and believed him to be a ruf- 
 fian, a seducer, a traitor to God and man, and 
 had smote him from his path, whereupon Ziletto 
 had drawn a knife upon him, and had accepted a 
 challenge, and would have been willing to do 
 battle with him to the death. But he did not 
 murder him ; none who knew him in the High 
 Peak Hundred would doubt his word on that. 
 The pale beautiful woman who now called herself 
 Ziletto's wife related the particulars of the tragedy 
 with all truth, and Clegg had naught to add 
 thereto. The simple court of the village, know- 
 iug many other circumstances that might confirm 
 Mary Talbot's evidence, believed her declaration 
 and relieved Clegg of the infamy sought to be 
 branded upon him. But the constable of Eyam 
 and his more influential colleagues of the Hun- 
 dred regarded her statement in so far as the inci- 
 dent of the murder was implied as mere fable ; 
 and Clegg was thereupon relegated for examina- 
 tion to a higher court, such perchance by compar- 
 ison as our Council of Venice, and was condemned 
 to death. My work at the Old Hall being suffi- 
 ciently finished, we left the great Assize town 
 and came to Venice." 
 
 "And without protest to stay the execution of 
 the unhappy man ? "Without one word of inter- 
 position ? You left hira to die in his innocence ?"
 
 366 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 " I had thought to have quitted Eyam long be- 
 fore, but something held me ; Francesca was loth 
 to leave. She had been admitted to the house of 
 the betrayed woman, and Mary Talbot had found 
 comfort in her sweet companionship. For one 
 brief moment I was prompted to take the man's 
 place, to offer myself up to justice, but only for a 
 moment ; my heart failed me, I did not want to 
 die. . . . And so we came back to Venice, and 
 in its sunshine and peace and with its happy 
 memories I tried to forget England. The wist- 
 fulness and sorrow in Francesca's eyes, I, with 
 selfish confidence, attributed to the debt of peni- 
 tence she owed me. I still believed she could not 
 have escaped the wiles of Ziletto, but in truth 
 'twas my guilty secret that was killing her ; she 
 nad divined the truth of the manner of Ziletto's 
 death." 
 
 "And told thee so in words V 
 
 " Nay, but in appeals that I should confess to 
 thee; and in one sentence that gave her more 
 pain to utter than to breathe, when the last mes- 
 sage came to her. ' There is blood upon thy 
 hands,' she said. I promised I would unburden 
 mv heart to thee ; and now thou hast heard the 
 black and damning record. . . . And she is no 
 more, and I am alone with my sins. Not all the 
 priests in Christendom, nor all the power of the 
 saints on earth, alas, can raise up to life again 
 the lovely image of pure womanhood they have 
 carried to the tomb, Alas ! alas !"
 
 ■THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 3fi7 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 
 
 HIS AGONY AND AWFUL PENANCE 
 
 "If 'twere God's will to raise up thy wife 
 Francesca, she would, in her sweet generosity, be 
 standing by thee in humble appeal for thy soul," 
 said the priest, as Roubillac sank upon the couch 
 in mental and physical collapse. "As it is, it may 
 be that her innocence and the Mother of God's 
 helpful aid have given her the privilege of inter- 
 position for thee at the Throne of Grace ; for 
 there is the miracle of Heaven and the miracle of 
 earth, and great is the power of faith. But, 
 wouldst thou dare to hope for the mercy she 
 could win for thee, thou must first repent." 
 
 " I do repent," he said, covering his face with 
 his hands and speaking with difficulty. " I do 
 repent. Absolve me soon, for I feel the hand of 
 death is upon me." 
 
 " Nay. God grant thee power to do the pen- 
 ance I shall hold thee to. Summon thy power of 
 will. Arise, gird up thy loins, and make thyself 
 worthy of forgiveness here and hereafter, thou 
 double-dyed traitor to God and man !" 
 
