THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 A ROMANCE OF TWO KINGDOMS
 
 THE BATTLE OF 
 THE STRONG 
 
 A ROMANCE OF TWO KINGDOMS 
 
 BY 
 
 GILBERT PARKER 
 
 "THE RACE is NOT TO THE SWIFT, NOR 
 
 THE BATTLE TO THE STRONG" 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 Cijc ItrtjersiDc press, CambnDtjr
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1897, 1898, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND CO. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY GILBERT PARKER 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
 
 TO MY WIFE 
 
 2047641
 
 NOTE 
 
 A list of Jersey words and phrases used herein, with their 
 English or French equivalents, will be found at the end of the 
 book. It has been thought better to print only the words 
 which are pure French in italics. The Norman and patois 
 words are printed as though they were English, some of them 
 being quite Anglicised in Jersey. For the sake of brevity I 
 have spoken of the Lieutenant-Bailly throughout as Bailly ; 
 and, in truth, he performed all the duties of Bailly in those 
 days when this chief of the jurats of the Island usually lived 
 in England. An old and rare map of Jersey has been repro- 
 duced, as also Mr. Ouless's engraving of Copley's famous 
 picture, " The Battle of Jersey," now in the National Gallery.
 
 THE 
 
 BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 PROEM 
 
 '~T"*HERE is no man living to-day who could tell you 
 -L how the morning broke and the sun rose on the 
 first day of January, 1 800 ; who walked in the Mall, 
 who sauntered in the Park with the Prince : none lives 
 who heard and remembers the gossip of the moment, 
 or can give you the exact flavor of the speech and 
 accent of the time. Down the long aisle of years 
 echoes the air but not the tone ; the trick of form 
 comes to us, but never the inflection. The lilt of the 
 sensations, the idiosyncrasy of voice, emotion, and 
 mind of the first hour of our century must now pass 
 from the printed page to us, imperfectly realized ; we 
 may not know them through actual retrospection. 
 The more distant the scene, the more uncertain the 
 reflection ; and so it must needs be with this tale, 
 which will take you back to even twenty years before 
 the century began. 
 
 Then, as now, England was a great power outside 
 these small islands. She had her foot firmly planted 
 in Australia, in Asia, and in America though, in 
 bitterness, the American colonies had broken free, and 
 only Canada was left to her in that northern hemi- 
 sphere. She has had, in her day, to strike hard blows
 
 2 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 even for Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. But among 
 her possessions is one which, from the hour its charter 
 was granted it by King John, has been loyal, unwaver- 
 ing, and unpurchasable. Until the beginning of the 
 century the language of this province was not our 
 language, nor is English its official language to-day ; 
 and with a pretty pride oblivious of contrasts, and a 
 simplicity unconscious of mirth, its people say : " We 
 are the conquering race ; we conquered England, Eng- 
 land did not conquer us." 
 
 A little island lying in the wash of St. Michael's 
 Basin off the coast of France, Norman in its founda- 
 tions and in its racial growth, it has been as the 
 keeper of the gate to England ; though so near to 
 France is it, that from its shores on a fine day may be 
 seen the spires of Coutances, whence its spiritual wel- 
 fare was ruled long after England lost Normandy. A 
 province of British people, speaking still the Norman- 
 French that the Conqueror spoke ; such is the island 
 of Jersey, which, with Guernsey, Alderney, Sark, 
 Herm, and Jethou, form what we call the Channel 
 Isles, and the French call the lies de la Manche.
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN all the world there is no coast like the coast of 
 Jersey ; so treacherous, so snarling ; serrated with 
 rocks seen and unseen, tortured by currents maliciously 
 whimsical, encircled by tides that sweep up from the 
 Antarctic world with the devouring force of a mon- 
 strous serpent proj ecting itself towards its prey. The 
 captain of these tides, traveling up through the Atlan- 
 tic at a thousand miles an hour, enters the English 
 Channel, and drives on to the Thames. Presently 
 retreating, it meets another pursuing Antarctic wave, 
 which, thus opposed in its straightforward course, 
 recoils into St. Michael's Bay, then plunges, as it were, 
 upon a terrible foe. They twine and strive in mystic 
 conflict, and, in rage of equal power, neither vanquished 
 nor conquering, circle, mad and desperate, round the 
 Channel Isles. Impeded, impounded as they riot 
 through the flumes of sea, they turn furiously, and 
 smite the cliffs and rocks and walls of their prison- 
 house. With the frenzied winds helping them, the 
 island coasts and Norman shores are battered by their 
 hopeless onset : and in that channel between Alderney 
 and Cap de la Hague man or ship must well beware, 
 for the Race of Alderney is one of the death-shoots 
 of the tides. Before they find their way to the main 
 again, these harridans of nature bring forth a brood
 
 4 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 of currents which ceaselessly fret the boundaries of 
 the isles. 
 
 Always, always the white foam beats the rocks, and 
 always must man go warily along these coasts. The 
 swimmer plunges into a quiet pool, the snowy froth 
 that masks the reefs seeming only the pretty fringe 
 of sentient life to a sleeping sea ; but presently an 
 invisible hand reaches up and grasps him, an unseen 
 power drags him exultingly out to the main and he 
 returns no more. Many a Jersey boatman, many a 
 fisherman who has lived his whole life in sight of the 
 Paternosters on the north, the Ecrehos on the east, 
 the Dog's Nest on the south, or the Corbiere on the 
 west, has in some helpless moment been caught by 
 the unsleeping currents that harry his peaceful borders, 
 or the rocks that have eluded the hunters of the sea, 
 and has yielded up his life within sight of his own 
 doorway an involuntary sacrifice to the navigator's 
 knowledge and to the calm perfection of an admiralty 
 chart. 
 
 Yet within the circle of danger bounding this green 
 isle the love of home and country is stubbornly, almost 
 pathetically, strong. Isolation, pride of lineage, inde- 
 pendence of government, antiquity of law and custom, 
 and jealousy of imperial influence or action have com- 
 bined to make a race self-reliant even to perverseness, 
 proud and maybe vain, sincere almost to commonplace- 
 ness, unimaginative and reserved, with the melancholy 
 born of monotony for the life of the little country 
 has coiled in upon itself, and the people have drooped 
 to see but just their own selves reflected in all the 
 dwellers of the land, whichever way they turn. A hun- 
 dred years ago, however, there was a greater and more 
 general lightness of heart and vivacity of spirit than
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 5 
 
 now. Then the song of the harvester and the fisher- 
 man, the boat-builder and the stocking-knitter, was 
 heard on a summer afternoon, or from the veille of a 
 winter night when the dim crasset hung from the roof 
 and the seaweed burned in the chimney. Then the 
 gathering of the vraic was a fete, and the lads and 
 lasses footed it on the green or on the hard sand, to 
 the chance flageolets of sportive seamen home from 
 the war. This simple gayety was heartiest at Christ- 
 mastide, when the yearly reunion of families took 
 place ; and because nearly everybody in Jersey was 
 " couzain " to his neighbor these gatherings were as 
 patriarchal as they were festive. 
 
 The new year of seventeen hundred and eighty-one 
 had been ushered in by the last impulse of such fes- 
 tivities. The English cruisers lately in port had van- 
 ished up the Channel ; and at Elizabeth Castle, Mont 
 Orgueil, the Blue Barracks and the Hospital, three 
 British regiments had taken up the dull round of duty 
 again ; so that by the fourth day a general lethargy, 
 akin to content, had settled on the whole island. 
 
 On the morning of the fifth day a little snow was 
 lying upon the ground, but the sun rose strong and 
 unclouded, the whiteness vanished, and there remained 
 only a pleasant dampness which made sod and sand 
 firm yet springy to the foot. As the day wore on, 
 the air became more amiable still, and a delicate haze 
 settled over the water and over the land, making softer 
 to the eye house and hill and rock and sea. 
 
 There was little life in the town of St. Heliers, there 
 were few people upon the beach ; though now and 
 then some one who had been praying beside a grave 
 in the parish churchyard came to the railings and
 
 6 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 looked out upon the calm sea almost washing its foun- 
 dations, and over the dark range of rocks which, when 
 the tide was out, showed like a vast gridiron blackened 
 by fires. Near by, some loitering sailors watched the 
 yawl-rigged fishing craft from Holland, and the codfish- 
 smelling cul-de-poule schooners of the great fishing 
 company which exploited the far-off fields of Gaspe in 
 Canada. 
 
 St. Heliers lay in St. Aubin's Bay, which, shaped 
 like a horseshoe, had Noirmont Point for one end of 
 the segment and the lofty Town Hill for another. 
 At the foot of this hill, hugging it close, straggled the 
 town. From the bare green promontory above might 
 be seen two-thirds of the south coast of the Island 
 to the right St. Aubin's Bay, to the left Greve d'Azette, 
 with its fields of volcanic-looking rocks, and St. 
 Clement's Bay beyond. Than this no better place 
 for a watch-tower could be found ; a perfect spot for 
 the reflective idler and for the sailor-man who, on land, 
 must still be within smell and sound of the sea, and 
 loves that place best which gives him widest prospect. 
 
 This day a solitary figure was pacing back and for- 
 wards upon the cliff edge, stopping now to turn a tele- 
 scope upon the water and now upon the town. It 
 was a lad of not more than sixteen years, erect, well- 
 poised, having an air of self-reliance, even of command. 
 Yet it was a boyish figure too, and the face was very 
 young, save for the eyes ; these were frank but still 
 sophisticated. 
 
 The first time he looked towards the town he laughed 
 outright, freely, spontaneously ; threw his head back 
 with merriment, and then glued his eye to the glass 
 again. What he had seen was a girl of about five
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 7 
 
 years of age with a man, in la Rue d' Egypt e, near 
 the old prison, even then called the Vier Prison. 
 Stooping, the man had kissed the child, and she, indig- 
 nant, snatching the cap from his head, had thrown it 
 into the stream running through the street. Small 
 wonder that the lad on the hill grinned, for the man 
 who ran to rescue his hat from the stream was none 
 other than the Bailly of the island, next in importance 
 to the Lieutenant-Governor. 
 
 The lad could almost see the face of the child, its 
 humorous anger, its willful triumph, and also the en- 
 raged look of the Bailly as he raked the stream with 
 his long stick, tied with a sort of tassel of office. Pre- 
 sently he saw the child turn at the call of a woman in 
 the Place du Vier Prison, who appeared to apologize 
 to the Bailly, busy now drying his recovered hat by 
 whipping it through the air. The lad on the hill re- 
 cognized the woman as the child's mother. 
 
 This little episode over, he turned once more to- 
 wards the sea, watching the sun of late afternoon fall 
 upon the towers of Elizabeth Castle and the great 
 rock out of which St. Helier the hermit once chiseled 
 his lofty home. He breathed deep and strong, and 
 the carriage of his body was light, for he had a healthy 
 enjoyment of all physical sensations and all the ob- 
 vious drolleries of life. A broad sort of humor was 
 written upon every feature ; in the full, quizzical eye, 
 in the width of cheek-bone, in the broad mouth, and 
 in the depth of the laugh, which, however, often 
 ended in a sort of chuckle not entirely pleasant. It 
 suggested a selfish enjoyment of the odd or the melo- 
 dramatic side of other people's difficulties. 
 
 At last the youth encased his telescope, and turned 
 to descend the hill to the town. As he did so, a bell
 
 8 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 began to ring. From where he was he could look 
 down into the Vier Marchi, or market-place, where 
 stood the Cohue Royale, and house of legislature. 
 In the belfry of this court-house, the bell was ringing 
 to call the Jurats together for a meeting of the States. 
 A monstrous tin pan would have yielded as much 
 assonance. Walking down towards the Vier Marchi 
 the lad gleefully recalled the humor of a wag who, 
 some days before, had imitated the sound of the bell 
 with the words : 
 
 " Chicane chicane ! Chicane chicane ! " 
 The native had, as he thought, suffered somewhat 
 at the hands of the twelve Jurats of the Royal Court, 
 whom his vote had helped to elect, and this was his 
 revenge so successful that, for generations, when 
 the bell called the States or the Royal Court together, 
 it said in the ears of the Jersey people thus insist- 
 ent is apt metaphor : 
 
 " Chicane chicane ! Chicane chicane ! " 
 As the lad came down to the town, tradespeople 
 whom he met touched their hats to him, and sailors 
 and soldiers saluted respectfully. In this regard the 
 Bailly himself could not have fared better. It was 
 not due to the fact that the youth came of an old Jer- 
 sey family, nor by reason that he was genial and 
 handsome, but because he was a midshipman of the 
 King's navy home on leave ; and these were the days 
 when England's sailors were more popular than her 
 soldiers. 
 
 He came out of the Vier Marchi into la Grande 
 Rue, along the stream called the Fauxbie flowing 
 through it, till he passed under the archway of the 
 Vier Prison, making towards the place where the 
 child had snatched the hat from the head of the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 9 
 
 Bailly. Presently the door of a cottage opened, and 
 the child came out, followed by her mother. 
 
 The young gentleman touched his cap politely, for 
 though the woman was not fashionably dressed, she 
 was distinguished in appearance, with an air of re- 
 moteness which gave her a kind of agreeable mystery. 
 
 "Madame Landresse" said the young gentleman 
 with deference. 
 
 " Monsieur d'Avranche " responded the lady qui- 
 etly, pausing. 
 
 " Did the Bailly make a stir ? I saw the affair 
 from the hill, through my telescope," said young 
 d'Avranche, smiling. 
 
 "My little daughter must have better manners," 
 responded the lady, looking down at her child reprov- 
 ingly, yet lovingly. 
 
 " Or the Bailly must eh, Madame ? " replied 
 d'Avranche, and, stooping, he offered his hand to the 
 child. Glancing up inquiringly at her mother, she 
 took it. He held her in a clasp of good nature. The 
 child was so demure, one could scarcely think her 
 capable of tossing the Bailly's hat into the stream ; 
 yet looking closely, there might be seen in her eyes a 
 slumberous sort of fire, a touch of mystery. They 
 were neither blue nor gray, but a mingling of both, 
 growing to the most tender, grayish sort of violet. 
 Down through generations of Huguenot refugees had 
 passed sorrow and fighting and piety and love and 
 occasional joy, until in the eyes of this child they all 
 met, delicately vague, and with the wistfulness of the 
 early morning of life. 
 
 " What is your name, little lady ? " asked d'Avranche 
 of the child. 
 
 "Guida, sir," she answered simply.
 
 io THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Mine is Philip. Won't you call me Philip ? " 
 
 She flashed a look at her mother, regarded him 
 again, and then answered, 
 
 "Yes, Philip sir." 
 
 D'Avranche wanted to laugh, but the face of the 
 child was sensitive and serious, and he only smiled. 
 
 " Say Yes, Philip, won't you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, Philip," came the reply obediently. 
 
 After a moment of speech with Madame Landresse, 
 Philip stooped to say good-by to the child. 
 
 "Good-by, Guida." 
 
 A queer, mischievous little smile flitted over her 
 face a second, and it was gone. 
 
 " Good-by, sir Philip," she said, and they parted. 
 
 Her last words kept ringing in his ears as he made 
 his way homeward. "Good-by, sir Philip" the 
 child's arrangement of words was odd and amusing, 
 and at the same time suggested something more. 
 "Good-by, Sir Philip," had a different meaning, 
 though the words were the same. 
 
 " Sir Philip eh ? " he said to himself, with a jerk 
 of the head "I '11 be more than that some day ! "
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE night came down with leisurely gloom. A 
 dim starlight pervaded rather than shone in the 
 sky ; Nature seemed somnolent and gravely meditative. 
 It brooded as broods a man who is seeking his way 
 through a labyrinth of ideas to a conclusion still evad- 
 ing him. This sense of cogitation enveloped land and 
 sea, and was as tangible to feeling as human presence. 
 
 At last the night seemed to wake from reverie. A 
 movement, a thrill, ran through the spangled vault of 
 dusk and sleep, and seemed to pass over the world, 
 rousing the sea and the earth. There was no wind, 
 apparently no breath of air, yet the leaves of the trees 
 moved, the weather-vanes turned slightly, the animals 
 in the byres roused themselves, and slumbering folk, 
 opening their eyes, turned over in their beds, and 
 dropped into a troubled doze again. 
 
 Presently there came a long moaning sound from 
 the tide, not loud but rather mysterious and distant 
 a plaint, a threatening, a warning, a prelude ? 
 
 A dull laborer, returning from late toil, felt it, and 
 raised his head in a perturbed way, as though some 
 one had brought him news of a far-off disaster. A 
 midwife, hurrying to a lowly birth-chamber, shivered 
 and gathered her mantle more closely about her. She 
 looked up at the sky, she looked out over the sea, then 
 she bent her head and said to herself that this would 
 not be a good night, that ill-luck was in the air. " The
 
 12 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 mother or the child will die," she said to herself. 
 A 'longshoreman, reeling home from deep potations, 
 was conscious of it, and, turning round to the sea, 
 snarled at it and said yah ! in swaggering defiance. 
 A young lad, wandering along the deserted street, 
 heard it, began to tremble, and sat down on a block 
 of stone beside the doorway of a baker's shop. He 
 dropped his head on his arms and his chin on his 
 knees, shutting out the sound and sobbing quietly. 
 
 Yesterday his mother had been buried ; to-night his 
 father's door had been closed in his face. He scarcely 
 knew whether his being locked out was an accident 
 or whether it was intended. He thought of the time 
 when his father had ill-treated his mother and himself. 
 That, however, had stopped at last, for the woman had 
 threatened the Royal Court, and the man, having no 
 wish to face its summary convictions, thereafter con- 
 ducted himself towards them both with a morose 
 indifference. 
 
 The boy was called Ranulph, a name which had 
 passed to him through several generations of Jersey 
 forbears - - Ranulph Delagarde. He was being 
 taught the trade of shipbuilding in St. Aubin's Bay. 
 He was not beyond fourteen years of age, though he 
 looked more, so tall and straight and self-possessed 
 was he. 
 
 His tears having ceased soon, he began to think of 
 what he was to do in the future. He would never go 
 back to his father's house, or be dependent on him for 
 aught. Many plans came to his mind. He would 
 learn his trade of shipbuilding, he would become a 
 master-builder, then a shipowner, with fish ing- vessels 
 like the great company sending fleets to Gaspe. 
 
 At the moment when these ambitious plans had
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 13 
 
 reached the highest point of imagination, the upper 
 half of the door beside him opened suddenly, and he 
 heard men's voices. He was about to rise and dis- 
 appear, but the words of the men arrested him, and he 
 cowered down beside the stone. One of the men was 
 leaning on the half-door, speaking in French. 
 
 " I tell you it can't go wrong. The pilot knows 
 every crack in the coast. I left Granville at three ; 
 Rullecour left Chaussey at nine. If he lands safe, and 
 the English troops ain't roused, he '11 take the town 
 and hold the Island easy enough." 
 
 " But the pilot, is he certain safe ? " asked another 
 voice. Ranulph recognized it as that of the baker 
 Carcaud, who owned the shop. "Olivier Delagarde 
 is n't so sure of him." 
 
 Olivier Delagarde ! The lad started. That was his 
 father's name! He shrank as from a blow his 
 father was betraying Jersey to the French ! 
 
 " Of course, the pilot, he 's all right," the French- 
 man answered the baker. "He was to have been 
 hung here for murder. He got away, and now he 's 
 having his turn by fetching Rullecour's wolves to 
 eat up your green-bellies ! By to-morrow at seven 
 Jersey '11 belong to King Louis." 
 
 " I 've done my promise," rejoined Carcaud the 
 baker ; " I 've been to three of the guard-houses on St. 
 Clement's and Grouville. In two the men are drunk 
 as donkeys ; in another they sleep like squids. Rulle- 
 cour he can march straight to the town and seize it 
 if he land safe. But will he stand by 's word to we ? 
 You know the saying, ' Cadet Roussel has two sons ; 
 one 's a thief, t' other 's a rogue ! ' There 's two Rulle- 
 cours Rullecour before the catch and Rullecour 
 after ! "
 
 I 4 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " He '11 be honest to us, man, or he '11 be dead inside 
 a week, that 's all." 
 
 " I 'm to be Connetable of St. Heliers, and you 're 
 to be harbor-master eh ? " 
 
 " Naught else : you don't catch flies with vinegar. 
 Give us your hand why, man, it 's doggish cold ! " 
 
 "Cold hand, healthy heart. How many men will 
 Rullecour bring ? " 
 
 " Two thousand ; mostly conscripts and devil's 
 beauties from Granville and St. Malo jails." 
 
 " Any signals yet ? " 
 
 " Two from Chaussey at five o'clock. Rullecour '11 
 try to land at Gorey. Come, let 's be off. Dela- 
 garde 's there now." 
 
 The boy stiffened with horror his father was a 
 traitor ! The thought pierced his brain like a hot iron. 
 He must prevent this crime, and warn the Governor. 
 He prepared to steal away. Fortunately the back of 
 the man's head was towards him. 
 
 Carcaud laughed a low, malicious laugh as he replied 
 to the Frenchman. 
 
 " Trust the quiet Delagarde ! There 's nothing worse 
 nor still waters ! He '11 do his trick, and he 11 have 
 his share if the rest suck their thumbs. He does n't 
 wait for roasted larks to drop into his mouth what 's 
 that ! " 
 
 It was Ranulph stealing away. 
 
 In an instant the two men were on him, and a hand 
 was clapped to his mouth. In another minute he was 
 bound, thrown on to the stone floor of the bakehouse, 
 his head striking, and he lost consciousness. 
 
 When he came to himself, there was absolute silence 
 round him deathly, oppressive silence. At first he
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 15 
 
 was dazed, but at length all that had happened came 
 back to him. 
 
 Where was he now ? His feet were free ; he began 
 to move them about. He remembered that he had 
 been flung on the stone floor of the bakeroom. This 
 place sounded hollow underneath it certainly was 
 not the bakeroom. He rolled over and over. Presently 
 he touched a wall it was stone. He drew himself up 
 to a sitting posture, but his head struck a curved stone 
 ceiling. Then he swung round and moved his foot 
 along the wall it touched iron. He felt farther with 
 his foot something clicked. Now he understood ; 
 he was in the oven of the bakehouse, with his hands 
 bound. 
 
 He began to think of means of escape. The iron 
 door had no inside latch. There was a small damper 
 covering a barred hole, through which perhaps he 
 might be able to get a hand, if only it were free. He 
 turned round so that his fingers might feel the grated 
 opening. The edge of the little bars was sharp. He 
 placed the strap binding his wrists against these sharp 
 edges, and drew his arms up and down, a difficult and 
 painful business. The iron cut his hands and wrists 
 at first, so awkward was the movement. But, steeling 
 himself, he kept on steadily. 
 
 At last the straps fell apart, and his hands were 
 free. With difficulty he thrust one through the bars. 
 His fingers could just lift the latch. Now the door 
 creaked on its hinges, and in a moment he was out on 
 the stone flags of the bakeroom. Hurrying through 
 an unlocked passage into the shop, he felt his way to 
 the street door, but it was securely fastened. The 
 windows ? He tried them both, one on either side, 
 but while he could free the stout wooden shutters on
 
 16 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the inside, a heavy iron bar secured them without, and 
 it was impossible to open them. 
 
 Feverish with anxiety, he sat down on the low 
 counter, with his hands between his knees, and tried 
 to think what to do. In the numb hopelessness of 
 the moment he became very quiet. His mind was 
 confused, but his senses were alert ; he was in a kind 
 of dream, yet he was acutely conscious of the smell of 
 new-made bread. It pervaded the air of the place ; it 
 somehow crept into his brain and his being, so that, as 
 long as he might live, the smell of new-made bread 
 would fetch back upon him the nervous shiver and 
 numbness of this hour of danger. 
 
 As he waited, he heard a noise outside, a dac-clac ! 
 clac-clac ! which seemed to be echoed back from the 
 wood and stone of the houses in the street, and then 
 to be lifted up and carried away over the roofs and 
 out to sea clac-clac ! clac-clac ! It was not the tap 
 of a blind man's staff at first he thought it might 
 be ; it was not a donkey's foot on the cobbles ; it was 
 not the broomsticks of the witches of St. Clement's 
 Bay, for the rattle was below in the street, and the 
 broomstick rattle is heard only on the roofs, as the 
 witches fly across country from Rocbert to Bonne 
 Nuit Bay. 
 
 This clac-clac came from the sabots of some night- 
 farer. Should he make a noise and attract the atten- 
 tion of the passer-by? No, that would not do. It might 
 be some one who would wish to know whys and where- 
 fores. He must, of course, do his duty to his country, 
 but he must save his father, too. Bad as the man was, 
 he must save him, though, no matter what happened, 
 he must give the alarm. His reflections tortured him. 
 Why had he not stopped the night-farer ?
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 17 
 
 Even as these thoughts passed through the lad's 
 mind, the clac-clac had faded away into the murmur 
 of the stream flowing by the Rue d'Egypte to the 
 sea, and almost beneath his feet. There flashed on 
 him at that instant what little Guida Landresse had 
 said a few days before as she lay down beside this 
 very stream, and watched the water wimpling by. 
 Trailing her fingers through it dreamily, the child 
 had said to him : " Ro, won't it never come back ? " 
 She always called him " Ro," because when beginning 
 to talk she could not say Ranulph. 
 
 Ro, wont it never come back? But while yet he 
 recalled the words, another sound mingled again with 
 the stream clac-clac! clac-clac! Suddenly it came 
 to him who was the wearer of the sabots making this 
 peculiar clatter in the night. It was Dormy Jamais, 
 the man who never slept. For two years the clac-clac 
 of Dormy Jamais' sabots had not been heard in the 
 streets of St. Heliers ; he had been wandering in 
 France, a daft pilgrim. Ranulph remembered how 
 these sabots used to pass and repass the doorway of 
 his own home. It was said that while Dormy Jamais 
 paced the streets there was no need of guard or 
 watchman. Many a time had Ranulph shared his 
 supper with the poor beganne whose origin no one 
 knew, whose real name had long since dropped into 
 oblivion. 
 
 The rattle of the sabots came nearer, the footsteps 
 were now in front of the window. Even as Ranulph 
 was about to knock and call the poor vagrant's name, 
 the clac-clac stopped, and then there came a sniffing 
 at the shutters as a dog sniffs at the door of a larder. 
 Following the sniffing came a guttural noise of empti- 
 ness and desire. Now there was no mistake ; it was
 
 1 8 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the half-witted fellow beyond all doubt, and he would 
 help him Dormy Jamais should help him : he should 
 go and warn the Governor and the soldiers at the 
 Hospital, while he himself would speed to Gorey in 
 search of his father. He would alarm the regiment 
 there at the same time. 
 
 He knocked and shouted. Dormy Jamais, fright- 
 ened, jumped back into the street. Ranulph called 
 again, and yet again, and now at last Dormy recog- 
 nized the voice. With a growl of mingled reassur- 
 ance and hunger, he lifted down the iron bar from the 
 shutters. In a moment Ranulph was outside with 
 two loaves of bread, which he put into Dormy Jamais' 
 arms. The daft one whinnied with delight. 
 
 "What's o'clock, bread-man?" he asked with a 
 chuckle. 
 
 Ranulph gripped his shoulders. " See, Dormy 
 Jamais, I want you to go to the Governor's house at 
 La Motte, and tell them that the French are coming, 
 that they're landing at Gorey now. Then to the 
 Hospital, and tell the sentry there. Go, Dormy 
 allez kedainne ! " 
 
 Dormy Jamais tore at a loaf with his teeth, and 
 crammed a huge crust into his mouth. 
 
 " Come, tell me, tell me, will you go, Dormy ? " the 
 lad asked impatiently. 
 
 Dormy Jamais nodded his head, grunted, and, turn- 
 ing on his heel with Ranulph, clattered slowly up the 
 street. The lad sprang ahead of him, and ran swiftly 
 up the Rue d'Egypte, into the Vier Marchi, and on 
 over the Town Hill along the road to Grouville.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 SINCE the days of Henry III. of England the 
 hawk of war that broods in France has hovered 
 along that narrow strip of sea dividing the island of 
 Jersey from the duchy of Normandy. Eight times 
 has it descended, and eight times has it hurried back 
 with broken pinion. Among these truculent invasions 
 two stand out boldly : the spirited and gallant attack 
 by Bertrand du Guesclin, Constable of France ; and 
 the freebooting adventure of Rullecour, with his mot- 
 ley following of gentlemen and criminals. Rullecour 
 it was, soldier of fortune, gambler, ruffian and embez- 
 zler, to whom the King of France had secretly given 
 the mission to conquer the unconquerable little island. 
 
 From the Chaussey Isles the filibuster saw the sig- 
 nal light which the traitor Olivier Delagarde had set 
 upon the heights of Le Couperon, where, ages ago, 
 Caesar built fires to summon from Gaul his devouring 
 legions. 
 
 All was propitious for the attack. There was no 
 moon, only a meagre starlight when they set forth 
 from Chaussey. The journey was made in little more 
 than an hour, and Rullecour himself was among the 
 first to see the shores of Jersey loom darkly in front. 
 Beside him stood the murderous pilot who was leading 
 in the expedition, the colleague of Olivier Delagarde. 
 
 Presently the pilot gave an exclamation of surprise 
 and anxiety the tides and currents were bearing
 
 20 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 them away from the intended landing-place ! It was 
 now almost low water, and instead of an immediate 
 shore, there lay before them a vast field of scarred 
 rocks, dimly seen. He gave the signal to lay-to, and 
 himself took the bearings. The tide was going out 
 rapidly, disclosing reefs on either hand. He drew in 
 carefully to the right of the rock known as L'Echique- 
 lez, up through a passage scarce wide enough for 
 canoes, and to Roque Platte, the south-eastern projec- 
 tion of the island. 
 
 You may range the seas from the Yugon Strait to 
 the Erebus volcano, and you will find no such landing- 
 place for imps or men as that field of rocks on the 
 south-east corner of Jersey called, with a malicious 
 irony, the Bane des Violets. The great rocks La 
 Coniere, La Longy, Le Gros Etac, Le Teton, and 
 the Petite Sambiere, rise up like volcanic monuments 
 from a floor of lava and trailing vraic, which at half- 
 tide makes the sea a tender mauve and violet. The 
 passages of safety between these ranges of reef are but 
 narrow at high tide ; at half tide, when the currents 
 are changing most, the violet field becomes the floor 
 of a vast mortuary chapel for unknowing mariners. 
 
 A battery of four guns defended the post on the 
 landward side of this bank of the heavenly name. Its 
 guards were asleep or in their cups. They yielded, 
 without resistance, to the foremost of the invaders. 
 But here Rullecour and his pilot, looking back upon 
 the way they had come, saw the currents driving the 
 transport boats hither and thither in confusion. Jer- 
 sey was not to be conquered without opposition no 
 army of defense was abroad, but the elements roused 
 themselves and furiously attacked the fleet. Batta- 
 lions unable to land drifted back with the tides to
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 21 
 
 Granville, whence they had come. Boats containing 
 the heavy ammunition and a regiment of conscripts 
 were battered upon the rocks, and hundreds of the 
 invaders found an unquiet grave upon the Bane des 
 Violets. 
 
 Presently the traitor . Delagarde arrived and was 
 welcomed warmly by Rullecour. The night wore on, 
 and at last the remaining legions were landed. A 
 force was left behind to guard La Roque Platte, and 
 then the journey across country to the sleeping town 
 began. 
 
 With silent, drowsing batteries in front and on 
 either side of them, the French troops advanced, the 
 marshes of Samares and the sea on their left, churches 
 and manor houses on their right, all silent. Not yet 
 had a blow been struck for the honor of this land and 
 of the Kingdom. 
 
 But a blind injustice was, in its own way, doing the 
 work of justice. On the march Delagarde, suspecting 
 treachery to himself, not without reason, required of 
 Rullecour guarantee for the fulfillment of his pledge 
 to make him Vicomte of the island when victory 
 should be theirs. Rullecour, however, had also pro- 
 mised the post to a reckless young officer, the comte 
 de Tournay, of the House of Vaufontaine, who, under 
 the assumed name of Yves Savary dit Detricand, 
 marched with him. Rullecour answered Delagarde 
 churlishly, and would say nothing till the town was 
 taken the /crivain must wait. But Delagarde had 
 been drinking, he was in a mood to be reckless ; he 
 would not wait, he demanded an immediate pledge. 
 
 " By and by, my doubting Thomas," said Rullecour. 
 
 " No, now, by the blood of Peter ! " answered Dela- 
 garde, laying a hand upon his sword.
 
 22 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The French leader called a sergeant to arrest him. 
 Delagarde instantly drew his sword and attacked 
 Rullecour, but was cut down from behind by the 
 scimitar of a swaggering Turk, who had joined the 
 expedition as aide-de-camp to the filibustering gen- 
 eral, tempted thereto by promises of a harem of the 
 choicest Jersey ladies, well worthy of this cousin of 
 the Emperor of Morocco. 
 
 The invaders left Delagarde lying where he fell. 
 What followed this oblique retribution could satisfy 
 no ordinary logic, nor did it meet the demands of 
 poetic justice. For, as a company of soldiers from 
 Grouville, alarmed out of sleep by a distracted youth, 
 hurried towards St. Heliers, they found Delagarde 
 lying by the roadside, and they misunderstood what 
 had happened. Stooping over him an officer said 
 pityingly : - 
 
 " See he got this wound fighting the French ! " 
 
 With the soldiers was the youth who had warned 
 them. He ran forward with a cry, and knelt beside 
 the wounded man. He had no tears, he had no sor- 
 row. He was only sick and dumb, and he trembled 
 with misery as he lifted up his father's head. The 
 eyes of Olivier Delagarde opened. 
 
 " Ranulph they 've killed me," gasped the 
 stricken man feebly, and his head fell back. 
 
 An officer touched the youth's arm. " He is gone," 
 said he. "Don't fret, lad, he died fighting for his 
 country." 
 
 The lad made no reply, and the soldiers hurried on 
 towards the town. 
 
 He died figJiting for his country ! So that was to 
 be it, Ranulph thought to himself : his father was to 
 have a glorious memory, while he himself knew how
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 23 
 
 vile the man was. One thing, however : he was glad 
 that Olivier Delagarde was dead. How strangely had 
 things happened ! He had come to stay a traitor in 
 his crime, and here he found a martyr. But was not 
 he himself likewise a traitor ? Ought not he to have 
 alarmed the town first before he tried to find his 
 father ? Had Dormy Jamais warned the Governor ? 
 Clearly not, or the town bells would be ringing and 
 the Islanders giving battle. What would the world 
 think of him ! 
 
 Well, what was the use of fretting here ? He 
 would go on to the town, help to fight the French, 
 and die ; that would be the best thing ! He knelt, 
 and unclasped his father's fingers from the handle 
 of his sword. The steel was cold, it made him 
 shiver. He had no farewell to make. He looked out 
 to sea. The tide would come and carry his father's 
 body out, perhaps far out, and sink it in the deepest 
 depths. If not that, then the people would bury Oli- 
 vier Delagarde as a patriot. He determined that 
 he himself would not live to see such shameless 
 mockery. 
 
 As he sped along towards the town he asked him- 
 self why nobody suspected the traitor. One reason 
 for it occurred to him : his father, as the whole island 
 knew, had a fishing-hut at Gorey. They would im- 
 agine him on the way to it when he met the French, 
 for he often spent the night there. He himself had 
 told his tale to the soldiers : how he had heard the 
 baker and the Frenchman talking at the shop in the 
 Rue d' Egypt e. Yes, but suppose the French were 
 driven out, and the baker taken prisoner and should 
 reveal his father's complicity! And suppose people 
 asked why he himself did not go at once to the Hospi-
 
 24 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 tal Barracks in the town and to the Governor, and 
 afterwards to Gorey ? 
 
 These were direful imaginings. He felt that it was 
 no use, that the lie could not go on concerning his 
 father. The world would know ; the one thing left 
 for him was to die. He was only a boy, but he could 
 fight. Had not young Philip d'Avranche, the midship- 
 man, been in deadly action many times ? He was 
 nearly as old as Philip d'Avranche yes, he would 
 fight, and, fighting, he would die. To live as the son 
 of such a father was too pitiless a shame. 
 
 He ran forward, but a weakness was on him ; he 
 was very hungry and thirsty and the sword was 
 heavy. Presently, as he went, he saw a stone well 
 near a cottage by the roadside. On a ledge of the 
 well stood a bucket of water. He tilted the bucket 
 and drank. He would have liked to ask for bread at 
 the cottage-door, but he said to himself, Why should 
 he eat, for was he not going to die ? Yet why should 
 he not eat, even if he were going to die ? He turned 
 his head wistfully, he was so faint with hunger. The 
 force driving him on, however, was greater than hun- 
 ger he ran harder. . . . But undoubtedly the sword 
 was heavy !
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN the Vier March! the French flag was flying, 
 French troops occupied it, French sentries guarded 
 the five streets entering into it. Rullecour, the 
 French adventurer, held the Lieutenant-Governor of 
 the Isle captive in the Cohue Royale ; and by threats 
 of fire and pillage thought to force capitulation. For 
 his final argument he took the Governor to the door- 
 way, and showed him two hundred soldiers with 
 lighted torches ready to fire the town. 
 
 When the French soldiers first entered the Vier 
 Marchi there was Dormy Jamais on the roof of the 
 Cohue Royale, calmly munching his bread. When 
 he saw Rullecour and the Governor appear, he chuc- 
 kled to himself, and said, in Jersey patois : " I vaut 
 mux alouonyi 1'bras que 1'co," which is to say, It is 
 better to stretch the arm than the neck. The Gov- 
 ernor would have done more wisely, he thought, to 
 believe the poor beganne, and to have risen earlier. 
 Dormy Jamais had a poor opinion of a governor who 
 slept. He himself was not a governor, yet was he 
 not always awake ? He had gone before dawn to the 
 Governor's house, had knocked, had given Ranulph 
 Delagarde's message, had been called a dirty buzard, 
 and been sent away by the crusty, incredulous ser- 
 vant. Then he had gone to the Hospital Barracks, 
 was there iniquitously called a lousy toad, and had 
 been driven off with his quartern loaf, muttering
 
 26 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 through the dough the Island proverb, While the 
 mariner swigs the tide rises. 
 
 Had the Governor remained as cool as the poor 
 vagrant, he would not have shrunk at the sight of 
 the incendiaries, yielded to threats, and signed the 
 capitulation of the Island. But that capitulation being 
 signed, and notice of it sent to the British troops, with 
 orders to surrender and bring their arms to the Cohue 
 Royale, it was not cordially received by the officers in 
 command. 
 
 "Je ne comprends pas le frangais" said Captain 
 Mulcaster, at Elizabeth Castle, as he put the letter 
 into his pocket unread. 
 
 " The English Governor will be hanged, and the 
 French will burn the town," responded the envoy. 
 
 " Let them begin to hang and burn and be damned, 
 for I '11 not surrender the castle or the British flag so 
 long as I Ve a man to defend it, to please anybody ! " 
 answered Mulcaster. 
 
 " We shall return in numbers," said the Frenchman, 
 threateningly. 
 
 " I shall be delighted : we shall have the more to 
 kill," Mulcaster replied. 
 
 Then the captive Lieut en ant-Governor was sent to 
 Major Peirson at the head of his troops on the Mont 
 es Pendus, with counsel to surrender. 
 
 " Sir," said he, " this has been a very sudden surprise, 
 for I was made prisoner before I was out of my bed 
 this morning." 
 
 " Sir," replied Peirson, the young hero of twenty- 
 four, who achieved death and glory between a sunrise 
 and a noontide, " give me leave to tell you that the 
 78th Regiment has not yet been the least surprised." 
 
 From Elizabeth Castle came defiance and cannon-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 27 
 
 ade, driving back Rullecour and his filibusters to the 
 Cohue Royale : from Mont Orgueil, from the Hospital, 
 from St. Peter's came the English regiments ; from 
 the other parishes swarmed the militia, all eager to 
 recover their beloved Vier Marchi. Two companies 
 of light infantry, leaving the Mont es Pendus, stole 
 round the town and placed themselves behind the 
 invaders on the Town Hill ; the rest marched direct 
 upon the enemy. Part went by the Grande Rue, and 
 part by the Rue d'Driere, converging to the point 
 of attack ; and as the light infantry came down from 
 the hill by the Rue des Tres Pigeons, Peirson entered 
 the Vier Marchi by the Route es Couochons. On 
 one side of the square, where the Cohue Royale made 
 a wall to fight before, were the French. Radiating 
 from this were five streets and passages like the spokes 
 of a wheel, and from these now poured the defenders 
 of the isle. 
 
 A volley came from the Cohue Royale, then an- 
 other, and another. The place was small : friend and 
 foe were crowded upon each other. The fighting 
 became at once a hand-to-hand encounter. Cannon 
 were useless, gun-carriages overturned. Here a drum- 
 mer fell wounded, but continued beating his drum to 
 the last ; there a Glasgow soldier struggled with a 
 French officer for the flag of the invaders ; yonder 
 a handful of Malouins doggedly held the foot of La 
 Pyramide, until every one was cut down by overpow- 
 ering numbers of British and Jersiais. The British 
 leader was conspicuous upon his horse. Shot after 
 shot was fired at him. Suddenly he gave a cry, reeled 
 in his saddle, and sank, mortally wounded, into the 
 arms of a brother officer. 
 
 For a moment his men fell back.
 
 28 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 In the midst of the deadly turmoil a youth ran for- 
 ward from a group of combatants, caught the bridle 
 of the horse from which Peirson had fallen, mounted, 
 and, brandishing a short sword, called upon his dis- 
 mayed and wavering followers to advance; which 
 they instantly did with fury and courage. It was 
 Midshipman Philip d'Avranche. Twenty muskets 
 were discharged at him. One bullet cut the coat on 
 his shoulder, another grazed the back of his hand, a 
 third scarred the pommel of the saddle, and still an- 
 other wounded his horse. Again and again the Eng- 
 lish called upon him to dismount, for he was made a 
 target, but he refused, until at last the horse was 
 shot under him. Then once more he joined in the 
 hand-to-hand encounter. 
 
 Windows near the ground, such as were not shat- 
 tered, were broken by bullets. Cannon-balls imbedded 
 themselves in the masonry and the heavy doorways. 
 The upper windows were safe, however : the shots did 
 not range so high. At one of these, over a watch- 
 maker's shop, a little girl was to be seen, looking 
 down with eager interest. Presently an old man 
 came in view and led her away. A few minutes of 
 fierce struggle passed, and then at another window on 
 the floor below the child appeared again. She saw a 
 youth with a sword hurrying towards the Cohue Roy- 
 ale from a tangled mass of combatants. As he ran, 
 a British soldier fell in front of him. The youth 
 dropped the sword and grasped the dead man's mus- 
 ket. 
 
 The child clapped her hands on the window. 
 
 " It 's Ro ! it 's Ro ! " she cried, and disappeared 
 again. 
 
 " Ro," with white face, hatless, coatless, pushed on
 
 JOHN SiNfiLET<" COTLEY, I'inxt. 
 
 DEATH OF M.
 
 PIERSON
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 29 
 
 through the melee. Rullecour, the now disheartened 
 French general, stood on the steps of the Cohue Roy- 
 ale. With a vulgar cruelty and cowardice he was 
 holding the Governor by the arm, hoping thereby to 
 protect his own person from the British fire. 
 
 Here was what the lad had been trying for the 
 sight of this man Rullecour. There was one small 
 clear space between the English and the French, 
 where stood a gun-carriage. He ran to it, leaned the 
 musket on the gun, and, regardless of the shots fired 
 at him, took aim steadily. A French bullet struck 
 the wooden wheel of the carriage, and a splinter 
 gashed his cheek. He did not move, but took sight 
 again, and fired. Rullecour fell, shot through the 
 jaw. A cry of fury and dismay went up from the 
 French at the loss of their leader, a shout of triumph 
 from the British. 
 
 The Frenchmen had had enough. They broke and 
 ran. Some rushed for doorways and threw them- 
 selves within, many scurried into the Rue des Tres 
 Pigeons, others madly fought their way into Morier 
 Lane. 
 
 At this moment the door of the watchmaker's shop 
 opened, and the little girl who had been seen at the 
 window ran into the square, calling out " Ro ! Ro ! " 
 It was Guida Landresse. 
 
 Among the French flying for refuge was the garish 
 Turk, Rullecour's ally. Suddenly the now frightened, 
 crying child got into his path and tripped him up. 
 Wild with rage he made a stroke at her, but at that 
 instant his scimitar was struck aside by a youth cov- 
 ered with the smoke and grime of battle. He caught 
 up the child to his arms, and hurried with her through 
 the melee to the watchmaker's doorway. There stood
 
 30 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 a terror-stricken woman Madame Landresse, who 
 had just made her way into the square. Placing the 
 child in her arms, Philip d'Avranche staggered inside 
 the house, faint and bleeding from a wound in the 
 shoulder. 
 
 The battle of Jersey was over. 
 
 " Ah bah ! " said Dormy Jamais from the roof of the 
 Cohue Royale ; " now I '11 toll the bell for that achocre 
 of a Frenchman. Then I '11 finish my supper." 
 
 Poising a half -loaf of bread on the ledge of the roof, 
 he began to slowly toll the cracked bell at his hand 
 for Rullecour the filibuster. 
 
 The bell clanged out, Chicane chicane ! Chicane 
 chicane ! 
 
 Another bell answered from the church by the 
 square, a deep, mournful note. It was tolling for 
 Peirson and his dead comrades. 
 
 Against the statue in the Vier Marchi leaned Ra- 
 nulph Delagarde. An officer came up and held out a 
 hand to him. " Your shot ended the business," said 
 he. " You 're a brave fellow. What is your name ? " 
 
 "Ranulph Delagarde, sir." 
 
 " Delagarde' eh ? Then well done, Delagardes ! 
 They say your father was the first man killed. We 
 won't forget that, my lad." 
 
 Sinking down upon the base of the statue, Ranulph 
 did not stir or reply, and the officer, thinking he was 
 grieving for his father, left him alone.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 {ELEVEN YEARS AFTER} 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 'THHE King of France was no longer sending 
 JL adventurers to capture the outposts of England. 
 He was rather, in despair, beginning to wind in again 
 the coil of disaster which had spun out through the 
 helpless fingers of Neckar, Calonne, Brienne and the 
 rest, and was in the end to bind his own hands for 
 the guillotine. 
 
 The Isle of Jersey, like a scout upon the borders of 
 a foeman's country, looked out over St. Michael's 
 Basin to those provinces where the war of the Vendee 
 was soon to strike France from within, while England, 
 and presently all Europe, should strike her from 
 without. 
 
 War, or the apprehension of war, was in the air. 
 The people of the little isle, living always within the 
 influence of natural wonder and the power of the 
 elements, were deeply superstitious ; and as news of 
 dark deeds done in Paris crept across from Carteret 
 or St. Malo, as men-of-war anchored in the tideway, 
 and English troops, against the hour of trouble, came, 
 transport after transport, into the harbor of St. Heliers, 
 they began to see visions and dream dreams. One 
 peasant heard the witches singing a chorus of carnage
 
 32 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 at Rocbert ; another saw, towards the Minquiers, a 
 great army like a mirage upon the sea ; others declared 
 that certain French refugees in the Island had the 
 evil eye and bewitched their cattle ; and a woman, wild 
 with grief because her child had died of a sudden sick- 
 ness, meeting a little Frenchman, the Chevalier du 
 Champsavoys, in the Rue des Tres Pigeons, thrust at 
 his face with her knitting-needle, and then, Protestant 
 though she was, made the sacred sign, as though to 
 defeat the evil eye. 
 
 This superstition and fanaticism so strong in the 
 populace now and then burst forth in untamable fury 
 and riot. So that when, on the sixteenth of September, 
 1792, the gay morning was suddenly overcast, and a 
 black curtain was drawn over the bright sun, the peo- 
 ple of Jersey, working in the fields, vraicking among 
 the rocks, or knitting in their doorways, stood aghast, 
 and knew not what was upon them. 
 
 Some began to say the Lord's Prayer, some in 
 superstitious terror ran to the secret hole in the wall, 
 to the chimney, or to the bedstead, or dug up the 
 earthen floor, to find the stocking full of notes and 
 gold, which might, perchance, come with them safe 
 through any cataclysm, or start them again in business 
 in another world. Some began fearfully to sing hymns, 
 and a few to swear freely. These latter were chiefly 
 carters, whose salutations to each other were mainly 
 oaths, because of the extreme narrowness of the Island 
 roads, and sailors to whom profanity was as daily bread. 
 
 In St. Heliers, after the first stupefaction, people 
 poured into the streets. They gathered most where 
 met the Rue d'Driere and the Rue d' Egypt e. Here 
 stood the old prison, and the spot was called the Place 
 du Vier Prison.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 33 
 
 Men and women with breakfast still in their mouths 
 mumbled their terror to each other. A lobster-woman 
 shrieking that the Day of Judgment was come, instinc- 
 tively straightened her cap, smoothed out her dress of 
 molleton, and put on her sabots. A carpenter, hearing 
 her terrified exclamations, put on his sabots also, 
 stooped whimpering to the stream running from the 
 Rue d' Egypt e, and began to wash his face. A dozen 
 of his neighbors did the same. Some of the women, 
 however, went on knitting hard, as they gabbled 
 prayers and looked at the fast-blackening sun. Knit- 
 ting was to Jersey women, like breathing or tale- 
 bearing, life itself. With their eyes closing upon 
 earth they would have gone on knitting, and dropped 
 no stitches. 
 
 A dusk came down like that over Pompeii and 
 Herculaneum. The tragedy of fear went hand in 
 hand with burlesque commonplace. The gray stone 
 walls of the houses grew darker and darker, and 
 seemed to close in on the dumfounded, hysterical 
 crowd. Here some one was shouting command to 
 imaginary militia ; there an aged crone was offering, 
 without price, simnels and black butter, as a sort of 
 propitiation for an imperfect past ; and from a window 
 a notorious evil-liver was frenziedly crying that she 
 had heard the devil and his Rocbert witches reveling 
 in the prison dungeons the night before. Thereupon 
 a long-haired fanatic, once a barber, with a gift for 
 mad preaching, sprang upon the Pompe des Brigands, 
 and declaring that the Last Day was come, shrieked : 
 
 " The Spirit of the Lord is iipon me ! He hath sent 
 me to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening 
 of the prison to them, that are bound! 11 
 
 Some one thrust into his hand a torch. He waved
 
 34 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 it to and fro in his wild harangue ; he threw up his 
 arms towards the ominous gloom, and with blatant 
 fury ordered open the prison doors. Other torches 
 and candles appeared, and the mob trembled to and 
 fro in delirium. 
 
 " The prison ! Open the Vier Prison 1 Break down 
 the doors ! Gatd'en'ale drive out the devils ! Free 
 the prisoners the poor vauriens! " the crowd shouted, 
 rushing forward with sticks and weapons. 
 
 The prison arched the street as Temple Bar once 
 spanned the Strand. They crowded under the arch- 
 way, overpowered the terror-stricken jailer, and, batter- 
 ing open the door in frenzy, called the inmates forth. 
 
 They looked to see issue some sailor seized for 
 whistling of a Sabbath, some profane peasant who had 
 presumed to wear pattens in church, some profaner 
 peasant who had not doffed his hat to the Connetable, 
 or some slipshod militiaman who had gone to parade 
 in his sabots, thereby offending the red-robed dignity 
 of the Royal Court. 
 
 Instead, there appeared a little Frenchman of the 
 most refined and unusual appearance. The blue cloth 
 of his coat set off the extreme paleness of a small but 
 serene face and high round forehead. The hair, a 
 beautiful silver gray which time only had powdered, 
 was tied in a queue behind. The little gentleman's 
 hand was as thin and fine as a lady's, his shoulders 
 were narrow and slightly stooped, his eye was eloquent 
 and benign. His dress was amazingly neat, but showed 
 constant brushing and signs of the friendly repairing 
 needle. 
 
 The whole impression was that of a man whom a 
 whiff of wind would blow away ; with the body of an 
 ascetic and the simplicity of a child. The face had
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 35 
 
 some particular sort of wisdom, difficult to define and 
 impossible to imitate. He held in his hand a tiny 
 cane of the sort carried at the court of Louis Quinze. 
 Louis Capet himself had given it to him ; and you 
 might have had the life of the little gentleman, but 
 not this cane with the tiny golden bust of his unhappy 
 monarch. 
 
 He stood on the steps of the prison and looked 
 serenely on the muttering, excited crowd. 
 
 " I fear there is a mistake," said he, coughing a 
 little into his fingers. " You do not seek me. I I 
 have no claim upon your kindness ; I am only the 
 Chevalier Orvilliers du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir." 
 
 For a moment the mob had been stayed in amaze- 
 ment by this small, rare creature stepping from the 
 doorway, like a porcelain colored figure from some 
 dusky wood in a painting by Boucher. In the in- 
 stant's pause the Chevalier Orvilliers du Champsavoys 
 de Beaumanoir took from his pocket a timepiece and 
 glanced at it, then looked over the heads of the crowd 
 towards the hooded sun, which now, a little, was 
 showing its face again. 
 
 " It was due at eight, less seven minutes," said he ; 
 "clear sun again was set for ten minutes past. It is 
 now upon the stroke of the hour ! " 
 
 He seemed in no way concerned with the swaying 
 crowd before him undoubtedly they wanted naught 
 of him, and therefore he did not take their presence 
 seriously ; but, of an inquiring mind, he was absorbed 
 in the eclipse. 
 
 " He 's a French sorcerer ! he has the evil eye ! 
 Away with him to the sea ! " shouted the fanatical 
 preacher from the Pompe des Brigands. 
 
 " It 's a witch turned into a man ! " cried a drunken
 
 36 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 woman from her window. "Give him the wheel of 
 fire at the blacksmith's forge." 
 
 " That 's it ! Gad'rabotin the wheel of fire '11 
 turn him back to a hag again ! " 
 
 The little gentleman protested, but they seized him 
 and dragged him from the steps. Tossed like a ball, 
 so light was he, he grasped the gold-headed cane as 
 one might cling to life, and declared that he was no 
 witch, but a poor French exile, arrested the night be- 
 fore for being abroad after nine o'clock, against the 
 orders of the Royal Court. 
 
 Many of the crowd knew him well enough by sight, 
 but they were too delirious to act with intelligence 
 now. The dark cloud was lifting a little from the 
 sun, and dread of the Judgment Day was declining ; 
 but as the pendulum swung back towards normal life 
 again, it carried with it the one virulent and common 
 prejudice of the country, radical hatred of the 
 French, which often slumbered but never died. 
 
 The wife of an oyster-fisher from Rozel Bay, who 
 lived in hourly enmity with the oyster-fishers of Car- 
 teret, gashed his cheek with the shell of an ormer. 
 A potato-digger from Grouville parish struck at his 
 head with a hoe, for the Granvillais had crossed the 
 strait to the island the year before, to work in the 
 harvest fields for a lesser wage than the Jersiais, and 
 this little French gentleman must be held responsible 
 for that ! The weapon missed the Chevalier, but laid 
 low a centenier, who, though a municipal officer, had 
 in the excitement lost his head like his neighbors. 
 This but increased the rage against the foreigner, and 
 was another crime to lay to his charge. A smuggler 
 thereupon kicked him in the side. 
 
 At that moment there came a cry of indignation
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 37 
 
 from a girl at an upper window of the Place. The 
 Chevalier evidently knew her, for even in his hard 
 case he smiled ; and then he heard another voice ring 
 out over the heads of the crowd, strong, angry, deter- 
 mined. 
 
 From the Rue d'Driere a tall athletic man was hur- 
 rying. He had on his shoulders a workman's han 
 basket, from which peeped a shipbuilder's tools. See- 
 ing the Chevalier's danger, he dropped his tool-basket 
 through the open window of a house and forced his 
 way through the crowd, roughly knocking from under 
 them the feet of two or three ruffians who opposed 
 him. He reproached the crowd, he berated them, he 
 handled them fiercely. By a dexterous strength he 
 caught the little gentleman up in his arms, and, driv- 
 ing straight on to the open door of the smithy, placed 
 him inside, then blocked the passage with his own 
 body. 
 
 It was a strange picture : the preacher in an ecstasy 
 haranguing the foolish rabble, who now realized, with 
 an unbecoming joy, that the Last Day was yet to 
 face ; the gaping, empty prison ; the open windows 
 crowded with excited faces ; the church bell from the 
 Vier Marchi ringing an alarm ; Norman lethargy 
 roused to froth and fury ; one strong man holding two 
 hundred back ! 
 
 Above them all, at a hus in the gable of a thatched 
 cottage, stood the girl whom the Chevalier had recog- 
 nized, anxiously watching the affray. She was leaning 
 across the lower closed half of the door, her hands in 
 apprehensive excitement clasping her cheeks. The 
 eyes were bewildered, and, though alive with pain, 
 watched the scene below with unwavering intensity. 
 
 Like all mobs this one had no reason, no sense.
 
 38 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 They were balked in their malign intentions, and this 
 man, Maitre Ranulph Delagarde, was the cause of it, 
 that was all they knew. A stone was thrown at Dela- 
 garde as he stood in the doorway, but it missed him. 
 
 " Oh oh oh ! " the girl exclaimed, shrinking. 
 " O shame ! O you cowards ! " she added, her hands 
 now indignantly beating on the hus. Three or four 
 men rushed forward on Ranulph. He hurled them 
 back. Others came on with weapons. The girl fled 
 for an instant, then reappeared with a musket, as the 
 people were crowding in on Delagarde with threats 
 and execrations. 
 
 "Stop! stop!" cried the girl from above, as Ra- 
 nulph seized a blacksmith's hammer to meet the 
 onset. 
 
 " Stop, or I '11 fire ! " she called' again, and she 
 aimed her musket at the foremost assailants. 
 
 Every face turned in her direction, for her voice 
 had rung out clear as music. For an instant there 
 was silence the leveled musket had a deadly look, 
 and the girl seemed determined. Her fingers, her 
 whole body, trembled ; but there was no mistaking 
 the strong will, the indignant purpose. 
 
 All at once in the pause another sound was heard. 
 It was a quick tramp, tramp, tramp ! and suddenly 
 under the prison archway came running an officer of 
 the King's navy with a company of sailors. The 
 officer, with drawn sword, his men following with cut- 
 lasses, drove a way through the mob, who scattered 
 before them like sheep. 
 
 Delagarde threw aside his hammer, and saluted the 
 officer. The little Chevalier made a formal bow, and 
 hastened to say that he was not at all hurt. With a 
 droll composure he offered snuff to the officer, who
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 39 
 
 declined politely. Turning to the window where the 
 girl stood, the newcomer saluted with confident gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 "Why, it 's little Guida Landresse ! " he said under 
 his breath ; " I 'd know her anywhere. Death and 
 Beauty, what a face ! " Then he turned to Ranulph 
 in recognition. 
 
 " Ranulph Delagarde, eh ? " said he good-humoredly. 
 " You Ve forgotten me, I see. I 'm Philip d'Avranche, 
 of the Narcissus." 
 
 Ranulph had forgotten. The slight lad Philip had 
 grown bronzed, and stouter of frame. In the eleven 
 years since they had been together at the Battle of 
 Jersey, events, travel, and responsibility had altered 
 him vastly. Ranulph had changed only in growing 
 very tall and athletic and strong ; the look of him was 
 still that of the Norman lad of the isle, though the 
 power and intelligence of his face were unusual. 
 
 The girl in the cottage doorway had not forgotten 
 at all. The words that d'Avranche had said to her 
 years before, when she was a child, came to her mind : 
 " My name is Philip ; call me Philip." 
 
 The recollection of that day when she snatched off 
 the Bailly's hat brought a smile to her lips now, so 
 quickly were her feelings moved one way or another. 
 Then she grew suddenly serious, for the memory of 
 the hour when he saved her from the scimitar of the 
 Turk came to her, and her heart throbbed hotly. But 
 she smiled again, though more gently and a little 
 wistfully now. 
 
 Philip d'Avranche looked up towards her once 
 more, and returned her smile. Then he addressed 
 the awed crowd. He did not spare his language ; he 
 unconsciously used an oath or two. He ordered them
 
 40 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 off to their homes. When they hesitated (for they 
 were slow to acknowledge any authority save their 
 own sacred Royal Court) the sailors advanced on 
 them with drawn cutlasses, and a moment later the 
 Place du Vier Prison was clear. Leaving a half dozen 
 sailors on guard till the town corps should arrive, 
 d'Avranche prepared to march, and turned to Dela- 
 garde. 
 
 " You have done me a good turn, Monsieur 
 d'Avranche," said Ranulph. 
 
 "There was a time you called me Philip," said 
 d'Avranche, smiling. " We were lads together." 
 
 " It 's different now," answered Delagarde. 
 
 "Nothing is different at all, of course," returned 
 d'Avranche carelessly, yet with the slightest touch 
 of condescension, as he held out his hand. Turning to 
 the Chevalier, he said : " Monsieur, I congratulate you 
 on having such a champion," with a motion towards 
 Ranulph. "And you, monsieur, on your brave pro- 
 tector ; " he again saluted the girl at the window 
 above. 
 
 " I am the obliged and humble servant of monsieur, 
 and monsieur," responded the little gentleman, turning 
 from one to the other with a courtly bow, the three- 
 cornered hat under his arm, the right foot forward, 
 the thin fingers making a graceful salutation. " But 
 I I think I really think I must go back to prison. 
 I was not formally set free. I was out last night 
 beyond the hour set by the Court. I lost my way, 
 and" 
 
 " Not a bit of it," d'Avranche interrupted. " The 
 centeniers are too free with their jailing here. I '11 
 be guarantee for you, monsieur." He turned to go. 
 
 The little man shook his head dubiously.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 41 
 
 " But, as a point of honor, I really think " 
 
 D'Avranche laughed. "As a point of honor, I 
 think you ought to breakfast ! A la bonne heure, 
 Monsieur le Chevalier ! " 
 
 He turned again to the cottage window. The girl 
 was still there. The darkness over the sun was with- 
 drawn, and now the clear light began to spread itself 
 abroad. It was like a second dawn after a painful 
 night. It tinged the face of the girl ; it burnished 
 the wonderful red-brown hair falling loosely and lightly 
 over her forehead ; it gave her beauty a touch of luxu- 
 riance. D'Avranche thrilled at the sight of her. 
 
 " It 's a beautiful face ! " he said to himself as their 
 eyes met and he saluted once more. 
 
 Ranulph had seen the glances passing between the 
 two, and he winced. He remembered how, eleven 
 years ago, Philip d'Avranche had saved the girl from 
 death. It galled him that then and now this young 
 gallant should step in and take the game out of his 
 hands ; he was sure that himself alone could have 
 mastered this crowd. 
 
 " Monsieur ! Monsieur le Chevalier ! " the girl called 
 down from the window, " grandpethe says you must 
 breakfast with us. Oh, but come you must, or we 
 shall be offended ! " she added, as Champsavoys shook 
 his head in hesitation and glanced towards the 
 prison. 
 
 "As a point of honor" the little man still per- 
 sisted, lightly touching his breast with the Louis 
 Quinze cane, and taking a step towards the sombre 
 prison archway. But Ranulph interfered, drew him 
 gently inside the cottage, and, standing in the door- 
 way, said to some one within, 
 
 " May I come in also, Sieur de Mauprat ? "
 
 42 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Above the pleasant welcome of a quavering voice 
 came another, soft and clear, in pure French : 
 
 " Thou art always welcome, without asking, as thou 
 knowest, Ro." 
 
 "Then I'll go and fetch my tool-basket first," 
 Ranulph said cheerily, his heart beating more quickly, 
 and, turning, he walked across the Place.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE cottage in which Guida lived at the Place du 
 Vier Prison was in jocund contrast to the dun- 
 geon from which the Chevalier Orvilliers du Champ- 
 savoys de Beaumanoir had complacently issued. Even 
 in the hot summer the prison walls dripped moisture, 
 for the mortar had been made of wet sea-sand, which 
 never dried, and beneath the gloomy tenement of 
 crime a dark stream flowed to the sea. But the walls 
 of the cottage were dry, for, many years before, Guida's 
 mother had herself seen it built from cellar-rock to 
 the linked initials over the doorway, stone by stone, 
 and every corner of it was as free from damp as the 
 mielles stretching in sandy desolation behind to the 
 Mont es Pendus, where the law had its way with 
 the necks of criminals. 
 
 In early childhood Madame Landresse had come 
 with her father into exile from the sunniest valley in 
 the hills of Chambery, where flowers and trees and 
 sunshine had been her life. Here, in the midst of 
 blank and grim stone houses, her heart traveled back 
 to the chateau where she lived before the storm 
 of persecution drove her forth ; and she spent her 
 heart and her days in making this cottage, upon the 
 western border of St. Heliers, a delight to the quiet 
 eye. 
 
 The people of the Island had been good to her and 
 her dead husband during the two short years of their
 
 44 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 married life, and had caused her to love the land which 
 necessity made her home. Her child was brought up 
 after the fashion of the better class of Jersey children, 
 wore what they wore, ate what they ate, lived as they 
 lived. She spoke the country patois in the daily life, 
 teaching it to Guida at the same time that she taught 
 her pure French and good English, which she herself 
 had learned as a child, and cultivated later here. She 
 had done all in her power to make Guida Jersiaise in 
 instinct and habit, and to beget in her a contented 
 disposition. There could be no future for her daugh- 
 ter outside this little green oasis of exile, she thought. 
 Not that she lacked ambition, but in the circumstances 
 she felt that ambition could yield but one harvest to 
 her child, which was marriage. She herself had mar- 
 ried a poor man, a master builder of ships, like Maitre 
 Ranulph Delagarde, but she had been very happy while 
 he lived. Her husband had come of an ancient Jersey 
 family, who were in Normandy before the Conqueror 
 was born ; a man of genius almost in his craft, but 
 scarcely a gentleman according to the standard of her 
 father, the distinguished exile and now retired watch- 
 maker. If Guida should chance to be as fortunate as 
 herself, she could ask no more. 
 
 She had watched the child anxiously, for the impulses 
 of Guida's temperament now and then broke forth in 
 indignation as wild as her tears, and in tears as wild as 
 her laughter. As the girl grew in health and stature, 
 she tried, tenderly, strenuously, to discipline the sen- 
 sitive nature, bursting her heart with grief at times 
 because she knew that these high feelings and delicate 
 powers came through a long line of ancestral tenden- 
 cies, as indestructible as perilous and joyous. 
 
 Four things were always apparent in the girl's
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 45 
 
 character : sympathy with suffering, kindness without 
 partiality, a love of nature, and an intense candor. 
 
 Not a stray cat wandering into the Place du Vier 
 Prison but found an asylum in the garden behind the 
 cottage. Not a dog hungry for a bone, stopping at 
 Guida's door, but was sure of one from a hiding-place 
 in the hawthorn hedge of the garden. Every morning 
 you might have seen the birds in fluttering, chirping 
 groups upon the may-tree or the lilac-bushes, waiting 
 for the tiny snowstorm of bread to fall from her hand. 
 Was he good or bad, ragged or neat, honest or a thief, 
 not a deserting sailor or a homeless lad, halting at the 
 cottage, but was fed from the girl's private larder 
 behind the straw beehives, among the sweet lavender 
 and the gooseberry-bushes. No matter how rough the 
 vagrant, the sincerity and pure impulse of the child 
 seemed to throw round him a sunshine of decency 
 and respect. 
 
 The garden behind the house was the girl's Eden. 
 She had planted upon the hawthorn hedge the crimson 
 monthly rose, the fuchsia, and the jonquil, until at last 
 the cottage was hemmed in by a wall of flowers ; and 
 here she was ever as busy as the bees which hung 
 humming on the sweet scabious. 
 
 In this corner was a little hut for rabbits ; in that, 
 there was a hole dug in the bank for a hedgehog ; 
 in the middle a little flower-grown inclosure for cats 
 in various stages of health or convalescence, and a 
 small pond for frogs ; and in the midst of all wandered 
 her faithful dog, Biribi by name, as master of the 
 ceremonies. 
 
 Madame Landresse's one ambition had been to live 
 long enough to see her child's character formed. She 
 knew that her own years were numbered, for month
 
 46 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 by month she felt her strength going. And yet a 
 beautiful tenacity kept her where she would be until 
 Guida was fifteen years of age. Her great desire had 
 been to live till the girl was eighteen. Then well, 
 then might she not perhaps leave her to the care of a 
 husband ? At best, M. de Mauprat could not live long. 
 He had at last been forced to give up the little watch- 
 maker's shop in the Vier Marchi, where for so many 
 years, in simple independence, he had wrought, always 
 putting by, from work done after hours, Jersey bank- 
 notes and gold, to give Guida a dot, if not worthy of 
 her, at least a guarantee against reproach when some 
 great man should come seeking her in marriage. But 
 at last his hands trembled among the tiny wheels, and 
 his eyes failed. He had his dark hour by himself, 
 then he sold the shop to a native, who thenceforward 
 sat in the ancient exile's place ; and the two brown 
 eyes of the stooped, brown old man looked out no 
 more from the window in the Vier Marchi : and then 
 they all made their new home in the Place du Vier 
 Prison. 
 
 Until she was fifteen Guida's life was unclouded. 
 Once or twice her mother tried to tell her of a place 
 that must soon be empty, but her heart failed her. 
 So at last the end came like a sudden wind out of 
 the north ; and it was left to Guida Landresse de 
 Landresse to fight the fight and finish the journey 
 of womanhood alone. 
 
 This time was the turning-point in Guida's life. 
 What her mother had been to the Sieur de Mauprat, 
 she soon became. They had enough to live on sim- 
 ply. Every week her grandfather gave her a fixed 
 sum for the household. Upon this she managed, that 
 the tiny income left by her mother might not be
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 47 
 
 touched. She shrank from using it yet, and besides, 
 dark times might come when it would be needed. 
 Death had once surprised her, but it should bring no 
 more amazement. She knew that M. de Mauprat's 
 days were numbered, and when he was gone she 
 would be left without one near relative in the world. 
 She realized how unprotected her position would be 
 when death came knocking at the door again. What 
 she would do she knew not. She thought long and 
 hard. Fifty things occurred to her, and fifty were set 
 aside. Her mother's immediate relatives in France 
 were scattered or dead. There was no longer any 
 interest at Chambery in the watchmaking exile, who 
 had dropped like a cherry-stone from the beak of 
 the black bird of persecution upon one of the lies de 
 la Manche. 
 
 There remained the alternative more than once 
 hinted by the Sieur de Mauprat as the months grew 
 into years after the mother died, marriage ; a hus- 
 band, a notable and wealthy husband. That was the 
 magic destiny de Mauprat figured for her. It did not 
 elate her, it did not disturb her ; she scarcely realized 
 it. She loved animals, and she saw no reason to de- 
 spise a stalwart youth. It had been her fortune to 
 know two or three in the casual, unconventional man- 
 ner of villages, and there were few in the land, great 
 or humble, who did not turn twice to look at her as 
 she passed through the Vier Marchi, so noble was her 
 carriage, so graceful and buoyant her walk, so lacking 
 in self-consciousness her beauty. More than one 
 young gentleman of family had been known to ride 
 through the Place du Vier Prison, hoping to get sight 
 of her, and to offer the view of a suggestively empty 
 pillion behind him.
 
 48 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 She had, however, never listened to flatterers, and 
 only one youth of Jersey had footing in the cottage. 
 This was Ranulph Delagarde, who had gone in and 
 out at his will, but that was casually and not too 
 often, and he was discreet and spoke no word of love. 
 Sometimes she talked to him of things concerning 
 the daily life with which she did not care to trouble 
 Sieur de Mauprat. In ways quite unknown to her 
 he had made her life easier for her. She knew that 
 her mother had thought of Ranulph for her husband, 
 although she blushed whenever but it was not often 
 the idea came to her. She remembered how her 
 mother had said that Ranulph would be a great man 
 in the Island some day ; that he had a mind above all 
 the youths in St. Heliers ; that she would rather see 
 Ranulph a master shipbuilder than a babbling farivain 
 in the Rue des Tres Pigeons, a smirking leech, or 
 a penniless seigneur with neither trade nor talent. 
 Guida was attracted to Ranulph through his occupa- 
 tion, for she loved strength, she loved all clean and 
 wholesome trades ; that of the mason, of the carpen- 
 ter, of the blacksmith, and most of the shipbuilder. 
 Her father, whom she did not remember, had been a 
 shipbuilder, and she knew that he had been a notable 
 man ; every one had told her that. 
 
 " She has met her destiny," say the village gossips, 
 when some man in the dusty procession of life sees a 
 woman's face in the pleasant shadow of a home, and 
 drops out of the ranks to enter at her doorway. 
 
 Was Ranulph to be Guida's destiny ? 
 
 Handsome and stalwart though he looked as he 
 entered the cottage in the Place du Vier Prison, on
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 49 
 
 that September morning after the rescue of the Che- 
 valier, his tool-basket on his shoulder, and his brown 
 face enlivened by one simple sentiment, she was far 
 from sure that he was, far from sure.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE little hallway into which Ranulph stepped 
 from the street led through to the kitchen. 
 Guida stood holding back the door for him to enter 
 this real living-room of the house, which opened 
 directly upon the garden behind. It was so cheerful 
 and secluded, looking out from the garden over the 
 wide space beyond to the changeful sea, that since 
 Madame Landresse's death the Sieur de Mauprat had 
 made it reception-room, dining-room, and kitchen all 
 in one. He would willingly have slept there too, but 
 noblesse oblige and the thought of what the Chevalier 
 Orvilliers du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir might 
 think prevented him. Moreover, there was something 
 patriarchal in a kitchen as a reception-room ; and both 
 he and the Chevalier loved to watch Guida busy with 
 her household duties : at one moment her arms in the 
 dough of the kneading-trough ; at another picking 
 cherries for a jelly, or casting up her weekly accounts 
 with a little smiling and a little sighing. 
 
 If, by chance, it had been proposed by the Sieur to 
 adjourn to the small sitting-room which looked out 
 upon the Place du Vier Prison, a gloom would in- 
 stantly have settled upon them both ; though in this 
 little front room there was an ancient armchair, over 
 which hung the sword that the Comte Guilbert Mau- 
 prat de Chambery had used at Fontenoy against the 
 English.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 51 
 
 So it was that this spacious kitchen, with its huge 
 chimney, and paved with square flagstones and sanded, 
 became like one of those ancient corners of camara- 
 derie in some exclusive inn where gentlemen of quality 
 were wont to meet. At the left of the chimney was 
 the great settle, or veille, covered with baize, " flour- 
 ished" with satinettes, and spread with ferns and 
 rushes, and above it a little shelf of old china worth 
 the ransom of a prince at least. Opposite the door- 
 way were two great armchairs, one for the Sieur and 
 the other for the Chevalier, who made his home in the 
 house of one Elie Mattingley, a fisherman by trade 
 and by practice a piratical smuggler, with a daughter 
 Carterette whom he loved passing well. 
 
 These, with a few constant visitors, formed a coterie : 
 the huge, grizzly-bearded boatman, Jean Touzel, who 
 wore spectacles, befriended smugglers, was approved 
 of all men, and secretly worshiped by his wife ; Amice 
 Ingouville, the fat avocat with a stomach of gigantic 
 proportions, the biggest heart and the tiniest brain in 
 the world ; Maitre Ranulph Delagarde, and lastly M. 
 Yves Savary dit Detricand, that officer of Rullecour's 
 who, being released from the prison hospital, when the 
 hour came for him to leave the country was too drunk 
 to find the shore. By some whim of negligence the 
 Royal Court was afterwards too lethargic to remove 
 him, and he stayed on, vainly making efforts to leave 
 between one carousal and another. In sober hours, 
 none too frequent, he was rather sorrowfully welcomed 
 by the Sieur and the Chevalier. 
 
 When Ranulph entered the kitchen his greeting to 
 the Sieur and the Chevalier was in French, but to 
 Guida he said, rather stupidly in the patois, for late
 
 52 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 events had embarrassed him, "Ah bah! es-tu genti- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " Gentiment," she answered, with a queer little 
 smile. " You '11 have breakfast ? " she said in Eng- 
 lish. 
 
 " Et ben ! " Ranulph repeated, still embarrassed ; 
 "a bouchi, that 's all." 
 
 He laid aside his tool-basket, shook hands with the 
 Sieur, and seated himself at the table. Looking at du 
 Champsavoys, he said : 
 
 "I've just met the Constable. He regrets the 
 riot, Chevalier, and says the Royal Court extends its 
 mercy to you." 
 
 " I prefer to accept no favors," answered the Cheva- 
 lier. " As a point of honor, I had thought that, after 
 breakfast, I should return to prison, and " 
 
 "The Connetable said it was cheaper to let the 
 Chevalier go free than to feed him in the Vier Pri- 
 son," dryly exclaimed Ranulph, helping himself to 
 roasted conger-eel and eying hungrily the freshly- 
 made black butter Guida was taking from a wooden 
 trencher. "The Royal Court is stingy," he added, 
 " ' nearer than Jean Noe, who got married in his red 
 queminzolle,' as we say on Jersey " 
 
 But he got no further at the moment, for shots rang 
 out suddenly before the house. They all started to 
 their feet, and Ranulph, running to the front door, 
 threw it open. As he did so a young man, with blood 
 flowing from a cut on the temple, stepped inside.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IT was M. Savary dit Detricand. 
 " Whew what fools there are in the world ! 
 Pish, you silly apes ! " the young man said, glancing 
 through the open doorway again to where the Con- 
 netable's men were dragging two vile-looking ruffians 
 into the Vier Prison. 
 
 " What 's happened, monsieur ? " said Ranulph, clos- 
 ing the door and bolting it. 
 
 " What was it, monsieur ? " asked Guida anxiously, 
 for painful events had crowded too fast that morning. 
 
 Detricand was stanching the blood at his temple 
 with the scarf from his neck. 
 
 "Get him some cordial, Guida he 's wounded !" 
 said de Mauprat. 
 
 Detricand waved a hand almost impatiently, and 
 dropped upon the veille, swinging a leg back and for- 
 wards. 
 
 " It 's nothing, I protest, nothing whatever, and 
 I '11 have no cordial, not a drop. A drink of water, 
 a mouthful of that, if I must drink." 
 
 Guida caught up a hanap of water from the dresser, 
 and passed it to him. Her fingers trembled a little. 
 His were steady enough as he took the hanap and drank 
 off the water at a gulp. Again she filled it and again 
 he drank. The blood was running in a tiny little 
 stream down his cheek. She caught her handkerchief 
 from her girdle impulsively, and gently wiped it away.
 
 54 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Let me bandage the wound," she said eagerly. 
 Her eyes were alight with compassion, certainly not be- 
 cause it was the dissipated French invader, M. Savary 
 dit Detricand, no one knew that he was the young 
 Comte de Tournay of the House of Vauf ontaine, 
 but because he was a wounded fellow-creature. She 
 would have done the same for the poor beganne, Dormy 
 Jamais, who still prowled the purlieus of St. Heliers. 
 
 It was clear, however, that Detricand felt differently. 
 The moment she touched him he became suddenly 
 still. He permitted her to wash the blood from his 
 temple and forehead, to stanch it first with brandied 
 jeru-leaves, then with cobwebs, and afterwards to bind 
 it with her own kerchief. 
 
 Detricand thrilled at the touch of the warm, tremu- 
 lous fingers. He had never been quite so near her 
 before. His face was not far from hers. Now her 
 breath fanned him. As he bent his head for the 
 bandaging, he could see the soft pulsing of her bosom, 
 and hear the beating of her heart. Her neck was so 
 full and round and soft, and her voice surely he had 
 never heard a voice so sweet and strong, a tone so 
 well poised, so resonantly pleasant. 
 
 When she had finished, he had an impulse to catch 
 the hand as it dropped away from his forehead, and 
 kiss it ; not as he had kissed many a hand, hotly one 
 hour and coldly the next, but with an unpurchasable 
 kind of gratitude characteristic of this especial sort of 
 sinner. He was just young enough, and there was 
 still enough natural health in him, to know the healing 
 touch of a perfect decency, a pure truth of spirit. Yet 
 he had been drunk the night before, drunk with three 
 non-commissioned officers and he a gentleman, in 
 spite of all, as could be plainly seen.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 55 
 
 He turned his head away from the girl quickly, and 
 looked straight into the eyes of her grandfather. 
 
 " I '11 tell you how it was, Sieur de Mauprat," said 
 he. " I was crossing the Place du Vier Prison when 
 a rascal threw a cleaver at me from a window. If it 
 had struck me on the head well, the. Royal Court 
 would have buried me, and without a slab to my grave 
 like Rullecour. I burst open the door of the house, 
 ran up the stairs, gripped the ruffian, and threw him 
 out of the window into the street. As I did so a door 
 opened behind, and another cut-throat came at me 
 with a pistol. He fired, fired wide. I ran in on 
 him, and before he had time to think he was through 
 the window, too. Then the other brute below fired 
 up at me. The bullet gashed my temple, as you see. 
 After that, it was an affair of the Connetable and his 
 men. I had had enough fighting before breakfast. 
 I saw your open door and here I am monsieur, 
 monsieur, monsieur, mademoiselle ! " He bowed to 
 each of them, and glanced towards the table hungrily. 
 
 Ranulph placed a seat for him. He viewed the 
 conger-eel and limpets with an avid eye, but waited 
 for the Chevalier and de Mauprat to sit. He had no 
 sooner taken a mouthful, however, and thrown a piece 
 of bread to Biribi the dog, than, starting again to his 
 feet, he said : 
 
 " Your pardon, Monsieur le Chevalier, that brute in 
 the Place has knocked all sense from my head ! I 've 
 a letter for you, brought from Rouen by one of the 
 refugees who came yesterday." He drew from his 
 breast a packet and handed it over. " I went out to 
 their ship last night." 
 
 The Chevalier looked with surprise and satisfac- 
 tion at the seal on the letter, and, breaking it, spread
 
 56 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 open the paper, fumbled for the eyeglass which he 
 always carried in his waistcoat, and began reading 
 diligently. 
 
 Meanwhile Ranulph turned to Guida. " To-morrow 
 Jean Touzel and his wife and I go to the Ecrehos 
 Rocks in Jean's boat," said he. " A vessel was driven 
 ashore there three days ago, and my carpenters are 
 at work on her. If you can go and the wind holds 
 fair, you shall be brought back safe by sundown, 
 Jean says so, too." 
 
 Of all boatmen and fishermen on the coast, Jean 
 Touzel was most to be trusted. No man had saved 
 so many shipwrecked folk, none risked his life so 
 often ; and he had never had a serious accident. To 
 go to sea with Jean Touzel, folk said, was safer than 
 living on land. Guida loved the sea ; and she could 
 sail a boat, and knew the tides and currents of the 
 south coast as well as most fishermen. 
 
 M. de Mauprat met her inquiring glance, and nodded 
 assent. She then said gayly to Ranulph, " I shall 
 sail her, shall I not ? " 
 
 " Every foot of the way," he answered. 
 
 She laughed and clapped her hands. Suddenly the 
 little Chevalier broke in. " By the head of John the 
 Baptist ! " said he. 
 
 Detricand put down his knife and fork in amaze- 
 ment, and Guida colored, for the words sounded almost 
 profane upon the Chevalier's lips. 
 
 Du Champsavoys held up his eyeglass, and, turn- 
 ing from one to the other, looked at each of them 
 imperatively, yet abstractedly too. Then, pursing up 
 his lower lip, and with a growing amazement which 
 carried him to distant heights of reckless language, 
 he said again :
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 57 
 
 " By the head of John the Baptist on a charger ! " 
 
 He looked at Detricand with a fierceness which was 
 merely the tension of his thought. If he had looked 
 at a wall it would have been the same. But Detri- 
 cand, who had an almost whimsical sense of humor, 
 felt his neck in affected concern as though to be 
 quite sure of it. 
 
 "Chevalier," said he, "you shock us, you shock 
 us, dear Chevalier ! " 
 
 " The most painful things, and the most wonderful, 
 too," said the Chevalier, tapping the letter with his 
 eyeglass ; " the most terrible and yet the most ro- 
 mantic things are here. A drop of cider, if you please, 
 mademoiselle, before I begin to read it to you, if I 
 may if I may eh ? " 
 
 They all nodded eagerly. Guida handed him a 
 mogue of cider. The little gray thrush of a man 
 sipped it, and in a voice no bigger than a bird's be- 
 gan: 
 
 " ' From Lucillien du Champsavoys, Comte de Cha- 
 nier, by the hand of a faithful friend, who goeth hence 
 from among divers dangers, unto my cousin, the Cheva- 
 lier du Champsavoys de Beaumanoir, late Gentleman 
 of the Bedchamber to the best of monarchs, Louis 
 XV., this writing : 
 
 "' MY DEAR AND HONORED COUSIN '" (the Cheva- 
 lier paused, frowned a trifle, and tapped his lips with 
 his finger in a little lyrical emotion), " ' My dear and 
 honored cousin, all is lost. The France we loved is 
 no more ! The twentieth of June saw the last ves- 
 tige of Louis' power pass forever. That day ten 
 thousand of the sans-culottes forced their way into the 
 palace to kill him. A faithful few surrounded him.
 
 58 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 In the mad turmoil, we were fearful, he was serene. 
 " Feel," said Louis, placing his hand on his bosom, 
 " feel whether this is the beating of a heart shaken 
 by fear." Ah, my friend, your heart would have 
 clamped in misery to hear the Queen cry, " What 
 have I to fear ? Death ? it is as well to-day as to- 
 morrow ; they can do no more ! " Their lives were 
 saved, the day passed, but worse came after. 
 