 " Heap thy words of wrath upon me," groaned 
 the penitent. "As I revealed myself unto thee, 
 I said, ' Surely it cannot be thou, Roubillac, whose 
 sins I am confessing.' But 'tis so, and I am 
 damned to all eternity. Ziletto is a saint com- 
 pared with the foul villain who slew him. Nay,
 
 3(>8 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 Lorenzo, I ask not thy pity, nor any longer thy 
 absolution. Let Die drift down the black river, 
 alone, unpitied, a waif of the pit . . . And yet," 
 he continued, slipping from the couch and gazing 
 at the Calvary on the wall, " she speaks to me, 1 
 see her beckoning, there is a smile upon her heav- 
 enly face. Oh, my God, do not torture me! 
 Slay me, let me parch of thirst in purgatory or 
 burn in the bottomless pit, but torture me not 
 with that lost loved face !" 
 
 " Wouldst win her back again ?" said the priest, 
 kneeling by his side. "Wouldst win thy way to 
 the Paradise where she would have thee join her 
 and the heavenly host ?" 
 
 "Ask the pilgrim dying of thirst if he desires 
 a cup of water ; ask the man on the rack if he 
 longs to have his body free from agony." 
 
 " By Christ's Cross, I swear to thee, Bernardo 
 Roubillac, thy sins shall be forgiven thee if thy 
 repentance be equal to the penance I shall ordain 
 thee." 
 
 "Thou bringest water to the parched lips, hope 
 to the hopeless," said Roubillac, rising to his feet. 
 " "What penance canst thou devise that human 
 feet can accomplish, that human endurance can 
 avail ? Name it ; if, as thou say est, it shall haply 
 insure such forgiveness as will encompass heaven 
 and that meeting again with Francesca in sweet 
 forgetfulness of the evil that is done, name it, 
 Lorenzo, priest, friend, judge, name it, and let the 
 rack, the wheel, the rope do their worst!" 
 
 " Nor wheel, nor rack, nor rope shall touch thy
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 369 
 
 body, Bernardo ; 'tis thy soul must be racked, thy 
 spirit freed from the shackles. Listen ! Give me 
 th}' dagger !" Roubillac drew from his girdle the 
 knife with which he had slain Ziletto. 
 
 " Is this the weapon with which thy sacrilegious 
 hand dared anticipate the will of Heaven ?" 
 
 " His blood is still upon the blade. I have not 
 dared part with it, though it has never been un- 
 sheathed since that night of vengeance." 
 
 " Talk of it no more as vengeance ; say that 
 night of crime and infamy," replied the priest, 
 holding the knife in his hand as if he grasped a 
 crucifix. " Thou shalt depart from Venice, in the 
 first ship that offers, and take thy way to Eng- 
 land, landing at the port thou first didst make, 
 and thence, on foot, without scrip or purse, make 
 for that same village of Eyam. Thou shalt take 
 this carnal weapon in thy hand ; it shall be thy 
 emblem now of penitence and peace ; thy dagger 
 shall be thy cross ; so shalt thou pass into the land 
 of the High Peak Hundred, so shalt thou enter 
 into the aisle of their Church that is alien to 
 thee, so shall thy humiliation be the greater ; 
 and, holding aloft thy cross, thou shalt confess 
 thy crimes before all the people. Nay, thou shalt 
 say unto them that, since God did not strike thee 
 down by His holy altar when thou didst take His 
 name in vain, the Holy Church thou hast pro- 
 faned may yet pronounce that union inviolable. 
 Answer me not. With all the power 1 have I 
 will appeal unto the Pope himself. It may be an 
 impiety ; God knows if it shall avail aught ; but
 
 370 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 that is thy message to the Talbots and the peo- 
 ple of the English village. Before them all thou 
 shalt confess the murder of Giovanni Ziletto. 
 Thus freeing the name of Clegg from the taint of 
 crime. Thou shalt thereupon offer thyself to the 
 English law and take thy punishment, even unto 
 death. So shalt thou free thy soul from perdi- 
 tion ; so shall thy soul be purified and take upon 
 itself the innocence of thy youth, and be worthy 
 to join the heavenly throng. And thus God shall 
 answer the celestial prayer of Francesca of 
 Verona." 
 
 Roubillac stood forth as the priest delivered 
 his terrible judgment, and, as the burning words 
 fell like Fate from his lips, the penitent braced 
 himself to the awful penance ; his frame seemed 
 to be knitted together with a rejuvenated vigor. 
 As the penalty was great, so did it appear as if 
 God gave him strength to fulfill it. He thrust 
 back his gray locks, a smile of resolute faith 
 played about his eloquent mouth, his face shone 
 with the impulse of a great resolve. Putting out 
 his hand, he took the knife from the priest, and, 
 pressing it to his lips, he raised it, priest-like, 
 before his eyes. 
 
 " Good-by, most reverend Father in God ! May 
 I call thee friend, Lorenzo ?" he said. 
 
 " Never better friend than now," said the priest. 
 " Thy salvation is half accomplished. When thou 
 standest before the people in yonder village be- 
 yond the sea, thy soul unburdened, justice done 
 to the memory of the innocent, thou shalt see the
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 371 
 
 gates of heaven open unto thee, and there shall 
 be joy among the saints of God !" 
 
 " Good-bv, Lorenzo ! Hadst thou been Rou- 
 billac I could not have pronounced so great, so 
 noble a penance upon thee ; but thy life has been 
 spent with thy Maker ; to thee heaven is all in 
 all. I tried to make my heaven on earth ; hence 
 the long and weary road these feet must travel 
 to find it. -Nay, I do not murmur, my father, I 
 had endured a greater penance to be assured of 
 the future/' 
 
 " The road shall be easy to thee, Bernardo ; for, 
 if 'tis long and weary and the end of it a pang of 
 shame, behold, I shall be upon my knees the 
 while, and I know that our Holy Mother will 
 listen, that the Man of Manv Sorrows will hearken 
 to my prayer, and that God Himself will answer 
 it, and make thy path straight, thy penance a 
 blissful ending to a tired life. God and His saints 
 be with thee, Bernardo !" 
 
 Roubillac knelt at the priest's feet, and Lorenzo 
 blessed him. 
 
 Then rising, the penitent said, " And now, Lo- 
 renzo, give me thy hand apart from the priest ; 
 the hand of secular friendship, the hand of boyish 
 camaraderie ; 'twill comfort me to know that I 
 have gripped thy hand untrammeled by creed or 
 faith or priestly vows ; 'twill strengthen me to 
 fulfill that judgment of thy other self. Thus 
 shall I depart blessed of priest and man." 
 
 The priest put out his hand. Roubillac fell 
 upon his neck. The two strong men wept as
 
 372 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 men ; and, while Kcubillac went forth on his 
 terrible journey, Lorenzo lay prone before the 
 Calvary, in a mighty appeal for him, body and 
 soul. 
 
 CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 
 
 THE EVOLUTION OF THE DAGGER 
 
 Now the population of the mountain village, 
 when the plague broke out in August, 1665, was 
 three hundred and fifty souls. On the eleventh 
 of October, 1666, there had died, of these, two 
 hundred and fifty-nine. Ninety-one remained, 
 on the brink of the shadow of the valley, waiting 
 their several turns to be called. 
 