 " ' The tenth of August came. With it, too, the 
 end the dark and bloody end of the Swiss Guard. 
 The Jacobins had their way at last. The Swiss Guard 
 died in the court of the Carrousel as they marched to 
 the Assembly to save the King. Thus the last circle 
 of defense round the throne was broken. The palace 
 was given over to flame and the sword. Of twenty 
 nobles of the court I alone escaped. France is be- 
 come a slaughter-house. The people cried out for 
 more liberty, and their liberators gave them the free- 
 dom of death. A fortnight ago, Danton, the incom- 
 parable fiend, let loose his assassins upon the priests 
 of God. Now Paris is made a theatre where the 
 people whom Louis and his nobles would have died to 
 save have turned every street into a stable of carnage, 
 every prison and hospital into a vast charnel-house. 
 One last revolting thing alone remains to be done, 
 the murder of the King, then this France that we 
 have loved will have no name and no place in our 
 generation. She will rise again, but we shall not see 
 her, for our eyes have been blinded with blood, forever 
 darkened by disaster. Like a mistress upon whom 
 we have lavished the days of our youth and the 
 strength of our days, she has deceived us ; she has 
 stricken us while we slept. Behold a Caliban now for 
 her paramour !
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 59 
 
 " ' Weep with me, for France despoils me. One 
 by one my friends have fallen beneath the axe. Of 
 my four sons but one remains. Henri was stabbed 
 by Danton's ruffians at the Hotel de Ville ; Gaston 
 fought and died with the Swiss Guard, whose hacked 
 and severed limbs were broiled and eaten in the streets 
 by these monsters who mutilate the land. Isidore, 
 the youngest, defied a hundred of Robespierre's cow- 
 ards on the steps of the Assembly, and was torn to 
 pieces by the mob'. Etienne alone is left. But for 
 him and for the honor of my house I too would find a 
 place beside the King and die with him. Etienne is 
 with de la Rochejaquelein in Brittany. I am here at 
 Rouen. 
 
 " ' Brittany and Normandy still stand for the King. 
 In these two provinces begins the regeneration of 
 France : we call it the War of the Vendee. On that 
 Isle of Jersey there you should almost hear the voice 
 of de la Rochejaquelein and the marching cries of our 
 loyal legions. If there be justice in God we shall 
 conquer. But there will be joy no more for such as 
 you or me, nor hope, nor any peace. We live only 
 for those who come after. Our duty remains ; all else 
 is dead. You did well to go, and I do well to stay. 
 
 " ' By all these piteous relations you shall know the 
 importance of the request I now set forth. 
 
 " ' My cousin by marriage of the House of Vaufon- 
 taine has lost all his sons. With the death of the 
 Prince of Vaufontaine, there is in France no direct 
 heir to the house, nor can it, by the law, revert to my 
 house or my heirs. Now of late the Prince hath 
 urged me to write to you, for he is here in seclusion 
 with me, and to unfold to you what has hitherto 
 been secret. Eleven years ago the only nephew of the
 
 60 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Prince, after some naughty escapades, fled from the 
 Court with Rullecour the adventurer, who invaded 
 the Isle of Jersey. From that hour he has been lost 
 to France. Some of his companions in arms returned 
 after a number of years. All with one exception de- 
 clared that he was killed in the battle at St. Heliers. 
 One, however, maintains that he was still living and 
 in the prison hospital when his comrades were set 
 free. 
 
 " ' It is of him I write to you. He is as you will 
 perchance remember the Comte de Tournay. He 
 was then not more than seventeen years of age, slight 
 of build, with brownish hair, dark gray eyes, and had 
 over the right shoulder a scar from a sword-thrust. 
 It seemeth little possible that, if living, he should still 
 remain in that Isle of Jersey, but may rather have 
 returned to obscurity in France or have gone to Eng- 
 land to be lost to name and remembrance, or even 
 indeed beyond the seas. 
 
 " ' That you may perchance give me word of him is 
 the object of my letter, written in no more hope than 
 I live ; and you can well guess how faint that is. One 
 young nobleman preserved to France may yet be the 
 great unit that will save her. 
 
 " ' Greet my poor countrymen yonder in the name 
 of one who still waits at a desecrated altar ; and for 
 myself you must take me as I am, with the remem- 
 brance of what I was, even 
 
 " ' Your faithful friend and loving kinsman, 
 
 "'DE CHANIER.'" 
 
 " ' All this, though in the chances of war you read 
 it not till wintertide, was told you at Rouen this first 
 day of September, 1792.'"
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 61 
 
 During the reading, broken by feeling and reflective 
 pauses on the Chevalier's part, the listeners showed 
 emotion after the nature of each. The Sieur de Mau- 
 prat's fingers clasped and unclasped on the top of his 
 cane, little explosions of breath came from his com- 
 pressed lips, his eyebrows beetled over till the eyes 
 themselves seemed like two glints of flame. Dela- 
 garde dropped a fist heavily upon the table, and held 
 it there clinched, while his heel beat a tattoo of ex- 
 citement upon the floor. Guida's breath came quick 
 and fast ; as Ranulph said afterwards, she was " blanc 
 comme un linge" She shuddered painfully when the 
 slaughter and burning of the Swiss Guards was read. 
 Her brain was so swimming with the horrors of an- 
 archy that the latter part of the letter dealing with 
 the vanished Count of Tournay passed by almost un- 
 heeded. 
 
 But this particular matter greatly interested Ra- 
 nulph and de Mauprat. They leaned forward eagerly, 
 seizing every word, and both instinctively turned to- 
 wards Detricand when the description of de Tournay 
 was read. 
 
 As for Detricand himself, he listened to the first 
 part of the letter like a man suddenly roused out of a 
 dream. For the first time since the Revolution had 
 begun, the horror of it and the meaning of it were 
 brought home to him. He had been so long expatri- 
 ated, had loitered so long in the primrose path of 
 daily sleep and nightly revel, had fallen so far, that 
 he little realized how the fiery wheels of Death were 
 spinning in France, or how black was the torment 
 of her people. His face turned scarlet as the thing 
 came home to him now. He dropped his head in his 
 hand as if to listen more attentively, but it was in
 
 62 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 truth to hide his emotion. When the names of Vau- 
 fontaine and de Tournay were mentioned, he gave a 
 little start, then suddenly ruled himself to a strange 
 stillness. His face seemed presently to clear; he 
 even smiled a little. Conscious that de Mauprat and 
 Delagarde were watching him, he appeared to listen 
 with a keen but impersonal interest, not without its 
 effect upon his scrutinizers. He nodded his head as 
 though he understood the situation. He acted very 
 well ; he bewildered the onlookers. They might think 
 he tallied with the description of the Comte de Tour- 
 nay, yet he gave the impression that the matter was 
 not vital to himself. But when the little Chevalier 
 stopped and turned his eyeglass upon him with sudden 
 startled inquiry, he found it harder to keep composure. 
 
 "Singular! singular!" said the old man, and 
 returned to the reading of the letter. 
 
 When he ended there was absolute silence for a 
 moment. Then the Chevalier lifted his eyeglass again 
 and looked at Detricand intently. 
 
 "Pardon me, monsieur," he said, "but you were 
 with Rullecour as I was saying." 
 
 Detricand nodded with a droll sort of helplessness, 
 and answered, "In Jersey I never have chance to 
 forget it, Chevalier." 
 
 Du Champsavoys, with a nai've and obvious attempt 
 at playing counsel, fixed him again with the glass, 
 pursed his lips, and with the importance of a greffier 
 at the ancient Cour d'Heritage, came one step nearer 
 to his goal. 
 
 " Have you knowledge of the Comte de Tournay, 
 monsieur?" 
 
 "I knew him as you were saying, Chevalier," 
 answered Detricand lightly.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 63 
 
 Then the Chevalier struck home. He dropped his 
 fingers upon the table, stood up, and, looking straight 
 into Detricand's eyes, said, 
 
 " Monsieur, you are the Comte de Tournay ! " 
 
 The Chevalier involuntarily held the silence for an 
 instant. Nobody stirred. De Mauprat dropped his 
 chin upon his hands, and his eyebrows drew down in 
 excitement. Guida gave a little cry of astonishment. 
 But Detricand answered the Chevalier with a look of 
 blank surprise and a shrug of the shoulder, which had 
 the effect desired. 
 
 "Thank you, Chevalier," said he with quizzical 
 humor. " Now I know who I am, and if it is n't too 
 soon to levy upon the kinship, I shall dine with you 
 to-day, Chevalier. I paid my debts yesterday, and 
 sous are scarce, but since we are distant cousins I 
 may claim grist at the family mill, eh ? " 
 
 The Chevalier sat, or rather dropped into his chair 
 again. 
 
 " Then you are not the Comte de Tournay, mon- 
 sieur! " said he hopelessly. 
 
 "Then I shall not dine with you to-day," retorted 
 Detricand gayly. 
 
 " You fit the tale," said de Mauprat dubiously, touch- 
 ing the letter with his finger. 
 
 "Let me see," rejoined Detricand. "I've been a 
 donkey farmer, a shipmaster's assistant, a tobacco ped- 
 dler, a quarryman, a wood merchant, an interpreter, a 
 fisherman that's very like the Comte de Tournay! 
 On Monday night I supped with a smuggler ; on 
 Tuesday I breakfasted on soupe a la graisse with 
 Manon Moignard, the witch ; on Wednesday I dined 
 with Dormy Jamais and an avocat disbarred for writ- 
 ing lewd songs for a chocolate-house ; on Thursday I
 
 64 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 went oyster-fishing with a native who has three wives, 
 and a butcher who has been banished four times for 
 not keeping holy the Sabbath Day ; and I drank from 
 eleven o'clock till sunrise this morning with three 
 Scotch sergeants of the line which is very like the 
 Comte de Tournay, as you were saying, Chevalier ! I 
 am five feet eleven, and the Comte de Tournay was 
 five feet ten which is no lie," he added under his 
 breath. " I have a scar, but it 's over my left shoul- 
 der and not over my right which is also no lie," he 
 added under his breath. " De Tournay' s hair was 
 brown, and mine, you see, is almost a dead black 
 fever did that," he added under his breath. " De 
 Tournay escaped the day after the Battle of Jersey 
 from the prison hospital ; I was left, and here I 've 
 been ever since, Yves Savary dit Detricand, at your 
 service, Chevalier ! " 
 
 A pained expression passed over the Chevalier's 
 face. 
 
 "I am most sorry ; I am most sorry," he said hesi- 
 tatingly. " I had no wish to wound your feelings." 
 
 "Ah, it is de Tournay to whom you must apolo- 
 gize," said Detricand musingly with a droll look. 
 
 " It is a pity," continued the Chevalier, " for some- 
 how all at once I recalled a resemblance. I saw de 
 Tournay when he was fourteen, yes, I think it was 
 fourteen, and when I looked at you, monsieur, his 
 face came back to me. It would have made my 
 cousin so happy if you had been the Comte de Tour- 
 nay, and I had found you here." The old man's voice 
 trembled a little. " We are growing fewer every day, 
 we Frenchmen of the ancient families. And it would 
 have made my cousin so happy, as I was saying, mon- 
 sieur."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 65 
 
 Detricand's manner changed ; he became serious. 
 The devil-may-care, irresponsible shamelessness of 
 his face dropped away like a mask. Something had 
 touched him. His voice changed too. 
 
 "De Tournay was a much better fellow than I 
 am, Chevalier," said he "and that's no lie," he 
 added under his breath. " De Tournay was a fiery, 
 ambitious youngster with bad companions. De 
 Tournay told me he repented of coming with Rulle- 
 cour, and he felt he had spoilt his life, that he could 
 never return to France again or to his people." 
 
 The old Chevalier shook his head sadly. "Is he 
 dead ? " he asked. 
 
 There was a slight pause, and then Detricand 
 answered, "No, still living." 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 " I promised de Tournay that I would never reveal 
 that." 
 
 " Might I not write to him ? " asked the old man. 
 
 " Assuredly, Chevalier." 
 
 " Could you will you dispatch a letter to him 
 from me, monsieur ? " 
 
 " Upon my honor, yes ! " 
 
 " I thank you, I thank you, monsieur ; I will write 
 it to-day." 
 
 "As you will, Chevalier. I will ask you for the 
 letter to-night," rejoined Detricand. "It may take 
 time to reach de Tournay ; but he shall receive it 
 into his own hands." 
 
 De Mauprat trembled to his feet to put the ques- 
 tion he knew the Chevalier dreaded to ask : 
 
 " Do you think that Monsieur le Comte will return 
 to France ? " 
 
 " I think he will," answered Detricand slowly.
 
 66 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " It will make my cousin so happy, so happy ! " 
 quavered the little Chevalier. " Will you take snuff 
 with me, monsieur ? " He offered his silver snuff-box 
 to his vagrant countryman. This was a mark of favor 
 he showed to few. 
 
 Detricand bowed, accepted, and took a pinch. " I 
 must be going," he said.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 AT eight o'clock the next morning, Guida and her 
 fellow voyagers, bound for the Ecrehos Rocks, 
 had caught the first ebb of the tide, and with a fair 
 wind from the sou'-west had skirted the coast, ridden 
 lightly over the Bane des Violets, and shaped their 
 course nor'-east Guida kept the helm all the way, 
 as she had been promised by Ranulph. It was still 
 more than half-tide when they approached the rocks, 
 and, with a fair wind, there should be ease in landing. 
 
 No more desolate spot might be imagined. To 
 the left, as you faced towards Jersey, was a long 
 sand-bank. Between the rocks and the sand-bank 
 shot up a tall, lonely shaft of granite, with an evil 
 history. It had been chosen as the last refuge of 
 safety for the women and children of a shipwrecked 
 vessel, in the belief that high tide would not reach 
 them. But the wave rose up maliciously, foot by 
 foot, till it drowned their cries forever in the storm. 
 The sand-bank was called " Ecriviere," and the rock 
 was afterwards known as the " Pierre des Femmes." 
 
 Other rocks, less prominent, but no less treacherous, 
 flanked it, the Noir Sabloniere and the Grande 
 Galere. To the right of the main island were a 
 group of others, all reef and shingle, intersected by 
 treacherous channels ; in calm lapped by water with 
 the colors of a prism of crystal, in storm by a leaden 
 surf and flying foam. These were known as the
 
 68 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Colombiere, the Grosse Tete, Tas de Pois, and the 
 Marmotiers ; each with its retinue of sunken reefs 
 and needles of granitic gneiss lying low in menace. 
 Happy the sailor caught in a storm and making for 
 the shelter the little curves in the island afford, who 
 escapes a twist of the current, a sweep of the tide, 
 and the impaling ringers of the submarine palisades. 
 
 Beyond these rocks lay Maitre He, all gneiss and 
 shingle, a desert in the sea. The holy men of the 
 early Church, beholding it from the shore of Nor- 
 mandy, had marked it for a refuge from the storms 
 of war and the follies of the world. So it came to 
 pass, for the honor of God and the Virgin Mary, the 
 Abbe of Val Richer builded a priory there : and there 
 now lie in peace the bones of the monks of Val Richer 
 beside the skeletons of unfortunate gentlemen of the 
 sea of later centuries, pirates from France, bucca- 
 neers from England, and smugglers from Jersey, who 
 kept their trysts in the precincts of the ancient 
 chapel. 
 
 The brisk air of early autumn made the blood tingle 
 in Guida's cheeks. Her eyes were big with light and 
 enjoyment. Her hair was caught close by a gay cap 
 of her own knitting ; but a little of it escaped, making 
 a pretty setting to her face. 
 
 The boat rode under all her courses, until, as Jean 
 said, they had put the last lace on her bonnet. 
 Guida's hands were on the tiller firmly, doing Jean's 
 bidding promptly. In all they were five. Besides 
 Guida and Ranulph, Jean and Jean's wife, there was a 
 young English clergyman of the parish of St. Mi- 
 chael's, who had come from England to fill the place 
 of the rector for a few months. Word had been
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 69 
 
 brought to him that a man was dying on the Ecrdhos. 
 He had heard that the boat was going, he had found 
 Jean Touzel, and here he was, with a biscuit in his 
 hand and a black-jack of French wine within easy 
 reach. Not always in secret the Reverend Lorenzo 
 Dow loved the good things of this world. 
 
 What struck one most in the young clergyman's 
 appearance were his outer guilelessness and the odd- 
 ness of his face. His head was rather big for his 
 body ; he had a large mouth which laughed easily, a 
 noble forehead, and big, short-sighted eyes. He knew 
 French well, but could speak almost no Jersey patois ; 
 so, in compliment to him, Jean Touzel, Ranulph, and 
 Guida spoke in English. This ability to speak Eng- 
 lish his own English was the pride of Jean's life. 
 He babbled it all the way, and chiefly about a myth- 
 ical Uncle Elias, who was the text for many a sermon. 
 
 "Times past," said he, as they neared Maitre He, 
 " mon One' 'Lias he knows these Ecrehoses better as 
 all the peoples of the world resp6 d'la compagnie ! 
 Mon One' 'Lias he was a fine man. Once when there 
 is a fight between de Henglish and de hopping John- 
 nies," he pointed toward France, " dere is seven 
 French ship, dere is two Henglish ship, gentlemen- 
 of-war dey are call. Eh ben, one of de Henglish ships 
 he is not a gentleman-of-war ; he is what you call go- 
 on-your-own-hook privator. But it is all de same, 
 tres-ba, all right ! What you think coum to pass ? 
 De big Henglish ship she is hit ver' bad, she is all 
 break-up. Efin, dat leetle privator he stan' round on 
 de fighting side of de gentleman-of-war and take de 
 fire by her loneliness. Say, then, wherever dere is 
 troub' mon One' 'Lias he is there ; he stan' outside 
 de troub' an' look on, dat is his hobby ! You call
 
 70 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 it hombog ? Oh, nannin-gia ! Suppose two peoples 
 goes to fight, ah bah, somebody must pick up de 
 pieces, dat is mon One' 'Lias ! He have his boat 
 full of hoysters ; so he sit dere all alone and watch dat 
 great fight, an' heat de hoyster an' drink de cider vine ! 
 Ah bah ! mon One' 'Lias he is standin' hin de door 
 dat day. Dat is what we say on Jersey, when a 
 man have some ver' great luck we say he stan' hin de 
 door. I t'ink it is from de Bible or from de helmanac, 
 sacrt moi, I not know ! ... If I talk too much, 
 you give me dat black-jack." 
 
 They gave him the black-jack. After he had drunk 
 and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, he went on : 
 
 " Oh, my good ma'm'selle, a leetle more to de 
 wind. Ah, dat is right trejous ! . . . Dat fight it go 
 like two bulls on a verged resp6 d'la compagnie ! 
 Mon One' 'Lias he have been to Hengland, he have 
 sing ' God save our greshus King ; ' so he t'ink a leetle : 
 Ef he go to de French, likely dey will hang him. 
 Mon One' 'Lias, he is what you call patreetism. He 
 say, 'Hengland, she is mine, trejous!' Efin, he 
 sail straight for de Henglish ships. Dat is de greates' 
 man, mon One' 'Lias resp6 d'la compagnie ! He 
 coum on de side which is not fighting. Ah bah, he 
 tell dem dat he go to save de gentleman-of-war. He 
 see a hofficier all bloodiness, and he call hup : ' Es-tu 
 gentiment ? ' he say. ' Gentiment,' say de hofficier ; 
 'han' you ? ' ' Naicely, t'ank you ! ' mon One' 'Lias 
 he say. ' I will save you,' say mon One' 'Lias, 'I 
 will save de ship of God save our greshus King ! ' 
 De hofficier wipe de tears out of his face. ' De King 
 will reward you, man alive,' he say. Mon One' 'Lias 
 he touch his breast and speak out : ' Mon hofficier, 
 my reward is here trejous ! I will take you into de
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 71 
 
 Ecrehoses.' * Coum up and save de King's ships,' 
 says de hofficier. ' I will take no reward,' say mon 
 One' 'Lias, 'but, for a leetle pourboire, you will give 
 me de privator, eh ? ' ' Milles sacr/s,' say de hoffi- 
 cier, ' milles sacr/s, de privator ! ' he say, ver' sur- 
 prise'. ' Man doux d'la vie I am damned ! ' ' You 
 are damned trulee, if you do not get into de Ecr- 
 hoses,' say mon One' 'Lias 'a bi'tot, good-by!' he 
 say. De hofficier call down to him, ' Is dere nosing 
 else you will take ? ' ' Nannin, do not tempt me,' say 
 mon One' 'Lias. ' I am not a gourman'. I will take 
 de privator, dat is my hobby.' All de time de can- 
 nons grand, dey brou-brou ! boum-boiim ! what 
 you call discomfortable. Time is de great t'ing, so 
 de hofficier wipe de tears out of his face again. ' Coum 
 up,' he say ; ' de privator is yours.' 
 
 " Away dey go. You see dat spot where we coum 
 to land, Ma'm'selle Landresse, where de shingle 
 look white, de leetle green grass above ? Dat is where 
 mon One' 'Lias he bring in de King's ship and de 
 privator. Gatd'en'ale it is a journee awful! He 
 twist to de right, he shape to de left t'rough de teeth 
 of de rocks all safe vera happee to dis nice leetle 
 bay of de Maitre He dey coum. De Frenchies dey 
 grind deir teeth and spit de fire. But de Henglish 
 laugh at dem dey are safe ! ' Frien' of my heart,' 
 say de hofficier to mon One' 'Lias, 'pilot of pilots,' 
 he say, ' in de name of our greshus King I t'ank you 
 a bi'tot, good-by ! ' he say. ' Tres-ba,' mon One' 
 'Lias he say den, 'I will go to my privator.' 'You 
 will go to de shore ! ' say de hofficier. ' You will 
 wait on de shore till de captain and his men of de 
 privator coum to you. When dey coum, de ship is 
 yours de privator is for you.' Mon One' 'Lias he
 
 72 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 is like a child he believe. He 'bout ship and go 
 shore. Misery me, he sit on dat rocking-stone you 
 see tipping on de wind. But if he wait until de men 
 of de privator coum to him, he will wait till we see 
 him sitting there now ! Gache-a-penn, you say pa- 
 triote ? Mon One' 'Lias he has de patreeteesm, and 
 what happen ? He save de ship of de greshus King 
 God save and dey eat up his hoysters ! He get 
 nosing. Gad'rabotin respe d'la compagnie ! if 
 dere is a ship of de King coum to de Ecrehoses, and 
 de hofficier say to me," he tapped his breast, 
 " ' Jean Touzel, tak de ships of de King t'rough de 
 rocks,' ah bah, I would rememb' mon One' 'Lias. 
 I would say, 'A bi'tot, good-by.' . . . Slowlee ! Slowlee ! 
 We are at de place. Bear wif de land, ma'm'selle ! 
 Steadee ! As you go ! Via ! hitch now, Maitre Ra- 
 nulph ! " 
 
 The keel of the boat grated on the shingle. 
 
 The air of the morning, the sport of using the ele- 
 ments for one's pleasure, had given Guida an elfish 
 sprightliness of spirits. Twenty times during Jean's 
 recital she had laughed gayly, and never sat a laugh 
 better on any one's countenance than on hers. Her 
 teeth were strong, white, and regular ; in themselves 
 they gave off a sort of shining mirth. 
 
 At first the lugubrious wife of the happy Jean was 
 inclined to resent Guida's gayety as unseemly, for 
 Jean's story sounded to her as serious statement of 
 fact ; which incapacity for humor probably accounted 
 for Jean's occasional lapses from domestic grace. If 
 Jean had said that he had met a periwinkle dancing a 
 hornpipe with an oyster she would have muttered 
 heavily, " Think of that ! " The most she could say 
 to any one was, " I believe you, ma couzaine." Some
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 73 
 
 time in her life her voice had dropped into that great 
 well she called her body, and it came up only now 
 and then like an echo. There never was anything 
 quite so fat as she. She was found weeping one day 
 on the veille because she was no longer able to get 
 her shoulders out of the window to use the clothes- 
 lines stretching to her neighbor's over the way. If 
 she sat down in your presence, it was impossible to 
 do aught but speculate as to whether she could get 
 up alone. Yet she went abroad on the water a great 
 deal with Jean. At first the neighbors gave out sin- 
 ister suspicions as to Jean's intentions, for sea-going 
 with your own wife was uncommon among the sailors 
 of the coast. But at last these dark suggestions 
 settled down into a belief that Jean took her chiefly 
 for ballast ; and thereafter she was familiarly called 
 " Femme de Ballast ! " 
 
 Talking was no virtue in her eyes. What was go- 
 ing on in her mind no one ever knew. She was more 
 phlegmatic than an Indian ; but the tails of the sheep 
 on the Town Hill did not better show the quarter of 
 the wind than the changing color of Aimable's face 
 indicated Jean's coming or going. For Maitresse 
 Aimable had one eternal secret, an unwavering pas- 
 sion for Jean Touzel. If he patted her on the back 
 on a day when the fishing was extra fine, her heart 
 pumped so hard she had to sit down ; if, passing her 
 lonely bed of a morning, he shook her great toe to 
 wake her, she blushed, and turned her face to the 
 wall in placid happiness. She was so credulous and 
 matter-of-fact that if Jean had told her she must die 
 on the spot, she would have said, "Think of that!" 
 or " Je te crais," and died. If in the vague dusk of 
 her brain the thought glimmered that she was ballast
 
 74 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 for Jean on sea and anchor on land, she still was con- 
 tent. For twenty years the massive, straight-limbed 
 Jean had stood to her for all things since the heavens 
 and the earth were created. Once, when she had 
 burnt her hand in cooking supper for him, his arm 
 made a trial of her girth, and he kissed her. The 
 kiss was nearer her ear than her lips, but to her mind 
 it was the most solemn proof of her connubial happi- 
 ness and of Jean's devotion. She was a Catholic, 
 unlike Jean and most people of her class in Jersey, 
 and ever since that night he kissed her she had told 
 an extra bead on her rosary and said another prayer. 
 
 These were the reasons why at first she was inclined 
 to resent Guida's laughter. But when she saw that 
 Maitre Ranulph and the curate and Jean himself 
 laughed, she settled down to a grave content until 
 they landed. 
 
 They had scarce reached the deserted chapel where 
 their dinner was to be cooked by Maitresse Aimable, 
 when Ranulph called them to note a vessel bearing in 
 their direction. 
 
 " She 's not a coasting craft," said Jean. 
 
 "She doesn't look like a merchant vessel," said 
 Ranulph, eying her through his telescope. "Why, 
 she 's a warship ! " he added. 
 
 Jean thought she was not, but Maitre Ranulph said, 
 " Pardi ! I ought to know, Jean. Ship-building is my 
 trade, to say nothing of guns ; I was n't two years in 
 the artillery for nothing. See the low bowsprit and 
 the high poop. She 's bearing this way. She '11 be 
 Narcissus ! " he said slowly. 
 
 That was Philip d'Avranche's ship. 
 
 Guida's face lighted, her heart beat faster. Ranulph 
 turned on his heel.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 75 
 
 " Where are you going, Ro ? " Guida said, taking 
 a step after him. 
 
 " On the other side, to my men and the wreck," he 
 said, pointing. 
 
 Guida glanced once more towards the man-o'-war, 
 and then, with mischief in her eye, turned towards 
 Jean. 
 
 " Suppose," she said to him archly, " suppose the 
 ship should want to come in, of course you 'd remem- 
 ber your One' 'Lias, and say, ' A bi'tot, good-by ! ' ' 
 
 An evasive " Ah bah ! " was the only reply Jean 
 vouchsafed. 
 
 Ranulph joined his men at the wreck, and the Rev- 
 erend Lorenzo Dow went about the Lord's business- 
 in the little lean-to of sail-cloth and ship's lumber which 
 had been set up near to the toil of the carpenters. 
 
 When the curate entered the hut the sick man was 
 in a doze. He turned his head from side to side rest- 
 lessly and mumbled to himself. The curate, sitting 
 on the ground beside the man, took from his pocket 
 a book, and began writing in a strange, cramped hand. 
 This book was his journal. When a youth he had 
 been a stutterer, and had taken refuge from talk in 
 writing, and the habit stayed even as his affliction 
 grew less. The important events of the day or the 
 week, the weather, the wind, the tides, were recorded, 
 together with sundry meditations of the Reverend 
 Lorenzo Dow. The pages were not large, and brev- 
 ity was Mr. Dow's journalistic virtue. Beyond the 
 diligent keeping of this record, he had no habits, cer- 
 tainly no precision, no remembrance, no system : the 
 business of his life ended there. He had quietly 
 vacated two curacies because there had been bitter 
 complaints that the records of certain baptisms,
 
 76 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 marriages, and burials might only be found in the 
 checkered journals of his life, sandwiched between 
 fantastic reflections and remarks upon the rubric. 
 The records had been exact enough, but the system 
 was not canonical, and it rested too largely upon the 
 personal ubiquity of the itinerary priest, and the safety 
 of his journal and of his life. 
 
 Guida, after the instincts of her nature, had at once 
 sought the highest point on the rocky islet, and there 
 she drank in the joy of sight and sound and feeling. 
 She could see so perfect was the day the line 
 marking the Minquiers far on the southern horizon, 
 the dark and perfect green of the Jersey slopes, and 
 the white flags of foam which beat against the Di- 
 roui'lles and the far-off Paternosters, dissolving as 
 they flew, their place taken by others, succeeding and 
 succeeding, as a soldier steps into a gap in the line of 
 battle. Something in these rocks, something in the 
 Paternosters perhaps their distance, perhaps their 
 remoteness from all other rocks fascinated her. As 
 she looked at them, she suddenly felt a chill, a pre- 
 monition, a half-spiritual, half-material telegraphy of 
 the inanimate to the animate : not from off cold stone 
 to sentient life, but from that atmosphere about the 
 inanimate thing, where the life of man has spent it- 
 self and been dissolved, leaving who can tell what ? 
 Something which speaks, but yet has no sound. 
 
 The feeling which possessed Guida as she looked 
 at the Paternosters was almost like blank fear. Yet 
 physical fear she had never felt, not since that day 
 when the battle raged in the Vier March i, and Philip 
 d'Avranche had saved her from the destroying scimi- 
 tar of the Turk. Now that scene all came back to 
 her in a flash, as it were ; and she saw again the dark
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 77 
 
 snarling face of the Mussulman, the blue and white 
 silk of his turban, the black and white of his waistcoat, 
 the red of the long robe, and the glint of his uplifted 
 sword. Then in contrast, the warmth, brightness, 
 and bravery on the face of the lad in blue and gold 
 who struck aside the descending blade and caught her 
 up in his arms ; and she had nestled there in those 
 arms of Philip d'Avranche. She remembered how 
 he had kissed her, and how she had kissed him, he 
 a lad and she a little child, as he left her with her 
 mother in the watchmaker's shop in the Vier Marchi 
 that day. . . . And she had never seen him again 
 until yesterday. 
 
 She looked from the rocks to the approaching 
 frigate. Was it the Narcissus coming, coming to 
 this very island ? She recalled Philip, how gallant 
 he was yesterday, how cool, with what an air of com- 
 mand ! How light he had made of the riot ! She ac- 
 cepted Ranulph's strength and courage as a matter of 
 course, and was glad that he was brave, generous, and 
 good ; but the glamour of distance and mystery were 
 around d'Avranche. Remembrance, like a comet, 
 went circling through the firmament of eleven years, 
 from the Vier Marchi to the Place du Vier Prison. 
 
 She watched the ship slowly bearing with the land. 
 The Jack was flying from the mizzen. They were 
 now taking in her topsails. She was so near that 
 Guida could see the anchor a-cockbill, and the poop 
 lanterns. She could count the guns like long black 
 horns shooting out from a rhinoceros hide : she could 
 discern the figure-head lion snarling into the spritsail. 
 Presently the ship came up to the wind and lay to. 
 Then she signaled for a pilot, and Guida ran towards 
 the ruined chapel, calling for Jean Touzel.
 
 78 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 In spite of Jean's late protests as to piloting a 
 " gentleman-of-war," this was one of the joyful mo- 
 ments of his life. He could not loosen his rowboat 
 quick enough ; he was away almost before you could 
 have spoken his name. Excited as Guida was, she 
 could not resist calling after him, 
 
 " ' God save our greshus King ! A bi'tot good- 
 by ! '"
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AS Ranulph had surmised, the ship was the 
 Narcissus, and its first lieutenant was Philip 
 d'Avranche. The night before, orders had reached 
 the vessel from the Admiralty that soundings were to 
 be taken at the Ecrehos. The captain had at once 
 made inquiries for a pilot, and Jean Touzel was com- 
 mended to him. A messenger sent to Jean found 
 that he had already gone to the Ecrehos. The cap- 
 tain had then set sail, and now, under Jean's skillful 
 pilotage, the Narcissus twisted and crept through the 
 teeth of the rocks at the entrance, and slowly into 
 the cove, reefs on either side gaping and girding at 
 her, her keel all but scraping the serrated granite 
 beneath. She anchored, and boats put off to take 
 soundings and explore the shores. Philip was rowed 
 in by Jean Touzel. 
 
 Stepping out upon the beach of Maitre He, Philip 
 slowly made his way over the shingle to the ruined 
 chapel, in no good humor with himself or with the 
 world, for exploring these barren rocks seemed a use- 
 less whim of the Admiralty, and he could not conceive 
 of any incident rising from the monotony of duty to 
 lighten the darkness of this very brilliant day. His 
 was not the nature to enjoy the stony detail of his 
 profession. Excitement and adventure were as the 
 breath of life to him, and since he had played his 
 little part at the Jersey battle in a bandbox eleven
 
 8o THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 years before, he had touched hands with accidents of 
 flood and field in many countries. 
 
 He had been wrecked on the island of Trinidad in 
 a tornado, losing his captain and his ship ; had seen 
 active service in America and in India ; won distinc- 
 tion off the coast of Arabia in an engagement with 
 Spanish cruisers ; and was now waiting for his papers 
 as commander of a ship of his own, and fretted 
 because the road of fame and promotion was so toil- 
 some. Rumors of war with France had set his blood 
 dancing a little, but for him most things were robbed 
 of half their pleasure because they did not come at 
 once. 
 
 This was a moody day with him, for he had looked 
 to spend it differently. As he walked up the shingle 
 his thoughts were hanging about a cottage in the 
 Place du Vier Prison. He had hoped to loiter in a 
 doorway there, and to empty his sailor's heart in well- 
 practiced admiration before the altar of village beauty. 
 The sight of Guida's face the day before had given 
 a poignant pulse to his emotions, unlike the broken 
 rhythm of past comedies of sentiment and melodramas 
 of passion. According to all logic of custom, the 
 acuteness of yesterday's impression should have been 
 followed up by to-day's attack ; yet here he was, like 
 another Robinson Crusoe, " kicking up the shingle of 
 a cursed Patmos," - so he grumbled aloud. Patmos 
 was not so wild a shot after all, for no sooner had he 
 spoken the word than, looking up, he saw in the door- 
 way of the ruined chapel the gracious figure of a girl : 
 and a book of revelations was opened and begun. 
 
 At first he did not recognize Guida. There was 
 only a picture before him which, by some fantastic 
 transmission, merged into his reveries. What he saw
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 81 
 
 was an ancient building, just such a humble pile of 
 stone and rough mortar as one might see on some 
 lone cliff of the yEgean or on abandoned isles of the 
 equatorial sea. The gloom of a windowless vault was 
 behind the girl, but the filtered sunshine of late Sep- 
 tember fell on her head. It brightened the white 
 kerchief, and the bodice and skirt of a faint pink, 
 throwing the face into a pleasing shadow where the 
 hand curved over the forehead. She stood like some 
 Diana of a ruined temple looking out into the staring 
 day. 
 
 At once his pulses beat faster, for to him a woman 
 was ever the fountain of adventure, and an unmanage- 
 able heart sent him headlong to the oasis where he 
 might loiter at the spring of feminine vanity, or truth, 
 or impenitent gayety, as the case might be. In pro- 
 portion as his spirits had sunk into sour reflection, 
 they now shot up rocket-high at the sight of a girl's 
 joyous pose of body and the color and form of the 
 picture she made. In him the shrewdness of a strong 
 intelligence was mingled with wild impulse. In most, 
 rashness would be the outcome of such a marriage of 
 characteristics ; but clearsightedness, decision, and a 
 little unscrupulousness had carried into success many 
 daring actions of his life. This very quality of reso- 
 lute daring saved him from disaster. 
 
 Impulse quickened his footsteps now. It quickened 
 them to a run when the hand was dropped from the 
 girl's forehead, and he saw again the face whose image 
 and influence had banished sleep from his eyes the 
 night before. 
 
 " Guida ! " broke from his lips. 
 
 The man was transfigured. Brightness leaped into 
 his look, and the grayness of his moody eye became
 
 82 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 as blue as the sea. The professional straightness of 
 his figure relaxed into the elastic grace of an athlete. 
 He was a pipe to be played on: an actor with the 
 ambitious brain of a diplomatist ; as weak as water, 
 and as strong as steel ; soft-hearted to foolishness, or 
 unyielding at will. 
 
 Now, if the devil had sent a wise imp to have watch 
 and ward of this man and this maid, and report to 
 him upon the meeting of their ways, the moment 
 Philip took Guida's hand, and her eyes met his, mon- 
 sieur the reporter of Hades might have clapped to his 
 book and gone back to his dark master with the 
 message and the record : " The hour of Destiny is 
 struck ! " 
 
 When the tide of life beats high in two mortals, 
 and they meet in the moment of its apogee, when all 
 the nature is sweeping on without command, guile- 
 lessly, yet thoughtlessly, the mere lilt of existence 
 lulling to sleep wisdom and tried experience specu- 
 lation points all one way. Many indeed have been 
 caught away by such a conjunction of tides, and they 
 mostly pay the price. 
 
 But paying is part of the game of life : it is the 
 joy of buying that we crave. Go down into the dark 
 markets of the town. See the long, narrow, sordid 
 streets lined with the cheap commodities of the poor. 
 Mark how there is a sort of spangled gayety, a reck- 
 less swing, a grinning exultation in the grimy, sordid 
 caravanserai. The cheap colors of the shoddy open- 
 air clothing-house, the blank faded green of the cos- 
 ter's cart ; the dark bluish-red of the butcher's stall 
 they all take on a value not their own in the garish 
 lights flaring down the markets of the dusk. Pause to 
 the shrill music of the street musician, hear the tune-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 83 
 
 less voice of the grimy troubadour of the alley-ways ; 
 and then hark to the one note that commands them 
 all, the call which lightens up faces sodden with 
 base vices, eyes bleared withi long looking into the 
 dark caverns of crime, 
 
 "Buy buy buy buy buy ! " 
 
 That is the tune the piper pipes. We would buy, and 
 behold, we must pay. Then the lights go out, the 
 voices stop, and only the dark tumultuous streets sur- 
 round us, and the grime of life is ours again. Where- 
 upon we go heavily to hard beds of despair, having 
 eaten the cake we bought, and now must pay for unto 
 Penalty, the dark inordinate creditor. And anon the 
 morning comes, and then, at last, the evening when 
 the triste bazaars open again, and the strong of heart 
 and nerve move not from their doorways, but sit still 
 in the dusk to watch the grim world go by. But 
 mostly they hurry out to the bazaars once more, 
 answering to the fevered call, 
 
 " Buy buy buy buy buy ! " 
 
 And again they pay the price : and so on to the last 
 foreclosure and the immitigable end. 
 
 One of the two standing in the door of the ruined 
 chapel on the Ecrehos had the nature of those who 
 buy but once and pay the price but once ; the other 
 was of those who keep open accounts in the markets 
 of life. The one was the woman and the other was 
 the man. 
 
 There was nothing conventional in their greeting. 
 " You remembered me ! " he said eagerly, in Eng- 
 lish, thinking of yesterday. 
 
 " I should n't deserve to be here if I had forgotten,"
 
 84 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 she answered meaningly. " Perhaps you forget the 
 sword of the Turk ? " she added. 
 
 He laughed a little, his cheek flushed with pleasure. 
 
 " I should n't deserve*to be here if I remembered 
 in the way you mean ! " he answered. 
 
 Her face was full of pleasure. "The worst of it 
 is," she said, " I never can pay my debt. I have owed 
 it for eleven years, and if I should live to be ninety I 
 should still owe it." 
 
 His heart was beating hard and he became daring. 
 
 " So thou shalt save my life," he said, speaking in 
 French. " We shall be quits then, thou and I." 
 
 The familiar French thou startled her. To hide the 
 instant's confusion she turned her head away, using a 
 hand to gather in her hair, which the wind was lifting 
 lightly. 
 
 " That would n't quite make us quits," she rejoined ; 
 "your life is important, mine isn't. You" she 
 nodded towards the Narcissus " you command men." 
 
 " So dost thou," he answered, persisting in the 
 endearing pronoun. 
 
 He meant it to be endearing. As he had sailed up 
 and down the world, a hundred ports had offered him 
 a hundred adventures, all light in the scales of pur- 
 pose, but not all bad. He had gossiped and idled and 
 coquetted with beauty before ; but this was different, 
 because the nature of the girl was different from all 
 others he had met. It had mostly been lightly come 
 and lightly go with himself, as with the women it had 
 been easily won and easily loosed. Conscience had not 
 smitten him hard, because beauty, as he had known it, 
 though often fair and of good report, had bloomed for 
 others before he came. But here was a nature fresh 
 and unspoiled from the hand of the potter Life.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 85 
 
 As her head slightly turned from him again, he 
 involuntarily noticed the pulse beating in her neck, 
 the rise and fall of her bosom. Life here was life 
 unpoisoned by one drop of ill thought or light experi- 
 ence. 
 
 "Thou dost command men too," he repeated. 
 
 She stepped forward a little from the doorway and 
 beyond him, answering back at him : 
 
 " Oh, no, I only knit, and keep a garden, and com- 
 mand a little home, that 's all. . . . Won't you let me 
 show you the island ? " she added quickly, pointing to 
 a hillock beyond, and moving towards it. He fol- 
 lowed, speaking over her shoulder. 
 
 "That's what you seem to do," he answered, "not 
 what you do." Then he added rhetorically, " I 've 
 seen a man polishing the buckle of his shoe, and he 
 was planning to take a city or manoeuvre a fleet ! " 
 
 She noticed that he had dropped the thou, and, 
 much as its use had embarrassed her, the gap left 
 when the boldness was withdrawn became rilled with 
 regret, for, though no one had dared to say it to her 
 before, somehow it seemed not rude on Philip's lips. 
 Philip ? Yes, Philip she had called him in her child- 
 hood, and the name had been carried on into her girl- 
 hood ; he had always been Philip to her. 
 
 " Oh no, girls don't think like that, and they don't 
 do big things ! " she replied. " When I polish the 
 pans " - she laughed " and when I scour my 
 buckles, I just think of pans and buckles." She 
 tossed up her fingers lightly, with a perfect charm of 
 archness. 
 
 He was very close to her now. " But girls have 
 dreams, they have memories." 
 
 "If women hadn't memory," she answered, "they
 
 86 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 would n't have much, would they ? We can't take 
 cities and manoeuvre fleets." She laughed a little 
 ironically. " I wonder that we think at all or have 
 anything to think about, except the kitchen and the 
 garden, and baking and scouring and spinning," 
 she paused slightly, her voice lowered a little, " and 
 the sea, and the work that men do round us. . . . 
 Do you ever go into a market ? " she added suddenly. 
 
 Somehow she could talk easily and naturally to 
 him. There had been no leading up to confidence. 
 She felt a sudden impulse to tell him all her thoughts. 
 To know things, to understand, was a passion with 
 her. It seemed to obliterate in her all that was con- 
 ventional ; it removed her far from sensitive ego- 
 tism. Already she had begun " to take notice " in 
 the world, and that is like being born again. As 
 it grows, life ceases to be clicht ; and when the 
 taking notice is supreme we call it genius ; and genius 
 is simple and believing : it has no pride, it is nai've, 
 it is childlike. 
 
 Philip seemed to wear no mark of convention, and 
 Guida spoke her thoughts freely to him. "To go 
 into a market seems to me so wonderful," she con- 
 tinued. " There are the cattle, the fruits, the vege- 
 tables, the flowers, the fish, the wood ; the linen from 
 the loom, the clothes that women's fingers have 
 knitted. But it is n't just those things that you see, 
 it 's all that 's behind them, the houses, the fields, 
 and the boats at sea, and the men and women work- 
 ing and working, and sleeping and eating, and break- 
 ing their hearts with misery, and wondering what is 
 to be the end of it all ; yet praying a little, it may 
 be, and dreaming a little, perhaps a very little. " 
 She sighed, and continued, " That 's as far as I get
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 87 
 
 with thinking. What else can one do in this little 
 island ? Why, on the globe Maitre Damian has at 
 St. Aubin's, Jersey is no bigger than the head of a 
 pin. And what should one think of here ? " 
 
 Her eyes were on the sea. Its mystery was in 
 them, the distance, the ebb and flow, the light of 
 wonder and of adventure, too. " You you Ve been 
 everywhere," she went on. "Do you remember you 
 sent me once from Malta a tiny silver cross ? That 
 was years ago, soon after the Battle of Jersey, when 
 I was a little bit of a girl. Well, after I got big 
 enough I used to find Malta and other places on 
 Maitre Damian's globe. I 've lived always there, 
 on that spot," she pointed towards Jersey, "on 
 that spot one could walk round in a day. What do 
 I know ! You Ve been everywhere, everywhere. 
 When you look back you 've got a thousand pictures 
 in your mind. You Ve seen great cities, temples, 
 palaces, great armies, fleets ; you Ve done things : 
 you Ve fought and you Ve commanded, though you 're 
 so young, and you Ve learned about men and about 
 many countries. Look at what you know, and then, 
 if you only think, you '11 laugh at what I know." 
 
 For a moment he was puzzled what to answer. 
 The revelation of the girl's nature had come so quickly 
 upon him. He had looked for freshness, sweetness, 
 intelligence, and warmth of temperament, but it 
 seemed to him that here were flashes of power. Yet 
 she was only seventeen. She had been taught to 
 see things with her own eyes and not another's, 
 and she spoke of them as she saw them, that was 
 all. Yet never but to her mother had Guida said so 
 much to any human being as within these past few 
 moments to Philip d'Avranche.
 
 88 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The conditions were almost maliciously favorable, 
 and d'Avranche was simple and easy as a boy, with 
 his sailor's bonhomie and his naturally facile spirit. 
 A fateful adaptability was his greatest weapon in life, 
 and his greatest danger. He saw that Guida herself 
 was unconscious of the revelation she was making, 
 and he showed no surprise, but he caught the note of 
 her simplicity, and responded in kind. He flattered 
 her deftly, not that she was pressed unduly ; he 
 was too wise for that. He took her seriously ; and 
 this was not all dissimulation, for her every word had 
 glamour, and he now exalted her intellect unduly. 
 He had never met girl or woman who talked just as 
 she did ; and straightway, with the wild eloquence of 
 his nature, he thought he had discovered a new heaven 
 and a new earth. A spell was upon him. He knew 
 what he wanted when he saw it. He had always 
 made up his mind suddenly ; always acted on the 
 intelligent impulse of the moment. He felt things, 
 he did not study them ; it was almost a woman's 
 instinct. He came by a leap to the goal of purpose, 
 not by the toilsome steps of reason. On the instant 
 his headlong spirit declared his purpose : this was the 
 one being for him in all the world : at this altar he 
 would light a lamp of devotion, and keep it burning 
 forever. 
 
 " This is my day," he said to himself. " I always 
 knew that love would come down on me like a storm." 
 Then, aloud, he said to her, " I wish I knew what 
 you know ; but I can't, because- my mind is different, 
 my life has been different. When you go out into 
 the world, and see a great deal, and loosen a little the 
 strings of your principles, and watch how sins and 
 virtues contradict themselves, you see things after a
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 89 
 
 while in a kind of mist. But you, Guida, you see 
 them clearly because your heart is clear. You never 
 make a mistake ; you are always right because your 
 mind is right." 
 
 She interrupted him, a little troubled and a good 
 deal amazed : " Oh, you must n't, must n't speak like 
 that. It 's not so. How can one see and learn unless 
 one sees and knows the world ? Surely one can't 
 think wisely if one does n't see widely ? " 
 
 He changed his tactics instantly. The world, 
 that was the thing ? Well, then, she should see the 
 world through him, with him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you 're right," he answered. " You 
 can't know things unless you see widely. You must 
 see the world. This island, what is it ? I was born 
 here ; don't I know ? It 's a foothold in the world, 
 but it 's no more ; it 's not a field to walk in, why, 
 it 's not even a garden ! No, it 's the little patch of 
 green we play in in front of a house, behind the rail- 
 ings, before we go out into the world and learn how 
 to live." 
 
 They had now reached the highest point on the 
 island, where a flagstaff stood. Guida was looking 
 far beyond Jersey to the horizon line. There was 
 little haze ; the sky was inviolably blue. Far off 
 against the horizon lay the low black rocks of the 
 Minquiers. They seemed to her, on the instant, like 
 stepping-stones. Beyond would be other stepping- 
 stones, and others and others still again ; and they 
 would all mark the way and lead to what Philip called 
 the world. The world ! She felt a sudden little twist 
 of regret at her heart. Here she was like a cow 
 grazing within the circle of its tether, like a lax 
 caterpillar on its blade of grass. Yet it had all
 
 90 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 seemed so good to her in the past ; broken only by 
 little bursts of wonder and wish concerning that out- 
 side world. 
 
 " Do we ever learn how to live ? " she asked. 
 "Don't we just go on from one thing to another, 
 picking our way, but never knowing quite what to do, 
 because we don't know what 's ahead ? I believe we 
 never do learn how to live," she added, half smiling, 
 yet a little pensive, too ; " but I am so very ignorant, 
 and" 
 
 She stopped, for suddenly it flashed upon her : here 
 she was baring her childish heart, he would think 
 it childish, she was sure he would, everything she 
 thought, to a man she had never known till to-day ! 
 No, no, she was wrong ; she had known him, but it 
 was only as Philip, the boy who had saved her life. 
 And the Philip of her memory was only a picture, not 
 a being ; something to think about, not something to 
 speak with, to whom she might show her heart. She 
 flushed hotly and turned her shoulder on him. Her 
 eyes followed a lizard creeping up the stones. As 
 long as she lived she remembered that lizard, its 
 color changing in the sun. She remembered the hot 
 stones, and how warm the flagstaff was when she 
 stretched out her hand to it mechanically. But the 
 swift, noiseless lizard running in and out of the stones, 
 it was ever afterwards like a coat-of-arms upon the 
 shield of her life. 
 
 Philip came close to her. At first he spoke over 
 her shoulder, then he faced her. His words forced 
 her eyes up to his, and he held them. 
 
 "Yes, yes, we learn how to live," he said. "It 's 
 only when we travel alone that we don't see before 
 us. I will teach you how to live ; we will learn the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 91 
 
 way together ! Guida ! Guida ! " he reached out his 
 hands towards her " don't start so ! Listen to me. 
 I feel for you what I have felt for no other being 
 in -all my life. It came upon me yesterday when I 
 saw you in the window at the Vier Prison. I did n't 
 understand it. All night I walked the deck think- 
 ing of you. To-day as soon as I saw your face, as 
 soon as I touched your hand, I knew what it was, 
 and" 
 
 He attempted to take her hand now. "Oh, no, 
 no ! " She drew back as if terrified. 
 
 " You need not fear me," he burst out. " For now 
 I know that I have but two things to live for : for my 
 work " he pointed to the Narcissus " and for you. 
 You are frightened of me ! Why, I want to have the 
 right to protect you, to drive away all fear from your 
 life. You shall be the garden and I shall be the wall ; 
 you the nest and I the rock ; you the breath of life 
 and I the body that breathes it. Guida, my Guida, I 
 love you ! " 
 
 She drew back, leaning against the stones, her eyes 
 riveted upon his, and she spoke scarcely above a 
 whisper. 
 
 " It is not true it is not true. You Ve known me 
 only for one day only for one hour. How can you 
 say it ! " There was a tumult in her breast ; her eyes 
 shone and glistened ; wonder, embarrassed yet happy 
 wonder, looked at him from her face, which was 
 touched with an appealing, as of the heart that dares 
 not believe and yet must believe or suffer. 
 
 " Oh, it is madness ! " she added. " It is not true ; 
 how can it be true ! " 
 
 Yet it all had the look of reality : the voice had 
 the right ring, the face had truth, the bearing was
 
 92 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 gallant ; the force and power of the man overwhelmed 
 her. 
 
 She reached out her hand tremblingly as though to 
 push him back. " It cannot be true," she said. "To 
 think in one day ! " 
 
 "It is true," he answered, "true as that I stand 
 here. One day ! It is not one day. I knew you 
 years ago. The seed was sown then, the flower 
 springs up to-day, that is all. You think I can't know 
 that it is love I feel for you ? It is admiration ; it is 
 faith ; it is desire, too ; but it is love. When you see 
 a flower in a garden, do you not know at once if you 
 like it or no ? Don't you know the moment you look 
 on a landscape, on a splendid building, whether it is 
 beautiful to you? If, then, with these things one 
 knows, these that haven't any speech, no life like 
 yours or mine, how much more when it is a girl 
 with a face like yours, when it is a mind noble like 
 yours, when it is a touch that thrills, and a voice that 
 drowns the heart in music ! Ah, Guida, believe that 
 I speak the truth. I know, I swear, that you are the 
 one passion, the one love of my life. All others would 
 be as nothing, so long as you live, and I live to look 
 upon you, to be beside you ! " 
 
 " Beside me ! " she broke in, with an incredulous 
 irony fain to be contradicted, "a girl in a village, poor, 
 knowing nothing, seeing no farther " she looked out 
 towards Jersey " seeing no farther than the little 
 cottage in the little country where I was born ! " 
 
 "But you shall see more," he said, "you shall see 
 all, feel all, if you will but listen to me. Don't deny 
 me what is life and breathing and hope to me. I '11 
 show you the world ; I '11 take you where you may 
 see and know. We will learn it all together. I shall
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 93 
 
 succeed in life. I shall go far. I Ve needed one thing 
 to make me do my best for some one's sake beside my 
 own ; you will make me do it for your sake. Your 
 ancestors were great people in France ; and you know 
 that mine, centuries ago, were great also, that the 
 d'Avranches were a noble family in France. You 
 and I will win our place as high as the best of them. 
 In this war that 's coming between England and 
 France is my chance. Nelson said to me the other 
 day, you have heard of him, of young Captain Nel- 
 son, the man they 're pointing to in the fleet as the 
 one man of them all ? he said to me, ' We shall have 
 our chance now, d'Avranche.' And we shall. I have 
 wanted it till to-day for my own selfish ambition ; 
 now I want it for you. When I landed on this islet 
 a half hour ago, I hated it, I hated my ship, I hated 
 my duty, I hated everything, because I wanted to go 
 where you were, to be with you. It was Destiny that 
 brought us both to this place at one moment. You 
 can't escape Destiny. It was to be that I should love 
 you, Guida ! " 
 
 He reached out to take her hands, but she put them 
 behind her against the stpnes, and drew back. The 
 lizard suddenly shot out from a hole and crossed 
 over her fingers. She started, shivered at the cold 
 touch, and caught the hand away. A sense of fore- 
 boding awaked in her, and her eyes followed the liz- 
 ard's swift travel with a strange fascination. But she 
 lifted them to Philip's, and the fear and premonition 
 passed. 
 
 " Oh, my brain is in a whirl ! " she said. " I do 
 not understand. I know so little. No one has ever 
 spoken to me as you have done. You would not 
 dare " she leaned forward a little, looking into his
 
 94 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 face with that unwavering gaze which was the best 
 sign of her straightforward mind " you would not 
 dare to deceive you would not dare. I have no 
 mother," she added with simple pathos. 
 
 The moisture came into his eyes. He must have 
 been stone not to be touched by the appealing, by the 
 tender inquisition, of that look. 
 
 "Guida," he said impetuously, "if I deceive you, 
 may every fruit of life turn to dust and ashes in my 
 mouth ! If ever I deceive you, may I die a black, 
 dishonorable death, abandoned and alone ! I should 
 deserve that if I deceived you, Guida ! " 
 
 For the first time since he had spoken she smiled, 
 yet her eyes filled with tears, too. 
 
 " You will let me tell you that I love you, Guida 
 it is all I ask now : that you will listen to me ? " 
 
 She sighed, but did not answer. She kept looking 
 at him, looking as though she would read his inmost 
 soul. Her face was very young, though the eyes 
 were so wise in their simplicity. 
 
 " You will give me my chance you will listen to 
 me, Guida, and try to understand and be glad ? " 
 he said, leaning closer to her and holding out his 
 hands. 
 
 She drew herself up slightly as with an air of relief 
 and resolve. She put a hand in his. 
 
 " I will try to understand and be glad," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Won't you call me Philip ? " he said. 
 
 The same slight, mischievous smile crossed her lips 
 now as eleven years ago in the Rue d'Egypte, and, 
 recalling that moment, she replied, 
 
 "Yes, sir Philip!" 
 
 At that instant the figure of a man appeared on the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 95 
 
 shingle beneath, looking up towards them. They did 
 not see him. Guida's hand was still in Philip's. 
 
 The man looked at them for a moment, then started 
 and turned away. It was Ranulph Delagarde. 
 
 They heard his feet upon the shingle now. They 
 turned and looked, and Guida withdrew her hand.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THERE are moments when a kind of curtain seems 
 dropped over the brain, covering it, smothering 
 it, while yet the body and its nerves are tingling with 
 sensation. It is like the fire-curtain of a theatre let 
 down between the stage and the audience, a merciful 
 intervention between the mind and the disaster which 
 would consume it. 
 
 As the years had gone on Maitre Ranulph's nature 
 had grown more powerful, and his out-door occupation 
 had enlarged and steadied his physical forces. His 
 trouble now was in proportion to the force of his char- 
 acter. The sight of Guida and Philip hand in hand, 
 the tender attitude, the light in their faces, was over- 
 whelming and unaccountable. Yesterday these two 
 were strangers ; to-day it was plain to be seen they 
 were lovers, and lovers who had reached a point of 
 confidence and revelation. Nothing in the situation 
 tallied with Ranulph's ideas of Guida and his know- 
 ledge of life. He had, as one might say, been eye to 
 eye with this girl for fifteen years : he had told his 
 love for her in a thousand little ways, as the ant builds 
 its heap to a pyramid that becomes a thousand times 
 greater than itself. He had followed her footsteps, 
 he had fetched and carried, he had served afar off, he 
 had ministered within the gates. He had, unknown 
 to her, watched like the keeper of the house over ajl 
 who came and went, neither envious nor over-zealous,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 97 
 
 neither intrusive nor neglectful ; leaving here a word 
 and there an act to prove himself, above all, the friend 
 whom she could trust, and, in all, the lover whom she 
 might wake to know and reward. He had waited with 
 patience, hoping stubbornly that she might come to 
 put her hand in his one day. 
 
 Long ago he would have left the island to widen 
 his knowledge, earn experience in his craft, or follow 
 a career in the army he had been an expert gunner 
 when he served in the artillery four years ago and 
 hammer out fame upon the anvils of fortune in Eng- 
 land or in France ; but he had stayed here that he 
 might be near her. His love had been simple, it had 
 been direct, and wise in its consistent reserve. He 
 had been self -obliterating. His love desired only to 
 make her happy : most lovers desire that they them- 
 selves shall be made happy. Because of the crime 
 his father committed years ago because of the 
 shame of that hidden crime he had tried the more 
 to make himself a good citizen, and had formed the 
 modest ambition of making one human being happy. 
 Always keeping this near him in past years, a supreme 
 cheerfulness of heart had welled up out of his early 
 sufferings and his innate honesty. Hope had beck- 
 oned him on from year to year, until it seemed at last 
 that the time had almost come when he might speak, 
 might tell her all, his father's crime and the manner 
 of his father's death ; of his own devoted purpose 
 in trying to expiate that crime by his own upright- 
 ness ; and of his love for her. 
 
 Now, all in a minute, his horizon was blackened. 
 This adventurous gallant, this squire of dames, had 
 done in a day what he had worked, step by step, to do 
 through all these years. This skipping seafarer, with
 
 98 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 his powder and lace, his cocked hat and gold-handled 
 sword, had whistled at the gates which he had 
 guarded and by which he had prayed, and all in a 
 minute every defense had been thrown down, and 
 Guida his own Guida had welcomed the invader 
 with shameless eagerness. 
 
 He crossed the islet slowly. It seemed to him 
 and for a moment it was the only thing of which he 
 was conscious that the heels of his boots shrieked 
 in the shingle, and with every step he was raising an 
 immense weight. He paused behind the chapel. 
 After a little the smother lifted slowly from his 
 brain. 
 
 " I '11 believe in her still," he said aloud. " It 's all 
 his cursed tongue. As a boy he could make every 
 other boy do what he wanted because his tongue 
 knows how to twist words. She 's been used to 
 honest people ; he 's talked a new language to her 
 tricks caught in his travels. But she shall know 
 the truth. She shall find out what sort of a man 
 he is. I '11 make her see under his pretty foolings." 
 
 He turned, and leaned against the wall of the 
 chapel. " Guida, Guida," he said, speaking as if she 
 were there before him, " you won't you won't go 
 to him, and spoil your life, and mine too ! Guida, 
 ma couzaine, you '11 stay here, in the land of your 
 birth. You '11 make your home here here with me, 
 ma chere couzaine. Ah, but then you shall be my 
 wife in spite of him, in spite of a thousand Philip 
 d'Avranches ! " 
 
 He drew himself up firmly, for a great resolve was 
 made. His path was clear. It was a fair fight, he 
 thought ; the odds were not so much against him 
 after all, for his birth was as good as Philip
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 99 
 
 d'Avranche's, his energy was greater, and he was as 
 capable and as clever in his own way. 
 
 He walked quickly down the shingle towards the 
 wreck on the other side of the islet. As he passed 
 the hut where the sick man lay, he heard a querulous 
 voice. It was not that of the Reverend Lorenzo 
 Dow. 
 
 Where had he heard that voice before ? A shiver 
 of fear ran through him. Every sense and emotion 
 in him was arrested. His life seemed to reel back- 
 ward. Curtain after curtain of the past unfolded. 
 
 He hurried to the door of the hut and looked in. 
 
 A man with long white hair and straggling gray 
 beard turned to him a haggard face, on which were 
 written suffering, outlawry, and evil. 
 
 " Great God ! my father ! " Ranulph said. 
 
 He drew back slowly like a man who gazes upon 
 some horrible fascinating thing, and then turned 
 heavily towards the sea, his face set, his senses par- 
 alyzed. 
 
 " My father not dead ! My father the traitor ! " 
 he groaned.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 T)HILIP D'AVRANCHE sauntered slowly 
 JT through the Vier Marchi, nodding right and 
 left to people who greeted him. It was Saturday, 
 and market day in Jersey. The square was crowded 
 with people. All was a cheerful babel ; there was 
 movement, color everywhere. Here were the high 
 and the humble, hardi vlon and hardi biaou the 
 ugly and the beautiful, the dwarfed and the tall, 
 the dandy and the dowdy, the miser and the spend- 
 thrift ; young ladies gay in silks, laces, and scarves 
 from Spain, and gentlemen with powdered wigs from 
 Paris ; sailors with red tunics from the Mediterranean, 
 and fishermen with blue and purple blouses from Bra- 
 zil ; man-o'-war's men with Greek petticoats, Turkish 
 fezzes and Portuguese espadras. Jersey housewives, 
 in bedgones and white caps, with molleton dresses 
 rolled up to the knees, pushed their way through the 
 crowd, jars of black butter or jugs of cinnamon 
 brandy on their heads. From La Pyramide the 
 hospitable base of the statue of King George II. 
 fishwives called the merits of their conger-eels and 
 ormers ; and the clatter of a thousand sabots made 
 the Vier Marchi sound like a shipbuilder's yard. 
 
 In this square Philip had loitered and played as a 
 child. Down there, leaning against a pillar of the 
 Corn Market piazza, was Elie Mattingley, the grizzly- 
 haired seller of foreign silks and droll odds and ends,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 101 
 
 who had given him a silver flageolet when he was a 
 little lad. There were the same swaggering manners, 
 the big gold rings in his ears ; there was the same red 
 sash about the waist, the loose unbuttoned shirt, the 
 truculent knife-belt ; there were the same keen brown 
 eyes looking you through and through, and the mouth 
 with a middle tooth in each jaw gone. Elie Matting- 
 ley, pirate, smuggler, and sometime master of a pri- 
 vateer, had had dealings with people high and low in 
 the island, and they had not always, nor often, been 
 conducted in the open Vier Marchi. 
 
 Fifteen years ago he used to have his little daugh- 
 ter Carterette always beside him when he sold his 
 wares. Philip wondered what had become of her. 
 He glanced round. . . . Ah ! there she was, not far 
 from her father, over in front of the guard-house, sell- 
 ing, at a little counter with a canopy of yellow silk 
 (brought by her father from that distant land called 
 Piracy), mogues of hot soupe a la graisse, simnels, 
 curds, coffee, and Jersey wonders, which last she made 
 on the spot by dipping the little rings of dough in a 
 bashin of lard on a charcoal fire at her side. 
 
 Carterette was short and spare, with soft yet snap- 
 ping eyes as black as night or her hair ; with a warm, 
 dusky skin, a tongue which clattered pleasantly, and 
 very often wisely. She had a hand as small and plump 
 as a baby's and a pretty foot which, to the disgust of 
 some mothers and maidens of greater degree, was 
 encased in a red French slipper, instead of the wooden 
 sabot stuffed with straw, while her ankles were nicely 
 dressed in soft black stockings, in place of the woolen 
 native hose, as became her station. 
 
 Philip watched Carterette now for a moment, a dozen 
 laughing memories coming back to him ; for he had
 
 102 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 teased her and played with her when she was a child, 
 had even called her his little sweetheart. Looking at 
 her he wondered what her fate would be. To marry 
 one of these fishermen or carters ? No, she would 
 look beyond that. Perhaps it would be one of those 
 adventurers in bearskin cap and buckskin vest, home 
 from Gaspe, where they had toiled in the great fisher- 
 ies, some as common fishermen, some as mates, and 
 maybe one or two as masters. No, she would look 
 beyond that. Perhaps she would be carried off by 
 one of those well-to-do, black-bearded young farmers 
 in the red knitted queminzolle, blue breeches and 
 black cocked hat, with his kegs of cider and bunches 
 of parsley. 
 
 That was more likely, for among the people there 
 was every prejudice in her favor. She was Jersey 
 born, her father was reputed to have laid by a goodly 
 sum of money not all got in this Vier Marchi; and 
 that he was a smuggler and pirate roused a sentiment 
 in their bosoms nearer to envy than aught else. Go 
 away naked and come back clothed, empty and come 
 back filled, simple and come back with a wink of 
 knowledge, penniless and come back with the price of 
 numerous verge" es of land, and you might answer the 
 Island catechism without fear. Be lambs in Jersey, 
 but harry the rest of the world with a lion's tooth, 
 was the eleventh commandment in the Vier Marchi. 
 
 Yes, thought Philip idly now, as he left the square, 
 the girl would probably marry a rich farmer, and when 
 he came again he should find her stout of body, and 
 maybe shrewish of face, crying up the virtues of her 
 black butter and her knitted stockings, having made 
 the yellow silk canopy above her there into a gorgeous 
 quilt for the nuptial bed.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 103 
 
 Yet the young farmers who hovered near her now, 
 buying a glass of cider or a mogue of soup, received 
 but scant notice. She laughed with them, treated 
 them lightly, and went about her business again with 
 a toss of the head. Not once did she show a moment's 
 real interest, not until a fine upstanding fellow came 
 round the corner from the Rue des Vignes, and passed 
 her booth. 
 
 She was dipping a doughnut into the boiling lard, 
 but she paused with it suspended. The little dark 
 face took on a warm glow, the eyes glistened. 
 
 "Maitre Ranulph ! " called the girl softly. Then 
 as the tall fellow turned to her and lifted his cap she 
 added briskly, " Where away so fast with face hard 
 as hatchet ? " 
 
 " Gargon Cart'rette ! " he said abstractedly, he had 
 always called her that. 
 
 He was about to move on. She frowned in vexa- 
 tion, yet she saw that he was pale and heavy-eyed, 
 and she beckoned him to come to her. 
 
 " What 's gone wrong, big wood-worm ? " she said, 
 eying him closely, and striving anxiously to read his 
 face. He looked at her sharply, but the softness in 
 her black eyes somehow reassured him, and he said 
 quite kindly, 
 
 " Nannin, 'tite garc_on, nothing 's matter." 
 
 " I thought you 'd be blithe as a sparrow with your 
 father back from the grave ! " Then as Ranulph's 
 face seemed to darken, she added, " He 's not worse 
 he 's not worse ? " 
 
 " No, no, he 's well enough now," he said, forcing 
 a smile. 
 
 She was not satisfied, but she went on talking, 
 intent to find the cause of his abstraction. " Only to
 
 104 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 think," she said " only to think that he was n't killed 
 at all at the Battle of Jersey, and was a prisoner in 
 France, and comes back here, and we all thought 
 him dead, did n't we ? " 
 
 " I left him for dead that morning on the Grouville 
 road," he answered. Then, as if with a great effort, 
 .and after the manner of one who has learned a part, 
 he went on : " As the French ran away mad, paw of 
 one on tail of other, they found him trying to drag 
 himself along. They nabbed him, and carried him 
 aboard their boats to pilot them out from the Rocque 
 Platte, and over to France. Then because they had n't 
 gobbled us up here, what did the French Gover'ment 
 do? They clapped a lot of 'em in irons and sent 
 'em away to South America, and my father with 'em. 
 That 's why we heard neither click nor clack of him 
 all this time. He broke free a year ago. Then he 
 fell sick. When he got well he set sail for Jersey, 
 was wrecked off the Ecrehos, and everybody knows 
 the rest. Diantre ! he 's had a hard time, my father." 
 
 The girl had listened intently. She had heard all 
 these things in flying rumors, and she had believed 
 the rumors ; but now that Maitre Ranulph told her 
 Ranulph, whose word she would have taken quicker 
 than the oath of a Jurat she doubted. With the 
 doubt her face flushed as though she herself had been 
 caught in a lie, had done a mean thing. Somehow her 
 heart was aching for him, she knew not why. 
 
 All this time she had held the doughnut poised ; 
 she seemed to have forgotten her work. Suddenly 
 the wooden fork holding the cake was taken from 
 her fingers by the daft Dormy Jamais who had crept 
 near. 
 
 " Des monz a f ou," said he, " to spoil good eating
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 105 
 
 so ! What says fishing-man When sails flap, owner 
 may whistle for cargo. Tut, tut, goose Cart'rette ! " 
 
 Carterette took no note, but said to Ranulph : 
 
 " Of course he had to pilot the Frenchmen back, 
 or they 'd have killed him, and it 'd done no good to 
 refuse. He was the first man that fought the French 
 on the day of the battle, was n't he ? I Ve always 
 heard that." 
 
 Unconsciously she was building up a defense for 
 Olivier Delagarde. She was, as it were, anticipating 
 insinuation from other quarters. She was playing 
 Ranulph' s game, because she instinctively felt that 
 behind this story there was gloom in his mind and 
 mystery in the tale itself. She noticed, too, that he 
 shrank from her words. She was not very quick of 
 intellect, so she had to feel her way fumblingly. She 
 must have time to think, but she said tentatively, 
 
 " I suppose it 's no secret ? I can tell any one at 
 all what happened to your father ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh so sure so ! " he said rather eagerly. " Tell 
 every one about it. He does n't mind." 
 
 Maitre Ranulph deceived but badly. Bold and con- 
 vincing in all honest things, he was, as yet, unconvin- 
 cing in this grave deception. All these years he 
 had kept silence, enduring what he thought a buried 
 shame ; but that shame had risen from the dead, a 
 living agony. His father had betrayed the Island to 
 the French. If the truth were known to-day they 
 would hang him for a traitor on the Mont es Pendus. 
 No mercy and scant shrift would be shown him. 
 
 Whatever came, he must drink this bitter cup to 
 the dregs. He could never betray his own father. 
 He must consume with inward disgust while Olivier 
 Delagarde shamelessly babbled his monstrous lies to
 
 106 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 all who would listen. And he must tell these lies, too, 
 conceal, deceive, and live in hourly fear of discovery. 
 He must sit opposite his father day by day at table, 
 talk with him, care for him, shrinking inwardly at 
 every knock at the door lest it should be an officer 
 come to carry the pitiful traitor off to prison. 
 
 And, more than all, he must give up forever the 
 thought of Guida. Here was the acid that ate home, 
 the black hopelessness, the machine of fate clamping 
 his heart. Never again could he rise in the morning 
 with a song on his lips ; never again his happy medi- 
 tations go lilting with the clanging blows of the adze 
 and the singing of the saws. 
 
 All these things had vanished when he looked into 
 a tent door on the Ecrehos. Now, in spite of him- 
 self, whenever he thought upon Guida's face, this 
 other fateful figure, this Medusan head of a traitor, 
 shot in between. 
 
 Since his return his father had not been strong 
 enough to go abroad ; but to-day he meant to walk 
 to the Vier Marchi. At first Ranulph had decided 
 to go as usual to his shipyard at St. Aubin's, but at 
 last in anxious fear he, too, had come to the Vier 
 Marchi. There was a horrible fascination in being 
 where his father was, in listening to his falsehoods, in 
 watching the turns and twists of his gross hypocrisies. 
 
 But yet at times he was moved by a strange pity, 
 for Olivier Delagarde was, in truth, far older than 
 his years : a thin, shuffling, pallid invalid, with a face 
 of mingled sanctity and viciousness. If the old man 
 lied, and had not been in prison all these years, he 
 must have had misery far worse, for neither vice nor 
 poverty alone could so shatter a human being. The 
 son's pity seemed to look down from a great height
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 107 
 
 upon the contemptible figure with the beautiful white 
 hair and the abominable mouth. This compassion 
 kept him from becoming hard, but it would also pre- 
 serve him to hourly sacrifice, Prometheus chained 
 to his rock. In the short fortnight that had gone 
 since the day upon the Ecrehos, he had changed as 
 much as do most people in ten years. Since then he 
 had seen neither Philip nor Guida. 
 
 To Carterette he seemed not the man she had 
 known. With her woman's instinct she knew that 
 he loved Guida, but she also knew that nothing which 
 might have happened between them could have 
 brought this look of shame and shrinking into his 
 face. As these thoughts flashed through her mind 
 her heart grew warmer. Suppose Ranulph was in 
 some trouble, well, now might be her great chance ! 
 She might show him that he could not live without 
 her friendship, and then perhaps, by and by, that he 
 could not live without her love. 
 
 Ranulph was about to move on. She stopped him. 
 
 " When you need me, Maitre Ranulph, you know 
 where to find me," she said scarce above a whisper. 
 
 He looked at her sharply, almost fiercely, but again 
 the tenderness of her eyes, the directness of her gaze, 
 convinced him. She might be, as she was, variable 
 with other people ; with himself she was invincibly 
 straightforward. 
 
 " P'raps you don't trust me ? " she added, for she 
 read his changing expression. 
 
 " Oh, I 'd trust you quick enough ! " he said. 
 
 " Then do it now, you 're having some bad trou- 
 ble," she rejoined. 
 
 He leaned over her stall and said to her steadily 
 and with a little moroseness :
 
 io8 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " See you, ma garche, if I was in trouble I 'd bear 
 it by myself. I 'd ask no one to help me ; I 'm a 
 man, and I can stand alone. Don't go telling, folks I 
 look as if I was in trouble. I 'm going to launch to- 
 morrow the biggest ship ever sent from a Jersey build- 
 ing yard, that does n't look like trouble, does it ? 
 Turn about is fair play, Gargon Cart'rette : so when 
 you 're in trouble come to me. You 're not a man, 
 and it 's a man's place to help a woman, all the more 
 when she 's a fine and good little stand-by like you." 
 
 He forced a smile, turned upon his heel, and 
 threaded his way through the square, keeping a look- 
 out for his father. This he could do easily, for he 
 was the tallest man in the Vier Marchi by at least 
 three inches. 
 
 Carterette, oblivious of all else, stood gazing after 
 him. She was only recalled to herself by Dormy 
 Jamais. He was diligently cooking her Jersey won- 
 ders, now and then turning his eyes up at her, eyes 
 which were like spots of grayish, yellowish light in a 
 face of putty and flour ; without eyelashes, without 
 eyebrows, a little like a fish's, something like a mon- 
 key's. They were never still. They were set in the 
 face like little round glowworms in a mold of clay. 
 They burned on night and day, no man had ever 
 seen Dormy Jamais asleep. 
 
 Carterette did not resent his officiousness. He 
 had a kind of kennel in her father's boat-house, and 
 he was devoted to her. More than all else, Dormy 
 Jamais was clean. His clothes were mostly rags, but 
 they were comely, compact rags. When he washed 
 them no one seemed to know, but no languid young 
 gentleman lounging where the sun was warmest in 
 the Vier Marchi was better laundered.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 109 
 
 As Carterette turned round to him he was twirling 
 a cake on the wooden fork, and trolling : 
 
 " Caderoussel he has a coat, 
 
 All lined with paper brown ; 
 And only when it freezes hard 
 
 He wears it in the town. 
 What do you think of Caderoussel ? 
 
 Ah, then, but list to me : 
 Caderoussel is a bon e'fant " 
 
 " Come, come, dirty fingers ! " she said. " Leave 
 my work alone, and stop your chatter." 
 
 The daft one held up his fingers, but to do so had 
 to thrust a cake into his mouth. 
 
 " They 're as clean as a ha'pendy," he said, mum- 
 bling through the cake. Then he emptied his mouth 
 of it, and was about to place it with the others. 
 
 " Black beganne," she cried, " how dare you ! Via 
 into your pocket with it !" 
 
 He did as he was bid, humming to himself 
 again : 
 
 " M'sieu' de la Palisse is dead, 
 
 Dead of a maladie ; 
 Quart' of an hour before his death 
 He could breathe like you and me ! 
 Ah bah, the poor M'sieu' 
 De la Palisse is dead ! " 
 
 " Shut up ! Man doux d'la vie, you chatter like a 
 monkey ! " 
 
 " That poor Maitre Ranulph ! " said Dormy. " Once 
 he was lively as a basket of mice ; but now " 
 
 "Well, now, achocre!" she said irritably, stamping 
 her foot. 
 
 " Now the cat 's out of the bag oui-gia ! " 
 
 " You 're as cunning as a Norman you 've got 
 things in your noddle ! " she cried with angry im- 
 patience.
 
 i io THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 He nodded, grinning. " As thick as haws," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 She heard behind her a laugh of foolish good-nature, 
 which made her angry too, for it seemed to be making 
 fun of her. She wheeled to see M. Savary dit Detri- 
 cand leaning with both elbows on the little counter, 
 his chin in his hand, grinning provokingly. 
 
 " Oh, it 's you ! " she said snappishly ; " I hope 
 you 're pleased." 
 
 " Don't be cross," he answered, his head swinging 
 unsteadily. " I was n't laughing at you, heaven-born 
 Jersienne ! I was n't, 'pon honor ! I was laughing 
 at a thing I saw five minutes ago." He nodded in 
 gurgling enjoyment now. "You mustn't mind me, 
 seraphine," he added ; " I 'd a hot night, and I 'm warm 
 as a thrush now. But I saw a thing five minutes 
 ago ! " he rolled on the stall. " 'Sh ! " he said in a 
 loud mock whisper, " here he comes now. Millcs 
 diables ! but here 's a tongue for you, and here 's a 
 royal gentleman speaking truth like a traveling den- 
 tist ! " 
 
 Carterette followed his gesture and saw coming out 
 of the Route es Couchons, where the brave Peirson 
 issued to his death eleven years before, Maitre Ra- 
 nulph's father. 
 
 He walked with the air of a man courting observa- 
 tion. He imagined himself a hero ; he had told his 
 lie so many times now that he almost believed it him- 
 self. 
 
 He was soon surrounded. Disliked when he lived 
 in Jersey before the invasion years ago, that seemed 
 forgotten now, for word had gone abroad that he was 
 a patriot raised from the dead, an honor to his country. 
 Many pressed forward to shake hands with him.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG in 
 
 " Help of Heaven, is that you, m'sieu' ? " said one. 
 
 "You owed me five chelins, but I wiped it out, O 
 my good ! " cried another generously. 
 
 " Shakez," cried a tall carter holding out his hand. 
 He had lived in England, and now easily made Eng- 
 lish verbs into French. 
 
 One after another called on him to tell his story ; 
 some tried to hurry him to La Pyramide, but others 
 placed a cider-keg near, and almost lifted him on to it. 
 
 " Go on, go on, tell us the story ! " they cried. 
 " To the devil with the Frenchies ! " 
 
 " Here here 's a dish of Adam's ale," cried an old 
 woman, handing him a bowl of water. 
 
 They cheered him lustily. The pallor of his face 
 changed to a warmth. He had the fatuousness of 
 those who deceive with impunity. With confidence 
 he unreeled the dark line out to the end. When he 
 had told his story, still hungry for applause, he re- 
 peated the account of how the tatterdemalion brigade 
 of Frenchmen came down upon him out of the night, 
 and how he should have killed Rullecour himself had 
 it not been for an officer who struck him down from 
 behind. 
 
 During the recital Ranulph had drawn near. He 
 watched the enthusiasm with which the crowd re- 
 ceived every little detail of the egregious history. 
 Everybody believed the old man, who was safe, no 
 matter what happened to himself, Ranulph Delagarde, 
 ex-artilleryman, shipbuilder and son of a criminal. 
 At any rate, the worst was over now, the first public 
 statement of the lifelong lie. He drew a sigh of relief 
 and misery in one. 
 
 At that instant he caught sight of the flushed face 
 of Detricand, who broke into a laugh of tipsy mirth
 
 ii2 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 when Olivier Delagarde told how the French officer 
 had stricken him down as he was about finishing off 
 Rullecour. 
 
 All at once the whole thing rushed upon Ranulph. 
 What a fool he had been ! He had met this officer 
 of Rullecour's these ten years past, and never once 
 had the Frenchman, by so much as a hint, suggested 
 that he knew the truth about his father. Here and 
 now the contemptuous mirth upon the Frenchman's 
 face told the whole story. The danger and horror of 
 the situation descended on him. Instantly he started 
 towards Detricand. 
 
 At that moment his father caught sight of Detri- 
 cand also, saw the laugh, the sneer, and recognized 
 him. Halting short in his speech, he turned pale 
 and trembled, staring as at a ghost. He had never 
 counted on this. His breath almost stopped as he 
 saw Ranulph approach Detricand. 
 
 Now the end was come. His fabric of lies would 
 be torn down ; he would be tried and hanged on the 
 Mont es Pendus, or even be torn to pieces by this 
 crowd. Yet he could not have moved a foot from 
 where he was if he had been given a million pounds. 
 
 The sight of Ranulph's face revealed to Detricand 
 the true meaning of this farce and how easily it might 
 become a tragedy. He read the story of the son's 
 torture, of his sacrifice ; and his decision was instantly 
 made : he would befriend him. Looking straight into 
 his eyes, his own said he had resolved to know no- 
 thing whatever about this criminal on the cider-cask. 
 The two men telegraphed to each other a perfect un- 
 derstanding, and then Detricand turned on his heel, 
 and walked away into the crowd. 
 
 The sudden change in the old man's appearance
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 113 
 
 had not been lost on the spectators, but they set it 
 down to weakness or a sudden sickness. One ran 
 for a glass of brandy, another for cider, and an old 
 woman handed up to him a mogue of cinnamon 
 drops. 
 
 The old man tremblingly drank the brandy. When 
 he looked again Detricand had disappeared. A dark, 
 sinister expression crossed his face, an evil thought 
 pulled down the corners of his mouth as he stepped 
 from the cask. His son went to him, and, taking his 
 arm, said, "Come, you've done enough for to-day." 
 
 The old man made no reply, but submissively 
 walked away into the Coin es Anes. Once, however, 
 he turned and looked the way Detricand had gone, 
 muttering. The peasants cheered him as he passed. 
 Presently, free of the crowd and entering the Rue 
 d'Egypte, he said to Ranulph, 
 
 " I 'm going alone ; I don't need you." 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Ranulph. 
 
 " Home," answered the old man gloomily. 
 
 Ranulph stopped. " All right ; better not come out 
 again to-day." 
 
 " You 're not going to let that Frenchman hurt 
 me ?" suddenly asked Delagarde with morose anxiety. 
 " You 're going to stop that ? They 'd put me in 
 prison." 
 
 Ranulph stooped over his father, his eyes alive with 
 anger, his face blurred with disgust. 
 
 " Go home," said he, "and never mention this again 
 while you live, or I '11 take you to prison myself." 
 
 Ranulph watched his father disappear down the 
 Rue d'Egypte, then he retraced his steps to the Vier 
 March i. With a new-formed determination he quick- 
 ened his walk, ruling his face to a sort of forced gay-
 
 ii4 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 ety, lest any one should think his moodiness strange. 
 One person after another accosted him. He listened 
 eagerly, to see if anything were said which might 
 show suspicion of his father. But the gossip was all 
 in old Delagarde's favor. From group to group he 
 went, answering greetings cheerily and steeling him- 
 self to the whole disgusting business. 
 
 Presently he saw the Chevalier du Champsavoys 
 with the Sieur de Mauprat. This was the first public 
 appearance of the Chevalier since the sad business at 
 the Vier Prison a fortnight before. The simple folk 
 had forgotten their insane treatment of him then, and 
 they saluted him now with a chirping, " Es-tu biaou, 
 Chevalier ? " and " Es-tu gentiment, m'sieu' ? " to 
 which he responded with amiable forgiveness. To 
 his idea they were only naughty children, their minds 
 reasoning no more clearly than they saw the streets 
 through the tiny little squares of bottle-glass in the 
 windows of their homes. 
 
 All at once they came face to face with Detricand. 
 The Chevalier stopped short with pleased yet wistful 
 surprise. His brow knitted when he saw that his 
 compatriot had been drinking again, and his eyes had 
 a pained look as he said eagerly : 
 
 " Have you heard from the Comte de Tournay, 
 monsieur ? I have not seen you these days past. You 
 said you would not disappoint me." 
 
 Detricand drew from his pocket a letter and handed 
 it over, saying, "This comes from the Comte." 
 
 The old gentleman took the letter, nervously 
 opened it, and read it slowly, saying each sentence 
 over twice as though to get the full meaning. 
 