 The two devoted clergymen of the village had 
 never slackened in their preaching of hope and 
 resignation. Since the latter days of July, the 
 rector had held his services in the open air at 
 Cucklett ; but on this Sunday afternoon, next after 
 the eleventh of the month, in October, he had 
 notified his flock that they would meet on the 
 tableland around Clegg's cottage. This was in 
 fulfillment of a promise to Mrs. Clegg. It had 
 come into her mind that the rector needed phys- 
 ical as well as spiritual refreshment. She was a 
 skillful hand at broths and possets ; and she had 
 hoped that Mary Talbot would also remain and 
 take tea with her after the service. But Mary 
 came early, and if you could have seen her sitting 
 by the fire, at Mrs. Clegg's round table, that re-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 373 
 
 fleeted in its polished surface a china tea set, while 
 a copper urn sung upon the hob, you would have 
 found it hard to realize the awful gloom that 
 reigned half a mile away. 
 
 When Reuben Clegg entered the cottage, Mary 
 Talbot rose somewhat formally and shook him 
 by the hand. He had come up through the glen 
 from the chief outpost of the cordon sanitaire, 
 along the path which the Italian troop had trav- 
 ersed with the pack-horses of an early chapter in 
 this history. He was considerably exercised by 
 a powerful desire to accept the Faith of the 
 Church, but his soul was still rebellious and full 
 of doubt. The gloomy man at the outpost, ready 
 to stop any venturesome traveler from entering 
 the precincts of the village, had been recounting 
 to him the tally of the dead, and the virtues of 
 many of them and their prayers, the appeals of 
 mothers for their little ones, the supplications 
 of husbands for their wives, and all the bitterness 
 of it, the unwavering, nay, the increasing num- 
 bers of the dead, notwithstanding the prayers 
 and holy services of the Church ; but Reuben's 
 heart softened at the sight of Mary sitting with 
 his mother, the firelight glowing in her face, that 
 was further illuminated by a smile that gave him 
 pleasant welcome. 
 
 Mrs. Clegg took an early opportunity to leave 
 them alone for a while. Then Reuben said it 
 was good for her to come, and that it cheered 
 him to see her. She looked up into his face with 
 a wistful inquiring gaze, and asked him if he was
 
 374 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 more hopeful of ihe village than yesternight, 
 when he was speaking with her father. Reuben 
 only replied in a low voice that she was his hope. 
 A stray beam of sunshine pierced the great elm 
 that overshadowed the doorway, and flickered 
 for a moment on the woman's face, and Reuben 
 saw that she was not displeased. 
 
 It was a characteristic autumn day. The fad- 
 ing of the leaf gave a golden glory to the forest 
 trees. The grass was green in the meadows. 
 There were stretches of purple moorland min- 
 gling with the yellow of the bracken. A silvery 
 mist hung over the distant hills. Otherwise the 
 atmosphere was clear and blue, with only a 
 diaphanous cloud here and there. The crags of 
 the dales of Middleton and Eyam shone white in 
 the sun. 
 
 The cottage door was open. Mrs. Clegg passed 
 in and out occasionally, her heart full of new and 
 joyful hope. Presently she cleared away her 
 cups and saucers, and her servant brought out from 
 the kitchen a small caldron, and, having swung it 
 upon a bar that crossed the ample fire-grate, 
 busied herself with cups and mugs on the great 
 oak dresser. Reuben and Mary left the hearth- 
 stone and stood in the doorway, looking upon the 
 beautiful world that was spread before them in 
 hill, and dale, and valley, the Derwent flashing 
 back the sunlight and the blue sky between 
 clumps of trees, and rounding the foothills of the 
 mountains with mirrors that rejected their misty 
 summits.
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 375 
 
 Then there came the clergyman in his gown, 
 and by his side the inhibited Stanley, his white 
 beard falling over his Puritanical vestment. 
 With them were Sir George Talbot, in his bro- 
 caded jerkin, his hat and feather, and his gemmed 
 baldrick, and Master Longstaffe in his Sunday 
 clothes ; for he held, with Sir George, that it was 
 good to meet the enemy with a cheerful face, 
 counting on God's protection, to observe the 
 Sabbath as they had always done, with their cus- 
 tomary change of raiment. " For, an' if we have 
 to go down, as my grandfather, the master- 
 mariner, used to say," Longstaffe would remark, 
 " let us go down with flying colors." 
 
 But these men were the exceptions in the vil- 
 lage. The rest lacked neither courage nor faith, 
 but they took on the gloom of their surroundings ; 
 and it must be said for Sir George and Longstaffe 
 that the angel of death had passed over their 
 dwellings. Longstaffe, who lived with his sister 
 and an old maiden aunt, had not known an hour's 
 illness. Sir George had lost relatives, but more 
 or less remote in blood. It might be that Heaven 
 had deemed the Manor House so deeply smitten 
 with other sorrows that it had been spared the 
 visitation of the prevailing sickness. In this 
 Master Longstaffe and Sir George were excep- 
 tions indeed. Their fellows, and the women of 
 the village, came in scattered groups, with their 
 children, to the service by Clegg's cottage, the 
 little ones clinging to their mothers' gowns or led 
 by the hand, no less sad of face and manner than
 
 376 THE DAGGER AND THE CftOSS. 
 
 their elders ; for even such of them as had seen 
 Death before he appeared with his burning finger, 
 signing his victims with a purple mark, had not 
 seen him so grim and loathsome that they had 
 shrunk with terror from the loving hands that 
 had hitherto made their little lives a blessing. 
 
 And so they came, creeping up the glen or 
 along the steep footpath from the high road to 
 the still well-kept garden of Clegg's cottage, and 
 gathered about the great elm ; most of them, 
 however, keeping as far apart from the others as 
 might be, many of them sad figures of misery, 
 sunken-eyed, wrinkled, hollow-cheeked, weak of 
 limb and dull of eye, but with clean linen and 
 clothes that had been brushed in honor of the 
 Sabbath. The deaths had decreased in the pre- 
 vious month, and October had come in with an 
 almost hopeful bill of health, the grim conqueror 
 having been content so far with only one or two 
 victims a day. On this Sunday it was noted that 
 two days had elapsed without a death, though not 
 without fresh attacks. The rector was therefore 
 justified in the emphatic words of confidence in 
 which he expressed his belief that they had seen 
 the worst days of the terror, that indeed God had 
 at last hearkened to their prayers. There was 
 one in the congregation whose heart for a mo- 
 ment hardened at this acknowledgment of God's 
 tardy recognition of the hourly supplications of 
 the people ; but he caught the angelic expression 
 of hope in Mary Talbot's face, the almost joyful 
 look that came into her eyes, and he put away
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 377 
 
 from him the arrogant thought, and joined in the 
 hymn the preacher gave out. But it was a weak 
 and mournful vocal effort that the congregation 
 made. It came to an end with something like a 
 sob, as, one after the other, they observed the 
 unavailing way in which the rector tried to sup- 
 press his emotion. Those nearest the extempore 
 pulpit, that Clegg had made for him against the 
 cottage door, wept with him as the great tears 
 coursed down his cheeks; for the hymn was a 
 favorite with his wife, and he had selected it on 
 that account, but had not been able to withstand 
 the pathetic remembrance of her death. 
 
 It was at this unhappy moment that Mary 
 Talbot was seen to be gazing intently into the 
 distance. Other eyes followed the direction in 
 which she was looking. Then, gradually, one 
 after another, the congregation, as if glad of an 
 excuse to turn away from the suffering minister 
 and give him an opportunity to recover his com- 
 posure, bent forward toward the glen. After a 
 little while they saw a figure coming toward the 
 village outpost of the cordon ; a figure that ap- 
 peared to all of them something more than 
 human. It came on with an uplifted arm, and 
 strangely attired, as it seemed, in a long trailing 
 robe, that imagination extended into the shadow 
 that followed it. The sun appeared to meet the 
 figure and give it a halo. Many thought it was 
 Christ, and fell down and worshiped. The rector 
 saw it last, for his eyes had been dimmed with 
 tears ; and he was greatly moved. Arrived at
 
 378 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 the post of observation, they saw the sentine. 
 come forth and warn the stranger, raising his 
 arms forbiddingly, but the figure came on, and 
 now they saw that in its uplifted hand it carried 
 a cross ; and many of the people called out with 
 a loud voice, " It is a prophet!" And Mrs. Clegg 
 said, " It is God's messenger, to stay the plague." 
 