 "Ah," he exclaimed, "he is going back to France 
 to fight for the King ! "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 115 
 
 Then he looked at Detricand sadly, benevolently. 
 "Man chcr" said he, "if I could but persuade you to 
 abjure the wine-cup and follow his example ! " 
 
 Detricand drew himself up with a jerk. " You can 
 persuade me, Chevalier," said he. " This is my last 
 bout. I had sworn to have it with with a soldier I 
 knew, and I 've kept my word. But it 's the last, the 
 very last in my life, on the honor of the Detricands. 
 And I am going with the Comte de Tournay to fight 
 for the King." 
 
 The little Chevalier's lips trembled, and taking the 
 young man by the collar of his coat, he stood tiptoed, 
 and kissed him on both cheeks. 
 
 "Will you accept something from me?" asked M. 
 de Mauprat, joining in his friend's enthusiasm. He 
 took from his pocket a timepiece he had worn for 
 fifty years. " It is a little gift to my France, which I 
 shall see no more," he added. " May no time be ill 
 spent that it records for you, monsieur." 
 
 Detricand laughed in his careless way, but the face, 
 seamed with dissipation, took on a new and better 
 look, as with a hand-grasp of gratitude he put the 
 timepiece in his pocket. 
 
 " I '11 do my best," he said simply. " I '11 be with 
 de la Rochejaquelein and the army of the Vendee to- 
 morrow night." 
 
 Then he shook hands with both little gentlemen 
 and moved away towards the Rue des Tres Pigeons. 
 Presently some one touched his arm. He looked 
 round. It was Ranulph. 
 
 " I stood near," said Ranulph ; " I chanced to hear 
 what you said to them. You 've been a friend to me 
 to-day, and these eleven years past. You knew 
 about my father, all the time."
 
 ii6 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Before replying Detricand glanced round to see that 
 no one was listening. 
 
 " Look you, monsieur, a man must keep some de- 
 cencies in his life, or cut his own throat. What a 
 ruffian I 'd be to do you or your father harm ! I 'm 
 silent, of course. Let your mind rest about me. But 
 there 's the baker Carcaud " 
 
 "The baker?" asked Ranulph dumfounded. "I 
 thought he was tied to a rock by Rullecour's orders, 
 and left to drown." 
 
 " I had him set free after Rullecour had gone on to 
 the town. He got away to France." 
 
 Ranulph's anxiety deepened. "He might come 
 back, and then if anything happened to him " 
 
 " He 'd try and make things happen to others, eh ! 
 But there 's little danger of his coming back. They 
 know he 's a traitor, and he knows he 'd be hung. If 
 he 's alive he '11 stay where he is. Cheer up ! Take 
 my word, Olivier Delagarde has only himself to fear." 
 He put out his hand. " Good-by ! If ever I can do 
 anything for you, if you ever want to find me, come 
 or send to no, I '11 write it," he suddenly added, and 
 scribbling something on a piece of paper he handed 
 it over. 
 
 They parted with another handshake, Detricand 
 making his way into the Rue d'Egypte, and towards 
 the Place du Vier Prison. 
 
 Ranulph stood looking dazedly at the crowd before 
 him, misery, revolt, and bitterness in his heart. This 
 French adventurer, Detricand, after years of riotous 
 living, could pick up the threads of life again with a 
 laugh and no shame, while he felt himself going down, 
 down, down, with no hope of ever rising again. 
 
 As he stood buried in his reflections the town crier
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 117 
 
 entered the Vier Marchi, and, going to La Pyramide, 
 took his place upon the steps, and in a loud voice 
 began reading a proclamation. 
 
 It was to the effect that the great Fishing Company 
 trading to Gaspe needed twenty Jersiais to go out 
 and replace a number of the company's officers and 
 men who had been drowned in a gale off the rock 
 called Perce. To these twenty, if they went at once, 
 good pay would be given. But they must be men of 
 intelligence and vigor, of well-known character. 
 
 The critical moment in Maitre Ranulph's life came 
 now. Here he was penned up in a little island, chained 
 to a criminal having the fame of a martyr. It was not 
 to be borne. Why not leave it all behind ? Why not 
 let his father shift for himself, abide his own fate ? 
 Why not leave him the home, what money he had laid 
 by, and go go go where he could forget, go where 
 he could breathe ! Surely self-preservation, that was 
 the first law ; surely no known code of human practice 
 called upon him to share the daily crimes of any liv- 
 ing soul ; it was a daily repetition of his crime for 
 this traitor to carry on the atrocious lie of patri- 
 otism. 
 
 He would go. It was his right. 
 
 Taking a few steps towards the officer of the Com- 
 pany standing by the crier, he was about to speak. 
 Some one touched him. 
 
 He turned and saw Carterette. She had divined 
 his intention, and though she was in the dark as to 
 the motive, she saw that he meant to go to Gaspe. 
 Her heart seemed to contract till the pain of it hurt 
 her ; then, as a new thought flashed into her mind, it 
 was freed again and began pounding hard against her 
 breast. She must prevent him from leaving Jersey,
 
 ii8 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 from leaving her. What she might feel personally 
 would have no effect upon him ; she would appeal to 
 him from a different standpoint. 
 
 "You must not go," she said. "You must not 
 leave your father alone, Maitre Ranulph." 
 
 For a minute he did not reply. Through his dark 
 wretchedness one thought pierced its way : this girl 
 was his good friend. 
 
 " Then I '11 take him with me," he said. 
 
 "He would die in the awful cold," she answered. 
 "Nannin-gia, you must stay." 
 
 " Eh ben, I will think ! " he said presently, with an 
 air of heavy resignation, and, turning, walked away. 
 Her eyes followed him. As she went back to her 
 booth she smiled : he had come one step her way. 
 He would not go.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WHEN Detricand left the Vier March! he made 
 his way along the Rue d'Egypte to the house 
 of M. de Mauprat. The front door was open, and a 
 nice savor of boiling fruit came from within. He 
 knocked, and instantly Guida appeared, her sleeves 
 rolled back to her elbows, her fingers stained with the 
 rich red of the blackberries on the fire. 
 
 A curious shade of disappointment came into her 
 face when she saw who it was. It was clear to De- 
 tricand that she expected some one else ; it was also 
 clear that his coming gave no especial pleasure to 
 her, though she looked at him with interest. She had 
 thought of him more than once since that day when 
 the famous letter from France to the Chevalier was 
 read. She had instinctively compared him, this roys- 
 tering, notorious fellow, with Philip d'Avranche, 
 Philip the brave, the ambitious, the conquering. She 
 was sure that Philip had never over-drunk himself in 
 his life ; and now, looking into the face of Detricand, 
 she could tell that he had been drinking again. One 
 thing was apparent, however : he was better dressed 
 than she ever remembered seeing him, better pulled 
 together, and bearing himself with an air of purpose. 
 
 " I 've fetched back your handkerchief, you tied 
 up my head with it, you know," he said, taking it 
 from his pocket. " I 'm going away, and I wanted 
 to thank you."
 
 120 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 "Will you not come in, monsieur?" she said. 
 
 He readily entered the kitchen, still holding the 
 kandkerchief in his hand, but he did not give it to 
 her. 
 
 " Where will you sit ? " she said, looking round. 
 " I 'm very busy. You must n't mind my working," 
 she added, going to the brass bashin at the fire. 
 "This preserve will spoil if I don't watch it." 
 
 He seated himself on the veille, and nodded his 
 head. 
 
 " I like this," he said. " I 'm fond of kitchens. I 
 always was. When I was fifteen I was sent away 
 from home because I liked the stables and the kitchen 
 too well. Also, I fell in love with the cook." 
 
 Guida flushed, frowned, her lips tightened, then 
 presently a look of amusement broke over her face, 
 and she burst out laughing. 
 
 " Why do you tell me these things ? " she said. 
 " Excuse me, monsieur, but why do you always tell 
 unpleasant things about yourself ? People think ill 
 of you, and otherwise they might think better." 
 
 " I don't want them to think better till I am bet- 
 ter," he answered. " The only way I can prevent 
 myself becoming a sneak is by blabbing my faults. 
 Now, I was drunk last night, very, very drunk ! " 
 
 A look of disgust came into her face. 
 
 " Why do you relate this sort of thing to me, mon- 
 sieur ? Do do I remind you of the cook at home, 
 or of an oyster-girl in Jersey ? " 
 
 She was flushing, but her voice was clear and vi- 
 brant, the look of the eyes direct and fearless. How 
 dared he hold her handkerchief like that ! 
 
 " I tell you them," he answered slowly, looking at 
 the handkerchief in his hand, then raising his eyes to
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 121 
 
 hers with whimsical gravity, " because I want you to 
 ask me never to drink again." 
 
 She looked at him scarce comprehending, yet feel- 
 ing a deep compliment somewhere, for this man was 
 a gentleman by birth, and his manner was respectful, 
 and had always been respectful to her. 
 
 " Why do you want me to ask you that ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Because I 'm going to France to join the war of 
 the Vendee, and " 
 
 "With the Comte de Tournay ?" she interrupted. 
 
 He nodded his head. " And if I thought I was 
 keeping a promise to to you, I 'd not break it. Will 
 you ask me to promise? " he persisted, watching her 
 intently. 
 
 "Why, of course," she answered kindly, almost 
 gently ; the compliment was so real, he could not be 
 all bad. 
 
 "Then say my name, and ask me," he said. 
 
 "Monsieur" 
 
 "Leave out the monsieur" he interrupted. 
 
 " Yves Savary dit Detricand, will you promise me, 
 Guida Landresse " 
 
 " De Landresse," he interposed courteously. 
 
 " Guida Landresse de Landresse, that you will 
 never again drink wine to excess, and that you will 
 never do anything that " she paused confused. 
 
 "That you would not wish me to do," he said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 "That I should not wish you to do," she repeated 
 in a half embarrassed way. 
 
 " On my honor I promise," he said slowly. 
 
 A strange feeling came over her. She had sud- 
 denly, in some indirect, allusive way, become inter-
 
 122 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 ested in a man's life. Yet she had done nothing, and 
 in truth she cared nothing. They stood looking at 
 each other, she slightly embarrassed, he hopeful and 
 eager, when suddenly a step sounded without, a voice 
 called " Guida ! " and as Guida colored and Detricand 
 turned towards the door, Philip d'Avranche entered 
 impetuously. 
 
 He stopped short on seeing Detricand. They knew 
 each other slightly, and they bowed. Philip frowned. 
 He saw that something had occurred between the 
 two. Detricand on his part realized the significance 
 of that familiar " Guida ! " called from outside. He 
 took up his cap. 
 
 "It is greeting and good-by. I am just off for 
 France," he said. 
 
 Philip eyed him coldly, and not a little maliciously, 
 for he knew Detricand' s reputation well, the signs of 
 a hard life were thick on him, and he did not like to 
 think of Guida being alone with him. 
 
 " France should offer a wide field for your talents 
 just now," he answered dryly; "they seem wasted 
 here." 
 
 Detricand's eye flashed, but he answered coolly, 
 "It was n't talent that brought me here, but a boy's 
 folly ; it 's not talent that 's kept me from starving 
 here, I 'm afraid, but the ingenuity of the desperate." 
 
 " Why stay here ? The world was wide, and 
 France but a step away. You would not have 
 needed talents there. You would no doubt have been 
 rewarded by the Court which sent you and Rullecour 
 to ravage Jersey " 
 
 "The proper order is Rullecour and me , monsieur." 
 
 Detricand seemed suddenly to have got back a 
 manner to which he had been long a stranger. His
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 123 
 
 temper became imperturbable, and this was not lost 
 on Philip ; his manner had a balanced serenity, while 
 Philip himself had no such perfect control ; which 
 made him the more impatient. Presently Detricand 
 added in a composed and nonchalant tone : 
 
 " I 've no doubt there were those at Court who 'd 
 have clothed me in purple and fine linen, and given 
 me wine and milk ; but it was my whim to work in 
 the galleys here, as it were." 
 
 "Then I trust you've enjoyed your Botany Bay," 
 answered Philip mockingly. " You Ve been your own 
 jailer ; you could lay the strokes on heavy or light." 
 He moved to the veille, and sat down. Guida busied 
 herself at the fireplace, but listened intently. 
 
 " I 've certainly been my own enemy, whether the 
 strokes were heavy or light," replied Detricand, lifting 
 a shoulder ironically. 
 
 " And a friend to Jersey at the same time, eh ? " 
 was the sneering reply. 
 
 Detricand was in the humor to tell the truth even 
 to this man who hated him. He was giving himself 
 the luxury of auricular confession. But Philip did 
 not see that when once such a man has stood in his 
 own pillory, sat in his own stocks, voluntarily paid 
 the piper, he will take no after insult. 
 
 Detricand still would not be tempted out of his 
 composure. " No," he answered, " I 've been an enemy 
 to Jersey, too, both by act and example ; but people 
 here have been kind enough to forget the act, and 
 the example I set is not unique." 
 
 " You Ve never thought that you Ve outstayed your 
 welcome, eh ? " 
 
 " As to that, every country is free to whoever wills, 
 if one cares to pay the entrance fee and can endure
 
 124 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the entertainment. One has n't to apologize for living 
 ill a country. You probably get no better treatment 
 than you deserve, and no worse. One thing balances 
 another." 
 
 The man's cool impeachment and defense of him- 
 self irritated Philip, the more so because Guida was 
 present, and this gentlemanly vagrant had him at 
 advantage. 
 
 " You paid no entrance fee here ; you stole in 
 through a hole in the wall. You should have been 
 hanged." 
 
 " Monsieur d'Avranche ! " said Guida reproachfully, 
 turning round from the fire. 
 
 Detricand's answer came biting and dry. "You 
 are an officer of your King, as was I. You should 
 know that hanging the invaders of Jersey would have 
 been butchery. We were soldiers of France ; we had 
 the distinction of being prisoners of war, monsieur." 
 
 This shot went home. Philip had been touched in 
 that nerve called military honor. He got to his feet. 
 
 "You are right," he answered with reluctant frank- 
 ness. "Our grudge is not individual, it is against 
 France, and we '11 pay it soon with good interest, 
 monsieur ! " 
 
 " The individual grudge will not be lost sight of in 
 the general, I hope ? " rejoined Detricand with cool 
 suggestion, his clear, persistent gray eye looking 
 straight into Philip's. 
 
 " I shall do you that honor," said Philip with mis- 
 taken disdain. 
 
 Detricand bowed low. " You shall always find me 
 in the suite of the Prince of Vaufontaine, monsieur, 
 and ready to be so distinguished by you." Turning 
 to Guida, he added, " Mademoiselle will perhaps do
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 125 
 
 me the honor to notice me again one day ? " 
 then, with a mocking nod to Philip, he left the 
 house. 
 
 Guida and Philip stood looking after him in silence 
 for a minute. Suddenly Guida said to herself, " My 
 handkerchief ! Why did he take my handkerchief ? 
 He put it in his pocket again." 
 
 Philip turned on her impatiently. 
 
 " What was that adventurer saying to you, Guida ? 
 In the suite of the Prince of Vaufontaine, my faith ! 
 What did he come here for ? " 
 
 Guida looked at him in surprise. She scarcely 
 grasped the significance of the question. Before she 
 had time to consider, he pressed it again, and without 
 hesitation she told him all that had happened it was 
 so very little, of course between Detricand and 
 herself. She omitted nothing save that Detricand 
 had carried off the handkerchief, and she could not 
 have told, if she had been asked, why she did not 
 speak of it. 
 
 Philip raged inwardly. He saw the meaning of the 
 whole situation from Detricand's standpoint, but he 
 was wise enough from his own standpoint to keep it 
 to himself ; and so both of them reserved something, 
 she from no motive that she knew, he from an ulterior 
 one. He was angry too : angry at Detricand, angry 
 at Guida for her very innocence and because she had 
 caught and held even the slight line of association 
 Detricand had thrown. 
 
 In any case, Detricand was going to-morrow, and 
 to-day to-day should decide all between Guida and 
 himself ! Used to bold moves, in this affair of love 
 he was living up to his custom ; and the encounter 
 with Detricand here added the last touch to his reso-
 
 126 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 lution, nerved him to follow his strong impulse to set 
 all upon one hazard. A month ago he had told Guida 
 that he loved her ; to-day there should be a still more 
 daring venture. A thing not captured by a forlorn 
 hope seemed not worth having. The girl had seized 
 his emotions from the first moment, and had held 
 them. To him she was the most original creature he 
 had ever met, the most natural, the most humorous 
 of temper, the most sincere. She had no duplicity, 
 no guile, no arts. 
 
 He said to himself that he knew his own mind 
 always. He believed in inspirations, and he would 
 back his knowledge, his inspiration, by an irretrieva- 
 ble move. Yesterday had come an important mes- 
 sage from his commander. That had decided him. 
 To-day Guida should hear a message beyond all others 
 in importance. 
 
 "Won't you come into the garden?" he said pre- 
 sently. 
 
 " A moment a moment ! " she answered him 
 lightly, for the frown had passed from his face, and 
 he was his old buoyant self again. " I 'm to make 
 an end to this bashin of berries first," she added. So 
 saying, she waved him away with a little air of tyr- 
 anny; and he perched himself boyishly on the big 
 chair in the corner, and with idle impatience began 
 playing with the flax on the spinning-wheel near by. 
 Then he took to humming a ditty the Jersey house- 
 wife used to sing as she spun, while Guida disposed 
 of the sweet-smelling fruit. Suddenly she stopped 
 and stamped her foot. 
 
 " No, no, that 's not right, stupid sailor-man," she 
 said, and she sang a verse at him over the last details 
 of her work :
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 127 
 
 "Spin, spin, belle Mergaton ! 
 
 The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, 
 And your wedding-gown you must put it on 
 Ere the night hath no moon in the sky 
 Gigoton Mergaton, spin ! " 
 
 She paused. He was entranced. He had never 
 heard her sing, and the full, beautiful notes of her 
 contralto voice thrilled him like organ music. His 
 look devoured her, her song captured him. 
 
 " Please go on," he said. " I never heard it that 
 way." 
 
 She was. embarrassed yet delighted by his praise, 
 and she threw into the next verse a deep weirdness : 
 
 " Spin, spin, belle Mergaton ! 
 
 Your gown shall be stitched ere the old moon fade : 
 The age of a moon shall your hands spin on, 
 Or a wife in her shroud shall be laid 
 Gigoton Mergaton, spin ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, that 's it ! " he exclaimed with gay ardor. 
 " That 's it. Sing on. There are two more verses." 
 
 " I '11 only sing one," she answered, with a little air 
 of willfulness : 
 
 " Spin, spin, belle Mergaton ! 
 
 The Little Good Folk the spell they have cast ; 
 By your work well done while the moon hath shone, 
 Ye shall cleave unto joy at last 
 Gigoton Mergaton, spin ! " 
 
 As she sang the last verse she seemed in a dream, 
 and her rich voice, rising with the spirit of the con- 
 cluding lines, poured out the notes like a bird drunk 
 with the air of spring. 
 
 "Guida!" he cried, springing to his feet, "when 
 you sing like that it seems to me I live in a world 
 that has nothing to do with the sordid business of
 
 128 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 life, with my dull trade, with getting the weather- 
 gauge or sailing in triple line ! You 're a planet all 
 by yourself, Mistress Guida! Are you ready to 
 come into the garden ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, in a minute," she answered. " You 
 go out to the big apple-tree, and I '11 come in a min- 
 ute." 
 
 The apple-tree was in the farthest corner of the 
 large garden. Near it was the summer-house where 
 Guida and her mother used to sit and read, Guida 
 on the three-legged stool, her mother on the low, wide 
 seat covered with ferns. This spot Guida used to 
 "flourish" with flowers. The vines, too, crept 
 through the rough lattice-work, and all together made 
 the place a bower, secluded and serene. The water 
 of the little stream outside the hedge made music 
 too. 
 
 Philip placed himself on the bench beneath the 
 apple-tree. What a change was all this, he thought 
 to himself, from the staring hot stones of Malta, the 
 squalor of Constantinople, the frigid cliffs of Spitz- 
 bergen, the noisome tropical forests of the Indies ! 
 This was Arcady. It was peace, it was content. His 
 life was sure to be varied and perhaps stormy : here 
 would be the true change, the spirit of all this. Of 
 course he would have two sides to his life like most 
 men : that lived before the world, and that of the 
 home. He would have the fight for fame. He would 
 have to use, not duplicity, but diplomacy, to play a 
 kind of game ; but this other side to his life, the side 
 of love and home, should be simple, direct, all gen- 
 uine and strong and true. In this way he would have 
 a wonderful career. 
 
 He heard Guida's footstep now, and standing up he
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 129 
 
 parted the apple-boughs for her entrance. She was 
 dressed all in white, without a touch of color save in 
 the wild rose at her throat and the pretty red shoes 
 with the broad buckles which the Chevalier had given 
 her. Her face, too, had color, the soft, warm tint 
 of the peach-blossom, and her auburn hair was like 
 an aureole. 
 
 Philip's eyes gleamed. He stretched out both his 
 hands in greeting and tenderness. 
 
 " Guida sweetheart ! " he said. 
 
 She laughed up at him mischievously, and put her 
 hands behind her back. 
 
 "Ma /// you are so very forward," she said, seat- 
 ing herself on the bench. " And you must not call 
 me Guida, and you 've no right to call me sweet- 
 heart." 
 
 " I know I 've no right to call you anything, but to 
 myself I always call you Guida, and sweetheart, too, 
 and I 've liked to think that you would care to know 
 my thoughts," he answered. 
 
 "Yes, I wish I knew your thoughts," she re- 
 sponded, looking up at him intently ; " I should like 
 to know every thought in your mind. . . . Do you 
 know you don't mind my saying just what I think? 
 I find myself feeling that there 's something in you 
 that I never touch ; I mean, that a friend ought to 
 touch, if it 's a real friendship. You appear to be so 
 frank, and I know you are frank and good and true, 
 and yet I seem always to be hunting for something 
 in your mind, and it slips away from me always 
 always. I suppose it 's because we 're two different 
 beings, and no two beings can ever know each other 
 in this world, not altogether. We 're what the Che- 
 valier calls ' separate entities.' I seem to understand
 
 130 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 his odd, wise talk better lately. He said the other 
 day, ' Lonely we come into the world, and lonely we 
 go out of it.' That 's what I mean. It makes me 
 shudder sometimes, that part of us which lives alone 
 forever. We go running on as happy as can be, like 
 Biribi there in the garden, and all at once we stop 
 short at a hedge, just as he does there, a hedge 
 just too tall to look over and with no foothold for 
 climbing. That 's what I want so much ; I want to 
 look over the Hedge." 
 
 When she spoke like this to Philip, as she some- 
 times did, she seemed quite unconscious that he was 
 a listener, it was rather as if he were part of her and 
 thinking the same thoughts. To Philip she seemed 
 wonderful. He had never bothered his head in that 
 way about abstract things when he was her age, and 
 he could not understand it in her. What was more, 
 he could not have thought as she did if he had tried. 
 She had that sort of mind which accepts no stereo- 
 typed reflection or idea ; she worked things out for 
 herself. Her words were her own, and not another's. 
 She was not imitative, nor yet was she bizarre ; she 
 was individual, simple, inquiring. 
 
 " That 's the thing that hurts most in life," she 
 added presently ; " that trying to find and not being 
 able to voild, what a child I am to babble so ! " 
 she broke off with a little laugh, which had, how- 
 ever, a plaintive note. There was a touch of un- 
 developed pathos in her character, for she had been 
 left alone too young, been given responsibility too 
 soon. 
 
 He felt he must say something, and in a sympa- 
 thetic tone he replied, 
 
 "Yes, Guida, but after a while we stop trying to
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 131 
 
 follow and see and find, and we walk in the old paths 
 and take things as they are." 
 
 " Have you stopped ? " she said to him wistfully. 
 
 " Oh no, not altogether," he replied, dropping his 
 tones to tenderness, " for I 've been trying to peep 
 over a hedge this afternoon, and I have n't done it 
 yet." 
 
 "Have you?" she rejoined, then paused, for the 
 look in his eyes embarrassed her. ..." Why do you 
 look at me like that ? " she added tremulously. 
 
 " Guida," he said earnestly, leaning towards her, 
 " a month ago I asked you if you would listen to me 
 when I told you of my love, and you said you would. 
 Well, sometimes when we have met since, I have told 
 you the same story, and you 've kept your promise 
 and listened. Guida, I want to go on telling you the 
 same story for a long time even till you or I die." 
 
 "Do you ah, then, do you?" she asked simply. 
 " Do you really wish that ?" 
 
 " It is the greatest wish of my life, and always will 
 be," he added, taking her unresisting hands. 
 
 " I like to hear you say it," she answered simply, 
 " and it cannot be wrong, can it ? Is there any wrong 
 in my listening to you ? Yet why do I feel that it is 
 not quite right? Sometimes I do feel that." 
 
 "One thing will make all right," he said eagerly; 
 "one thing. I love you, Guida, love you devotedly. 
 Do you tell me if you love me? Do not fear to tell 
 me, dearest, for then will come the thing that makes 
 all right." 
 
 " I do not know," she responded, her heart beating 
 fast, her eyes drooping before him ; " but when you 
 go from me, I am not happy till I see you again. 
 When you are gone, I want to be alone that I may
 
 132 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 remember all you have said, and say it over to myself 
 again. When I hear you speak I want to shut my 
 eyes, I am so happy ; and every word of mine seems 
 clumsy when you talk to me ; and I feel of how little 
 account I am beside you. Is that love, Philip ? 
 Philip, do you think that is love ? " 
 
 They were standing now. The fruit that hung 
 above Guida's head was not fairer and sweeter than 
 she. Philip drew her to him, and her eyes lifted to 
 his. 
 
 "Is that love, Philip?" she repeated. "Tell me, 
 for I do not know ; it has all come so soon ! You 
 are wiser ; do not deceive me ; you understand, and I 
 do not. Philip, do not let me deceive myself." 
 
 "As the judgment of life is before us, I believe 
 you love me, Guida, though I don't deserve it," he 
 answered with tender seriousness. 
 
 " And it is right that you should love me ; that we 
 should love each other, Philip?" 
 
 " It will be right soon," he said, " right forever. 
 Guida mine, I want you to marry me." 
 
 His arm tightened round her waist, as though he 
 half feared she would fly from him. He was right ; 
 she made a motion backward, but he held her firmly, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " Marry marry you, Philip ! " she exclaimed in 
 trembling dismay. 
 
 " Marry yes, marry me, Guida. That will make 
 all right ; that will bind us together forever. Have 
 you never thought of that ? " 
 
 " Oh, never, never ! " she answered. It was true, 
 she had never thought of that ; there had not been 
 time. Too much had come all at once. " Why 
 should I ? I cannot cannot. Oh, it could not be,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 133 
 
 not at least for a long, long time, not for years and 
 years, Philip." 
 
 " Guida," he answered gravely and persistently, " I 
 want you to marry me to-morrow." 
 
 She was overwhelmed. She could scarcely speak. 
 " To-morrow to-morrow, Philip ! You are laughing 
 at me. I could not how could I marry you to- 
 morrow ! " 
 
 " Guida, dearest," he took her hands more tightly 
 now, " you must indeed. The day after to-morrow 
 my ship is going to Portsmouth for two months. 
 Then we return again here, but I will not go now 
 unless I go as your husband." 
 
 " Oh, no, I could not it is impossible, Philip ! It 
 is madness, it is wrong ! My grandfather " 
 
 "Your grandfather need not know, sweetheart." 
 
 " How can you say such wicked things, Philip ? " 
 
 " My dearest, it is not necessary for him to know. 
 I don't want any one to know until I come back from 
 Portsmouth. Then I shall have a ship of my own 
 commander of the Araminta I shall be then. I have 
 word from the Admiralty to that effect. But I dare 
 not let them know that I am married until I get com- 
 missioned to my ship. The Admiralty has set its 
 face against lieutenants marrying." 
 
 " Then do not marry, Philip. You ought not, you 
 see." 
 
 Her pleading was like the beating of helpless wings 
 against the bars of a golden cage. 
 
 " But I must marry you, Guida. A sailor's life is 
 uncertain, and what I want I want now. When I 
 come back from Portsmouth every one shall know, 
 but if you love me and I know you do you must 
 marry me to-morrow. Until I come back no one
 
 134 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 shall know about it except the clergyman, Mr. Dow, 
 of St. Michael's, I have seen him, and Shoreham, 
 a brother officer of mine. Ah, you must, Guida, you 
 must ! Whatever is worth doing is better worth 
 doing in the time one's own heart says. I want it 
 more, a thousand times more, than I ever wanted 
 anything in my life ! " 
 
 She looked at him in a troubled sort of way. Some- 
 how she felt wiser than he at that moment, wiser and 
 stronger, though she scarcely denned the feeling to 
 herself, though she knew that in the end her brain 
 would yield to her heart in this. 
 
 "Would it make you so much happier, Philip?" 
 she said more kindly than joyfully, more in grave 
 acquiescence than delighted belief. 
 
 " Yes, on my honor, supremely happy ! " 
 
 " You are afraid that otherwise by some chance 
 you might lose me?" She said it tenderly, yet 
 with a little pain. 
 
 " Yes, yes, that is it, Guida dearest ! " he replied. 
 
 "I suppose women are different altogether from 
 men," she answered. " I could have waited ever so 
 long, believing that you would come again, and that I 
 should never lose you. But men are different ; I see, 
 yes, I see that, Philip." 
 
 " We are more impetuous. We know, we sailors, 
 that now to-day is our time ; that to-morrow may 
 be Fate's, and Fate is a fickle jade : she beckons you 
 up with one hand to-day, and waves you down with 
 the other to-morrow." 
 
 "Philip," she said, scarcely above a whisper, and 
 putting her hands on his arms, as her head sank 
 towards him, " I must be honest with you, I must 
 be that or nothing at all. I do not feel as you do
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 135 
 
 about it ; I can't. I would much much rather 
 everybody knew. And I feel it almost wrong that 
 they do not." 
 
 She paused a minute, her brow clouded slightly, 
 then cleared again, and she went on bravely : " Philip, 
 if if I should, you must promise me that you will 
 leave me as soon as ever we are married, and that you 
 will not try to see me until you come again from 
 Portsmouth. I am sure that is right, for the decep- 
 tion will not be so great. I should be better able 
 then to tell the poor grandpethe ! Will you promise 
 me, Philip dear ? It it is so hard for me ! Ah, 
 cant you understand ! " 
 
 This hopeless everlasting cry of a woman's soul ! 
 
 He clasped her close. " Yes, Guida, my beloved, I 
 understand, and I promise you, I do promise you." 
 
 Her head dropped on his breast, her arms ran 
 round his neck. He raised her face ; her eyes were 
 closed ; they were dropping tears. He tenderly 
 kissed the tears away.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 " Oh, give to me my gui-1'annee, 
 
 I pray you, Monseigneur ; 
 The king's princess doth ride to-day, 
 
 And I ride forth with her. 
 Oh ! I will ride the maid beside 
 
 Till we come to the sea, 
 Till my good ship receive my bride, 
 
 And she sail far with me. 
 Oh, donnez-moi ma gui-F annee , 
 
 Monseigneur >je vous prie ! " 
 
 THE singer was perched on a huge broad stone, 
 which, lying athwart other tall perpendicular 
 stones, made a kind of hut, approached by a pathway 
 of upright narrow pillars, irregular and crude. Vast 
 must have been the labor of man's hands to lift the 
 massive table of rock upon the supporting shafts, 
 relics of an age when they were the only architecture, 
 the only national monuments ; when savage ancestors 
 in lion skins, with stone weapons, led by white-robed 
 Druid priests, came solemnly here and left the mistle- 
 toe wreath upon these Houses of Death for their 
 adored warriors. 
 
 Even the words sung by Shoreham on the rock 
 carried on the ancient story, the sacred legend that 
 he who wore in his breast this mistletoe got from the 
 Druids' altar, bearing his bride forth by sea or land, 
 should suffer no mischance ; and for the bride herself, 
 the morgen-gifn should fail not, but should attest 
 richly the perfect bliss of the nuptial hours.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 137 
 
 The light was almost gone from the day, though 
 the last crimson petals had scarce dropped from the 
 rose of sunset. Upon the sea beneath there was not 
 a ripple it was a lake of molten silver, shading into 
 a leaden silence far away. The tide was high, and 
 the ragged rocks of the Bane des Violets in the south 
 and the Corbiere in the west were all but hidden. 
 
 Below the mound where the tuneful youth loitered 
 was a path, leading down through the fields and into 
 the highway. In this path walked lingeringly a man 
 and a maid. Despite the peaceful, almost dormant 
 life about them, the great event of their lives had just 
 occurred, that which is at once a vast adventure and 
 a simple testament of nature : they had been joined 
 in marriage privately in the parish church of St. 
 Michael's near by. As Shoreham's voice came down 
 the cotil, the two looked up, then passed on out of view. 
 
 But still the voice followed them, and the man 
 looked down at the maid repeating the refrain of the 
 song, 
 
 Oh, give to me my gui-1'annee, 
 
 Monseigneur,je vous prie ! " 
 
 The maid looked up at the man tenderly, almost 
 devoutly. 
 
 "I have no Druid's mistletoe from the Chapel of 
 St. George, but I will give you, stoop down, Philip," 
 she added softly, "I will give you the first kiss I 
 have ever given to any man." 
 
 He stooped. She kissed him on the forehead, then 
 upon the lips. 
 
 " Guida, my wife ! " Philip said, and drew her to 
 his breast. 
 
 " My Philip ! " she answered softly. 
 
 " Won't you say, ' Philip, my husband ? ' '
 
 138 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 She shyly did as he asked in a voice no louder than 
 a bee's. She was only seventeen. 
 
 Presently she looked up at him with a look a little 
 abashed, a little anxious, yet tender withal. 
 
 "Philip," she said, "I wonder what we will think of 
 this day a year from now ah, don't frown, Philip," 
 she added ; " you look at things so differently from 
 me. To-day is everything to you ; to-morrow is very 
 much to me. It is n't that I am afraid, it is that 
 thoughts of possibilities will come whether or no. If 
 I could n't tell you everything I feel I should be most 
 unhappy. You see, I want to be able to do that, to 
 tell you everything." 
 
 " Of course, of course," he said, not quite compre- 
 hending her, for his thoughts were always more mate- 
 rial. He was reveling in the beauty of the girl be- 
 fore him, in her perfect outward self, in her unique 
 personality. The more subtle, the deeper part of her, 
 the searching soul never to be content with superfi- 
 cial reasons and the obvious cause, these he did not 
 know was he ever to know? It was the law of 
 her nature that she was never to deceive herself, to 
 pretend anything, nor to forgive pretense. To see 
 things, to look beyond the Hedge, that was to be a 
 passion with her ; already it was nearly that. 
 
 "Of course," Philip continued, "you must tell me 
 everything, and I '11 understand. And as for what we '11 
 think of this in another year, why, does n't it hold to 
 reason that we '11 think it the best day of our lives 
 as it is, Guida ! " He smiled at her, and touched her 
 shining hair. " Evil can't come out of good, can it ? 
 And this is good, as good as anything in the world 
 can be ! ... There, look into my eyes that way 
 just that way."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 139 
 
 "Are you happy very, very happy, Philip ?" she 
 asked, lingering on the words. 
 
 " Perfectly happy, Guida," he answered ; and in 
 truth he seemed so, his eyes were so bright, his face 
 .so eloquent, his bearing so buoyant. 
 
 " And you think we have done quite right, Philip ? " 
 she urged. 
 
 " Of course, of course we have. We are honorably 
 disposing of our own fates. We love each other, we 
 are married as surely as others are married. Where 
 is the wrong ? We have told no one, simply because 
 for a couple of months it is best not to do so. The 
 parson would n't have married us if there 'd been any- 
 thing wrong." 
 
 " Oh, it is n't what the clergyman might think that 
 I mean ; it 's what we ourselves think down, down deep 
 in our hearts. If you, Philip if you say it is all 
 right, I will believe that it is right, for you would 
 never want your wife to have one single wrong thing 
 like a dark spot on her life with you, would you ? If 
 it is all right to you, it must be all right for me, don't 
 you see ? " 
 
 He did see that, and it made him grave for an in- 
 stant, it made him not quite so sure. 
 
 " If your mother were alive," he answered, " of 
 course she should have known ; but it is n't necessary 
 for your grandfather to know. He talks ; he could n't 
 keep it to himself even for a month. But we have 
 been regularly married, we have a witness Shore- 
 ham over there," he pointed towards the Druid's 
 cromlech where the young man was perched, "and 
 it only concerns us now only you and me." 
 
 " Yet if anything happened to you during the next 
 two months, Philip, and you did not come back ! "
 
 140 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " My dearest, dearest Guida," he answered, taking 
 her hands in his, and laughing boyishly, " in that case 
 you will announce the marriage. Shoreham and the 
 clergyman are witnesses ; besides, there 's the certifi- 
 cate which Mr. Dow will give you to-morrow; and, 
 above all, there 's the formal record on the parish 
 register. There, sweetest interrogation mark in the 
 world, there is the law and the gospel ! Come, come, 
 let us be gay, let this be the happiest hour we Ve yet 
 had in all our lives." 
 
 "How can I be altogether gay, Philip, when we 
 part now, and I shall not see you for two whole long 
 months ? " 
 
 " May n't I come for just a minute to-morrow morn- 
 ing, before I go ? " 
 
 " No, no, no, you must not, indeed you must not ! 
 Remember your promise ; remember that you are not 
 to see me again until you come back from Ports- 
 mouth. Even this is not quite what we agreed, for 
 you are still with me, and we Ve been married nearly 
 half an hour ! " 
 
 " Perhaps we were married a thousand years ago 
 I don't know ! " he answered, drawing her to him. 
 " It 's all a magnificent dream so far." 
 
 " You must go, you must keep your word. Don't 
 break the first promise you ever made me, Philip." 
 
 She did not say it very reproachfully, for his look 
 was ardent and worshipful, and she could not be even 
 a little austere in her new joy. 
 
 " I am going," he answered. " We will go back to 
 the town, I by the road, you by the shore, so no one 
 will see us, and " 
 
 " Philip," said Guida suddenly, " is it quite the same 
 being married without banns ? "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 141 
 
 His laugh had again a youthful ring of delight. 
 " Of course, just the same, my doubting fay," said he. 
 " Don't be frightened about anything. Now promise 
 me that will you promise me ? " 
 
 She looked at him a moment steadily, her eyes 
 lingering on his face with great tenderness, and then 
 she said : 
 
 " Yes, Philip, I will not trouble nor question any 
 longer. I will only believe that everything is all 
 right. Say good-by to me, Philip. I am happy now, 
 but if if you stay any longer ah, please, please 
 go, Philip ! " 
 
 A moment afterwards Philip and Shoreham were 
 entering the high road, waving their handkerchiefs to 
 her as they went. 
 
 She had gone back to the Druid's cromlech where 
 Philip's friend had sat, and with smiling lips and 
 swimming eyes she watched the young men until 
 they were lost to view. 
 
 Her eyes wandered over the sea. How immense 
 it was, how mysterious, how it begot in one feelings 
 both of love and of awe ! At this moment she was 
 not in sympathy with its wonderful calm. There had 
 been times when she seemed of it, part of it, absorbed 
 by it, till it flowed over her soul and wrapped her in 
 a deep content. Now all was different. Mystery 
 and the million happenings of life lay hidden in that 
 far silver haze. On the brink of such a sea her mind 
 seemed to be hovering now. Nothing was defined, 
 nothing was clear. She was too agitated to think ; 
 life, being, was one wide, vague sensation, partly de- 
 light, partly trepidation. Everything had a bright 
 tremulousness. This mystfery was no dark cloud, it 
 was a shaking, glittering mist, and yet there rose
 
 142 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 from it an air which made her pulse beat hard, her 
 breath come with joyous lightness. She was growing 
 to a new consciousness ; a new glass, through which 
 to see life, was quickly being adjusted to her inner 
 sight. 
 
 Many a time, with her mother, she had sat upon 
 the shore at St. Aubin's Bay, and looked out where 
 white sails fluttered like the wings of restless doves. 
 Nearer, maybe just beneath her, there had risen the 
 keen singing of the saw, and she could see the white 
 flash of the adze as it shaped the beams ; the skeleton 
 of a noble ship being covered with its flesh of wood, 
 and veined with iron ; the tall masts quivering to 
 their places as the workmen hauled at the pulleys, 
 singing snatches of patois rhymes. She had seen 
 more than one ship launched, and a strange shiver of 
 pleasure and of pain had gone through her; for as 
 the water caught the graceful figure of the vessel, 
 and the wind bellied out the sails, it seemed to her 
 as if some ship of her own hopes were going out 
 between the reefs to the open sea. What would her 
 ship bring back again to her ? Or would anything 
 ever come back ? 
 
 The books of adventure, poetry, history, and myth- 
 ology she had read with her mother had quickened 
 her mind, sharpened her intuition, had made her tem- 
 perament still more sensitive and her heart less 
 peaceful. In her was almost every note of human 
 feeling : home and duty, song and gayety, daring and 
 neighborly kindness, love of sky and sea and air and 
 orchards, of the good-smelling earth and wholesome 
 animal life, and all the incidents, tragic, comic, or 
 commonplace, of human existence. 
 
 How wonderful love was, she thought ! How won-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 143 
 
 derful that so many millions who had loved had come 
 and gone, and yet of all they felt they had spoken no 
 word that laid bare the exact feeling to her or to any 
 other. The barbarians who raised these very stones 
 she sat on, they had loved and hated, and everything 
 they had dared or suffered was recorded but where ? 
 And who could know exactly what they felt ? 
 
 She realized the almost keenest pain of life, that 
 universal agony, the trying to speak, to reveal ; and 
 the proof, the hourly proof even the wisest and most 
 gifted have, that what they feel they can never quite 
 express, by sound, or by color, or by the graven stone, 
 or by the spoken word. . . . But life was good, ah 
 yes ! and all that might be revealed to her she would 
 pray for ; and Philip her Philip would help her 
 to the revelation. 
 
 Her Philip ! Her heart gave a great throb, for the 
 knowledge that she was a wife came home to her with 
 a pleasant shock. Her name was no longer Guida 
 Landresse de Landresse, but Guida d'Avranche. She 
 had gone from one tribe to another, she had been 
 adopted, changed. A new life was begun. 
 
 She rose, slowly made her way down to the sea, 
 and proceeded along the sands and shore-paths to the 
 town. 
 
 Presently a large vessel, with new sails, beautiful 
 white hull, and gracious form, came slowly round a 
 point. She shaded her eyes to look at it. 
 
 " Why, it 's the boat Maitre Ranulph was to launch 
 to-day," she said. Then she stopped suddenly. " Poor 
 Ranulph ! poor Ro ! " she added gently. She knew 
 that he cared for her loved her. Where had he been 
 these weeks past ? She had not seen him once since 
 that great day when they had visited the Ecrehos.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE house of Elie Mattingley the smuggler stood 
 in the Rue d'Egypte, not far east of the Vier 
 Prison. It had belonged to a jurat of repute, who 
 parted with it to Mattingley not long before he died. 
 There was no doubt as to the validity of the transfer, 
 for the deed was duly registered au greffe, and it said, 
 " In consideration of one livre turnois," etc. Possibly 
 it was a libel against the departed jurat that he and 
 Mattingley had had dealings unrecognized by customs 
 law, crystallizing at last into this legacy to the famous 
 pirate-smuggler. 
 
 Unlike any other in the street, this house had a 
 high stone wall in front, inclosing a small square 
 paved with flat stones. In one corner was an ivy- 
 covered well, with an antique iron gate, and the bucket, 
 hanging on a hook inside the fern-grown hood, was an 
 old wine-keg appropriate emblem for a smuggler's 
 house. In one corner, girdled by about five square 
 feet of green earth, grew a pear-tree, bearing large 
 juicy pears, reserved for the use of a distinguished 
 lodger, the Chevalier du Champsavoys de Beau- 
 manoir. 
 
 In the summer the Chevalier always had his break- 
 fast under this tree. Occasionally one other person 
 breakfasted with him, even Savary dit Detricand, 
 whom, however, he met less frequently than many peo- 
 ple of the town, though they lived in the same house.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 145 
 
 Detricand was but a fitful lodger, absent at times for 
 a month or so, and running up bills for food and wine, 
 of which payment was never summarily demanded by 
 Mattingley, for some day or other he always paid. 
 When he did, he never questioned the bill, and, what 
 was most important, whether he was sober or " warm 
 as a thrush," he always treated Carterette with re- 
 spect, though she was not unsparing with her tongue 
 under slight temptation. 
 
 Despite their differences and the girl's tempers, 
 when the day came for Detricand to leave for France, 
 Carterette was unhappy. Several things had come 
 at once : his going, on whom should she lavish her 
 good advice and biting candor now ? yesterday's 
 business in the Vier Marchi with Olivier Delagarde, 
 and the bitter change in Ranulph. Sorrowful reflec- 
 tions and as sorrowful curiosity devoured her. 
 
 All day she tortured herself. The late afternoon 
 came, and she could bear it no longer, she would 
 visit Guida. She was about to start, when the door 
 in the garden wall opened and Olivier Delagarde 
 entered. As he doffed his hat to her she thought 
 she had never seen anything more beautiful than the 
 smooth forehead, white hair, and long beard of the 
 returned patriot. That was the first impression ; but 
 a closer scrutiny detected the furtive, watery eye, 
 the unwholesome, drooping mouth, the vicious 
 teeth, blackened and irregular. There was, too, 
 something sinister in the yellow stockings, luridly 
 contrasting with the black knickerbockers and rusty 
 blue coat. 
 
 At first Carterette was inclined to run towards the 
 prophet-like figure, it was Ranulph's father; next 
 she drew back with dislike, his smile was leering
 
 146 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 malice under the guise of amiable mirth. But he was 
 old, and he looked feeble, so her mind instantly 
 changed again, and she offered him a seat on a bench 
 beside the arched doorway with the superscrip- 
 tion : 
 
 " Nor Poverty nor Riches, but Daily Bread 
 Under Mine Own Fig Tree." 
 
 After the custom of the country, Carterette at 
 once offered him refreshment, and brought him 
 brandy, good old brandy was always to be got at 
 the house of Elie Mattingley ! As he drank she no- 
 ticed a peculiar, uncanny twitching of the fingers and 
 eyelids. The old man's eyes were continually shift- 
 ing from place to place. He asked Carterette many 
 questions. He had known the house years before, 
 did the deep stream still run beneath it ? Was the 
 round hole still in the floor of the back room, from 
 which water used to be drawn in old days ? Carter- 
 ette replied that it was M. Detricand's bedroom now, 
 and you could plainly hear the stream running be- 
 neath the house. Did not the noise of the water 
 worry poor M. Detricand then ? And so it still went 
 straight on to the sea, and, of course, much swifter 
 after such a heavy rain as they had had the day 
 before ! 
 
 Carterette took him into every room in the house 
 save her own and the Chevalier's. In the kitchen 
 and in Detricand's bedroom Olivier Delagarde's eyes 
 were very busy. He saw that the kitchen opened on 
 the garden, which had a gate in the rear wall. He 
 also saw that the lozenge-paned windows swung like 
 doors, and were not securely fastened ; and he tried 
 the trap-door in Detricand's bedroom to see the 
 water flowing beneath, just as it did when he was
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 147 
 
 young Yes, there it was running swiftly away to 
 the sea ! Then he babbled all the way to the door 
 that led into the street ; for now he would stay no 
 longer. 
 
 When he had gone, Carterette sat wondering why 
 it was that Ranulph's father should inspire her with 
 such dislike. She knew that at this moment no man 
 in Jersey was so popular as Olivier Delagarde. The 
 longer she thought the more puzzled she became. 
 No sooner had she got one theory than another forced 
 her to move on. In the language of her people, she 
 did not know on which foot to dance. 
 
 As she sat and thought, Detricand entered, loaded 
 with parcels and bundles. These were mostly gifts 
 for her father and herself ; and for du Champsavoys 
 there was a fine delft shaving-dish, shaped like a 
 quarter-moon to fit the neck. They were distributed, 
 and by the time supper was over it was quite dark. 
 Then Detricand said his farewells, for it was ten 
 o'clock, and he must be away at three, when his boat 
 was to steal across to Brittany, and land him near to 
 the outposts of the Royalist army under de la Roche- 
 jaquelein. There were letters to write, and packing 
 yet to do. He set to work gayly. 
 
 At last everything was done, and he was stooping 
 over a bag to fasten it. The candle was in the win- 
 dow. Suddenly a hand a long, skinny hand 
 reached softly out from behind a large press, and 
 swallowed and crushed out the flame. Detricand 
 raised his head quickly, astonished. There was no 
 wind blowing, the candle had not even flickered 
 when burning. But then, again, he had not heard a 
 sound ; perhaps that was because his foot was scraping 
 the floor at the moment the light went out. He
 
 148 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 looked out of the window, but there was only star- 
 light, and he could not see distinctly. Turning round 
 he went to the door of the outer hallway, opened it, 
 and stepped into the garden. As he did so, a figure 
 slipped from behind the press in the bedroom, swiftly 
 raised the trap-door in the flooring, then, shadowed 
 by the door leading into the hallway, waited for him. 
 
 Presently his footstep was heard. He entered the 
 hall, stood in the doorway of the bedroom for a mo- 
 ment, while he searched in his pockets for a light, 
 then stepped inside. 
 
 Suddenly his attention was arrested. There was 
 the sound of flowing water beneath his feet. This 
 could always be heard in his room, but now how loud 
 it was ! Realizing that the trap-door must be open, 
 he listened for a second and was instantly conscious 
 of some one in the room. He made a step towards 
 the door, but it suddenly closed softly. He moved 
 swiftly to the window, for the presence was near the 
 door. 
 
 What did it mean ? Who was it ? Was there one, 
 or more ? Was murder intended ? The silence, the 
 weirdness, stopped his tongue ; besides, what was the 
 good of crying out ! Whatever was to happen would 
 happen at once. He struck a light, and held it up. 
 As he did so some one or something rushed at him. 
 What a fool he had been the light had revealed his 
 position. But at the same moment came the instinct 
 to throw himself to one side ; which he did as the 
 rush came. In that one flash he had seen a man's 
 white beard. 
 
 Next instant there was a sharp sting in his right 
 shoulder. The knife had missed his breast, the 
 sudden swerving had saved him. Even as it struck,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 149 
 
 he threw himself on his assailant. Then came a 
 struggle. The long fingers of the man with the white 
 beard clove to the knife like a dead soldier's to the 
 handle of a sword. Twice Detricand' s hand was 
 gashed slightly, and then he pinioned the wrist of his 
 enemy, and tripped him up. The miscreant fell half 
 across the opening in the floor. One foot, hanging 
 down, almost touched the running water. 
 
 Detricand had his foe at his mercy. There was the 
 first inclination to drop him into the stream, but that 
 was put away as quickly as it came. He gave the 
 wretch a sudden twist, pulling him clear of the hole, 
 and wrenched the knife from his fingers at the same 
 moment. 
 
 "Now, monsieur," said he, feeling for a light, "now 
 we '11 have a look at you." 
 
 The figure lay quiet beneath him. The nervous 
 strength was gone, the body was limp, the breathing 
 was labored. The light flared. Detricand held it 
 down, and there was revealed the haggard, malicious 
 face of Olivier Delagarde. 
 
 "So, monsieur the traitor," said Detricand, "so 
 you 'd be a murderer too eh ? " 
 
 The old man mumbled an oath. 
 
 "Hand of the devil," continued Detricand, "was 
 there ever a greater beast than you ! I held my 
 tongue about you these eleven years past, I held it 
 yesterday and saved your paltry life, and you 'd repay 
 me by stabbing me in the dark, in a fine old-fash- 
 ioned way, too, with your trap-doors, and blown-out 
 candle, and Italian tricks " 
 
 He held the candle down near the white beard as 
 though he would singe it. " Come, sit up against the 
 wall there and let me look at you."
 
 ISO THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Cringing, the old man drew himself over to the 
 wall. Detricand, seating himself in a chair, held the 
 candle up before him. 
 
 After a moment he said, " What I want to know 
 is, how could a low-flying cormorant like you beget a 
 gull of the cliffs like Maitre Ranulph ?" 
 
 The old man did not answer, but sat blinking with 
 malignant yet fearful eyes at Detricand, who contin- 
 ued : 
 
 " What did you come back for ? Why did n't you 
 stay dead ? Ranulph had a name as clean as a piece 
 of paper from the mill, and he can't write it now 
 without turning sick, because it 's the same name as 
 yours. You 're the choice blackamoor of creation, 
 are n't you ! Now what have you got to say ? " 
 
 " Let me go," whined the old man with the white 
 beard. " Let me go, monsieur. Don't send me to 
 prison." 
 
 Detricand stirred him with his foot, as one might a 
 pile of dirt. 
 
 " Listen," said he. " In the Vier Marchi they 're 
 cutting off the ear of a man and nailing it to a post, 
 because he ill-used a cow ! What do you suppose 
 they 'd do to you, if I took you down there and told 
 them it was through you Rullecour landed, and that 
 you 'd have seen them all murdered, eh, maitre cor- 
 morant ? " 
 
 The old man crawled towards Detricand on his 
 knees. " Let me go, let me go," he whined. " I was 
 mad ; I did n't know what I was doing ; I Ve not 
 been right in the head since I was in the Guiana 
 prison." 
 
 At that moment it struck Detricand that the old 
 man must have had some awful experience in prison.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 151 
 
 for now his eyes had the most painful terror, the most 
 abject fear. He had never seen so craven a sight. 
 
 " What were you in prison for in Guiana, and what 
 did they do to you there ? " asked Detricand sternly. 
 
 Again the old man shivered horribly, and tears 
 streamed down his cheeks, as he whined piteously, 
 
 " Oh no, no, no ! For the mercy of Christ, no ! " 
 He threw up his hands as if to ward off a blow. 
 
 Detricand saw that this was not acting, that it was 
 a supreme terror, an awful momentary aberration ; for 
 the traitor's eyes were wildly staring, the mouth was 
 drawn in agony, the hands were now rigidly -clutching 
 an imaginary something, the body stiffened where it 
 crouched. 
 
 Detricand understood now. The old man had been 
 tied to a triangle and whipped, how horribly who 
 might know ? His mood towards the miserable crea- 
 ture changed ; he spoke to him in a firm, quiet tone. 
 
 " There, there, you 're not going to be hurt. Be 
 quiet now, and you shall not be touched." 
 
 Then he stooped over, and quickly undoing the old 
 man's waistcoat, he pulled down the coat and shirt 
 and looked at his back. As far as he could see it 
 was scarred as though by a red-hot iron, and the 
 healed welts were like whipcords on the shriveled 
 skin. The old man whimpered yet, but he was grow- 
 ing quieter. Detricand lifted him up, and, button- 
 ing the shirt and straightening the coat again, he 
 said : 
 
 " Now, you 're to go home and sleep the sleep of 
 the unjust, and you 're to keep the sixth command- 
 ment, and you 're to tell no more lies; You Ve made 
 a shameful mess of your son's life, and you 're to die 
 now as soon as you can without attracting notice.
 
 152 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 You 're to pray for an accident to take you out of the 
 world : a wind to blow you over a cliff, a roof to fall 
 on you, a boat to go down with you, a hole in the 
 ground to swallow you up, a fever or a plague to end 
 you in a day ! " 
 
 He opened the door to let him go ; but suddenly 
 catching his arms held him in a close grip. " Hark ! " 
 he said in a mysterious whisper. 
 
 There was only the weird sound of the running 
 water through the open trap-door of the floor. He 
 knew how superstitious was every Jersey man, from 
 highest to lowest, and he would work upon that weak- 
 ness now. 
 
 " You hear that water running to the sea ? " he said 
 solemnly. " You tried to kill and drown me to-night. 
 You 've heard how when one man has drowned another 
 an invisible stream follows the murderer wherever he 
 goes, and he hears it, hour after hour, month after 
 month, year after year, until suddenly one day it 
 comes on him in a huge flood, and he is found, whether 
 in the road, or in his bed, or at the table, or in the 
 field, drowned, and dead ! " 
 
 The old man shivered violently. 
 
 " You know Manon Moignard, the witch ? Well, if 
 you don't do what I say and I shall find out, mind 
 you she shall bewitch the flood on you. Be still ! 
 . . . listen ! That 's the sound you '11 hear every day 
 of your life, if you break the promise you 've got to 
 make to me now." 
 
 He spoke the promise with ghostly deliberation, 
 and the old man, all the desperado gone out of him, 
 repeated it in a husky voice. Whereupon Detricand 
 led him into the garden, saw him safe out on the 
 road, and watched him disappear. Then rubbing his
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 153 
 
 fingers, as though to rid them of pollution, with an 
 exclamation of disgust he went back to the house. 
 
 By another evening that is, at the hour when 
 Guida arrived home after her secret marriage with 
 Philip d'Avranche he saw the lights of the army 
 of de la Rochejaquelein in the valley of the Vendee.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE night and morning after Guida's marriage 
 came and went. The day drew on to the hour 
 fixed for the going of the Narcissus. Guida had 
 worked all forenoon with a feverish unrest, not trust- 
 ing herself, though the temptation was sore, to go 
 where she might see Philip's vessel lying in the tide- 
 way. She had resolved that only at the moment fixed 
 for sailing would she go to the shore ; yet from her 
 kitchen door she could see a wide acreage of blue 
 water and a perfect sky ; and out there was Noirmont 
 Point, round which her husband's ship would go, and 
 be lost to her vision thereafter. 
 
 The day wore on. She got her grandfather's din- 
 ner, saw him bestowed in the great armchair for his 
 afternoon sleep, and, when her household work was 
 done, settled herself at the spinning-wheel. 
 
 The old man loved to have her spin and sing as he 
 drowsed. To-day his eyes had followed her every- 
 where. He could not have told why it was, but some- 
 how all at once he seemed to deeply realize her, her 
 beauty, the joy of this innocent living intelligence 
 moving through his home. She had always been 
 necessary to him, but he had taken her presence as a 
 matter of course. She had always been to him the 
 most wonderful child ever given to comfort an old 
 man's life, but now as he abstractedly took a pinch of 
 snuff from the silver box and then forgot to put it to
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 155 
 
 his nose, he seemed suddenly to get that clearness of 
 sight, that perspective, from which he could see her 
 as she really was. He took another pinch of snuff, 
 and again forgot to put it to his nose, but brushed im- 
 aginary dust from his coat, as was his wont, and whis- 
 pered to himself : 
 
 " Why now, why now, I had not thought she was 
 so much a woman. Flowers of the sea, but what 
 eyes, what carriage, and what an air ! I had not 
 thought h'm blind old bat that I am ! I had not 
 thought she was grown such a lady. It was only 
 yesterday, surely but yesterday, since I rocked her to 
 sleep. Frangois de Mauprat," he shook his head at 
 himself, " you are growing old. Let me see, why, 
 yes, she was born the day I sold the blue enameled 
 timepiece to his Highness, the Due de Mauban. The 
 Due was but putting the watch to his ear when a mes- 
 sage comes to say the child there is born. ' Good ! ' 
 says the Due de Mauban, when he hears. ' Give me the 
 honor, de Mauprat,' says he, 'for the sake of old days 
 in France, to offer a name to the brave innocent for 
 the sake of old associations,' says de Mauban. ' You 
 knew my wife, de Mauprat,' says he ; 'you knew the 
 Duchesse Guida, Guidabaldine. She 's been gone 
 these ten years, alas ! You were with me when we 
 were married, de Mauprat,' says the Due ; ' I should 
 care to return the compliment if you will allow me to 
 offer a name, eh ?' ' Due,' said I, 'there is no honor 
 I more desire for my grandchild.' 'Then let the name 
 of Guidabaldine be somewhere among others she will 
 carry, and and I '11 not forget her, de Mauprat, I '11 
 not forget her.' . . . Eh, eh, I wonder I wonder if 
 be has forgotten the little Guidabaldine there ? He 
 sent her a golden cup for the christening, but I won-
 
 156 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 der I wonder if he has forgotten her since ? So 
 quick of tongue, so bright of eye, so light of foot, so 
 sweet a face if one could but be always young ! 
 When her grandmother, my wife, my Julie, when she 
 was young ah ! she was fair, fairer than Guida, but 
 not so tall not quite so tall. Ah ! " . . . 
 
 He was slipping away into sleep when he realized 
 that Guida was singing : 
 
 " Spin, spin, belle Mergaton ! 
 
 The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, 
 And your wedding-gown you must put it on 
 Ere the night hath no moon in the sky 
 Gigoton Mergaton, spin ! " 
 
 " I had never thought she was so much a woman," 
 he said drowsily ; "I I wonder why I never 
 noticed it." 
 
 He roused himself again, brushed imaginary snuff 
 from his coat, keeping time with his foot to the wheel 
 as it went round. 
 
 "I I suppose she will wed soon. ... I had 
 forgotten. But she must marry well, she must marry 
 well she is the godchild of the Due de Mauban. 
 How the wheel goes round! I used to hear her 
 mother sing that song, 'Gigoton, Mergaton spin 
 spin spin.' ' 
 
 He was asleep. 
 
 Guida put by the wheel, and left the house. Pass- 
 ing through the Rue des Sablons, she came to the 
 shore. It was high tide. This was the time that 
 Philip's ship was to go. She had dressed herself with 
 as much care as to what might please his eye as 
 though she were going to meet him in person. Not 
 without reason, for, though she could not see him
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 157 
 
 from the land, she knew he could see her plainly 
 through his telescope, if he chose. 
 
 She reached the shore. The time had come for 
 him to go, but there was his ship at anchor in the 
 tideway still. Perhaps the Narcissus was not going ; 
 perhaps, after all, Philip was to remain ! She laughed 
 with pleasure at the thought of that. Her eyes wan- 
 dered lovingly over the ship which was her husband's 
 home upon the sea. Just such another vessel Philip 
 would command. At a word from him those guns, 
 like long, black, threatening arms thrust out, would 
 strike for England with thunder and fire. 
 
 A bugle-call came across the still water, clear, 
 vibrant, and compelling. It represented power. 
 Power, that was what Philip, with his ship, would 
 stand for in the name of England. Danger, oh yes, 
 there would be danger, but Heaven would be good to 
 her ; Philip should go safe through storm and war, 
 and some day great honors would be done him. He 
 should be an admiral, and more perhaps ; he had said 
 so. He was going to do it as much for her as for 
 himself, and when he had done it, to be proud of it 
 more for her than for himself ; he had said so : she 
 believed in him utterly. Since that day upon the 
 Ecrehos it had never occurred to her not to believe 
 him. Where she gave her faith she gave it wholly ; 
 where she withdrew it 
 
 The bugle-call sounded again. Perhaps that was 
 the signal to set sail. No, a boat was putting out 
 from the Narcissus ! It was coming landward. As 
 she watched its approach she heard a chorus of 
 boisterous voices behind her. She turned and saw 
 nearing the shore from the Rue d'Egypte a half 
 dozen sailors, singing cheerily :
 
 158 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Get you on, get you on, get you on, 
 
 Get you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome ; 
 Leave your lasses, leave your beer, 
 For the bugle what you 'ear 
 
 Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome 
 'Ome, 'ome, 'ome 
 
 Pipes you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome." 
 
 Guida drew near. 
 
 " TKe Narcissus is not leaving to-day ? " she asked 
 of the foremost sailor. 
 
 The man touched his cap. " Not to-day, lady." 
 
 " When does she leave ? " 
 
 " Well, that 's more nor I can say, lady, but the 
 cap'n of the maintop, yander, 'e knows." 
 
 She approached the captain of the maintop. 
 
 " When does the Narcissus leave ? " she asked. 
 
 He looked her up and down, at first glance with 
 something like boldness, but instantly he touched 
 his hat. 
 
 " To-morrow, mistress, she leaves at 'igh tide to- 
 morrow." 
 
 With an eye for a fee or a bribe, he drew a little 
 away from the others, and said to her in a low tone : 
 
 " Is there anything what I could do for you, mis- 
 tress ? P'r'aps you wanted some word carried aboard, 
 lady ? " 
 
 She hesitated an instant, then said : 
 
 " No no, thank you." 
 
 He still waited, however, rubbing his hand on his 
 hip with mock bashfulness. There was an instant's 
 pause, then she divined his meaning. 
 
 She took from her pocket a shilling. She had 
 never given away so much money in her life before, 
 but she seemed to feel instinctively that now she 
 must give freely now that she was the wife of an
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 159 
 
 officer of the navy. Strange how these sailors to-day 
 seemed so different to her from ever before ; she 
 felt as if they all belonged to her ! She offered the 
 shilling to the captain of the maintop. His eyes 
 gloated, but he said with an affected surprise : 
 
 " Oh, I could n't think of it, yer leddyship." 
 
 " Ah ! but you will take it," she said. "I I have 
 a r-relative " she hesitated at the word "in the 
 navy." 
 
 " 'Ave you now, yer leddyship ? " he said. " Well, 
 then, I 'm proud to 'ave the shilling to drink 'is 'ealth, 
 yer leddyship." 
 
 He touched his hat, and was about to turn away. 
 
 " Stay a little," she said with bashful boldness. The 
 joy of giving was rapidly growing to a vice. " Here 's 
 something for them," she added, nodding towards his 
 fellows, and a second shilling came from her pocket. 
 
 "Just as you say, yer leddyship," he said with 
 owlish gravity ; " but for my part I think they Ve 'ad 
 enough. I don't 'old with temptin' the weak passions 
 of man." 
 
 A moment afterwards the sailors were in the boat, 
 rowing towards the Narcissus. Their song came back 
 across the water : 
 
 " . . . O you A. B. sailor-man, 
 Wet your whistle while you can, 
 
 For the piping of the bugle calls you 'ome ! 
 'Ome 'ome 'ome, 
 
 Calls you on to your fo'c'stle 'ome ! " 
 
 The evening came down, and Guida sat in the 
 kitchen doorway looking out over the sea, and won- 
 dering why Philip had sent her no message. Of 
 course he would not come himself, he must not : he 
 had promised her. But how much she would have
 
 160 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 liked to see him for just one minute, to feel his arms 
 about her, to hear him say good-by once more. Yet 
 she loved him the better for not coming. 
 
 By and by she became very restless. She would 
 have been almost happier if he had gone that day : 
 he was within call of her, still they were not to see 
 each other. She walked up and down the garden, 
 Biribi, the dog, by her side. Sitting down on the bench 
 beneath the apple-tree, she recalled every word that 
 Philip had said to her two days before. Every tone 
 of his voice, every look he had given her, she went 
 over in her thoughts. There is no reporting in the 
 world so exact, so perfect, as that in a woman's mind, 
 of the words, looks, and acts of her lover in the first 
 days of mutual confession and understanding. 
 
 It can come but once, this dream, fantasy, illusion, 
 call it what you will : it belongs to the birth hour 
 of a new and powerful feeling ; it is the first sunrise 
 of the heart. What comes after may be the calmer 
 joy of a more truthful, a less ideal emotion, but the 
 transitory glory of the love and passion of youth shoots 
 higher than all other glories into the sky of time. 
 The splendor of youth is its madness, and the splen- 
 dor of that madness is its unconquerable belief. And 
 great is the strength of it, because violence alone can 
 destroy it. It does not yield to time nor to decay, 
 to the long wash of experience that wears away the 
 stone, nor to disintegration. It is always broken into 
 pieces at a blow. In the morning all is well, and ere 
 the evening come the radiant temple is in ruins. 
 
 At night when Guida went to bed she could not 
 sleep at first. Then came a drowsing, a floating be- 
 tween waking and sleeping, in which a hundred swift 
 images of her short past flashed through her mind.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 161 
 
 A butterfly darting in the white haze of a dusty 
 road, and the cap of the careless lad that struck it 
 down. . . . Berry-picking along the hedges beyond 
 the quarries of Mont Mado, and washing her hands 
 in the strange green pools at the bottom of the quar- 
 ries. . . . Stooping to a stream and saying of it to 
 a lad, " Ro, won't it never come back ? " . . . From 
 the front doorway watching a poor criminal shrink be- 
 neath the lash with which he was being flogged from 
 the Vier Marchi to the Vier Prison. . . . Seeing a 
 procession of bride and bridegroom, with young men 
 and women gay in ribbons and pretty cottons, calling 
 from house to house to receive the good wishes of 
 their friends, and drinking cinnamon wine and mulled 
 cider, the frolic, the gayety of it all Now, in a 
 room full of people, she was standing on a veille flour- 
 ished with posies of broom and wild flowers, and Philip 
 was there beside her, and he was holding her hand, 
 and they were waiting and waiting for some one 
 who never came. Nobody took any notice of her 
 and Philip, she thought ; they stood there waiting and 
 waiting, why, there was M. Savary dit Detricand 
 in the doorway, waving a handkerchief at her, and 
 saying, " I 've found it ! I 've found it ! " and she 
 awoke with a start ! 
 
 Her heart was beating hard, and for a moment she 
 was dazed ; but presently she went to sleep again, 
 and dreamed once more. 
 
 This time she was on a great warship, in a storm 
 which was driving towards a rocky shore. The sea 
 was washing over the deck. She recognized the 
 shore : it was the cliff at Plemont in the north of 
 Jersey, and behind the ship lay the awful Paternos- 
 ters. They were drifting, drifting on the wall of
 
 162 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 rock. High above on the land there was a solitary 
 stone hut. The ship came nearer and nearer. The 
 storm increased in strength. In the midst of the 
 violence she looked up and saw a man standing in 
 the doorway of the hut. He turned his face towards 
 her : it was Ranulph Delagarde, and he had a rope 
 in his hand. He saw her and called to her, making 
 ready to throw the rope, but suddenly some one 
 drew her back. She cried aloud, and then all grew 
 black. . . . 
 
 And then, again, she knew she was in a small, dark 
 cabin of the ship. She could hear the storm breaking 
 over the deck. Now the ship struck. She could feel 
 her grinding upon the rocks. She seemed to be sink- 
 ing, sinking There was a knocking, knocking at 
 the door of the cabin, and a voice calling to her, 
 how far away it seemed ! . . . Was she dying, was 
 she drowning? The words of a nursery rhyme rang 
 in her ears distinctly, keeping time to the knocking. 
 She wondered who should be singing a nursery rhyme 
 on a sinking ship : 
 
 " La mam morte, 
 La main morte, 
 Tapp 1 a laporte, 
 Tapp' a la ported 
 
 She shuddered. Why should the dead hand tap at 
 her door ! Yet there it was tapping louder, louder. 
 . . . She struggled, she tried to cry out, then suddenly 
 she grew quiet, and the tapping got fainter and fainter ; 
 her eyes opened : she was awake. 
 
 For an instant she did not know where she was. 
 Was it a dream still ? For there was a tapping, tap- 
 ping at her door no, it was at the window. A shiver
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 163 
 
 ran through her from head to foot. Her heart almost 
 stopped beating. Some one was calling to her. 
 
 "Guida! Guida!" 
 
 It was Philip's voice. Her cheek had been cold 
 the moment before ; now she felt the blood tingling 
 in her face. She slid to the floor, threw a shawl 
 round her, and went to the casement. 
 
 The tapping began again. For a moment she could 
 not open the window. She was trembling from head 
 to foot. Philip's voice reassured her a little. 
 
 " Guida, Guida, open the window a minute ! " 
 
 She hesitated. She could not no she could not 
 do it. He tapped still louder. 
 
 " Guida, don't you hear me ? " he asked. 
 
 She undid the catch, but she had hardly the cour- 
 age even yet. He heard her now, and pressed the 
 window a little. Then she opened it slowly, and her 
 white face showed. 
 
 "O Philip," she said breathlessly, "why have you 
 frightened me so ? " 
 
 He caught her hand in his own. " Come out into 
 the garden, sweetheart," he said, and he kissed the 
 hand. 
 
 " Put on a dress and your slippers and come," he 
 urged again. 
 
 " Philip," she said, " O Philip, I cannot ! It is too 
 late. It is midnight. Do not ask me. Oh, why did 
 you come ? " 
 
 " Because I wanted to speak with you for one 
 minute. I have only a little while. Please come out- 
 side and say good-by to me again. We are sailing 
 to-morrow ; there 's no doubt about it this time." 
 
 " O Philip," she answered, her voice quivering, 
 " how can I ? Say good-by to me here, now."
 
 164 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " No, no, Guida, you must come. I can't kiss you 
 good-by where you are." 
 
 " Must I come to you ? " she said helplessly. " Well 
 then, Philip," she added, "go to the bench by the 
 apple-tree, and I shall be there in a moment." 
 
 " Dearest ! " he exclaimed ardently. 
 
 She shut the window slowly. 
 
 For a moment he looked about him ; then went 
 lightly through the garden, and sat down on the 
 bench under the apple-tree, near to the summer-house. 
 At last he heard her footstep. He rose quickly to 
 meet her, and as she came timidly to him, clasped 
 her in his arms. 
 
 "Philip," she said, "this isn't right. You ought 
 not to have come; you have broken your promise." 
 
 " Are you not glad to see me ? " 
 
 " Oh, you know, you know that I 'm glad to see 
 you, but you should n't have come Hark ! what 's 
 that ? " 
 
 They both held their breath, for there was a sound 
 outside the garden wall. Clac-clac ! clac-clac ! a 
 strange, uncanny footstep. It seemed to be hurrying 
 away, clac-clac ! clac-clac ! 
 
 "Ah, I know," whispered Guida; "it is Dormy 
 Jamais. How foolish of me to be afraid ! " 
 
 " Of course, of course," said Philip, " Dormy 
 Jamais, the man who never sleeps." 
 
 " Philip if he saw us ! " 
 
 " Foolish child, the garden wall is too high for that. 
 Besides " - 
 
 "Yes, Philip?" 
 
 " Besides, you are my wife, Guida ! " 
 
 " Oh no, Philip, no ; not really so until all the world 
 is told."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 165 
 
 "My beloved Guida, what difference can that 
 make ? " 
 
 She sighed and shook her head. " To me, Philip, 
 it is only that which makes it right, that the whole 
 world knows. Ah, Philip, I am so afraid of of 
 secrecy, and cheating." 
 
 " Nonsense ! nonsense ! " he answered. " Poor little 
 wood-bird, you 're frightened at nothing at all. Come 
 and sit by me." He drew her close to him. 
 
 Her trembling presently grew less. Hundreds of 
 glowworms were shimmering in the hedge. The 
 grasshoppers were whirring in the mielles beyond ; a 
 flutter of wings went by overhead. The leaves were 
 rustling gently ; a fresh wind was coming up from the 
 sea upon the soft, fragrant dusk. 
 
 They talked a little while in whispers, her hands in 
 his, his voice soothing her, his low, hurried words giv- 
 ing her no time to think. But presently she shivered 
 again, though her heart was throbbing hotly. 
 
 " Come into the summer-house, Guida ; you are 
 cold, you are shivering." He rose, with his arm round 
 her waist, raising her gently at the same time. 
 
 " Oh no, Philip dear," she said, " I 'm not really 
 cold I don't know what it is " 
 
 " But indeed you are cold," he answered. " There 's 
 a stiff south-easter rising, and your hands are like ice. 
 Come into the arbor for a minute. It 's warm there, 
 and then then we '11 say good-by, sweetheart ! " 
 
 His arm round her, he drew her with him to the 
 summer-house, talking to her tenderly all the time. 
 There were reassurance, comfort, loving care in his 
 very tones. 
 
 How brightly the stars shone ! How clearly the 
 music of the stream came over the hedge ! With
 
 166 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 what lazy restfulness the distant All's well ! floated 
 across the mielles from a ship at anchor in the tide- 
 way ! How like a slumber-song the wash of the sea 
 rolled drowsily along the wind ! How gracious the 
 smell of the earth, drinking up the dew of the afflu- 
 ent air, which the sun, on the morrow, should turn 
 into life-blood for the grass and trees and flowers !
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 PHILIP was gone. Before breakfast was set upon 
 the table, Guida saw the Narcissus sail round 
 Noirmont Point and disappear. 
 
 Her face had taken on a new expression since yes- 
 terday. An old touch of dreaminess, of vague antici- 
 pation was gone that look which belongs to youth, 
 which feels the confident charm of the unknown future. 
 Life was revealed ; but, together with joy, wonder and 
 pain informed the revelation. 
 
 A marvel was upon her. Her life was linked to 
 another's, she was a wife. She was no longer sole 
 captain of herself. Philip would signal, and she must 
 come until either he or she should die. He had taken 
 her hand, and she must never let it go ; the breath of 
 his being must henceforth give her new and healthy 
 life, or inbreed a fever which should corrode the heart 
 and burn away the spirit. Young though she was, 
 she realized it, but without defining it. The new- 
 found knowledge was diffused in her character, ex- 
 pressed in her face. 
 
 Seldom had a day of Guida's life been so busy. It 
 seemed to her that people came and went far more 
 than usual. She talked, she laughed a little, she an- 
 swered back the pleasantries of the seafaring folk who 
 passed her doorway or her garden. She was attentive 
 to her grandfather ; exact with her household duties. 
 But all the time she was thinking thinking think-
 
 168 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 ing. Now and again she smiled, but at times, too, 
 tears sprang to her eyes, to be quickly dried. More 
 than once she drew in her breath with a quick, sibilant 
 sound, as though some thought wounded her ; and she 
 flushed suddenly, then turned pale, then came to her 
 natural color again. 
 
 Among those who chanced to visit the cottage was 
 Maitresse Aimable. She came to ask Guida to go 
 with her and Jean to the island of Sark, twelve miles 
 away, where Guida had never been. They would only 
 be gone one night, and, as Maitresse Aimable said, the 
 Sieur de Mauprat could very well make shift for once. 
 
 The invitation came to Guida like water to thirsty 
 ground. She longed to get away from the town, to 
 be where she could breathe ; for all this day the earth 
 seemed too small for breath : she gasped for the sea, 
 to be alone there. To sail with Jean Touzel was 
 practically to be alone, for Maitresse Aimable never 
 talked ; and Jean knew Guida's ways, knew when she 
 wished to be quiet. In Jersey phrase, he saw beyond 
 his spectacles, great brass-rimmed things, giving a 
 droll, childlike kind of wisdom to his red rotund face. 
 
 Having issued her invitation, Maitresse Aimable 
 smiled placidly and seemed about to leave, when, all 
 at once, without any warning, she lowered herself like 
 a vast crate upon the veille, and sat there looking at 
 Guida. 
 
 At first the grave inquiry of her look startled Guida. 
 She was beginning to know that sensitive fear assail- 
 ing those tortured by a secret. How she loathed this 
 secrecy ! How guilty she now felt, where, indeed, no 
 guilt was ! She longed to call aloud her name, her 
 new name, from the housetops. 
 
 The voice of Maitresse Aimable roused her. Her
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 169 
 
 ponderous visitor had made a discovery which had 
 yet been made by no other human being. Her own 
 absurd romance, her ancient illusion, had taught her 
 to know when love lay behind another woman's face. 
 And after her fashion, Maitresse Aimable loved Jean 
 Touzel as it is given to few to love. 
 
 " I was sixteen when I fell in love ; you 're seven- 
 teen you ! " she said. " Ah bah, so it goes ! " 
 
 Guida's face crimsoned. What how much did 
 Maitresse Aimable know ? By what necromancy had 
 this fat, silent fisher-wife learned the secret which was 
 the heart of her life, the soul of her being which 
 was Philip. She was frightened, but danger made her 
 cautious. " Can you guess who it is ? " she asked, 
 without replying directly to the oblique charge. 
 
 " It is not Maitre Ranulph," answered her friendly 
 inquisitor ; " it is not that M'sieu' D&ricand, the 
 vaurien." Guida flushed with annoyance. " It is not 
 that farmer Blampied, with fifty vergees, all potatoes ; 
 it is not M'sieu' Janvrin, that bat'd'lagoule of an 
 6crivain. Ah bah, so it goes ! " 
 
 " Who is it then ? " persisted Guida. 
 
 " Eh ben, that is the thing ! " 
 
 " How can you tell that one is in love, Maitresse 
 Aimable?" persisted Guida. 
 
 The other smiled with a torturing placidity, then 
 opened her mouth ; but nothing came of it. She 
 watched Guida moving about the kitchen abstractedly. 
 Her eye wandered to the racllyi, with its flitches of 
 bacon, to the dreschiaux and the sanded floor, to the 
 great Elizabethan oak chair, and at last back to Guida, 
 as though through her the lost voice might be charmed 
 up again. 
 
 The eyes of the two met now, fairly, firmly ; and
 
 1 70 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Guida was conscious of a look in the other's face which 
 she had never seen before. Had then a new sight 
 been given to herself ? She saw and understood the 
 look in Maitresse Aimable's face, and instantly knew 
 it to be the same that was in her own. 
 
 With a sudden impulse she dropped the bashin she 
 was polishing, and, going over quickly, she silently 
 laid her cheek against her old friend's. She could 
 feel the huge breast heave, she felt the vast face turn 
 hot, she was conscious of a voice struggling back to 
 life, and she heard it say at last : 
 
 " Gatd'en'ale ! rosemary tea cures a cough, but no- 
 thing cures the love. Ah bah, so it goes ! " 
 
 " Do you love Jean ? " whispered Guida, not show- 
 ing her face, but longing to hear the experience of 
 another who suffered that joy called love. 
 
 Maitresse Aimable's face grew hotter ; she did not 
 speak, but patted Guida's back with her heavy hand 
 and nodded complacently. 
 
 " Have you always loved him ? " asked Guida again, 
 with an eager inquisition, akin to that of a wayside 
 sinner turned chapel-going saint, hungry to hear what 
 chanced to others when treading the primrose path. 
 
 Maitresse Aimable again nodded, and her arm 
 drew closer about Guida. There was a slight pause, 
 then came an unsophisticated question : 
 
 "Has Jean always loved you ? " 
 
 There was a pause, and then the voice said with 
 the deliberate prudence of an unwilling witness : 
 
 " It is not the man who wears the wedding-ring." 
 
 Then, as if she had been disloyal in even suggest- 
 ing that Jean might hold her lightly, she added, al- 
 most eagerly, an enthu'siasm tempered by the pathos 
 of a half-truth :
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 171 
 
 " But my Jean always sleeps at home." 
 
 This larger excursion into speech gave her courage, 
 and she said more ; and even as Guida listened hun- 
 grily, so soon had come upon her the apprehensions 
 and wavering moods of loving woman ! she was 
 wondering to hear this creature, considered so dull by 
 all, speak as though out of a watchful and capable 
 mind. What further Maitresse Aimable said was 
 proof that if she knew little and spake little, she knew 
 that little well ; and if she had gathered meagrely 
 from life, she had at least winnowed out some small 
 handfuls of grain from the straw and chaff. At last 
 her sagacity impelled her to say : 
 
 " If a man's eyes won't see, elder-water can't make 
 him ; if he will, ah bah, glad and good ! " Both 
 arms went round Guida, and hugged her awkwardly. 
 
 Her voice came up but once more that morning. 
 As she left Guida in the doorway, she said with a last 
 effort : - 
 
 " I will have one bead to pray for you, trejous." 
 She showed her rosary, and, Huguenot though she 
 was, Guida touched the bead reverently. "And if 
 there is war, I will have two beads, trejous. A bi'tot 
 good-by !" 
 
 Guida stood watching her from the doorway, and 
 the last words of the fisher-wife kept repeating them- 
 selves through her brain: "And if there is war, I 
 will have two beads, trejous ! " 
 
 So, Maitresse Aimable knew she loved Philip ! 
 How strange it was that one should read so truly 
 without words spoken, or through seeing acts which 
 reveal. She herself seemed to read Maitresse Aima- 
 ble all at once, read her by virtue, and in the light
 
 i;2 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 of true love, the primitive and consuming feeling in 
 the breast of each for a man. Were not words neces- 
 sary for speech after all ? But here she stopped short 
 suddenly ; for if love might find and read love, why 
 was it she needed speech of Philip ? Why was it her 
 spirit kept beating up against the hedge beyond which 
 his inner self was, and, unable to see that beyond, 
 needed reassurance by words, by promises and protes- 
 tations ? 
 
 All at once she was angry with herself for thinking 
 thus concerning Philip. Of course Philip loved her 
 deeply. Had she not seen the light of true love in 
 his eyes, and felt the arms of love about her ? Sud- 
 denly she shuddered and grew bitter, and a strange 
 rebellion broke loose in her. Why had Philip failed 
 to keep his promise not to see her again after the 
 marriage, till he should return from Portsmouth ? It 
 was selfish, painfully, terribly selfish of him. Why, 
 even though she had been foolish in her request, why 
 had he not done as she wished ? Was that love, 
 was it love to break the first promise he had ever 
 made to his wife ? 
 
 Yet she excused him to herself. Men were differ- 
 ent from women, and men did not understand what 
 troubled a woman's heart and spirit ; they were not 
 shaken by the same gusts of emotion ; they they 
 were not so fine, they did not think so deeply on what 
 a woman, when she loves, thinks always, and acts upon 
 according to her thought. If Philip were only here 
 to resolve these fears, these perplexities, to quiet the 
 storm in her ! And yet, could he could he ? For 
 now she felt that this storm was rooting up something 
 very deep and radical in her. It frightened her, but 
 for the moment she fought it down.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 173 
 
 She went into her garden; and here among her 
 animals and her flowers it seemed easier to be gay of 
 heart ; and she laughed a little, and was most tender 
 and pretty with her grandfather when he came home 
 from spending the afternoon with the Chevalier. 
 
 In this manner the first day of her marriage passed, 
 in happy reminiscence and in vague foreboding; 
 in affection, yet in reproach as the secret wife ; and 
 still the loving, distracted girl, frightened at her own 
 bitterness, but knowing it to be justified. 
 
 The late evening was spent in gayety with her 
 grandfather and the Chevalier ; but at night when she 
 went to bed she could not sleep. She tossed from 
 side to side ; a hundred thoughts came and went. 
 She grew feverish, her breath choked her, and she 
 got up and opened the window. It was clear, bright 
 moonlight, and from where she was she could see the 
 mielles and the ocean and the star-sown sky above 
 and beyond. There she sat and thought and thought 
 till morning.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AT precisely the same moment in the morning two 
 boats set sail from the south coast of Jersey : 
 one from Grouville Bay, and one from the harbor of 
 St. Heliers. Both were bound for the same point ; 
 but the first was to sail round the east coast of the 
 Island, and the second round the west coast. 
 
 The boat leaving Grouville Bay would have on her 
 right the Ecrehos and the coast of France, with the 
 Dirouilles in her course ; the other would have the 
 wide Atlantic on her left, and the Paternosters in her 
 course. The two converging lines should meet at the 
 island of Sark. 
 
 The boat leaving Grouville Bay was a yacht carry- 
 ing twelve swivel-guns, bringing Admiralty dispatches 
 to the Channel Islands. The boat leaving St. Heliers 
 harbor was a new yawl-rigged craft owned by Jean 
 Touzel. It was the fruit of ten years' labor, and he 
 called her the Hardi Biaou, which, in plain English, 
 means "very beautiful." This was the third time she 
 had sailed under Jean's hand. She carried two car- 
 ronades, for war with France was in the air, and it 
 was Jean's whim to make a show of preparation, for, 
 as he said, " If the war-dogs come, my pups can bark, 
 too. If they don't, why, glad and good, the Hardi 
 Biaou is big enough to hold the cough-drops." 
 
 The business of the yacht Dorset was important : 
 that was why so small a boat was sent on the Admi-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 175 
 
 ralty's affairs. Had she been a sloop she might have 
 attracted the attention of a French frigate or privateer 
 wandering the seas in the interests of Vive la Nation ! 
 The business of the yawl was quite unimportant. Jean 
 Touzel was going to Sark with kegs of wine and 
 tobacco for the seigneur, and to bring over whatever 
 small cargo might be waiting for Jersey. The yacht 
 Dorset had aboard her the Reverend Lorenzo Dow, 
 an old friend of her commander. He was to be 
 dropped at Sark, and was to come back with Jean 
 Touzel in the Hardi Biaou, the matter having been 
 arranged the evening before in the Vier Marchi. The 
 saucy yawl had aboard Maitresse Aimable, Guida, and 
 a lad to assist Jean in working the sails. Guida counted 
 as one of the crew, for there was little in the handling 
 of a boat she did not know. 
 
 As the Hardi Biaou was leaving the harbor of St. 
 Heliers, Jean told Guida that Mr. Dow was to join 
 them on the return journey. She had a thrill of 
 excitement, for this man was privy to her secret, he 
 was connected with her life history. But before the 
 little boat passed St. Brelade's Bay she was lost in 
 other thoughts : in picturing Philip on the Narcissus, 
 in inwardly conning the ambitious designs of his 
 career. What he might yet be, who could tell ! She 
 had read more than a little of the doings of great 
 naval commanders, both French and British. She 
 knew how simple midshipmen had sometimes become 
 admirals, and afterwards peers of the realm. 
 
 Suddenly a new thought came to her. Suppose 
 that Philip should rise to high places, would she be 
 able to follow ? What had she seen ; what did she 
 know ; what social opportunities had been hers ? How 
 would she fit with an exalted station ?
 
 1 76 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Yet Philip had said that she could take her place 
 anywhere with grace and dignity ; and surely Philip 
 knew. If she were gauche or crude in manners, he 
 would not have cared for her ; if she were not intelli- 
 gent, he would scarcely have loved her. Of course 
 she had read French and English to some purpose ; 
 she could speak Spanish, her grandfather had taught 
 her that ; she understood Italian fairly, she had 
 read it aloud on Sunday evenings with the Chevalier. 
 Then there were Corneille, Shakespeare, Petrarch, Cer- 
 vantes, she had read them all ; and even Wace, the 
 old Norman trouvtre, whose " Roman du Rou " she 
 knew almost by heart. Was she so very ignorant ? 
 
 There was only one thing to do : she must interest 
 herself in what interested Philip ; she must read what 
 he read ; she must study naval history ; she must 
 learn every little thing about a ship of war. Then 
 Philip would be able to talk with her of all he did at 
 sea, and she would understand. 
 
 When, a few days ago, she had said to him that 
 she did not know how she was going to be all that 
 his wife ought to be, he had answered her : " All I 
 ask is that you be your own sweet self, for it is just 
 you that I want, you with your own thoughts and 
 imaginings, and not a Guida who has dropped her own 
 way of looking at things to take on some one else's 
 even mine. It 's the people who try to be clever who 
 never are ; the people who are clever never think of 
 trying to be." 
 
 Was Philip right ? Was she really, in some way, 
 a little bit clever ? She would like to believe so, for 
 then she would be a better companion for him. 
 After all, how little she knew of Philip now, why 
 did that thought always come up ! It made her
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 177 
 
 shudder. They two would really have to begin with 
 the A B C of understanding. To understand was 
 a passion, it was breathing and life to her. She 
 would never, could never, be satisfied with skimming 
 the surface of life as the gulls out there skimmed the 
 water. . . . Ah, how beautiful the morning was, and 
 how the bracing air soothed her feverishness ! All 
 this sky, and light, and uplifting sea were hers, they 
 fed her with their strength they were all so com- 
 panionable. 
 
 Since Philip had gone and that was but four 
 days ago she had sat down a dozen times to write 
 to him, but each time found she could not. She 
 drew back from it because she wanted to empty out 
 her heart, and yet, somehow, she dared not. She 
 wanted to tell Philip all the feelings that possessed 
 her ; but how dared she write j ust what she felt : love 
 and bitterness, joy and indignation, exaltation and 
 disappointment, all in one ? How was it these could 
 all exist in a woman's heart at once ? Was it be- 
 cause Love was greater than all, deeper than all, over- 
 came all, forgave all ? and was that what women felt 
 and did always ? Was that their lot, their destiny ? 
 Must they begin in blind faith, then be plunged into 
 the darkness of disillusion, shaken by the storm of 
 emotion, taste the sting in the fruit of the tree of 
 knowledge and go on again the same, yet not the 
 same ? 
 
 More or less incoherently these thoughts flitted 
 through Guida's mind. As yet her experiences were 
 too new for her to fasten securely upon their meaning. 
 In a day or two she would write to Philip freely and 
 warmly of her love and of her hopes ; for, maybe, by 
 that time nothing but happiness would be left in the
 
 1 78 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 caldron of feeling. There was a packet going to 
 England in three days yes, she would wait for that. 
 And Philip alas ! a letter from him could not reach 
 her for at least a fortnight yet ; and then in another 
 month after that he would be with her, and she 
 would be able to tell the whole world that she was 
 the wife of Captain Philip d'Avranche, of the good 
 ship Araminta, for that he was to be when he came 
 again. 
 
 She was not sad now, indeed she was almost happy, 
 for her thoughts had brought her so close to Philip 
 that she could feel his blue eyes looking at her, the 
 strong clasp of his hand. She could almost touch 
 the brown hair waving back carelessly from the fore- 
 head, untouched by powder, in the fashion of the time ; 
 and she could hear his cheery laugh quite plainly, so 
 complete was the illusion. 
 
 St. Ouen's Bay, 1'Etacq, Plemont, dropped behind 
 them as they sailed. They drew on to where the 
 rocks of the Paternosters foamed to the unquiet sea. 
 Far over between the Nez du Guet and the sprawling 
 granite pack of the Dirou'flles, was the Admiralty 
 yacht winging to the nor '-west. Beyond it again lay 
 the coast of France, the tall white cliffs, the dark 
 blue smoky curve ending in Cap de la Hague. 
 
 To-day there was something new in this picture of 
 the coast of France. Against the far-off sands were 
 some little black spots, seemingly no bigger than a 
 man's hand. Again and again Jean Touzel had eyed 
 these moving specks with serious interest ; and Mai- 
 tresse Aimable eyed Jean, for Jean never looked so 
 often at anything without good reason. If, perchance, 
 he looked three times at her consecutively, she gaped
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 179 
 
 with expectation, hoping that he would tell her that 
 her face was not so red to-day as usual, a mark of 
 rare affection. 
 
 At last Guida noticed Jean's look. "What is it 
 that you see, Maitre Jean ? " she said. 
 
 " Little black wasps, I think, ma'm'selle, little black 
 wasps that sting." 
 
 Guida did not understand. 
 
 Jean gave a curious cackle, and continued : " Ah, 
 those wasps, they have a sting so nasty!" He 
 paused an instant, then he added in a lower voice, 
 and not quite so gayly, "Yon is the way that war 
 begins." 
 
 Guida's fingers suddenly clinched rigidly upon the 
 tiller. " War ? Do do you think that 's a French 
 fleet, Maitre Jean ? " 
 
 " Steadee steadee keep her head up, ma'm'- 
 selle," he answered, for Guida had steered unsteadily 
 for the instant. " Steadee shale ben ! that 's right. 
 I remember twenty years ago the black wasps they 
 fly on the coast of France like that. Who can tell 
 now ?" He shrugged his shoulders. " P'rhaps they 
 are coum out to play, but see you, when there is 
 trouble in the nest it is my notion that wasps come 
 out to sting. Look at France now, they all fight 
 each other there, ma fuifre ! When folks begin to 
 slap faces at home, look out when they get into the 
 street. That is when the devil have a grand fete." 
 
 Guida's face grew paler as he spoke. The eyes of 
 Maitresse Aimable were fixed on her now, and uncon- 
 sciously the ponderous good-wife felt in that ware- 
 house she called her pocket for her rosary. An extra 
 bead was there for Guida, and one for another than 
 Guida. But Maitresse Aimable did more : she dived
 
 i8o THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 into the well of silence for her voice, and for the first 
 time in her life she showed anger with Jean. As her 
 voice came forth she colored, her cheeks expanded, 
 and the words sallied out in puffs : 
 
 "Nannin, Jean, you smell shark when it is but 
 herring. You cry wasp when the critchett sing. I 
 will believe war when I see the splinters fly me ! " 
 
 Jean looked at his wife in astonishment. That was 
 the longest speech he had ever heard her make. It 
 was also the first time that her rasp of criticism had 
 ever been applied to him, and with such asperity, too. 
 He could not make it out. He looked from his wife 
 to Guida ; then, suddenly arrested by the look in her 
 face, he scratched his shaggy head in despair, and 
 moved about in his seat. 
 
 " Sit you still, Jean," said his wife sharply ; "you 're 
 like peas on a hot griddle." 
 
 This confused Jean beyond recovery, for never in 
 his life had Aimable spoken to him like that. He 
 saw there was something wrong, and he did not know 
 whether to speak or hold his tongue ; or, as he said 
 to himself, he " did n't know which eye to wink." 
 He adjusted his spectacles, and, pulling himself to- 
 gether, muttered : 
 
 " Smoke of thunder, what 's all this ! " 
 
 Guida was n't a wisp of quality to shiver with ter- 
 ror at the mere mention of war with France ; but ba 
 sti ! thought Jean, there was now in her face a sharp, 
 fixed look of pain, in her eyes a bewildered anxiety. 
 
 Jean scratched his head still more. Nothing par- 
 ticular came of that. There was no good trying to 
 work the thing out suddenly ; he was n't clever 
 enough. Then out of an habitual good nature he tried 
 to bring better weather fore and aft.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 181 
 
 " Et ben," said he, " in the dark you can't tell a 
 wasp from a honey-bee till he lights on you ; and 
 that 's too far off there," he jerked a finger towards 
 the French shore, " to be certain sure. But if the 
 wasp nip, you make him pay for it, the head and the 
 tail yes, I think me. . . . There 's the Eper- 
 querie," he added quickly, nodding in front of him. 
 
 The Island of Sark lifted a green bosom above her 
 perpendicular cliffs, with the pride of an affluent 
 mother among her brood. Dowered by sun and 
 softened by a delicate haze like an exquisite veil of 
 modesty, this youngest daughter of the isles clustered 
 with her kinsfolk in the emerald archipelago between 
 the great seas. 
 
 The outlines of the coast grew plainer as the Hardi 
 Biaou drew nearer and nearer. From end to end 
 there was no harbor upon this southern side. There 
 was no roadway, as it seemed, no pathway at all up 
 the overhanging cliffs, ridges of granite and gray 
 and green rock, belted with mist, crowned by sun, and 
 fretted by the milky, upcasting surf. Little islands, 
 like outworks before it, crouched slumberously to the 
 sea, as a dog lays its head in its paws and hugs the 
 ground close, with vague, soft-blinking eyes. 
 
 By the shore the air was white with sea-gulls flying 
 and circling, rising and descending, shooting up straight 
 into the air, their bodies smooth and long like the 
 body of a babe in white samite, their feathering tails 
 spread like a fan, their wings expanding on the am- 
 bient air. In the tall cliffs were the nests of dried 
 seaweed, fastened to the edge of a rocky bracket on 
 lofty ledges, the little ones within piping to the little 
 ones without. Every point of rock had its sentinel
 
 182 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 gull, looking looking out to sea like some watchful 
 defender of a mystic city. Piercing might be the 
 cries of pain or of joy from the earth, more piercing 
 were their cries ; dark and dreadful might be the woe 
 of those who went down to the sea in ships, but they 
 shrilled on unheeding, their yellow beaks still yel- 
 lowing in the sun, keeping their everlasting watch and 
 ward. 
 
 Now and again other birds, dark, quick-winged, low- 
 flying, shot in among the white companies of sea-gulls, 
 stretching their long necks, and turning their swift, 
 cowardly eyes here and there, the cruel beak ex- 
 tended, the body gorged with carrion. Black maraud- 
 ers among blithe birds of peace and joy, they watched 
 like sable spirits near the nests, or on some near sea 
 rocks, sombre and alone, blinked evilly at the tall 
 bright cliffs and the lightsome legions nestling there. 
 
 These swart loiterers by the happy nests of the 
 young were like spirits of fate who might not destroy, 
 who had no power to harm the living, yet who could 
 not be driven forth : the ever-present death-heads at 
 the feast, the impassive acolytes by the altars of des- 
 tiny. 
 
 As the Hardi Biaou drew near the lofty, inviolate 
 cliffs, there opened up sombre clefts and caverns, 
 honeycombing the island at all points of the compass. 
 She slipped past rugged pinnacles, like buttresses to 
 the island, here trailed with vines, valanced with shrubs 
 of unnamable beauty, and yonder shriveled and bare 
 like the skin of an elephant. 
 
 Some rocks, indeed, were like vast animals round 
 which molten granite had been poured, preserving 
 them eternally. The heads of great dogs, like the 
 dogs of Ossian, sprang out in profile from the re-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 183 
 
 pulsing mainland ; stupendous gargoyles grinned at 
 them from dark points of excoriated cliff. Farther 
 off, the face of a battered sphinx stared with unheed- 
 ing look into the vast sea and sky beyond. From 
 the dark depths of mystic crypts came groanings, 
 like the roaring of lions penned beside the caves of 
 martyrs. 
 
 Jean had startled Guida with his suggestions of war 
 between England and France. Though she longed 
 to have Philip win glory in some great battle, yet her 
 first natural thought was of danger to the man she 
 loved and the chance, too, of his not coming back 
 to her from Portsmouth. But now as she looked at 
 this scene before her, there came again to her face the 
 old charm of blitheness. The tides of temperament 
 in her were fast to flow and quick to ebb. The reac- 
 tion from pain was in proportion to her splendid nat- 
 ural health. Her lips smiled. For what can long 
 depress the youthful and the loving when they dream 
 that they are entirely beloved ? Lands and thrones 
 may perish, plague and devastation walk abroad with 
 death, misery and beggary crawl naked to the door- 
 way, and crime cower in the hedges ; but to the 
 egregious egotism of young love there are only two 
 identities bulking in the crowded universe. To these 
 immensities all other beings are audacious who dream 
 of being even comfortable and obscure happiness 
 would be a presumption ; as though Fate intended 
 each living human being at some one moment 
 to have the whole world to himself. And who shall 
 cry out against that egotism with which all are dis- 
 eased ! 
 
 So busy was Guida with her own thoughts that she 
 scarcely noticed they had changed their course, and
 
 1 84 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 were skirting the coast westerly, whereby to reach 
 Havre Gosselin on the other side of the island. There 
 on the shore above lay the seigneurie, the destination 
 of the Hardi Biaou. 
 
 As they passed the western point of the island, and 
 made their course easterly by a channel between 
 rocky bulwarks opening Havre Gosselin, they sud- 
 denly saw a brig rounding the Eperquerie. She was 
 making to the southeast under full sail. Her main 
 and mizzen masts were not visible, and her colors 
 could not be seen, but Jean's quick eye had lighted on 
 something which made him cast apprehensive glances 
 at his wife and Guida. There was a gun in the stern 
 port -hole of the vanishing brig ; and he also noted 
 that it was run out for action. His swift glance at 
 his wife and Guida assured him that they had not 
 noticed the gun. 
 
 Jean's brain began working with unusual celerity. 
 He was certain that the brig was a French sloop or a 
 privateer. In other circumstances, that in itself 
 might not have given him much trouble of mind, for 
 more than once French frigates had sailed round the 
 Channel Isles in insulting strength and mockery ; 
 but at this moment every man knew that France and 
 England were only waiting to see who should throw 
 the ball first and set the red game going. Twenty 
 French frigates could do little harm to the Island of 
 Sark ; a hundred men could keep off an army and 
 navy there ; but Jean knew that the Admiralty yacht 
 Dorset was sailing at this moment within half a league 
 of the Eperquerie. He would stake his life that the 
 brig was French and hostile, and knew it also. At 
 all costs he must follow and know the fate of the 
 yacht.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 185 
 
 If he landed at Havre Gosselin and crossed the 
 island on foot, whatever was to happen would be 
 over and done, and that did not suit the book of Jean 
 Touzel. More than once he had seen a little fighting, 
 and more than once shared in it. If there was to be 
 a fight, he looked affectionately at his carronades, 
 then he wanted to be within seeing or striking dis- 
 tance. 
 
 Instead of running into Havre Gosselin, he set for 
 the Bee du Nez, the eastern point of the island. His 
 object was to land upon the rocks of the Eperquerie, 
 where the women would be safe whatever befell. The 
 tide was running strong round the point, and the surf 
 was heavy, so that once or twice the boat was almost 
 overturned ; but Jean had measured well the currents 
 and the wind. 
 
 This was one of the most exciting moments in his 
 life, for, as they rounded the Bee du Nez, there was 
 the Dorset going about to make for Guernsey, and 
 the brig, under full sail, bearing down upon her. 
 Even as they rounded the point, up ran the tricolor 
 to the brig's mizzen-mast, and the militant shouts of 
 the French sailors came over the water. 
 
 Too late had the little yacht with her handful of 
 guns seen the danger and gone about. The wind was 
 fair for her ; but it was as fair for the brig, able to 
 outsail her twice over. As the Hardi Biaou neared 
 the landing-place of the Eperquerie, a gun was fired 
 from the privateer across the bows of the Dorset, 
 and Guida realized what was happening. 
 
 As they landed another shot was fired, then came 
 a broadside. Guida put her hands before her eyes, 
 and when she looked again the mainmast of the 
 yacht was gone. And now from the heights of Sark
 
 1 86 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 above there rang out a cry from the lips of the 
 affrighted islanders : 
 
 " War war war war ! " 
 
 Guida sank down upon the rock, and her face 
 dropped into her hands. She trembled violently. 
 Somehow all at once, and for the first time in her 
 life, there was borne in upon her a feeling of awful 
 desolation and loneliness. She was alone she was 
 alone she was alone : that was the refrain of her 
 thoughts. 
 
 The cry of war rang along the cliff tops ; and war 
 would take Philip from her. Perhaps she would never 
 see him again. The horror of it, the pity of it, the 
 peril of it ! 
 
 Shot after shot the twelve-pounders of the French- 
 man drove like dun hail at the white timbers of the 
 yacht, and her masts and spars were flying. The 
 privateer now came drawing down to where she lay 
 lurching. 
 
 A hand touched Guida upon the shoulder. " Cheer 
 thee, my dee-ar," said Maitresse Aimable's voice. 
 Below, Jean Touzel had eyes only for this sea-fight 
 before him, for, despite the enormous difference, the 
 Englishmen were now fighting their little craft for all 
 that she was capable. But the odds were terribly 
 against her, though she had the windward side, and 
 the firing of the privateer was bad. The carronades 
 on her flush decks were replying valiantly to the 
 twelve-pounders of the brig. At last a chance shot 
 carried away her mizzen-mast, and another dismounted 
 her single great gun, killing a number of men. The 
 carronades, good for only a few discharges, soon left 
 her to the fury of her assailant, and presently the 
 Dorset was no better than a battered raisin-box. Her
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 187 
 
 commander had destroyed his dispatches, and nothing 
 remained now but to be sunk or surrender. 
 
 In not more than twenty minutes from the time the 
 first shot was fired, the commander and his brave 
 little crew yielded to the foe, and the Dorset's flag 
 was hauled down. 
 
 When her officers and men were transferred to the 
 Frenchman, her one passenger and guest, the Reverend 
 Lorenzo Dow, passed calmly from the gallant little 
 wreck to the deck of the privateer, with a finger be- 
 tween the leaves of his book of meditations. With as 
 much equanimity as he would have breakfasted with a 
 bishop, made breaches of the rubric, or drunk from 
 a sailor's black-jack, he went calmly into captivity in 
 France, giving no thought to what he left behind ; 
 quite heedless that his going would affect for good or 
 ill the destiny of the young wife of Philip d' Avranche. 
 
 Guida watched the yacht go down, and the brig 
 bear away towards France where those black wasps 
 of war were as motes against the white sands. Then 
 she remembered that there had gone with it one of 
 the three people in the world who knew her secret, 
 the man who had married her to Philip. She shivered 
 a little, she scarcely knew why, for it did not then 
 seem of consequence to her whether Mr. Dow went 
 or stayed, though he had never given her the mar- 
 riage certificate. Indeed, was it not better he should 
 go ? Thereby one less would know her secret. But 
 still an undefined fear possessed her. 
 
 " Cheer thee, cheer thee, my dee-ar, my sweet dor- 
 mitte ! " said Maitresse Aimable, patting her shoulder. 
 " It cannot harm thee, ba sft ! 'T is but a flash in the 
 pan." 
 
 Guida' s first impulse was to throw herself into the
 
 1 88 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 arms of the slow-tongued, great-hearted woman who 
 hung above her like a cloud of mercy, and tell her 
 whole story. But no, she would keep her word to 
 Philip, till Philip came again. Her love the love 
 of the young, lonely wife must be buried deep in 
 her own heart until he appeared and gave her the right 
 to speak. 
 
 Jean was calling to them. They rose to go. Guida 
 looked about her. Was it all a dream, all that had 
 happened to her, and around her? The world was 
 sweet to look upon, and yet was it true that here be- 
 fore her eyes there had been war, and that out of war 
 peril must come to her ? 
 
 A week ago she was free as air, happy as healthy 
 body, truthful mind, simple nature, and tender love 
 can make a human being. She was then only a young, 
 young girl. To-day she sighed. 
 
 Long after they put out to sea again she could 
 still hear the affrighted cry of the peasants from the 
 cliff, or was it only the plaintive echo of her own 
 thoughts ? 
 
 " War war war war! "
 
 BOOK III 
 
 [IN FRANCE NEAR FIVE MONTHS AFTER} 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A MOMENT, Monsieur le Due." 
 The Duke turned at the door, and looked with 
 listless inquiry into the face of the Minister of Marine, 
 who, picking up an official paper from his table, ran 
 an eye down it, marked a point with the sharp corner 
 of his snuff-box, and handed it over to his visitor, say- 
 ing, "Our roster of English prisoners taken in the 
 action off Brest." 
 
 The Duke, puzzled, lifted his glass and scanned the 
 roll mechanically. 
 
 "No, no, Duke, just where I have marked," inter- 
 posed the Minister. 
 
 " My dear Monsieur Dalbarade," remarked the 
 Duke a little querulously, " I do not see what inter- 
 est" 
 
 He stopped short, however, looked closer at the 
 document, and then lowering it in a sort of amaze- 
 ment seemed about to speak ; but, instead, raised the 
 paper again and fixed his eyes intently on the spot 
 indicated by the Minister. 
 
 " Most curious," he said after a moment, making 
 little nods of his head towards Dalbarade ; "my own 
 name and an English prisoner, you say ? "
 
 190 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Precisely so ; and he gave our fellows some hard 
 knocks before his frigate went on the reefs." 
 
 " Strange that the name should be my own. I 
 never heard of an English branch of our family." 
 
 A quizzical smile passed over the face of the Min- 
 ister, adding to his visitor's mystification. " But sup- 
 pose he were English, yet French too? " he rejoined. 
 
 "I fail to understand the entanglement," answered 
 the Duke stiffly. 
 
 " He is an Englishman whose name and native lan- 
 guage are French ; he speaks as good French as your 
 own." 
 
 The Duke peevishly tapped a chair with his stick. 
 " I am no reader of riddles, monsieur," he said acidly, 
 although eager to know more concerning this English- 
 man of the same name as himself, ruler of the sove- 
 reign duchy of Bercy. 
 
 "Shall I bid him enter, Prince?" asked the Minis- 
 ter. 
 
 The Duke's face relaxed a little, for the truth was, 
 at this moment of his long life he was deeply con- 
 cerned with his own name and all who bore it. 
 
 "Is he here then ? " he asked, nodding assent. 
 
 " In the next room," answered the Minister, turning 
 to a bell and ringing. " I have him here for examina- 
 tion, and was but beginning when I was honored by 
 your Highness's presence." He bowed politely, yet 
 there was, too, a little mockery in the bow, which did 
 not escape the Duke. These were days when princes 
 received but little respect in France. 
 
 A subaltern entered, received an order, and disap- 
 peared. The Duke withdrew to the embrasure of 
 a window, and immediately the prisoner was gruffly 
 announced.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 191 
 
 The young Englishman stood quietly waiting, his 
 quick eyes going from Dalbarade to the wizened figure 
 by the window, and back again to the Minister. His 
 look carried both calmness and defiance, but the defi- 
 ance came only from a sense of injury and unmerited 
 disgrace. 
 
 "Monsieur," said the Minister with austerity, "in 
 your further examination we shall need to repeat some 
 questions." 
 
 The prisoner nodded indifferently, and for a brief 
 space there was silence. The Duke stood by the win- 
 dow, the Minister by his table, the prisoner near the 
 door. Suddenly the prisoner, with an abrupt motion 
 of the hand towards two chairs, said with an assump- 
 tion of ordinary politeness : 
 
 " Will you not be seated ? " 
 
 The remark was so odd in its coolness and effront- 
 ery, that the Duke chuckled audibly. The Minister 
 was completely taken aback. He glanced stupidly at 
 the two chairs the only ones in the room and at 
 the prisoner. Then the insolence of the thing began 
 to work upon him, and he was about to burst forth, 
 when the Duke came forward, and, politely moving a 
 chair near to the young commander, said : 
 
 " My distinguished compliments, Monsieur le Capi- 
 taine. I pray you accept this chair." 
 
 With quiet self-possession and a matter-of-course 
 air the prisoner bowed politely, and seated himself ; 
 then, with a motion of the hand backward towards the 
 door, said to the Duke, " I 've been standing five hours 
 with some of those moutons in the anteroom. My 
 profound thanks to monseigneur ! " 
 
 Touching the angry Minister on the arm, the Duke 
 said quietly :
 
 192 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Dear monsieur, will yo.u permit me a few questions 
 to the prisoner ? " 
 
 At that instant there came a tap at the door, and 
 an orderly entered with a letter to the Minister, who 
 glanced at it hurriedly, then turned to the prisoner 
 and the Duke, as though in doubt what to do. 
 
 " I will be responsible for the prisoner, if you must 
 leave us," said the Duke at once. 
 
 " For a little, for a little, a matter of moment with 
 the Minister of War," answered Dalbarade, nodding, 
 and with an air of abstraction left the room. 
 
 The Duke withdrew to the window again, and seated 
 himself in the embrasure, at some little distance from 
 the Englishman, who at once got up and brought his 
 chair closer. The warm sunlight of spring, streaming 
 through the window, was now upon his pale face, and 
 strengthened it, giving it fullness and the eye fire. 
 
 " How long have you been a prisoner, monsieur ? " 
 asked the Duke, at the same time acknowledging the 
 other's politeness with a bow. 
 
 " Since March, monseigneur." 
 
 " Monseigneur again, a man of judgment," said 
 the Duke to himself, pleased to have his exalted sta- 
 tion recognized. "H'm, and it is now June, four 
 months, monsieur ! You have been well used, mon- 
 sieur ? " 
 
 " Vilely, monseigneur," answered the other ; " a 
 shipwrecked enemy should never be made prisoner, 
 or at least he should be enlarged on parole ; but I 
 have been confined like a pirate in a sink of a jail." 
 
 " Of what country are you ? " 
 
 Raising his eyebrows in amazement the young man 
 answered : 
 
 " I am an Englishman, monseigneur."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 193 
 
 " Monsieur is of England, then ? " 
 
 " Monseigneur, I am an English officer." 
 
 " You speak French well, monsieur." 
 
 "Which serves me well in France, as you see, 
 monseigneur." 
 
 The Duke was a trifle nettled. " Where were you 
 born, monsieur ? " 
 
 There was a short pause, and then the prisoner, 
 who had enjoyed the other's perplexity, said : 
 
 " On the Isle of Jersey, monseigneur." 
 
 The petulant look passed immediately from the 
 face of the Duke ; the horizon was clear at once. 
 
 " Ah, then,- you are French, monsieur ! " 
 
 " My flag is the English flag ; I was born a British 
 subject, and I shall die one," answered the other 
 steadily. 
 
 " The sentiment sounds estimable," answered the 
 Duke ; " but as for life and death, and what we are 
 or what we may be, we are the sport of Fate." His 
 brow clouded. " I myself was born under a mon- 
 archy ; I shall probably die under a republic. I was 
 born a Frenchman ; I may die " 
 
 His tone had become low and cynical, and he broke 
 off suddenly, as though he had said more than he 
 meant. " Then you are a Norman, monsieur," he 
 added in a louder tone. 
 
 " Once all Jerseymen were Normans, and so were 
 many Englishmen, monseigneur." 
 
 " I come of Norman stock, too, monsieur," remarked 
 the Duke graciously, yet eying the young man 
 keenly. 
 
 " Monseigneur has not the kindred advantage of 
 being English ? " added the prisoner dryly. 
 
 The Duke protested with a deprecatory wave of the
 
 194 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 fingers and a flash of the sharp eyes, and then, after 
 a slight pause, said, "What is your name, mon- 
 sieur ? " 
 
 " Philip d'Avranche," was the brief reply ; then with 
 droll impudence, " And monseigneur's, by monsei- 
 gneur's leave ? " 
 
 The Duke smiled, and that smile relieved the sour- 
 ness, the fret of a face which had care and discon- 
 tent written upon every line of it. It was a face that 
 had never known happiness. It had known diversion, 
 however, and unusual diversion it knew at this mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " My name," he answered with a penetrating quiz- 
 zical look, " my name is Philip d'Avranche." 
 
 The young man's quick, watchful eyes fixed them- 
 selves like needles on the Duke's face. Through his 
 brain there ran a succession of queries and specula- 
 tions, and dominating them all one clear question, 
 was he to gain anything by this strange conversa- 
 tion ? Who was this great man with a name the 
 same as his own, this crabbed nobleman with skin as 
 yellow as an orange, and body like an orange squeezed 
 dry ? He surely meant him no harm, however, for 
 flashes of kindliness had lighted the shriveled face 
 as he talked. His look was bent in piercing com- 
 ment upon Philip, who, trying hard to solve the mys- 
 tery, now made a tentative rejoinder to his strange 
 statement. Rising from his chair and bowing, he 
 said, with shrewd foreknowledge of the effect of his 
 words : 
 
 " I had not before thought my own name of such 
 consequence." 
 
 The old man grunted amiably. " My faith, the 
 very name begets a towering conceit wherever it goes,"
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 195 
 
 he answered, and he brought his stick down on the 
 floor with such vehemence that the emerald and ruby 
 rings rattled on his shrunken fingers. 
 
 " Be seated cousin," he said with dry compli- 
 ment, for Philip had remained standing, as if with the 
 unfeigned respect of a cadet in the august presence 
 of the head of his house. It was a sudden and bold 
 suggestion, and it was not lost on the Duke. The 
 aged nobleman was too keen an observer not to see 
 the designed flattery, but he was in a mood when 
 flattery was palatable, seeing that many of his own 
 class were arrayed against him for not having joined 
 the army of the Vendee ; and that the Revolutionists, 
 with whom he had compromised, for the safety of his 
 lands of d'Avranche and his duchy of Bercy, regarded 
 him with suspicion. Between the two, the old man 
 at heart most profoundly a Royalist bided his 
 time, in some peril but with no fear. The spirit of 
 this young Englishman of his own name pleased him ; 
 the flattery, patent as it was, gratified him, for in rev- 
 olutionary France few treated him with deference 
 now. Even the Minister of Marine, with whom he 
 was on good terms, called him " citizen " at times. 
 
 All at once it flashed on the younger man that this 
 must be the Prince d'Avranche, Due de Bercy, of that 
 family of d'Avranche from which his own came in 
 long descent, even from the days of Rollo, Duke of 
 Normandy. He recalled on the instant the token 
 of fealty of the ancient House of d'Avranche, the 
 offering of a sword. 
 
 "Your Serene Highness," he said with great defer- 
 ence and as great tact, " I must first offer my homage 
 to the Prince d'Avranche, Due de Bercy" Then 
 with a sudden pause, and a whimsical look, he added,
 
 196 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " But, indeed, I had forgotten, they have taken away 
 my sword ! " 
 
 "We shall see," answered the Prince, well pleased, 
 " we shall see about that sword. Be seated." Then, 
 after a short pause, " Tell me now, monsieur, of your 
 family, of your ancestry." 
 
 His eyes were bent on Philip with great intentness, 
 and his thin lips tightened in some unaccountable 
 agitation. 
 
 Philip instantly responded. He explained how in 
 the early part of the thirteenth century, after the 
 great crusade against the Albigenses, a cadet of the 
 house of d'Avranche had emigrated to England, and 
 had come to place and honor under Henry III., who 
 gave to the son of this d'Avranche certain tracts of 
 land in Jersey, where he settled. Philip had descended 
 in a direct line from this same receiver of king's favors, 
 and was now the only representative of his family. 
 
 While Philip spoke the Duke never took eyes from 
 his face, that face so facile in the display of feeling 
 or emotion. The voice also had a lilt of health and 
 vitality which rang on the ears of age pleasantly. As 
 he listened he thought of his eldest son, partly imbe- 
 cile, all but a liisus naturcz, separated from his wife 
 immediately after marriage, through whom there could 
 never be succession, he thought of him, and for the 
 millionth time in his life winced in impotent disdain. 
 He thought, too, of his beloved second son, lying in 
 a soldier's grave in Macedonia ; of the buoyant reso- 
 nance of that bygone voice, of the soldierly good 
 spirits like to the good spirits of the prisoner before 
 him, and "his heart yearned towards the young man 
 exceedingly." If that second son had but lived there 
 would be now no compromising with this Republican
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 197 
 
 Government of France ; he would be fighting for the 
 white flag with the golden lilies over in the Vendee. 
 
 "Your ancestors were mine, then," remarked the 
 Duke gravely, after a pause, " though I had not heard 
 of that emigration to England. However however ! 
 Come, tell me of the engagement in which you lost 
 your ship," he added hurriedly in a low tone. He was 
 now so intent that he did not stir in his seat, but sat 
 rigidly still, regarding Philip kindly. Something in 
 the last few moments' experience had loosened the 
 puckered skin, softened the crabbed look in the face, 
 and Philip had no longer doubt of his friendly inten- 
 tions. 
 
 " I had the frigate Araminta, twenty-four guns, a 
 fortnight out from Portsmouth," responded Philip at 
 once. " We fell in with a French frigate, thirty guns. 
 She was well to leeward of us, and the Araminta bore 
 up under all sail, keen for action. The Frenchman 
 was as ready as ourselves for a brush, and tried to get 
 the weather of us, but, failing, she shortened sail and 
 gallantly waited for us. The Araminta overhauled 
 her on the weather quarter, and hailed. She re- 
 sponded with cheers and defiance, as sturdy a foe 
 as man could wish. We lost no time in getting to 
 work, and, both running before the wind, we fired 
 broadsides as we cracked on. It was tit for tat for a 
 while with splinters flying and neither of us in the 
 eye of advantage, but at last the Araminta shot away 
 the main-mast and wheel of the Niobe, and she wal- 
 lowed like a tub in the trough of the sea. We bore 
 down on her, and our carronades raked her like a 
 comb. Then we fell thwart her hawse, and tore her 
 up through her stern-ports with a couple of thirty- 
 two-pounders. But before we could board her she
 
 198 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 veered, lurched, and fell upon us, carrying away our 
 foremast. We cut clear of the tangle, and were mak- 
 ing once more to board her, when I saw to windward 
 two French frigates bearing down on us under full 
 sail. And then" 
 
 The Prince exclaimed in surprise, " I had not heard 
 of this," he said. " They did not tell the world of 
 those odds against you." 
 
 " Odds and to spare, Monsieur le Due ! We had 
 had all we could manage in the Niobe, though she 
 was now disabled, and we could hurt her no more. 
 If the others came up on our weather, we should be 
 chewed like a bone in a mastiff's jaws. If she must 
 fight again, the Araminta would be little fit for action 
 till we cleared away the wreckage ; so I sheered off 
 to make all sail. We ran under courses with what 
 canvas we had, and got away with a fair breeze and a 
 good squall whitening to windward, while our decks 
 were cleared for action again. The guns on the main 
 deck had done good service and kept their places. 
 On the quarter-deck and fo'castle there was more 
 amiss, but as I watched the frigates overhauling us I 
 took heart of grace still. There were the creaking 
 and screaming of the carronade-slides, the rattling of 
 the carriages of the long twelve-pounders amidships 
 as they were shotted and run out again, the thud of 
 the carpenters' hammers as the shot - holes were 
 plugged, good sounds in the ears of a fighter " 
 
 " Of a d' Avranche of a d'Avranche ! " interposed 
 the Prince. 
 
 " We were in no bad way, and my men were ready 
 for another brush with our enemies, everything being 
 done that could be done, everything in its place," 
 continued Philip. "When the frigates were a fair
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 199 
 
 gun-shot off, I saw that the squall was overhauling 
 us faster than they. This meant good fortune if we 
 wished escape, bad luck if we would rather fight. 
 But I had no time to think of that, for up comes 
 Shoreham, my lieutenant, with a face all white. ' For 
 God's sake, sir,' says he, 'shoal water shoal water! 
 We 're ashore ! ' So much, Monsieur le Prince, for 
 Admiralty charts and soundings ! It 's a hateful 
 thing to see, the light green water, the deadly siss- 
 ing of the straight narrow ripple like the grooves of 
 a washboard ; and a ship's length ahead the water 
 breaking over the reefs, two frigates behind ready to 
 eat us. 
 
 " Up we came to the wind, the sheets were let run, 
 and away flew the halyards. All to no purpose, for 
 a minute later we came broadside on the reef, and 
 were gored on a pinnacle of rock. The end was n't 
 long in coming. The Araminta lurched off the reef 
 on the swell. We watched our chance as she rolled, 
 and hove overboard our broadside of long twelve- 
 pounders. But it was no use. The swishing of the 
 water as it spouted from the scuppers was a deal 
 louder than the clang of the chain-pumps. It did n't 
 last long. The gale spilled itself upon us, and the 
 Araminta, sick and spent, slowly settled down. The 
 last I saw of her " Philip raised his voice as though 
 he would hide what he felt behind an unsentimental 
 loudness " was the white pennant at the maintop- 
 gallant masthead. A little while, and then I did n't 
 see it, and and so good-by to my first command ! 
 Then" he smiled ironically "then I was made 
 prisoner by the French frigates, and have been closely 
 confined ever since, against every decent principle of 
 warfare. And now here I am, Monsieur le Due ! "
 
 200 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The Duke had listened with an immovable atten- 
 tion, the gray eyebrows twitching now and then, the 
 arid face betraying a grim enjoyment. When Philip 
 had finished, he still sat looking at him with steady 
 slow-blinking eyes, as though unwilling to break the 
 spell the tale had thrown round him. But an inqui- 
 sition in the look, a slight cocking of the head as 
 though weighing important things, the ringed fingers 
 softly drumming on the stick before him, all these 
 told Philip that something was at stake concerning 
 himself. 
 
 The Duke seemed about to speak, when the door 
 of the room opened and the Minister of Marine en- 
 tered. The Duke, rising and courteously laying a 
 hand on his arm, drew him over to the window, and 
 engaged him in whispered conversation, of which the 
 subject seemed unwelcome to the Minister, for now 
 and then he interrupted sharply. 
 
 As the two stood fretfully debating, the door of the 
 room again opened. There appeared an athletic, ad- 
 venturous-looking officer in brilliant uniform who was 
 smiling at something called after him from the ante- 
 chamber. His blue coat was spick and span, and very 
 gay with double embroidery at the collar, coat-tails, and 
 pockets. His white waistcoat and trousers were spot- 
 less ; his netted sash of blue with its stars on the silver 
 tassels had a look of studied elegance. The black 
 three-cornered hat, broidered with gold, and adorned 
 with three ostrich tips of red and a white and blue 
 aigrette, was, however, the glory of his bravery. He 
 seemed young to be a General of Division, for such 
 his double embroideries and aigrette proclaimed him. 
 
 He glanced at Philip, and replied to his salute with 
 a half-quizzical smile on his proud and forceful face.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 201 
 
 " Dalbarade, Dalbarade," said he to the Minister, 
 " I have but an hour Ah, Monsieur le Prince ! " 
 he added suddenly, as the latter came hurriedly to- 
 wards him, and, grasping his hand warmly, drew him 
 over to Dalbarade at the window. Philip now knew 
 beyond doubt that he was the subject of debate, for 
 all the time that the Duke in a low tone, half cordial, 
 half querulous, spoke to the newcomer, the latter let 
 his eyes wander curiously towards Philip. That he 
 was an officer of great importance was to be seen from 
 the deference paid him by Dalbarade. 
 
 All at once he made a polite gesture towards the 
 Duke, and, facing the Minister, said in a cavalier-like 
 tone, and with a touch of patronage, " Yes, yes, Dal- 
 barade ; it is of no consequence, and I myself will be 
 surety for both." Then turning to the nobleman, he 
 added, "We are beginning to square accounts, Duke. 
 Last time we met I had a large favor of you, and to- 
 day you have a small favor of me. Pray introduce 
 your kinsman here, before you take him with you," 
 and he turned squarely towards Philip. 
 
 Philip could scarcely believe his ears. The Duke's 
 kinsman ! Had the Duke then got his release on the 
 ground that they were of kin, a kinship which, even 
 to be authentic, must go back seven centuries for 
 proof ? 
 
 Yet here he was being introduced to the revolu- 
 tionary general as " my kinsman of the isles of Nor- 
 mandy." Here, too, was the same General Grand- 
 jon-Larisse applauding him on his rare fortune to be 
 thus released on parole through the Due de Bercy, and 
 quoting with a laugh,' half sneer and half raillery, the 
 old Norman proverb : " A Norman dead a thousand 
 years cries Haro ! Haro ! if you tread on his grave."
 
 202 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 So saying, he saluted the Duke with a liberal 
 flourish of the hand and a friendly bow, and turned 
 away to Dalbarade. 
 
 A half-hour later Philip was outside with the Duke, 
 walking slowly through the courtyard to an open 
 gateway, where waited a carriage with un liveried 
 coachman and outriders. No word was spoken till 
 they entered the carriage and were driven swiftly 
 away. 
 
 " Whither now, your Highness ? " asked Philip. 
 
 "To the duchy," answered the other shortly, and 
 relapsed into sombre meditation.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE castle of the Prince d'Avranche, Due de 
 Bercy, was set upon a vast rock, and the town 
 of Bercy huddled round the foot of it and on great 
 granite ledges some distance up. With fifty defend- 
 ers the castle, on its lofty pedestal, might have resisted 
 as many thousands ; and, indeed, it had done so more 
 times than there were rubies in the rings of the pre- 
 sent Duke, who had rescued Captain Philip d'Avranche 
 from the clutches of the Red Government. 
 
 Upon the castle, with the flag of the duchy, waved 
 the Republican tricolor, where for a thousand years 
 had floated a royal banner. When France's great 
 trouble came to her, and the nobles fled, or went to 
 fight for the King in the Vendee, the old Duke, with 
 a dreamy indifference to the opinion of Europe, had 
 proclaimed alliance with the new Government. He 
 felt himself privileged in being thus selfish ; and he 
 had made the alliance that he might pursue, un- 
 checked, the one remaining object of his life. 
 
 This object had grown from a longing into a passion. 
 It was now his one ambition to arrange a new succes- 
 sion excluding the Vaufontaines, a detested branch of 
 the Bercy family. There had been an ancient feud 
 between his family and the Vaufontaines, whose 
 rights to the succession, after his eldest son, were to 
 this time paramount. For three years past he had 
 had a whole monastery of Benedictine monks at work
 
 204 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 to find some collateral branch from which he might 
 take a successor to Leopold John, his imbecile heir 
 but to no purpose. 
 
 In more than a little the Duke was superstitious, 
 and on the day when he met Philip d'Avranche in 
 the chamber of M. Dalbarade he had twice turned 
 back after starting to make the visit, so great was his 
 dislike to pay homage to the revolutionary Minister. 
 He had nerved himself to the distasteful duty, how- 
 ever, and had gone. When he saw the name of the 
 young English prisoner his own name staring 
 him in the face, he had had such a thrill as a miracle 
 might have sent through the veins of a doubting Chris- 
 tian. 
 
 Since that minute he, like Philip, had been in a kind 
 of dream ; on his part, to find in the young man, if 
 possible, an heir and successor ; on Philip's to make 
 real exalted possibilities. There had slipped past two 
 months, wherein Philip had seen a new and brilliant 
 avenue of life opening out before him. Most like a 
 dream indeed it seemed. He had been shut out from 
 the world, cut off from all connection with England 
 and his past, for M. Dalbarade made it a condition of 
 release that he should send no messages or corre- 
 spondence to any one outside Castle Bercy. He had 
 not therefore written Guicla. She seemed an inter- 
 minable distance away. He was as completely in a 
 new world as though he had been transplanted ; he 
 was as wholly in the air of fresh ambitions as though 
 he were beginning the world again, ambitions as 
 gorgeous as bewildering. 
 
 For, almost from the first, the old nobleman treated 
 him like a son. He spoke freely to him of the most 
 private family matters, of the most important state
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 205 
 
 affairs. He consulted with him, he seemed to lean 
 upon him. He alluded often, in oblique phrase, to 
 adoption and succession. In the castle Philip was 
 treated as though he were in truth a high kinsman of 
 the Duke. Royal ceremony and state were on every 
 hand. He who had never had a servant of his own, 
 now had a score at his disposal. He had spent his 
 early days in a small Jersey manor house ; here he was 
 walking the halls of a palace with the step of as- 
 surance, the most honored figure in a principality next 
 to the sovereign himself. " Adoption and succes- 
 sion " were words that rang in his ears day and night. 
 The wild dream had laid feverish hands upon him. 
 Jersey, England, the Navy, seemed very far away. 
 
 Ambition was the deepest passion in him, even as 
 defeating the hopes of the Vaufontaines was more 
 than a religion with the Duke. By no trickery, but 
 by a persistent good nature, alertness of speech, avoid- 
 ance of dangerous topics, and aptness in anecdote, he 
 had hourly made his position stronger, himself more 
 honored at the Castle Bercy. He had also tactfully 
 declined an offer of money from the Prince, none 
 the less decidedly because he was nearly penniless. 
 The Duke's hospitality he was ready to accept, but 
 not his purse, not yet. 
 
 Yet he was not in all acting a part. He was sincere 
 in his liking for the soured, bereaved sovereign, forced 
 to endure alliance with a Government he loathed. 
 He even admired the Duke for his vexing idiosyn- 
 crasies, for they came of a strong individuality which, 
 in happier case, should have made him a contented 
 and beloved monarch. As it was, the people of his 
 duchy were loyal to him beyond telling, doing his bid- 
 ding without cavil ; standing for the King of France
 
 206 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 at his will, declaring for the Republic at his command ; 
 for, whatever the Duke was to the world outside, 
 within his duchy he was just and benevolent, if im- 
 perious. 
 
 All these things Philip had come to know in his 
 short sojourn. He had, with the Duke, mingled 
 freely, yet with great natural dignity, among the peo- 
 ple of the duchy, and was introduced everywhere, and 
 at all times, as the sovereign's kinsman, "in a 
 direct line from an ancient branch," as his Highness 
 declared. He had been received gladly, and had 
 made himself an agreeable figure in the duchy, to the 
 delight of the Duke, who watched his every motion, 
 every word, and their effect. He came to know that 
 gossip had gone abroad that the Duke had already 
 chosen him for heir. A fantastic rumor, maybe, yet 
 who could tell ? 
 
 One day the Duke arranged a conference of the 
 civil and military officers of his duchy. He chuckled 
 to see how reluctant they all were at first to concede 
 their homage to his favorite, and how soon they fell 
 under that favorite's influence, all save one man, the 
 Intendant of the duchy. Philip himself was quick to 
 see that this man, Count Carignan Damour, appre- 
 hensive for his own selfish ends, was bitterly opposed 
 to him. But Damour was one among many, and the 
 Duke was entirely satisfied, for the common people 
 received Philip with applause. 
 
 On this very day was laid before the Duke the 
 result of the long researches of the monks into the 
 genealogy of the d'Avranches, and there, clearly 
 enough, was confirmation of all Philip had said about 
 his ancestors and their relation to the ancient house
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 207 
 
 of d'Avranche. The Duke was overjoyed, and there- 
 upon secretly made ready for Philip's formal adoption 
 and succession. It never occurred to him that Philip 
 might refuse. 
 
 On the same afternoon he sent for Philip to come 
 to him in the highest room of the great tower. It 
 was in this room that, many years ago, the Duke's 
 young and noble wife, from the province of Aquitaine, 
 had given birth to the second son of the house of 
 Bercy, and had died a year later, happy that she 
 should at last leave behind a healthy, beautiful child, 
 to do her honor in her lord's eyes. 
 
 In this same room the Duke and the brave second 
 son had spent unnumbered hours ; and here it had 
 come home to him that the young wife was faultless 
 as to the elder, else she had not borne him this per- 
 fect younger son. Thus her memory came to be 
 adored ; and thus, when the noble second son, the 
 glory of his house and of his heart, was killed in 
 Macedonia, the Duke still came to the little upper 
 room for his communion of remembrance. Hour 
 after hour he would sit looking from the great window 
 out over the wide green valley, mourning bitterly, and 
 feeling his heart shrivel up within him, his body grow 
 crabbed and cold, and his face sour and scornful. 
 
 When Philip now entered this sanctuary, the Duke 
 nodded and motioned him to a chair. In silence he 
 accepted, and in silence they sat for a time. Philip 
 knew the history of this little room ; he had learned 
 it first from Frange Pergot, the porter at the Castle 
 gates with whom he had made friends. The silence 
 gave him opportunity to recall the whole story. 
 
 At length the motionless brown figure huddled in 
 the great chair, not looking at Philip but out over the
 
 208 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 wide green valley, began to speak in a low, measured 
 tone, as a dreamer might tell his dream, or a priest 
 his vision : 
 
 " A breath of life has come again to me through 
 you. Centuries ago our ancestors were brothers, 
 far back in the direct line, brothers, the monks have 
 proved it. Now I shall have my spite of the Vaufon- 
 taines, and now shall I have another son strong, 
 and with good blood in him to beget good blood." 
 
 A strange, lean sort of smile passed over his lips, 
 his eyebrows twitched, his hands clenched the arm of 
 the chair wherein he sat, and he made a motion of his 
 jaws as though enjoying a toothsome morsel. 
 
 " H'm ! Henri Vaufontaine shall see and all his 
 tribe ! They shall not feed upon these lands of the 
 d'Avranches, they shall not carouse at my table when 
 I am gone and the fool I begot has returned to his 
 Maker. The fault of him was never mine, but God's 
 does the Almighty think we can forget that ! I 
 was ever sound and strong. When I was twenty I 
 killed two men with my own sword at a blow ; when 
 I was thirty, to serve the King I rode a hundred and 
 forty miles in one day from Paris to Dracourt it 
 was. We d'Avranches have been men of power 
 always. We fought for Christ's sepulchre in the 
 Holy Land, and three bishops and two archbishops 
 have gone from us to speak God's cause to the world. 
 And my wife, she came of the purest stock of 
 Aquitaine, and she was constant in her prayers. 
 What discourtesy was it then, for God, who hath 
 been served well by us, to serve me in return with 
 such mockery; sending me a bloodless zany, whom his 
 wife left ere the wedding meats were cold ! " 
 
 His foot tapped the floor in anger, his eyes wan-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 209 
 
 dered restlessly out over the green expanse. Sud- 
 denly a dove perched upon the window-sill before 
 him. His quick, shifting gaze settled on it and 
 stayed, softening and quieting. 
 
 After a slight pause, he turned to Philip and spoke 
 in a still lower tone. " Last night in the chapel I 
 spake to God and I said, ' Lord God, let there be fair 
 speech between us. Wherefore hast Thou nailed me 
 like a malefactor to the tree ? Why didst Thou send 
 me a fool to lead our house, and afterwards a lad as 
 fine and strong as Absalom, and then lay him low 
 like a wisp of corn in the wind, leaving me wifeless, 
 with a prince to follow me, the byword of men, the 
 scorn of women and of the Vaufontaines ? ' ' 
 
 He paused again, and his eyes seemed to pierce 
 Philip's, as though he would read if each word was 
 burning its way into his brain. 
 
 " As I stood there alone, a voice spoke to me as 
 plainly as now I speak to you, and it said : ' Have 
 done with railing. That which was the elder's shall 
 be given to the younger. The tree hath grown 
 crabbed and old, it beareth no longer. Behold the 
 young sapling by thy door ; I have planted it there. 
 The seed is the seed of the old tree. Cherish it, lest 
 a grafted tree flourish in thy house.' "... His words 
 rose triumphantly. "Yes, yes, I heard it with my 
 own ears, the Voice. The crabbed tree, that is the 
 main line, dying in me ; the grafted tree is the 
 Vaufontaine, the interloper and the mongrel ; and 
 the sapling from the same seed as the crabbed old 
 tree" he reached out as though to clutch Philip's 
 arm, but drew back, sat erect in his chair, and said 
 with ringing decision, " the sapling is Philip 
 d'Avranche, of the Jersey Isle."
 
 210 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 For a moment there was silence between the two. 
 A strong wind came rushing up the valley through 
 the clear sunlight, the great trees beneath the castle 
 swayed, and the flapping of the tricolor could be 
 heard within. From the window-sill the dove, caught 
 up on the wave of wind, sailed away down the 
 widening glade. 
 
 Philip's first motion was to stand up and say : " I 
 dare not think your Highness means in very truth 
 to make me your kinsman in the succession." 
 
 " And why not, why not ? " testily answered the 
 Duke, who liked not to be imperfectly apprehended. 
 Then he added more kindly, " Why not come, tell 
 me that, cousin. Is it then distasteful ? " 
 
 Philip's heart gave a leap and his face flushed. " I 
 have no other kinsman," he answered in a low tone 
 of feeling. " I knew I had your august friendship 
 else all the tokens of your goodness to me were 
 mockery ; but I had scarce let myself count on the 
 higher, more intimate honor I, a poor captain in 
 the English navy." 
 
 He said the last words slowly, for, whatever else he 
 was, he was a loyal English sailor, and he wished the 
 Due de Bercy to know it, the more convincingly the 
 better for the part he was going to play in this duchy, 
 if all things favored. 
 
 " Tut, tut, what has that to do with it ? " answered 
 the Duke. " What has poverty to do with blood ? 
 Younger sons are always poor, younger cousins poorer. 
 As for the captaincy of an English warship, that 's of 
 no consequence where greater games are playing 
 eh ? " 
 
 He eyed Philip keenly, yet, too, there was an unasked 
 question in his look. He was a critic of human nature,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 211 
 
 he understood the code of honor, none better ; his was 
 a mind that might be willfully, but never crassly blind. 
 He was selfish where this young gentleman was con- 
 cerned, yet he knew well how the same gentleman 
 ought to think, speak, and act. 
 
 The moment of the great test was come. 
 
 Philip could not read behind the strange, shriveled 
 face. Instinct could help him much, but it could not 
 interpret that parchment. He did not know whether 
 his intended reply would alienate the Duke or not, but 
 if it did, then he must bear it. He had come, as 
 he thought, to the crux of this adventure. All in 
 a moment he was recalled again to his real position. 
 The practical facts of his life possessed him. He was 
 standing between a garish dream and commonplace 
 realities. Old feelings came back the old life. The 
 ingrain loyalty of all his years was his again. What- 
 ever he might be, he was still an English officer, and 
 he was not the man to break the code of professional 
 honor lightly. If the Duke's favor and adoption must 
 depend on the answer he must now give, well, let it 
 be ; his last state could not be worse than his first. 
 
 So, still standing, he answered the Duke boldly, yet 
 quietly, his new kinsman watching him with a grim 
 curiosity. 
 
 "Monsieur le Prince," said Philip, "I am used to 
 poverty, that matters little ; but whatever you intend 
 towards me, and I am persuaded it is to my great 
 honor and happiness, I am, and must still remain, 
 an officer of the English navy." 
 
 The Duke's brow contracted, and his answer came 
 cold and incisive : " The Navy, that is a bagatelle ; 
 I had hoped to offer you heritage. Pooh, pooh, com- 
 manding a frigate is a trade, a mere trade ! "
 
 212 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Philip's face did not stir a muscle. He was in spirit 
 the born adventurer, the gamester who could play for 
 life's largest stakes, lose all, draw a long breath, and 
 begin the world again. 
 
 " It 's a busy time in my trade now, as Monsieur 
 Dalbarade would tell you, Duke." 
 
 The Duke's lips compressed as though in anger. 
 " You mean to say, monsieur, that you would let this 
 wretched war between France and England stand 
 before our own kinship and alliance ! What are you 
 and I in this great shuffle of events ? Have less ego- 
 tism, less vanity, monsieur. You are no more than a 
 million others, and I I am nothing. Come, come, 
 there is more than one duty in the life of every man, 
 and some time he must choose between one and the 
 other. England does not need you," his voice and 
 manner softened, he leaned towards Philip, the eyes 
 almost closing as he peered into his face, " but you 
 are needed by the House of Bercy." 
 
 " I was commissioned to a warship in time of war," 
 answered Philip quietly, "and I lost that warship. 
 When I can, it is my duty to go back to the powers 
 that sent me forth. I am still an officer in full com- 
 mission. Your Highness knows well what honor 
 claims of me." 
 
 " There are hundreds of officers to take your place ; 
 in the duchy of Bercy there is none to stand for you. 
 You must choose between your trade and the claims 
 of name and blood, older than the English navy, older 
 than Norman England." 
 
 Philip's color was as good, his manner as easy as if 
 nothing were at stake ; but in his heart he felt that 
 the game was lost he saw a storm gathering in the 
 Duke's eyes, the disappointment presently to break
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 213 
 
 out into wrath, the injured vanity to burst into snarl- 
 ing disdain. But he spoke boldly nevertheless, for 
 he was resolved that, even if he had to return from 
 this duchy to prison, he would go with colors flying. 
 
 "The proudest moment of my life was when the 
 Due de Bercy called me kinsman," he responded ; 
 " the best " (had he then so utterly forgotten the 
 little church of St. Michael's !) " was when he showed 
 me friendship. Yet, if my trade may not be recon- 
 ciled with what he may intend for me, I must ask to 
 be sent back to Monsieur Dalbarade." He smiled 
 hopelessly, yet with stoical disregard of consequences, 
 and went on : " For my trade is in full swing these 
 days, and I stand my chance of being exchanged and 
 earning my daily bread again. At the Admiralty I 
 am a master workman on full pay, but I 'm not earn- 
 ing my salt here. With Monsieur Dalbarade my con- 
 science would be easier." 
 
 He had played his last card. Now he was prepared 
 for the fury of a jaundiced, self-willed old man, who 
 could ill brook being thwarted. He had quickly 
 imagined it all, and not without reason, for surely a 
 furious disdain was at the gray lips, lines of anger 
 were corrugating the forehead, the rugose parchment 
 face was fiery with distemper. 
 
 But what Philip expected did not come to pass. 
 Rising quickly to his feet, the Duke took him by the 
 shoulders, kissed him on both cheeks, and said : 
 
 " My mind is made up is made up. Nothing 
 can change it. You have no father, cousin, well, I 
 will be your father. You shall retain your post in 
 the English navy ; officer and patriot you shall be, 
 if you choose. A brave man makes a better ruler. 
 But now there is much to do. There is the concur-
 
 214 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 rence of the English King to secure ; that shall be 
 has already been my business. There is the assent 
 of Leopold John to achieve ; that I shall command. 
 There are the grave formalities of adoption to ar- 
 range ; these I shall expedite. You shall see, Master 
 Insolence, you, who 'd throw me and my duchy 
 over for your trade, you shall see how the Vaufon- 
 taines will gnash their teeth ! " 
 
 In his heart Philip was exultant, though outwardly 
 he was calm. He was, however, unprepared for what 
 followed. Suddenly the Duke, putting a hand on 
 his shoulder, said : 
 
 " One thing, cousin, one thing ! You must marry 
 in our order, and at once. There shall be no delay. 
 Succession must be made sure. I know the very 
 woman, the Comtesse Chantavoine, young, rich, 
 amiable. You shall meet her to-morrow to-mor- 
 row ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Comtesse Chantavoine, young, rich, amiable. 
 You shall meet her to-morrow /"... 
 
 Long after Philip left the Duke to go to his own 
 chamber, these words rang in his ears. He suddenly 
 felt the cords of fate tightening round him. So real 
 was the momentary illusion that, as he passed through 
 the great hall where hung the portraits of the Duke's 
 ancestors, he made a sudden outward motion of his 
 arms as though to free himself from a physical re- 
 straint. 
 
 Strange to say, he had never foreseen or reckoned 
 with this matter of marriage in the designs of the 
 Duke. He had forgotten that sovereign dukes must 
 make sure their succession even unto the third and 
 fourth generations. His first impulse had been to 
 tell the Duke that to introduce him to the Countess 
 would be futile, for he was already married. But the 
 instant warning of the mind that his Highness could 
 never and would never accept the daughter of a Jer- 
 sey shipbuilder restrained him. He had no idea that 
 Guida's descent from the noble de Mauprats of Cham- 
 bery would weigh with the Duke, who would only see 
 in her some apple-cheeked peasant stumbling over her 
 Court train. 
 
 It was curious that the Duke had never even hinted 
 at the chance of his being already married yet not 
 so curious either, since complete silence concerning a
 
 216 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 wife was in itself declaration enough that he was un- 
 married. He felt in his heart that a finer sense would 
 have offered Guida no such humiliation, for he knew 
 the lie of silence to be as evil as the lie of speech. 
 
 He had not spoken, partly because he had not yet 
 become used to the fact that he really was married. 
 It had never been brought home to him by the ever- 
 present conviction of habit. One day of married life, 
 or, in reality, a few hours of married life, with Guida 
 had given the sensation more of a noble adventure 
 than of a lasting condition. With distance from that 
 noble adventure, something of the glow of a lover's 
 relations had gone, and the subsequent tender enthu- 
 siasm of mind and memory was not vivid enough to 
 make him daring or as he would have said reck- 
 less for its sake. Yet this same tender enthusiasm 
 was sincere enough to make him accept the fact of his 
 marriage without discontent, even in the glamour of 
 new and alluring ambitions. 
 
 If it had been a question of giving up Guida or 
 giving up the duchy of Bercy, if that had been put 
 before him as the sole alternative, he would have de- 
 cided as quickly in Guida' s favor as he did when he 
 thought it was a question between the duchy and the 
 navy. The straightforward issue of Guida or the 
 duchy he had not been called upon to face. But, un- 
 fortunately for those who are tempted, issues are 
 never put quite so plainly by the heralds of destiny 
 and penalty. They are disguised as delectable chances : 
 the toss-up is always the temptation of life. The man 
 who uses trust-money for three days, to acquire in 
 those three days a fortune, certain as magnificent, 
 would pull up short beforehand if the issue of theft 
 or honesty were put squarely before him. Morally he
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 217 
 
 means no theft ; he uses his neighbor's saw until his 
 own is mended ; but he breaks his neighbor's saw, his 
 own is lost on its homeward way ; having no money 
 to buy another, he is tried and convicted on a charge 
 of theft. Thus the custom of society establishes the 
 charge of immorality upon the technical defect. But 
 not on that alone ; upon the principle that what is com- 
 mitted in trust shall be held inviolate, with an exact 
 obedience to the spirit as to the letter of the law. 
 
 The issue did not come squarely to Philip. He 
 had not openly lied about Guida : so far he had had no 
 intention of doing so. He even figured to himself with 
 what surprise Guida would greet his announcement 
 that she was henceforth Princesse Guida d'Avranche, 
 and in due time would be her serene highness the 
 Duchesse de Bercy. Certainly there was nothing im- 
 moral in his ambitions. If the reigning Prince chose 
 to establish him as heir, who had a right to complain ? 
 
 Then, as to an officer of the English navy accept- 
 ing succession in a sovereign duchy in suzerainty to 
 the present Government of France, while England 
 was at war with her, the Duke had more than once, 
 in almost so many words, defined the situation. Be- 
 cause the Duke himself, with no successor assured, 
 was powerless to side with the Royalists against the 
 Red Government, he was at the moment obliged, for 
 the very existence of his duchy, to hoist the tricolor 
 upon the castle with his own flag. Once the succes- 
 sion was secure beyond the imbecile Leopold John, 
 then he would certainly declare against the present 
 fiendish Government and for the overthrown dynasty. 
 
 Now England was fighting France, not only because 
 she was revolutionary France, but because of the mur- 
 der of Louis XVI. and for the restoration of the over-
 
 218 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 thrown dynasty. Also she was in close sympathy 
 with the war of the Vendee, to which she would lend 
 all possible assistance. Philip argued that if it was 
 his duty, as a captain in the English navy, to fight 
 against the revolutionaries from without, he would be 
 beyond criticism if, as the Due de Bercy, he also 
 fought against them from within. 
 
 Indeed, it was with this plain statement of the facts 
 that the second military officer of the duchy had some 
 days before been sent to the Court of St. James's to 
 secure its intervention for Philip's freedom by ex- 
 change of prisoners. This officer was also charged 
 with securing the consent of the English King for 
 Philip's acceptance of succession in the duchy, while 
 retaining his position in the English navy. The envoy 
 had been instructed by the Duke to offer his sympathy 
 with England in the war and his secret adherence to 
 the Royalist cause, to become open so soon as the 
 succession through Philip was secured. 
 
 To Philip's mind all that side of the case was in 
 his favor, and sorted well with his principles of pro- 
 fessional honor. His mind was not so acutely oc- 
 cupied with his private honor. To tell the Duke now 
 of his marriage would be to load the dice against him- 
 self : he felt that the opportunity for speaking of it 
 had passed. 
 
 He seated himself at a table and took from his 
 pocket a letter of Guida's written many weeks before, 
 in which she had said firmly that she had not an- 
 nounced the marriage, and would not ; that he must 
 do it, and he alone ; that the letter written to her 
 grandfather had not been received by him, and that 
 no one in Jersey knew their secret.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 219 
 
 In reading this letter again a wave of feeling rushed 
 over him. He realized the force and strength of her 
 nature : every word had a clear, sharp straightforward- 
 ness and the ring of truth. 
 
 A crisis was near, and he must prepare to meet it. 
 The Duke had said that he must marry ; a woman 
 had already been chosen for him, and he was to meet 
 her to-morrow. But, as he said to himself, that meant 
 nothing. To meet a woman was not of necessity to 
 marry her. 
 
 Marry ! he could feel his flesh creeping. It gave 
 him an ugly, startled sensation. It was like some 
 imp of Satan to drop into his ear the suggestion that 
 princes, ere this, had been known to have two wives, 
 one of them unofficial. He could have struck him- 
 self in the face for the iniquity of the suggestion ; he 
 flushed from the indecency of it ; but so have sinners 
 ever flushed as they set forth on the garish road to 
 Avernus. Yet yet somehow he must carry on the 
 farce of being single until the adoption and the suc- 
 cession had been formally arranged ! 
 
 Vexed with these unbidden and unwelcome thoughts, 
 he got up and walked about his chamber restlessly. 
 "Guida the poor Guida ! " he said to himself many 
 times. He was angry, disgusted that those shameful, 
 irresponsible thoughts should have come to him. He 
 would atone for all that and more when he was 
 Prince and she Princesse d'Avranche. But, neverthe- 
 less, he was ill at ease with himself. Guida was off 
 there alone in Jersey, alone. 
 
 Now, all at once, another possibility flashed into his 
 mind. Suppose why, suppose thoughtless scoun- 
 drel that he had been ! suppose that there might 
 come another than himself and Guida to bear his
 
 220 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 name ! And she there alone, her marriage still kept 
 secret the danger of it to her good name. But she 
 had said nothing in her letters, hinted nothing. No, 
 in none had there been the most distant suggestion. 
 Then and there he got them, one and all, and read 
 every word, every line, all through to the end. No ; 
 there was not one hint. Of course it could not be so ; 
 she would have but no, she might not have ! 
 Guida was unlike anybody else. 
 
 He read on and on again. And now, somehow, he 
 thought he caught in one of the letters a new ring, a 
 pensive gravity, a deeper tension, which were like 
 ciphers or signals to tell him of some change in her. 
 For a moment he was shaken. Manhood, human 
 sympathy, surged up in him. The flush of a new 
 sensation ran through his veins like fire. The first 
 instinct of fatherhood came to him, a thrilling, up- 
 lifting feeling. But as suddenly there shot through 
 his mind a thought which brought him to his feet with 
 a spring. 
 
 But suppose suppose that it was so suppose 
 that through Guida -the further succession might pre- 
 sently be made sure, and suppose he went to the 
 Prince and told him all ; that might win his favor for 
 her ; and the rest would be easy. That was it, as 
 clear as day. Meanwhile he would hold his peace, 
 and abide the propitious hour. 
 
 For, above all else and this was the thing that 
 clinched the purpose in his mind above all else, the 
 Duke had, at best, but a brief time to live. But a 
 week ago the Court physician had told him that any 
 violence or mental shock might snap the thread of 
 existence. Clearly, the thing was to go on as before, 
 keep his marriage secret, meet the Countess, appar-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 221 
 
 ently accede to all the Duke proposed, and wait and 
 wait ! 
 
 With this clear purpose in his mind coloring all 
 that he might say, yet crippling the freedom of his 
 thought, he sat down to write to Guida. He had not 
 yet written to her, according to his parole : this issue 
 was clear ; he could not send a letter to Guida until 
 he was freed from that condition. It had been a bit- 
 ter pill to swallow ; and many times he had had to 
 struggle with himself since his arrival at the Castle. 
 For whatever the new ambitions and undertakings, 
 there was still a woman in the lonely distance for 
 whose welfare he was responsible, for whose happiness 
 he had yet done nothing, unless to give her his name 
 under sombre conditions was happiness for her. All 
 that he had done to remind him of the wedded life he 
 had so hurriedly, so daringly, so eloquently entered 
 upon, was to send his young wife fifty pounds. Some- 
 how, as this fact flashed to his remembrance now, it 
 made him shrink ; it had a certain cold, commercial 
 look which struck him unpleasantly. Perhaps, indeed, 
 the singular and painful shyness chill almost with 
 which Guida had received the fifty pounds now com- 
 municated itself to him by the intangible telegraphy 
 of the mind and spirit. 
 
 All at once that bare, glacial fact of having sent 
 her fifty pounds acted as an ironical illumination of 
 his real position. He felt conscious that Guida would 
 have preferred some simple gift, some little thing that 
 women love, in token and remembrance, rather than 
 this contribution to the common needs of existence. 
 Now that he came to think of it, since he had left her 
 in Jersey, he had never sent her ever so small a gift. 
 He had never given her any gifts at all save the Mai-
 
 222 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 tese cross in her childhood and her wedding-ring. 
 As for the ring, it had never occurred to him that 
 she could not wear it save in the stillness of the night, 
 unseen by any eye save her own. He could not know 
 that she had been wont to go to sleep with the hand 
 clasped to her breast, pressing close to her the one 
 outward token she had of a new life, begun with a 
 sweetness which was very bitter and a bitterness only 
 a little sweet. 
 
 Philip was in no fitting mood to write a letter. Too 
 many emotions were in conflict in him at once. They 
 were having their way with him ; and, perhaps, in this 
 very complexity of his feelings he came nearer to be- 
 ing really and acutely himself than he had ever been 
 in his life. Indeed, there was a moment when he was 
 almost ready to consign the Duke and all that apper- 
 tained to the devil or the deep sea, and to take his 
 fate as it came. But one of the other selves of him, 
 calling down from the little attic where dark things 
 brood, told him that to throw up his present chances 
 would bring him no nearer and no sooner to Guida, 
 and must return him to the prison whence he came. 
 
 But he would write to Guida now, and send the let- 
 ter when he was released from parole. His courage 
 grew as the sentences spread out before him ; he be- 
 came eloquent. He told her how heavily the days 
 and months went on apart from her. He emptied out 
 the sensations of absence, loneliness, desire, and affec- 
 tion. All at once he stopped short. It flashed upon 
 him now that always his letters had been entirely of 
 his own doings ; he had pictured himself always : his 
 own loneliness, his own grief at separation. He had 
 never yet spoken of the details of her life, questioned 
 her of this and of that, of all the little things which
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 223 
 
 fill the life of a woman not because she loves them, 
 but because she is a woman, and the knowledge and 
 governance of little things is the habit of her life. 
 His past egotism was borne in upon him now. He 
 would try to atone for it. Now he asked her many 
 questions in his letter. But one he did not ask. He 
 knew not how to speak to her of it. The fact that he 
 could not was a powerful indictment of his relations 
 towards her, of his treatment of her, of his headlong 
 courtship and marriage. 
 
 So portions of this letter of his had not the perfect 
 ring of truth, not the conviction which unselfish love 
 alone can beget. It was only at the last, only when 
 he came to a close, that the words went from him 
 with the sharp photography of his own heart. It 
 came, perhaps, from a remorse which, for the instant, 
 foreshadowed danger ahead ; from an acute pity for 
 her ; or perchance from a longing -to forego the at- 
 tempt upon an exalted place, and get back to the 
 straightforward hours, such as those upon the Ecrehos, 
 when he knew that he loved her. But the sharpness 
 of his feelings rendered more intense now the declara- 
 tion of his love. The phrases were wrung from him. 
 "Good-by no, a la bonne heure, my dearest," he 
 wrote ; " good days are coming brave, great days, 
 when I shall be free to strike another blow for Eng- 
 land, both from within and from without France; 
 when I shall be, if all go well, the Prince d'Avranche, 
 Due de Bercy, and you my perfect Princess. Good- 
 by ! Thy Philip, qui aime toujoiirs" 
 
 He had hardly written the last words when there 
 came a knocking at his door, and a servant entered. 
 
 " His Highness offers his compliments to monsieur, 
 and will monsieur descend to meet the Marquis
 
 224 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Grandjon - Larisse and the Comtesse Chantavoine, 
 who have but just arrived." 
 
 For an instant Philip could scarce compose himself, 
 but he sent a message of obedience to the Duke's 
 command, and prepared to go down. 
 
 So it was come, not to - morrow, but to - day. 
 Already the deep game was on. With a sigh which 
 was half bitter and mocking laughter, he seized the 
 pounce-box, dried the letter to Guida, and put it in his 
 pocket. As he descended the staircase, the last 
 words of it kept assailing his mind, singing in his 
 brain : 
 
 " Thy Philip, qui faime toujours ! "
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 NOT many evenings after Philip's first interview 
 with the comtesse Chantavoine, a visitor 
 arrived at the Castle. From his roundabout ap- 
 proach up the steep cliff in the dusk it was clear 
 he wished to avoid notice. Of gallant bearing, he 
 was attired in a fashion unlike the citizens of Bercy, 
 or the Republican military often to be seen in the 
 streets of the town. The whole relief of the costume 
 was white : white sash, white cuffs turned back, white 
 collar, white rosette and band, white and red bandeau, 
 and the faint glitter of a white shirt. In contrast, 
 were the black hat and plume, black top-boots with 
 huge spurs, and yellow breeches. He carried a gun 
 and a sword, and a pistol was stuck in the white 
 sash. But one thing caught the eye more than all 
 else : a white square on the breast of the long brown 
 coat, strangely ornamented with a red heart and a 
 cross. He was evidently a soldier of high rank, but 
 not of the army of the Republic. 
 
 The face was that of a devotee, not of peace but 
 of war of some forlorn crusade. It had deep en- 
 thusiasm, which yet to the trained observer would 
 seem rather the tireless faith of a convert than the 
 disposition of the natural man. It was somewhat 
 heavily lined for one so young, and the marks of a 
 hard life were on him ; but distinction and energy 
 were in his look and in every turn of his body.
 
 226 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Arriving at the Castle, he knocked at the postern. 
 At first sight of him the porter suspiciously blocked 
 the entrance with his person, but, seeing the badge 
 upon his breast, stood at gaze, and a look of keen curi- 
 osity crossed over his face. On the visitor announcing 
 himself as a Vaufontaine, this curiosity gave place to 
 as keen surprise ; he was admitted with every mark 
 of respect, and the gates closed behind him. 
 
 " Has his Highness any visitors ? " he asked as he 
 dismounted. 
 
 The porter nodded assent. 
 
 "Who are they?" He slipped a coin into the 
 porter's hand. 
 
 " One of the family, or so his Serene Highness 
 calls him." 
 
 " H'm, indeed ! A Vaufontaine, friend ? " 
 
 "No, monsieur, a d'Avranche." 
 
 " What d'Avranche ? Not Prince Leopold John ? " 
 
 " No, monsieur, the name is the same as his High- 
 ness's." 
 
 " Philip d'Avranche ? Ah, from whence ? " 
 
 " From Paris, monsieur, with his Highness." 
 
 The visitor, whistling softly to himself, stood think- 
 ing a moment. Presently he said : 
 
 " How old is he ? " 
 
 "About the same age as monsieur." 
 
 " How does he occupy himself ? " 
 
 " He walks, rides, talks with his Highness, asks 
 questions of the people, reads in the library, and 
 sometimes shoots and fishes." 
 
 " Is he a soldier ? " 
 
 "He carries no sword, and he takes long aim with 
 a gun ! " 
 
 A sly smile was lurking about the porter's mouth.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 227 
 
 The visitor drew from his pocket a second gold piece, 
 and, slipping it into the other's hand, said : " Tell it 
 all at once. Who is the gentleman, and what is his 
 business here ? Is he, perhaps, on the side of the 
 Revolution, or does he keep better company ? " 
 
 He looked keenly into the eyes of the porter, who 
 screwed up his own, returning the gaze unflinchingly. 
 Handing back the gold piece, the man answered 
 firmly : 
 
 " I have told monsieur what every one in the duchy 
 knows ; there 's no charge for that. For what more 
 his Highness and and those in his Highness' confi- 
 dence know," he drew himself up with brusque impor- 
 tance, "there 's no price, monsieur." 
 
 " Body o' me, here 's pride and vainglory ! " answered 
 the other. " But I know you, my fine Pergot, I knew 
 you almost too well years ago ; and then you were not 
 so sensitive ; then you were a good Royalist like me, 
 Pergot." 
 
 This time he fastened the man's look with his own, 
 and held it until Pergot dropped his head before it. 
 
 " I don't remember monsieur," he answered, per- 
 turbed. 
 
 " Of course not. The fine Pergot has a bad mem- 
 ory, like a good Republican, who by law cannot worship 
 his God, or make the sign of the Cross, or ask the 
 priest to visit him when he 's dying. A red Revolu- 
 tionist is our Pergot now ! " 
 
 " I 'm as good a Royalist as monsieur," retorted the 
 man with some asperity. " So are most of us. Only 
 only his Highness says to us " 
 
 " Don't gossip of what his Highness says, but do 
 his bidding, Pergot. What a fool are you to babble 
 thus ! How d' ye know but I 'm one of Fouche's or
 
 228 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Barere's men ? How d' ye know but there are five 
 hundred men beyond waiting for my whistle ? " 
 
 The man changed instantly. His hand was at his 
 side like lightning. " They 'd never hear that whistle, 
 monsieur, though you be Vaufontaine or no Vaufon- 
 taine ! " 
 
 The other, smiling, reached out and touched him 
 on the shoulder kindly. 
 
 "My dear Frange Pergot," said he, "that's the 
 man I knew once, and the sort of man that 's been 
 fighting with me for the Church and for the King 
 these months past in the Vendee. Come, come, don't 
 you know me, Pergot ? Don't you remember the 
 scapegrace with whom, for a jape, you waylaid my 
 uncle the Cardinal and robbed him, then sold him 
 back his jeweled watch for a year's indulgences ? " 
 
 " But no, no," answered the man, crossing himself 
 quickly, and by the dim lantern light peering into 
 the visitor's face, "it is not possible, monsieur. The 
 Comte Detricand de Tournay God rest him ! 
 died in the Jersey Isle, with him they called Rulle- 
 cour." 
 
 " Well, well, you might at least remember this," 
 rejoined the other, and with a smile he showed an old 
 scar in the palm of his hand. 
 
 A little later was ushered into the library of the 
 castle the Comte Detricand de Tournay, who, under 
 the name of Savary dit Detricand, had lived in the 
 Isle of Jersey for many years. There he had been a 
 dissipated idler, a keeper of worthless company, an 
 alien coolly accepting the hospitality of a country he 
 had ruthlessly invaded as a boy. Now, returned from 
 vagabondage, he was the valiant and honored heir of
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 229 
 
 the House of Vaufontaine, and heir-presumptive of 
 the House of Bercy. 
 
 True to his intention, Detricand had joined de la 
 Rochejaquelein, the intrepid, inspired leader of the 
 Vendee, whose sentiments became his own, ".Iff 
 advance, follow me ; if I retreat, kill me ; if I fall, 
 avenge me." He had proven himself daring, cour- 
 ageous, resourceful. His unvarying gayety of spirits 
 infected the simple peasants with a rebounding en- 
 ergy ; his fearlessness inspired their confidence ; his 
 kindness to the wounded, friend or foe, his mercy to 
 prisoners, the respect he showed devoted priests who 
 shared with the peasants the perils of war, made him 
 beloved. 
 
 From the first all the leaders trusted him, and he 
 sprang in a day, as had done the peasants Cathelineau, 
 d'Elbee, and StofHet, or gentlemen like Lescure and 
 Bonchamp, and noble fighters like d'Antichamp and 
 the Prince of Talmont, to an outstanding position in 
 the Royalist army. Again and again he had been en- 
 gaged in perilous sorties and leading forlorn hopes. 
 He had now come from the splendid victory at Sau- 
 mur to urge his kinsman, the Due de Bercy, to join 
 the Royalists. 
 
 He had powerful arguments to lay before a noble- 
 man the whole traditions of whose house were of con- 
 stant alliance with the Crown of France, whose very 
 duchy had been the gift of a French monarch. De- 
 tricand had not seen the Duke since he was a lad at 
 Versailles, and there would be much in his favor, for 
 of all the Vaufontaines the Duke had reason to dis- 
 like him least, and some winning power in him had of 
 late grown deep and penetrating. 
 
 When the Duke entered upon him in the library,
 
 230 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 he was under the immediate influence of a stimulating 
 talk with Philip d'Avranche and the chief officers of 
 the duchy. With the memory of past feuds and 
 hatreds in his mind, and predisposed against any 
 Vaufontaine, his greeting was courteously disdainful, 
 his manner preoccupied. 
 
 Remarking that he had but lately heard of Mon- 
 sieur le Comte's return to France, he hoped he had 
 enjoyed his career in, was it then England or Amer- 
 ica ? But yes, he remembered, it began with an ex- 
 pedition to take the Channel Isles from England, an 
 insolent, a criminal business in time of peace, fit only 
 for boys or buccaneers. Had Monsieur le Comte 
 then spent all these years in the Channel Isles a 
 prisoner perhaps ? No ? Fastening his eyes cyni- 
 cally on the symbol of the Royalist cause on Detri- 
 cand's breast, he asked to what he was indebted for 
 the honor of this present visit. Perhaps, he added 
 dryly, it was to inquire after his own health, which, he 
 was glad to assure Monsieur le Comte and all his 
 cousins of Vaufontaine, was never better. 
 
 The face was like a leather mask, telling nothing 
 of the arid sarcasm in the voice. The shoulders were 
 shrunken, the temples fallen in, the neck behind was 
 pinched, and the eyes looked out like brown beads 
 alive with fire, and touched with the excitement of 
 monomania. His last word had a delicate savagery 
 of irony, though, too, there could be heard in the 
 tone a defiance, arguing apprehension, not lost upon 
 his visitor. 
 
 Detricand had inwardly smiled during the old man's 
 monologue, broken only by courteous, half-articulate 
 interjections on his own part. He knew too well the 
 old feud between their houses, the ambition that had
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 231 
 
 possessed many a Vaufontaine to inherit the duke- 
 dom of Bercy, and the Duke's futile revolt against 
 that possibility. But for himself, now heir to the 
 principality of Vaufontaine, and therefrom, by rever- 
 sion, to that of Bercy, it had no importance. 
 
 He had but one passion now, and it burned clear 
 and strong, it dominated, it possessed him. He would 
 have given up any worldly honor to see it succeed. 
 He had idled and misspent too many years, been 
 vaurien and ne'er-do-well too long to be sordid now. 
 Even as the grievous sinner, come from dark ways, 
 turns with furious and tireless strength to piety and 
 good works, so this vagabond of noble family, wheel- 
 ing suddenly in his tracks, had thrown himself into a 
 cause which was all sacrifice, courage, and unselfish 
 patriotism a holy warfare. The last bitter thrust 
 of the Duke had touched no raw flesh, his withers 
 were unwrung. Gifted to thrust in return, and with 
 warrant to do so, he put aside the temptation, and 
 answered his kinsman with daylight clearness. 
 