 When the stranger from the outer world stood 
 before the sentinel, the guardian of the pass that 
 led upward to the village bowed before him, and 
 the visitor passed into the white cleft in the rocks 
 and ascended, disappearing now and then, after 
 the manner of the Italian procession which Clegg 
 and his mother had watched in the happy days 
 of Eyam. On a nearer view the visitor presented 
 a figure of much dignity of carriage, and the 
 cross that he raised aloft was clearly seen. And 
 every soul of that grim congregation felt that 
 their visitant was of God, and that a miracle was 
 about to be performed. The sudden flush of hope 
 in their hearts already straightened the backs of 
 many that were bent and brought color once 
 more to their cheeks and lips. 
 
 At last, when the stranger entered into the 
 presence of the congregation, none of them knew 
 him for the clean-shaven, academic, priest-like 
 Koubillac of the Old Hall. This man wore a 
 beard that was prematurely gray. His hair hung 
 in a heavy mass about his face and neck. His 
 eyes were sunken deep into their cavernous sock- 
 ets. His face was long and thin ; his nose bony 
 and prominent. It might have been the counte-
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 879 
 
 nance of a hermit who had mortified his flesh ; 
 and yet his eyes were bright, and he carried him- 
 self with a certain uprightness and strength that 
 were in marked contrast with his ascetic features. 
 This might, however, have been only the tempo- 
 rary success of the supreme effort he was making 
 to take upon himself afresh, and with physical 
 dignity in their presence, the great burden of his 
 sin. 
 
 " Nay, rise up," he said to many who had flung 
 themselves upon their knees before him, regard- 
 ing him as a divine being sent of God ; " 'tis I 
 must kneel. I am not what ve think me." 
 
 He spoke with a foreign accent, that sounded 
 to Mary Talbot like a baleful echo of the past. 
 
 " Your warder at the gate has told me what I 
 had really learned among yonder hills and in the 
 villages of the silent valleys. I know that Eyam 
 has been smitten with the plague, and that this 
 open glade is to-day your place of worship. I 
 came to seek ye assembled in your church, not to 
 bring this cross as a revelation to you, for I have 
 knowledge that Christ is no stranger in Eyam, 
 though, in His supreme wisdom, God has laid a 
 heavy burden upon you ; but I come with the 
 ' dagger of passion and revenge as an emblem of 
 penitence and hope." 
 
 Then they saw that the cross which he carried 
 was a dagger reversed, the blade in his hand, the 
 jeweled haft of it raised as a cross. And Mary 
 Talbot now knew the voice that had joined her 
 iiands with Ziletto and blessed them. She shrank
 
 380 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 back to the side of Reuben Clegg, who put out 
 his arm and supported her, unconscious of the 
 revelation of the man, but thrilling with a happi- 
 ness he did not check. When she recovered from 
 her emotion sufficiently to stand alone she still 
 leaned upon him, and he took her hand and 
 held it. 
 
 " I am that Bernardo Roubillac whom ye knew, 
 he of the Old Hall, he who rewarded your hos- 
 pitality with ingratitude and crime." 
 
 Sir George Talbot and the rector stood forward 
 in amazement, and a great sigh of disappointment 
 went up from the people. 
 
 " I am here to seek the peace which so many 
 of your brethren have found, doing penance for 
 the sin I committed against you and the Holy 
 Church of which I am so unworthy a son, and 
 from which I am an outcast until ye have heard 
 me ; and then, by the merciful grace of Him who 
 died to save all sinners, I may hope to be taken 
 back again into the fold, and pass away in peace. 
 'Twas I who, sacrilegiously taking upon myself 
 the office of the good Father Castelli, performed 
 the celebration of marriage between Mary Talbot 
 and Giovanni Ziletto !" 
 