 " Monsieur le Due," said he, " I am glad your health 
 is good it better suits the purpose of this interview. 
 I am come on business, and on that alone. I am from 
 Saumur, where I left de la Rochejaquelein, Stofflet, 
 Cathelineau and Lescure masters of the city and vic- 
 tors over Coustard's army. We have taken eleven 
 thousand prisoners, and " 
 
 "I have heard a rumor" interjected the Duke 
 impatiently. 
 
 " I will give you fact," continued Detricand, and he 
 told of the series of successes lately come to the army 
 of the Vendee. It was the heyday of the cause. 
 
 " And how does all this concern me ? " asked the 
 Duke.
 
 232 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " I am come to beg you to join us, to declare for 
 our cause, for the Church and for the King. Yours 
 is of the noblest names in France. Will you not 
 stand openly for what you cannot waver from in your 
 heart ? If the Due de Bercy declares for us, others 
 will come out of exile, and from submission to the 
 rebel Government, to our aid. My mission is to beg 
 you to put aside whatever reasons you have had for 
 alliance with this savage Government, and proclaim 
 for the King." 
 
 The Duke never took his eyes from Detricand's. 
 What was going on behind that parchment face, who 
 might say ? 
 
 "Are you aware," he answered Detricand at last, 
 "that I could send you straight from here to the 
 guillotine ? " 
 
 " So could the porter at your gates, but he loves 
 France almost as well as does the Due de Bercy." 
 
 " You take refuge in the fact that you are my kins- 
 man," returned the Duke acidly. 
 
 " The honor is stimulating, but I should not seek 
 salvation by it. I have the greater safety of being 
 your guest," answered Detricand with dignity. 
 
 "Too premature a sanctuary for a Vaufontaine ! " 
 retorted the Duke, fighting down growing admiration 
 for a kinsman whose family he would gladly root out, 
 if it lay in his power. 
 
 Detricand made a gesture of impatience, for he felt 
 that his appeal had availed nothing, and he had no 
 heart for a battle of words. His wit had been tem- 
 pered in many fires, his nature was non-incandescent 
 to praise or gibe. He had had his share of pastime ; 
 now had come his share of toil, and the mood for 
 give and take of words was not on him.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 233 
 
 He went straight to the point now. Hopelessly 
 he spoke the plain truth. 
 
 " I want nothing of the Prince d'Avranche but his 
 weight and power in a cause for which the best gen- 
 tlemen of France are giving their lives. I fasten my 
 eyes on France alone : I fight for the throne of Louis, 
 not for the duchy of Bercy. The duchy of Bercy 
 may sink or swim for all of me, if so be it does not 
 stand with us in our holy war." 
 
 The Duke interjected a disdainful laugh. Suddenly 
 there shot into Detricand's mind a suggestion, which, 
 wild as it was, might after all belong to the grotesque 
 realities of life. So he added with deliberation : 
 
 " If alliance must still be kept with this evil Gov- 
 ernment of France, then be sure there is no Vaufon- 
 taine who would care to inherit a duchy so discredited. 
 To meet that peril the Due de Bercy will do well to 
 consult his new kinsman, Philip d'Avranche." 
 
 For a moment there was absolute silence in the 
 room. The old nobleman's look was like a flash of 
 flame in a mask of dead flesh. The short upper lip 
 was arrested in a sort of snarl, the fingers, half -closed, 
 were hooked like talons, and the whole man was a 
 picture of surprise, fury, and injured pride. The Due 
 de Bercy to be harangued to his duty, scathed, mea- 
 sured, disapproved, and counseled, by a stripling Vau- 
 fontaine it was monstrous ! 
 
 It had the bitterness of aloes also, for in his own 
 heart he knew that Detricand spoke truth. The 
 fearless appeal had roused him, for a moment at least, 
 to the beauty and righteousness of a sombre, all but 
 hopeless, cause, while the impeachment had pierced 
 every sore in his heart. He felt now the smarting 
 anger, the outraged vanity of the wrongdoer, who,
 
 234 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 having argued down his own conscience, and believing 
 he has blinded others as himself, suddenly finds that 
 himself and his motives are naked before the world. 
 
 Detricand had known regretfully, even as he spoke, 
 that the Duke, no matter what the reason, would not 
 now ally himself with the Royalists ; though, had his 
 life been in danger, he still would have spoken the 
 truth. So he had been human enough to try and 
 force open the door of mystery by a biting suggestion ; 
 for he had a feeling that in the presence of the mys- 
 terious kinsman, Philip d'Avranche, lay the cause of 
 the Duke's resistance to his prayer. Who was this 
 Philip d'Avranche ? At the moment it seemed ab- 
 surd to him that his mind should travel back to the 
 Isle of Jersey. 
 
 The fury of the Duke was about to break forth, 
 when the door of the chamber opened and Philip 
 stepped inside. The silence holding two men now 
 held three, and a curious, cold astonishment possessed 
 the two younger. The Duke was too blind with 
 anger to see the start of recognition his visitors gave 
 at sight of each other, and by a concurrence of feel- 
 ing neither Detricand nor Philip gave sign of acquaint- 
 ance. Wariness was Philip's cue ; wondering caution 
 Detricand's attitude. 
 
 The Duke spoke first. Turning from Philip, he 
 said to Detricand with malicious triumph : 
 
 " It will disconcert your pious mind to know I have 
 yet one kinsman who counts it no shame to inherit 
 Bercy. Monsieur le Comte, I give you here the honor 
 to know Captain Philip d'Avranche." 
 
 Something of Detricand's old buoyant self came 
 back to him. His face flushed with sudden desire to 
 laugh, then it paled in dumb astonishment. So this
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 235 
 
 man, Philip d'Avranche, was to be set against him 
 even in the heritage of his family, as for one hour in 
 a Jersey kitchen they had been bitter opposites. For 
 the heritage of the Houses of Vaufontaine and Bercy 
 .he cared little he had deeper ambitions ; but this 
 adventuring sailor roused in him again the private 
 grudge he had once begged him to remember. Re- 
 covering himself, he answered meaningly, bowing 
 low : " The honor is memorable and monstrous ! " 
 
 Philip set his teeth, but replied : " I am overwhelmed 
 to meet one whose reputation is known in every 
 taproom ! " 
 
 Neither had chanced to say more, for the Duke, 
 though not conceiving the cause or meaning of the 
 biting words, felt the contemptuous suggestion in 
 Detricand's voice, and burst out in anger: 
 
 " Go tell the Prince of Vaufontaine that the succes- 
 sion is assured to my house. Monsieur my cousin, 
 Captain Philip d'Avranche, is now my adopted son ; 
 a wife is chosen for him, and soon, Monsieur le Comte, 
 there will be still another successor to the title." 
 
 " The Due de Bercy should add inspired domestic 
 prophecy to the family record in the ' Almanach de 
 Gotha,' " answered Detricand. 
 
 " God's death ! " cried the old nobleman, trembling 
 with rage, and stretching towards the bell-rope, " you 
 shall go to Paris and the Temple. Fouch6 will take 
 care of you ! " 
 
 " Stop, Monsieur le Due ! " Detricand's voice rang 
 through the room. " You shall not betray even the 
 humblest of your kinsmen, like that monster d'Orle'ans 
 who betrayed the highest of his. Be wise : there are 
 hundreds of your people who still will pass a Royalist 
 on to safety."
 
 236 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The Duke's hand dropped from the bell-rope. He 
 knew that Detricand's words were true. Ruling him- 
 self to quiet, he said with cold hatred : 
 
 " Like all your breed, crafty and insolent ! But I 
 will make you pay for it one day." 
 
 Glancing towards Philip as though to see if he could 
 move him, Detricand answered : " Make no haste on 
 my behalf ; years are not of such moment to me as to 
 your Highness ! " 
 
 Philip saw Detricand's look, and felt his moment 
 and his chance had come. " Monsieur le Comte ! " he 
 exclaimed threateningly. 
 
 The Duke glanced proudly at Philip. " You will 
 collect the debt, cousin," said he, and the smile on his 
 face was wicked as he again turned towards Detricand. 
 
 "With interest well compounded," answered Philip 
 firmly. 
 
 Detricand smiled. " I have drawn the Norman- 
 Jersey cousin, then ! " said he. " Now we can proceed 
 to compliments." Then with a change of manner he 
 added quietly: "Your Highness, may the House of 
 Bercy have no worse enemy than I ! I came only to 
 plead the cause which, if it give death, gives honor, 
 too. And I know well that at least you are not 
 against us in heart. Monsieur d'Avranche," he 
 turned to Philip, and his words were slow and delib- 
 erate, "I hope we may yet meet in the Place du 
 Vier Prison, but when and where you will ; and you 
 shall find me in the Vendee when you please." So 
 saying, he bowed, and, turning, left the room. 
 
 " What meant the fellow by his Place du Vier 
 Prison ? " asked the Duke. 
 
 " Who knows, Monsieur le Due ? " answered Philip. 
 
 " A fanatic like all the Vauf ontaines ; a roysterer
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 237 
 
 yesterday, a sainted chevalier to-morrow ! " said the 
 Duke irritably. "But they still have strength and 
 beauty always ! " he added reluctantly. Then he 
 looked at the strong and comely frame before him, 
 and was reassured. He laid a hand on Philip's broad 
 shoulder, and said admiringly : 
 
 " You will of course have your hour with him, 
 cousin ; but not not till you are a d' Avranche of 
 Bercy ! " 
 
 " Not till I am a d' Avranche of Bercy," responded 
 Philip in a low voice.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 WITH what seemed an unnecessary boldness, 
 Detricand slept that night at the inn, " The 
 Golden Crown," in the town of Bercy : a Royalist of 
 the Vendee exposing himself to deadly peril in a town 
 sworn to alliance with the Revolutionary Government. 
 He knew that the town, even the inn, might be full 
 of spies ; but one other thing he also knew : the inn- 
 keeper of " The Golden Crown " would not betray 
 him, unless he had greatly changed since fifteen years 
 ago. Then they had been friends, for his uncle of 
 Vaufontaine had had a small estate in Bercy itself, in 
 ironical proximity to the Castle. 
 
 He walked boldly into the inn parlor. There were 
 but four men in the room, the landlord, two stout 
 burghers, and Frange Pergot, the porter of the Castle, 
 who had lost no time carrying his news : not to betray 
 his old comrade in escapade, but to tell a chosen few, 
 Royalists under the rose, that he had seen one of 
 those servants of God, an officer of the Vendee. 
 
 At sight of the white badge with the red cross on 
 Detricand's coat, the four stood up and answered his 
 greeting with devout respect ; and he had speedy 
 assurance that in this inn he was safe from betrayal. 
 Presently he learned that three days hence a meeting 
 of the States of Bercy was to be held for setting the 
 seal upon the Duke's formal adoption of Philip, and 
 to execute a deed of succession. It was deemed cer-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 239 
 
 tain that, ere this, the officer sent to England would 
 have returned with Philip's freedom and King George's 
 license to accept the succession in the duchy. From 
 interest in these matters alone Detricand would not 
 have remained at Bercy, but he thought to use the 
 time for secretly meeting officers of the duchy likely 
 to favor the cause of the Royalists. 
 
 During these three days of waiting he heard with 
 grave concern a rumor that the great meeting of the 
 States would be marked by Philip's betrothal with 
 the Comtesse Chantavoine. He cared naught for the 
 succession, but there was ever with him the remem- 
 brance of Guida Landresse de Landresse ; and what 
 touched Philip d'Avranche he had come to associate 
 with her. Of the true relations between Guida and 
 Philip he knew nothing, but from that last day in 
 Jersey he did know that Philip had roused in her 
 emotions, perhaps less vital than love, but certainly 
 less equable than friendship. 
 
 Now in his fear that Guida might suffer, the more 
 he thought of the Comtesse Chantavoine as the chosen 
 wife of Philip the more it troubled him. He could 
 not shake off oppressive thoughts concerning Guida 
 and this betrothal. They interwove themselves 
 through all his secret business with the Royalists of 
 Bercy. For his own part, he would have gone far 
 and done much to shield her from injury. He had 
 seen and known in her something higher than Philip 
 might understand a simple womanliness, a profound 
 depth of character. His pledge to her had been the 
 keynote of his new life. Some day, if he lived and 
 his cause prospered, he would go back to Jersey 
 too late perhaps to tell her what was in his heart, but 
 not too late to tell her the promise had been kept.
 
 240 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 It was a relief when the morning of the third day 
 came, bright and joyous, and he knew that before the 
 sun went down he should be on his way back to 
 Saumur. His friend the innkeeper urged him not 
 to attend the meeting of the States of Bercy, lest 
 he should be recognized by spies of Government. He 
 was, however, firm in his will to go, but he exchanged 
 his coat with the red cross for one less conspicuous. 
 
 With this eventful morn came the news that the 
 envoy to England had returned with Philip's freedom 
 by exchange of prisoners, and with the needful license 
 from King George. But other news too was carrying 
 through the town : the French Government, having 
 learned of the Duke's intentions towards Philip, had 
 dispatched envoys from Paris to forbid the adoption 
 and deed of succession. 
 
 Though the Duke would have defied them, it be- 
 hooved him to end the matter, if possible, before these 
 envoys' arrival. The States therefore was hurriedly 
 convened two hours before the time appointed, and 
 the race began between the Duke and the emissaries 
 of the French Government. 
 
 It was a perfect day, and as the brilliant procession 
 wound down the great rock from the Castle, in ever- 
 increasing, glittering line, the effect was mediaeval in 
 its glowing splendor. All had been ready for two 
 days, and the general enthusiasm had seized upon the 
 occasion with an adventurous picturesqueness, in 
 keeping with this strange elevation of a simple British 
 captain to royal estate. This buoyant, clear-faced, 
 stalwart figure had sprung suddenly out of the dark 
 into the garish light of sovereign place, and the imagi- 
 nation of the people had been touched. He was so
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 241 
 
 genial too, so easy-mannered, this d'Avranche of 
 Jersey, whose genealogy had been posted on a hun- 
 dred walls and carried by a thousand mouths through 
 the principality. As Philip rode past on the left of 
 the exulting Duke, the crowds cheered him wildly. 
 Only on the faces of Comte Carignan Damour and 
 his friends was discontent, and they must perforce be 
 still. Philip himself was outwardly calm, with that 
 desperate quiet which belongs to the most perilous, 
 most adventurous achieving. Words he had used 
 many years ago in Jersey kept ringing in his ears, 
 " ' Good-by, Sir Philip ' I '11 be more than that 
 some day." 
 
 The Assembly being opened, in a breathless silence 
 the Governor-General of the duchy read aloud the 
 license of the King of England for Philip d'Avranche, 
 an officer in his navy, to assume the honors to be con- 
 ferred upon him by the Duke and the States of Bercy. 
 Then, by command of the Duke, the President of the 
 States read aloud the new order of succession : 
 
 " i. To the Hereditary Prince Leopold John and 
 his heirs male ; in default of which to 
 
 "2. The Prince successor, Philip d'Avranche and 
 his heirs male ; in default of which to 
 
 " 3. The heir male of the House of Vaufontaine." 
 
 Afterwards came reading of the deed of gift by 
 which the Duke made over to Prince Philip certain 
 possessions in the province of d'Avranche. To all 
 this the assent of Prince Leopold John had been 
 formally secured. 
 
 After the Assembly and the chief officers of the 
 duchy should have ratified these documents and the 
 Duke signed them, they were to be inclosed in a box 
 with three locks and deposited with the Sovereign
 
 242 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Court at Bercy. Duplicates were also to be sent to 
 London and registered in the records of the College 
 of Arms. 
 
 Amid great enthusiasm, the States, by unanimous 
 vote, at once ratified the documents. The one notable 
 dissentient was the Intendant, Comte Carignan Da- 
 mour, the devout ally of the French Government. It 
 was he who had sent Fouche word concerning Philip's 
 adoption ; it was also he who had at last, through his 
 spies, discovered Detricand's presence in the town, 
 and had taken action thereupon. In the States, how- 
 ever, he had no vote, and wisdom kept him silent, 
 though he was watchful for any chance to delay events 
 against the arrival of the French envoys. 
 
 They should soon be here, and, during the proceed- 
 ings in the States, he watched the doors anxiously. 
 Every minute that passed made him more restless, 
 less hopeful. He had a double motive in preventing 
 this new succession. With Philip as adopted son and 
 heir there would be fewer spoils of office ; with Philip 
 as duke there would be none at all, for the instinct of 
 distrust and antipathy was mutual. Besides, as a Re- 
 publican, he looked for his reward from Fouche in 
 good time. 
 
 Presently it was announced by the President that 
 the signatures to the acts of the States would be set 
 in private. Thereupon, with all the concourse stand- 
 ing, the Duke, surrounded by the law, military, and 
 civil officers of the duchy, girded upon Philip the jew- 
 eled sword which had been handed down in the house 
 of d'Avranche from generation to generation. The 
 open function being thus ended, the people were en- 
 joined to proceed at once to the cathedral, where a 
 Te Deum would be sung.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 243 
 
 The public then retired, leaving the Duke and a 
 few of the highest officials of the duchy to formally 
 sign and seal the deeds. When the outer doors were 
 closed, one unofficial person remained Comte Detri- 
 cand de Tournay, of the House of Vaufontaine. 
 Leaning against a pillar, he stood looking calmly at 
 the group surrounding the Duke at the great council- 
 table. 
 
 Suddenly the Duke turned to a door at the right of 
 the President's chair, and, opening it, bowed courte- 
 ously to some one beyond. An instant afterwards 
 there entered the Comtesse Chantavoine, with her 
 uncle the Marquis Grandjon-Larisse, an aged and 
 feeble but distinguished figure. They advanced to- 
 wards the table, the lady on the Duke's arm, and 
 Philip, saluting them gravely, offered the Marquis a 
 chair. At first the Marquis declined it, but the Duke 
 pressed him, and in the subsequent proceedings he of 
 all the number was seated. 
 
 Detricand apprehended the meaning of the scene. 
 This was the lady whom the Duke had chosen as wife 
 for the new Prince. The Duke had invited the 
 Comtesse to witness the final act which was to make 
 Philip d'Avranche his heir in legal fact as by verbal 
 proclamation ; not doubting that the romantic nature 
 of the incident would impress her. He had even 
 hoped that the function might be followed by a formal 
 betrothal in the presence of the officials ; and the situ- 
 ation might still have been critical for Philip had it 
 not been for the pronounced reserve of the Comtesse 
 herself. 
 
 Tall, of gracious and stately carriage, the curious 
 quietness of the face of the Comtesse would have 
 been almost an unbecoming gravity were it not that
 
 244 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the eyes, clear, dark, and strong, lightened it. The 
 mouth had a somewhat set sweetness, even as the face 
 was somewhat fixed in its calm. In her bearing, in 
 all her motions, there was a regal quality ; yet, too, 
 something of isolation, of withdrawal, in her self-pos- 
 session and unruffled observation. She seemed, to 
 Detricand, a figure apart, a woman whose friendship 
 would be everlasting, but whose love would be more 
 an affectionate habit than a passion ; and in whom 
 devotion would be strong because devotion was the 
 keynote of her nature. The dress of a nun would 
 have turned her into a saint ; of a peasant would have 
 made her a Madonna ; of a Quaker would have made 
 her a dreamer and a ctivote ; of a queen would have 
 made her benign yet unapproachable. It struck him 
 all at once, as he looked, that this woman had one 
 quality in absolute kinship with Guida Landresse 
 honesty of mind and nature ; only with this young 
 aristocrat the honesty would be without passion. 
 She had straightforwardness, a firm if limited intellect, 
 a clear-mindedness belonging somewhat to narrowness 
 of outlook, but a genuine capacity for understanding 
 the right and the wrong of things. Guida, so Detri- 
 cand thought, might break her heart and live on ; this 
 woman would break her heart and die : the one would 
 grow larger through suffering, the other shrink to a 
 numb coldness. 
 
 So he entertained himself by these flashes of dis- 
 cernment, presently merged in wonderment as to what 
 was in Philip's mind as he stood there, destiny hang- 
 ing in that drop of ink at the point of the pen in the 
 Duke's fingers ! 
 
 Philip was thinking of the destiny, but more than 
 all else just now he was thinking of the woman before
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 245 
 
 him and the issue to be faced by him regarding her. 
 His thoughts were not so clear nor so discerning as 
 Detricand's. No more than he understood Guida did 
 he understand this clear-eyed, still, self-possessed 
 woman. He thought her cold, unsympathetic, barren 
 of that glow which should set the pulses of a man 
 like himself bounding. It never occurred to him 
 that these still waters ran deep, that to awaken this 
 seemingly glacial nature, to kindle a fire on this altar, 
 would be to secure unto his life's end a steady, en- 
 during flame of devotion. He revolted from her ; 
 not alone because he had a wife, but because the 
 Comtesse chilled him, because with her, in any case, 
 he should never be able to play the passionate lover 
 as he had done with Guida ; and with Philip not to be 
 the passionate lover was to be no lover at all. One 
 thing only appealed to him : she was the Comtesse 
 Chantavoine, a fitting consort in the eyes of the 
 world for a sovereign Duke. He was more than a 
 little carried off his feet by the marvel of the situa- 
 tion. He could think of nothing quite clearly ; 
 everything was confused and shifting in his mind. 
 
 The first words of the Duke were merely an informal 
 greeting to his council and the high officers present. 
 He was about to speak further when some one drew 
 his attention to Detricand's presence. An order was 
 given to challenge the stranger, but D6tricand, with- 
 out waiting for the approach of the officer, advanced 
 towards the table, and, addressing the Duke, said : 
 
 " The Due de Bercy will not forbid the presence of 
 his cousin, Detricand de Tournay, at this impressive 
 ceremony ? " 
 
 The Duke, dumfounded, though he preserved an 
 outward calm, could not answer for an instant. Then,
 
 246 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 with a triumphant, vindictive smile which puckered 
 his yellow cheeks like a wild apple, he said : 
 
 " The Comte de Tournay is welcome to behold an 
 end of the ambitions of the Vaufontaines." He looked 
 towards Philip with an exulting pride. " Monsieur le 
 Comte is quite right," he added, turning to his council, 
 " he may always claim the privileges of a relative 
 of the Bercys; but the hospitality goes not beyond 
 my house and my presence, and Monsieur le Comte 
 will understand my meaning ! " 
 
 At that moment Detricand caught the eye of 
 Damour, the Intendant, and he understood perfectly. 
 This man, the innkeeper had told him, was known to 
 be a Revolutionary, and he felt he was in imminent 
 danger. He came nearer, however, bowing to all 
 present, and, making no reply to the Duke save a 
 simple, " I thank your Highness," took a place near 
 the council table. 
 
 The short ceremony of signing the deeds immedi- 
 ately followed. A few formal questions were asked 
 of Philip, to which he briefly replied, and afterwards 
 he made the oath of allegiance to the Duke, with his 
 hand upon the ancient sword of the d'Avranches. 
 These preliminaries ended, the Duke was just stoop- 
 ing to put his pen to the paper for signature, when 
 the Intendant, as much to annoy Philip as still to 
 stay the proceedings against the coming of Fouch^'s 
 men, said : 
 
 " It would appear that one question has been omitted 
 in the formalities of this Court." He paused dramati- 
 cally. He was only aiming a random shot ; he would 
 make the most of it. 
 
 The Duke looked up perturbed, and said sharply, 
 "What is that what is that, monsieur? "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 247 
 
 " A form, Monsieur le Due, a mere form. Mon- 
 sieur," he bowed towards Philip politely, "mon- 
 sieur is not already married? There is no" He 
 paused again. 
 
 For an instant there was absolute stillness. Philip 
 had felt his heart give one great thump of terror 
 Did the Intendant know anything ? Did Dttricand 
 know anything?" 
 
 Standing rigid for a moment, his pen poised, the 
 Duke looked sharply at the Intendant, and then still 
 more sharply at Philip. The progress of that look 
 had granted Philip an instant's time to recover his 
 composure. He was conscious that the Comtesse 
 Chantavoine had given a little start, and then had 
 become quite still and calm. Now her eyes were 
 intently fixed upon him. 
 
 He had, however, been too often in physical danger 
 to lose his nerve at this moment. The instant was 
 big with peril ; it was the turning point of his life, 
 and he felt it. His eyes dropped towards the spot of 
 ink at the point of the pen the Duke held. It fasci- 
 nated him ; it was destiny. 
 
 He took a step nearer to the table, and, drawing 
 himself up, looked his princely interlocutor steadily in 
 the eyes. 
 
 " Of course there is no marriage, no woman ? " 
 asked the Duke a little hoarsely, his eyes fastened on 
 Philip's. 
 
 With steady voice Philip replied : " Of course, Mon- 
 sieur le Due." 
 
 There was another stillness. Some one sighed 
 heavily. It was the Comtesse Chantavoine. 
 
 The next instant the Duke stooped, and wrote his 
 signature three times hurriedly upon the deeds.
 
 248 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 A moment afterwards, Detricand was in the street, 
 making towards " The Golden Crown." As he hur- 
 ried on he heard the galloping of horses ahead of him. 
 Suddenly some one plucked him by the arm from a 
 doorway. 
 
 "Quick within!" said a voice. It was that of 
 the Duke's porter, Frange Pergot. Without hesita- 
 tion or a word, Detricand did as he was bid, and the 
 door clanged to behind him. 
 
 " Fouche's men are coming down the street ; spies 
 have betrayed you," whispered Pergot. " Follow me. 
 I will hide you till night, and then you must away." 
 
 Pergot had spoken the truth. But Detricand was 
 safely hidden, and Fouche's men came too late to 
 capture the Vendeen chief, or to forbid those formal 
 acts which made Philip d'Avranche a prince. 
 
 Once again at Saumur, a week later, Detricand 
 wrote a long letter to Carterette Mattingley, in Jersey, 
 in which he set forth these strange events at Bercy, 
 and asked certain questions concerning Guida.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 SINCE the day of his secret marriage with Guida, 
 Philip had been carried along in the gale of 
 naval preparation and incidents of war as a leaf is 
 borne onward by a storm no looking back, to-mor- 
 row always the goal. But as a wounded traveler 
 nursing carefully his hurt seeks shelter from the 
 scorching sun and the dank air, and travels by little 
 stages lest he never come at all to friendly hostel, so 
 Guida made her way slowly through the months of 
 winter and of spring. 
 
 In the past, it had been February to Guida be- 
 cause the yellow Lenten lilies grew on all the shel- 
 tered cdtils ; March because the periwinkle and the 
 lords-and-ladies came ; May when the cliffs were a 
 blaze of golden gorse and the perfume thereof made 
 all the land sweet as a honeycomb. 
 
 Then came the other months, with hawthorn trees 
 and hedges all in blow ; the honeysuckle gladdening 
 the doorways, the lilac in bloomy thickets ; the ox- 
 eyed daisy of Whitsuntide ; the yellow rose of St. 
 Brelade that lies down in the sand and stands up in 
 the hedges ; the " mergots " which, like good soldiers, 
 are first in the field and last out of it ; the unscented 
 dog-violets, orchises and celandines ; the osier beds, the 
 ivy on every barn ; the purple thrift in masses on the 
 cliff ; the sea-thistle in its glaucous green " the 
 laughter of the fields whose laugh was gold." And 
 all was summer.
 
 250 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Came a time thereafter, when the children of the 
 poor gathered blackberries for preserves and home- 
 made wine; when the wild stock flowered in St. 
 Ouen's Bay ; when the bracken fern was gathered 
 from every cotil, and dried for apple-storing, for bed- 
 ding for the cherished cow, for back-rests for the 
 veilles, and seats round the winter fire ; when peaches, 
 apricots, and nectarines made the walls sumptuous red 
 and gold ; when the wild plum and crab-apple flour- 
 ished in secluded roadways, and the tamarisk dropped 
 its brown pods upon the earth. And all this was 
 autumn. 
 
 At last, when the birds of passage swept aloft, snipe 
 and teal and barnacle geese, and the rains began ; 
 when the green lizard with its turquoise-blue throat 
 vanished ; when the Jersey crapaud was heard croak- 
 ing no longer in the valleys and the ponds ; and the 
 cows were well blanketed then winter had come 
 again ! 
 
 Such was the association of seasons in Guida's mind 
 until one day of a certain year, when for a few hours 
 a man had called her his wife, and then had sailed 
 away. There was no log that might thereafter record 
 the days and weeks unwinding the coils of an endless 
 chain into that sea whither Philip had gone. 
 
 Letters she had had, two letters, one in January, one 
 in March. How many times, when a Channel-packet 
 came in, did she go to the doorway and watch for 
 old Mere Rossignol, making the rounds with her han 
 basket, chanting the names of those for whom she 
 had letters ; and how many times did she go back to 
 the kitchen, choking down a sob ! 
 
 The first letter from Philip was at once a blessing
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 251 
 
 and a blow ; it was a reassurance and it was a misery. 
 It spoke of bread, as it were, yet offered a stone. It 
 eloquently, passionately told of his love ; but it also 
 told, with a torturing ease, that the Araminta was 
 commissioned with sealed orders, and he did not know 
 when he should see her nor when he should be able 
 to write again. War had been declared against France, 
 and they might not touch a port nor have chance to 
 send a letter by a homeward vessel for weeks, and 
 maybe months. This was painful, of course, but it 
 was fate, it was his profession, and it could not be 
 helped. Of course she must understand he would 
 write constantly, telling her, as through a kind of 
 diary, what he was doing every day, and then when 
 the chance came the big budget should go to her. 
 
 A pain came to Guida's heart as she read the flow- 
 ing tale of his buoyant love. Had she been the man 
 and he the woman, she could never have written so 
 smoothly of "fate," and "profession," nor told of this 
 separation with so complaisant a sorrow. With her 
 the words would have been wrenched forth from her 
 heart, scarred into the paper with the bitterness of a 
 spirit tried beyond enduring. 
 
 With what enthusiasm did Philip, immediately after 
 his heart-breaking news, write of what the war might 
 do for him ; what avenues of advancement it might 
 open up, what splendid chances it would offer for suc- 
 cess in his career ! Did he mean that to comfort her ? 
 she asked herself. Did he mean it to divert her from 
 the pain of the separation, to give her something to 
 hope for ? She read the letter over and over again, 
 no yet, she could not, though her heart was so will- 
 ing, find that meaning in it. It was all Philip, Philip 
 full of hope, purpose, prowess, ambition. Did he think
 
 252 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 did he think that that could ease the pain, could 
 lighten the dark day settling down on her ? Could 
 he imagine that anything might compensate for his 
 absence in the coming months, in this year of all years 
 in her life ? His lengthened absence might be inevi- 
 table, it might be fate, but could he not see the bitter 
 cruelty of it ? He had said that he would be back 
 with her again in two months ; and now ah, did he 
 not know ! 
 
 As the weeks came and went again she felt that 
 indeed he did not know. 
 
 Some natures cling to beliefs long after conviction 
 has been shattered. These are they of the limited 
 imagination, the loyal, the pertinacious, and the affec- 
 tionate, the single-hearted children of habit ; blind 
 where they do not wish to see, stubborn where their 
 inclinations lie, unamenable to reason, wholly held by 
 legitimate obligations. 
 
 But Guida was not of these. Her brain and im- 
 agination were strong as her affections. Her incura- 
 ble honesty was the deepest thing in her ; she did not 
 know even how to deceive herself. As her experience 
 deepened under the influence of a sorrow which still 
 was joy, and a joy that still was sorrow, her vision 
 became acute and piercing. Her mind was like some 
 kaleidoscope. Pictures of things, little and big, which 
 had happened to her in her life, flashed by her inner 
 vision in furious procession. It was as if, in the pho- 
 tographic machinery of the brain, some shutter had 
 slipped from its place, and a hundred orderless and 
 ungoverned pictures, loosed from natural restraint, 
 rushed by. 
 
 Five months had gone since Philip had left her: 
 two months since she had received his second letter,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 253 
 
 months of complexity of feeling ; of tremulousness of 
 discovery ; of hungry eagerness for news of the war ; 
 of sudden little outbursts of temper in her household 
 life a new thing in her experience ; of passionate 
 "touches of tenderness towards her grandfather; of 
 occasional biting comments in the conversations be- 
 tween the Sieur and the Chevalier, causing both gen- 
 tlemen to look at each other in silent amaze ; of as 
 marked lapses into listless disregard of any talk going 
 on around her. 
 
 She had been used often to sit still, doing nothing, 
 in a sort of physical content, as the Sieur and his visi- 
 tors talked ; now her hands were always busy, knit- 
 ting, sewing, or spinning, the steady gaze upon the 
 work showing that her thoughts were far away. 
 Though the Chevalier and her grandfather vaguely 
 noted these changes, they as vaguely set them down 
 to her growing womanhood. In any case, they held 
 it was not for them to comment upon a woman or 
 upon a woman's ways. And a girl like Guida was an 
 incomprehensible being, with an orbit and a system 
 all her own ; whose sayings and doings were as little 
 to be reduced to their understanding as the vagaries 
 of any star in the Milky Way or the currents in St. 
 Michael's Basin. 
 
 One evening she sat before the fire thinking of 
 Philip. Her grandfather had retired earlier than usual. 
 Biribi lay asleep on the veille. There was no sound 
 save the ticking of the clock on the mantel above her 
 head, the dog's slow breathing, the snapping of the 
 log on the fire, and a soft rush of heat up the chim- 
 ney. The words of Philip's letters, from which she 
 had extracted every atom of tenderness they held, 
 were always in her ears. At last one phrase kept
 
 254 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 repeating itself to her like some plaintive refrain, 
 torturing in its mournful suggestion. It was this : 
 " But you see, dearest, though I am absent from you 
 I shall have such splendid chances to get on. There 's 
 no limit to what this war may do for me." 
 
 Suddenly Guida realized how different was her love 
 from Philip's, how different her place in his life from 
 his place in her life. She reasoned with herself, 'be- 
 cause she knew that a man's life was work in the 
 world, and that work and ambition were in his bones 
 and in his blood, had been carried down to him 
 through centuries of industrious, ambitious genera- 
 tions of men : that men were one race and women 
 were another. A man was bound by the conditions 
 governing the profession by which he earned his bread 
 and butter and played his part in the world, while 
 striving to reach the seats of honor in high places. 
 He must either live by the law, fulfill to the letter his 
 daily duties in .the business of life, or drop out of the 
 race ; while a woman, in the presence of man's im- 
 moderate ambition, with bitterness and tears, must 
 learn to pray : " O Lord, have mercy upon us, and in- 
 cline our hearts to keep this law. " 
 
 Suddenly the whole thing resolved itself in Guida's 
 mind, and her thinking came to a full stop. She 
 understood now what was the right and what the 
 wrong ; and, 'child as she was in years, woman in 
 thought and experience, yielding to the impulse of 
 the moment, she buried her face in her hands and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " O Philip, Philip, Philip ! " she sobbed aloud, " it 
 was not right of you to marry me ; it was wicked of 
 you to leave me." Then in her mind she carried on 
 the impeachment and reproach. If he had married
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 255 
 
 her openly and left her at once, it would have been 
 hard to bear, but in the circumstances it might have 
 been right. If he had married her secretly and left 
 her at the altar, so keeping the vow he had made her 
 when she promised to become his wife, that might 
 have been pardonable. But to marry her, as he did, 
 and then, breaking his solemn pledge, leave her it 
 was not right in her eyes ; and if not right in the eyes 
 of her who loved him, in whose would it be right ? 
 
 To these definitions she had come at last. 
 
 It is an eventful moment, a crucial ordeal for a 
 woman, when she forces herself to see the naked 
 truth concerning the man she has loved, yet the man 
 who has wronged her. She is born anew in that 
 moment : it may be to love on, to blind herself, and 
 condone and defend, so lowering her own moral tone ; 
 or to congeal in heart, become keener in intellect, 
 scornful and bitter with her own sex and merciless 
 towards the other, indifferent to blame and careless 
 of praise, intolerant, judging all the world by her own 
 experience, incredulous of any true thing. Or again 
 she may become stronger, sadder, wiser ; condoning 
 nothing, minimizing nothing, deceiving herself in no- 
 thing, and still never forgiving at least one thing 
 the destruction of an innocent faith and a noble cre- 
 dulity ; seeing clearly the whole wrong ; with a strong 
 intelligence measuring perfectly the iniquity ; but out 
 of a largeness of nature and by virtue of a high sense 
 of duty, devoting her days to the salvation of a man's 
 honor, to the betterment of one weak or wicked 
 nature. 
 
 Of these last would have been Guida. 
 
 " O Philip, Philip, you have been wicked to me ! " 
 she sobbed.
 
 256 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Her tears fell upon the stone hearth, and the fire 
 dried them. Every teardrop was one girlish feeling 
 and emotion gone, one bright fancy, one tender hope 
 vanished. She was no longer a girl. There were 
 troubles and dangers ahead of her, but she must now 
 face them dry-eyed and alone. 
 
 In his second letter Philip had told her to announce 
 the marriage, and said that he would write to her 
 grandfather explaining all, and also to the Reverend 
 Lorenzo Dow. She had waited and watched for that 
 letter to her grandfather, but it had not come. As 
 for Mr. Dow, he was a prisoner with the French ; and 
 he had never given her the marriage certificate. 
 
 There was yet another factor in the affair. While 
 the Island was agog over Mr. Dow's misfortune, 
 there had been a bold robbery at St. Michael's Rec- 
 tory of the strong-box containing the communion 
 plate, the parish taxes for the year, and what was 
 of great moment to at least one person the parish 
 register of deaths, baptisms, and marriages. Thus it 
 was that now no human being in Jersey could vouch 
 that Guida had been married. 
 
 Yet these things troubled her little. How easily 
 could Philip set all right ! If he would but come 
 back that at first was her only thought ; for what 
 matter a ring, or any proof or proclamation without 
 Philip ! 
 
 It did not occur to her at first that all these things 
 were needed to save her from shame in the eyes of 
 the world. If she had thought of them apprehen- 
 sively, she would have said to herself, How easy to 
 set all right by simply announcing the marriage ! 
 And indeed she would have done so when war was 
 declared and Philip received his new command, but
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 257 
 
 that she had wished the announcement to come from 
 him. Well, that would come in any case when his 
 letter to her grandfather arrived. No doubt it had 
 missed the packet by which hers came, she thought. 
 
 But another packet and yet another arrived ; and 
 still there was no letter from Philip for the Sieur de 
 Mauprat. Winter had come, and spring had gone, 
 and now summer was at hand. Haymaking was 
 beginning, the wild strawberries were reddening 
 among the clover, and in her garden, apples had fol- 
 lowed the buds on the trees beneath which Philip had 
 told his fateful tale of love. 
 
 At last a third letter arrived, but it brought little 
 joy to her heart. It was extravagant in terms of 
 affection, but somehow it fell short of the true thing, 
 for its ardor was that of a mind preoccupied, and 
 underneath all ran a current of inherent selfishness. 
 It delighted in the activity of his life, it was full of 
 hope, of promise of happiness for them both in the 
 future, but it had no solicitude for Guida in the pre- 
 sent. It chilled her heart so warm but a short 
 season ago that Philip, to whom she had once 
 ascribed strength, tenderness, profound thoughtful- 
 ness, should concern himself so little in the details of 
 her life. For the most part, his letters seemed those 
 of an ardent lover who knew his duty and did it 
 gladly, but with a self-conscious and flowing eloquence, 
 costing but small strain of feeling. 
 
 In this letter he was curious to know what the peo- 
 ple in Jersey said about their marriage. He had 
 written to Lorenzo Dow and her grandfather, he said, 
 but had heard afterwards that the vessel carrying the 
 letters had been taken by a French privateer ; and so 
 they had not arrived in Jersey. But of course she
 
 258 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 had told her grandfather and all the Island of the 
 ceremony performed at St. Michael's. He was send- 
 ing her fifty pounds, his first contribution to their 
 home ; and, the war over, a pretty new home she cer- 
 tainly should have. He would write to her grand- 
 father again, though this day there was no time to 
 do so. 
 
 Guida realized now that she must announce the 
 marriage at once. But what proofs of it had she ? 
 There was the ring Philip had given her, inscribed 
 with their names ; but she was sophisticated enough 
 to know that this would not be adequate evidence in 
 the eyes of her Jersey neighbors. The marriage 
 register of St. Michael's, with its record, was stolen, 
 and that proof was gone. Lastly, there were Philip's 
 letters ; but no a thousand times no ! she would 
 not show Philip's letters to any human being ; even 
 the thought of it hurt her delicacy, her self-respect. 
 Her heart burned with fresh bitterness to think that 
 there had been a secret marriage. How hard it was 
 at this distance of time to tell the world the tale, and 
 to be forced to prove it by Philip's letters. No, no, in 
 spite of all, she could not do it not yet. She would 
 still wait the arrival of his letter to her grandfather. 
 If it did not come soon, then she must be brave and 
 tell her story. 
 
 She went to the Vier Marchi less now. Also fewer 
 folk stood gossiping with her grandfather in the Place 
 du Vier Prison, or by the well at the front door so 
 far she had not wondered why. To be sure, Maitresse 
 Aimable came oftener ; but, since that notable day at 
 Sark, Guida had resolutely avoided reference, how- 
 ever oblique, to Philip and herself. In her dark days
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 259 
 
 the one tenderly watchful eye upon her was that of 
 the egregiously fat old woman called the " Femme de 
 Ballast," whose thick tongue clave to the roof of her 
 mouth, whose outer attractions were so meagre that 
 even her husband's chief sign of affection was to pull 
 her great toe, passing her bed of a morning to light 
 the fire. 
 
 Carterette Mattingley also came, but another friend 
 who had watched over Guida for years before Philip 
 appeared in the Place du Vier Prison never entered 
 her doorway now. Only once or twice since that day 
 on the Ecrehos, so fateful to them both, had Guida 
 seen Ranulph. He had withdrawn to St. Aubin's 
 Bay, where his trade of shipbuilding was carried on, 
 and, having fitted up a small cottage, lived a secluded 
 life with his father there. Neither of them appeared 
 often in St. Heliers, and they were seldom or never 
 seen in the Vier Marchi. 
 
 Carterette saw Ranulph little oftener than did 
 Guida, but she knew what he was doing, being anx- 
 ious to know, and every one's business being every 
 one else's business in Jersey. In the same way 
 Ranulph knew of Guida. What Carterette was doing 
 Ranulph was not concerned to know, and so knew 
 little ; and Guida knew and thought little of how 
 Ranulph fared : which was part of the selfishness of 
 Jove. 
 
 But one day Carterette received a letter from France 
 which excited her greatly, and sent her off hot-foot to 
 Guida. In the same hour Ranulph heard a piece of 
 hateful gossip which made him fell to the ground the 
 man who told him, and sent him with white face, and 
 sick, yet indignant heart, to the cottage in the Place 
 du Vier Prison.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 GUIDA was sitting on the veille reading an old 
 London paper she had bought of the mate of 
 the packet from Southampton. One page contained 
 an account of the execution of Louis XVI. ; another 
 reported the fight between the English thirty-six gun 
 frigate Araminta and the French Niobe. The en- 
 gagement had been desperate, the valiant Araminta 
 having been fought, not alone against odds as to her 
 enemy, but against the irresistible perils of a coast 
 upon which the Admiralty charts gave cruelly imper- 
 fect information. To the Admiralty we owed the fact, 
 the journal urged, that the Araminta was now at the 
 bottom of the sea, and its young commander confined 
 in a French fortress, his brave and distinguished ser- 
 vices lost to the country. Nor had the Government 
 yet sought to lessen the injury by arranging a cartel 
 for the release of the unfortunate commander. 
 
 The Araminta ! To Guida the letters of the word 
 seemed to stand out from the paper like shining hiero- 
 glyphs on a misty gray curtain. The rest of the page 
 was resolved into a filmy floating substance, no more 
 tangible than the ashy skeleton on which writing still 
 lives when the paper itself has been eaten by flame, 
 and the flame swallowed by the air. 
 
 Araminta this was all her eyes saw, that familiar 
 name in the flaring handwriting of the Genius of Life, 
 who had scrawled her destiny in that one word.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 261 
 
 Slowly the monstrous ciphers faded from the gray 
 hemisphere of space, and she saw again the newspaper 
 in her trembling fingers, the kitchen into which the 
 sunlight streamed from the open window, the dog 
 Biribi basking in the doorway. That living quiet 
 which descends upon a house when the midday meal 
 and work are done came suddenly home to her, in 
 contrast to the turmoil in her mind and being. 
 
 So that was why Philip had not written to her ! 
 While her heart was daily growing more bitter against 
 him, he had been fighting his vessel against great 
 odds, and at last had been shipwrecked and carried 
 off a prisoner. A strange new understanding took 
 possession of her. Her life suddenly widened. She 
 realized all at once how the eyes of the whole world 
 might be fixed upon a single ship, a few cannon, and 
 some scores of men. The general of a great army 
 leading tens of thousands into the clash of battle 
 that had been always within her comprehension ; but 
 this was almost miraculous, this sudden projection of 
 one ship and her commander upon the canvas of fame. 
 Philip had left her, unknown save to a few. With 
 the nations turned to see, he had made a gallant and 
 splendid fight, and now he was a prisoner in a French 
 fortress ! 
 
 This then was why her grandfather had received no 
 letter from him concerning the marriage. Well, now 
 she must speak for herself ; she must announce it. 
 Must she show Philip's letters ? No, no, she could 
 not. . . . Suddenly a new suggestion came to her : 
 there was one remaining proof of her marriage. Since 
 no banns had been published, Philip must have ob- 
 tained a license from the Dean of the Island, and he 
 would have a record of it. All she had to do now
 
 262 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 was to get a copy of this record but no, a license to 
 marry was no proof of marriage ; it was but evidence 
 of intention. 
 
 Still, she would go to the Dean this very moment. 
 It was not right that she should wait longer ; indeed, 
 in waiting so long she had already done great wrong 
 to herself and to Philip perhaps. 
 
 She rose from the veille with a sense of relief. No 
 more of this secrecy, making her innocence seem 
 guilt ; no more painful dreams of punishment for 
 some intangible crime ; no starting if she heard a 
 sudden footstep ; no more hurried walk through the 
 streets, looking neither to right nor to left ; no more 
 inward struggles wearing away her life. 
 
 To-morrow to-morrow no, this very night, her 
 grandfather and one other, even Maitresse Aimable, 
 should know all ; and she should sleep quietly, oh, 
 so quietly to-night ! 
 
 Looking into a mirror on the wall it had been a 
 gift from her grandfather she smiled at herself. 
 Why, how foolish of her it had been to feel so much 
 and to imagine terrible things ! Her eyes were shin- 
 ing now, and her hair, catching the sunshine from the 
 window, glistened like burnished copper. She turned 
 to see how it shone on the temple and the side of her 
 head. Philip had praised her hair. Her look lingered 
 for a moment placidly on herself then she started 
 suddenly. A wave of feeling, a shiver, passed through 
 her, her brow gathered, she flushed deeply. 
 
 Turning away from the mirror, she went and sat 
 down again on the edge of the veille. Her mind had 
 changed. She would go to the Dean's, but not till 
 it was dark. She suddenly thought it strange that 
 the Dean had never said anything about the license.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 263 
 
 Why, again, perhaps he had ! How should she know 
 what gossip was going on in the town ! But no, she 
 w,as quick to feel, and if there had been gossip she 
 would have felt it in the manner of her neighbors. 
 Besides, gossip as to a license to marry was all on the 
 right side. She sighed she had sighed so often 
 of late to think what a tangle it all was, of how it 
 would be smoothed out to-morrow, of what 
 
 There was a click of the garden-gate, a footstep on 
 the walk, a half-growl from Biribi, and the face of 
 Carterette Mattingley appeared in the kitchen door- 
 way. Seeing Guida seated on the veille, she came in 
 quickly, her dancing dark eyes heralding great news. 
 
 " Don't get up, ma couzaine," she said, " please no. 
 Sit just there, and I '11 sit beside you. Ah, but I 
 have the most wonderfuls ! " 
 
 Carterette was out of breath. She had hurried here 
 from her home. As she said herself, her two feet 
 were n't in one shoe on the way, and that with her 
 news made her quiver with excitement. 
 
 At first, bursting with mystery, she could no more 
 than sit and look in Guida's face. Carterette was 
 quick of instinct in her way, but yet she had not seen 
 any marked change in her friend during the past few 
 months. She had been so busy thinking of her own 
 particular secret that she was not observant of others. 
 At times she met Ranulph, and then she was uplifted, 
 to be at once cast down again ; for she saw that his 
 old cheerfulness was gone, that a sombreness had set- 
 tled on him. She flattered herself, however, that she 
 could lighten his gravity if she had the right and the 
 good opportunity ; the more so that he no longer vis- 
 ited the cottage in the Place du Vier Prison. 
 
 This drew her closer to Guida also, for, in truth,
 
 264 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Carterette had no loftiness of nature. Like most 
 people, she was selfish enough to hold a person a 
 little dearer for not standing in her own especial light. 
 Long ago she had shrewdly guessed that Guida's in- 
 terest lay elsewhere than with Ranulph, and a few 
 months back she had fastened upon Philip as the 
 object of her favor. That seemed no weighty 
 matter, for many sailors had made love to Carterette 
 in her time, and knowing it was here to-day and away 
 to-morrow with them, her heart had remained un- 
 touched. Why, then, should she think Guida would 
 take the officer seriously where she herself held the 
 sailor lightly ? But at the same time she felt sure 
 that what concerned Philip must interest Guida, 
 she herself always cared to hear the fate of an old ad- 
 mirer, and this was what had brought her to the 
 cottage to-day. 
 
 " Guess who 's wrote me a letter ! " she asked of 
 Guida, who had taken up some sewing, and was now 
 industriously regarding the stitches. 
 
 At Carterette's question, Guida looked up and said 
 with a smile : " Some one you like, I see." 
 
 Carterette laughed gayly. " Ba su, I should think 
 I did in a way. But what 's his name ? Come, 
 guess, Ma'm'selle Dignity ! " 
 
 "Eh ben, the fairy godmother," answered Guida, 
 trying not to show an interest she felt all too keenly ; 
 for nowadays it seemed to her that all news should be 
 about Philip. Besides, she was gaining time and pre- 
 paring herself for she knew not what. 
 
 " O my grief ! " responded the brown-eyed elf, kick- 
 ing off a red slipper, and thrusting her foot into it 
 again, " never a fairy godmother had I, unless it 's old 
 Manon Moignard the witch,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 265 
 
 ' Sas, son, bileton, 
 
 My grand'methe a-fishing has gone : 
 She '11 gather the fins to scrape my jowl, 
 And ride back home on a barnyard fowl ! ' 
 
 Nannin, ma'm'selle, 't is plain to be seen you can't 
 guess what a cornfield grows besides red poppies ! " 
 and laughing in sheer delight at the mystery she was 
 making, she broke off again into a whimsical nursery 
 rhyme : 
 
 " ' Coquelicot, j'ai mal au de ; 
 Coquelicot, qu'est qui 1'a fait ? 
 Coquelicot, ch'tai mon valet.' " 
 
 She kicked off the red slipper again. Flying half- 
 way across the room, it alighted on the table, and 
 a little mud from the heel dropped on the clean 
 scoured surface. With a little moue of mockery, she 
 got slowly up and tiptoed across the floor, like a child 
 afraid of being scolded. Gathering the dust carefully, 
 and looking demurely askance at Guida the while, she 
 tiptoed over again to the fireplace, and threw it into 
 the chimney. 
 
 " Naughty Carterette ! " she said at herself with 
 admiring reproach, as she looked in Guida's mirror, 
 and added, glancing with farcical approval round the 
 room, "and it all shines like peacock's feather, too ! " 
 
 Guida longed to snatch the letter from Carterette's 
 hand and read it, but she only said calmly, though 
 the words fluttered in her throat : 
 
 " You 're as gay as a chaffinch, Gargon Carterette ! " 
 
 Gargon Carterette ! Instantly Carterette sobered 
 down. No one save Ranulph ever called her Gar^on 
 Carterette ! 
 
 Guida used Ranulph's name for Carterette, knowing 
 that it would change the madcap's mood. Carterette,
 
 266 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 to hide a sudden flush, stooped and slowly put on her 
 slipper. Then she came back to the veille, and sat 
 down again beside Guida, saying as she did so : 
 
 " Yes, I 'm gay as a chaffinch me." 
 
 She unfolded the letter slowly, and Guida stopped 
 sewing, but mechanically began to prick the linen 
 lying on her knee with the point of the needle. 
 
 "Well," said Carterette deliberately, " this letter 's 
 from a pend'loque of a fellow, at least, we used to 
 call him that, though if you come to think, he was 
 always polite as mended porringer. Often he had n't 
 two sous to rub against each other. And and not 
 enough buttons for his clothes ! " 
 
 Guida smiled. She guessed whom Carterette meant. 
 "Has Monsieur Detricand more buttons now?" she 
 asked with a little whimsical lift of the eyebrows. 
 
 " Ah bidemme, yes, and gold too, all over him 
 like that ! " She made a quick sweeping gesture 
 which would seem to make Detricand a very spangle 
 of buttons. " Come, what do you think he 's a 
 general now ! " 
 
 "A general ! " Instantly Guida thought of Philip, 
 and a kind of envy shot into her heart that this idler 
 Detricand should mount so high in a few months, a 
 man whose past had held nothing to warrant such suc- 
 cess. " A general ! where ? " she asked. 
 
 " In the Vendee army, fighting for the new King 
 of France you know the rebels cut off the last 
 King's head." 
 
 At another time Guida's heart would have throbbed 
 with elation, for the romance of that Vendeen union 
 of aristocrat and peasant fired her imagination ; but 
 she only said in the tongue of the people, " Ma f uifre ! 
 yes, I know."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 267 
 
 Carterette was delighted to thus dole out her news, 
 and get due reward of astonishment. " And he 's 
 another name," she added. " At least it 's not another, 
 he always had it, but he did n't call himself by it. 
 Pardi, he 's more than the Chevalier ; he 's the Comte 
 Detricand de Tournay ah, then, believe me if you 
 choose, there it is ! " 
 
 She pointed to the signature of the letter, and with 
 a gush of eloquence explained how it all was about 
 Detricand the vaurien and Detricand the Comte de 
 Tournay. 
 
 " Good riddance to Monsieur Savary dit Detricand, 
 and good welcome to the Comte de Tournay," an- 
 swered Guida, trying hard to humor Carterette, that 
 she should sooner hear the news yet withheld. " And 
 what follows after ? " 
 
 Carterette was half sorry that her great moment 
 had come. She wished she could have linked out the 
 suspense longer. But she let herself be comforted by 
 the anticipated effect of her " wonderfuls." 
 
 " I '11 tell you what comes after ah, but see then 
 what a news I have for you ! You know that Monsieur 
 d'Avranche- well, what do you think has come to 
 him ? " 
 
 Guida felt as if a monstrous hand had her heart 
 in its grasp, crushing it. Presentiment seized her. 
 Carterette was busy running over the pages of the 
 letter, and did not notice her colorless face. She had 
 no thought that Guida had any vital interest in Philip, 
 and ruthlessly, though unconsciously, she began to 
 torture the young wife as few are tortured in this 
 world. 
 
 She read aloud Detricand's description of his visit 
 to the Castle of Bercy, and of the meeting with Philip.
 
 268 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " ' See what comes of a name ! " wrote Detricand. 
 " ' Here was a poor prisoner whose ancestor, hundreds 
 of years ago, may or may n't have been a relative of 
 the d'Avranches of Clermont, when a disappointed 
 duke, with an eye open for heirs, takes a fancy to the 
 good-looking face of the poor prisoner, and voild ! 
 you have him whisked off to a palace, fed on milk and 
 honey, and adopted into the family. Then a pedigree 
 is nicely grown on a summer day, and this fine young 
 Jersey adventurer is found to be a green branch from 
 the 1 old root ; and there 's a great blare of trumpets, 
 and the States of the duchy are called together to 
 make this English officer a prince and that 's the 
 Thousand and One Nights in Arabia, Ma'm'selle Car- 
 terette ! ' " 
 
 Guida was sitting rigid and still. In the slight 
 pause Carterette made, a hundred confused torturing 
 thoughts swam through her mind and presently floated 
 into the succeeding sentences of the letter : 
 
 " ' As for me, I 'm like Rabot's mare, I haven't time 
 to laugh at my own foolishness. I 'm either up to my 
 knees in grass or clay fighting Revolutionists, or I 'm 
 riding hard day and night till I 'm round-backed like 
 a wood-louse, to make up for all the good time I so 
 badly lost in your little island. You would n't have 
 expected that, my friend with the tongue that stings, 
 would you ? But then, Ma'm'selle of the red slippers, 
 one is never butted save by a dishorned cow as 
 your father used to say.' " 
 
 Carterette paused again, saying in an aside, " That 
 is M'sieu' all over, all so gay. But who knows ? For 
 he says, too, that the other day a-fighting Fontenay, 
 five thousand of his men come across a cavalry as 
 they run to take the guns that eat them up like
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 269 
 
 cabbages, and they drop on their knees, and he drops 
 with them, and they all pray to God to help them, 
 while the cannon-balls whiz-whiz over their heads. 
 And God did hear them, for they fell down flat when 
 the guns was fired and the cannon-balls never touched 
 'em." 
 
 During this interlude, Guida, sick with anxiety, 
 could scarcely sit still. She began sewing again, 
 though her fingers trembled so she could hardly make 
 a stitch. But Carterette, the little egoist, did not 
 notice her agitation ; her own flurry dimmed her 
 sight. 
 
 She began reading again. The first few words had 
 little or no significance for Guida, but presently she 
 was held as by the fascination of a serpent. 
 
 "'And Ma'm'selle Carterette, what do you think 
 this young captain, now Prince Philip d'Avranche, heir 
 to the title oi Bercy what do you think he is next 
 to do ? Even to marry a countess of great family the 
 old Duke has chosen for him ; so that the name of 
 d'Avranche may not die out in the land. And that is 
 the way that love begins. . . . Wherefore, I want you 
 to write and tell me ' ' 
 
 What he wanted Carterette to tell him Guida never 
 heard, though it concerned herself, for she gave a 
 moan like a dumb animal in agony, and sat rigid and 
 blanched, the needle she had been using imbedded in 
 her finger to the bone, but not a motion, not a sign of 
 animation in face or figure. 
 
 All at once some conception of the truth burst 
 upon the affrighted Carterette. The real truth she 
 imagined as little as had Detricand. 
 
 But now when she saw the blanched face, the filmy 
 eyes and stark look, the finger pierced by the needle,
 
 2/0 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 she knew that a human heart had been pierced, too, 
 with a pain worse than death truly it was worse, for 
 she had seen death, and she had never seen anything 
 like this in its dire misery and horror. She caught 
 the needle quickly from the finger, wrapped her ker- 
 chief round the wound, threw away the sewing from 
 Guida's lap, and, running an arm about her waist, 
 made as if to lay a hot cheek against the cold brow of 
 her friend. Suddenly, however, with a new and pain- 
 ful knowledge piercing her intelligence, and a face as 
 white and scared as Guida's own, she ran to the 
 dresser, caught up a hanap, and brought some water. 
 Guida still sat as though life had fled, and the body, 
 arrested in its activity, would presently collapse. 
 
 Carterette, with all her seeming lightsomeness, had 
 sense and self-possession. She tenderly put the water 
 to Guida's lips, with comforting words, though her 
 own brain was in a whirl, and dark forebodings flashed 
 through her mind. 
 
 "Ah, man gui, man pethe ! " she said in the homely 
 patois. " There, drink, drink, dear, dear couzaine ! " 
 
 Guida's lips opened, and she drank slowly, putting 
 her hand to her heart with a gesture of pain. Carte- 
 rette put down the hanap and caught her hands. 
 
 "Come, come, these cold hands pergui, but we 
 must stop that! They are so cold!" She rubbed 
 them hard. "The poor child of heaven what has 
 come over you ? Speak to me . . . ah, but see, 
 everything will come all right by and by ! God is 
 good. Nothing 's as bad as what it seems. There 
 was never a gray wind but there 's a grayer. Nannin- 
 gia, take it not so to heart, my couzaine ; thou shalt 
 have love enough in the world ! . . . Ah, grand doux 
 d'la vie, but I could kill him ! " she added under her
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 271 
 
 breath, and she rubbed Guida's hands still, and looked 
 frankly, generously into her eyes. 
 
 Yet, try as she would in that supreme moment, 
 Carterette could not feel all she once felt concerning 
 Guida. There is something humiliating in even an 
 undeserved injury, something which, to the human 
 eye, lessens the worthiness of its victim. To this 
 hour Carterette had looked upon her friend as a being 
 far above her own companionship. All in a moment, 
 in this new office of comforter the relative status was 
 altered. The plane on which Guida had moved was 
 lowered. Pity, while it deepened Carterette's tender- 
 ness, lessened the gap between them. 
 
 Perhaps something of this passed through Guida's 
 mind, and the deep pride and courage of her nature 
 came to her assistance. She withdrew her hands and 
 mechanically smoothed back her hair, then, as Carter- 
 ette sat watching her, folded up the sewing and put it 
 in the work-basket hanging on the wall. 
 
 There was something unnatural in her governance 
 of herself now. She seemed as if doing things in a 
 dream, but she did them accurately and with apparent 
 purpose. She looked at the clock, then went to the 
 fire to light it, for it was almost time to get her grand- 
 father's tea. She did not seem conscious of the pre- 
 sence of Carterette, who still sat on the veille, not 
 knowing quite what to do. At last, as the flame 
 flashed up in the chimney, she came over to her 
 friend, and said : 
 
 " Carterette, I am going to the Dean's. Will you 
 run and ask Maitresse Aimable to come here to me 
 soon ?" 
 
 Her voice had the steadiness of despair, that 
 steadiness coming to those upon whose nerves has
 
 272 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 fallen a great numbness, upon whose sensibilities has 
 settled a cloud that stills them as the thick mist stills 
 the ripples on the waters of a fen. 
 
 All the glamour of Guida's youth had dropped 
 away. She had deemed life good, and, behold, it was 
 not good ; she had thought her dayspring was on high, 
 and happiness had burnt into darkness like quick-con- 
 suming flax. But all was strangely quiet in her heart 
 and mind. Nothing more that she feared could hap- 
 pen to her ; the worst had fallen, and now there came 
 down on her the impermeable calm of the doomed. 
 
 Carterette was awed by her face, and, saying that 
 she would go at once to Maitresse Aimable, she 
 started towards the door, but as quickly stopped and 
 came back to Guida. With none of the impulse that 
 usually marked her actions, she put her arms round 
 Guida's neck and kissed her, saying with a subdued 
 intensity : " I 'd go through fire and water for you. I 
 want to help you every way I can me ! " 
 
 Guida did not say a word, but she kissed the hot 
 cheek of the smuggler-pirate's daughter, as in dying 
 one might kiss the face of a friend seen with filmy 
 eyes. 
 
 When she had gone Guida drew herself up with a 
 shiver. She was conscious that new senses and in- 
 stincts were born in her, or were now first awakened 
 to life. They were not yet under control, but she felt 
 them, and in so far as she had power to think, she 
 used them. 
 
 Leaving .the house and stepping into the Place du 
 Vier Prison, she walked quietly and steadily up the 
 Rue d'Driere. She did not notice that people she 
 met glanced at her curiously, and turned to look after 
 her as she hurried on.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 IT had been a hot, oppressive day, but when, a half- 
 hour later, Guida hastened back from a fruitless 
 visit to the house .of the Dean, who was absent in 
 England, a vast black cloud had drawn up from the 
 south-east, dropping a curtain of darkness upon the 
 town. As she neared the doorway of the cottage, a 
 few heavy drops began to fall, and, in spite of her bit- 
 ter trouble, she quickened her footsteps, fearing that 
 her grandfather had come back, to find the house 
 empty and no light or supper ready. 
 
 M. de Mauprat had preceded her by not more than 
 five minutes. His footsteps across the Place du Vier 
 Prison had been unsteady, his head bowed, though 
 more than once he raised it with a sort of effort, as 
 it were in indignation or defiance. He muttered to 
 himself as he opened the door, and he paused in the 
 hallway as though hesitating to go forward. After a 
 moment he made a piteous gesture of his hand 
 towards the kitchen, and whispered to himself in a 
 kind of reassurance. Then he entered the room and 
 stood still. All was dark save for the glimmer of the 
 fire. 
 
 "Guida! Guida!" he said in a shaking, muffled 
 voice. There was no answer. He put by his hat 
 and stick in the corner, and felt his way to the great 
 chair - he seemed to have lost his sight. Finding 
 the familiar, worn arm of the chair, he seated himself
 
 274 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 with a heavy sigh. His lips moved, and he shook his 
 head now and then, as though in protest against some 
 unspoken thought. 
 
 Presently he brought his clenched hand down 
 heavily on the table, and said aloud : 
 
 " They lie ! they lie ! The Connetable lies ! Their 
 tongues shall be cut out. . . . Ah, my little, little 
 child! . . . The Connetable dared he dared to 
 tell me this evil gossip of the little one of my 
 Guida ! " 
 
 He laughed contemptuously, but it was a crackling, 
 dry laugh, painful in its cheerlessness. He drew his 
 snuff-box from his pocket, opened it, and slowly tak- 
 ing a pinch, raised it towards his nose, but the hand 
 paused halfway, as though a new thought arrested it. 
 
 In the pause there came the sound of the front 
 door opening, and then footsteps in the hall. 
 
 The pinch of snuff fell from the fingers of the old 
 man on to the white stuff of his short-clothes, but as 
 Guida entered the room and stood still a moment, he 
 did not stir in his seat. The thundercloud had come 
 still lower and the room was dark, the coals in the 
 fireplace being now covered with gray ashes. 
 
 " Grandpethe ! Grandpethe ! " Guida said. 
 
 He did not answer. His heart was fluttering, his 
 tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, dry and thick. 
 Now he should know the truth, now he should be 
 sure that they had lied about his little Guida, those 
 slanderers of the Vier Marchi ! Yet, too, he had a 
 strange, depressing fear, at variance with his loving 
 faith and belief that in Guida there was no wrong : 
 such belief as has the strong swimmer that he can 
 reach the shore through wave and tide ; yet also with 
 strange foreboding, prelude to the cramp that makes
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 275 
 
 powerless, defying youth, strength and skill. He 
 could not have spoken if it had been to save his own 
 life or hers. 
 
 Getting no answer to her words, Guida went first 
 to the hearth and stirred the fire, the old man sitting 
 rigid in his chair and regarding her with fixed, watch- 
 ful eyes. Then she found two candles and lighted 
 them, placing them on the mantel, and turning to the 
 crasset hanging by its osier rings from a beam, slowly 
 lighted it. Turning round, she was full in the light 
 of the candles and the shooting flames of the fire. 
 
 De Mauprat's eyes had followed her every motion, 
 unconscious of his presence as she was. This, this 
 was not the Guida he had known ! This was not his 
 grandchild, this woman with the pale, cold face, and 
 dark, unhappy eyes ; this was not the laughing girl 
 who but yesterday was a babe at his knee. This was 
 not 
 
 The truth, which had yet been before his blinded 
 eyes how long ! burst upon him. The shock of it 
 snapped the filmy thread of being. As the escaping 
 soul found its wings, spread them, and rose from that 
 dun morass called Life, the Sieur de Mauprat, giving 
 a long, deep sigh, fell back in his great arm-chair 
 dead, and the silver snuff-box rattled to the floor. 
 
 Guida turned round with a sharp cry. Running to 
 him, she lifted up the head that lay over on his 
 shoulder. She felt his pulse, she called to him. 
 Opening his waistcoat, she put her ear to his heart ; 
 but it was still still. 
 
 A mist, a blackness, came over her own eyes, and 
 without a cry or a word, she slid to the floor uncon- 
 scious, as the black thunderstorm broke upon the 
 Place du Vier Prison.
 
 276 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The rain was like a curtain let down between the 
 prying, clattering world without and the strange 
 peace within : the old man in his perfect sleep ; the 
 young, misused wife in that passing oblivion borrowed 
 from death and as tender and compassionate while 
 it lasts. 
 
 As though with merciful indulgence, Fate permitted 
 no one to enter upon the dark scene save a woman 
 in whom was a deep motherhood which had never 
 nourished a child, and to whom this silence and this 
 sorrow gave no terrors. Silence was her constant 
 companion, and for sorrow she had been granted 
 the touch that assuages the sharpness of pain and the 
 love called neighborly kindness. 
 
 Unto her it was given to minister here. As the 
 night went by, and the offices had been done for the 
 dead, she took her place by the bedside of the young 
 wife, who lay staring into space, tearless and still, the 
 life consuming away within her. 
 
 In the front room of the cottage, his head buried 
 in his hands, Ranulph Delagarde sat watching beside 
 the body of the Sieur de Mauprat.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 IN the Rue d'Driere, the undertaker and his head 
 apprentice were right merry. But why should 
 they not be ? People had to die, quoth the under- 
 taker, and when dead they must be buried. Burying 
 was a trade, and wherefore should not one dis- 
 creetly be cheerful at one's trade ? In undertaking 
 there were many miles to trudge with coffins in a 
 week, and the fixed, sad, sympathetic look long cus- 
 tom had stereotyped was wearisome to the face as a 
 cast of plaster-of-paris. Moreover, the undertaker 
 was master of ceremonies at the house of bereave- 
 ment as well. He not only arranged the funeral, 
 he sent out the invitations to the "friends of de- 
 ceased, who are requested to return to the house 
 of the mourners after the obsequies for refreshment." 
 All the preparations for this feast were made by 
 the undertaker, Master of Burials he chose to be 
 called. 
 
 Once, after a busy six months, in which a fever had 
 carried off many a Jersiais, the Master of Burials had 
 given a picnic to his apprentices, workmen, and their 
 families. At this buoyant function he had raised his 
 glass, and with playful plaintiveness proposed, "The 
 day we celebrate ! " 
 
 He was in. a no less blithesome mood this day. The 
 head apprentice was reading aloud the accounts for 
 the burials of the month, while the master checked
 
 278 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 off the items, nodding approval, commenting, correct- 
 ing, or condemning with strange expletives. 
 
 "Don't gabble, gabble ! Next one slowlee!" said 
 the Master of Burials, as the second account was laid 
 aside, duly approved. " Eh ben, now let 's hear the 
 next. Who is it ? " 
 
 " That Josue Anquetil," answered the apprentice. 
 
 The Master of Burials rubbed his hands together 
 with a creepy sort of glee. " Ah, that was a clever 
 piece of work ! Too little of a length and a width for 
 the box, but let us be thankful it might have been 
 too short, and it wasn't." 
 
 " No danger of that, pardingue ! " broke in the 
 apprentice. "The first it belonged to was a foot 
 longer than Josue he." 
 
 " But I made the most of Josue," continued the 
 Master. " The mouth was crooked, but he was clean, 
 clean I shaved him just in time. And he had good 
 hair for combing to a peaceful look, and he was light 
 to carry O my good ! Go on, what has Josu6 the 
 centenier to say for himself ? " 
 
 With a drawling dull indifference, the lank, hatchet- 
 faced servitor of the master servitor of the grave read 
 off the items : 
 
 " The Relict ofjosul Anquetil, Centenier, in account -with 
 Etienne Mahye, Master of Burials. 
 
 Livres. Sols. Farthings. 
 "Item: 
 Paid to Gentlemen of Vingtaine, who carried 
 
 him to his grave 440 
 
 Ditto to me, Etienne Mahye, for proper gloves 
 
 of silk and cotton I o o 
 
 Ditto to me, E. M., for laying of him out 
 
 and all that appertains ....070 
 Ditto to me, E. M., for coffin ...400 
 Ditto to me, E. M., for divers . . o 4 o "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 279 
 
 The Master of Burials interrupted. " Bat'd'lagoule, 
 you 've forgot blacking for coffin ! " 
 
 The apprentice made the correction without deign- 
 ing reply, and then went on : 
 
 Livres. Sols. Farthings. 
 " Ditto to me, E. M., for black for blacking 
 
 coffin . . o 3 o 
 
 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for supper after 
 
 obs'quies .......320 
 
 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for wine (3 pots 
 
 and I pt. at a shilling) for ditto ... 2 5 6 
 
 Ditto to me, E. M., paid out for oil and 
 
 candle ........070 
 
 Ditto to me, E. M., given to the poor, as fit- 
 ting station of deceased . . . 4 o o " 
 
 The apprentice stopped. " That 's all/' he said. 
 
 There was a furious leer on the face of the Mas- 
 ter of Burials. So, after all his care, apprentices 
 would never learn to make mistakes on his side. 
 " Always on the side of the corpse, that can thank 
 nobody for naught, O my grief!" was his snarling 
 comment. 
 
 "What about those turnips from Denise Gareau, 
 numskull ! " he grunted in a voice between a sneer 
 and a snort. 
 
 The apprentice was unmoved. He sniffed, rubbed 
 his nose with a forefinger, laboriously wrote for a 
 moment, and then added : 
 
 " Ditto to Madame Denise Gareau for turnips for 
 
 supper after obs'quies losols" 
 
 " Saperlote ! leave out the Madame, calf -lugs 
 you ! " 
 
 The apprentice did not move a ringer. Obsti- 
 nacy sat enthroned on him. In a rage, the Master
 
 280 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 made a snatch at a metal flower-wreath to throw at 
 him. 
 
 " Shan't ! She 's my aunt. I knows my duties to 
 my aunt me ! " said the apprentice stolidly. 
 
 The Master burst out in a laugh of scorn. " Gad'- 
 rabotin, here 's family pride for you ! I '11 go stick 
 dandelines in my old sow's ear respe d'la com- 
 pagnie." 
 
 The apprentice was still calm. "If you want to 
 flourish yourself, don't mind me," said he, and picking 
 up the next account, he began reading : 
 
 " Mademoiselle Landresse, in the matter of the Burial of the 
 
 Sieur de Mauprat, to Etienne Mahye, &*<:." 
 " Item " 
 
 The first words read by the apprentice had stilled 
 the breaking storm of the Master's anger. It dis- 
 solved in a fragrant dew of proud reminiscence, profit, 
 and scandal. 
 
 He himself had no open prejudices. He was an 
 official of the public, or so he counted himself, 
 and he very shrewdly knew his duty in that walk of 
 life to which it had pleased Heaven to call him. The 
 greater the notoriety of the death, the more in evi- 
 dence was the Master and all his belongings. Death 
 with honor was an advantage to him ; death with dis- 
 aster a boon ; death with scandal was a godsend. It 
 brought tears of gratitude to his eyes when the death 
 and the scandal were in high places. These were the 
 only real tears he ever shed. His heart was in his 
 head, and the head thought solely of Etienne Mahye. 
 Though he wore an air of sorrow and sympathy in 
 public, he had no more feeling than a hangman. His 
 sympathy seemed to say to the living, "I wonder 
 how oon you '11 come into my hands ! " and to the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 281 
 
 dead, " What a pity you can only die once and 
 second-hand coffins so hard to get ! " 
 
 " Item : paid to me, Etienne Mahye," 
 
 droned the voice of the apprentice, 
 
 " for rosewood coffin " 
 
 " O my good ! " interrupted the Master of Burials 
 with a barren chuckle, and rubbing his hands with 
 glee, " O my good, that was a day in a lifetime ! I Ve 
 done fine work in my time, but upon that day not 
 a cloud above, no dust beneath, a flowing tide, and a 
 calm sea. The Royal Court, too, caught on a sudden 
 marching in their robes, turns to and joins the cor- 
 tegee, and the little birds a-tweeting-tweeting, and 
 two parsons at the grave. Pardingue, the Lord was 
 with me that day, and " 
 
 The apprentice laughed a dry, mirthless laugh of 
 disbelief and ridicule. " Ba su, Master, the Lord was 
 watching you. There was two silver bits inside that 
 coffin, on Sieur's eys ! " 
 
 " Bigre ! " The Master was pale with rage. His 
 lips drew back, disclosing long dark teeth and sickly 
 gums, in a grimace of fury. He reached out to seize 
 a hammer lying at his hand, but the apprentice said 
 quickly : 
 
 " Sapri ! That 's the cholera hammer ! " 
 
 The Master of Burials dropped the hammer as 
 though it were at white heat, and eyed it with scared 
 scrutiny. This hammer had been used in nailing 
 down the coffins of six cholera patients who had died 
 in one house at Rozel Bay a year before. The Master 
 would not himself go near the place, so this appren- 
 tice had gone, on a promise from the Royal Court 
 that he should have for himself this he demanded 
 as reward free lodging in two small upper rooms
 
 282 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 of the Cohue Royal e, just under the bell which said 
 to the world, Chicane chicane ! Chicane chicane ! 
 
 This he asked, and this he got, and he alone of all 
 Jersey went out to bury three people who had died 
 of cholera ; and then to watch three others die, to 
 bury them scarce cold, and come back, with a leer of 
 satisfaction, to claim his price. At first people were 
 inclined to make a hero of him, but that only made 
 him grin the more, and at last the Island reluctantly 
 decided that he had done the work solely for fee and 
 reward. 
 
 The hammer used in nailing the coffins, he had 
 carried through the town like an emblem of terror 
 and death, and henceforth he only in the shop of the 
 Master touched it. 
 
 " It won't hurt you if you leave it alone," said the 
 apprentice grimly to the Master of Burials. " But if 
 you go bothering, I '11 put it in your bed, and it '11 do 
 after to nail down your coffin ! " " 
 
 Then he went on reading with a malicious calmness, 
 as though the matter were the dullest trifle : 
 
 " Item : one dozen pairs of gloves for mourners. 
 
 " Par made ! that 's one way of putting it," com- 
 mented the apprentice, " for what mourners was there 
 but Ma'm'selle herself, and she quiet as a mice, and 
 not a teardrop, and all the Island necks end to end 
 for look at her, and you, Master, whispering to her, 
 'The Lord is the Giver and Taker,' and the Femme 
 de Ballast t' other side, saying, ' My dee-ar, my dee-ar, 
 bear thee up, bear thee up thee.' " 
 
 " And she looking so steady in front of her, as if 
 never was shame about her and her there soon to 
 be ! and no ring of gold upon her hand, and all the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 283 
 
 world staring ! " broke in the Master, who, having 
 edged away from the cholera hammer, was launched 
 upon a theme that stirred his very soul. " All the 
 world staring, and good reason ! " he added. 
 
 " And she scarce winking, eh ? " said the appren- 
 tice. 
 
 " True that ! Her eyes did n't feel the cold," said 
 the Master of Burials with a leer, for to his sight as 
 to that of others, only as boldness had been Guida's 
 bitter courage, the blank, despairing gaze, coming 
 from eyes that turn their agony inward. 
 
 The apprentice took up the account again, and 
 prepared to read it. The Master, however, had been 
 roused to a genial theme. "Poor fallen child of Na- 
 ture ! " said he. " For what is birth or what is looks 
 of virtue like a summer flower ! It is to be brought 
 down by hand of man." He was warmed to his 
 text. Habit had long made him so much hypocrite, 
 that he was sentimentalist and hard materialist in one. 
 " Some pend'loque has brought her beauty to this 
 pass, but she must suffer and also his time will 
 come, the sulphur, the torment, the worm that dieth 
 not and no Abraham for parched tongue misery 
 me ! They that meet in sin here shall meet hereafter 
 in burning fiery furnace." 
 
 The cackle of the apprentice rose above the whin- 
 ing voice. " Murder, too, don't forget the murder, 
 Master. The Connetable told the old Sieur de Mau- 
 prat what people were blabbing, and in half hour dead 
 he is he ! " 
 
 " Et ben, the Sieur's blood it is upon their heads," 
 continued the Master of Burials ; " it will rise up from 
 the ground " 
 
 The apprentice interrupted. " A good thing if the
 
 284 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Sieur himself does n't rise, for you 'd get naught for 
 coffin or obs'quies. It was you tells the Connetable 
 what folks babbled, and the Connetable tells the Sieur, 
 and the Sieur it kills him dead. So if he rised, he 'd 
 not pay you for murdering him no, bidemme ! And 
 't is a gobbly mouthful this ! " he added, holding up 
 the bill. 
 
 The undertaker's lips smacked softly, as though in 
 truth he were waiting for the mouthful. Rubbing his 
 hands, and drawing his lean leg up till it touched his 
 nose, he looked over it with avid eyes, and said : 
 "How much? don't read the items, but come to 
 total debit how much she pays me ? " 
 
 " Ma'm'selle Landresse, debtor in all for one hundred and twenty 
 livres, eleven sols, and two farthings. 
 
 Shan't you make it one hundred and twenty-one 
 livres ? " added the apprentice. 
 
 " God forbid ! the odd sols and farthings are mine 
 no more ! " returned the Master of Burials. " Also 
 they look exact ; but the courage it needs to be honest ! 
 O my grief, if " 
 
 " 'Sh ! " said the apprentice pointing, and the Mas- 
 ter of Burials, turning, saw Guida pass the window. 
 
 With a hungry instinct for the morbid they stole 
 to the doorway and looked down the Rue d'Driere 
 after her. The Master was sympathetic, for had he 
 not in his fingers at that moment a bill for a hundred 
 and twenty livres odd ? The way the apprentice 
 craned his neck, and tightened the forehead over his 
 large, protuberant eyes, showed his intense curiosity, 
 but the face was implacable. It was like that of some 
 strong fate, superior to all influences of sorrow, shame, 
 or death. Presently he laughed a crackling cackle
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 285 
 
 like new-lighted kindling wood; nothing could have 
 been more inhuman in sound. What in particular 
 aroused this arid mirth probably he himself did not 
 know. Maybe it was a native cruelty which had a 
 sort of sardonic pleasure in the miseries of the world. 
 Or was it only the perception, sometimes given to the 
 dullest mind, of the futility of goodness, the futility of 
 all ? This perhaps, since the apprentice shared with 
 Dormy Jamais his rooms at the top of the Cohue 
 Royale ; and there must have been some natural bond 
 of kindness between the blank, sardonic undertaker's 
 apprentice and the poor beganne, who now officially 
 rang the bell for the meetings of the Royal Court. 
 
 The dry cackle of the apprentice as he looked after 
 Guida roused a mockery of indignation in the Master. 
 " Sacre matin, a back-hander on the jaw 'd do you 
 good, slubberdegullion you ! Ah, get go scrub the 
 coffin blacking from your jowl ! " he rasped out with 
 furious contempt. 
 
 The apprentice seemed not to hear, but kept on 
 looking after Guida, a pitiless leer on his face. 
 " Dame ! lucky for her the Sieur died before he had 
 chance to change his will. She 'd have got ni fiche 
 ni bran from him ! " 
 
 " Support d'en haut ! if you don't stop that I '11 give 
 you a coffin before your time, keg of nails you ! 
 Sorrow and prayer at the throne of grace that she 
 may have a contrite heart " he clutched the funeral 
 bill tighter in his fingers "is what we must feel for 
 her. The day the Sieur died and it all came out, I 
 wept. Bedtime come I had to sop my eyes with elder- 
 water. The day o' the burial mine eyes were so sore 
 a-draining, I had to put a rotten sweet apple on 'em 
 over-night me ! "
 
 286 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Ah bah ! she does n't need rosemary wash for her 
 hair ! " said the apprentice admiringly, looking down 
 the street after Guida as she turned into the Rue 
 d'Egypte. 
 
 Perhaps it was a momentary sympathy for beauty 
 in distress which made the Master say, as he backed 
 from the doorway with stealthy step : 
 
 " Gatd'en'ale, 't is well she has enough to live on, 
 and to provide for what 's to come ! " 
 
 But if it was a note of humanity in the voice it 
 passed quickly, for presently, as he examined the bill 
 for the funeral of the Sieur de Mauprat, he said, 
 shrilly : 
 
 " Achocre, you Ve left out the extra satin for his 
 pillow you ! " 
 
 " There was n't any extra satin," drawled the ap- 
 prentice. 
 
 With a snarl the Master of Burials seized a pen 
 and wrote in the account : 
 
 " Item : To extra satin for pillow, three livres."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 'S once blithe, rose-colored face was pale 
 VJT as ivory, the mouth had a look of deep sadness, 
 and the step was slow ; but the eye was clear and 
 steady, and her hair, brushed under the black crape 
 of the bonnet as smoothly as its nature would admit, 
 gave to the broad brow a setting of rare attraction 
 and sombre nobility. It was not a face that knew 
 inward shame, but it carried a look that showed 
 knowledge of life's cruelties and a bitter sensitiveness 
 to pain. Above all else it was fearless, and it had no 
 touch of the consciousness or the consequences of 
 sin ; it was purity itself. 
 
 It alone should have proclaimed abroad her inno- 
 cence, though she said no word in testimony. To 
 most people, however, her dauntless sincerity only 
 added to her crime and to the scandalous mystery. 
 Yet her manner awed some, while her silence held 
 most back. The few who came to offer sympathy, 
 with curiousness in their eyes and as much inhuman- 
 ity as pity in their hearts, were turned back gently 
 but firmly, more than once with proud resentment. 
 
 So it chanced that soon only Maitresse Aim able 
 came, she who asked no questions, desired no secrets, 
 and Dormy Jamais. 
 
 Dormy had of late haunted the precincts of the 
 Place du Vier Prison, and was the only person besides 
 Maitresse Aimable whom Guida welcomed. His tire-
 
 288 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 less feet went clac-clac past her doorway, or halted by 
 it, or entered in when it pleased him. He was more 
 a watch-dog than Biribi ; he fetched and carried ; he 
 was silent and sleepless always sleepless. It was 
 as if some past misfortune had opened his eyes to the 
 awful bitterness of life, and they had never closed 
 again. 
 
 The Chevalier had not been with her, for on the 
 afternoon of the very day her grandfather died, he 
 had gone a secret voyage to St. Malo, to meet the 
 old solicitor of his family. He knew nothing of his 
 friend's death or of Guida's trouble. As for Carterette, 
 Guida would not let her come for her own sake. 
 
 Nor did Maitre Ranulph visit her after the funeral 
 of the Sieur de Mauprat. The horror of the thing had 
 struck him dumb, and his mind was one confused mass 
 of conflicting thoughts. There there were the terri- 
 fying facts before him ; yet, with an obstinacy peculiar 
 to him, he still went on believing in her goodness and 
 in her truth. Of the man who had injured her he had 
 no doubt, and his course was clear, in the hour when 
 he and Philip d'Avranche should meet. Meanwhile, 
 from a spirit of delicacy, avoiding the Place du Vier 
 Prison, he visited Maitresse Aimable, and from day to 
 day learned all that happened to Guida. As of old, 
 without her knowledge, he did many things for her 
 through the same Maitresse Aimable. And it quickly 
 came to be known in the Island that any one who 
 spoke ill of Guida in his presence did so at no little 
 risk. At first there had been those who marked him 
 as the wrong-doer, but somehow that did not suit 
 with the case, for it was clear he loved Guida now as 
 he had always done ; and this the world knew, as it 
 had known that he would have married her all too
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 289 
 
 gladly. Presently Detricand and Philip were the only 
 names mentioned, but at last, as by common consent, 
 Philip was settled upon, for such evidence as there 
 was pointed that way. The gossips set about to recall 
 all that had happened when Philip was in Jersey last. 
 Here one came forward with a tittle of truth, and 
 there another with tattle of falsehood, and at last as 
 wild a story was fabricated as might be heard in a 
 long day. 
 
 But in bitterness Guida kept her own counsel. 
 
 This day when she passed the undertaker's shop 
 she had gone to visit the grave of her grandfather. 
 He had died without knowing the truth, and her heart 
 was hardened against him who had brought misery 
 upon her. Reaching the cottage in the Place du Vier 
 Prison now, she took from a drawer the letter Philip 
 had written her on the day he first met the Comtesse 
 Chantavoine. She had received it a week ago. She 
 read it through slowly, shuddering a little once or 
 twice. When she had finished, she drew paper to her 
 and began a reply. 
 
 The first crisis of her life was passed. She had met 
 the shock of utter disillusion ; her own perfect honesty 
 now fathomed the black dishonesty of the man she had 
 loved. Death had come with sorrow and unmerited 
 shame. But an innate greatness, a deep courage sup- 
 ported her. Out of her wrongs and miseries now she 
 made a path for her future, and in that path Philip's 
 foot should never be set. She had thought and thought, 
 and had come to her decision. In one month she 
 had grown years older in mind. Sorrow gave her 
 knowledge, it threw her back on her native strength 
 and goodness. Rising above mere personal wrong she 
 grew to a larger sense of womanhood, to a true under-
 
 290 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 standing of her position and its needs. She loved no 
 longer, but Philip was her husband by the law, and 
 even as she had told him her whole mind and heart 
 in the days of their courtship and marriage, she would 
 tell him her whole mind and heart now. Once more, 
 to satisfy the bond, to give full reasons for what she 
 was about to do, she would open her soul to her hus- 
 band, and then no more ! In all she wrote she kept 
 but two things back, her grandfather's death and 
 one other. These matters belonged to herself alone. 
 
 "No, Philip d'Avranche," she wrote, "your mes- 
 sage came too late. All that you might have said 
 and done should have been said and done long ago, in 
 that past which I believe in no more. I will not ask 
 you why you acted as you did towards me. Words 
 can alter nothing now. Once I thought you true, 
 and this letter you send would have me still believe 
 so. Do you then think so ill of my intelligence ? In 
 the light of the past it may be you have reason, for 
 you know that I once believed in you ! Think of it 
 believed in you ! 
 
 "How bad a man are you ! In spite of all your pro- 
 mises ; in spite of the surrender of honest heart and 
 life to you ; in spite of truth and every call of honor, 
 you denied me dared to deny me, at the very time 
 you wrote this letter. 
 
 " For the hopes and honors of this world, you set 
 aside, first by secrecy, and then by falsehood, the 
 helpless girl to whom you once swore undying love. 
 You, who knew the open book of her heart, you threw 
 it in the dust. ' Of course there is no wife ? ' the Due 
 de Bercy said to you before the States of Bercy. ' Of 
 course,' you answered. You told your lie without pity.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 291 
 
 "Were you blind that you did not see the conse- 
 quences ? Or did you not feel the horror of your 
 falsehood ? to play shuttle-cock with a woman's life, 
 with the soul of your wife ; for that is what your con- 
 duct means. Did you not realize it, or were you so 
 wicked that you did not care ? For I know that be- 
 fore you wrote me this letter, and afterwards when 
 you had been made prince, and heir to the duchy, the 
 Comtesse Chantavoine was openly named by the Due 
 de Bercy for your wife. 
 
 " Now read the truth. I understand all now. I am 
 no longer the thoughtless, believing girl whom you 
 drew from her simple life to give her so cruel a fate. 
 Yesterday I was a child, to-day Oh, above all else, 
 do you think I can ever forgive you for having killed 
 the faith, the joy of life that was in me ! You have 
 spoiled for me forever my rightful share of the joyous 
 and the good. My heart is sixty though my body is 
 not twenty. How dared you rob me of all that was 
 my birthright, of all that was my life, and give me 
 nothing nothing in return ! 
 
 " Do you remember how I begged you not to make 
 me marry you; but you urged me, and because I loved 
 you and trusted you, I did ? how I entreated you not 
 to make me marry you secretly, but you insisted, and 
 loving you, I did ? how you promised you would leave 
 me at the altar and not see me till you came again to 
 claim me openly for your wife, and you broke that 
 sacred promise ? Do you remember my hiisband ! 
 
 " Do you remember that night in the garden when 
 the wind came moaning up from the sea ? Do you 
 remember how you took me in your arms, and even 
 while I listened to your tender and assuring words, in 
 that moment ah, the hurt and the wrong and the
 
 292 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 shame of it ! Afterwards in the strange confusion, in 
 my blind helplessness I tried to say, 'But he loved 
 me/ and I tried to forgive you. Perhaps in time I 
 might have made myself believe I did ; for then I did 
 not know you as you are and were ; but understand- 
 ing all now I feel that in that hour I really ceased to 
 love you ; and when at last I knew you had denied 
 me, love was buried forever. 
 
 " Your worst torment is to come, mine has already 
 been with me. When my miseries first fell upon me, 
 I thought that I must die. Why should I live on 
 why should I not die ? The sea was near, and it 
 buries deep. I thought of all the people that live on 
 the great earth, and I said to myself that the soul of 
 one poor girl could not count, that it could concern 
 no one but myself. It was clear to me I must die 
 and end all. 
 
 " But there came to me a voice in the night which 
 said, ' Is thy life thine own to give or to destroy ? ' 
 It was clearer than my own thinking. It told my 
 heart that death by one's own hand meant shame ; 
 and I saw then that to find rest I must drag unwill- 
 ing feet over the good name and memory of my dead 
 loved ones. Then I remembered my mother. If you 
 had remembered her perhaps you would have guarded 
 the gift of my love and not have trampled it under 
 your feet I remembered my mother, and so I live 
 still. 
 
 " I must go on alone, with naught of what makes 
 life bearable ; you will keep climbing higher by your 
 vanity, your strength, and your deceit. But yet I 
 know however high you climb you will never find 
 peace. You will remember me, and your spirit will 
 seek in vain for rest. You will not exist for me, you
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 293 
 
 will not be even a memory ; but though against your 
 will I shall always be part of you : of your brain, of 
 your heart, of your soul the thought of me your 
 torment in your greatest hour. Your passion and 
 your cowardice have lost me all ; and God will punish 
 you, be sure of that. 
 
 "There is little more to say. If it lies in my 
 power I shall never see you again while I live. And 
 you will not wish it. Yes, in spite of your eloquent 
 letter lying here beside me, you do not wish it, and 
 it shall not be. I am not your wife save by the law ; 
 and little have you cared for law ! Little, too, would 
 the law help you in this now ; for which you will re- 
 joice. For the ease of your mind I hasten to tell you 
 why. 
 
 " First let me inform you that none in this land 
 knows me to be your wife. Your letter to my grand- 
 father never reached him, and to this hour I have held 
 my peace. The clergyman who married us is a pri- 
 soner among the French, and the strong-box which 
 held the register of St. Michael's Church was stolen. 
 The one other witness, Mr. Shoreham, your lieutenant 
 as you tell me went down with the Araminta. 
 So you are safe in your denial of me. For me, I 
 would endure all the tortures of the world rather than 
 call you husband ever again. I am firmly set to live 
 my own life, in my own way, with what strength God 
 gives. At last I see beyond the Hedge. 
 
 " Your course is clear. You cannot turn back 
 now. You have gone too far. Your new honors 
 and titles were got at the last by a falsehood. To 
 acknowledge it would be ruin, for all the world knows 
 that Captain Philip d'Avranche of the King's navy is 
 now the adopted son of the Due de Bercy. Surely
 
 294 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the house of Bercy has cause for joy, with an imbecile 
 for the first in succession and a traitor for the second ! 
 
 " I return the fifty pounds you sent me you will 
 not question why. . . . And so all ends. This is a 
 last farewell between us. 
 
 " Do you remember what you said to me on the 
 Ecr^hos ? 
 
 " ' If ever I deceive you, may I die a black, dishon- 
 orable death, abandoned and alone. I should deserve 
 that if ever I deceived you, Guida? 
 
 " Will you ever think of that, in your vain glory 
 hereafter ? 
 
 "GuiDA LANDRESSE DE LANDRESSE."
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 [IN JERSEY FIVE YEARS LATER} 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ON a map the Isle of Jersey has the shape and 
 form of a tiger on the prowl. 
 
 The fore-claws of this tiger are the lacerating pin- 
 nacles of the Corbiere and the impaling rocks of 
 Portelet Bay and Noirmont ; the hind-claws are the 
 devastating diorite reefs of La Motte and the Bane 
 des Violets. The head and neck, terrible and beauti- 
 ful, are stretched out towards the west, as it were to 
 scan the wild waste and jungle of the Atlantic seas. 
 The nose is L'Etacq, the forehead Grosnez, the ear 
 Plemont, the mouth the dark cavern by L'Etacq, and 
 the teeth are the serried ledges of true Foret de la 
 Brequette. At a discreet distance from the head and 
 the tail hover the jackals of La Manche : the Pater- 
 nosters, the Dirouflles, and the Ecrehos, themselves 
 destroying where they may, or niching the remains of 
 the tiger's feast of shipwreck and ruin. In truth, the 
 sleek beast, with its feet planted in fearsome rocks 
 and tides, and its ravening head set to defy the 
 onslaught of the main, might, but for its ensnaring 
 beauty, seem some monstrous footpad of the deep. 
 
 To this day the tiger's head is the lonely part of 
 Jersey ; a hundred years ago it was as distant from
 
 296 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 the Vier March! as is Penzance from Covent Garden. 
 It would almost seem as if the people of Jersey, like 
 the hangers-on of the king of the jungle, care not to 
 approach too near the devourer's head. Even now 
 there is but a dwelling here and there upon the lofty 
 plateau, and none at all near the dark and menacing 
 headland. But as if the ancient Royal Court was 
 determined to prove its sovereignty even over the 
 tiger's head, it stretched out its arms from the Vier 
 Marchi to the bare neck of the beast, putting upon it 
 a belt of defensive war ; at the nape, a martello tower 
 and barracks ; underneath, two other martello towers 
 like the teeth of a buckle. 
 
 The rest of the Island was bristling with armament. 
 Tall platforms were erected at almost speaking dis- 
 tance from each other, where sentinels kept watch for 
 French frigates or privateers. Redoubts and towers 
 were within musket-shot of each other, with watch- 
 houses between, and at intervals every able-bodied 
 man in the country was obliged to leave his trade to 
 act as sentinel, or go into camp or barracks with the 
 militia for months at a time. British cruisers sailed 
 the Channel : now a squadron under Barrington, again 
 under Bridport, hovered upon the coast, hoping that a 
 French fleet might venture near. 
 
 But little of this was to be seen in the western 
 limits of the parish of St. Ouen's. Plemont, Grosnez, 
 L'Etacq, all that giant headland could well take care 
 of itself the precipitous cliffs were their own defense. 
 A watch-house here and there sufficed. No one lived 
 at L'Etacq, no one at Grosnez; they were too bleak, 
 loo distant, and solitary. There were no houses, no 
 huts. 
 
 If you had approached Plemont from Vinchelez-le-
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 297 
 
 Haut, making for the sea, you would have said that it 
 also had no habitation. But when at last you came 
 to a hillock near Plemont Point, looking to find nothing 
 but sky and sea and distant islands, suddenly at your 
 very feet you saw a small stone dwelling. Its door 
 faced the west, looking towards the Isles of Guernsey 
 and Sark. Fronting the north was a window like an 
 eye, ever watching the tireless Paternosters. To the 
 east was another tiny window like a deep loophole or 
 embrasure set towards the Diroui'lles and the Ecre"- 
 hos. 
 
 The hut had but one room, of moderate size, with a 
 vast chimney. Between the chimney and the western 
 wall was a veille, which was both lounge and bed. 
 The eastern side was given over to a few well-pol- 
 ished kitchen utensils, a churn, and a bread-trough. 
 The floor was of mother earth alone, but a strip of 
 hand-made carpet was laid down before the fireplace, 
 and there was another at the opposite end. There 
 were also a table, a spinning-wheel, and a shelf of 
 books. 
 
 It was not the hut of a fisherman, though upon the 
 wall opposite the books there hung fishing-tackle, 
 nets, and cords, while outside, on staples driven in the 
 jutting chimney, were some lobster-pots. Upon two 
 shelves were arranged a carpenter's and a cooper's 
 tools, polished and in good order. And yet you would 
 have said that neither a cooper nor a carpenter kept 
 them in use. Everywhere there were signs of man's 
 handicraft as well as of woman's work, but upon all 
 was the touch of a woman. Moreover, apart from 
 the tools there was no sign of a man's presence in the 
 hut. There was no coat hanging behind the door, no 
 sabots for the fields or oilskins for the sands, no pipe
 
 298 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 laid upon a ledge, no fisherman's needle holding a 
 calendar to the wall. Whatever was the trade of the 
 occupant, the tastes were above those of the ordinary 
 dweller in the land. That was to be seen in a print 
 of Raphael's " Madonna and Child " taking the place 
 of the usual sampler upon the walls of Jersey homes ; 
 in the old clock nicely bestowed between a narrow 
 cupboard and the tool shelves ; in a few pieces of rare 
 old china and a gold-handled sword hanging above a 
 huge, well-carved oak chair. The chair relieved the 
 room of anything like commonness, and somehow was 
 in sympathy with the simple surroundings, making 
 for dignity and sweet quiet. It was clear that only a 
 woman could have arranged so perfectly this room 
 and all therein. It was also clear that no man lived 
 here. 
 
 Looking in at the doorway of this hut on a certain 
 autumn day of the year 1 797, the first thing to strike 
 your attention was a dog lying asleep on the hearth. 
 Then a suit of child's clothes on a chair before the 
 fire of vraic would have caught the eye. The only 
 thing to distinguish this particular child's dress from 
 that of a thousand others in the Island was the fine- 
 ness of the material. Every thread of it had been 
 delicately and firmly knitted, till it was like perfect 
 soft blue cloth, relieved by a little red silk ribbon at 
 .the collar. 
 
 The hut contained as well a child's chair, just so 
 high that when placed by the windows commanding 
 the Paternosters its occupant might see the waves, 
 like panthers, beating white paws against the ragged 
 granite pinnacles ; the currents writhing below at the 
 foot of the cliffs, or at half-tide rushing up to cover
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 299 
 
 the sands of the Greve aux Larsons, and, like animals 
 in pain, howling through the caverns in the cliffs ; the 
 great nor'-wester of November come battering the 
 rocks, shrieking to the witches who boiled their cal- 
 drons by the ruins of Grosnez Castle that the hunt of 
 the seas was up. Just high enough was the little 
 chair that of a certain day in the year its owner might 
 look out and see mystic fires burning round the Pater- 
 nosters, and lighting up the sea with awful radiance. 
 Scarce a rock to be seen from the hut but had some 
 legend like this : the burning Russian ship at the 
 Paternosters, the fleet of boats with tall prows and 
 long oars drifting upon the Diroui'lles and going down 
 to the cry of the Crusaders' Dahin ! dahin ! the 
 Roche des Femmes at the Ecrehos, where still you 
 may hear the cries of women in terror of the engulf- 
 ing sea. 
 
 On this particular day, if you had entered the hut, 
 no one would have welcomed you ; but had you tired 
 of waiting, and followed the indentations of the coast 
 for a mile or more by a deep bay under tall cliffs, 
 you would have seen a woman and a child coming 
 quickly up the sands. Slung upon the woman's 
 shoulders was a small fisherman's basket. The child 
 ran before, eager to climb the hill and take the 
 homeward path. 
 
 A man above was watching them. He had ridden 
 along the cliff, had seen the woman in her boat 
 making for the shore, had tethered his horse in the 
 quarries near by, and now awaited her. He chuckled 
 as she came on, for he had ready a surprise for her. 
 To make it more complete he hid himself behind some 
 boulders, and as she reached the top sprang out with 
 an ugly grinning.
 
 300 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The woman looked at him calmly and waited for 
 him to speak. There was no fear on her face, not 
 even surprise ; nothing but steady inquiry and quiet 
 self-possession. With an air of bluster the man said : 
 
 " Aha, my lady, I 'm nearer than you thought 
 me !" 
 
 The child drew in to its mother's side and clasped 
 her hand. There was no fear in the little fellow's 
 look, however ; he had something of the same self- 
 possession as the woman, and his eyes were like hers, 
 clear, unwavering, and with a frankness that con- 
 sumed you. They were wells of sincerity ; open-eyed, 
 you would have called the child, wanting a more 
 subtle description. 
 
 " I 'm not to be fooled me ! Come now, let 's have 
 the count," said the man, as he whipped a greasy 
 leather-covered book from his pocket. " Sapristi, 
 I 'm waiting. Stay yourself ! " he added roughly as 
 she moved on, and his grayish-yellow face had an 
 evil joy at thought of the brutal work in hand. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she asked, but taking her time to 
 speak. 
 
 " Dame ! you know who I am." 
 
 " I know what you are," she answered quietly. 
 
 He did not quite grasp her meaning, but the tone 
 sounded contemptuous, and that sorted little with his 
 self-importance. 
 
 " I 'm the Seigneur's bailiff that 's who I am. 
 Gad'rabotin, don't you put on airs with me ! I 'm for 
 the tribute, so off with the bag and let 's see your 
 catch ! " 
 
 " I have never yet paid tribute to the seigneur of 
 the manor." 
 
 " Well, you '11 begin now. I 'm the new bailiff, and
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 301 
 
 if you don't pay your tale, up you come to the court 
 of the fief to-morrow." 
 
 She looked him clearly in the eyes. " If I were 
 a man, I should not pay the tribute, and I should 
 go to the court of the fief to-morrow, but being a 
 woman " 
 
 She clasped the hand of the child tightly to her for 
 an instant, then with a sigh she took the basket from 
 her shoulders and, opening it, added : 
 
 " But being a woman, the fish I caught in the sea 
 that belongs to God and to all men I must divide with 
 the Seigneur whose bailiff spies on poor fisher-folk." 
 
 The man growled an oath and made a motion as 
 though he would catch her by the shoulder in anger, 
 but the look in her eyes stopped him. Counting out 
 the fish, and giving him three out of the eight she 
 had caught, she said : 
 
 " It matters not so much to me, but there are others 
 poorer than I; they suffer." 
 
 With a leer the fellow stooped, and, taking up the 
 fish, put them in the pockets of his queminzolle, all 
 slimy from the sea as they were. 
 
 " Ba su, you have n't got much to take care of, have 
 you ? It don't take much to feed two mouths not 
 so much as it does three, Mdmselle ! " 
 
 Before he had ended, the woman, without reply 
 to the insult, took the child by the hand and moved 
 along her homeward path towards Plemont. 
 
 " A bi'tot, good-by ! " the bailiff laughed brutally. 
 Standing with his legs apart and his hands fastened 
 on the fish in the pockets of his long queminzolle, he 
 called after her in sneering comment : " Ma fistre ! 
 your pride did n't fall ba su ! " Then he turned on 
 his heel.
 
 302 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Eh ben, here's mackerel for supper," he added as 
 he mounted his horse. 
 
 The woman was Guida Landresse, the child was 
 her child, and they lived in the little house upon the 
 cliff at Plemont. They were hastening thither now.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A VISITOR was awaiting Guida and the child : a 
 \. man who first knocking at the door, then look- 
 ing in and seeing the room empty, save for the dog 
 lying asleep by the fire, had turned slowly away, and 
 going to the cliff edge, looked out over the sea. His 
 movements were deliberate, his body moved slowly ; 
 the whole appearance was of great strength and nerv- 
 ous power. The face was preoccupied, the eyes were 
 watchful, dark, penetrating. They seemed not only 
 to watch but to weigh, to meditate, even to listen 
 as it were, to do the duty of all the senses at once. 
 In them worked the whole forces of his nature ; they 
 were crucibles wherein every thought and emotion 
 were fused. The jaw was set and strong, yet it was 
 not hard. The face contradicted itself. While not 
 gloomy it had lines like scars telling of past wounds. 
 It was not despairing, it was not morbid, and it was 
 not resentful ; it had the look of one both credulous 
 and indomitable. Belief was stamped upon it ; not 
 expectation or ambition, but faith and fidelity. You 
 would have said he was a man of one set idea, though 
 the head had a breadth sorting little with narrowness 
 of purpose. The body was too healthy to belong to 
 a fanatic, too powerful to be that of a dreamer alone, 
 too firm for other than a man of action. 
 
 Several times he turned to look towards the house 
 and up the pathway leading from the hillock to the
 
 304 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 doorway. Though he waited long he did not seem 
 impatient ; patience was part of him, and not the least 
 part. At last he sat down on a boulder between the 
 house and the shore, and scarcely moved, as minute 
 after minute passed, and then an hour and more, and 
 no one came. Presently there was a soft footstep 
 beside him, and he turned. A dog's nose thrust itself 
 into his hand. 
 
 " Biribi, Biribi ! " he said, patting its head with his 
 big hand. " Watching and waiting, eh, old Biribi ? " 
 The dog looked into his eyes as if he knew what was 
 said, and would speak or, indeed, was speaking in 
 his own language. " That 's the way of life, Biribi 
 watching and waiting, and watching always watch- 
 ing." Suddenly the dog caught its head away from 
 his hand, gave a short joyful bark, and ran slowly up 
 the hillock. 
 
 " Guida and the child," the man said aloud, moving 
 towards the house " Guida and the child ! " 
 
 He saw her and the little one before they saw him. 
 Presently the child said, " See, maman ! " and pointed. 
 
 Guida started. A swift flush passed over her face, 
 then she smiled and made a step forward to meet her 
 visitor. 
 
 " Maitre Ranulph Ranulph ! " she said, holding 
 out her hand. " It 's a long time since we met." 
 
 "A year," he answered simply, "just a year." He 
 looked down at the child, then stooped, caught him 
 up in his arms and said, " He 's grown. Es-tu genti- 
 ment ? " he added to the child " es-tu gentiment, 
 m'sieu' ? " 
 
 The child did not quite understand. " Please ? " it 
 said in true Jersey fashion at which the mother 
 was troubled.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 305 
 
 " O Guilbert, is that what you should say ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 The child looked up quaintly at her, and with the 
 same whimsical smile which Guida had given to an- 
 other so many years ago, he looked at Ranulph and 
 said, "Pardon, monsieur?" 
 
 " Coum est qu'on etes, m'sieu' ? " said Ranulph in 
 another patois greeting. 
 
 Guida shook her head reprovingly. The child 
 glanced swiftly at his mother as though asking per- 
 mission to reply as he wished, then back at Ranulph, 
 and was about to speak, when Guida said : " I have 
 not taught him the Jersey patois, Ranulph ; only 
 English and French." 
 
 Her eyes met his clearly, meaningly. Her look 
 said to him as plainly as words, The child's destiny is 
 not here in Jersey. But as if he knew that in this 
 she was blinding herself, and that no one can escape 
 the influences of surroundings, he held the child back 
 from him, and said with a smile : " Coum est qu'on 
 vos portest ? " 
 
 Now the child with elfish sense of the situation re- 
 plied in Jersey English, " Naicely, thenk you ! " 
 
 " You see," said Ranulph to Guida, " there are 
 things in us stronger than we are. The wind, the 
 sea and people we live with, they make us sing their 
 song one way or another. It 's in our bones." 
 
 A look of pain passed over Guida' s face, and she 
 did not reply to his remark, but turned almost ab- 
 ruptly to the doorway, saying, with just the slightest 
 hesitation, '' You will come in ? " 
 
 There was no hesitation on his part. " Oui-gia ! " 
 he said, and stepped inside. 
 
 She hastily hung up the child's cap and her own,
 
 306 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 and as she gathered in the soft, waving hair, Ranulph 
 noticed how the years had only burnished it more 
 deeply and strengthened the beauty of the head. 
 She had made the gesture unconsciously, but catch- 
 ing the look in his eye a sudden thrill of anxiety ran 
 through her. Recovering herself, however, and with 
 an air of bright friendliness, she laid a hand upon the 
 great armchair, above which hung the ancient sword 
 of her ancestor, the Comte Guilbert Mauprat de 
 Chambery, and said : " Sit here, Ranulph." 
 
 Seating himself he gave a heavy sigh one of those 
 passing breaths of content which come to the hardest 
 lives now and then : as though the Spirit of Life itself, 
 in ironical apology for human existence, gives mo- 
 ments of respite from which hope is born again. Not 
 for over four long years had Ranulph sat thus quietly 
 in the presence of Guida. At first, when Maitresse 
 Aimable had told him that Guida was leaving the 
 Place du Vier Prison to live in this lonely place with 
 her new-born child, he had gone to entreat her to 
 remain ; but Maitresse Aimable had been present 
 then, and all that he could say all that he might 
 speak out of his friendship, out of the old love, now 
 deep pity and sorrow was of no avail. It had been 
 borne in upon him then that she was not morbid, but 
 that her mind had a sane, fixed purpose which she 
 was intent to fulfill. It was as though she had made 
 some strange covenant with a little helpless life, with 
 a little face that was all her face ; and that covenant 
 she would keep. 
 
 So he had left her, and so to do her -service had 
 been granted elsewhere. The Chevalier, with perfect 
 wisdom and nobility, insisted on being to Guida what 
 he had always been, accepting what was as though it
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 307 
 
 had always been, and speaking as naturally of her and 
 the child as though there had always been a Guida 
 and the child. Thus it was that he counted himself 
 her protector, though he sat far away in the upper 
 room of Elie Mattingley's house in the Rued'Egypte, 
 thinking his own thoughts, biding the time when she 
 should come back to the world, and mystery be over, 
 and happiness come once more ; hoping only that he 
 might live to see it. 
 
 Under his directions, Jean Touzel had removed the 
 few things that Guida took with her to Plemont ; and 
 instructed by him, Elie Mattingley sold her furniture. 
 Thus Guida had settled at Plemont, and there over 
 four years of her life were passed. 
 
 "Your father how is he ? " she asked presently. 
 
 " Feeble," replied Ranulph ; " he goes abroad but 
 little now." 
 
 " It was said the Royal Court was to make him a 
 gift, in remembrance of the Battle of Jersey." 
 
 Ranulph turned his head away from her to the 
 child, and beckoned him over. The child came in- 
 stantly. As Ranulph lifted him on his knee he 
 answered Guida : " My father did not take it." 
 
 " Then they said you were to be Connetable the 
 grand monsieur ! " She smiled at him in a friendly 
 way. 
 
 " They said wrong," replied Ranulph. 
 
 "Most people would be glad of it," rejoined Guida. 
 " My mother used to say you would be Bailly one 
 day." 
 
 " Who knows perhaps I might have been ! " 
 
 She looked at him half sadly, half curiously. 
 " You you have n't any ambitions now, Maitre 
 Ranulph ? "
 
 308 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 It suddenly struck her that perhaps she was respon- 
 sible for the maiming of this man's life for clearly 
 it was maimed. More than once she had thought 
 of it, but it came home to her to-day with force. 
 Years ago Ranulph Delagarde had been spoken of as 
 one who might do great things, even to becoming 
 Bailly. In the eyes of a Jerseyman to be Bailly was 
 to be great, with jurats sitting in a row on either side 
 of him and more important than any judge in the 
 Kingdom. Looking back now Guida realized that 
 Ranulph had never been the same since that day on 
 the Ecrehos when his father had returned and Philip 
 had told his wild tale of love. 
 
 A great bitterness suddenly welled up in her. 
 Without intention, without blame, she had brought 
 suffering upon others. The untoward happenings of 
 her life had killed her grandfather, had bowed and 
 aged the old Chevalier, had forced her to reject the 
 friendship of Carterette Mattingley, for the girl's 
 own sake ; had made the heart of one fat old woman 
 heavy within her ; and, it would seem, had taken hope 
 and ambition from the life of this man before her. 
 Love in itself is but a bitter pleasure ; when it is 
 given to the unworthy it becomes a torture and so 
 far as Ranulph and the world knew she was wholly 
 unworthy. Of late she had sometimes wondered if, 
 after all, she had had the right to do as she had done 
 in accepting the public shame, and in not proclaiming 
 the truth : if to act for one's own heart, feelings, and 
 life alone, no matter how perfect the honesty, is not 
 a sort of noble cruelty, or cruel nobility ; an egotism 
 which obeys but its own commandments, finding its 
 own straight and narrow path by first disbarring the 
 feelings and lives of others. Had she done what was
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 309 
 
 best for the child ? Misgiving upon this point made 
 her heart ache bitterly. Was life then but a series of 
 trist condonings at the best, of humiliating compro- 
 mises at the worst ? 
 
 She repeated her question to Ranulph now. " You 
 have n't ambition any longer ? " 
 
 " I 'm busy building ships," he answered evasively. 
 " I build good ships, they tell me, and I am strong 
 and healthy. As for being connetable, I 'd rather 
 help prisoners free than hale them before the Royal 
 Court. For somehow when you get at the bottom of 
 most crimes the small ones leastways you find 
 they were n't quite meant. I expect I expect," he 
 added gravely, " that half the crimes ought n't to be 
 punished at all ; for it 's queer that things which hurt 
 most can't be punished by law." 
 
 " Perhaps it evens up in the long end," answered 
 Guida, turning away from him to the fire, and feeling 
 her heart beat faster as she saw how the child nestled 
 in Ranulph's arms her child which had no father. 
 " You see," she added, " if some are punished who 
 ought n't to be, there are others who ought to be 
 that are n't, and the worst of it is, we care so little for 
 real justice that we often wouldn't punish if we 
 could. I have come to feel that. Sometimes if you 
 do exactly what 's right, you hurt some one you don't 
 wish to hurt, and if you don't do exactly what 's right, 
 perhaps that some one else hurts you. So, often, we 
 would rather be hurt than hurt." 
 
 With the last words she turned from the fire and 
 involuntarily faced him. Their eyes met. In hers 
 were only the pity of life, the sadness, the cruelty of 
 misfortune, and friendliness for him. In his eyes 
 was purpose definite, strong.
 
 310 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 He went over and put the child in its high chair. 
 Then coming a little nearer to Guida, he said : 
 
 "There 's only one thing in life that really hurts 
 playing false." 
 
 Her heart suddenly stopped beating. What was 
 Ranulph going to say ? After all these years was he 
 going to speak of Philip ? But she did not reply ac- 
 cording to her thought. 
 
 "Have people played false in your life ever?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " If you '11 listen to me I '11 tell you how," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Wait, wait," she said in trepidation. " It it has 
 nothing to do with me ? " 
 
 He shook his head. " It has only to do with my 
 father and myself. When I 've told you, then you 
 must say whether you will have anything to do with 
 it, or with me. . . . You remember," he continued, 
 without waiting for her to speak, "you remember 
 that day upon the Ecrelios four years ago ? Well, 
 that day I had made up my mind to tell you in so 
 many words what I hoped you had always known, 
 Guida. I did n't why ? Not because of another 
 man no, no, I don't mean to hurt you, but I must 
 tell you the truth now not because of another man, 
 for I should have bided my chance with him." 
 
 " Ranulph, Ranulph," she broke in, "you must not 
 speak of this now ! Do you not see it hurts me ? It 
 is not like you. It is not right of you " 
 
 A sudden emotion seized him, and his voice 
 shook. 
 
 " Not right ! You should know that I 'd never say 
 one word to hurt you, or do one thing to wrong you. 
 But I must speak to-day I must tell you everything.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 311 
 
 I 've thought of it for four long years, and I know 
 now that what I mean to do is right." 
 
 She sat down in the great armchair. A sudden 
 weakness came upon her : she was being brought face 
 to face with days of which she had never allowed her- 
 self to think, for she lived always in the future now. 
 
 " Go on," she said helplessly. " What have you to 
 say, Ranulph ? " 
 
 " I will tell you why I did n't speak of my love to 
 you that day we went to the Ecrehos. My father 
 came back that day." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she said ; " of course you had to think 
 of him." 
 
 " Yes, I had to think of him, but not in the way 
 you mean. Be patient a little while," he added. 
 
 Then in a few words he told her the whole story 
 of his father's treachery and crime, from the night 
 before the Battle of Jersey up to their meeting again 
 upon the Ecrehos. 
 
 Guida was amazed and moved. Her heart filled 
 with pity. "Ranulph poor Ranulph!" she said, 
 half rising in her seat. 
 
 " No, no wait," he rejoined. " Sit where you are 
 till I tell you all. Guida, you don't know what a life 
 it has been for me these four years. I used to be 
 able to look every man in the face without caring 
 whether he liked me or hated me, for then I had 
 never lied, I had never done a mean thing to any 
 man ; I had never deceived nannin-gia, never ! But 
 when my father came back, then I had to play a false 
 game. He had lied, and to save him I either had to 
 hold my peace or tell his story. Speaking was lying 
 or being silent was lying. Mind you, I 'm not com- 
 plaining, I 'm not saying it because I want any pity.
 
 312 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 No, I 'm saying it because it 's the truth, and I want 
 you to know the truth. You understand what it 
 means to feel right in your own mind if you feel 
 that way, the rest of life is easy. Eh ben, what a 
 thing it is to get up in the morning, build your fire, 
 make your breakfast, and sit down facing a man 
 whose whole life 's a lie, and that man your own fa- 
 ther ! Some morning perhaps you forget, and you go 
 out into the sun, and it all seems good ; and you take 
 your tools and go to work, and the sea comes washing 
 up the shingle, and you think that the shir-r-r-r of the 
 water on the pebbles and the singing of the saw and 
 the clang of the hammer are the best music in the 
 world. But all at once you remember ! And then 
 you work harder, not because you love work now for 
 its own sake, but because it uses up your misery and 
 makes you tired ; and being tired you can sleep, and 
 in sleep you can forget. Yet nearly all the time 
 you 're awake it fairly kills you, for you feel some one 
 always at your elbow whispering, ' You '11 never be 
 happy again, you '11 never be happy again ! ' And 
 when you tell the truth about anything, that some 
 one at your elbow laughs and says, ' Nobody believes 
 your whole life 's a lie ! ' And if the worst man you 
 know passes you by, that some one at your elbow 
 says, ' You can wear a mask, but you 're no better 
 than he, no better, no ' " 
 
 While Ranulph spoke Guida's face showed a pity 
 and a kindness as deep as the sorrow which had deep- 
 ened her nature. She shook her head once or twice 
 as though to say, Surely, what suffering ! and now 
 this seemed to strike Ranulph, to convict him of self- 
 ishness, for he suddenly stopped. His face cleared, 
 and, smiling with a little of his old-time cheerfulness,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 313 
 
 he said : " Yet one gets used to it and works on be- 
 cause one knows it will all come right some time. I 'm 
 of the kind that waits." 
 
 She looked up at him with her old wide-eyed stead- 
 fastness and replied : " You are a good man, Ra- 
 nulph." 
 
 He stood gazing at her a moment without remark, 
 then he said : 
 
 "No, ba su, no! but it's like you to say I am," 
 Then he added suddenly, " I 've told you the whole 
 truth about myself and about my father. He did a 
 bad thing and I 've stood by him. At first, I nursed 
 my troubles and my shame. I used to think I could n't 
 live it out, that I had no right to any happiness. But 
 I Ve changed my mind about that oui-gia ! As I 
 hammered away at my ships month in month out, 
 year in year out, the truth came home to me at last. 
 What right had I to sit down and brood over my 
 miseries ? I did n't love my father, but I 've done 
 wrong for him, and I 've stuck to him. Well, I did 
 love and I do love some one else, and I should 
 only be doing right to tell her, and to ask her to let 
 me stand with her against the world." 
 
 He was looking down at her with all his story in 
 his face. She put out her hand quickly as if in pro- 
 test and said : 
 
 " Ranulph ah no, Ranulph " 
 
 " But yes, Guida," he replied with stubborn tender- 
 ness, "it is you I mean it is you I 've always meant. 
 You have always been a hundred times more to me 
 than my father, but I let you fight your fight alone. 
 I 've waked up now to my mistake. But I tell you 
 true that though I love you better than anything in 
 the world, if things had gone well with you I 'd never
 
 314 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 have come to you. I never came, because of my 
 father, and I 'd never have come because you are too 
 far above me always too fine, too noble for me. I 
 only come now because we 're both apart from the 
 world and lonely beyond telling ; because we need 
 each other. I have just one thing to say : that we 
 two should stand together. There 's none ever can 
 be so near as those that have had hard troubles, that 
 have had bitter wrongs. And when there 's love, too, 
 what can break the bond ! You and I are apart from 
 the world, a black loneliness no one understands. Let 
 us be lonely no longer. Let us live our lives together. 
 What shall we care for the rest of the world if we 
 know we mean to do good and no wrong ? So I Ve 
 come to ask you to let me care for you and the child, 
 to ask you to make my home your home. My father 
 has n't long to live, and when he is gone we could 
 leave this island forever. Will you come, Guida ? " 
 
 She had never taken her eyes from his face, and as 
 his story grew her face lighted with emotion, the. glow 
 of a moment's content, of a fleeting joy. In spite of 
 all, this man loved her, he wanted to marry her in 
 spite of all. Glad to know that such men lived, and 
 with how dark memories contrasting with this bright 
 experience ! she said to him once again, " You are 
 a good man, Ranulph." 
 
 Coming near to her, he said in a voice husky with 
 feeling, " Will you be my wife, Guida ? " 
 
 She stood up, one hand resting on the arm of the 
 great chair, the other half held out in pitying depreca- 
 tion. 
 
 " No, Ranulph, no ; I can never, never be your wife 
 never in this world." 
 
 For an instant he looked at her dumfounded, then
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 315 
 
 turned away to the fireplace slowly and heavily. " I 
 suppose it was too much to hope for," he said bitterly. 
 He realized now how much she was above him, even 
 in her sorrow and shame. 
 
 " You forget," she answered quietly, and her hand 
 went out suddenly to the soft curls of the child, " you 
 forget what the world says about me." 
 
 There was a kind of fierceness in his look as he 
 turned to her again. 
 
 "Me I have always forgotten everything," he 
 answered. " Have you thought that for all these 
 years I 've believed one word ? Secours d'la vie ! of 
 what use is faith, what use to trust, if you thought I 
 believed ! I do not know the truth, for you have not 
 told me; but I do know, as I know I have a heart in 
 me I do know that there never was any wrong in 
 you. It is you who forget," he added quickly " it 
 is you who forget. I tried to tell you all this before ; 
 three years ago I tried to tell you. You stopped me, 
 you would not listen. Perhaps you 've thought I did 
 not know what has happened to you every week, 
 almost every day of your life ? A hundred times I 
 have walked here and you have n't seen me when 
 you were asleep, when you were fishing, when you 
 were working like a man in the fields and the garden ; 
 you who ought to be cared for by a man, working like 
 a slave at man's work ! But, no, no, you have not 
 thought well of me, or you would have known that 
 every day I cared, every day I watched, and waited, 
 and hoped and believed ! " 
 
 She came to him slowly where he stood, his great 
 frame trembling with his passion and the hurt she had 
 given him, and laying her hand upon his arm, she 
 said : " Your faith was a blind one, Ro. I was either
 
 316 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 a girl who who deserved nothing of the world, or I 
 was a wife. I had no husband, had I ? Then I must 
 have been a girl who deserved nothing of the world, 
 or of you. Your faith was blind, Ranulph, you see it 
 was blind." 
 
 "What I know is this," he repeated with clogged 
 persistence " what I know is this : that whatever 
 was wrong, there was no wrong in you. My life a 
 hundred times on that ! " 
 
 She smiled at him, the brightest smile that had 
 been on her face these years past, and she answered 
 softly : 
 
 " ' I did not think there was so great faith no, 
 not in Israel ! ' ' Then the happiness passed from 
 her lips to her eyes. " Your faith has made me 
 happy, Ro I am selfish, you see. Your love in 
 itself could not make me happy, for I have no right to 
 listen, because " 
 
 She paused. It seemed too hard to say : the door 
 of her heart inclosing her secret opened so slowly 
 so slowly. A struggle was going on in her. Every 
 feeling, every force of her nature was alive. Once, 
 twice, thrice she tried to speak and could not. At 
 last, with bursting heart and eyes swimming with 
 tears, she said solemnly : 
 
 " I can never marry you, Ranulph, and I have no 
 right to listen to your words of love, because be- 
 cause I am a wife." 
 
 Then she gave a great sigh of relief; like some 
 penitent who has for a lifetime hidden a sin or a sor- 
 row and suddenly finds the joy of a confessional which 
 relieves the sick heart, takes away the hand of loneli- 
 ness that clamps it, and gives it freedom again ; lifting 
 the poor slave from the rack of secrecy, the crudest
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 317 
 
 inquisition of life and time. She repeated the words 
 once more, a little louder, a little clearer. She had 
 vindicated herself to God, now she vindicated herself 
 to man though to but one. 
 
 " I can never marry you ; because I am a wife," she 
 said again. There was a slight pause, and then the 
 final word was said: "I am the wife of Philip 
 d'Avranche." 
 
 Ranulph did not speak. He stood still and rigid, 
 looking with eyes that scarcely saw. 
 
 " I had not intended telling any one until the time 
 should come," once more her hand reached out and 
 tremblingly stroked the head of the child, " but your 
 faith has forced it from me. I could n't let you go 
 from me now, ignorant of the truth you whose trust 
 is beyond telling. Ranulph, I want you to know that 
 I am at least no worse than you thought me." 
 
 The look in his face was one of triumph, mingled 
 with despair, hatred, and purpose hatred of Philip 
 d'Avranche, and purpose concerning him. He gloried 
 now in knowing that Guida might take her place 
 among the honest women of this world, as the 
 world terms honesty, but he had received the death- 
 blow to his every hope. He had lost her altogether 
 he who had watched and waited ; who had served 
 and followed, in season and out of season ; who had 
 been the faithful friend, keeping his eye fixed only 
 upon her happiness ; who had given all ; who had 
 poured out his heart like water, and his life like wine 
 before her. 
 
 At first he only grasped the fact that Philip 
 d'Avranche was the husband of the woman he loved, 
 and that she had been abandoned. Then sudden 
 remembrance stunned him : Philip d'Avranche, Due
 
 318 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 de Bercy, had another wife ! He remembered it 
 had been burned into his brain the day he saw it first 
 in the " Gazette de Jersey " that he had married 
 the Comtesse Chantavoine, niece of the Marquis 
 Grand] on- Larisse, upon the very day, and but an hour 
 before, the old Due de Bercy suddenly died. It flashed 
 across his mind now what he had felt then. He had 
 always believed that Philip had wronged Guida ; and 
 long ago he would have gone in search of him gone 
 to try the strength of his arm against this cowardly 
 marauder, as he held him but his father's ill-health 
 had kept him where he was, and Philip was at sea 
 upon the nation's business. So the years had gone 
 on until now. 
 
 His brain soon cleared. All that he had ever 
 thought upon the matter now crystallized itself into 
 the very truth of the affair. Philip had married 
 Guida secretly ; but his new future had opened up to 
 him all at once, and he had married again a crime, 
 but a crime which in high places sometimes goes 
 unpunished. How monstrous it was that such vile 
 wickedness should be delivered against this woman 
 before him, in whom beauty, goodness, power were 
 commingled ! She was the real Princess Philip 
 d'Avranche, and this child of hers now he under- 
 stood why she allowed Guilbert to speak no patois ! 
 
 They scarcely knew how long they stood silent, 
 she with her hand stroking the child's golden hair, he 
 white and dazed, looking looking at her and the 
 child, as the thing resolved itself to him. At last, in 
 a voice which neither he nor she could quite recognize 
 as his own, he said : 
 
 " Of course you live now only for Guilbert." 
 
 How she thanked him in her heart for the things he
 
 THE BATTLE .OF THE STRONG 319 
 
 had left unsaid those things which clear-eyed and 
 great-minded folk, high or humble, always under- 
 stand ! There was no selfish lamenting, no re- 
 proaches, none of the futile banalities of the lover 
 who fails to see that it is no crime for a woman not 
 to love him. The thing he had said was the thing 
 she most cared to hear. 
 
 "Only for that, Ranulph," she answered. 
 
 " When will you claim the child's rights ? " 
 
 She shook her head sadly. " I do not know," 
 she answered with hesitation. " I will tell you all 
 about it." 
 
 Then she told him of the lost register of St. 
 Michael's, and about the Reverend Lorenzo Dow, 
 but she said nothing as to why she had kept silence. 
 She felt that, man though he was, he might divine 
 something of the truth. In any case he knew that 
 Philip had deserted her. 
 
 After a moment he said : " I '11 find Mr. Dow if he 
 is alive, and the register too. Then the boy shall 
 have his rights." 
 
 "No, Ranulph," she answered firmly, "it shall be 
 in my own time. I must keep the child with me. I 
 know not when I shall speak : I am biding my day. 
 Once I thought I never should speak, but then I 
 did not see all, did not wholly see my duty towards 
 Guilbert. It is so hard to find what is wise and 
 just." 
 
 " When the proofs are found your child shall have 
 his rights," he said with grim insistence. 
 
 " I would never let him go from me," she answered, 
 and, leaning over, she impulsively clasped the little 
 Guilbert in her arms. 
 
 " There '11 be no need for Guilbert to go from you,"
 
 320 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 he rejoined, "for when your rights come to you, 
 Philip d'Avranche will not be living." 
 
 " Will not be living ! " she said in amazement. She 
 did not understand. 
 
 "I mean to kill him," he answered sternly. 
 
 She started, and the light of anger leaped into her 
 eyes. " You mean to kill Philip d'Avranche you, 
 Maitre Ranulph Delagarde ! " she said. " Whom has 
 he wronged ? Myself and my child only his wife 
 and his child. Men have been killed for lesser wrongs, 
 but the right to kill does not belong to you. You 
 speak of killing Philip d'Avranche, and yet you dare 
 to say you are my friend ! " 
 
 In that moment Ranulph learned more than he had 
 ever guessed of life's subtle distinctions and the work- 
 ings of a woman's mind ; and he knew that she was 
 right. Her father, her grandfather, might have killed 
 Philip d'Avranche any one but himself, he the man 
 who had but now declared his love for her. Clearly 
 his selfishness had blinded him. Right was on his 
 side, but not the formal codes by which men live. 
 He could not avenge Guida's wrongs upon her hus- 
 band, for all men knew that he himself had loved her 
 for years. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said in a low tone. Then a new 
 thought came to him. " Do you think your not speak- 
 ing all these years was best for the child ? " he asked. 
 
 Her lips trembled. " Oh, that thought," she said, 
 " that thought has made me unhappy so often ! It 
 comes to me at night as I lie sleepless, and I wonder 
 if my child will grow up and turn against me one day. 
 Yet I did what I thought was right, Ranulph, I did 
 the only thing I could do. I would rather have died 
 than "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 321 
 
 She stopped short. No, not even to this man who 
 knew all could she speak her whole mind ; but some- 
 times the thought came to her with horrifying acute- 
 ness : was it possible that she ought to have sunk her 
 own disillusions, misery, and contempt of Philip 
 d'Avranche, for the child's sake ? She shuddered 
 even now as the reflection of that possibility came to 
 her to live with Philip d'Avranche ! 
 
 Of late she had felt that a crisis was near. She 
 had had premonitions that her fate, good or bad, was 
 closing in upon her; that these days in this lonely 
 spot with her child, with her love for it and its love 
 for her, were numbered ; that dreams must soon give 
 way for action, and this devoted peace would be 
 broken, she knew not how. 
 
 Stooping, she kissed the little fellow upon the fore- 
 head and the eyes, and his two hands came up and 
 clasped both her cheeks. 
 
 " Tu m dimes, maman ? " the child asked. She had 
 taught him the pretty question. 
 
 " Comme la -vie, comme la me ! " she answered with 
 a half sob, and caught up the little one to her bosom. 
 
 Now she looked towards the window. Ranulph 
 followed her look, and saw that the shades of night 
 were falling. 
 
 " I have far to walk," he said ; " I must be going." 
 
 As he held out his hand to Guida the child leaned 
 over and touched him on the shoulder. " What is 
 your name, man ? " he asked. 
 
 He smiled, and, taking the warm little hand in his 
 own, he said : " My name is Ranulph, little gentle- 
 man. Ranulph 's my name, but you shall call me Ro." 
 
 " Good-night, Ro, man," the child answered with a 
 mischievous smile.
 
 322 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The scene brought up another such scene in Guida's 
 life so many years ago. Instinctively she drew back 
 with the child, a look of pain crossing her face. But 
 Ranulph did not see ; he was going. At the doorway 
 he turned and said : 
 
 " You know you can trust me. Good-by."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 WHEN Ranulph returned to his little house at 
 St. Aubin's Bay night had fallen. Approach- 
 ing he saw there was no light in the windows. The 
 blinds were not drawn, and no glimmer of fire came 
 from the chimney. He hesitated at the door, for he 
 instinctively felt that something must have happened 
 to his father. He was just about to enter, however, 
 when some one came hurriedly round the corner of 
 the house. 
 
 " Whist, boy ! " said a voice. " I Ve news for you." 
 Ranulph recognized the voice as that of Dormy 
 Jamais. Dormy plucked at his sleeve. " Come with 
 me, boy," said he. 
 
 " Come inside if you want to tell me something," 
 answered Ranulph. 
 
 " Ah bah, not for me ! Stone walls have ears. I '11 
 tell only you and the wind that hears and runs away." 
 
 " I must speak to my father first," answered Ran- 
 ulph. 
 
 " Come with me, I Ve got him safe ! " Dormy 
 chuckled to himself. 
 
 Ranulph's heavy hand dropped on his shoulder. 
 "What's that you're saying my father with you! 
 What 's the matter ? " 
 
 As though oblivious of Ranulph's hand Dormy 
 went on chuckling. 
 
 " Whoever burns me for a fool '11 lose their ashes.
 
 324 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Des monz a fous I have a head ! Come with 
 me." 
 
 Ranulph saw that he must humor the shrewd natu- 
 ral, so he said : 
 
 " Et ben, put your four shirts in five bundles and 
 come along." He was a true Jersey man at heart, 
 and speaking to such as Dormy Jamais he used the 
 homely patois phrases. He knew there was no use 
 hurrying the little man, he would take his own time. 
 
 " There 's been the devil to pay," said Dormy as he 
 ran towards the shore, his sabots going clac-clac, clac- 
 clac. "There 's been the devil to pay in St. Heliers, 
 boy ! " He spoke scarcely above a whisper. 
 
 "Tcheche what's that?" said Ranulph. But 
 Dormy was not to uncover his pot of roses till his own 
 time. 
 
 " That Connetable 's got no more wit than a square- 
 bladed knife ! " he rattled on. " But gache-a-penn, 
 I 'm hungry ! " And as he ran he began munching a 
 lump of bread he took from his pocket. 
 
 For the next five minutes they went on in silence. 
 It was quite dark, and as they passed up Market Hill 
 called Ghost Lane because of the Good Little 
 People who made it their highway Dormy caught 
 hold of Ranulph' s coat and trotted along beside him. 
 As they went, tokens of the life within came out to 
 them through doorway and window. Now it was the 
 voice of a laughing young mother : 
 
 " Si tu as/aim 
 Manges ta main 
 Et gardes Vautre pour demain ; 
 Et ta t$te 
 
 Pour le jour de fete ; 
 Et ton gros ortte 
 Pour le Jour Saint NorbL"
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 325 
 
 And again : 
 
 " Let us pluck the bill of the lark, 
 The lark from head to tail " 
 
 He knew the voice. It was that of a young wife of 
 the parish of St. Saviour : married happily, living sim- 
 ply, given a frugal board, after the manner of her 
 kind, and a comradeship for life. For the moment 
 he felt little but sorrow for himself. The world 
 seemed to be conspiring against him : the chorus of 
 Fate was singing behind the scenes, singing of the 
 happiness of others in sardonic comment on his own 
 final unhappiness. Yet despite the pain of finality 
 there was on him something of the apathy of despair. 
 
 From another doorway came fragments of a song 
 sung at a veille. The door was open, and he could 
 see within the happy gathering of lads and lasses in 
 the light of the crasset. There was the spacious 
 kitchen, its beams and rafters dark with age, adorned 
 with flitches of bacon, huge loaves resting in the 
 racllyi beneath the centre beam, the broad open 
 hearth, the flaming fire of logs, and the great brass 
 pan shining like fresh-coined gold, on its iron tripod 
 over the logs. Lasses in their short woolen petti- 
 coats, and bedgones of blue and lilac, with boisterous 
 lads, were stirring the contents of the vast bashin 
 many cabots of apples, together with sugar, lemon- 
 peel, and cider ; the old ladies in mob-caps tied under 
 the chin, measuring out the nutmeg and cinnamon, to 
 complete the making of the black butter : a jocund 
 recreation for all, and at all times. 
 
 In one corner was a fiddler, and on the veille, flour- 
 ished for the occasion with satinettes and fern, sat 
 two centeniers and the preVot, singing an old song in 
 the patois of three parishes.
 
 326 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Ranulph looked at the scene lingeringly. Here he 
 was, with mystery and peril to hasten his steps, loiter- 
 ing at the spot where the light of home streamed out 
 upon the roadway. But though he lingered, somehow 
 he seemed withdrawn from all these things ; they 
 were to him now as pictures of a distant past. 
 
 Dormy plucked at his coat. " Come, come, lift 
 your feet, lift your feet," said he ; "it 's no time to 
 walk in slippers. The old man will be getting scared, 
 oui-gia ! " 
 
 Ranulph roused himself. Yes, yes, he must hurry 
 on. He had not forgotten his father, but something 
 held him here : as though Fate were whispering in 
 his ear, What does it matter now ? While yet you 
 may, feed on the sight of happiness. So the prisoner 
 going to execution seizes one of the few moments 
 left to him for prayer, to look lingeringly upon what 
 he leaves, as though to carry into the dark a clear 
 remembrance of it all. 
 
 Moving on quietly in a kind of dream, Ranulph was 
 roused again by Dormy's voice : " On Sunday I saw 
 three magpies, and there was a wedding that day. 
 Tuesday I saw two that 's for joy and fifty Jer- 
 sey prisoners of the French comes back on Jersey 
 that day. This morning one I saw. One magpie is 
 for trouble, and trouble 's here. One does n't have 
 eyes for naught no, bidemme ! " 
 
 Ranulph's patience was exhausted. 
 
 " Bachouar ! " he exclaimed roughly, " you make 
 elephants out of fleas. You 've got no more news 
 than a conch-shell has music. A minute and you '11 
 have a back-hander that '11 put you to sleep, Maitre 
 Dormy ! " 
 
 If he had been asked his news politely Dormy would
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 327 
 
 have been still more cunningly reticent. To abuse 
 him in his own argot was to make him loose his bag of 
 mice in a flash. 
 
 " Bachouar yourself, Maitre Ranulph ! You'll find 
 out soon. No news no trouble eh ! Par made, 
 Mattingley 's gone to the Vier Prison he! The 
 baker 's come back, and the Connetable's after Olivier 
 Delagarde. No trouble, pardingue ! if no trouble, 
 Dormy Jamais 's a bat'd'lagoule, and no need for 
 father of you to hide in a place that only Dormy 
 knows my good ! " 
 
 So at last the blow had fallen after all these years 
 of silence, sacrifice, and misery. The futility of all 
 that he had done and suffered for his father's sake 
 came home to Ranulph. Yet his brain was instantly 
 alive. He questioned Dormy rapidly and adroitly, 
 and got the story from him in patches. 
 
 The baker Carcaud who, with Olivier Delagarde, 
 betrayed the country into the hands of Rullecour 
 years ago, had, with a French confederate of Mat- 
 tingley's, been captured in attempting to steal Jean 
 Touzel's boat, the Hardi Biaou. At the capture the 
 confederate had been shot. Before dying he im- 
 plicated Mattingley in several robberies, and a noto- 
 rious case of piracy of three months before, committed 
 within gunshot of the men-of-war lying in the tideway. 
 Carcaud, seriously wounded, to save his life turned 
 King's evidence, and disclosed to the Royal Court in 
 private his own guilt and Olivier Delagarde' s treason. 
 
 Hidden behind the great chair of the Bailly him- 
 self, Dormy Jamais had heard the whole business. 
 This had brought him hot-foot to St. Aubin's Bay, 
 whence he had hurried Olivier Delagarde to a hiding- 
 place in the hills above the bay of St. Brelade. The
 
 328 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 fool had travelled more swiftly than Jersey justice, 
 whose feet are heavy. Elie Mattingley was now in 
 the Vier Prison. There was the whole story. 
 
 The mask had fallen, the game was up. Well, at 
 least there would be no more lying, no more brutal- 
 izing inward shame. All at once it appeared to 
 Ranulph madness that he had not taken his father 
 away from Jersey long ago. Yet, too, he knew that 
 as things had been with Guida he could never have 
 stayed away. 
 
 Nothing now was left but action. He must get his 
 father clear of the Island and that soon. But how ? 
 and where should they go ? He had a boat in St. 
 Aubin's Bay : getting there under cover of dark- 
 ness he might embark with his father and set sail 
 whither? To Sark there was no safety there. To 
 Guernsey that was no better. To France yes, 
 that was it, to the war of the Vendee, to join Detri- 
 cand. No need to find the scrap of paper once given 
 him in the Vier Marchi. Wherever Detricand might 
 be, his fame was the highway to him. All France 
 knew of the companion of de la Rochejaquelein, the 
 fearless Comte de Tournay. Ranulph made his deci- 
 sion. Shamed and dishonored in Jersey, in that holy 
 war of the Vendee he would find something to kill 
 memory, to take him out of life without disgrace. His 
 father must go with him to France, and bide his fate 
 there also. 
 
 By the time his mind was thus made up, they had 
 reached the lonely headland dividing Portelet Bay from 
 St. Brelade's. Dark things were said of this spot, and 
 the country folk of the Island were wont to avoid it. 
 Beneath the cliffs in the sea was a rocky islet called 
 Janvrin's Tomb. One Janvrin, ill of a fell disease, and
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 329 
 
 with his fellows forbidden by the Royal Court to land, 
 had taken refuge here, and died wholly neglected and 
 without burial. Afterwards his body lay exposed till 
 the ravens and vultures devoured it, and at last a great 
 storm swept his bones off into the sea. Strange lights 
 were to be seen about this rock, and though wise men 
 guessed them mortal glimmerings, easily explained, 
 they sufficed to give the headland immunity from in- 
 vasion. 
 
 To a cave at this point Dormy Jamais had brought 
 the trembling Olivier Delagarde, unrepenting and 
 peevish, but with a craven fear of the Royal Court 
 and a furious populace quickening his footsteps. This 
 hiding-place was entered at low tide by a passage from 
 a larger cave. It was like a little vaulted chapel 
 floored with sand and shingle. A crevice through 
 rock and earth to the world above let in the light and 
 out the smoke. 
 
 Here Olivier Delagarde sat crouched over a tiny 
 fire, with some bread and a jar of water at his hand, 
 gesticulating and talking to himself. The long white 
 hair and beard, with the benevolent forehead, gave 
 him the look of some latter-day St. Helier, grieving 
 for the sins and praying for the sorrows of mankind ; 
 but from the hateful mouth came profanity fit only for 
 the dreadful communion of a Witches' Sabbath. 
 
 Hearing the footsteps of Ranulph and Dormy, he 
 cowered and shivered in terror, but Ranulph, who 
 knew too well his revolting cowardice, called to him 
 reassuringly. On their approach he stretched out his 
 talon-like fingers in a gesture of entreaty. 
 
 "You'll not let them hang me, Ranulph you'll 
 save me ! " he whimpered. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, they shall not hang you," Ranulph
 
 330 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 replied quietly, and began warming his hands at the 
 fire. 
 
 " You '11 swear it, Ranulph on the Bible ? " 
 " I Ve told you they shall not hang you. You 
 ought to know by now whether I mean what I say," 
 his son answered more sharply. 
 
 Assuredly Ranulph meant that his father should not 
 be hanged. Whatever the law was, whatever wrong 
 the old man had done, it had been atoned for ; the 
 price had been paid by both. He himself had drunk 
 the cup of shame to the dregs, but now he would not 
 swallow the dregs. An iron determination entered 
 into him. He had endured all that he would endure 
 from man. He had set out to defend Olivier Dela- 
 garde from the worst that might happen, and he was 
 ready to do so to the bitter end. His scheme of 
 justice might not be that of the Royal Court, but he 
 would defend it with his life. He had suddenly grown 
 hard and dangerous.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE Royal Court was sitting late. Candles had 
 been brought to light the long desk or dais 
 where sat the Bailly in his great chair, and the twelve 
 scarlet-robed jurats. The Attorney-General stood at 
 his desk, mechanically scanning the indictment read 
 against prisoners charged with capital crimes. His 
 work was over, and according to his lights he had 
 done it well. Not even the Undertaker's Apprentice 
 could have been less sensitive to the struggles of 
 humanity under the heel of fate and death. A plain- 
 tive complacency, a little righteous austerity, and an 
 agreeable expression of hunger made the Attorney- 
 General a figure in godly contrast to the prisoner 
 awaiting his doom in the iron cage opposite. 
 
 There was a singular stillness in this sombre Royal 
 Court, where only a tallow candle or two and a dim 
 lantern near the door filled the room with flickering 
 shadows great heads upon the wall drawing close 
 together, and vast lips murmuring awful secrets. Low 
 whisperings came through the dusk like mournful 
 night-winds carrying tales of awe through a heavy 
 forest. Once in the long silence a figure rose up 
 silently, and stealing across the room to a door near 
 the jury box, tapped upon it with a pencil. A mo- 
 ment's pause, the door opened slightly, and another 
 shadowy figure appeared, whispered, and vanished. 
 Then the first figure closed the door again silently,
 
 332 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 and came and spoke softly up to the Bailly, who 
 yawned in his hand, sat back in his chair, and drummed 
 his fingers upon the arm. Thereupon the other 
 the greffier of the court settled down at his desk 
 beneath the jurats, and peered into an open book be- 
 fore him, his eyes close to the page, reading silently 
 by the meagre light of a candle from the great desk 
 behind him. 
 
 Now a fat and ponderous avocat rose up and was 
 about to speak, but the Bailly, with a peevish gesture, 
 waved him down, and he settled heavily into place 
 again. 
 
 At last the door at which the greffier had tapped 
 opened, and a gaunt figure in a red robe came out. 
 Standing in the middle of the room he motioned to- 
 wards the great pew opposite the Attorney-General. 
 Slowly the twenty-four men of the grand jury follow- 
 ing him filed into place and sat themselves down in 
 the shadows. Then the gaunt figure the Vicomte 
 or high sheriff bowing to the Bailly and the jurats, 
 went over and took his seat beside the Attorney-Gen- 
 eral. Whereupon the Bailly leaned forward and droned 
 a question to the Grand Enquete in the shadow. One 
 rose up from among the twenty-four, and out of the 
 dusk there came in reply to the Judge a squeaking 
 voice : 
 
 " We find the Prisoner at the Bar more Guilty than 
 Innocent." 
 
 A shudder ran through the court. But some one 
 not in the room shuddered still more violently. From 
 the gable window of a house in the Rue des Tres 
 Pigeons, a girl had sat the livelong day, looking, look- 
 ing into the court-room. She had watched the day 
 decline, the evening come, and the lighting of the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 333 
 
 crassets and the candles, and had waited to hear the 
 words that meant more to her than her own life. At 
 last the great moment came, and she could hear the 
 foreman's voice whining the fateful words, "More 
 Guilty than Innocent" 
 
 It was Carterette Mattingley, and the prisoner at 
 the bar was her father.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 MATTINGLEY'S dungeon was infested with rats 
 and other vermin, he had only straw for his 
 bed, and his food and drink were bread and water. 
 The walls were damp with moisture from the Fauxbie 
 running beneath, and a mere glimmer of light came 
 through a small barred window. Superstition had 
 surrounded the Vier Prison with horrors. As carts 
 passed under the great archway, its depth multiplied 
 the sounds so powerfully, the echoes were so fantastic, 
 that folk believed them the roarings of fiendish spirits. 
 If a mounted guard hurried through, the reverbera- 
 tion of the drum-beats and the clatter of hoofs were 
 so uncouth that children stopped their ears and fled 
 in terror. To the ignorant populace the Vier Prison 
 was the home of noisome serpents and the rendezvous 
 of the devil and his witches of Rocbert. 
 
 When therefore the seafaring merchant of the Vier 
 Marchi, whose massive, brass-studded bahue had been 
 as a gay bazaar where the gentry of Jersey refreshed 
 their wardrobes, with one eye closed when he was 
 transferred to the Vier Prison, little wonder he should 
 become a dreadful being round whom played the light- 
 nings of dark fancy. Elie Mattingley, the popular 
 sinner, with insolent gold rings in his ears, unchal- 
 lenged as to how he came by his merchandise, was 
 one person ; Elie Mattingley, a torch for the burning, 
 and housed amid the terrors of the Vier Prison, was 
 another.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 335 
 
 Few people in Jersey slept the night before his 
 execution. Here and there kind-hearted women or 
 unimportant men lay awake through pity, and a few 
 through a vague sense of loss ; for, henceforth, the 
 Vier Marchi would lack a familiar interest ; but mostly 
 the people of Mattingley's world were wakeful through 
 curiosity. Morbid expectation of the hanging had for 
 them a gruesome diversion. The thing itself would 
 break the daily monotony of life and provide hushed 
 gossip for vraic-gatherings and veilles for a long time 
 to come. Thus Elie Mattingley would not die in vain ! 
 
 Here was one sensation, but there was still another. 
 Olivier Delagarde had been unmasked, and the whole 
 Island had gone tracking him down. No aged tooth- 
 less tiger was ever sported through the jungle by an 
 army of shikarris with hungrier malice than was this 
 broken traitor by the people he had betrayed. Ensued, 
 therefore, a commingling of patriotism with lust of 
 man-hunting and eager expectation of to-morrow's 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Nothing of this excitement disturbed Mattingley. 
 He did not sleep, but that was because he was still 
 watching for a means of escape. He felt his chances 
 diminish, however, when about midnight an extra guard 
 was put round the prison. Something had gone amiss 
 in the matter of his rescue. 
 
 Three things had been planned. 
 
 Firstly, he was to try escape by the small window 
 of the dungeon. 
 
 Secondly, Carterette was to bring Sebastian Alix- 
 andre to the prison disguised as a sorrowing aunt of 
 the condemned. Alixandre was suddenly to overpower 
 the jailer, Mattingley was to make a rush for freedom, 
 and a few bold.spirits without would second his efforts
 
 336 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 and smuggle him to the sea. The directing mind and 
 hand in the business were Ranulph Delagarde's. He 
 was to have his boat waiting to respond to a signal 
 from the shore, and to make sail for France, where he 
 and his father were to be landed. There he was to 
 give Mattingley, Alixandre, and Carterette his craft 
 to fare across the seas to the great fishing-ground of 
 Gaspe in Canada. 
 
 Lastly, if these plans failed, the executioner was to 
 be drugged with liquor, his besetting weakness, on the 
 eve of the hanging. 
 
 The first plan had been found impossible, the win- 
 dow being too small for even Mattingley's head to get 
 through. The second had failed because the righteous 
 Royal Court forbade Carterette the prison, intent that 
 she should no longer be contaminated by so vile a 
 wretch as her father. For years this same Christian 
 solicitude had looked down from the windows of the 
 Cohue Royale upon this same criminal in the Vier 
 Marchi, with one blind eye for himself the sinner, and 
 an open one for his merchandise. 
 
 Mattingley could hear the hollow sound of the sen- 
 tinels' steps under the archway of the Vier Prison. 
 He was quite stoical. If he had to die, then he had 
 to die. Death could only be a little minute of agony ; 
 and for what came after well, he had not thought 
 fearfully of that, and he had no wish to think of it at 
 all. The visiting chaplain had talked, and he had not 
 listened. He had his own ideas about life, and death, 
 and the beyond, and they were not ungenerous. The 
 chaplain had found him patient but impossible, kindly 
 but unresponsive, sometimes even curious, but with- 
 out remorse. 
 
 " You should repent with sorrow and a contrite
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 337 
 
 heart," said the clergyman. "You have done many 
 evil things in your life, Mattingley." 
 
 Mattingley had replied : " Ma fuifre, I can't remem- 
 ber them ! I know I never done them, for I never 
 done anything but good all my life so much for so 
 much ! " 
 
 He had argued it out with himself and he believed 
 he was a good man. He had been open-handed, had 
 stood by his friends, and, up to a few days ago, was 
 counted a good citizen ; for many had come to profit 
 through him. His trade a little smuggling, a little 
 piracy ? Was not the former hallowed by distin- 
 guished patronage and had it not existed from imme- 
 morial time ? It was fair fight for gain, an eye for 
 an eye and a tooth for a tooth. If he had n't robbed 
 others on the high seas, they would probably have 
 robbed him and sometimes they did. His spirit 
 was that of the Elizabethan admirals ; he belonged to 
 a century not his own. As for the crime for which 
 he was to suffer, it had been the work of another 
 hand, and very bad work it was, to try and steal Jean 
 Touzel's Hardi Biaou, and then bungle it ! He had 
 had nothing to do with it, for he and Jean Touzel 
 were the best of friends, as was proved by the fact 
 that while he lay in his dungeon, Jean wandered the 
 shore sorrowing for his fate. 
 
 Thinking now of the whole business and of his 
 past life, Mattingley suddenly had a pang. Yes, re- 
 morse smote him at last. There was one thing on 
 his conscience only one. He had respect for the 
 feelings of others, and where the Church was con- 
 cerned this was mingled with a droll sort of pity, as 
 of the greater for the lesser, the wise for the helpless. 
 For clergymen he had a half-affectionate contempt.
 
 338 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 He remembered now that when, four years ago, his 
 confederate who had turned out so badly he had 
 trusted him, too ! had robbed the church of St. 
 Michael's, carrying off the great chest of communion 
 plate, offertories, and rents, he had piously left be- 
 hind in Mattingley's house the vestry-books and 
 parish-register, a nice definition in rogues' ethics. 
 Awaiting his end now, it smote Mattingley's soul 
 that these stolen records had not been returned to 
 St. Michael's. Next morning he must send word to 
 Carterette to restore the books. Then his conscience 
 would be clear once more. With this resolve quieting 
 his mind, he turned over on his straw and went 
 peacefully to sleep. 
 
 Hours afterwards he waked with a yawn. There 
 was no start, no terror, but the appearance of the 
 jailer with the chaplain roused in him disgust for 
 the coming function at the Mont es Pendus. Disgust 
 was his chief feeling. This was no way for a man to 
 die ! With a choice of evils he should have preferred 
 walking the plank, or even dying quietly in his bed, 
 to being stifled by a rope. To dangle from a cross- 
 tree like a half-filled bag offended all instincts of 
 picturesqueness, and first and last he had been 
 picturesque. 
 
 He asked at once for pencil and paper. His wishes 
 were obeyed with deference. On the whole he real- 
 ized by the attentions paid him the brandy and the 
 food offered by the jailer, the fluttering kindness of 
 the chaplain that in the life of a criminal there is 
 one moment when he commands the situation. He 
 refused the brandy, for he was strongly against spirits 
 in the early morning, but asked for coffee. Eating 
 seemed superfluous and a man might die more gayly
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 339 
 
 on an empty stomach. He assured the chaplain that 
 he had come to terms with his conscience and was now 
 about to perform the last act of a well-intentioned life. 
 
 There and then he wrote to Carterette, telling her 
 about the vestry-books of St. Michael's, and begging 
 that she should restore them secretly. There were 
 no affecting messages : they understood each other. 
 He knew that when it was possible she would never 
 fail to come to the mark where he was concerned, 
 and she had equal faith in him. So the letter was 
 sealed, addressed with flourishes he was proud of 
 his handwriting and handed to the chaplain for 
 Carterette. 
 
 He had scarcely drunk his coffee when there was a 
 roll of drums outside. Mattingley knew that his hour 
 was come, and yet to his own surprise he had no vio- 
 lent sensations. He had a shock presently, however, 
 for on the jailer announcing the executioner, who 
 should be there before him but the Undertaker's Ap- 
 prentice ! In politeness to the chaplain Mattingley 
 forbore profanity. This was the one Jerseyman for 
 whom he had a profound hatred, this youth with the 
 slow, cold, watery blue eye, a face that never wrinkled 
 either with mirth or misery, the square-set teeth 
 always showing a little an involuntary grimace of 
 cruelty. Here was insult. 
 
 " Devil below us, so you 're going to do it you ! " 
 broke out Mattingley. 
 
 "The other man was drunk," said the Undertaker's 
 Apprentice ; " he 's been full as a jug three days. He 
 got drunk too soon." The grimace seemed to widen. 
 
 " O my good ! " said Mattingley, and he would say 
 no more. To him words were like nails of no use 
 unless they were to be driven home by acts.
 
 340 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 To Mattingley the procession of death was stupidly 
 slow. As it issued from the archway of the Vier 
 Prison between mounted guards, and passed through 
 a long lane of moving spectators, he looked round 
 coolly. One or two bold spirits cried out, " Head up 
 to the wind, Maitre Elie ! " 
 
 "Oui-gia," he replied; "devil a topsail in!" and 
 turned a look of contempt on those who hooted him. 
 He realized now that there was no chance of rescue. 
 The militia and the town guard were in ominous force, 
 and although his respect for the Island military was 
 not devout, a bullet from the musket of a fool might 
 be as effective as one from Bonapend's as Napoleon 
 Bonaparte was disdainfully called in Jersey. Yet he 
 could not but wonder why all the plans of Alixandre, 
 Carterette, and Ranulph had gone for nothing ; even 
 the hangman had been got drunk too soon ! He had 
 a high opinion of Ranulph, and that he should fail 
 him was a blow to his judgment of humanity. 
 
 He was thoroughly disgusted. Also they had com- 
 pelled him to put on a white shirt, he who had never 
 worn linen in his life. He was ill at ease in it. It 
 made him conspicuous ; it looked as though he were 
 aping the gentleman at the last. He tried to resign 
 himself, but resignation was hard to learn so late in 
 life. Somehow he could not feel that this was really 
 the day of his death. Yet how could it be otherwise ? 
 There was the Vicomte in his red robe, there was the 
 sinister Undertaker's Apprentice, ready to do his 
 hangman's duty. There, as they crossed the mielles, 
 while the sea droned its sing-song on his left, was the 
 parson droning his sing-song on the right " In the 
 midst of life we are in death" etc. There were the 
 grumbling drums, and the crowd morbidly enjoying
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 341 
 
 their Roman holiday ; and there, looming up before 
 him, were the four stone pillars on the Mont es Pen- 
 dus from which he was to swing. His disgust deep- 
 ened. He was not dying like a seafarer who had 
 fairly earned his reputation. 
 
 His feelings found vent even as he came to the 
 foot of the platform where he was to make his last 
 stand, and the guards formed a square about the great 
 pillars, glooming like Druidic altars. He burst forth 
 in one phrase expressive of his feelings. 
 
 " Sacre matin, so damned paltry ! " he said, in equal 
 tribute to two races. 
 
 The Undertaker's Apprentice, thinking this a re- 
 flection upon his arrangements, said, with a wave of 
 the hand to the rope : 
 
 " Nannin, ch'est tres ship-shape, Maitre ! " 
 
 The Undertaker's Apprentice was wrong. He had 
 made everything ship-shape, as he thought, but a gin 
 had been set for him. The rope to be used at the 
 hanging had been measured and approved by the 
 Vicomte, and the Undertaker's Apprentice had carried 
 it to his room at the top of the Cohue Royale. In 
 the dead of night, however, Dormy Jamais drew it 
 from under the mattress whereon the deathman slept, 
 and substituted one a foot longer. This had been 
 Ranulph's idea as a last resort, for he had a grim wish 
 to foil the law even at the twelfth hour ! 
 
 The great moment had come. The shouts and 
 hootings ceased. Out of the silence there arose only 
 the champing of a horse's bit or the hysterical giggle 
 of a woman. The high painful drone of the chaplain's 
 voice was heard. 
 
 Then came the fatal " Maintenant ! " from the
 
 342 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Vicomte the platform fell, and Elie Mattingley 
 dropped the length of the rope. 
 
 What was the consternation of the Vicomte and 
 the hangman, and the horror of the crowd, to see that 
 Mattingley 's toes just touched the ground! The 
 body shook and twisted. The man was being slowly 
 strangled, not hanged. 
 
 The Undertaker's Apprentice was the only person 
 who kept a cool head. The solution of the problem 
 of the rope for afterwards, but he had been sent there 
 to hang a man, and a man he would hang somehow. 
 Without more ado he jumped upon Mattingley's 
 shoulders and began to drag him down. 
 
 That instant Ranulph Delagarde burst through the 
 mounted guard and the militia. Rushing to the Vi- 
 comte, he exclaimed : 
 
 " Shame ! The man was to be hung, not strangled. 
 This is murder ! Stop it, or I '11 cut the rope ! " He 
 looked round on the crowd. " Cowards cowards ! " 
 he cried, "will you see him murdered ? " 
 
 He started forward to drag away the deathman, but 
 the Vicomte, thoroughly terrified at Ranulph' s onset, 
 himself seized the Undertaker's Apprentice, who, 
 drawing off with unruffled malice, watched what fol- 
 lowed with steely eyes. 
 
 Dragged down by the weight of the Apprentice, 
 Mattingley's feet were now firmly on the ground. 
 While the excited crowd tried to break through the 
 cordon of mounted guards, Mattingley, by a twist and 
 a jerk, freed his corded hands. Loosing the rope at 
 his neck he opened his eyes and looked around him, 
 dazed and dumb. The Apprentice came forward. 
 " I '11 shorten the rope, oui-gia ! Then you shall see 
 him swing ! " he grumbled viciously to the Vicomte.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 343 
 
 The gaunt Vicomte was trembling with excitement. 
 He looked helplessly around him. 
 
 The Apprentice caught hold of the rope to tie 
 knots in it and so shorten it, but Ranulph again ap- 
 pealed to the Vicomte. 
 
 " You 've hung the man," said he ; " you 've stran- 
 gled him, and you did n't kill him. You Ve got no 
 right to put that rope round his neck again ! " 
 
 Two jurats who had waited on the outskirts of the 
 crowd, furtively watching the effect of their sentence, 
 burst in, as distracted as the Vicomte. 
 
 " Hang the man again and the whole world will 
 laugh at you," Ranulph said. "If you're not worse 
 than fools or Turks you'll let him go. He has had 
 death already. Take him back to the prison then, if 
 you 're afraid to free him ! " He turned on the crowd 
 fiercely. " Have you nothing to say to this butchery ? " 
 he cried. " For the love of God, have n't you any- 
 thing to say ? " 
 
 Half the crowd shouted " Let him go free ! " and 
 the other half, disappointed in the working out of the 
 gruesome melodrama, groaned and hooted. 
 
 Meanwhile Mattingley stood as still as ever he had 
 stood by his bahue in the Vier Marchi, watching 
 waiting. 
 
 The Vicomte conferred nervously with the jurats 
 for a moment, and then turned to the guard. 
 
 " Take the prisoner to the Vier Prison," he said. 
 
 Mattingley had been slowly solving the problem of 
 his salvation. His eye, like a gimlet, had screwed its 
 way through Ranulph' s words into what lay behind, 
 and at last he understood the whole beautiful scheme. 
 It pleased him, Carterette had been worthy of herself, 
 and of him. Ranulph had played his game well, too.
 
 344 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 He only failed to do justice to the poor beganne, 
 Dormy Jamais. But then the virtue of fools is its 
 own reward. 
 
 As the procession started back with the Under- 
 taker's Apprentice now following after Mattingley, 
 not going before, Mattingley turned to him, and with 
 a smile of malice said : 
 
 " Ch'est tres ship-shape, Maitre eh ! " and he 
 jerked his head back towards the inadequate rope. 
 
 He was not greatly troubled about the rest of this 
 grisly farce. He was now ready for breakfast, and 
 his appetite grew as he heard how the crowd hooted 
 and snarled yah ! at the Undertaker's Apprentice. 
 He was quite easy about the future. What had been 
 so well done thus far could not fail in the end.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 EVENTS proved Mattingley right. Three days 
 after, it was announced that he had broken pri- 
 son. It is probable that the fury of the Royal Court 
 at the news was not quite sincere, for it was notable 
 that the night of his evasion, suave and uncrestfallen, 
 they dined in state at the Tres Pigeons. The escape 
 gave them happy issue from a quandary. 
 
 The Vicomte officially explained that Mattingley 
 had got out by the dungeon window. People came 
 to see the window, and there, ba su, the bars were 
 gone ! But that did not prove the case, and the mys- 
 tery was deepened by the fact that Jean Touzel, 
 whose head was too small for Elie's hat, could not get 
 that same head through the dungeon window! Hav- 
 ing proved so much, Jean left the mystery there, and 
 returned to his Hardi Biaou. 
 
 This happened on the morning after the dark night 
 when Mattingley, Carterette, and Alixandre hurried 
 from the Vier Prison, through the Rue des Sablons 
 to the sea, and there boarded Ranulph's boat, wherein 
 was Olivier Delagarde the traitor. 
 
 Accompanying Carterette to the shore was a little 
 figure that moved along beside them like a shadow 
 a little gray figure that carried a gold-headed cane. 
 At the shore this same little gray figure bade Mat- 
 tingley good-by with a quavering voice. Whereupon 
 Carterette, her face all wet with tears, kissed him
 
 346 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 upon both cheeks, and sobbed so that she could 
 scarcely speak. For now when it was all done all 
 the horrible ordeal over the woman in her broke 
 down before the little old gentleman, who had been 
 like a benediction in the house where the ten com- 
 mandments were imperfectly upheld. But she choked 
 down her sobs, and, thinking of another more than of 
 herself, she said : 
 
 " Dear Chevalier, do not forget the book that 
 register I gave you to-night. Read it read the 
 last writing in it, and then you will know ah, 
 bidemme ! but you will know that her we love 
 ah, but you must read it and tell nobody till till the 
 right time comes. She has n't held her tongue for 
 naught, and it 's only fair to do as she 's done all 
 along, and hold ours. Pardingue, but my heart hurts 
 me ! " she added suddenly, and catching the hand that 
 held the little gold cane she kissed it with impulsive 
 ardor. " You have been so good to me oui-gia ! " 
 she said with a gulp, and then she dropped the hand 
 and turned and fled to the boat rocking in the surf. 
 
 The little Chevalier watched the boat glide out into 
 the gloom of night, and waited till he knew that they 
 must all be aboard Ranulph's schooner and making 
 for the sea. Then he turned and went back to the 
 empty house in the Rue d'Egypte. 
 
 Opening the book Carterette had placed in his 
 hands before they left the house, he turned up and 
 scanned closely the last written page. A moment 
 after, he started violently, his eyes dilating, first with 
 wonder, then with a bewildered joy; and then, Pro- 
 testant though he was, with the instinct of long-gone 
 forefathers, he made the sacred gesture, and said :
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 347 
 
 " Now I have not lived and loved in vain, thanks be 
 to God ! " 
 
 Even as joy opened wide the eyes of the Chevalier, 
 who had been sorely smitten through the friends of 
 his heart, out at sea Night and Death were closing 
 the eyes of another wan old man who had been a 
 traitor to his country. 
 
 For the boat of the fugitives had scarcely cleared 
 reefs and rocks, and reached the open Channel, when 
 Olivier Delagarde, uttering the same cry as when 
 Ranulph and the soldiers had found him wounded in 
 the Grouville road fifteen years before, suddenly 
 started up from where he had lain mumbling, and 
 whispering incoherently, " Ranulph they Ve killed 
 me ! " fell back dead. 
 
 True to the instinct which had kept him faithful to 
 one idea for fifteen years, and in spite of the protests 
 of Mattingley and Carterette, of the despairing 
 Carterette who felt the last thread of her hopes snap 
 with his going, Ranulph made ready to leave them. 
 Bidding them good-by, he placed his father's body in 
 the row-boat, and pulling back to the shore of St. 
 Aubin's Bay with his pale freight, carried it on his 
 shoulders up to the little house where he had lived so 
 many years. 
 
 There he kept the death-watch alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 GUI DA knew nothing of the arrest and trial of 
 Mattingley until he had been condemned to 
 death. Nor until then did she know anything of what 
 had happened to Olivier Delagarde ; for soon after 
 her interview with Ranulph she had gone a-marketing 
 to the Island of Sark, with the results of half a year's 
 knitting. Her return had been delayed by ugly gales 
 from the south-east. Several times a year she made 
 this journey, landing at the Eperquerie Rocks as she 
 had done one day long ago, and selling her beautiful 
 wool caps and jackets to the farmers and fisher-folk, 
 getting in kind for what she gave. 
 