 As if the confession had broken his heart he 
 staggered backward and was caught in the arms 
 of Master Longstaffe. The cross fell from his 
 hand, Sir George Talbot picked it up. But Rou- 
 billac staggered to his feet, and put out his hand 
 for it; and Sir George gave it back to him. As 
 he stood forward again the penitent's vest was
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 381 
 
 open, and it was seen that his breast was bare — 
 he wore only the coarsest of raiment. 
 
 " I have but completed half the penance, which 
 I undertook by order of Lorenzo, the friend of 
 Father Castelli ; to come unto you by sea and 
 land, without scrip or purse, a beggar by the 
 way, and declare my sins unto you, whom I 
 have so grievously wronged. The hand that 
 stretched out from the darkness, on that fatal 
 night of the meeting of Ziletto and Clegg, was 
 mine.''' 
 
 A shudder passed through the assemblage. 
 Reuben Clegg, loosing Mary's hand, stepped 
 forward with a cry of joy. Sir George laid his 
 hand upon his arm and restrained him. 
 
 " The hand that struck Ziletto down was my 
 hand ; the voice that cursed him as he fell was 
 my voice ; yet I had the heart to sit by and see 
 your fellow-citizen condemned to death for my 
 crime." 
 
 Once more Eoub iliac staggered back, and was 
 held up from falling by Master Longstaffe, who, 
 perceiving that he was like to faint, untied the 
 remaining strings of his vest and called for water ; 
 but ere any one had stirred, Longstaffe, turning 
 a face full of terror toward the congregation, that 
 had by this time gathered around him and the 
 penitent, cried, with a loud voice, " Back ! He is 
 smitten ; the purple sign is upon him !" 
 
 And even as he spoke, the people drew away 
 from him and fled, only Sir George, the rector, 
 Clegg, his mother, and Mary Talbot remaining ;
 
 382 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 
 
 and they, Reuben Clegg alone excepted, shrank 
 from Longstaffe and the sufferer for a moment 
 with fear and abhorrence. Longstaffe was a 
 brave man. He had faced the perils of infection 
 with a stout heart, and had closed the eyes of 
 many a dead friend and relative ; but a sudden 
 panic of fear seized him, whereupon Reuben 
 Clegg strode forward with a firm tread, and, 
 taking the dving man into his arms, carried him 
 straightway into his mother's cottage. 
 
 Before the penitent gave up the ghost, Sir 
 George Talbot and the rector took down the 
 dying deposition of his guilt; and, as he passed 
 away, the rector prayed over him and held the 
 cross of hope and promise before his eyes, for, he 
 said, " God is no respecter of persons. To Prot- 
 estant and Catholic alike, to Presbyterian and 
 Orthodox churchman, to every man who believes 
 in Jesus Christ our Lord, the Cross is the talisman 
 of salvation." 
 
 As he spoke there came out of heaven a cleans- 
 ing wind ; and from that day the plague was 
 stayed. 
 
 When spring came again, they dressed their 
 wells and hung their church with garlands, dedi- 
 cated to their martyrs, and in the autumn they 
 celebrated their Wake with a gentle and becom- 
 ing mirth ; but never again, in all the years that 
 have passed since the advent of their Italian 
 guests, has Eyam renewed the cheerfulness of her 
 former state. To this day a cloud veils her 
 beauty, and the monuments of her martyrdom
 
 THE DAGGER AND THE CROSS. 383 
 
 challenge the pity of the traveler and recall to 
 the people the sfcny of her woes. In the descend- 
 ants of Reuben and Mary Clegg, however, the 
 High Peak Hundred loses none of the pious 
 courage that has covered the mountain village 
 with a pathetic and undying fame. 
 
 THE END.
 
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