 When she made these excursions to Sark, Dormy 
 Jamais had always remained at the little house, milking 
 her cow, feeding her fowls, and keeping all in order 
 as perfect a sentinel as old Biribi, and as faithful. 
 For the first time in his life, however, Dormy Jamais 
 was unfaithful. On the day that Carcaud the baker 
 and Mattingley were arrested, he deserted the hut 
 at Plemont to exploit, with Ranulph, the adventure 
 which was at last to save Olivier Delagarde and Mat- 
 tingley from death. But he had been unfaithful only 
 in the letter of his bond. He had gone to the house 
 of Jean Touzel, through whose Hardi Biaou the dis- 
 aster had come, and had told Maitresse Aimable that 
 she must go to Plemont in his stead for a fool must 
 keep his faith whate'er the worldly wise may do. So
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 349 
 
 the fat Femme de Ballast, puffing with every step, 
 trudged across the island to Plemont, and installed 
 herself as keeper of the house. 
 
 One day Maitresse Aimable's quiet was invaded by 
 two signalmen who kept watch, not far from Guida's 
 home, for all sail, friend or foe, bearing in sight. 
 They were now awaiting the new Admiral of the Jer- 
 sey station and his fleet. With churlish insolence 
 they entered Guida's hut before Maitresse Aimable 
 could prevent it. Looking round, they laughed 
 meaningly, and then told her that the commander 
 coming presently to lie with his fleet in Grouville Bay 
 was none other than the sometime Jersey midship- 
 man, now Admiral Prince Philip d'Avranche, Due de 
 Bercy. Understanding then the meaning of their 
 laughter, and the implied insult to Guida, Maitresse 
 Aimable's voice came ravaging out of the silence where 
 it lay hid so often and so long, and the signalmen 
 went their ways shamefacedly. 
 
 She could not make head or tail of her thoughts 
 now, nor see an inch before her nose ; all she could 
 feel was an aching heart for Guida. She had heard 
 strange tales of how Philip had become Prince Philip 
 d'Avranche, and husband of the Comtesse Chanta- 
 voine, and afterwards Due de Bercy. Also she had 
 heard how Philip, just before he became the Due de 
 Bercy, had fought his ship against a French vessel off 
 Ushant, and, though she had heavier armament than his 
 own, had destroyed her. For this he had been made 
 an admiral. Only the other day her Jean had brought 
 the " Gazette de Jersey " in which all these things were 
 related, and had spelled them out for her. And now 
 this same Philip d'Avranche with his new name and 
 fame was on his way to defend the Isle of Jersey !
 
 350 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Maitresse Aimable's muddled mind could not get 
 hold of this new Philip. For years she had thought 
 him a monster, and here he was, a great and valiant 
 gentleman to the world. He had done a thing that 
 Jean would rather have cut off his hand both hands 
 than do, and yet here he was, an admiral, a prince, 
 and a sovereign duke, and men like Jean were as dust 
 beneath his feet ! The real Philip she knew : he was 
 the man who had spoiled the life of a woman ; this 
 other Philip she could read about him, she could 
 think about him, just as she could think about William 
 and his horse in Boulay Bay, or the Little Bad Folk 
 of Rocbert ; but she could not realize him as a thing of 
 flesh and blood and actual being. The more she tried 
 to realize him the more mixed she became. 
 
 As in her mental maze she sat panting her way to 
 enlightenment, she saw Guida's boat entering the lit- 
 tle harbor. Now the truth must be told but how ? 
 
 After her first exclamation of welcome to mother 
 and child, Maitresse Aimable struggled painfully for 
 her voice. She tried to find words in which to tell 
 Guida the truth, but, stopping in despair, she sud- 
 denly began rocking the child back and forth, saying 
 only, "Prince Admiral he and now to come! O 
 my good' O my good ! " 
 
 Guida's sharp intuition found the truth. 
 
 " Philip d'Avranche ! " she said to herself. Then 
 aloud, in a shaking voice " Philip d'Avranche ! " 
 
 She could not think clearly for a moment. It was 
 as if her brain had received a blow, and in her head 
 was a singing numbness, obscuring eyesight, hearing, 
 speech. 
 
 When she had recovered a little she took the child
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 351 
 
 from Maitresse Aimable, and pressing him to her 
 bosom placed him in the Sieur de Mauprat's great 
 armchair. This action, ordinary as it seemed, was 
 significant of what was in her mind. The child him- 
 self realized something unusual, and he sat perfectly 
 still, two small hands spread out on the big arms. 
 
 "You always believed in me, 'tresse Aimable," 
 Guida said at last in a low voice. 
 
 " Oui-gia, what else ? " was the instant reply. The 
 quick responsiveness of her own voice seemed to con- 
 found the Femme de Ballast, and her face suffused. 
 
 Guida stooped quickly and kissed her on the cheek. 
 
 " You '11 never regret that. And you will have to 
 go on believing still, but you '11 not be sorry in the 
 end, 'tresse Aimable," she. said, and turned away to 
 the fireplace. 
 
 An hour afterwards Maitresse Aimable was upon 
 her way to St. Heliers, but now she carried her weight 
 more easily and panted less. Twice within the last 
 month Jean had given her ear a friendly pinch, and 
 now Guida had kissed her surely she had reason to 
 carry her weight more lightly. 
 
 That afternoon and evening Guida struggled with 
 herself : the woman in her shrinking from the ordeal 
 at hand. But the mother in her pleaded, commanded, 
 ruled confused emotions to quiet. Finality of purpose 
 once determined, a kind of peace came over her sick 
 spirit, for with finality there is quiescence if not peace. 
 
 When she looked at the little Guilbert, refined and 
 strong, curiously observant, and sensitive in tempera- 
 ment like herself, her courage suddenly leaped to a 
 higher point than it had ever known. This innocent 
 had suffered enough. What belonged to him he had 
 not had. He had been wronged in much by his
 
 352 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 father, and maybe and this was the cruel part of 
 it had been unwittingly wronged, alas ! how un- 
 willingly, by her ! If she gave her own life many 
 times, it still could be no more than was the child's 
 due. 
 
 A sudden impulse seized her, and with a quick ex- 
 plosion of feeling she dropped on her knees, and look- 
 ing into his eyes, as though hungering for the words 
 she so often yearned to hear, she said : 
 
 " You love your mother, Guilbert ? You love her, 
 little son ? " 
 
 With a pretty smile and eyes brimming with affec- 
 tionate fun, but without a word, the child put out a 
 tiny hand and drew the fingers softly down his 
 mother's face. 
 
 " Speak, little son, tell your mother that you love 
 her." 
 
 The tiny hand pressed itself over her eyes, and a 
 gay little laugh came from the sensitive lips, then 
 both arms ran round her neck. The child drew her 
 head to him impulsively, and kissing her, a little upon 
 the hair and a little upon the forehead, so indefinite 
 was the embrace, he said : 
 
 " Si, maman, I loves you best of all ! " then added : 
 " Maman, can't I have the sword now ? " 
 
 "You shall have the sword, too, some day," she 
 answered, her eyes flashing. 
 
 " But, maman, can't I touch it now ? " 
 
 Without a word she took down the sheathed gold- 
 handled sword and laid it across the chair-arms. 
 
 "I can't take the sword out, can I, maman?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She could not help smiling. "Not yet, my son, 
 not yet."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 353 
 
 " I has to be growed up so the blade does n't hurt 
 me, has n't I, maman ? " 
 
 She nodded and smiled again, and went about her 
 work. 
 
 He nodded sagely. "Maman" he said. She 
 turned to him ; the little figure was erect with a sweet 
 importance. "Maman, what am I now with the 
 sword ? " he asked, with wide-open, amazed eyes. 
 
 A strange look passed across her face. Stooping, 
 she kissed his curly hair. 
 
 " You are my prince," she said. 
 
 A little later the two were standing on that point 
 of land called Grosnez the brow of the Jersey tiger. 
 Not far from them was a signal-staff which telegraphed 
 to another signal-staff inland. Upon the staff now 
 was hoisted a red flag. Guida knew the signals well. 
 The red flag meant warships in sight. Then bags 
 were hoisted that told of the number of vessels : one, 
 two, three, four, five, six, then one next the upright, 
 meaning seven. Last of all came the signal that a 
 flagship was among them. 
 
 This was a fleet in command of an admiral. There, 
 not far out, between Guernsey and Jersey, was the 
 squadron itself. Guida watched it for a long while, 
 her heart hardening ; but seeing that the men by the 
 signal-staff were watching her, she took the child and 
 went to a spot where they were shielded from any 
 eyes. Here she watched the fleet draw nearer and 
 nearer. 
 
 The vessels passed almost within a stone's throw of 
 her. She could see the St. George's Cross flying at 
 the fore of the largest ship. That was the admiral's 
 flag that was the flag of Admiral Prince Philip 
 d' Avranche, Due de Bercy !
 
 354 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 She felt her heart stand still suddenly, and with a 
 tremor, as of fear, she gathered her child close to her. 
 
 "What is all those ships, maman?" asked the 
 child. 
 
 " They are ships to defend Jersey," she said, watch- 
 ing the Imperturbable and its flotilla range on. 
 
 "Will they affend us, maman ? " 
 
 " Perhaps at the last," she said.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 OFF Grouville Bay lay the squadron of the 
 Jersey station. The St. George's Cross was 
 flying at the fore of the Imperturbable, and on every 
 ship of the fleet the white ensign flapped in the morn- 
 ing wind. The wooden-walled three-decked flagship, 
 with her 32-pounders, and six hundred men, was not 
 less picturesque and was more important than the 
 Castle of Mont Orgueil near by, standing over two 
 hundred feet above the level of the sea : the home of 
 Philip d'Avranche, Due de Bercy, and the Comtesse 
 Chantavoine, now known to the world as the Duchesse 
 de Bercy. 
 
 The Comtesse had arrived in the Island almost 
 simultaneously with Philip, although he had urged her 
 to remain at the ducal palace of Bercy. But the 
 duchy of Bercy was in hard case. When the imbe- 
 cile Duke Leopold John died and Philip succeeded, 
 the neutrality of Bercy had been proclaimed, but 
 this neutrality had since been violated, and there 
 was danger at once from the incursions of the Aus- 
 trians and the ravages of the French troops. In 
 Philip's absence the valiant governor-general of the 
 duchy, aided by the influence and courage of the 
 Comtesse Chantavoine, had thus far saved it from 
 dismemberment, in spite of attempted betrayals by 
 Damour the Intendant, who still remained Philip's 
 enemy.
 
 356 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 But when the Marquis Grand] on-Larisse, the uncle 
 of the Comtesse, died, her cousin, General Grand] on- 
 Larisse of the Republican army whose word with 
 Dalbarade had secured Philip's release years before 
 for her own safety, first urged and then commanded 
 her temporary absence from the duchy. So far he 
 had been able to protect it from the fury of the Re- 
 publicans and the secret treachery of the Jacobins. 
 But a time of great peril was now at hand. Under 
 these anxieties and the lack of other inspiration than 
 duty, her health had failed, and at last she obeyed her 
 cousin, joining Philip at the Castle of Mont Orgueil. 
 
 More than a year had passed since she had seen 
 him, but there was no emotion, no ardor in their 
 present greeting. From the first there had been 
 nothing to link them together. She had married, 
 hoping that she might love thereafter ; he in choler 
 and bitterness, and in the stress of a desperate 
 ambition. He had avoided the marriage so long as 
 he might, in hope of preventing it until the Duke 
 should die, but with the irony of fate the expected 
 death had come two hours after the ceremony. 
 Then, shortly afterwards, came the death of the 
 imbecile Leopold John ; and Philip found himself the 
 Due de Bercy, and within a year, by reason of a 
 splendid victory for the Imperturbable, an admiral. 
 
 Truth to tell, in this battle he had fought for vic- 
 tory for his ship and a fall for himself : for the fruit 
 he had plucked was turning to dust and ashes. He 
 was haunted by the memory of a wronged woman, as 
 she herself had foretold. Death, with the burial of 
 private dishonor under the roses of public victory 
 that had come to be his desire. But he had found 
 that Death is willful and chooseth her own time ; that
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 357 
 
 she may be lured, but she will not come with shout- 
 ing. So he had stoically accepted his fate, and could 
 even smile with a bitter cynicism when ordered to 
 proceed to the coast of Jersey, where collision with a 
 French squadron was deemed certain. 
 
 Now, he was again brought face to face with his 
 past ; with the imminent memory of Guida Landresse 
 de Landresse. Where was Guida now? What had 
 happened to her ? He dared not ask, and none told 
 him. Whichever way he turned night or day 
 her face haunted him. Looking out from the windows 
 of Mont Orgueil Castle, or from the deck of the 
 Imperturbable, he could see and he could scarce 
 choose but see the lonely Ecrehos. There, with a 
 wild eloquence, he had made a girl believe he loved 
 her, and had taken the first step in the path which 
 should have led to true happiness and honor. From 
 this good path he had violently swerved and now ? 
 
 From all that could be seen, however, the world 
 went very well with him. He was the centre of 
 authority. Almost any morning one might have seen 
 a boat shoot out from below the Castle wall, carrying 
 a flag with the blue ball of a Vice-Admiral of the 
 White in the canton, and as the Admiral himself 
 stepped upon the deck of the Imperturbable between 
 saluting guards, across the water came a gay march 
 played in his honor. 
 
 Jersey herself was elate, eager to welcome one of 
 her own sons risen to such high estate. When, the 
 very day after his arrival, he passed through the Vier 
 Marchi on his way to visit the Lieutenant-Governor, 
 the red-robed jurats impulsively turned out to greet 
 him. They were ready to prove that memory is a 
 matter of will and cultivation. There is no curtain so
 
 358 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 opaque as that which drops between the mind of man 
 and the thing it is advantageous to forget. But how 
 closely does the ear of self-service listen for the foot- 
 fall of a most distant memory, when to do so is to 
 share even a reflected glory ! 
 
 A week had gone since Philip had landed on the 
 Island. Memories pursued him. If he came by the 
 shore of St. Clement's Bay, he saw the spot where he 
 had stood with her the evening he married her, and 
 she said to him : " PJiilip, I wonder wJiat we zvill 
 think of this day a year from now ! . . . To-day is 
 everything to yon, btit to-morrow is very muck to me." 
 He remembered Shoreham sitting upon the cromlech 
 above singing the legend of the gui-1'annee and 
 Shoreham was lying now a hundred fathoms deep. 
 
 As he walked through the Vier Marchi with his 
 officers, there flashed before his eyes the scene of six- 
 teen years ago, when, through the grime and havoc of 
 battle, he had run to save Guida from the scimitar of 
 the garish Turk. Walking through the Place du Vier 
 Prison, he recalled the morning when he had rescued 
 Ranulph from the hands of the mob. Where was 
 Ranulph now ? 
 
 If he had but known it, that very morning as he 
 passed Mattingley's house Ranulph had looked down 
 at him with infinite scorn and loathing ; but with tri- 
 umph, too, for the Chevalier had just shown him a 
 certain page in a certain parish-register long lost, left 
 with him by Carterette Mattingley. Philip knew 
 naught of Ranulph save the story babbled by the 
 Islanders. He cared to hear of no one but Guida, and 
 who was now to mention her name to him ! It was 
 long so long since he had seen her face. How many 
 years ago was it ? Only five, and yet it seemed twenty.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 359 
 
 He was a boy then ; now his hair was streaked 
 with gray. He was light-hearted then, and he was 
 still buoyant with his fellows, still alert and vigorous, 
 quick of speech and keen of humor but only before 
 the world. In his own home he was fitful of mood, 
 impatient of the grave, meditative look of his wife, of 
 her resolute tenacity of thought and purpose, of her 
 unvarying evenness of mood, through which no warmth 
 played. It seemed to him that if she had defied him 
 given him petulance for petulance, impatience for 
 impatience, it would have been easier to bear. If 
 if he could only read behind those passionless eyes, 
 that clear, unwrinkled forehead ! But he knew her 
 no better now than he did the day he married her. 
 Unwittingly she chilled him, and he felt he had no 
 right to complain, for he had done her the greatest 
 wrong which can be done a woman. Whatever 
 chanced, Guida was still his wife ; and there was in 
 him yet the strain of Calvinistic morality of the 
 island race that bred him. He had shrunk from 
 coming here, but it had been far worse than he had 
 looked for. 
 
 One day, in a nervous bitter moment, after an im- 
 patient hour with the Comtesse, he had said, "Can 
 you can you not speak ? Can you not tell me what 
 you think ? " She had answered quietly : 
 
 " It would do no good, you would not understand. 
 I know you in some ways better than you know your- 
 self. I cannot tell what it is, but there is something 
 wrong in your nature, something that poisons your 
 life. And not myself only has felt that. I never 
 told you but you remember the day the old Duke 
 died, the day we were married ? You had gone from 
 the room a moment. The Duke beckoned me to
 
 360 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 him, and whispered, ' Don't be afraid don't be 
 afraid' and then he died. That meant that he 
 was afraid, that death had cleared his sight as to you, 
 in some way. He was afraid of what ? And I 
 have been afraid of what ? I do not know. Things 
 have not gone well somehow. You are strong, you 
 are brave, and I come of a family that have been 
 strong and brave. We ought to be near : yet, yet we 
 are lonely and far apart, and we shall never be nearer 
 or less lonely. That I know." 
 
 To this he had made no reply, and his anger van- 
 ished. Something in her words had ruled him to her 
 own calmness, and at that moment he had the first 
 flash of understanding of her nature and its true rela- 
 tion to his own. 
 
 Passing through the Rue d'Egypte this day he met 
 Dormy Jamais. Forgetful of everything save that 
 this quaint foolish figure had interested him when a 
 boy, he called him by name ; but Dormy Jamais 
 swerved away, eying him askance. 
 
 At that instant he saw Jean Touzel standing in the 
 doorway of his house. A wave of remorseful feeling 
 rushed over him. He could wait no longer : he would 
 ask Jean Touzel and his wife about Guida. He in- 
 stantly bethought him of an excuse for the visit. His 
 squadron needed another pilot ; he would approach 
 Jean in the matter. 
 
 Bidding his flag-lieutenant go on, to Elizabeth Cas- 
 tle, whither they were bound, and await him there, he 
 crossed over to Jean. By the time he reached the 
 doorway, however, Jean had retreated to the veille by 
 the chimney, behind Maitresse Aimable, who sat in a 
 great stave-chair mending a net.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 361 
 
 Philip knocked and stepped inside. When Mai- 
 tresse Aimable saw who it was, she was so startled 
 that she dropped her work, and made vague clutches 
 to recover it. Stooping, however, was a great effort 
 for her. Philip instantly stepped forward and picked 
 up the net. Politely handing it to her, he said : 
 
 " Ah, Maitresse Aimable, it is as if you had never 
 stirred all these years ! " Then, turning to her hus- 
 band, " I have come looking for a good pilot, Jean." 
 
 Maitresse Aimable had at first flushed to a purple, 
 had afterwards gone pale, then recovered herself, and 
 now returned Philip's look with a downright steadi- 
 ness. Like Jean, she knew well enough he had not 
 come for a pilot that was not the business of a 
 Prince Admiral. She did not even rise. Philip might 
 be whatever the world chose to call him, but her 
 house was her own, and he had come uninvited, and 
 he was unwelcome. 
 
 She kept her seat, but her fat head inclined once in 
 greeting, and she waited for him to speak again. She 
 knew why he had come ; and somehow the steady 
 look in these slow brown eyes, and the blinking 
 glance behind Jean's brass-rimmed spectacles, discon- 
 certed Philip. Here were people who knew the truth 
 about him, knew the sort of man he really was. 
 These poor folk who had had nothing of the world 
 but what they earned, they would never hang on any 
 prince's favors. 
 
 He read the situation rightly. The penalties of his 
 life were teaching him a discernment which could 
 never have come to him through good fortune alone. 
 Having at last discovered his real self a little, he was 
 in the way of knowing others. 
 
 " May I shut the door ? " he asked quietly. Jean
 
 362 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 nodded. Closing it he turned to them again. " Since 
 my return I have heard naught concerning Mademoi- 
 selle Landresse," he said. " I want to ask you about 
 her now. Does she still live in the Place du Vier 
 Prison ? " 
 
 Both Jean and Aimable shook their heads. They 
 had spoken no word since his entrance. 
 
 " She she is not dead ? " he asked. They shook 
 their heads again. "Her grandfather" he paused 
 " is he living ? " Once more they shook their heads 
 in negation. " Where is mademoiselle ? " he asked, 
 sick at heart. 
 
 Jean looked at his wife ; neither moved nor an- 
 swered. " Where does she live ?" urged Philip. Still 
 there was no motion, no reply. " You might as well 
 tell me." His tone was half pleading, half angry 
 little like a sovereign duke, very like a man in trouble. 
 " You must know I shall find out from some one else, 
 then," he continued. " But it is better for you to tell 
 me. I mean her no harm, and I would rather know 
 about her from her friends." 
 
 He took off his hat now. Something in the dignity 
 of these two honest folk rebuked the pride of place 
 and spirit in him. As plainly as though heralds had 
 proclaimed it, he understood that these two knew the 
 abatements on the shield of his honor argent, a 
 plain point tenne, due to him " that tells lyes to his 
 Prince or General," and argent, a gore sinister tenne, 
 due for flying from his colors. 
 
 Maitresse Aimable turned and looked towards Jean, 
 but Jean turned away his head. Then she did not 
 hesitate. The voice so oft eluding her will responded 
 readily now. Anger plain primitive rage pos- 
 sessed her. She had had no child, but as the years
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 363 
 
 had passed all the love that might have been given to 
 her own was bestowed upon Guida, and in that mind 
 she spoke. 
 
 " O my grief, to think you have come here you ! " 
 she burst forth. "You steal the best heart in the 
 world there is none like her, nannin-gia. You pro- 
 mise her, you break her life, you spoil her, and then 
 you fly away ah coward you ! Man pethe benin, 
 was there ever such a man like you ! If my Jean 
 there had done a thing as that I would sink him in 
 the sea he would sink himself, /<? me crais ! But 
 you come back here, O my Mother of God, you come 
 back here with your sword, with your crown ugh, 
 it is like a black cat in heaven you ! " 
 
 She got to her feet more nimbly than she had ever 
 done in her life, and the floor seemed to heave as she 
 came towards Philip. " You speak to me with soft 
 words," she said harshly " you shall have the good 
 hard truth from me. You want to know now where 
 she is I ask where you have been these five years ! 
 Your voice it tremble when you speak of her now. 
 Oh ho ! it has been nice and quiet these five years. 
 The grandpethe of her drop dead in his chair when 
 he know. The world turn against her, make light of 
 her, when they know. All alone she is all alone, 
 but for one fat old fool like me. She bear all the 
 shame, all the pain, for the crime of you. All alone 
 she take her child and go on to the rock of Plemont 
 to live these five years. But you, you go and get a 
 crown and be Amiral and marry a grande comtesse 
 marry, oh, je crais ben! This is no world for such 
 men like you. You come to my house, to the house 
 of Jean Touzel, to ask this and that well, you have 
 the truth of God, ba su ! No good will come to you
 
 364 THE* BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 in the end, nannin-gia ! When you go to die, you will 
 think and think and think of that beautiful Guida 
 Landresse ; you will think and think of the heart you 
 kill, and you will call, and she will not come. You 
 will call till 'your throat rattle, but she will not come, 
 and the child of sorrow you give her will not come 
 no, bidemme ! E'fin, the door you shut you can open 
 now, and you can go from the house of Jean Touzel. 
 It belong to the wife of an honest man maint'nant ! " 
 
 In the moment's silence that ensued, Jean took a 
 step forward. " Ma femme, ma bonne femme ! " he 
 said with a shaking voice. Then he pointed to the 
 door. 
 
 Humiliated, overwhelmed by the words of the wo- 
 man, Philip turned mechanically towards the door 
 without a word, and his fingers fumbled for the latch, 
 for a mist was before his eyes. With a great effort 
 he recovered himself, and passed slowly out into the 
 Rue d' Egypt e. 
 
 " A child a child ! " he said brokenly. " Guida's 
 child my God ! And I have never known. 
 Plemont Plemont, she is at Plemont ! " He shud- 
 dered. " Guida's child and mine ! " he kept saying 
 to himself, as in a painful dream he passed on to the 
 shore. 
 
 In the little fisherman's cottage he had left, a fat 
 old woman sat sobbing in the great chair made of 
 barrel-staves, and a man, stooping, kissed her twice 
 on the cheek the first time in fifteen years. And 
 then she both laughed and cried.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 GUIDA sat by the fire sewing, Biribi the dog at 
 her feet. A little distance away, to the right of 
 the chimney, lay Guilbert asleep. Twice she lowered 
 the work to her lap to look at the child, the reflected 
 light of the fire playing on his face. Stretching out 
 her hand, she touched him, and then she smiled. 
 Hers was an all-devouring love ; the child was her 
 whole life ; her own present or future was as nothing ; 
 she was but fuel for the fire of his existence. 
 
 A storm was raging outside. The sea roared in 
 upon Plemont and Grosnez, battering the rocks in 
 futile agony. A hoarse nor'-easter ranged across the 
 tiger's head in helpless fury : a night of awe to inland 
 folk, and of danger to seafarers. To Guida, who was 
 both of the sea and of the land, fearless as to either, 
 it was neither terrible nor desolate to be alone with 
 the storm. Storm was but power unshackled, and 
 power she loved and understood. She had lived so 
 long in close commerce with storm and sea that some- 
 thing of their keen force had entered into her, and 
 she was kin with them. Each wind to her was inti- 
 mate as a friend, each rock and cave familiar as her 
 hearthstone ; and the ungoverned ocean spoke in 
 terms intelligible. So heavy was the surf that now 
 and then the spray of some foiled wave broke on the 
 roof, but she only nodded at that, as though the sea 
 were calling her to come forth, tapping on her roof- 
 tree in joyous greeting.
 
 366 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 But suddenly she started and bent her head. It 
 seemed as if her whole body were hearkening. Now 
 she rose quickly to her feet, dropped her work upon 
 the table near by, and rested herself against it, still 
 listening. She was sure she heard a horse's hoofs. 
 Turning swiftly, she drew the curtain of the bed be- 
 fore her sleeping child, and then stood quiet waiting 
 waiting. Her hand went to her heart once as 
 though its fierce throbbing hurt her. Plainly as 
 though she could look through these stone walls into 
 clear sunlight, she saw some one dismount, and she 
 heard a voice. 
 
 The door of the hut was unlocked and unbarred. 
 If she feared, it was easy to shoot the bolt and lock 
 the door, to drop the bar across the little window, and 
 be safe and secure. But no bodily fear possessed her 
 only that terror of the spirit when its great trial 
 comes suddenly and it shrinks back, though the mind 
 be of faultless courage. 
 
 She waited. There came a knocking at the door. 
 She did not move from where she stood. 
 
 " Come in," she said. She was composed and reso- 
 lute now. 
 
 The latch clicked, the door opened, and a cloaked 
 figure entered, the shriek of the storm behind. The 
 door closed again. The intruder took a step forward, 
 his hat came off, the cloak was loosed and dropped 
 upon the floor. Guida's premonition had been right. 
 It was Philip. 
 
 She did not speak. A stone could have been no 
 colder as she stood in the light of the fire, her face 
 still and strong, the eyes darkling, luminous. There 
 was on her the dignity of the fearless, the pure in 
 heart.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 367 
 
 "Guida!" Philip said, and took a step nearer, and 
 paused. 
 
 He was haggard, he had the look of one who had 
 come upon a desperate errand. When she did not 
 answer he said pleadingly : 
 
 " Guida, won't you speak to me ? " 
 
 " Prince Philip d'Avranche chooses a strange hour 
 for his visit," she said quietly. 
 
 " But see," he answered hurriedly ; " what I have 
 to say to you " he paused, as though to choose the 
 thing he should say first. 
 
 " You can say nothing I need hear," she answered, 
 looking him steadily in the eyes. 
 
 "Ah, Guida," he cried, disconcerted by her cold 
 composure, "for God's sake listen to me! To-night 
 we have to face our fate. To-night you have to 
 say " 
 
 " Fate was faced long ago. I have nothing to say." 
 
 " Guida, I have repented of all. I have come now 
 only to speak honestly of the wrong I did you. I 
 have come to " 
 
 Scorn sharpened her words, though she spoke 
 calmly : " You have forced yourself upon a woman's 
 presence and at this hour ! " 
 
 " I chose the only hour possible," he answered 
 quickly. " Guida, the past cannot be changed, but 
 we have the present and the future still. I have not 
 come to justify myself, but to find a way to atone." 
 
 "No atonement is possible." 
 
 " You cannot deny me the right to confess to you 
 that"- 
 
 "To you denial should not seem hard usage," she 
 answered slowly, "and confession should have wit- 
 nesses if "
 
 368 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 She paused suggestively. The imputation that he 
 of all men had the least right to resent denial ; that, 
 dishonest still, he was willing to justify her privately 
 though not publicly ; that repentance should have 
 been open to the world it all stung him. 
 
 He threw out his hands in a gesture of protest. 
 "As many witnesses as you will, but not now, not 
 this hour, after all these years. Will you not at least 
 listen to me, and then judge and act ? Will you not 
 hear me, Guida?" 
 
 She had not yet even stirred. Now that it had 
 come, this scene was all so different from what she 
 might have imagined. But she spoke out of a merci- 
 less understanding, an unchangeable honesty. Her 
 words came clear and pitiless : 
 
 " If you will speak to the point and without a use- 
 less emotion, I will try to listen. Common kindness 
 should have prevented this intrusion by you ! " 
 
 Every word she said was like a whip-lash across his 
 face. A devilish light leaped into his eye, but it 
 faded as quickly as it came. 
 
 "After to-night, to the public what you will," he 
 repeated with dogged persistence, " but it was right 
 we should speak alone to each other at least this once 
 before the open end. I did you wrong, yet I did 
 not mean to ruin your life, and you should know that. 
 I ought not to have married you secretly ; I acknow- 
 ledge that. But I loved you " 
 
 She shook her head, and with a smile of pitying 
 disdain he could so little see the real truth, his real 
 misdemeanor she said : " Oh no, never never ! 
 You were not capable of love ; you never knew what 
 it means. From the first you were too untrue ever 
 to love a woman. There was a great fire of emotion,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 369 
 
 you saw shadows on the wall, and you fell in love with 
 them. That was all." 
 
 "I tell you that I loved you," he answered with 
 passionate energy. " But as you will. Let it be that 
 it was not real love : at least it was all there was in 
 me to give. I never meant to desert you. I never 
 meant to disavow our marriage. I denied you, you 
 will say. I did. In the light of what came after, it 
 was dishonorable I grant that ; but I did it at a 
 crisis and for the fulfillment of a great ambition 
 and as much for you as for me." 
 
 "That was the least of your evil work. But how 
 little you know what true people think or feel ! " she 
 answered with a kind of pain in her voice, for she felt 
 that such a nature could never even realize its own 
 enormities. Well, since it had gone so far she would 
 speak openly, though it hurt her sense of self-respect. 
 
 " For that matter, do you think that I or any good 
 woman would have had place or power, been princess 
 or duchess, at the price? What sort of mind have 
 you ? " She looked him straight in the eyes. " Put 
 it in the clear light of right and wrong, it was knavery. 
 You you talk of not meaning to do me harm ! You 
 were never capable of doing me good. It was not in 
 you. From first to last you are untrue. Were it 
 otherwise, were you not from first to last unworthy, 
 would you have but no, your worst crime need not 
 be judged here! Yet had you one spark of worthi- 
 ness would you have made a mock marriage it is no 
 more with the Comtesse Chantavoine ? No matter 
 what I said or what I did in anger, or contempt of 
 you, had you been an honest man you would not have 
 so ruined another life. Marriage, alas ! You have 
 wronged the Comtesse worse than you have wronged
 
 370 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 me. One day I shall be righted, but what can you 
 say or do to right her wrongs ? " 
 
 Her voice had now a piercing indignation and force. 
 " Yes, Philip d'Avranche, it is as I say, justice will 
 come to me. The world turned against me because of 
 you ; I have been shamed and disgraced. For years 
 I have suffered in silence. But I have waited without 
 fear for the end. God is with me. He is stronger 
 than fortune or fate. He has brought you to Jersey 
 once more, to right my wrongs, mine and my child's." 
 
 She saw his eyes flash to the little curtained bed. 
 They both stood silent and still. He could hear the 
 child breathing. His blood quickened. An impulse 
 seized him. He took a step towards the bed, as though 
 to draw the curtain, but she quickly moved between. 
 
 " Never ! " she said in a low stern tone ; " no touch 
 of yours for my Guilbert for my son ! Every min- 
 ute of his life has been mine. He is mine all mine 
 and so he shall remain. You who gambled with 
 the name, the fame, the very soul of your wife, you 
 shall not have one breath of her child's life ! " 
 
 It was as if the outward action of life was suspended 
 in them for a moment, and then came the battle of 
 two strong spirits : the struggle of fretful and indulged 
 egotism, the impulse of a vigorous temperament, 
 against a deep moral force, a high purity of mind and 
 conscience, and the invincible love of the mother for 
 the child. Time, bitterness, and power had hardened 
 Philip's mind, and his long-restrained emotions, break- 
 ing loose now, made him a passionate and willful 
 figure. His force lay in the very unruliness of his 
 spirit, hers in the perfect command of her moods and 
 emotions. Well equipped by the thoughts and suffer- 
 ings of five long years, her spirit was trained to meet
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 371 
 
 this onset with fiery wisdom. They were like two 
 armies watching each other across a narrow stream, 
 between one conflict and another. 
 
 For a minute they stood at gaze. The only sounds 
 in the room were the whirring of the fire in the 
 chimney and the child's breathing. At last Philip's 
 intemperate self-will gave way. There was no with- 
 standing that cold, still face, that unwavering eye. 
 Only brutality could go further. The nobility of her 
 nature, her inflexible straightforwardness came upon 
 him with overwhelming force. Dressed in molleton, 
 with no adornment save the glow of a perfect health, 
 she seemed at this moment, as on the Ecrehos, the 
 one being on earth worth living and caring for. 
 What had he got for all the wrong he had done her ? 
 Nothing. Come what might, there was one thing 
 that he could yet do, and even as the thought pos- 
 sessed him he spoke. 
 
 " Guida," he said with rushing emotion, " it is not 
 too late. Forgive the past the wrong of it, the 
 shame of it. You are my wife ; nothing can undo 
 that. The other woman she is nothing to me. If 
 we part and never meet again she will suffer no more 
 than she suffers to go on with me. She has never 
 loved me, nor I her. Ambition did it all, and of 
 ambition God knows I have had enough ! Let me 
 proclaim our marriage, let me come back to you. 
 Then, happen what will, for the rest of our lives I 
 will try to atone for the wrong I did you. I want 
 you, I want our child. I want to win your love again. 
 I can't wipe out what I have done, but I can put you 
 right before the world, I can prove to you that I set 
 you above place and ambition. If you shrink from 
 doing it for me, do it " - he glanced towards the bed
 
 372 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " do it for our child. To-morrow to-morrow it 
 shall be, if you will forgive. To-morrow let us start 
 again Guida Guida ! " 
 
 She did not answer at once ; but at last she said : 
 
 " Giving up place and ambition would prove nothing 
 now. It is easy to repent when our pleasures have 
 palled. I told you in a letter four years ago that 
 your protests came too late. They are always too 
 late. With a nature like yours nothing is sure or 
 lasting. Everything changes with the mood. It is 
 different with me : I speak only what I truly mean. 
 Believe me, for I tell you the truth, you are a man 
 that a woman could forget but could never forgive. 
 As a prince you are much better than as a plain man, 
 for princes may do what other men may not. It is 
 their way to take all and give nothing. You should 
 have been born a prince, then all your actions would 
 have seemed natural. Yet now you must remain a 
 prince, for what you got at such a price to others you 
 must pay for. You say you would come down from 
 your high place, you would give up your worldly hon- 
 ors, for me. What madness ! You are not the kind 
 of man with whom a woman could trust herself in 
 the troubles and changes of life. Laying all else 
 aside, if I would have had naught of your honors and 
 your duchy long ago, do you think I would now share 
 a disgrace from which you could never rise ? For in 
 my heart I feel that this remorse is but caprice. It 
 is to-day ; it may not will not be to-morrow." 
 
 " You are wrong, you are wrong. I am honest 
 with you now," he broke in. 
 
 " No," she answered coldly, " it is not in you to be 
 honest. Your words have no ring of truth in my 
 ears, for the note is the same as I heard once upon
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 373 
 
 the Ecrehos. I was a young girl then and I believed ; 
 I am a woman now, and I should still disbelieve 
 though all the world were on your side to declare me 
 wrong. I tell you " her voice rose again, it seemed 
 to catch the note of freedom and strength of the 
 storm without "I tell you, I will -still live as my 
 heart and conscience prompt me. The course I have 
 set for myself I will follow ; the life I entered upon 
 when my child was born I will not leave. No word 
 you have said has made my heart beat faster. You 
 and I can never have anything to say to each other 
 in this life, beyond " her voice changed, she paused 
 " beyond one thing " 
 
 Going to the bed where the child lay, she drew the 
 curtain softly, and pointing, she said : 
 
 " There is my child. I have set my life to the one 
 task, to keep him to myself, and yet to win for him 
 the heritage of the dukedom of Bercy. You shall 
 yet pay to him the price of your wrong-doing." 
 
 She drew back slightly so that he could see the 
 child lying with its rosy face half buried in its pillow, 
 the little hand lying like a flower upon the coverlet. 
 
 Once more with a passionate exclamation he moved 
 nearer to the child. 
 
 " No farther ! " she said, stepping before him. 
 
 When she saw the wild impulse in his face -to 
 thrust her aside, she added, " It is only the shameless 
 coward that strikes the dead ! You had a wife 
 Guida d'Avranche, but Guida d'Avranche is dead. 
 There only lives the mother of this child, Guida 
 Landresse de Landresse." 
 
 She looked at him with scorn, almost with hatred. 
 Had he touched her but she would rather pity than 
 loathe !
 
 374 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Her words roused all the devilry in him. The face 
 of the child had set him mad. 
 
 " By Heaven, I will have the child I will have 
 the child ! " he broke out harshly. " You shall not 
 treat me like a dog. You know well I would have 
 kept you as my wife, but your narrow pride, your 
 unjust anger threw me over. You have wronged 
 me. I tell you you have wronged me, for you held 
 the secret of the child from me all these years." 
 
 " The whole world knew ! " she exclaimed indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I will break your pride ! " he said, incensed and 
 unable to command himself. " Mark you, I will 
 break your pride. And I will have my child too ! " 
 
 "Establish to the world your right to him," she 
 answered keenly. " You have the right to acknow- 
 ledge him, but the possession shall be mine." 
 
 He was the picture of impotent anger and despair. 
 It was the irony of penalty that the one person in 
 the world who could really sting him was this un- 
 acknowledged, almost unknown woman. She was 
 the only human being that had power to shatter his 
 egotism and resolve him into the common elements 
 of a base manhood. Of little avail his eloquence now ! 
 He had cajoled a sovereign dukedom out of an aged 
 and fatuous prince; he had cajoled a wife, who yet 
 was no wife, from among the highest of a royal court ; 
 he had cajoled success from Fate by a valor informed 
 with vanity and ambition ; years ago, with eloquent 
 arts he had cajoled a young girl into a secret marriage 
 but he could no longer cajole the woman who was 
 his one true wife. She knew him through and 
 through. 
 
 He was so wild with rage he could almost have
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 375 
 
 killed her as she stood there, one hand stretched out 
 to protect the child, the other pointing to the door. 
 
 He seized his hat and cloak and laid his hand upon 
 the latch, then suddenly turned to her. A dark pro- 
 ject came to him. He himself could not prevail with 
 her ; but he would reach her yet through the child ! 
 If the child were in his hands, she would come to 
 him. 
 
 " Remember, I will have the child ! " he said, his 
 face black with evil purpose. 
 
 She did not deign reply, but stood fearless and 
 still, as, throwing open the door, he rushed out into 
 the night. 
 
 She listened until she heard his horse's hoofs upon 
 the rocky upland. Then she went to the door, 
 locked it, and barred it. Turning, she ran with a cry 
 as of hungry love to the little bed. Crushing the 
 child to her bosom, she buried her face in his brown 
 curls. 
 
 " My son, my own own son ! " she said.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 IF at times it would seem that Nature's disposition 
 of the events of a life or a series of lives is illogi- 
 cal, at others she would seem to play them with an 
 irresistible logic loosing them, as it were, in a track- 
 less forest of experience, and in some dramatic hour, 
 by an inevitable attraction, drawing them back again 
 to a destiny fulfilled. In this latter way did she seem 
 to lay her hand upon the lives of Philip d'Avranche 
 and Guida Landresse. 
 
 At the time that Elie Mattingley, in Jersey, was 
 awaiting hanging on the Mont es Pendus, and writing 
 his letter to Carterette concerning the stolen book of 
 church records, in a town of Brittany the Reverend 
 Lorenzo Dow lay dying. The army of the Vendee, 
 under De'tricand Comte de Tournay, had made a last 
 dash at a small town held by a section of the Repub- 
 lican army, and captured it. On the prisons being 
 opened, Detricand had discovered in a vile dungeon 
 the sometime curate of St. Michael's Church in Jer- 
 sey. When they entered on him, wasted and ragged 
 he lay asleep on his bed of rotten straw, his fingers 
 between the leaves of a book of meditations. Cap- 
 tured five years before and forgotten alike by the 
 English and French Governments, he had apatheti- 
 cally pined and starved to these last days of his life. 
 
 Recognizing him, Detricand carried him in his strong 
 arms to his own tent. For many hours the helpless
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 377 
 
 man lay insensible, but at last the flickering spirit 
 struggled back to light for a little space. When first 
 conscious of his surroundings, the poor captive felt 
 tremblingly in the pocket of his tattered vest. Not 
 finding what he searched for, he half started up. 
 Detricand hastened forward with a black leather-cov- 
 ered book in his hand. Mr. Dow's thin trembling 
 fingers clutched eagerly it was his only passion 
 at this journal of his life. As his grasp closed on it, 
 he recognized Detricand, and at the same time he saw 
 the cross and heart of the Vendee on his coat. 
 
 A victorious little laugh struggled in his throat. 
 " The Lord hath triumphed gloriously ! I could 
 drink some wine, monsieur," he added in the same 
 quaint clerical monotone. 
 
 Having drunk the wine he lay back murmuring 
 thanks and satisfaction, his eyes closed. Presently 
 they opened. He nodded at Detricand. 
 
 " I have not tasted wine these five years," he said, 
 then added, " you you took too much wine in Jer- 
 sey, did you not, monsieur ? I used to say an office 
 for you every Litany day, which was of a Friday." 
 
 His eyes again caught the cross and heart on Detri- 
 cand's coat, and they lighted up a little. " The Lord 
 hath triumphed gloriously ! " he repeated, and added 
 irrelevantly, " I suppose you are almost a captain 
 now? " 
 
 "A general almost," said Detricand with gentle 
 humor. 
 
 At that moment an orderly appeared at the tent- 
 door, bearing a letter for Detricand. 
 
 " From General Grandjon-Larisse of the Republican 
 army, your highness," said the orderly, handing the 
 letter. " The messenger awaits an answer."
 
 378 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 As Detricand hastily read, a look of astonishment 
 crossed over his face, and his brows gathered in 
 perplexity. After a minute's silence he said to the 
 orderly : 
 
 " I will send a reply to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes, your highness." The orderly saluted and 
 retired. 
 
 Mr. Dow half raised himself on his couch, and the 
 fevered eyes swallowed Detricand. 
 
 " You you are a prince, monsieur ? " he said. 
 
 Detricand glanced up from the letter he was reading 
 again, a grave and troubled look on his face. 
 
 " Prince of Vaufontaine they call me, but, as you 
 know, I am only a vagabond turned soldier," he said. 
 
 The dying man smiled to himself, a smile of the 
 sweetest vanity this side of death, for it seemed 
 to him that the Lord had granted him this brand 
 from the burning, and in supreme satisfaction, he 
 whispered : 
 
 " I used to say an office for you every Litany 
 which was a Friday, and twice, I remember, on two 
 Saints' days." 
 
 Suddenly another thought came to him, and his 
 lips moved he was murmuring to himself. He 
 would leave a goodly legacy to the captive of his 
 prayers. 
 
 Taking the leather-covered journal of his life in 
 both hands, he held it out. 
 
 " Highness, highness " said he. Death was break- 
 ing the voice in his throat. 
 
 Detricand stooped and ran an arm round his shoul- 
 der, but raising himself up Mr. Dow gently pushed 
 him back. The strength of his supreme hour was on 
 him.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 379 
 
 " Highness," said he, " I give you the book of five 
 years of my life not of its every day, but of its 
 moments, its great days. Read it," he added, "read 
 it wisely. Your own name is in it with the first 
 time I said an office for you." His breath failed him, 
 he fell back, and lay quiet for several minutes. 
 
 " You used to take too much wine," he said half- 
 wildly, starting up again. " Permit me your hand, 
 highness." 
 
 Detricand dropped on his knee and took the wasted 
 hand. Mr. Dow's eyes were glazing fast. With a 
 last effort he spoke his voice like a squeaking wind 
 in a pipe : 
 
 "The Lord hath triumphed gloriously" and he 
 leaned forward to kiss Detricand's hand. 
 
 But Death intervened, and his lips fell instead upon 
 the red cross on Detricand's breast, as he sank forward 
 lifeless. 
 
 That night, after Lorenzo Dow was laid in his 
 grave, Detricand read the little black leather-covered 
 journal bequeathed to him. Of the years of his cap- 
 tivity the records were few ; the book was chiefly 
 concerned with his career in Jersey. Detricand read 
 page after page, more often with a smile than not ; 
 yet it was the smile of one who knew life and would 
 scarce misunderstand the eccentric and honest soul of 
 the Reverend Lorenzo Dow. 
 
 Suddenly, however, he started, for he came upon 
 these lines : 
 
 " / have, in great privacy and with halting of spirit, married, this 
 day the third of January, Mr. Philip d 1 Avranche of His Majesty's 
 ship Narcissus, and Mistress Guida Landresse de Landresse, 
 both of this Island of Jersey ; by special license of the Bishop of 
 Winchester,"
 
 380 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 To this was added in comment : 
 
 " Unchurchmanlike, and most irregular. But the young gentleman's 
 tongue is gifted, and he pressed his cause heartily. Also Mr. 
 Shoreham of the Narcissus ' Mad Shoreham of Galway ' his 
 father was called I knew him added his voice to the request 
 also. Troubled in conscience thereby, yet I did marry the 
 twain gladly, for I think a worthier maid never lived than this 
 same Mistress Guida Landresse de Landresse, of the ancient 
 family of the de Mauprats. Yet I like not secrecy, though it be 
 but for a month or two months on my vow, I like it not for 
 one hour. 
 
 "Note: At leisure read of the family history of the de Mauprats 
 and the d'Avranches. 
 
 " N. : No more secret marriages nor special licenses most un- 
 canonical privileges ! 
 
 a N. : For ease of conscience write to His Grace at Lambeth upon 
 the point." 
 
 Detricand sprang to his feet. So this was the 
 truth about Philip d'Avranche, about Guida, alas ! 
 
 He paced the tent, his brain in a whirl. Stopping 
 at last, he took from his pocket the letter received 
 that afternoon from General Grandjon-Larisse, and 
 read it through again hurriedly. It proposed a truce, 
 and a meeting with himself at a village near, for con- 
 ference upon the surrender of Detricand's small army. 
 
 " A bitter end to all our fighting," said Detricand 
 aloud at last. " But he is right. It is now a mere 
 waste of life. I know my course. . . . Even to- 
 night," he added, "it shall be to-night." 
 
 Two hours later Detricand, Prince of Vaufontaine, 
 was closeted with General Grandjon-Larisse at a vil- 
 lage halfway between the Republican army and the 
 broken bands of the Vendee. 
 
 As lads D6tricand and Grandjon-Larisse had known
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 381 
 
 each other well. But since the war began Grand] on- 
 Larisse had gone one way, and he had gone the other, 
 bitter enemies in principle but friendly enough at 
 heart. They had not seen each other since the year 
 before Rullecour's invasion of Jersey. 
 
 " I had hoped to see you by sunset, monseigneur," 
 said Grandjon-Larisse after they had exchanged greet- 
 ings. 
 
 " It is through a melancholy chance you see me at 
 all," replied Detricand heavily. 
 
 " To what piteous accident am I indebted ? " 
 Grandjon-Larisse replied in an acid tone, for war had 
 given his temper an edge. "Were not my reasons 
 for surrender sound ? I eschewed eloquence I gave 
 you facts." 
 
 Detricand shook his head, but did not reply at once. 
 His brow was clouded. 
 
 "Let me speak fully and bluntly now," Grandjon- 
 Larisse went on. "You will not shrink from plain 
 truths, I know. We were friends ere you went adven- 
 turing with Rullecour. We are soldiers too ; and you 
 will understand I meant no bragging in my letter." 
 
 He raised his brows inquiringly, and Detricand 
 inclined his head in assent. 
 
 Without more ado, Grandjon-Larisse laid a map on 
 the table. " This will help us," he said briefly, then 
 added : " Look you, Prince, when war began the game 
 was all with you. At Thouars here " his words 
 followed his finger " at Fontenay, at Saumur, at 
 Torfou, at Coron, at Chateau-Gonthier, at Pontorson, 
 at Dol, at Antrain, you had us by the heels. Victory 
 was ours once to your thrice. Your blood was up. 
 You had great men great men," he repeated 
 politely.
 
 382 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Detricand bowed. " But see how all is changed," 
 continued the other. " See : by this forest of Vesins 
 de la Rochejaquelein fell. At Chollet " his finger 
 touched another point " Bonchamp died, and here 
 d'Elbee and Lescure were mortally wounded. At 
 Angers, Stofflet was sent to his account, and Charette 
 paid the price at Nantes." He held up his fingers. 
 "One two three four five six great men 
 gone ! " He paused, took a step away from the table, 
 and came back again. 
 
 Once more he dropped his finger on the map. 
 " Tinteniac is gone, and at Quiberon Peninsula your 
 friend Sombreuil was slain. And look you here," he 
 added in a lower voice, " at Laval my old friend the 
 Prince of Talmont was executed at his own chateau, 
 where I had spent many an hour with him." 
 
 Detricand's eyes flashed fire. "Why then permit 
 the murder, Monsieur le General ? " 
 
 Grand] on- Larisse started, his voice became hard at 
 once. " It is not a question of Talmont, or of you, 
 or of me, monseigneur. It is not a question of friend- 
 ship, not even of father, or brother, or son but of 
 France ! " 
 
 "And of God and the King," said Detricand 
 quickly. 
 
 Grand] on-Larisse shrugged his shoulders. "We 
 see with different ~eyes. We think with different 
 minds," and he stooped over the map again. 
 
 "We feel with different hearts," said Detricand. 
 " There is the difference between us between your 
 cause and mine. You are all for logic and perfection 
 in government, and to get it you go mad, and France 
 is made a shambles " 
 
 " War is cruelty, and none can make it gentle,"
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 383 
 
 interrupted Grandjon-Larisse. He turned to the 
 map once more. " And see, monseigneur, here at 
 La Vie your uncle the Prince of Vaufontaine died, 
 leaving you his name and a burden of hopeless war. 
 Now count them all over de la Rochejaquelein, 
 Bonchamp, d'Elbee, Lescure, Stofflet, Charette, Tal- 
 mont, Tinteniac, Sombreuil, Vaufontaine they are 
 all gone, your great men ! And who of chieftains 
 and armies are left ? Detricand of Vaufontaine and 
 a few brave men, no more. Believe me, mon- 
 seigneur, your game is hopeless by your grace, one 
 moment still," he added, as Detricand made an im- 
 patient gesture. " Hoche destroyed your army and 
 subdued the country two years ago. You broke out 
 again, and Hoche and I have beaten you again. Fight 
 on, with your doomed followers brave men, I admit 
 and Hoche will have no mercy. I can save your 
 peasants if you will yield now. We have had enough 
 of blood. Let us have peace. To proceed is certain 
 death to all, and your cause worse lost ! On my 
 honor, monseigneur, I do this at some risk, in memory 
 of old days. I have lost too many friends," he added 
 in a lower voice. 
 
 Detricand was moved. " I thank you for this 
 honest courtesy. I had almost misread your letter," 
 he answered. "Now I will speak freely. I had 
 hoped to leave my bones in Brittany. It was my 
 will to fight to the last, with my doomed followers as 
 you call them comrades and lovers of France I 
 say. And it was their wish to die with me. Till 
 this afternoon I had no other purpose. Willing deaths 
 ours, for I am persuaded, for every one of us that dies, 
 a hundred men will rise up again and take revenge 
 upon this red debauch of government ! "
 
 384 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " Have a care ! " said Grand] on- Larisse with sud- 
 den anger, his hand dropping upon the handle of his 
 sword. 
 
 " I ask leave for plain beliefs as you asked leave 
 for plain words. I must speak my mind, and I will 
 say now that it has changed in this matter of fighting 
 and surrender. I will tell you what has changed it," 
 and Detricand drew from his pocket Lorenzo Dow's 
 journal. "It concerns both you and me." 
 
 Grand] on-Larisse flashed a look of inquiry at him. 
 
 "It concerns your cousin the Comtesse Chanta- 
 voine and Philip d'Avranche, who calls himself her 
 husband and Due de Bercy." 
 
 He opened the journal, and handed it to Grandj on- 
 Larisse. " Read," he said. 
 
 As Grandj on-Larisse read, an oath broke from him. 
 "Is this authentic, monseigneur," he said in blank 
 astonishment " and the woman still lives ? " 
 
 Detricand told him all he knew, and added : 
 
 " A plain duty awaits us both, Monsieur le General. 
 You are concerned for the Comtesse Chantavoine ; I 
 am concerned for the duchy of Bercy and for this 
 poor lady this poor lady in Jersey," he added. 
 
 Grandj on-Larisse was white with rage. "The up- 
 start ! The English brigand ! " he said between his 
 teeth. 
 
 "You see now," said Detricand, "that though it 
 was my will to die righting your army in the last 
 trench " - 
 
 "Alone, I fear!" interjected Grandj on-Larisse with 
 curt admiration. 
 
 " My duty and my purpose go elsewhere," con- 
 tinued Detricand. " They take me to Jersey. And 
 yours, monsieur ? "
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 385 
 
 Grandjon-Larisse beat his foot impatiently on the 
 floor. " For the moment I cannot stir in this, though 
 I would give my life to do so," he answered bitterly. 
 " I am but now recalled to Paris by the Directory." 
 
 He stopped short in his restless pacing and held 
 out his hand. 
 
 " We are at one," he said " friends in this at least. 
 Command me when and how you will. Whatever I 
 can I will do, even at risk and peril. The English 
 brigand ! " he added bitterly. " But for this insult to 
 my blood, to the noble Chantavoine, he shall pay the 
 price to me yes, by the heel of God ! " 
 
 " I hope to be in Jersey three days hence," said 
 Detricand.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE bell on the top of the Cohue Royale clattered 
 like the tongue of a scolding fishwife. For it 
 was the fourth of October, and the opening of the 
 Assise d'Heritage. 
 
 This particular session of the Court was to proceed 
 with unusual spirit and importance, for after the read- 
 ing of the King's Proclamation, the Royal Court and 
 the States were to present the formal welcome of the 
 Island to Admiral Prince Philip d'Avranche, Due de 
 Bercy ; likewise to offer a bounty to all Jerseymen 
 enlisting under him. 
 
 The Island was en fete. There had not been such 
 a year of sensations since the Battle of Jersey. Long 
 before chicane-chicane ceased clanging over the Vier 
 Marchi the body of the Court was filled. The Gov- 
 ernor, the Bailly, the jurats, the seigneurs and the 
 dames des fiefs, the avocats with their knowledge of 
 the ancient custom of Normandy and the devious in- 
 roads made upon it by the customs of Jersey, the mil- 
 itary, all were in their places ; the officers of the navy 
 had arrived, all save one : and he was to be the chief 
 figure of this function. With each arrival the people 
 cheered and the trumpets blared. The Islanders in 
 the Vier Marchi turned to the booths for refreshment, 
 or to the printing-machine set up near La Pyramide, 
 and bought halfpenny chap-sheets telling of recent 
 defeats of the French; though mostly they told in
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 387 
 
 ebullient words of the sea-fight which had made Philip 
 d'Avranche an admiral, and of his elevation to a sov- 
 ereign dukedom. The crowds restlessly awaited his 
 coming now. 
 
 Inside the Court there was more restlessness still. 
 It was now many minutes beyond the hour fixed. 
 The Bailly whispered to the Governor, the Governor 
 to his aide, and the aide sought the naval officers 
 present ; but these could give no explanation of the 
 delay. The Comtesse Chantavoine was in her place 
 of honor beside the Attorney-General ; but Prince 
 Philip and his flag-lieutenant came not. 
 
 The Comtesse Chantavoine was the one person 
 outwardly unmoved. What she thought, who could 
 tell ? Hundreds of eyes scanned her face, yet she 
 seemed unconscious of them, indifferent to them. 
 What would not the Bailly have given for her calm- 
 ness ! What would not the Greffier have given for 
 her importance ! She drew every eye by virtue of 
 something which was more than the name of Duchesse 
 de Bercy. The face, the bearing, had an unconscious 
 dignity, a living command and composure : the heri- 
 tage, perhaps, of a race ever more fighters than cour- 
 tiers, rather desiring good sleep after good warfare 
 than luxurious peace. 
 
 The silence, the tension grew painful. A whole 
 half-hour had the Court waited beyond its time. At 
 last, however, cheers arose outside, and all knew that 
 the Prince was coming. Presently the doors were 
 thrown open, two halberdiers stepped inside, and an 
 officer of the Court announced Admiral his Serene 
 Highness Prince Philip d'Avranche, Due de Bercy. 
 
 " Oui-gia, think of that ! " said a voice from some- 
 where in the hall.
 
 388 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Philip heard it, and he frowned, for he recognized 
 Dormy Jamais' voice. Where it came from he knew 
 not, nor did any one ; for the daft one was snugly 
 bestowed above a middle doorway in what was half 
 balcony, half cornice. 
 
 When Philip had taken his place beside the Com- 
 tesse Chantavoine, came the formal opening of the 
 Cour d'Heritage. 
 
 The Comtesse's eyes fixed themselves upon Philip. 
 There was that in his manner which puzzled and 
 evaded her clear intuition. Some strange circum- 
 stance must have delayed him, for she saw that his 
 flag-lieutenant was disturbed, and this she felt sure 
 was not due to delay alone. She was barely conscious 
 that the Bailly had been addressing Philip, until he 
 had stopped and Philip had risen to reply. 
 
 He had scarcely begun speaking when the doors 
 were suddenly thrown open again, and a woman came 
 forward quickly. The instant she entered Philip saw 
 her, and stopped speaking. Every one turned. 
 
 It was Guida. In the silence, looking neither to 
 right nor left, she advanced almost to where the 
 Greffier sat, and dropping on her knee and looking 
 up to the Bailly and the jurats, stretched out her 
 hands and cried : 
 
 " Haro, haro ! a Vaide, mon Prince, on me fait 
 tort!" 
 
 If one rose from the dead suddenly to command 
 them to an awed obedience, Jerseymen could not be 
 more at the mercy of the apparition than at the call 
 of one who cries in their midst, "Haro! Haro!" 
 that ancient relic of the custom of Normandy and 
 Rollo the Dane. 
 
 To this hour the Jerseyman maketh his cry unto
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 389 
 
 Rollo, and the Royal Court whose right to respond 
 to this cry was confirmed by King John and after- 
 wards by Charles must listen, and every one must 
 heed. That cry of Haro makes the workman drop 
 his tools, the woman her knitting, the militiaman his 
 musket, the fisherman his net, the schoolmaster his 
 birch, and the ecrivain his babble, to await the judg- 
 ment of the Royal Court. 
 
 Every jurat fixed his eye upon Guida as though 
 she had come to claim his life. The Bailly's lips 
 opened twice as though to speak, but no words came. 
 The Governor sat with hands clenched upon his chair- 
 arm. The crowd breathed in gasps of excitement. 
 The Comtesse Chantavoine looked at Philip, looked 
 at Guida, and knew that here was the opening of the 
 scroll she had not been able to unfold. Now she 
 should understand that something which had made 
 the old Due de Bercy with his last breath say, Dorit 
 be afraid ! 
 
 Philip stood moveless, his eyes steady, his face 
 bitter, determined. Yet there was in his look, fixed 
 upon Guida, some strange mingling of pity and pur- 
 pose. It was as though two spirits were fighting in 
 his face for mastery. The Countess touched him 
 upon the arm, but he took no notice. Drawing back 
 in her seat she looked at him and at Guida, as one 
 might watch the balances of justice weighing life and 
 death. She could not read this story, but one glance 
 at the faces of the crowd round her made her aware 
 that here was a tale of the past which all knew in 
 little or in much. 
 
 " Haro, haro ! a I' aide, mon Prince, on me fait 
 tort ! " What did she mean, this woman with the 
 exquisite face, alive with power and feeling, indigna-
 
 390 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 tion and appeal ? To what prince did she cry ? for 
 what aid ? who trespassed upon her ? 
 
 The Bailly now stood up, a frown upon his face. 
 He knew what scandal had said concerning Guida 
 and Philip. He had never liked Guida, for in the 
 first days of his importance she had, for a rudeness 
 upon his part meant as a compliment, thrown his hat 
 the Lieutenant-Bailly's hat ! into the Fauxbie 
 by the Vier Prison. He thought her intrusive thus 
 to stay these august proceedings of the Royal Court, 
 by an appeal for he knew not what. 
 
 " What is the trespass, and who the trespasser ? " 
 asked the Bailly sternly. 
 
 Guida rose to her feet. 
 
 " Philip d'Avranche has trespassed," she said. 
 
 " What Philip d'Avranche, mademoiselle ? " asked 
 the Bailly in a rough, ungenerous tone. 
 
 " Admiral Philip d'Avranche, known as his serene 
 highness the Due de Bercy, has trespassed on me," 
 she answered. 
 
 She did not look at Philip, her eyes were fixed upon 
 the Bailly and the jurats. 
 
 The Bailly whispered to one or two jurats. 
 
 " Wherein is the trespass ? " asked the Bailly 
 sharply. "Tell your story." 
 
 After an instant's painful pause, Guida told her 
 tale. 
 
 " Last night at Plemont," she said in a voice trem- 
 bling a little at first but growing stronger as she 
 went on, " I left my child, my Guilbert, in his bed, 
 with Dormy Jamais to watch beside him, while I went 
 to my boat which lies far from my hut. I left Dormy 
 Jamais with the child because I was afraid because 
 I had been afraid, these three days past, that Philip
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 391 
 
 d'Avranche would steal him from me. I was gone 
 but half an hour ; it was dark when I returned. I 
 found the door open, I found Dormy Jamais lying 
 unconscious on the floor, and my child's bed empty. 
 He was gone, my child, my Guilbert ! He was stolen 
 from me by Philip d'Avranche, Due de Bercy." 
 
 "What proof have you that it was the Due de 
 Bercy ? " asked the Bailly. 
 
 " I have told your honor that Dormy Jamais was 
 there. He struck Dormy Jamais to the ground, and 
 rode off with my child." 
 
 The Bailly sniffed. 
 
 "Dormy Jamais is a simpleton an idiot." 
 
 "Then let the Prince speak," she answered 
 quickly. 
 
 She turned and looked Philip in the eyes. He did 
 not answer a word. He had not moved since she 
 entered the court-room. He kept his eyes fixed on 
 her, save for one or two swift glances towards the 
 jurats. The crisis of his life had come. He was 
 ready to meet it now : anything would be better than 
 all he had gone through during the past ten days. In 
 mad impulse he had stolen the child, with the wild 
 belief that through it he could reach Guida, could 
 bring her to him. For now this woman who despised 
 him, hated him, he desired more than all else in the 
 world. Ambition has her own means of punishing. 
 For her gifts of place or fortune she puts some im- 
 possible hunger in the soul of the victim which leads 
 him at last to his own destruction. With all the 
 world conquered there is still some mystic island of 
 which she whispers, and to gain this her votary risks 
 all and loses all. 
 
 The Bailly saw by Philip's face that Guida had
 
 392 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 spoken truth. But he whispered with the jurats 
 eagerly, and presently he said with brusque decision : 
 
 " Our law of Haro may only apply to trespass upon 
 property. Its intent is merely civil." 
 
 Which having said he opened and shut his mouth 
 with gusto, and sat back as though expecting Guida to 
 retire. 
 
 " Your law of Haro, Monsieur le Bailly ! " Guida 
 answered with flashing eyes, her voice ringing out 
 fearlessly. " Your law of Haro ! The law of Haro 
 comes from the custom of Normandy, which is the 
 law of Jersey. You make its intent this, you make it 
 that, but nothing can alter the law, and what has been 
 done in its name for generations. Is it so, that if 
 Philip d' Avranche trespass on my land, or my hearth, 
 I may cry Haro, haro ! and you will take heed ? 
 But when it is blood of my blood, bone of my bone, 
 flesh of my flesh that he has wickedly seized ; when 
 it is the head I have pillowed on my breast for four 
 years the child that has known no father, his 
 mother's only companion in her unearned shame, the 
 shame of an outcast then is it so that your law of 
 Haro may not apply ! Messieurs, it is the justice of 
 Haro that I ask, not your lax usage of it. From this 
 Prince Philip I appeal to the spirit of Prince Rollo 
 who made this law. I appeal to the law of Jersey 
 which is the Custom of Normandy. There are pre- 
 cedents enough, as you well know, messieurs. I 
 demand I demand my child ! " 
 
 The Bailly and the jurats were in a hopeless quan- 
 dary. They glanced furtively at Philip. They were 
 half afraid that she was right, and yet were timorous 
 of deciding against the Prince. 
 
 She saw their hesitation. " I call on you to fulfill
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 393 
 
 the law. I have cried Haro, haro ! and what I have 
 cried men will hear outside this Court, outside this 
 Isle of Jersey ; for I appeal against a sovereign duke 
 of Europe." 
 
 The Bailly and the jurats were overwhelmed by the 
 situation. Guida's brain was a hundred times clearer 
 than theirs. Danger, peril to her child, had aroused 
 in her every force of intelligence ; she had the daring, 
 the desperation of the lioness fighting for her own. 
 
 Philip himself solved the problem. Turning to the 
 bench of jurats, he said quietly : 
 
 " She is quite right ; the law of Haro is with her. 
 It must apply." 
 
 The Court was in a greater maze than ever. Was 
 he then about to restore to Guida her child ? After 
 an instant's pause Philip continued : 
 
 " But in this case there was no trespass, for the 
 child is my own." 
 
 Every eye in the Cohue Royale fixed itself upon 
 him, then upon Guida, then upon her who was known 
 as the Duchesse de Bercy. The face of the Comtesse 
 Chantavoine was like marble, white and cold. As 
 the words were spoken a sigh broke from her, and 
 there came to Philip's mind that distant day in the 
 council chamber at Bercy when for one moment he 
 was upon his trial ; but he did not turn and look at her 
 now. It was all pitiable, horrible ; but this open 
 avowal, insult as it was to the Comtesse Chantavoine, 
 could be no worse than the rumors which would surely 
 have reached her one day. So let the game fare on. 
 He had thrown down the glove now, and he could not 
 see the end; he was playing for one thing only 
 for the woman he had lost, for his own child. If 
 everything went by the board, why, it must go by the
 
 394 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 board. It all flashed through his brain : to-morrow 
 he must send in his resignation to the Admiralty 
 so much at once. Then Bercy come what might, 
 there was work for him to do at Bercy. He was a 
 sovereign duke of Europe, as Guida had said. He 
 would fight for the duchy for his son's sake. Stand- 
 ing there he could feel again the warm cheek of the 
 child upon his own, as last night he felt it, riding 
 across the Island from Plemont to the village near 
 Mont Orgueil. That very morning he had hurried 
 down to a little cottage in the village and seen it lying 
 asleep, well cared for by a peasant woman. He knew 
 that to-morrow the scandal of the thing would belong 
 to the world, but he was not dismayed. He had tossed 
 his fame as an admiral into the gutter, but Bercy 
 still was left. All the native force, the stubborn 
 vigor, the obdurate spirit of the soil of Jersey of 
 which he was, its arrogant self-will, drove him straight 
 into this last issue. What he had got at so much 
 cost he would keep against all the world ; he 
 would 
 
 But he stopped short in his thoughts, for there now 
 at the court-room door stood Detricand, the Chouan 
 chieftain ! 
 
 He drew his hand quickly across his eyes. It 
 seemed so wild, so fantastic, that of all men, Detri- 
 cand should be there. His gaze was so fixed that 
 every one turned to see every one save Guida. 
 
 Guida was not conscious of this new figure in the 
 scene. In her heart was fierce tumult. Her hour 
 had come at last, the hour in which she must declare 
 that she was the wife of this man. She had no proofs. 
 No doubt he would deny it now, for he knew how she 
 loathed him. But she must tell her tale.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 395 
 
 She was about to address the Bailly, but, as though 
 a pang of pity shot through her heart, she turned 
 instead and looked at the Comtesse Chantavoine. She 
 could find it in her to pause in compassion for this 
 poor lady, more wronged than herself had been. Their 
 eyes met. One instant's flash of intelligence between 
 the souls of two women, and Guida knew that the look 
 of the Comtesse Chantavoine had said, " Speak for 
 your child." 
 
 Thereupon she spoke. 
 
 "Messieurs, Prince Philip d'Avranche is my hus- 
 band." 
 
 Every one in the court-room stirred with excite- 
 ment. Some weak-nerved woman with a child at her 
 breast began to cry, and the little one joined its feeble 
 wail to hers. 
 
 " Five years ago," Guida continued, " I was mar- 
 ried to Philip d'Avranche by the Reverend Lorenzo 
 Dow in the church of St. Michael's " 
 
 The Bailly interrupted with a grunt. " H'm 
 Lorenzo Dow is well out of the way have done ! " 
 
 " May I not then be heard in my own defense ! " 
 Guida cried in indignation. " For years I have suf- 
 fered silently slander and shame. Now I speak for 
 myself at last, and you will not hear me ! I come 
 to this court of justice, and my word is doubted ere 
 I can prove the truth! Is it for judges to assail 
 one so ? Five years ago I was married secretly, in 
 St. Michael's Church secretly, because Philip 
 d'Avranche urged it, pleaded for it. An open mar- 
 riage, he said, would hinder his promotion. We were 
 wedded, and he left me. War broke out. I remained 
 silent according to my promise to him. Then came 
 the time when in the States of Bercy he denied that
 
 396 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 he had a wife. From the hour I knew he had done 
 so I denied him. My child was born in shame and 
 sorrow, I myself was outcast in this island. But my 
 conscience was clear before Heaven. I took myself 
 and my child out from among you and went to Ple- 
 mont. I waited, believing that God's justice was 
 surer than man's. At last Philip d'Avranche my 
 husband returned here. He invaded my home, and 
 begged me to come with my child to him as his wife 
 he who had so evilly wronged me, and wronged another 
 more than me. I refused. Then he stole my child 
 from me. You ask for proofs of my marriage. Mes- 
 sieurs,! have no proofs. I know not where Lorenzo 
 Dow may be found. The register of St. Michael's 
 Church, as you all know, was stolen. Mr. Shoreham, 
 who witnessed the marriage, is dead. But you must 
 believe me. There is one witness left, if he will but 
 speak even the man who married me, the man that 
 for one day called me his wife. I ask him now to tell 
 the truth." 
 
 She turned towards Philip, her clear eyes piercing 
 him through and through. 
 
 What was going on in his mind neither she nor any 
 in that court might ever know, for in the pause, the 
 Comtesse Chantavoine rose up, and, passing steadily 
 by Philip, came to Guida. Looking her in the eyes 
 with an incredible sorrow, she took her hand, and 
 turned towards Philip with infinite scorn. 
 
 A strange, thrilling silence fell upon all the Court. 
 The jurats shifted in their seats with excitement. The 
 Bailly, in a hoarse, dry voice said : 
 
 " We must have proof. There must be record as 
 well as witness." 
 
 From near the great doorway came a voice : " The
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 397 
 
 record is here ! " and De"tricand stepped forward, in 
 his uniform of the army of the Vendee. 
 
 A hushed murmur ran round the room. The jurats 
 whispered to each other. 
 
 " Who are you, monsieur ? " said the Bailly. 
 
 "I am Detricand, Prince of Vaufontaine," he re- 
 plied, "for whom the Comtesse Chantavoine will 
 vouch," he added in a pained voice, and bowed low to 
 her and to Guida. " I am but this hour landed. I 
 came to Jersey on this very matter." 
 
 He did not wait for the Bailly to reply, but began 
 to tell of the death of Lorenzo Dow, and, taking from 
 his pocket the little black journal, opened it and read 
 aloud the record written therein by the dead clergy- 
 man. Having read it, he passed it on to the Greffier, 
 who handed it up to the Bailly. Another moment's 
 pause ensued. To the most ignorant and casual of 
 the onlookers the strain was great ; to those chiefly 
 concerned it was supreme. The Bailly and the j urats 
 whispered together. Now at last a spirit of justice 
 was roused in them. But the law's technicalities 
 were still to rule. 
 
 The Bailly closed the book, and handed it back to 
 the Greffier with the words : " This is not proof though 
 it is evidence." 
 
 Guida felt her heart sink within her. The Comtesse 
 Chantavoine, who still held her hand, pressed it, though 
 herself cold as ice with sickness of spirit. 
 
 At that instant, and from Heaven knows where 
 as a bird comes from a bush a little gray man came 
 quickly among them all, carrying spread open before 
 him a book almost as big as himself. Handing it up 
 to the Bailly, he said, " Here is the proof, Monsieur le 
 Bailly, here is the whole proof."
 
 398 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The Bailly leaned over and drew up the book. The 
 jurats crowded near and a dozen heads gathered about 
 the open volume. 
 
 At last the Bailly looked up and addressed the 
 Court solemnly. 
 
 " It is the lost register of St. Michael's," he said. 
 " It contains the record of the marriage of Lieutenant 
 Philip d'Avranche and Guida Landresse de Landresse, 
 both of the Isle of Jersey, by special license of the 
 Bishop of Winchester." 
 
 "Precisely so, precisely so," said the little gray 
 figure the Chevalier Orvillier du Champsavoys de 
 Beaumanoir. Tears ran down his cheeks as he turned 
 towards Guida, but he was smiling too. 
 
 Guida's eyes were upon the Bailly. "And the 
 child ? " she cried with a broken voice "the child?" 
 
 "The child goes with its mother," answered the 
 Bailly firmly.
 
 BOOK V 
 
 [DURING ONE YEAR LATER] 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE day that saw Guida's restitution in the 
 Cohue Royale brought but further trouble to 
 Ranulph Delagarde. The Chevalier had shown him 
 the lost register of St. Michael's, and with a heart 
 less heavy, he left the Island once more. Intending 
 to join Detricand in the Vendee, he had scarcely 
 landed at St. Malo when he was seized by a press- 
 gang and carried aboard a French frigate commis- 
 sioned to ravage the coasts of British America. He 
 had stubbornly resisted the press, but had been 
 knocked on the head, and there was an end on it. 
 
 In vain he protested that he was an Englishman. 
 They laughed at him. His French was perfect, his 
 accent Norman, his was a Norman face evidence 
 enough. If he was not a citizen of France he should 
 be, and he must be. Ranulph decided that it was 
 needless to throw away his life. It was better to 
 make a show of submission. So long as he had not 
 to fight British ships, he could afford to wait. Time 
 enough then for him to take action. When the 
 chance came he would escape this bondage ; mean- 
 while remembering his four years' service with the 
 artillery at Elizabeth Castle, he asked to be made a 
 gunner, and his request was granted.
 
 400 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 The Victoire sailed the seas battle-hungry, and pre- 
 sently appeased her appetite among Dutch and Danish 
 privateers. Such excellent work did Ranulph against 
 the Dutchmen, that Richambeau, the captain, gave 
 him a gun for himself, and after they had fought the 
 Danes made him a master-gunner. Of the largest 
 gun on the Victoire Ranulph grew so fond that at last 
 he called her ma couzaine. 
 
 Days and weeks passed, until one morning came 
 the cry of " Land ! Land ! " and once again Ranulph 
 saw British soil the tall cliffs of the peninsula of 
 Gaspe". Gasp6 that was the ultima Thule to which 
 Mattingley and Carterette had gone ! 
 
 Presently, as the Victoire came nearer to the coast, 
 he could see a bay and a great rock in the distance, 
 and, as they bore in now, the rock seemed to stretch 
 out like a vast wall into the gulf. As he stood watch- 
 ing and leaning on ma couzaine, a sailor near him said 
 that the bay and the rock were called Perce. 
 
 Perce Bay that was the exact point for which 
 Elie Mattingley and Carterette had sailed with Sebas- 
 tian Alixandre. How strange it was ! He had bid- 
 den Carterette good-by forever, yet fate had now 
 brought him to the very spot whither she had gone. 
 
 The Rock of Perce was a wall, three hundred feet 
 high, and the wall was an island that had once been a 
 long promontory like a battlement, jutting out hun- 
 dreds of yards into the gulf. At one point it was 
 pierced by an archway. It was almost sheer ; its 
 top was flat and level. Upon the sides there was no 
 verdure ; upon the top centuries had made a green 
 field. The wild geese as they flew northward, myriad 
 flocks of gulls, gannets, cormorants, and all manner of 
 fowl of the sea, had builded upon the summit until it
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 401 
 
 was rich with grass and shrubs. The nations of the 
 air sent their legions here to bivouac, and the discord 
 of a hundred languages might be heard far out to sea, 
 far in upon the land. Millions of the races of the air 
 swarmed there ; at times the air above was darkened 
 by clouds of them. No fog-bell on a rock-bound coast 
 might warn mariners more ominously than these bat- 
 talions of adventurers on the Perce Rock. 
 
 No human being had ever mounted to this eyrie. 
 Generations of fishermen had looked upon the yellow- 
 ish-red limestone of the Perce Rock with a valorous 
 eye, but it would seem that not even the tiny clinging 
 hoof of a chamois or wild goat might find a foothold 
 upon the straight sides of it. 
 
 Ranulph was roused out of the spell Perce cast over 
 him by seeing the British flag upon a building by the 
 shore of the bay they were now entering. His heart 
 gave a great bound. Yes, it was the English flag 
 defiantly flying. And more, there were two old 
 12-pounders being trained on the French squadron. 
 For the first time in years a low laugh burst from his 
 lips. 
 
 " O mai grand doux ! " he said in the Jersey patois, 
 " only one man in the world would do that. Only 
 Elie Mattingley ! " 
 
 At that moment, Mattingley now issued from a 
 wooden fishing-shed with Sebastian Alixandre and 
 three others armed with muskets, and passed to the 
 little fort on which flew the British and Jersey flags. 
 Ranulph heard a guffaw behind. Richambeau, the 
 captain, confronted him. 
 
 " That 's a big splutter in a little pot, gunner," said 
 he. He put his telescope to his eye. " The Lord 
 protect us," he cried, "they're going to fight my
 
 402 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 ship ! " He laughed again till the tears came. " Son 
 of Peter, but it is droll that a farce an diable ! 
 They have humor, these fisher-folk, eh, gunner ? " 
 
 " Mattingley will fight you just the same," answered 
 Ranulph coolly. 
 
 " Oh ho, you know these people, my gunner ? " 
 asked Richambeau. 
 
 "All my life," answered Ranulph, " and, by your 
 leave, I will tell you how." 
 
 Not waiting for permission, after the manner of his 
 country, he told Richambeau of his Jersey birth and 
 bringing-up, and how he was the victim of the press- 
 gang. 
 
 "Very good," said Richambeau. " You Jersey folk 
 were once Frenchmen, and now that you 're French 
 again, you shall do something for the flag. You see 
 that 12-pounder yonder to the right ? Very well, 
 dismount it. Then we '11 send in a flag of truce, and 
 parley with this Mattingley, for his jests are worth 
 attention and politeness. There 's a fellow at the gun 
 no, he has gone. Dismount the right-hand gun at 
 one shot. Ready now. Get a good range." 
 
 The whole matter went through Ranulph's mind as 
 the captain spoke. If he refused to fire, he would 
 be strung up to the yardarm ; if he fired and missed, 
 perhaps other gunners would fire, and once started 
 they might raze the fishing-post. If he dismounted 
 the gun, the matter would probably remain only a 
 jest, for such as yet Richambeau regarded it. 
 
 Ranulph ordered the tackle and breechings cast 
 away, had off the apron, pricked a cartridge, primed, 
 bruised the priming, and covered the vent. Then he 
 took his range steadily, quietly. There was a brisk 
 wind blowing from the south he must allow for
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 403 
 
 that ; but the wind was stopped somewhat in its 
 course by the Perce Rock he must allow for that. 
 
 All was ready. Suddenly a girl came running 
 round the corner of the building. 
 
 It was Carterette. She was making for the right- 
 hand gun. Ranulph started, the hand that held the 
 match trembled. 
 
 "Fire, you fool, or you'll kill the girl!" cried 
 Richambeau. 
 
 Ranulph laid a hand on himself as it were. Every 
 nerve in his body tingled, his legs trembled, but his 
 eye was steady. He took the sight once more coolly, 
 then blew on the match. Now the girl was within 
 thirty feet of the gun. 
 
 He quickly blew on the match again, and fired. 
 
 When the smoke cleared away he saw that the gun 
 was dismounted, and not ten feet from it stood Car- 
 terette looking at it dazedly. 
 
 He heard a laugh behind him. There was Richam- 
 beau walking away, telescope under arm, even as the 
 other i2-pounder on shore replied impudently to the 
 gun he had fired. 
 
 " A good aim ! " he heard Richambeau say, jerking 
 a finger backwards towards him. 
 
 Was it then ? said Ranulph to himself ; was it 
 indeed ? Ba su, it was the last shot he would ever 
 fire against aught English, here or elsewhere. 
 
 Presently he saw a boat drawing away with the flag 
 of truce in the hands of a sous-lieutenant. His mind 
 was made up ; he would escape to-night. His place 
 was there beside his fellow-countrymen. He motioned 
 away the men of the gun. He would load ma cou- 
 zaine himself for the last time. 
 
 As he sponged the gun he made his plans. S^v^sh-
 
 404 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 swash the sponge-staff ran in and out he would try 
 to steal away at dog-watch. He struck the sponge 
 smartly on ma couzaine's muzzle, cleansing it he 
 would have to slide into the water like a rat and swim 
 very softly to the shore. He reached for a fresh car- 
 tridge, and thrust it into the throat of the gun, and as 
 the seam was laid downwards he said to himself that 
 he could swim under water, if discovered as he left 
 the Victoire. As he unstopped the touch-hole and 
 tried with the priming-wire whether the cartridge was 
 home, he was stunned by a fresh thought. 
 
 Richambeau would send a squad of men to search 
 for him, and if he was not found they would probably 
 raze the post, or take its people prisoners. As he 
 put the apron carefully on ma couzaine, he determined 
 that he could not take refuge with the Mattingleys. 
 Neither would it do to make for the woods of the 
 interior, for still Richambeau might revenge himself 
 on the fishing-post. What was to be done? He 
 turned his eyes helplessly on Perce Rock. 
 
 As he looked, a new idea came to him. If only he 
 could get to the top of that massive wall, not a hun- 
 dred fleets could dislodge him. One musket could 
 defeat the forlorn hope of any army. Besides, if he 
 took refuge on the rock, there could be no grudge 
 against Perce village or the Mattingleys, and Richam- 
 beau would not injure them. 
 
 He eyed the wall closely. The blazing sunshine 
 showed it up in a hard light, and he studied every 
 square yard of it with a telescope. At one point the 
 wall was not quite perpendicular. There were also 
 narrow ledges, lumps of stone, natural steps and little 
 pinnacles which the fingers could grip and where a 
 man might rest. Yes, he would try it.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 405 
 
 It was the last quarter of the moon, and the neap- 
 tide was running low when he let himself softly down 
 into the water from the Victoire. The blanket tied 
 on his head held food kept from his rations, with 
 stone and flint and other things. He was not seen, 
 and he dropped away quietly astern, getting clear of 
 the Victoire while the moon was partially obscured. 
 
 Now it was a question when his desertion would be 
 discovered. All he asked was two clear hours. By 
 that time the deed would be done, if he could climb 
 Perce Rock at all. 
 
 He touched bottom. He was on Perce sands. 
 The blanket on his head was scarcely wetted. He 
 wrung the water out of his clothes, and ran softly up 
 the shore. Suddenly he was met by a cry of Qui va 
 la ? and he stopped short at the point of Elie Mat- 
 tingley's bayonet. 
 
 "Hush ! " said Ranulph, and gave his name. 
 
 Mattingley nearly dropped his musket in surprise. 
 He soon knew the tale of Ranulph's misfortunes, but 
 he had not yet been told of his present plans when 
 there came a quick footstep, and Carterette was at 
 her father's side. Unlike Mattingley, she did drop 
 her musket at the sight of Ranulph. Her lips opened, 
 but at first she could not speak this was more than 
 she had ever dared hope for, since those dark days in 
 Jersey. Ranulph here ! She pressed her hands to 
 her heart to stop its throbbing. 
 
 Presently she was trembling with excitement at the 
 story of how Ranulph had been pressed at St. Malo, 
 and all that came after until this very day. 
 
 " Go along with Carterette," said Mattingley. 
 " Alixandre is at the house ; he '11 help you away into 
 the woods."
 
 406 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 As Ranulph hurried away with Carterette, he told 
 her his design. Suddenly she stopped short. 
 
 "Ranulph Delagarde," she said vehemently, "you 
 can't climb Perce" Rock. No one has ever done it, 
 and you must not try. Oh, I know you are a great 
 man, but you must n't think you can do this. You 
 will be safe where we shall hide you. You shall not 
 climb the rock ah no, ba su ! " 
 
 He pointed towards the Post. " They would n't 
 leave a stick standing there if you hid me. No, I 'm 
 going to the top of the rock." 
 
 " Man doux terrible ! " she said in sheer bewilder- 
 ment, and then was suddenly inspired. At last her 
 time had come. 
 
 "Pardingue," she said, clutching his arm, "if you 
 go to the top of Perce Rock, so will I ! " 
 
 In spite of his anxiety he almost laughed. 
 
 " But see but see," he said, and his voice dropped ; 
 "you couldn't stay up there with me all alone, Gar^on 
 Carterette. And Richambeau would be firing on you, 
 too ! " 
 
 She was very angry, but she made no reply, and he 
 continued quickly : 
 
 " I '11 go straight to the rock now. When they miss 
 me there '11 be a pot boiling, you may believe. If I 
 get up," he added, " I '11 let a string down for a rope 
 you must get for me. Once on top they can't hurt 
 me. . . . Eh ben, a bi'tdt, Gargon Carterette ! " 
 
 " O my good ! O my good ! " said the girl with a 
 sudden change of mood. "To think you have come 
 like this ! and perhaps " But she dashed the tears 
 from her eyes, and bade him go on. 
 
 The tide was well out, the moon shining brightly.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 407 
 
 Ranulph reached the point where, if the rock was to 
 be scaled at all, the ascent must be made. For a dis- 
 tance there was shelving where foothold might be 
 had by a fearless man with a steady head and sure 
 balance. After that came about a hundred feet where 
 he would have to draw himself up by juttings and 
 crevices hand over hand, where was no natural path- 
 way. Woe be to him if head grew dizzy, foot slipped, 
 or strength gave out ; he would be broken to pieces 
 on the hard sand below. That second stage once 
 passed, the ascent thence to the top would be easier ; 
 for though nearly as steep, it had more ledges, and 
 offered fair vantage to a man with a foot like a moun- 
 tain goat. Ranulph had been aloft all weathers in his 
 time, and his toes were as strong as another man's 
 foot, and surer. 
 
 He started. The toes caught in crevices, held on 
 to ledges, glued themselves on to smooth surfaces ; 
 the knees clung like a rough-rider's to a saddle ; the 
 big hands, when once they got a purchase, fastened 
 like an air-cup. 
 
 Slowly, slowly up, foot by foot, yard by yard, until 
 one-third of the distance was climbed. The suspense 
 and strain were immeasurable. But he struggled on 
 and on, and at last reached a sort of flying pinnacle of 
 rock, like a hook for the shields of the gods. 
 
 Here he ventured to look below, expecting to see 
 Carterette, but there was only the white sand, and no 
 sound save the long wash of the gulf. He drew a 
 horn of arrack from his pocket and drank. He had 
 two hundred feet more to climb, and the next hun- 
 dred would be the great ordeal. 
 
 He started again. This was travail indeed. His 
 rough fingers, his toes, hard as horn almost, began
 
 408 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 bleeding. Once or twice he swung quite clear of the 
 wall, hanging by his fingers to catch a surer foothold 
 to right or left, and just getting it sometimes by an 
 inch or less. The tension was terrible. His head 
 seemed to swell and fill with blood : on the top it 
 throbbed till it was ready to burst. His neck was 
 aching horribly with constant looking up, the skin of 
 his knees was gone, his ankles bruised. But he must 
 keep on till he got to the top, or until he fell. 
 
 He was fighting on now in a kind of dream, quite 
 apart from all usual feelings of this world. The earth 
 itself seemed far away, and he was toiling among 
 vastnesses, himself a giant with colossal frame and 
 huge, sprawling limbs. It was like a gruesome vision 
 of the night, when the body is an elusive, stupendous 
 mass that falls into space after a confused struggle 
 with immensities. It was all mechanical, vague, almost 
 numb, this effort to overcome a mountain. Yet it was 
 precise and hugely expert, too ; for though there was 
 a strange mist on the brain, the body felt its way with 
 a singular certainty, as might some molluscan dweller 
 of the sea, sensitive like a plant, intuitive like an ani- 
 mal. Yet at times it see'med that this vast body 
 overcoming the mountain must let go its hold and 
 slide away into the darkness of .the depths. 
 
 Now there was a strange convulsive shiver in every 
 nerve God have mercy, the time was come ! . . . 
 No, not yet. At the very instant when it seemed the 
 panting flesh and blood would be shaken off by the 
 granite force repelling it, the fingers, like long anten- 
 nae, touched horns of rock jutting out from ledges on 
 the third escarpment of the wall. Here was the last 
 point of the worst stage of the journey. Slowly, 
 heavily, the body drew up to the shelf of limestone,
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 409 
 
 and crouched in an inert bundle. There it lay for a 
 long time. 
 
 While the long minutes went by, a voice kept call- 
 ing up from below ; calling, calling, at first eagerly, 
 then anxiously, then with terror. By and by the 
 bundle of life stirred, took shape, raised itself, and 
 was changed into a man again, a thinking, conscious 
 being, who now understood the meaning of this sound 
 coming up from the earth below or was it the sea ? 
 A human voice had at last pierced the awful exhaus- 
 tion of the deadly labor, the peril and strife, which had 
 numbed the brain while the body, in its instinct for 
 existence, still clung to the rocky ledges. It had called 
 the man back to earth he was no longer a great 
 animal, and the rock a monster with skin and scales 
 of stone. 
 
 " Ranulph ! Maitre Ranulph ! Ah, Ranulph ! " 
 called the voice. 
 
 Now he knew, and he answered down : 
 
 " All right ! all right, Garche Carterette ! " 
 
 " Are you at the top ? " 
 
 " No, but the rest is easy." 
 
 " Hurry, hurry, Ranulph ! If they should come 
 before you reach the top ! " 
 
 " I '11 soon be there." 
 
 " Are you hurt, Ranulph ? " 
 
 " No, but my fingers are in rags. I am going now. 
 Abi't6t, Carterette!" 
 
 " Ranulph ! " 
 
 "'Sh, 'sh, do not speak. I am starting." 
 
 There was silence for what seemed hours to the 
 girl below. Foot by foot the man climbed on, no less 
 cautious because the ascent was easier, for he was now 
 weaker. But he was on the monster's neck now, and
 
 4 io THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 soon he should set his heel on it : he was not to be 
 shaken off. 
 
 At last the victorious moment came. Over a jutting 
 ledge he drew himself up by sheer strength and the 
 rubber-like grip of his lacerated fingers, and now he 
 lay flat and breathless upon the ground. 
 
 How soft and cool it was ! This was long sweet 
 grass touching his face, making a couch like down for 
 the battered, wearied body. Surely such travail had 
 been more than mortal. And what was this vast flut- 
 tering over his head, this million-voiced discord round 
 him, like the buffetings and cries of spirits welcoming 
 another to their torment ? He raised his head and 
 laughed in triumph. These were the cormorants, 
 gulls, and gannets on the Perce Rock. 
 
 Legions of birds circled over him with cries so shrill 
 that at first he did not hear Carterette's voice calling 
 up to him. At last, however, remembering, he leaned 
 over the cliff and saw her standing in the moonlight 
 far below. 
 
 Her voice came up to him indistinctly because of 
 the clatter of the birds. " Maitre Ranulph ! Ran- 
 ulph ! " She could not see him, for this part of the 
 rock was in shadow. 
 
 "Ah bah, all right!" he said, and taking hold of 
 one end of the twine he had brought, he let the roll 
 fall. It dropped almost at Carterette's feet. She tied 
 to the end of it three loose ropes she had brought 
 from the Post. He drew them up quickly, tied them 
 together firmly, and let the great coil down. Ran- 
 ulph's bundle, a tent and many things Carterette had 
 brought were drawn up. 
 
 " Ranulph ! Ranulph ! " came Carterette's voice 
 again.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 411 
 
 " Garden Carterette ! " 
 
 "You must help Sebastian Alixandre up," she said. 
 
 " Sebastian Alixandre ! Is he there ? Why does 
 he want to come ? " 
 
 " That is no matter," she called softly. " He is 
 coming. He has the rope round his waist. Pull 
 away ! " 
 
 It was better, Ranulph thought to himself, that he 
 should be on Perce Rock alone, but the terrible strain 
 had bewildered him, and he could make no protest 
 now. 
 
 " Don't start yet," he called down ; " I '11 pull when 
 all 's ready ! " 
 
 He fell back from the edge to a place in the grass 
 where, tying the rope round his body, and seating 
 himself, he could brace his feet against a ledge of rock. 
 Then he pulled on the rope. It was round Carte- 
 rette's waist ! 
 
 Carterette had told her falsehood without shame, 
 for she was of those to whom the end is more than 
 the means. She began climbing, and Ranulph pulled 
 steadily. Twice he felt the rope suddenly jerk when 
 she lost her footing, but it came in evenly still, and 
 he used a nose of rock as a sort of winch. 
 
 The climber was nearly two-thirds of the way up 
 when a cannon-shot boomed out over the water, 
 frightening again the vast covey of birds which 
 shrieked and honked till the air was a maelstrom of 
 cries. Then came another cannon-shot. 
 
 Ranulph's desertion was discovered. The fight 
 was begun between a single Jersey shipwright and a 
 French warship. 
 
 His strength, however, could not last much longer. 
 Every muscle of his body had been strained and tor-
 
 4 i2 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 tured, and even this lighter task tried him beyond 
 endurance. His legs stiffened against the ledge of 
 rock, the tension numbed his arms. He wondered 
 how near Alixandre was to , the top. Suddenly there 
 was a pause, then a heavy jerk. Love of God the 
 rope was shooting through his fingers, his legs were 
 giving way ! He gathered himself together, and then 
 with teeth, hands, and body rigid with enormous 
 effort, he pulled and pulled. Now he could not see. 
 A mist swam before his eyes. Everything grew 
 black, but he pulled on and on. 
 
 He never knew how the climber reached the top. 
 But when the mist cleared away from his eyes, Carte- 
 rette was bending over him, putting rum to his lips. 
 
 " Carterette ! Gargon Carterette ! " he murmured, 
 amazed. Then as the truth burst upon him he shook 
 his head in a troubled sort of way. 
 
 " What a cat I was ! " said Carterette. " What a 
 wild cat I was to make you haul me up ! It was bad 
 for me with the rope round me, it must have been 
 awful for you, my poor esmanus poor scarecrow 
 Ranulph ! " 
 
 Scarecrow indeed he looked. His clothes were 
 nearly gone, his hair was tossed and matted, his eyes 
 bloodshot, his big hands like pieces of raw meat, his 
 feet covered with blood. 
 
 " My poor scarecrow ! " she repeated, and she ten- 
 derly wiped the blood from his face where his hands 
 had touched it. Meanwhile bugle-calls and cries of 
 command came up to them, and in the first light of 
 morning they could see French officers and sailors, 
 Mattingley, Alixandre, and others hurrying to and fro. 
 
 When day came clear and bright, it was known
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 413 
 
 that Carterette as well as Ranulph had vanished. 
 Mattingley shook his head stoically, but Richambeau 
 on the Victoire was as keen to hunt down one Jersey- 
 Englishman as he had ever been to attack an English 
 fleet. More so, perhaps. 
 
 Meanwhile the birds kept up a wild turmoil and 
 shrieking. Never before had any one heard them so 
 clamorous. More than once Mattingley had looked 
 at Perce" Rock curiously, but whenever the thought of 
 it as a refuge came to him, he put it away. No, it 
 was impossible. 
 
 Yet, what was that ? Mattingley's heart thumped. 
 There were two people on the lofty island wall a 
 man and a woman. He caught the arm of a French 
 officer near him. "Look, look ! " he said. The officer 
 raised his glass. 
 
 " It 's the gunner ! " he cried, and handed the glass 
 to the old man. 
 
 " It 's Carterette ! " said Mattingley in a hoarse 
 voice. " But it 's not possible. It 's not possible," he 
 added helplessly. "Nobody was ever there. My 
 God, look at it look at it ! " 
 
 It was a picture indeed. A man and a woman were 
 outlined against the clear air, putting up a tent as 
 calmly as though on a lawn, thousands of birds wheel- 
 ing over their heads, with querulous cries. 
 
 A few moments later, Elie Mattingley was being 
 rowed swiftly to the Victoire, where Richambeau was 
 swearing viciously as he looked through his telescope. 
 He also had recognized the gunner. 
 
 He was prepared to wipe out the fishing-post if 
 Mattingley did not produce Ranulph well, here was 
 Ranulph duly produced and insultingly setting up a 
 tent on this sheer rock, "with some snippet of the
 
 414 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 devil," said Richambeau, and defying a great French 
 warship. He would set his gunners to work. If he 
 only had as good a marksman as Ranulph himself, 
 the deserter should drop at the first shot " death 
 and the devil take his impudent face ! " 
 
 He was just about to give the order when Matting- 
 ley was brought to him. The old man's story amazed 
 him beyond measure. 
 
 "It is no man, then ! " said Richambeau, when Mat- 
 tingley had done. " He must be a damned fly to do 
 it ! And the girl sacrt moi ! he drew her up after 
 him. I '11 have him down out of that though, or 
 throw up my flag," he added, and, turning fiercely, 
 gave his orders. 
 
 For hours the Victoire bombarded the lonely rock 
 from the north. The white tent was carried away, 
 but the cannon-balls flew over or merely battered 
 the solid rock, the shells were thrown beyond, and no 
 harm was done. But now and again the figure of 
 Ranulph appeared, and a half dozen times he took aim 
 with his musket at the French soldiers on the shore. 
 Twice his shots took effect ; one man was wounded, 
 and one killed. Then whole companies of marines 
 returned a musketry fire at him, to no purpose. At 
 his ease he hid himself in the long grass at the edge 
 of the cliff, and picked off two more men. 
 
 Here was a ridiculous thing : one man and a slip of 
 a girl fighting and defying a battle-ship. The smoke 
 of battle covered miles of the great gulf. Even the 
 sea-birds shrieked in ridicule. 
 
 This went on for three days at intervals. With a 
 fine chagrin Richambeau and his men saw a bright 
 camp-fire lighted on the rock, and knew that Ranulph 
 and the girl were cooking their meals in peace. A
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 415 
 
 flagstaff, too, was set up, and a red cloth waved defi- 
 antly in the breeze. At last Richambeau, who had 
 watched the whole business from the deck of the Vic- 
 toire, burst out laughing, and sent for Elie Mattingley. 
 
 " Come, I 've had enough," said Richambeau. 
 " There never was a wilder jest, and I '11 not spoil the 
 joke. He hag us on his toasting-fork. He shall have 
 the honor of a flag of truce." 
 
 And so it was that the French battle-ship sent a 
 flag of truce to the foot of Perce Rock, and a French 
 officer, calling up, gave his captain's word of honor 
 that Ranulph should suffer nothing at the hands of 
 a court-martial, and that he should be treated as an 
 English prisoner of war, not as a French deserter. 
 
 There was no court-martial. After Ranulph, at 
 Richambeau's command, had told the tale of the 
 ascent, the Frenchman said : 
 
 " No one but an Englishman could be fool enough 
 to try such a thing, and none but a fool could have 
 had the luck to succeed. But even a fool can get a 
 woman to follow him, and so this flyaway followed 
 you, and " 
 
 Carterette made for Richambeau as though to 
 scratch his eyes out, but Ranulph held her back. 
 
 " And you are condemned, gunner," continued 
 Richambeau dryly, " to marry the said maid before 
 sundown, or be carried out to sea a prisoner of war." 
 
 So saying, he laughed, and bade them begone to 
 the wedding. 
 
 Ranulph left Richambeau's ship bewildered and 
 perturbed. For hours he paced the shore, and at 
 last his thoughts began to clear. The new life he 
 had led during the last few months had brought
 
 416 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 many revelations. He had come to realize that there 
 are several sorts of happiness, but that all may be 
 divided into two kinds : the happiness of doing good 
 to ourselves, and that of doing good to others. It 
 opened out clearly to him now as he thought of 
 Carterette in the light of Richambeau's coarse jest. 
 
 For years he had known in a sort of way that 
 Carterette preferred him to any other man. He 
 knew now that she had remained single because of 
 him. For him her impatience had been patience, 
 her fiery heart had spilt itself in tenderness for his 
 misfortunes. She who had lightly tossed lovers 
 aside, her coquetry appeased, had to himself shown 
 sincerity without coquetry, loyalty without selfish- 
 ness. He knew well that she had been his champion 
 in dark days, that he had received far more from her 
 than he had ever given even of friendship. In his 
 own absorbing love for Guida Landresse, during long 
 years he had been unconsciously blind to a devotion 
 which had lived on without hope, without repining, 
 with untiring cheerfulness. 
 
 In those three days spent on the top of the Perce 
 Rock how blithe Garden Carterette had been ! Dan- 
 ger had seemed nothing to her. She had the temper 
 of a man in her real enjoyment of the desperate 
 chances of life. He had never seen her so buoyant ; 
 her animal spirits had never leaped so high. And yet, 
 despite the boldness which had sent her to the top of 
 Perce Rock with him, there had been in her whole 
 demeanor a frank modesty free from self-conscious- 
 ness. She could think for herself, she was sure of 
 herself, and she would go to the ends of the earth for 
 him. Surely he had not earned such friendship, such 
 affection.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 417 
 
 He recalled how, the night before, as he sat by 
 their little camp-fire, she had come and touched him 
 on the shoulder, and, looking down at him, said : 
 
 " I feel as if I was beginning my life all over again, 
 don't you, Maitre Ranulph ? " 
 
 Her black eyes had been fixed on his, and the fire 
 in them was as bright and full of health and truth as 
 the fire at his feet. 
 
 And he had answered her : " I think I feel that 
 too, Garden Carterette." 
 
 To which she had replied, " It is n't hard to forget 
 here not so very hard, is it ? " 
 
 She did not mean Guida, nor what he had felt for 
 Guida, but rather the misery of the past. He had 
 nodded his head in reply, but had not spoken ; and 
 she, with a quick "A bi'tot," had taken her blanket 
 and gone to that portion of the rock set apart for her 
 own. Then he had sat by the fire thinking through 
 the long hours of night until the sun rose. That day 
 Richambeau had sent his flag of truce, and the end 
 of their stay on Perc6 Rock was come. 
 
 Yes, he would marry Carterette. Yet he was not 
 disloyal, even in memory. What had belonged to 
 Guida belonged to her forever, belonged to a past life 
 with which henceforth he should have naught to do. 
 What had sprung up in his heart for Carterette be- 
 longed to the new life. In this new land there was 
 work to do what might he not accomplish here ? He 
 realized that within one life a man may still live sev- 
 eral lives, each loyal and honest after its kind. A fate 
 stronger than himself had brought him here; and here 
 he would stay with fate. It had brought him to Carte- 
 rette, and who could tell what good and contentment 
 might not yet come to him, and how much to her !
 
 418 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 That evening he went to Carterette and asked her 
 to be his wife. She turned pale, and, looking up into 
 his eyes with a kind of fear, she said brokenly : 
 
 " It 's not because you feel you must ? It 's not 
 because you know I love you, Ranulph is it ? It 's 
 not for that alone ? " 
 
 " It is because I want you, Gargon Carterette," he 
 answered tenderly, " because life will be nothing with- 
 out you." 
 
 " I am so happy par made, I am so happy !" she 
 answered, and she hid her face on his breast.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 "PAliTRICAND, Prince of Vaufontaine, was no 
 -L' longer in the Vendee. The whole of Brittany 
 was in the hands of the victorious Hoche, the peasants 
 were disbanded, and his work for a time at least was 
 done. 
 
 On the same day of that momentous scene in the 
 Cohue Royale when Guida was vindicated, Detricand 
 had carried to Granville the Comtesse Chantavoine, 
 who presently was passed over to the loving care of 
 her kinsman General Grand] on-Larisse. This done, 
 he proceeded to England. 
 
 From London he communicated with Grand] on- 
 Larisse, who applied himself to secure from the Direc- 
 tory leave for the Chouan chieftain to return to France, 
 with amnesty for his past " rebellion." This was got at 
 last through the influence of young Bonaparte himself. 
 Detricand was free now to proceed against Philip. 
 
 He straightway devoted himself to a thing con- 
 ceived on the day that Guida was restored to her 
 rightful status as a wife. His purpose now was to 
 wrest from Philip the duchy of Bercy. Philip was 
 heir by adoption only, and the inheritance had been 
 secured at the last by help of a lie surely his was a 
 righteous cause ! 
 
 His motives had not their origin in hatred of Philip 
 alone, nor in desire for honors and estates for himself, 
 nor in racial antagonism, for had he not been allied
 
 420 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 with England in this war against the Government ? 
 He hated Philip the man, but he hated still more 
 Philip the usurper who had brought shame to the 
 escutcheon of Bercy. There was also at work another 
 and deeper design to be shown in good time. 
 
 Philip had retired from the English navy, and gone 
 back to his duchy of Bercy. Here he threw himself 
 into the struggle with the Austrians against the 
 French. Received with enthusiasm by the people, 
 who as yet knew little or nothing of the doings in the 
 Cohue Royale, he now took over command of the 
 army and proved himself almost as able in the field 
 as he had been at sea. 
 
 Of these things Detricand knew, and knew also 
 that the lines were closing in round the duchy ; that 
 one day soon Bonaparte would send a force which 
 should strangle the little army and its Austrian allies. 
 The game then would be another step nearer the end. 
 
 Free to move at will, he visited the Courts of Prus- 
 sia, Russia, Spain, Italy, and Austria, and laid before 
 them his claims to the duchy, urging an insistence on 
 its neutrality, and a trial of his cause against Philip. 
 Ceaselessly, adroitly, with persistence and power, he 
 toiled towards his end, the way made easier by tales 
 told of his prowess in the Vendee. He had offers 
 without number to take service in foreign armies, but 
 he was not to be tempted. Gossip of the Courts said 
 that there was some strange romance behind this 
 tireless pursuit of an inheritance, but he paid no heed. 
 If at last there crept over Europe wonderful tales of 
 D6tricand's past life in Jersey, of the real Duchesse de 
 Bercy, and of the new Prince of Vaufontaine, Detri- 
 cand did not, or feigned not to hear them ; and the 
 Comtesse Chantavoine had disappeared from public
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 421 
 
 knowledge. The few who guessed his romance were 
 puzzled to understand his cause : for if he dispos- 
 sessed Philip, Guida must also be dispossessed. This, 
 certainly, was not lover-like or friendly. 
 
 But Detricand was not at all puzzled ; his mind and 
 purpose were clear. Guida should come to no injury 
 through him Guida who, as they left the Cohue 
 Royale that day of days, had turned on him a look 
 of heavenly trust and gratitude ; who, in the midst of 
 her own great happenings, found time to tell him by 
 a word how well she knew he had kept his promise 
 to her, even beyond belief. Justice for her was now 
 the supreme and immediate object of his life. There 
 were others ready also to care for France, to fight for 
 her, to die for her, to struggle towards the hour when 
 the King should come to his own ; but there was only 
 one man in the world who could achieve Guida's full 
 justification, and that was himself, Detricand of Vau- 
 fontaine. 
 
 He was glad to turn to the Chevalier's letters from 
 Jersey. It was from the Chevalier's lips he had 
 learned the whole course of Guida's life during the 
 four years of his absence from the Island. It was 
 the Chevalier who drew for him pictures of Guida in 
 her new home, none other than the house of Elie 
 Mattingley, which the Royal Court having confiscated 
 now handed over to her as an act of homage. The 
 little world of Jersey no longer pointed the finger of 
 scorn at Guida Landresse de Landresse, but bent the 
 knee to Princess Guida d'Avranche. 
 
 Detricand wrote many letters to the Chevalier, and 
 they with their cheerful and humorous allusions were 
 read aloud to Guida all save one concerning Philip. 
 Writing of himself to the Chevalier on one occasion,
 
 422 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 he laid bare with a merciless honesty his nature and 
 his career. Concerning neither had he any illusions. 
 
 " I do not mistake myself, Chevalier," he wrote, 
 " nor these late doings of mine. What credit shall I 
 take to myself for coming to place and some little 
 fame ? Everything has been with me : the chance of 
 inheritance, the glory of a cause as hopeless as splendid, 
 and more splendid because hopeless ; and the luck of 
 him who loads the dice for all my old comrades, 
 the better men, are dead, and I, the least of them all, 
 remain, having even outlived the cause. What praise 
 shall I take for this ? None from all decent fel- 
 lows of the earth, none at all. It is merely laughable 
 that I should be left, the monument of a sacred loy- 
 alty greater than the world has ever known. 
 
 " I have no claims But let me draw the picture, 
 dear Chevalier. Here was a discredited, dissolute 
 fellow whose life was worth a pin to nobody. Tired 
 of the husks and the swine, and all his follies grown 
 stale by over-use, he takes the advice of a good gentle- 
 man, and joins the standard of work and sacrifice. 
 What greater luxury shall man ask ? If this be not 
 running the full scale of life's enjoyment, pray you 
 what is ! The world loves contrasts. The deep-dyed 
 sinner raising the standard of piety is picturesque. If, 
 charmed by his own new virtues, he is constant in his 
 enthusiasm, behold a St. Augustine ! Everything is 
 with the returned prodigal the more so if he be of 
 the notorious Vaufontaines, who were ever saints 
 turned sinners, or sinners turned saints. 
 
 "Tell me, my good friend, where is room for pride 
 in me? I am getting far more out of life than I 
 deserve ; it is not well that you and others should 
 think better of me than I do of myself. I do not
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 423 
 
 pretend that I dislike it, it is as balm to me. But it 
 would seem that the world is monstrously unjust. 
 One day when I 'm grown old I cannot imagine 
 what else Fate has spared me for I shall write the 
 Diary of a Sinner, the whole truth. I shall tell how 
 when my peasant fighters were kneeling round me 
 praying for success, even thanking God for me, I was 
 smiling in my glove in scorn of myself, not of them, 
 Chevalier, no, no, not of them ! The peasant's is the 
 true greatness. Everything is with the aristocrat ; he 
 has to kick the great chances from his path ; but the 
 peasant must go hunting them in peril. Hardly snatch- 
 ing sustenance from Fate, the peasant fights into 
 greatness ; the aristocrat may only win to it by reject- 
 ing Fate's luxuries. The peasant never escapes the 
 austere teaching of hard experience, the aristocrat the 
 languor of good fortune. There is the peasant and 
 there am I. Voila ! enough of Detricand of Vaufon- 
 taine. . . . The Princess Guida and the child, are 
 they " 
 
 So the letter ran, and the Chevalier read it aloud 
 to Guida up to the point where her name was writ. 
 Afterwards Guida would sit and think of what D6tri- 
 cand had said, and of the honesty of nature that never 
 allowed him to deceive himself. It pleased her also 
 to think she had in some small way helped a man to 
 the rehabilitation of his life. He had said that she 
 had helped him, and she believed him ; he had proved 
 the soundness of his aims and ambitions ; his career 
 was in the world's mouth. 
 
 The one letter the Chevalier did not read to Guida 
 referred to Philip. In it Detricand begged the Cheva- 
 lier to hold himself in readiness to proceed at a day's 
 notice to Paris.
 
 424 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 So it was that when, after months of waiting, the 
 Chevalier suddenly left St. Heliers to join Detricand, 
 Guida did not know the object of his journey. All 
 she knew was that he had leave from the Directory to 
 visit Paris. Imagining this to mean some good fortune 
 for him, with a light heart she sent him off in charge of 
 Jean Touzel, who took him to St. Malo in the Hardi 
 Biaou, and saw him safely into the hands of an escort 
 from Detricand.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 THREE days later there was opened in one of 
 the chambers of the Emperor's palace at Vienna 
 a Congress of four nations Prussia, Russia, Austria, 
 and Sardinia. De'tricand's labors had achieved this 
 result at last. Grandjon-Larisse, his old enemy in 
 battle, now his personal friend and colleague in this 
 business, had influenced Napoleon, and the Directory 
 through him, to respect the neutrality of the duchy 
 of Bercy, for which the four nations of this Congress 
 declared. Philip himself little knew whose hand had 
 secured the neutrality until summoned to appear at 
 the Congress, to defend his rights to the title and 
 the duchy against those of Detricand Prince of Vau- 
 fontaine. Had he known that Detricand was behind 
 it all he would have fought on to the last gasp of 
 power and died on the battle-field. He realized now 
 that such a fate was not for him that he must 
 fight, not on the field of battle like a prince, but in a 
 Court of Nations like a doubtful claimant of sovereign 
 honors. 
 
 His whole story had become known in the duchy, 
 and though it begot no feeling against him in war- 
 time, now that Bercy was in a neutral zone of peace 
 there was much talk of the wrongs of Guida and the 
 Comtesse Chantavoine. He became moody and sat- 
 urnine, and saw few of his subjects save the old 
 Governor-General and his whilom enemy, now his
 
 426 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 friend, Comte Carignan Damour. That at last he 
 should choose to accompany him to Vienna the man 
 who had been his foe during the lifetime of the old 
 Duke seemed incomprehensible. Yet, to all appear- 
 ance, Damour was now Philip's zealous adherent. He 
 came frankly repenting his old enmity, and though 
 Philip did not quite believe him, some perverse tem- 
 per, some obliquity of vision which overtakes the 
 ablest minds at times, made him almost eagerly ac- 
 cept his new partisan. One thing Philip knew: 
 Damour had no love for Detricand, who indeed had 
 lately sent him word that for his work in sending 
 Fouche's men to attempt his capture in Bercy, he 
 would have him shot, if the Court of Nations upheld 
 his rights to the duchy. Damour was able, even if 
 Damour was not honest. Damour, the able, the 
 implacable and malignant, should accompany him to 
 Vienna. 
 
 The opening ceremony of the Congress was simple, 
 but it was made notable by the presence of the 
 Emperor of Austria, who addressed a few words of 
 welcome to the envoys, to Philip, and, very pointedly, 
 to the representative of the French Nation, the aged 
 Due de Mauban, who, while taking no active part in 
 the Congress, was present by request of the Directory. 
 The Duke's long residence in Vienna and freedom 
 from share in the civil war in France had been factors 
 in the choice of him when the name was submitted 
 to the Directory by General Grand] on-Larisse, upon 
 whom in turn it had been urged by Detricand. 
 
 The Due de Mauban was the most marked figure of 
 the Court, the Emperor not excepted. Clean shaven, 
 with snowy linen and lace, his own natural hair, silver
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 427 
 
 white, tied in a queue behind, he had large eloquent 
 wondering eyes that seemed always looking, looking 
 beyond the thing he saw. At first sight of him at 
 his court, the Emperor had said, " The stars have 
 frightened him." No fanciful supposition, for the 
 Due de Mauban was as well known an astronomer as 
 student of history and philanthropist. 
 
 When the Emperor mentioned de Mauban's name 
 Philip wondered where he had heard it before. Some- 
 thing in the sound of it was associated with his past, 
 he knew not how. He had a curious feeling, too, that 
 those deliberate, searching dark eyes saw the end of 
 this fight, this battle of the strong. The face fasci- 
 nated him, though it awed him. He admired it, even 
 as he detested the ardent strength of Detricand's 
 face, where the wrinkles of dissipation had given 
 way to the bronzed carven look of the war-beaten 
 soldier. 
 
 It was fair battle between these two, and there was 
 enough hatred in the heart of each to make the fight 
 deadly. He knew and he had known since that 
 day, years ago, in the Place du Vier Prison that 
 Detricand loved the girl whom he himself had mar- 
 ried and dishonored. He felt also that De"tricand was 
 making this claim to the duchy more out of vengeance 
 than from desire to secure the title for himself. He 
 read the whole deep scheme : how Detricand had laid 
 his mine at every Court in Europe to bring him to this 
 pass. 
 
 For hours Philip's witnesses were examined, among 
 them the officers of his duchy and Comte Carignan 
 Damour. The physician of the old Due de Bercy 
 was examined, and the evidence was with Philip. 
 The testimony of Dalbarade, the French ex-Minister
 
 428 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 of Marine, was read and considered. Philip's story up 
 to the point of the formal signature by the old Duke 
 was straightforward and clear. So far the Court was 
 in his favor. 
 
 Detricand, as natural heir of the duchy, combated 
 each step in the proceedings from the standpoint of 
 legality, of the Duke's fatuity concerning Philip, and 
 his personal hatred of the House of Vaufontaine. On 
 the third day, when the Congress would give its 
 decision, Detricand brought the Chevalier to the pal- 
 ace. At the opening of the sitting he requested that 
 Damour be examined again. The Count was asked 
 what question had been put to Philip immediately 
 before the deeds of inheritance were signed. It was 
 useless for Damour to evade the point, for there were 
 other officers of the duchy present who could have 
 told the truth. Yet this truth, of itself, need not ruin 
 Philip. It was no phenomenon for a prince to have 
 one wife unknown, and, coming to the throne, to take 
 to himself another more exalted. 
 
 Detricand was hoping that the nice legal sense of 
 mine and thine should be suddenly weighted in his 
 favor by a prepared tour de force. The sympathies 
 of the Congress were largely with himself, for he was 
 of the order of the nobility, and Philip's descent 
 must be traced through centuries of yeoman blood ; 
 yet there was the deliberate adoption by the Duke to 
 face, with the formal assent of the States of Bercy, 
 but little lessened in value by the fact that the French 
 ' Government had sent its emissaries to Bercy to 
 protest against it. The Court had come to a point 
 where decision upon the exact legal merits of the case 
 was difficult. 
 
 After Damour had testified to the question the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 429 
 
 Duke asked Philip when signing the deeds at Bercy, 
 Detricand begged leave to introduce another witness, 
 and brought in the Chevalier. Now he made his 
 great appeal. Simply, powerfully, he told the story 
 of Philip's secret marriage with Guida, and of all 
 that came after, up to the scene in the Cohue Royale 
 when the marriage was proved and the child given 
 back to Guida; when the Comtesse Chantavoine, turn- 
 ing from Philip, acknowledged to Guida the justice of 
 her claim. He drove home the truth with bare un- 
 varnished power the wrong to Guida, the wrong to 
 the Countess, the wrong to the Dukedom of Bercy, 
 to that honor which should belong to those in high 
 estate. Then at the last he told them who Guida 
 was : no peasant girl, but the granddaughter of the 
 Sieur Larchant de Mauprat of the de Mauprats of 
 Chambery ; the granddaughter of an exile indeed, but 
 of the noblest blood of France. 
 
 The old Due de Mauban fixed his look on him in- 
 tently, and as the story proceeded his hand grasped 
 the table before him in strong emotion. When at 
 last Detricand turned to the Chevalier and asked him 
 to bear witness to the truth of what he had said, the 
 Duke, in agitation, whispered to the President. 
 
 All that Detricand had said moved the Court pow- 
 erfully, but when the withered little flower of a man, 
 the Chevalier, told in quaint brief sentences the story 
 of the Sieur de Mauprat, his sufferings, his exile, and 
 the nobility of his family, which had, indeed, far back, 
 come of royal stock, and then at last of Guida and the 
 child, more than one member of the Court turned his 
 head away with misty eyes. 
 
 It remained for the Due de Mauban to speak the 
 word which hastened and compelled the end. Rising
 
 430 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 in his place, he addressed to the Court a few words of 
 apology, inasmuch as he was without real power there, 
 and then he turned to the Chevalier. 
 
 "Monsieur le Chevalier," said he, "I had the honor 
 to know you in somewhat better days for both of us. 
 You will allow me to greet you here with my pro- 
 found respect. The Sieur Larchant de Mauprat " 
 he turned to the President, his voice became louder 
 "the Sieur de Mauprat was my friend. He was 
 with me upon the day I married the Duchess Guida- 
 baldine. Trouble, exile came to him. Years passed, 
 and at last in Jersey I saw him again. It was the 
 very day his grandchild was born. The name given 
 to her was Guidabaldine, the name of the Duchesse 
 de Mauban. She was Guidabaldine Landresse de 
 Landresse, she is my godchild. There is no better 
 blood in France than that of the de Mauprats of 
 Chambery, and the grandchild of my friend, her father 
 being also of good Norman blood, was worthy to be 
 the wife of any prince in Europe. I speak in the 
 name of our order, I speak for Frenchmen, I speak 
 for France. If De"tricand, Prince of Vaufontaine, be 
 not secured in his right of succession to the dukedom 
 of Bercy, France will not cease to protest till protest 
 hath done its work. From France the duchy of Bercy 
 came. It was the gift of a French king to a French- 
 man, and she hath some claims upon the courtesy of 
 the nations." 
 
 For a moment after he took his seat there was abso- 
 lute silence. Then the President wrote upon a paper 
 before him, and it was passed to each member of the 
 Court sitting with him. For a moment longer there 
 was nothing heard save the scratching of a quill. 
 Philip recalled that day at Bercy when the Duke
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 431 
 
 stooped and signed his name upon the deed of adop- 
 tion and succession three times three fateful times. 
 
 At last the President, rising in his place, read the 
 pronouncement of the Court : that Detricand, Prince 
 of Vaufontaine, be declared true inheritor of the 
 duchy of Bercy, the nations represented here con- 
 firming him in his title. 
 
 The President having spoken, Philip rose, and, bow- 
 ing to the Congress with dignity and composure, left 
 the chamber with Comte Carignan Damour. 
 
 As he passed from the portico into the grounds of 
 the palace, a figure came suddenly from behind a 
 pillar and touched him on the arm. He turned 
 quickly, and received upon the face a blow from a 
 glove. 
 
 The owner of the glove was General Grandjon- 
 Larisse.
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 ""\/OU understand, monsieur?" said Grand] on- 
 
 JL Larisse. 
 
 " Perfectly and without the glove, Monsieur le 
 General," answered Philip quietly. " Where shall my 
 seconds wait upon you ? " As he spoke he turned 
 with a slight gesture towards Damour. 
 
 " In Paris, monsieur, if it please you." 
 
 " I should have preferred it here, Monsieur le 
 General but Paris, if it is your choice." 
 
 " At 22, Rue de Mazarine, monsieur." Then he 
 made an elaborate bow to Philip. " I bid you good- 
 day, monsieur." 
 
 " Monseigneiir, not monsieur? Philip corrected. 
 " They may deprive me of my duchy, but I am still 
 Prince Philip d'Avranche. I may not be robbed of 
 my adoption." 
 
 There was something so steady, so infrangible in 
 Philip's composure now, that Grandjon-Larisse, who 
 had come to challenge a great adventurer, a marauder 
 of honor, found his furious contempt checked by some 
 integral power resisting disdain. He intended to kill 
 Philip, he was one of the most expert swordsmen in 
 France, yet he was constrained to respect a com- 
 posure not sang-froid and a firmness in misfortune not 
 bravado. Philip was still the man who had valiantly 
 commanded men; who had held of the high places 
 of the earth. In whatever adventurous blood his
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 433 
 
 purposes had been conceived, or his doubtful plans 
 accomplished, he was still, stripped of power, a man 
 to be reckoned with : resolute in his course once 
 set upon, and impulsive towards good as towards 
 evil. He was never so much worth respect as when^ 
 a dispossessed sovereign with an empty title, dis- 
 countenanced by his order, disbarred his profession, 
 he held himself ready to take whatever penalty now 
 came. 
 
 In the presence of General Grand] on-Larisse, with 
 whom was the might of righteous vengeance, he was 
 the more distinguished figure. To Philip now there 
 came the cold quiet of the sinner, great enough to 
 rise above physical fear, proud enough to say to the 
 world, " Come, I pay the debt I owe. We are quits. 
 You have no favors to give, and I none to take. You 
 have no pardon to grant, and I none to ask." 
 
 At parting Grand] on-Larisse bowed to Philip with 
 great politeness, and said, "In Paris then, Monsieur 
 le Prince." 
 
 Philip bowed his head in assent. 
 
 When they met again, it was at the entrance to the 
 Bois de Boulogne near the Maillot gate. 
 
 It was a damp gray morning immediately before 
 sunrise, and at first there was scarce light enough for 
 the combatants to see each other perfectly, but both 
 were eager and would not delay. 
 
 As they came on guard the sun rose. Philip, where 
 he stood, was full in its light. He took no heed, and 
 they engaged at once. After a few passes Grandj on- 
 Larisse said, " You are in the light, monseigneur ; the 
 sun shines full upon you," and he pointed to the shade 
 of a wall near by. " It is darker there."
 
 434 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " One of us must certainly be in the dark soon," 
 answered Philip grimly, but he removed to the wall. 
 
 From the first Philip took the offensive. He was 
 more active, and he was quicker and lighter of fence 
 than his antagonist. But Grand jon-Larisse had the 
 surer eye, and was invincibly certain of hand and 
 strong of wrist. At length Philip wounded his oppo- 
 nent slightly in the left breast, and the seconds came 
 forward to declare that honor was satisfied. But nei- 
 ther would listen or heed ; their purpose was fixed to 
 fight to the death. They engaged again, and almost 
 at once the Frenchman was slightly wounded in the 
 wrist. Suddenly taking the offensive and lunging 
 freely, Grand] on-Larisse drove Philip, now heated and 
 less wary, backwards upon the wall. At last, by a 
 dexterous feint, he beat aside Philip's guard and drove 
 the sword through his right breast at one fierce lunge. 
 
 With a moan Philip swayed and fell forward into 
 the arms of Damour, still grasping his weapon. 
 
 Grand] on-Larisse stooped to the injured man. Un- 
 loosing his fingers from the sword, Philip stretched 
 up a hand to his enemy. 
 
 " I am hurt to death," he said. " Permit my com- 
 pliments to the best swordsman I have ever known." 
 Then with a touch of sorry humor he added : " You 
 cannot doubt their sincerity ! " 
 
 Grand jon-Larisse was turning away when Philip 
 called him back. " Will you carry my profound regret 
 to the Comtesse Chantavoine ? " he whispered. " Say 
 that it lies with her whether Heaven pardon me." 
 
 Grand] on-Larisse hesitated an instant, then an- 
 swered : 
 
 " Those who are in heaven, monseigneur, know best 
 what Heaven may do."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 435 
 
 Philip's pale face took on a look of agony. " She 
 is dead she is dead ! " he gasped. 
 
 Grand] on- Larisse inclined his head, then after a 
 moment, gravely said : 
 
 " What did you think was left for a woman for a 
 Chantavoine ? It is not the broken heart that kills, 
 but broken pride, monseigneur." 
 
 So saying, he bowed again to Philip and turned 
 upon his heel.
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 T)HILIP lay on a bed in the unostentatious lodging 
 . in the Rue de Vaugirard where Damour had 
 brought him. The surgeon had pronounced the 
 wound mortal, giving him but a few hours to live. 
 For long after he was gone Philip was silent, but at 
 length he said : " You heard what Grand] on- Larisse 
 said It is broken pride that kills, Damour." Then 
 he asked for pen, ink, and paper. They were brought 
 to him. He tried the pen upon the paper, but faint- 
 ness suddenly seized him, and he fell back uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 When he came to himself he was alone in the room. 
 It was cold and cheerless no fire on the hearth, no 
 light save that flaring from a lamp in the street out- 
 side his window. He rang the bell at his hand. No 
 one answered. He called aloud : " Damour ! Damour ! " 
 
 Damour was far beyond earshot. He had bethought 
 him that now his place was in Bercy, where he might 
 gather up what fragments of good fortune remained, 
 what of Philip's valuables might be secured. Ere he 
 had fallen back insensible, Philip, in trying the pen, 
 had written his own name on a piece of paper. Above 
 this Damour wrote for himself an order upon the cham- 
 berlain of Bercy to enter upon Philip's private apart- 
 ments in the castle ; and thither he was fleeing as Philip 
 lay dying in the dark room of the house in the Rue 
 de Vaugirard.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 437 
 
 The woman of the house, to whose care Philip was 
 passed over by Damour, had tired of watching, and 
 had gone to spend one of his gold pieces for supper 
 with her friends. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the dark comfortless room, the light 
 from without flickering upon his blanched face, Philip 
 was alone with himself, with memory, and with death. 
 As he lay gasping, a voice seemed to ring through 
 the silent room, repeating the same words again and 
 again and the voice was his own voice. It was 
 himself some other outside self of him. saying, in 
 tireless repetition : " May I die a black, dishonorable 
 death, abandoned and alone, if ever I deceive you. I 
 should deserve that if I deceived you, Guida / . . . 
 A black, dishonorable death, abandoned and alone : " 
 it was like some horrible dirge chanting in his ear. 
 
 Pictures flashed before his eyes, strange imaginings. 
 Now he was passing through dark corridors, and the 
 stone floor beneath was cold so cold ! He was going 
 to some gruesome death, and monks with voices like 
 his own voice were intoning, "Abandoned and alone. 
 Alone alone abandoned and alone." . . . And now 
 he was fighting, fighting on board the Araminta. There 
 was the roar of the great guns, the screaming of the 
 carronade slides, the rattle of musketry, the groans of 
 the dying, the shouts of his victorious sailors, the 
 crash of the main-mast as it fell upon the bulwarks. 
 Then the swift sissing ripple of water, the thud of the 
 Araminta as she struck, and the cold chill of the seas 
 as she went down. How cold was the sea ah, how 
 it chilled every nerve and tissue of his body ! 
 
 He roused to consciousness again. Here was still 
 the blank cheerless room, the empty house, the lamp- 
 light flaring through the window upon his stricken
 
 438 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 face, upon the dark walls, upon the white paper lying 
 on the table beside him. 
 
 Paper ah, that was it, he must write, he must 
 write, while he had strength. With the last coura- 
 geous effort of life, his strenuous will forcing the de- 
 clining powers into obedience for a final combat, he 
 drew the paper near, and began to write. The light 
 nickered, wavered, he could just see the letters that 
 he formed no more. 
 
 " Guida," he began, tf on the Ecrehos I said to you, 
 ' If I deceive yoti may I die a black, dishonorable 
 death, abandoned and alone ! ' It has all come true. 
 You were right, always right, and I was always wrong. 
 I never started fair with myself or with the world. I 
 was always in too great a hurry ; I was too ambitious, 
 Guida. Ambition has killed me, and it has killed 
 her the Countess. She is gone. What was it he 
 said if I could but remember what Grandjon-Larisse 
 said ah yes, yes ! after he had given me my death- 
 wound, he said, ' It is not the broken heart that kills, 
 but broken pride.' There is the truth. She is in her 
 grave, and I am going out into the dark." 
 
 He lay back exhausted for a moment, in desperate 
 estate. The body was fighting hard that the spirit 
 might confess itself before the vital spark died down 
 forever. Seizing a glass of cordial near he drank of 
 it. The broken figure in its mortal defeat roused it- 
 self again, leaned over the paper, and a shaking hand 
 traced on the brief piteous record of a life. 
 
 "I climbed too fast. Things dazzled me. I 
 thought too much of myself myself, myself was 
 everything always ; and myself has killed me. In 
 wanton haste I came to be admiral and sovereign
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 439 
 
 duke, and it has all come to nothing nothing. I 
 wronged you, I denied you, there was the cause of 
 all. There is no one to watch with me now to the 
 one moment of life that counts. In this hour the 
 clock of time fills all the space between earth and 
 heaven. It will strike soon the awful clock. It 
 will soon strike twelve : and then it will be twelve of 
 the clock for me always always. 
 
 " I know you never wanted revenge on me, Guida, 
 but still you have it here. My life is no more now 
 than vraic upon a rock. I cling, I cling, but that is 
 all, and the waves break over me. I am no longer 
 an admiral, I am no more a duke I am nothing. It 
 is all done. Of no account with men I am going to 
 my judgment with God. But you remain, and you 
 are Princess Philip d'Avranche, and your son your 
 son will be Prince Guilbert d'Avranche. But I 
 can leave him nought, neither estates nor power. 
 There is little honor in the title now. So it may be 
 you will not use it. But you will have a new life : 
 with my death happiness may begin again for you. 
 That thought makes death easier. I was never 
 worthy of you, never. I understand myself now, 
 and I know that you have read me all these years, 
 read me through and through. The letter you wrote 
 me, never a day or night has passed but, one way or 
 another, it has come home to me." 
 
 There was a footfall outside his window. A roys- 
 terer went by in the light of the flaring lamp. He 
 was singing a ribald song. A dog ran barking at his 
 heels. The reveler turned, drew his sword, and ran 
 the dog through, then staggered on with his song. 
 Philip shuddered, and with a supreme effort bent to 
 the table again, and wrote on.
 
 440 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " You were right : you were my star, and I was so 
 blind with selfishness and vanity I could not see. I 
 am speaking the truth to you now, Guida. I believe 
 I might have been a great man if I had thought less 
 of myself and more of others, more of you. Great- 
 ness, I was mad for that, and my madness has brought 
 me to this desolate end alone. Go tell Maitresse 
 Aimable that she, too, was a good prophet. Tell her 
 that, as she foresaw, I called your name in death, and 
 you did not come ! One thing before all : teach your 
 boy never to try to be great, but always to live well 
 and to be just. Teach him, too, that the world means 
 better by him than he thinks, and that he must never 
 treat it as his foe ; he must not try to force its bene- 
 fits and rewards. He must not approach it like the 
 highwayman. Tell him never to flatter. That is the 
 worst fault in a gentleman, for flattery makes false 
 friends and the flatterer himself false. Tell him that 
 good address is for ease and courtesy of life, but it 
 must not be used to one's secret advantage as I 
 have used mine to mortal undoing. If ever Guilbert 
 be in great temptation, tell him his father's story, and 
 read him these words to you, written, as you see, 
 with the cramped fingers of death." 
 
 He could scarcely hold the pen now, and his eyes 
 were growing dim. 
 
 " I am come to the end of my strength. I thought 
 I loved you, Guida, but I know now that it was not 
 love not real love. Yet it was all a twisted man- 
 hood had to give. There are some things of mine 
 that you will keep for your son, if you forgive me 
 dead whom you despised living. D^tricand Due de 
 Bercy will deal honorably by you. All that is mine 
 at the Castle of Bercy he will secure to you. Tell
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 441 
 
 him I have written it so ; though he will do it of him- 
 self, I know. He is a great man. As I have gone 
 downwards he has come upwards. There has been a 
 star in his sky too. I know it, I know it, Guida, and 
 he he is not blind." He trembled violently. "The 
 light is going, I cannot see. I can only" 
 
 He struggled fiercely for breath, but suddenly col- 
 lapsed upon the table, and his head fell forward upon 
 the paper ; one cheek lying in the wet ink of his 
 last written words, the other, cold and stark, turned 
 to the window. The light from the lamp without 
 flickered on it in gruesome sportiveness. The eyes 
 stared and stared from the little dark room out into 
 the world. But they did not see. 
 
 The night wore on. At last came a knocking, 
 knocking at the door tap ! tap ! tap ! But he did 
 not hear. A moment of silence, and again came a 
 knocking knocking knocking . . .
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 white and red flag of Jersey was flying half- 
 JL mast from the Cohue Royale, and the bell of 
 the parish church was tolling. It was Saturday, but 
 little business was being done in the Vier Marchi. 
 Chattering people were gathered at familiar points, 
 and at the foot of La Pyramide a large group s,ur- 
 rounded two sailor-men just come from Gaspe, bring- 
 ing news of adventuring Jersiais Elie Mattingley, 
 Carterette and Ranulph Delagarde. This audience 
 quickly grew, for word was being passed on from one 
 little group to another. So keen was interest in the 
 story told by the home-coming sailors, that the great 
 event which had brought them to the Vier Marchi 
 was, for the moment, almost neglected. 
 
 Presently, however, a cannon-shot, then another, 
 and another, roused the people to remembrance. The 
 funeral cortege of Admiral Prince Philip d'Avranche 
 was about to leave the Cohue Royale, and every eye 
 was turned to the marines and sailors lining the road 
 from the court-house to the church. 
 
 The Isle of Jersey, ever stubbornly loyal to its own 
 even those whom the outside world contemned or 
 cast aside jealous of its dignity even with the dead, 
 had come to bury Philip d'Avranche with all good 
 ceremony. There had been abatements to his honor, 
 but he had been a strong man and he had done strong 
 things, and he was a Jersey man born, a Norman of
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 443 
 
 the Normans. The Royal Court had judged between 
 him and Guida, doing tardy justice to her, but of 
 him they had ever been proud ; and where con- 
 science condemned here, vanity commerided there. 
 In any event they reserved the right, independent of 
 all non-Jersiais, to do what they chose with their 
 dead. 
 
 For what Philip had been as an admiral they would 
 do his body reverence now ; for what he had done as a 
 man, that belonged to another tribunal. It had been 
 proposed by the Admiral of the station to bury him 
 from his old ship, the Imperturbable, but the Royal 
 Court made its claim, and so his body had lain in 
 state in the Cohue Royale. The Admiral joined 
 hands with the Island authorities. In both cases it 
 was a dogged loyalty. The sailors of England knew 
 Philip d'Avranche as a fighter, even as the Royal 
 Court knew him as a famous and dominant Jersey- 
 man. A battle-ship is a world of its own, and Jersey 
 is a world of its own. They neither knew nor cared 
 for the comment of the world without ; or, knowing, 
 refused to consider it. 
 
 When the body of Philip was carried from the 
 Cohue Royale signals were made to the Impertur- 
 bable in the tideway. From all her ships in company 
 forty guns were fired funeral-wise and the flags were 
 struck half-mast. 
 
 Slowly the cortege uncoiled itself to one long un- 
 broken line from the steps of the Cohue Royale to 
 the porch of the church. The jurats in their red 
 robes, the officers, sailors, and marines added color 
 to the pageant. The coffin was covered by the flag 
 of Jersey with the arms of William the Conqueror in 
 the canton.
 
 444 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Of the crowd some were curious, some stoical ; 
 some wept, some essayed philosophy. 
 
 " Et ben," said one, "he was a brave admiral ! " 
 
 " Bravery was his trade," answered another : " act 
 like a sheep and you '11 be eaten by the wolf." 
 
 " It was a bad business about her that was Guida 
 Landresse," remarked a third. 
 
 " Every man knows himself, God knows all men," 
 snuffled the fanatical barber who had once delivered 
 a sermon from the Pompe des Brigands. 
 
 "He made things lively while he lived, bi su ! " 
 droned the jailer of the Vier Prison. "But he has 
 folded sails now, pergui ! " 
 
 "Ma f6, yes, he sleeps like a porpoise now, and 
 white as a wax he looked up there in the Cohue 
 Royale," put in a centenier standing by. 
 
 A voice came shrilly over the head of the centenier. 
 " As white as you '11 look yellow one day, bat'd'lagoule ! 
 Yellow and green, oui-gia ! yellow like a bad apple, 
 and cowardly green as a leek." This was Manon 
 Moignard the witch. 
 
 " Man doux d'la vie, where 's the Master of Burials ? " 
 babbled the jailer. " The apprentice does the ob- 
 s'quies to-day." 
 
 "The Master's sick of a squinzy," grunted the 
 centenier. " So hatchet-face and bundle-o'-nails there 
 brings dust to dust, amen." 
 
 All turned now to the Undertaker's Apprentice, 
 a grim, saturnine figure with his gray face, protuber- 
 ant eyes, and obsequious solemnity, in which lurked a 
 callous smile. The burial of the great, the execution 
 of the wicked, were alike to him. In him Fate seemed 
 to personify life's revenges, its futilities, its calculating 
 ironies.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 445 
 
 The flag-draped coffin was just about to pass, and 
 the fanatical barber harked back to Philip. "They 
 say it was all empty honors with him afore he died 
 abroad." 
 
 " A full belly 's a full belly if it 's only full of straw ! " 
 snapped Manon Moignard. 
 
 " Who was it brought him home ? " asked the jailer. 
 
 " None that was born on Jersey, but two that lived 
 here," remarked Maitre Damian, the schoolmaster 
 from St. Aubin's. 
 
 "That Chevalier of Champsavoys and the other 
 Due de Bercy," interposed the centenier. 
 
 Maitre Damian tapped his stick upon the ground, 
 and said oracularly : " It is not for me to say, but 
 which is the rightful Duke and which is not, there is 
 the political question ! " 
 
 " Pardi, that 's it ! " answered the centenier. " Why 
 did Detricand Duke turn Philip Duke out of duchy, 
 see him killed, then fetch him home to Jersey like a 
 brother ? Ah, man pethe benin, that 's beyond me ! " 
 
 "Those great folks does things their own ways, 
 oui-gia! " remarked the jailer. 
 
 " Why did Detricand Duke go back to France ? " 
 asked Maitre Damian, cocking his head wisely ; " why 
 did he not stay for obsequies he ? " 
 
 " That 's what I say," answered the jailer, " those 
 great folks does things their own ways." 
 
 " Ma fistre, I believe you ! " ejaculated the cen- 
 tenier. " But for the Chevalier there, for a French- 
 man, that is a man after God's own heart and 
 mine." 
 
 " Ah then, look at that ! " said Manon Moignard, 
 with a sneer ; " when one pleases you and God it is a 
 ticket to heaven, diantre ! "
 
 446 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 But in truth what Detricand and the Chevalier had 
 done was but of human pity. The day after the duel, 
 Detricand had arrived in Paris to proceed thence to 
 Bercy. There he heard of Philip's death and of 
 Damour's desertion. Sending officers to Bercy to 
 frustrate any possible designs of Damour, he, with 
 the Chevalier, took Philip's body back to Jersey, de- 
 livering it to those who would do it honor. 
 
 Detricand did not see Guida. For all that might 
 be said to her now the Chevalier should be his mouth- 
 piece. In truth there could be no better mouthpiece 
 for him. It was Detricand Detricand Detricand, 
 like a child, in admiration and in affection. If Guida 
 did not understand all now, there should come a time 
 when she would understand. Detricand would wait. 
 She should find that he was just, that her honor and 
 the honor of her child were safe with him. 
 
 As for Guida, it was not grief she felt in the pre- 
 sence of this tragedy. No spark of love sprang up, 
 even when remembrance was now brought to its last 
 vital moment. But a fathomless pity stirred her 
 heart, that Philip's life had been so futile and that all 
 he had done was come to nought. His letter, blotched 
 and blotted by his own dead cheek, she read quietly. 
 Yet her heart ached bitterly so bitterly that her 
 face became pinched with pain ; for here in this letter 
 was despair, here was the final agony of a broken life, 
 here were the last words of the father of her child to 
 herself. She saw with a sudden pang that in writing 
 of Guilbert he only said yoiir child, not ours. What 
 a measureless distance there was between them in 
 the hour of his death, and how clearly the letter 
 showed that he understood at last ! 
 
 The evening before the burial she went with the
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 447 
 
 Chevalier to the Cohue Royale. As she looked at 
 Philip's dead face bitterness and aching compassion 
 were quieted within her. The face was peaceful 
 strong. There was on it no record of fret or despair. 
 Its impassive dignity seemed to say that all accounts 
 had been settled, and in this finality there was quiet ; 
 as though he had paid the price, as though the long 
 account against him in the markets of life was closed 
 and canceled, and the debtor freed from obligation 
 forever. Poignant impulses in her stilled, pity lost 
 its wounding acuteness. She shed no tears, but at 
 last she stretched out her hand and let it rest upon 
 his forehead for a moment. 
 
 " Poor Philip ! " she said. 
 
 Then she turned and slowly left the room, followed 
 by the Chevalier, and by the noiseless Dormy Jamais, 
 who had crept in behind them. As Dormy Jamais 
 closed the door, he looked back to where the coffin 
 lay, and in the compassion of fools he repeated 
 Guida's words : 
 
 " Poor Philip ! " he said. 
 
 Now, during Philip's burial, Dormy Jamais sat 
 upon the roof of the Cohue Royale, as he had done 
 on the day of the Battle of Jersey, looking down on 
 the funeral cortege and the crowd. He watched it 
 all until the ruffle of drums at the grave told that the 
 body was being lowered four ruffles for an admiral. 
 
 As the people began to disperse and the church 
 bell ceased tolling, Dormy turned to another bell at 
 his elbow, and set it ringing to call the Royal Court 
 together. Sharp, mirthless, and acrid it rang : 
 
 Chicane chicane ! Chicane chicane ! Chicane 
 chicane !
 
 BOOK VI AND LAST 
 
 [IN JERSEY A YEAR LATER} 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 
 WHAT is that for ? " asked the child, pointing. 
 Detricand put the watch to the child's ear. 
 " It 's to keep time. Listen. Do you hear it tic- 
 tic, tic-tic ? " 
 
 The child nodded his head gleefully, and his big 
 eyes blinked with understanding. " Does n't it ever 
 stop ? " he asked. 
 
 " This watch never stops," replied Detricand. " But 
 there are plenty of watches that do." 
 
 " I like watches," said the child sententiously. 
 
 " Would you like this one ? " asked Detricand. 
 
 The child drew in a gurgling breath of pleasure. 
 " I like it. Why does n't mother have a watch ? " 
 
 The man did not answer the last question. " You 
 like it ? " he said again, and he nodded his head to- 
 wards the little fellow. " H'm ! it keeps good time, 
 excellent time it keeps," and he rose to meet the 
 child's mother, who, having just entered the room, 
 stood looking at them. It was Guida. She had heard 
 the last words, and she glanced towards the watch 
 curiously. 
 
 Detricand smiled in greeting, and said to her, " Do 
 you remember it ? " He held up the watch.
 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 449 
 
 She came forward eagerly. " Is it is it that in- 
 deed, the watch that the dear grandpethe ? " 
 
 He nodded and smiled. " Yes, it has never once 
 stopped since the moment he gave it me in the Vier 
 Marchi seven years ago. It has had a charmed ex- 
 istence amid many rough doings and accidents. I was 
 always afraid of losing it, always afraid of an accident 
 to it. It has seemed to me that if I could keep it 
 things would go right with me, and things come out 
 right in the end. Superstition, of course, but I lived 
 a long time in Jersey. I feel more a Jerseyman than 
 a Frenchman sometimes." 
 
 Although his look seemed to rest but casually on 
 her face, it was evident he was anxious to feel the 
 effect of every word upon her, and he added : " When 
 the Sieur d.e Mauprat gave me the watch he said, 
 ' May no time be ill spent that it records for you.' ): 
 
 " Perhaps he knows his wish was fulfilled," answered 
 Guida. 
 
 " You think, then, that I Ve kept my promise ? " 
 
 " I am sure he would say so," she replied warmly. 
 
 " It is n't the promise I made to him that I mean, 
 but the promise I made to you." 
 
 She smiled brightly. " Ah, you know what I think 
 of that. I told you long ago." She turned her head 
 away, for a bright color had come to her cheek. " You 
 have done great things, Prince," she added in a low 
 tone. 
 
 He flashed a look of inquiry at her. To his ear 
 there was in her voice a little touch not of bitter- 
 ness, but of something, as it were, muffled or reserved. 
 Was she thinking how he had robbed her child of the 
 chance of heritage at Bercy ? He did not reply, but, 
 stooping, put the watch again to the child's ear.
 
 450 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 " There you are, monseigneur ! " 
 
 " Why do you call him monseignettr?" she asked. 
 " Guilbert has no title to your compliment." 
 
 A look half-amused, half-perplexed, crossed over 
 Detricand's face. " Do you think so ? " he said 
 musingly. Stooping once more, he said to the child, 
 " Would you like the watch ? " and added quickly, 
 " you shall have it when you 're grown up." 
 
 " Do you really mean it ? " asked Guicla, delighted ; 
 "do you really mean to give him the grandpethe's 
 watch one day ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, at least that one day. But I have 
 something more," he added quickly "something 
 more for you ; " and he drew from his pocket a minia- 
 ture set in rubies and diamonds. " I have brought 
 you this from the Due de Mauban and this," he 
 went on, taking a letter from his pocket, and handing 
 it with the gift. " The Duke thought you might care 
 to have it. It is the face of your godmother, the 
 Duchess Guidabaldine. " 
 
 Guida looked at the miniature earnestly, and then 
 said a little wistfully : " How beautiful a face! but 
 the jewels are much too fine for me. What should 
 one do here with rubies and diamonds ? How can I 
 thank the Duke ! " 
 
 " Not so. He will thank you for accepting it. He 
 begged me to say as you will find by his letter to 
 you that if you will but go to him upon a visit with 
 this great man here" pointing to the child with a 
 smile " he will count it one of the greatest pleasures 
 of his life. He is too old to come to you, but he begs 
 you to go to him the Chevalier, and you, and Guil- 
 bert here. He is much alone now, and he longs for a 
 little of that friendship which can be given by but few
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 451 
 
 in this world. He counts upon your coming, for I 
 said I thought you would." 
 
 "It would seem so strange," she answered, "to go 
 from this cottage of my childhood, to which I have 
 come back in peace at last from this kitchen, to 
 the chateau of the Due de Mauban." 
 
 "But it was sure to come," he answered. "This 
 kitchen to which I come also to redeem my pledge 
 after seven years, it belongs to one part of your life. 
 But there is another part to fulfill," he stooped and 
 passed his hands over the curls of the child, "and 
 for your child here you should do it." 
 
 " I do not find your meaning," she said after a 
 moment's deliberation. " I do not know what you 
 would have me understand." 
 
 " In some ways you and I would be happier in sim- 
 ple surroundings," he replied gravely, "but it would 
 seem that to play duly our part in the world, we must 
 needs move in wider circles. To my mind this kitchen 
 is the most delightful spot in the world. Here I took 
 a fresh commission of life. I went out, a sort of bat- 
 tered remnant, to a forlorn hope ; and now I come 
 back to headquarters once again not to be praised," 
 he added in an ironical tone, and with a quick gesture 
 of almost boyish shyness " not to be praised ; only 
 to show that from a grain of decency left in a man 
 may grow up some sheaves of honest work and plain 
 duty." 
 
 " Oh, it is much more than that, it is much, much 
 more than that ! " she broke in. 
 
 "No, I am afraid it is not," he answered; "but 
 that is not what I wished to say. I wished to say 
 that for monseigneur here" 
 
 A little flash of anger came into her eyes. " He is
 
 452 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 no monseigneur, he is Guilbert d'Avranche," she said 
 bitterly. " It is not like you to mock my child, 
 Prince. Oh, I know you mean it playfully," she hur- 
 riedly added, " but but it does not sound right to 
 me." 
 
 " For the sake of monseigneur the heir to the Duchy 
 of Bercy," he added, laying his hand upon the child's 
 head, " these things your devout friends suggest, you 
 should do, Princess." 
 
 Her clear unwavering eye looked steadfastly at him, 
 but her face turned pale. 
 
 "Why do you call him monseigneur the heir to the 
 duchy of Bercy ? " she said almost coldly, and with a 
 little fear in her look, too. 
 
 " Because I have come here to tell you the truth, 
 and to place in your hands the record of an act of 
 justice." 
 
 Drawing from his pocket a parchment gorgeous 
 with seals, he stooped, and taking the hands of the 
 child, he placed it in them. " Hold it tight, hold it 
 tight, my little friend, for it is your very own," he 
 said to the child with cheerful kindliness. Then step- 
 ping back a little, and looking earnestly at Guida, he 
 added with a motion of the hand towards the child : 
 
 " You must learn the truth from him." 
 
 " Oh, what can you mean what can you mean ! " 
 she exclaimed. Dropping upon her knees, and run- 
 ning an arm round the child, she opened the parch- 
 ment and read. 
 
 "What what right has he to this ? " she cried in 
 a voice of dismay. " A year ago you dispossessed his 
 father from the duchy. Ah, I do not understand it ! 
 You only you are the Due de Bercy." 
 
 Her eyes were shining with a happy excitement and
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 453 
 
 tenderness. No such look had been in them for many 
 a day. Something that had long slept was waking in 
 her, something long voiceless was speaking. This 
 man brought back to her heart a glow she had never 
 thought to feel again, the glow of the wonder of life 
 and of a girlish faith. 
 
 " I am only Detricand of Vaufontaine," he answered. 
 " What ! did you could you think that I would dis- 
 possess your child ? His father was the adopted son 
 of the Due de Bercy. Nothing could wipe that out, 
 neither law nor nations. You are always Princess 
 Guida, and your child is always Prince Guilbert 
 d'Avranche and more than that." 
 
 His voice became lower, his war-beaten face lighted 
 with that fire and force which had made him during 
 years past a figure in the war records of Europe. 
 
 " I unseated Philip d'Avranche," he continued, 
 " because he acquired the duchy through a misap- 
 prehension ; because the claims of the House of Vau- 
 fontaine were greater. We belonged ; he was an alien. 
 He had a right to his adoption, he had no right to his 
 duchy no real right in the equity of nations. But 
 all the time I never forgot that the wife of Philip 
 d'Avranche and her child had rights infinitely beyond 
 his own. All that he achieved was theirs by every 
 principle of justice. My plain duty was to win for 
 your child that succession belonging to him by all 
 moral right. When Philip d'Avranche was killed, I 
 set to work to do for your child what had been done 
 by another for Philip d'Avranche. I have made him 
 my heir. When he is of age I shall abdicate from the 
 duchy in his favor. This deed, ..countersigned by the 
 Powers that dispossessed his father, secures to him 
 the duchy when he is old enough to govern."
 
 454 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 Guida had listened like one in a dream. A hundred 
 feelings possessed her, and one more than all. She 
 suddenly saw all Detricand's goodness to her stretch 
 out in a long line of devoted friendship, from this day 
 to that far-off hour seven years before, when he had 
 made a vow to her kept how nobly ! Devoted friend- 
 ship was it devoted friendship alone, even with her- 
 self ? In a tumult of emotions she answered him 
 hurriedly : 
 
 " No no, no no ! I cannot accept it. This is not 
 justice, this is a gift for which there is no example in 
 the world's history ! " 
 
 "I thought it best," he went on quietly, "to govern 
 Bercy myself during these troubled years. So far its 
 neutrality has been honored, but who can tell what 
 may come ! As a Vaufontaine it is my duty to see 
 that Bercy 's interests are duly protected amidst the 
 troubles of Europe." 
 
 Guida got to her feet now and stood looking dazedly 
 at the parchment in her hand. The child, feeling 
 himself neglected, ran out into the garden. 
 
 There was moisture in Guida' s eyes as she presently 
 said, " I had not thought that any man could be so 
 noble no, not even you." 
 
 " You should not doubt yourself so," he answered 
 meaningly. " I am the work of your hands. If I 
 have fought my way back to reputable life again " 
 
 He paused, and took from his pocket a handker- 
 chief. " This was the gage," he said, holding it up. 
 " Do you remember the day I came to return it to 
 you, and carried it off again ? " 
 
 "It was foolish of you to keep it," she answered 
 softly, "as foolish of you as to think that I shall ac- 
 cept for my child these great honors."
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 455 
 
 " But suppose the child in after years should blame 
 you ? " he answered slowly and with emphasis. " Sup- 
 pose that Guilbert should say, What right had you, 
 my mother, to refuse what was my due ? " 
 
 This was the question she had asked herself, long, 
 long ago. It smote her heart now. What right had 
 she to reject this gift of Fate to her child ? 
 
 Scarcely above a whisper she replied : " Of course 
 he might say that, but how, oh, how should we simple 
 folk, he and I, be fitted for these high places yet ? 
 Now that what I desired all these years for him has 
 come, I have not the courage." 
 
 " You have friends to help you in all you do," he 
 answered meaningly. 
 
 " But friends cannot always be with one," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "That depends upon the friends. There is one 
 friend of yours who has known you for eighteen years. 
 Eighteen years' growth should make a strong friend- 
 ship there was always friendship on his part at 
 least. He can be a still stronger and better friend. 
 He comes now to offer you the remainder of a life 
 for which your own goodness is the guarantee. He 
 comes to offer you a love of which your own soul 
 must be the only judge, for you have eyes that see 
 and a spirit that knows. The Chevalier needs you, 
 and the Due de Mauban needs you, but Detricand of 
 Vaufontaine needs you a thousand times more." 
 
 "Oh, hush but no, you must not," she broke in, 
 her face all crimson, her lips trembling. 
 
 " But yes, I must," he answered quickly. " You 
 find peace here, but it is the peace of inaction. It 
 dulls the brain, and life winds in upon itself wearily 
 at the last. But out there is light and fire and action
 
 456 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 and the quick-beating pulse, and the joy of power 
 wisely used, even to the end. You come of a great 
 people, you were born to great things ; your child has 
 rights accorded now by every Court of Europe. You 
 must act for him. For your child's sake, for my sake, 
 come out into the great field of life with me as my 
 wife, Guida." 
 
 She turned to him frankly, she looked at him stead- 
 fastly, the color in her face came and went, but her 
 eyes glowed with feeling. 
 
 "After all that has happened ? " she asked in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " It could only be because of all that has happened," 
 he answered. 
 
 "No, no, you do not understand," she said quickly, 
 a great pain in her voice. " I have suffered so, these 
 many, many years ! I shall never be light-hearted 
 again. And I am not fitted for such high estate. Do 
 you not see what you ask of me to go from this 
 cottage to a palace ? " 
 
 " I love you too well to ask you to do what you 
 could not. You must trust me," he answered, "you 
 must give your life its chance, you must " 
 
 " But listen to me," she interjected with breaking 
 tones, " I know as surely as I know as I know the 
 face of my child, that the youth in me is dead. My 
 summer came and went long ago. No, no, you 
 do not understand I would not make you unhappy. 
 I must live only to make my child happy. That love 
 has not been marred ! " 
 
 "And I must be judge of what is for my own 
 happiness. And for yours if I thought my love 
 would make you unhappy for even one day, I should 
 not offer it. I am your lover, but I am also your
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 457 
 
 friend. Had it not been for you I might have slept 
 in a drunkard's grave in Jersey. Were it not for 
 you, my bones would now be lying in the Vendee. 
 I left my peasants, I denied myself death with them 
 to serve you. The old cause is gone. You and your 
 child are now my only cause " 
 
 " You make it so hard for me ! " she broke in. 
 " Think of the shadows from the past always in my 
 eyes, always in my heart you cannot wear the con- 
 vict's chain without the lagging footstep afterwards." 
 
 " Shadows ! Friend of my soul, how should I dare 
 come to you if there had never been shadows in 
 your life ! It is because you you have suffered, 
 because you know, that I come. Out of your miser- 
 ies, the convict's lagging step, you say ? Think what 
 I was. There was never any wrong in you, but I was 
 sunk in evil depths of folly " 
 
 " I will not have you say so," she interrupted ; 
 "you never in your life did a dishonorable thing." 
 
 "Then again I say, trust me. For, on the honor 
 of a Vauf ontaine, I believe that happiness will be yours 
 as my wife. The boy, you see how he and I " 
 
 "Ah, you are so good to him ! " 
 
 " You must give me chance and right to serve 
 him. What else have you or I to look forward to ? 
 The honors of this world concern us little. The 
 brightest joys are not for us. We have work before 
 us, no rainbow ambitions. But the boy think for 
 him " he paused. 
 
 After a little, she held out her hand towards him. 
 " Good-by ! " she said softly. 
 
 " Good-by you say good-by to me ! " he exclaimed 
 in dismay. 
 
 " Till till to-morrow ! " she answered, and she
 
 458 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 smiled. The smile had a little touch of the old arch- 
 ness which was hers as a child, yet, too, a little of the 
 sadness belonging to the woman. But her hand-clasp 
 was firm and strong; and her touch thrilled him. 
 Power was there, power with infinite gentleness. And 
 he understood her ; which was more than all. 
 
 He turned at the door. She was standing very 
 still, the parchment with the great seals still in her 
 hand. Without speaking, she held it out to him, as 
 though uncertain what to do with it. 
 
 As he passed through the doorway he smiled, and 
 said : 
 
 " To-morrow to-morrow ! "
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 ST. JOHN'S EVE had passed. In the fields at 
 Bonne-Nuit Bay the " Brou-bron ! ben-ben!" 
 of the Song of the Caldron had affrighted the night ; 
 riotous horns, shaming the blare of a Witches' Sab- 
 bath, had been blown by those who, as old Jean 
 Touzel said, carried little lead under their noses. 
 The meadows had been full of the childlike Islanders 
 welcoming in the longest day of the year. Midsum- 
 mer Day had also come and gone, but with less noise 
 and clamor, for St. John's Fair had been carried on 
 with an orderly gayety as the same Jean Touzel 
 said, like a sheet of music. Even the French singers 
 and dancers from St. Malo had been approved in 
 Norman phrases by the Bailly and the Jurats, for now 
 there was no longer war between England and 
 France, Napoleon was at St. Helena, and the Bourbons 
 were come again to their own. 
 
 It had been a great day, and the roads were cloudy 
 with the dust of Midsummer revelers going to their 
 homes. But though some went, many stayed, camp- 
 ing among the booths, since the Fair was for to- 
 morrow and for other to-morrows after. And now, 
 the day's sport being over, the superstitious were 
 making the circle of the rock called William's Horse 
 in Boulay Bay, singing the song of William, who, 
 with the fabled sprig of sacred mistletoe, turned into 
 a rock the kelpie horse carrying him to death.
 
 460 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 There was one boat, however, which putting out 
 into the Bay did not bear towards William's Horse, 
 but, catching the easterly breeze, bore away westward 
 towards the point of Plemont. Upon the stern of 
 the boat was painted in bright colors, Hardi Biaou. 
 
 "We'll be there soon after sunset," said the griz- 
 zled helmsman, Jean Touzel, as he glanced from the 
 full sail to the setting sun. 
 
 Neither of his fellow-voyagers made reply, and 
 for a time there was silence, save for the swish of 
 the gunwale through the water. But at last Jean 
 said : 
 
 " Su' m'n ame, but it is good this, after that ! " and 
 he jerked his head back towards the Fair-ground on 
 the hill. " Even you will sleep to-night, Dormy 
 Jamais, and you, my wife of all ! " 
 
 Maitresse Aimable shook her great head slowly on 
 the vast shoulders, and shut her heavy eyelids. 
 
 " Dame ! but I think you are sleeping now you ! " 
 Jean went on. 
 
 Maitresse Aimable's eyes opened wide, and again 
 she shook her head. 
 
 Jean looked a laugh at her through his great brass- 
 rimmed spectacles, and added : 
 
 " Ba su, then I know. It is because we go to sleep 
 in my hut at Plemont where She live so long. I 
 know, you never sleep there." 
 
 Maitresse Aimable shook her head once more, and 
 drew from her pocket a letter. 
 
 At sight of it Dormy Jamais crawled quickly over 
 to where the Femme de Ballast sat, and, reaching 
 out, he touched it with both hands. 
 
 " Princess of all the world bidemme ! " he said, 
 and he threw out his arms and laughed.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 461 
 
 Two great tears were rolling down Maitresse 
 Aimable's cheeks. 
 
 " How to remember she, ma fuifre ! " said Jean 
 Touzel. " Ah, but go on to the news of her." 
 
 Maitresse Aimable spread the letter out and looked 
 at it lovingly. Her voice rose slowly up like a bubble 
 from the bottom of a well, and she spoke. 
 
 " Ah man pethe benin ! when it come, you are not 
 here, my Jean. I take it to the Greffier to read for 
 me. It is great news, but the way he read so sour I 
 do not like, ba su ! I see Maitre Damian the school- 
 master pass my door. I beckon, and he come. I 
 take my letter here, I hold it close to his eyes. ' Read 
 on that for me, Maitre Damian you ! ' I say. O 
 my good ! when he read it, it sing sweet like a song, 
 pergui ! Once, two, three times I make him read it 
 out ah, he has the voice so soft and round, Maitre 
 Damian there ! " 
 
 " Glad and good ! " interrupted Jean. " What is 
 the news, my wife ? What is the news of highness 
 she ? " 
 
 Maitresse Aimable smiled, then she tried to speak, 
 but her voice broke. 
 
 " The son the son at last he is the Duke of 
 Bercy ! E'fin, it is all here. The new King of France, 
 he is there at the palace when the child which it have 
 sleep on. my breast, which its mother I have love all 
 the years, kiss her son as the Duke of Bercy ! " 
 
 " Ch'est ben," said Jean, " you can trust the good 
 God in the end." 
 
 Dormy Jamais did not speak. His eyes were fas- 
 tened upon the north, where lay the Paternoster 
 Rocks. The sun had gone down, the dusk was creep- 
 ing on, and against the dark of the north there was
 
 462 THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG 
 
 a shimmer of fire a fire that leaped and quivered 
 about the Paternoster Rocks. 
 
 Dormy pointed with his finger. Ghostly lights or 
 miracle of Nature, these fitful flames had come and 
 gone at times these many years, and now again the 
 wonder of the unearthly radiance held their eyes. 
 
 " Gatd'en'ale ! I don't understand you you ! " 
 said Jean, speaking to the fantastic fires as though 
 they were human. 
 
 " There 's plenty things we see we can't understand, 
 and there 's plenty we understand we can't never see. 
 Ah bah, so it goes ! " said Maitresse Aimable, and she 
 put Guida's letter in her bosom. 
 
 Upon the hill of Plemont above them, a stone taken 
 from the chimney of the hut where Guida used to 
 live stood upright beside a little grave. Upon it was 
 carved : 
 
 " BIRIBI, 
 Fidele ami 
 De quels jours ! " 
 
 In the words of Maitresse Aimable, "Ah bah, so it 
 goes." 
 
 FINIS
 
 NOTE 
 
 It is possible that students of English naval his- 
 tory may find in the life of Philip d'Avranche, as set 
 forth in this book, certain resemblances to the singu- 
 lar and long-forgotten career of the young Jerseyman, 
 PJiilip d ' Auvergne of the Arethusa, who in good time 
 became Vice-Admiral of the White and His Serene 
 Highness the Duke of Bouillon. 
 
 Because all the relatives and direct descendants of 
 Admiral Prince Philip d' Auvergne are dead, I am 
 the more anxious to state that, apart from one main 
 incident,. the story herebefore written is not taken from 
 the life of that remarkable man. Yet I will say also 
 that I have drawn ^lpon the eloqtience, courage, and 
 ability of PJdlip d' Auvergne to make the better part 
 of Philip d'Avranche, whose great natiiral fault, an 
 overleaping ambition, was the same fault that brought 
 the famous Prince Admiral to a piteous death in 
 the end. 
 
 In any case, this tale has no claim to be called a 
 historical novel.
 
 JERSEY WORDS AND PHRASES 
 
 WITH THEIR EQUIVALENTS IN ENGLISH OR FRENCH 
 
 A bi'tot = a bientdt. 
 Achocre = dolt, ass. 
 Ah bah ! (Difficult to render in English, but meaning much the same 
 
 as " Well ! well ! ") 
 Ah be ! = eh bien. 
 
 Alles kedainne = to go quickly, to skedaddle. 
 Bachouar a fool. 
 Ba su ! = bien sAr. 
 Bashin = large copper-lined stewpan. 
 Bat'd'lagoule = chatterbox. 
 Bedgone = shortgown or deep bodice of print. 
 Beganne = daft fellow. 
 Biaou = beau. 
 
 Bidemme ! = exclamation of astonishment. 
 Bouchi = mouthful. 
 Buzard = idiot. 
 Chelin = shilling. 
 Ch'est ben = c'est bien, 
 Cotil = slope of a dale. 
 
 Coum est qu'on etes ? \ Comment vous portez-vous f 
 
 Coum est qu on vos portest ? > 
 
 Couzain or couzaine = cousin. 
 
 Crasset = metal oil-lamp of classic shape. 
 
 Critchett = cricket. 
 
 Diantre = diable, 
 
 Dreschiaux = dresser. 
 
 E'fant = enfant. 
 
 E'fin = enfin. 
 
 Eh ben = eh bien. 
 
 Esmanus = scarecrow. 
 
 Es-tu gentiment ? = are you well ? 
 
 Et ben = and now. 
 
 Gache-a-penn ! = misery me ! 
 
 Gad'rabotin ! deuce take it I 
 
 Garche = lass. 
 
 Gatd'en'ale ! = God be with us ! 
 
 Grandpethe = grandplre. 
 
 Han = kind of grass for the making of ropes, baskets, etc.
 
 466 JERSEY WORDS AND PHRASES 
 
 Hanap = drinking-cup. 
 
 Hardi = very. 
 
 Hus = lower half of a door. (Doors of many old Jersey houses were 
 
 divided horizontally, for protection against cattle, to let out the 
 
 smoke, etc.) 
 Je me crais ; je te crais ; je crais ben ! = I believe it ; true for you ; 
 
 I well believe it ! 
 Ma fe ! J 
 Mafistre! >- = ma foil 
 Ma fuifre ! ) 
 
 Mai grand doux ! = but goodness gracious ! 
 Man doux ! = my good, oh dear ! (Originally man Dieu /) 
 Man doux d'la vie ! = upon my life ! 
 Man gui, mon pethe ! = man dieu, mon p2re ! 
 Man pethe benin ! = my good father ! 
 Marchi = Marche. 
 Mogue = drinking-cup. 
 Nannin ; nannin-gia ! = no ; no indeed ! 
 Ni bouf ni baf 7 . , , 
 
 Ni fiche ni bra \ Expression of absolute negation, untranslatable. 
 
 Oui-gia ! = yes indeed ! 
 
 Par Made = par mon dieu. 
 
 Pardi ! ^ 
 
 Pardingue ! V = old forms oipar Dieu. 
 
 Pergui ! ) 
 
 Pend'loque = ragamuffin. 
 
 Queminzolle = overcoat. 
 
 Racllyi = hanging rack from the rafters of a kitchen. 
 
 Respe d'la compagnie ! = with all due respect. 
 
 Shale ben ! = very well. 
 
 Simnel = a sort of biscuit, cup-shaped, supposed to represent un- 
 leavened bread, specially eaten at Easter. 
 
 Soupe a la graisse = very thin soup, chiefly made of water, with a 
 few vegetables and some dripping. 
 
 Su' m'n time ! sur mon dme ! 
 
 Tcheche ? = what 's that you say ? 
 
 Trejous = toujours. 
 
 Tres-ba ! = Ms bien ! 
 
 Veille = a wide low settle. (Probably from //'/ de fouaille.) Also 
 applied to evening gatherings, when, sitting cross-legged on the 
 veille, the neighbors sang, talked, and told stories. 
 
 Vergee = the land measure of Jersey, equal to forty perches. Two 
 and a quarter vergees are equivalent to the English acre. 
 
 Vier = vieux. 
 
 Vraic = a kind of sea-weed.
 
 Oic HiUcmDe }3rrss 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A. 
 
 BLECTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 H. O. HOUGHTON AND CO.
 
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